#azriel fanfic

[coquettefrancaise]

your hands are cold

from Pride and Prejudice (2005)

pair: Azriel x Reader ~ 4.8k

warnings: mysogony (not from az), risque thoughts from reader, sharing a bed ooooh, shadow violence, protective azriel

summary: Azriel would give you the shirt off his back if he knew you were cold and he's trying so so hard to make you see that

Illyrian's lived in the snowy mountains of the Night Court. Thick blankets of snow fell year-round, the sun scarcely offering a reprieve from the constant bite of wind. By the time the children were old enough to run and wield a stick the boys were thrust into training and the girls into house/camp work. Everyone grew to adapt to it, their bodies functioning at an unnaturally high temperature.

Although Azriel, Rhys, and Cassian had lived away from Illyria and the camps for multiple centuries now, they still grew overly warm during the earlier seasons. Both a curse and a blessing.

So why the hel didn't anyone tell you to bring a thicker coat?

Being the night court's newly appointed emissary, you were tasked to go to Illyria to comb over some of the issues stirring up. Specifically concerning the female's training. Surprise surprise.

Thankfully, Azriel had offered to come with. Rhys had given him a smirk, looking between the two of you but Azriel winnowed you before you could decipher what that look meant.

You now stood outside the training ring with him as Devlon and two of his croonies made up some half-assed excuses as to why they weren't prioritizing the females training.

"-we have two new mother's in the area who need the extra support." Devlon ranted, clearly exasperated that his high lord was continuing to harp on this matter.

You looked up to Azriel who was watching the pathetic male with a clenched jaw. He loosened it to say, "Have the father's help then. If they can't care for their own children then they should keep it in their pants."

You refrained from giggling but remained indifferent. Some of the people you worked with were open to your messages while others were... Devlon. And Beron, you supposed. You had to tread lightly because one misstep and they would prod at the weakness until you couldn't handle it. 

"All of our males are needed in training to ensure that they stay in shape. Those females shouldn't have spread their legs so fast." Devlon drawled.

"Surely Rhys would be willing to reenact the castration laws." You said without thinking, glaring at him. "You wouldn't mind being first on the list, would you?"

Devlon only ignored you.

Even with the ire coursing through your veins, you shivered. You were supposed to have been here for an hour max. Get in, yell at them, get out. Unsurprisingly, there was more to fix than you had assumed.

Azriel side-eyed you as you shook from the cold and held out his hand to Devlon. "Coat."

Devlon paused, glaring at the shadowsinger's scarred hand as if it held the plague. "What?"

"Give me your coat. Now."

The words sent an entirely different kind of chill through you. One that made your eyes widen at the hostile calm with which he said it. Sure, you'd heard that tone once or twice, but it never failed to impel you to stand straighter even if it wasn’t aimed for you. 

Devlon scoffed. "I'm not giving you my coat. Who do—"

Shadows crept up around Azriel's feet, climbing his tall, hard body until they amassed near the siphons at his hands, contrasting starkly with the pure white snow that fell around him. With the tendrils of darkness poised to strike, paired with the unforgiving look on Azriel's face, he made a hauntingly beautiful picture. Feyre would be distraught she hadn't been here to capture it.

Not a second further, Devlon took his coat off and placed it in the shadowsinger's waiting palm. His own hand trembling, you noted with smugness.

Azriel stayed silent as he flicked it once. Twice. Until he was certain it was free of any contamination, and then turned to you, a far softer expression pulling at his achingly handsome features. He then stepped forward and brought the coat around your shoulders, encircling you in his arms to fasten the buttons.

Time stopped and you took the chance to study him. The mussed locks of hair from running his hands through it every time Devlon opened his mouth. The smooth planes of his tanned skin. His enviably dark, long lashes framing those all-seeing hazel eyes. And his mouth... if you were a poet you would write odes about it. Both admiring and wicked.

You blushed.

"Is this alright?" he asked softly.

You slowly nodded, words stuck in your throat due to his close proximity.

His fingers brushed against your throat softly and he pulled away, leaving you breathless and aching for more.

When the argument started back up again, you found that while your upper body was warming up, your legs and feet were still at the mercy of the breeze.

Azriel looked to you again and released a heavy sigh. "We'll send healers to perform check-ups on the babes and new mothers. The other females will train as normal. And you will speak to the court's emissary with respect." He told Devlon, voice final.

"I have no idea why he has a weak female performing court check-ups." Devlon bit out, no doubt angry at having been pressed into submission and having his coat stolen.

One second you could see clearly, and the next your vision was clouded by swarming darkness. Instinctively, your hand shot out to find Azriel, fear twisting your stomach at the thought of being attacked or—

You barely had time to call out for him when the darkness vacuumed back to its origin—Azriel.

He now stood a breadth away from Devlon, shadows morphed into the shape of a hand held at the camp leader's throat.

There was no curiosity lingering in your mind as to why he was often referred to as the Angel of Death. His body was tense and forbidding, as if he had been carved from stone. Broad, claw-tipped wings spread in threat, consuming the space around him. The largest you'd witnessed.

"It'd be a shame if your windpipe was broken," his voice was colder than the wind that had picked up, "I'd think twice if you were to make another smart remark about our high lord's emissary."

They stared at each other and then Devlon's shoulder sank in defeat. The ghost hand dissipated at his throat, revealing finger-like bruising. You could only imagine the true harm his shadows could inflict if given free rein.

Devlon's eyes snapped from Azriel to you, chin dipping nearly imperceptibly before walking away, back tense as if he were preparing for an attack.

You waited until he was out of sight to speak. “Thanks for the coat?”

Azriel rolled his shoulders, eyes on the space above your head. “Sorry that it belongs to that dense misogynist; I rarely find the need to carry one around.”

You laughed, hoping to dispel the tension clinging to the air, and clutched the coat tighter to warm your hands up. “It’s summertime; how is it still snowing out here?”

“The elevation of the mountains results in colder weather year-round, no matter the season. This is considered warm.” He jerked his chin in the direction of a group of shirtless Illyrian’s training. “Cassian used to tan on days like this when we were younger.”

“Is that what he’s been doing the past week? I wandered up to the roof yesterday and caught him rubbing some oil into his legs. I never want to see him in shorts those small again.” You widened your eyes in horror. 

"Count yourself lucky. I've seen the bastard’s ass more than I have his face."

"Some would say that you should count yourself lucky then."

Azriel scoffed, eyes glittering with amusement.

“Are you ready to go home?” he asked. 

You really weren’t. Not when he was watching you with such tenderness. A cold gust of wind blew past, making your teeth chatter. Azriel didn’t waste any time in scooping you into his arms. 

“Wait,” your breath hitched, “what about Devlon’s coat?”

“We’ll burn it when we get back to The House.” 

Just as he was about to lift off, thunder cracked, causing you to peer up at the malicious looking grey clouds rolling in. Odd, considering just this morning, when you first arrived, the day had been clear and sunny.

Azriel let loose a long breath, eyes switching from you to the sky until he put you on your feet. "We'll have to wait it out."

"You've traveled in far worse conditions," you reminded, although you'd much rather stay put too.

"I'd never risk your life." He stated, voice gruff.

You had to ignore the butterflies that erupted in your stomach. This was not the place nor time to feel flattered by Azriel's protectiveness. He was this way with all of his friends and family, after all.

"Where will we stay? I guess Devlon would let us-"

Azriel snorted. "If I spend one more minute with that shithead I might strangle him to death. Fortunately, Rhys' mom has a cabin here that we can stay in."

As if to hurry you both, the heavens opened up and peltered you with a cold sleet. You were almost instantly drenched. Azriel wasted no time in putting an arm around your back, wing stretched overhead to offer reprieve, and urged you forward through the slick mud.

Finally, you arrived at the cabin, a, small yet homey, two story house with an already roaring fire and steaming kettle on the stove. The shadows doing, you assumed. You turned to Azriel who retrieved two mugs from the cupboard and filled them with tea.

You could picture Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys as young, growing boys wandering in and out of that kitchen, hungry after long days of training. And you spotted notches in the wooden cupboards and dining furniture where playful fights or inaccurately aimed daggers managed to land.

He made his way to you, setting the mugs on the mantel, cringing as you shivered hard. "Do you mind?" he motioned to the coat you still clutched tightly at. "It will only make you colder."

You shook your head, teeth chattering, and reached to take it off when you were stopped by Azriel's hands. He peeled it off of your shoulders and down your arms and chucked it in the fire without blinking.

You couldn't help but laugh at his obvious distaste of the clothing and it's owner.

"Warm up and drink the tea; I'm going to search for some clothes that are, hopefully, untouched by mothballs."

Who would have blamed you for admiring the way his leathers fit to his bunching muscles as he made his way up the stairs?

A small part of you hoped that he wouldn't be able to find anything. From the stories you'd heard from the inner circle about missions that have gone awry in the cold, one of the ways they managed to stay warm was to share body heat.

The image of Azriel aiding you taking off your wet clothes before doing it to himself, flashed in your mind.

Ugh. You rolled your shoulders, turning towards the fire to soothe the ice settling in your bones. Yes, Azriel had been incredibly kind today by offering to join you and giving you a jacket, but that was just it. Kindness.

When you had first met Azriel, like most everyone, you fell for his devilishly handsome features and cool nature. It didn't help that he was unfathomably loyal and strong. Or tall and athletic. Or a good male with good intentions overall.

"It's just a stupid crush," you muttered to yourself as you put your palms out towards the fireplace.

"Hm?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Azriel returned to your side on silent steps. A shadow skittered over your shoulder, tickling your neck as if to laugh at you.

"We should really put a bell on you,"

"I'd prefer my enemies to not know when I'm near." Azriel held out clothes to you. "They're old but should suffice. If you'd prefer to wash-"

"That would be wonderful." The idea of a warm bath caused you to sigh with longing.

Azriel clicked his tongue, amusement lighting his eyes. "I shouldn't have even asked, huh? Come," he jerked his head to the direction of the stairs, "let's get you cleaned up."

Electricity zapped through your body at the image of sitting between Azriel's legs in the bathtub as he used a washcloth to soothe your goose-bumped riddled skin. Would he press his lips to each knob of your spine while he massaged shampoo into your hair and-

"Coming?"

Your eyes snapped to Azriel, the fog of your imagination dissipating, making you feel ridiculous. Your cheeks pinked and you nodded, following him.

The bathtub wasn't big enough to comfortably sit two people. Much less if that second person happened to be an Illyrian male.

Azriel put the dry clothes on the counter. "Do you need any help navigating things?"

"I am confident in my ability to bathe myself, thank you for your concern." You teased.

"Don't need me to get your back or anything?" he shot back, looking a lot less tense than he had when you were speaking with Devlon. In fact, he looked a lot lighter than when he was even around the inner circle.

"I think I have it all under control. Thank you again, Azriel."

Before heading out, he lingered at the doorway, looking as if he had something to say but decided not to. He then left you to your own devices, saying something about cooking something up. You stripped out of your drenched clothes and turned on the faucet, shivering when you first dipped into the water. It felt like a warm hug.

The only thing that would make it better would be if you were nestled against Azriel's tattooed chest.

No no no.

You shouldn't be feeding into your delusions. Especially while the person you were daydreaming about was the only other person in the house with you. It would only make things terribly awkward. And you didn't want to ruin anything with Azriel. Not when you were just becoming close friends.

You had been emissary to the night court for a couple of years now and while you had gotten along quickly with everyone, it had taken a while for Azriel to even speak with you one-on-one. He wasn't easily trusting, which you completely understood. But lately things had been warming up. He would make you breakfast when you were the only two up, hand-deliver the books Nesta let you borrow, even nudge your leg under the table when Cassian was making a fool of himself.

Not to mention the fact that he brought you to this camp despite it being a solo mission.

You pushed it all from your mind, not wanting to overthink things, and finished your bath.

The sweater and sweat pants Azriel supplied you with smelled faintly of him. You wondered if they had been his when he lived in this gods-awful camp.

Having found no brush or comb, you settled with running your fingers through your damp hair, wandering down to the kitchen to find Azriel at the stove, preparing what smelled like chile. He tilted his head up to look at you and fire settled low in your belly as his pupils seemed to take over his irises'.

You swallowed thickly, feeling somewhat self-conscious wearing his clothes that hung off your frame. You tugged on one of the sleeves as it slipped down your shoulder. "Hopefully there's warm water left."

The pot hissed with bubbles, shadows whisking the soup ladle out of the oblivious shadowsinger's hand to continue stirring, as Azriel scanned you from head to toe.

Judging by the amusement dancing in his eyes, you probably looked like a drowned rat. You itched to turn back into the bathroom and check yourself in the mirror.

He stepped into your space, "They're not too big?"

The clothes. You shook your head, pointing to the rolled up pant legs. "Needed some adjusting but they shouldn't cause too many problems."

"Certainly wouldn't want them to fall off," he mumbled, more to himself, the insinuation in his voice not helping in tamping down your growing feelings.

"Do I look silly or something? Why are you watching me strangely?"

"Not at all. I just thought you look... adorable." He smiled crookedly.

You realized now you had never seen a genuine smile—one that wasn't produced from dark humor—grace his face. Red splashed over your cheeks and you hurried to say, "You should probably wash up yourself. Wouldn't want you to catch a cold or anything."

After a moment of consideration all traces of pleasure were wiped from his face. You nearly swayed at the whiplash of his emotions. "There's some soup and I discovered one of Cassian's hidden stashes of wine,"

"Perfect," you offered an awkward smile.

While he bathed, you wiped down two bowls and wine glasses of grimy dust before filling them with soup and wine. You then stood by the sink, watching out the window into the night.

The storm had grown, howling winds causing the structure of the house to groan as rain continued its rhythmic drumming on the roof. A flash of lightning lit up the sky every few minutes with the accompanied roll of thunder.

Your heart raced double its time from the inane fear of how destructive nature could be.

You drained the wine in one swallow.

"Not fond of storms?"

"Shit!" you whipped around to find a fresh-faced Azriel rubbing a towel through his dark, wet hair. "When we return home I'm finding that bell."

His eyes squinted in amusement, tossing the towel onto the back of a kitchen chair. "If it helps soothe your worries, Illyria has endured worse weather than this."

"Are you sure this cabin is sound enough to withstand this weather? Considering how old it is?"

A black eyebrow rose, "Is that a jab at my age?"

Apologies began tumbling out of your mouth. Azriel only waved off the words. "Sit and let's eat. The storm will hopefully clear by tomorrow morning and we can be on our way back to Valeris."

"Were you able to reach Rhys?"

"He told us to stay put," he shoveled a spoonful into his mouth, "and that if anything is to happen to you, I will be the one to blame."

"I'm flattered he finds me so valuable."

Hazel eyes met yours for a heartbeat as he said, "You are very valuable."

Oh Cauldron. If he continued saying things like that, you wouldn't be able to keep your growing feelings from showing on your face.

You cleared your throat instead, "How much trouble do you think we'll be in because of that incinerated coat?"

The rest of the dinner was spent bonding over your hatred of Devlon. You weren't sure how Azriel survived being under the insufferable male for so long. Or all the males here, if you were honest. It helped you to understand why he was so hesitant to claim them as his people.

"How long has this cabin been unoccupied?" you inquired, taking another bite of the chile.

Azriel leaned back in his chair, considering your question. He'd been, surprisingly, open tonight. There seemed to be no trace of the ever-reserved male you encountered more often than naught. "The inner circle prefers to handle the camps during the day so we rarely find the need to stay here. Devlon uses it sometimes for meetings."

"Did each of you boys get your own rooms?"

"Boys?" a corner of his mouth kicked up, "You say that as if we're not all centuries older than you."

You stifled a chuckle, "Considering how often you three wrestle over ridiculous things like who gets the last slice of dessert, I think it's fitting."

His biceps flexed as he stretched them above his head. You felt dizzy with awe. "Whatever," he retorted playfully, "but, to answer your question, we shared the same room until it became too much of a hazard."

"Hazard?"

A faint blush crept over his tan cheeks. "When we became more interested in females than pulling pranks on one another."

Oh. You blushed in response and took a drink from your glass to hide your embarrassment.

Azriel huffed a laugh, obviously recognizing your regret of asking the question. In a considerate manner, he said, "Remember how I told you about Cassian tanning?"

"Oh gods, I won't be able to unable to get the image you offered out of my head."

"Then you'll be affronted to know that I found the oil he used."

A laugh spewed from your mouth. Azriel smiled softly at your unexpected outburst. The conversation was built on from there and your stomach hurt from how hard he managed to make you laugh.

As soon as you scraped the last bean out of your bowl, Azriel took it from you and washed it in the sink. Huh. A male who cooks and cleans? You couldn't believe your eyes. And you had to ignore the space in your heart that warmed.

Your attention was drawn to the shifting muscles in his forearms as he scrubbed the dishes. To the dark tattoos swirling around his powerful arms, practically calling you to trace them with your fingers.

"—sleep?"

You shook your head as you realized you hadn't heard him. "Sorry, what?"

A shadow tugged on your hair teasingly and he repeated, "Obviously you're tired since you can't even think straight. Let's go sleep."

He led you upstairs once more and into what you assumed was the master bedroom, with a large four poster bed, a vanity, armoire, and lace curtains that hung over the window. It looked as if it belonged to a... female.

"Was this—"

Azriel nodded, eyes softening as he took in the homemade quilt, "This was Rhys' mother's room. After difficult training or frightening storms, she would let us all fit in the bed with her as she told us stories of fearless Illyrians."

"You used to be scared of storms?"

You couldn't imagine the spymaster being afraid of anything. Even as a child.

"I was scared of many things,"

That was all he offered before attempting to stoke the fireplace and ensuring the room was warm enough. You hesitated before asking, "Is this where I'll be staying tonight?"

"We'll both be staying in here."

Your world flipped upside down.

"You're serious?"

Hazel eyes snapped to you with amusement. "The only fireplace working is the one in the living room; these logs are too wet. Not to mention the magic of this cabin isn't as strong without Rhys here."

It looked as if your idea of sharing body heat was coming to fruition. This would quite possibly be the best night of your life, so you needed to savor it as much as you could until everything went back to normal the next morning.

Your fingers shook as you pulled back the covers and slipped in. Oh gods. This was much more nerve-wracking than you'd anticipated. Yes, you seemed to get along great and you felt comfortable around him, but he was still handsome as sin and effortlessly attractive.

After Azriel was certain no logs were salvageable, he stood from his crouched position, spread his mighty wings once in to prepare for a cramped bed, then tucked them in tightly. Your eyes tracked the movement, the sconce lamps revealing the red tint running through the membranous tissue.

He walked to his side of the bed and laid down, a weary sigh leaving his lips. "The temperature will drop the later it gets, so it'd be wise if we slept closer. I don't bite."

Despite that last teasing remark, you couldn't help but feel nervous. Who wouldn't? You were only sharing a bed with one of the greatest warriors to ever live. And he was acting like it was a regular occurrence.

You tested the waters and inched close enough that your hips touched. You swallowed thickly.

He fluffed his pillow, and even yours, before resting his head and asking, "Comfy?"

Not trusting your words, you nodded, and the room was engulfed in darkness. There was nothing besides the staccato beat of rain hitting the roof and the buzzing along your skin where you were touching Azriel.

You counted sheep in your mind to calm down enough to sleep, fighting off the overbearing thoughts of the male beside you.

A peal of thunder caused you to start.

A heavy hand closed over yours, the ridges and callouses of unhealed burns pressing into your own unmarked skin. You caught your breath. "I won't let anything harm you," came Azriel's deep assurance, instantly calming your racing mind.

Two blinks later and you were sound asleep.

It was so gods-damned hot.

Having Azriel sleep beside you was like having your own personal Illyrian heater. Sweat beaded at your temple and your body felt like it was being roasted over a fire.

Obviously this sleeping-together thing would have worked a lot better if you didn't have access to the indoors or multiple blankets. The fact that you were so inclined to move away made you frown. You enjoyed sleeping so close to Azriel; he was safe, and strong... but he was going to burn you alive.

Slowly, you inched away from Azriel, closer to the edge of the bed, and pulled off the quilt, sighing at the instant relief of cool air sliding across your heated skin. You could finally—

The windows blew open, a gust of frigid wind bursting through the room. You began shivering and grabbed the corner of the quilt when a heavy arm was thrown over your stomach, tugging you into a hard body.

"Where were you going?" Azriel rasped into your ear.

This time you trembled for a different reason. "Wh-what?"

His thumb stroked over your hip, "You were trying to leave."

"It was hot," you whispered, afraid that if you spoke any louder, he would realize what he was doing and let go of you.

"Don't go."

Hel, you wouldn't move again if a thousand Illyrians dragged you out of his protective embrace.

"Are the windows broken?" you asked.

What had caused them to slam open like that? Was this cabin deteriorating quicker than Azriel had let on? Would it hold on through the night?

You turned your head to the side to assess the damage just as the windows pulled together again. The latch clicking into place.

Squinting your eyes, you managed to spot two slithering shadows gliding along the windowsill.

"Azriel," his name came out suspiciously. Did he send his shadows to open the windows?

He hummed, the vibration of his chest reverberating through your own. "You're always so antsy around me," he admitted, "getting nervous when I start to get comfortable and changing the subject."

What else did you expect from the spymaster of the night court? Obviously he would be able to read a person's behavior.

"I didn't want to scare you off." Came your timid reply.

Azriel huffed a laugh. "Why would I be scared of the attention of a beautiful female?"

A pink flush spread across your cheeks, hidden in the dark of the room. You were never getting over this. Oh, how you wished you had your journal.

"I like you," he continued, "and I know you like me. But this game of cat and mouse has me growing anxious. I would rather like to smile at you without you diverting your eyes."

"I don't think you're scary."

"I know." He said in a cock-sure way.

You scoffed, amused. "For the record, I wasn't escaping because I was scared this time, but because your body runs at two hundred degrees."

"That's why I opened those damn windows." So that the cold would send you rushing back into his arms, you slowly realized.

You were at a loss for words.

"Say something," he asked, an imperceptible plea in his voice.

What were you supposed to say? I think you're beautiful and want to get to know you? You decided to play it safe with, "This is nice." There. That was enough to keep your heart at ease, and not make you sound desperate.

"I like you too," he tightened his hold on you, languidly nosing along your scalp, as if he were smelling you, "And I always want you here."

"In this cabin?"

In the span of two seconds, he had you on your back, limbs trapped under his own. From the scarce lighting of the cloud-covered moon, you could make out the slants and slopes of his face, the soft glimmer in those all-seeing eyes. "In my arms."

In all your day-dreaming, nothing ever compared to hearing him say those words than in real life. When his thumb brushed along your fluttering pulse, and his warm breath fanned against your face.

You swallowed thickly, "Is this a dream?"

His lips met yours, achingly slow, and oh so beautifully.

Once. Twice. He kissed you. The simple action conveying all that words could not. That he truly did like you. That you shouldn't be afraid. That he was falling with you. Falling so so so fast.

author's note: RELEASE ME! guys. i have been trapped in the writer's block hell. i'm home. if there are any mistakes or loopholes, no there aren't. i hope you all love it, pretties. (I haven't forgotten about the beautiful readers who sent me requests🥰)

[inkedinshadows]

Happy birthday to my first fic!! Omg can you believe it's already been one year?🥺🥺

A Helping Hand

Pairing: Azriel × reader

A/N: so here it is, my first Azriel fic! I'm so excited to share this and I hope you all enjoy it too.

Summary: The bond snapped for Azriel the moment he saw her, thrown into the Cauldron with Elain and Nesta. Now, he wants to help her as she struggles to cope with what happened.

Warnings: angst, ptsd, mention of pain and drowning

Word count: 3.6k

Part 1 of 3

֍֍֍֍֍

It had been one week since Y/N was kidnapped and thrown into the Cauldron. One week since Azriel had found his mate. Even bloodied, with an arrow in his chest, only barely conscious, he’d taken one heavy-lidded look at her and just known.

He’d awoken three days later, still a bit weak but finally able to stand up, to walk. To go see her.

For four days now, Azriel had brought a tray of food to her room, asked her if she needed anything, and told her not to hesitate to tell someone if she did. Sometimes she would shake her head or answer in a whisper with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’. Sometimes she would just look at him, though it was as if she couldn’t really see him. But most often, she would keep staring at the wall or out the window, not showing any sign that she even realized he’d walked in.

Azriel knew she was struggling. Mor and Rhys had gotten even less of a reaction out of her. Cassian was still healing. Elain and Nesta were trying to adapt as well, each in their own way, and though Y/N was their sister’s friend, neither of the girls had asked to see her. Nor her them, for that matter. So Azriel had taken it upon himself to check on her a couple of times every day.

He knocked gently on her door, waiting for an answer that didn’t come. But she wasn’t sleeping, his shadows confirmed that. Despite his initial protest, a few tendrils had slipped away from his control and now lingered in the darker corners of her room. He’d thought it a violation of her privacy, but she was his mate and she was struggling, and a part of him was glad that his shadows would keep an eye on her. Were eager to, was more like it. So he’d let them.

Azriel pushed the door open and was not surprised to find Y/N sitting in front of the window. It was either that or she’d be curled up on her bed. This time, though, her gaze slid toward him as he took a step inside, and when their eyes met for even just a second, his heart raced in his chest.

“Hello, Azriel,” she said quietly, and her soft voice pronouncing his name for the first time was almost enough to bring him to his knees.

“Hi,” he replied, clearing his throat before taking a few steps forward. He stood a few feet from her, afraid he might startle her. She’d spoken to him, had been the first one to do so, and he considered it progress. He wouldn’t ruin it. “I just wanted to check on you.”

His eyes took her in, and he felt the urge, the need, to reach out to her, to take her in his arms and hold her. She’d turned toward the window again, but he could still see the dark circles under her eyes and her haunted expression. Her posture was rigid, her skin pale, her hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in days. And as he scanned the room, he noticed the tray of food he’d brought her that morning. Untouched.

“You didn’t eat anything,” he added gently, and he had to bite his tongue before he could add ‘again’. She would rarely take one or two bites of food, and it was starting to show. But Azriel knew he couldn’t force her to eat and he was still trying to find a way to convince her.

A few heartbeats passed before Y/N answered, still not looking at him. “I’m not hungry.”

Azriel shoved down his rising frustration. That was not what she needed. But seeing his mate suffer like this, unable to eat, to sleep, and not knowing what to do to help her was driving him crazy.

He debated leaving her alone and maybe go talk to Rhys, asking him whether he knew if there was something else Azriel could do, some kind of help only a mate could provide. That would entail revealing Y/N was his mate, but if it was the only way… besides, his family had probably already understood it. Rhys and Amren, at least.

Azriel looked at her one last time, but she was still staring outside. She’d fallen into her trance once more. He opened his mouth to bid her goodbye, but that’s when he realized it.

Her nightgown. It was the same one she was wearing that morning. And the day before. And the one before that one. He’d never seen her wear anything else, actually. Had she not changed since she’d arrived here?

He frowned, glancing at the drawer before focusing on her again, but his voice was gentle when he spoke. Tentative, almost. “Do you need some clean clothes?”

That got a reaction out of her. She looked down at her nightgown, then at the door that led to the bathroom before finally looking at him. But her eyes dropped as she answered. “I can’t take a bath.”

The words were barely audible even in the silent room, and yet they hit Azriel like a punch to the gut. She couldn’t take a bath. Couldn’t, probably because it brought back memories of the Cauldron. His heart clenched and he had to take a deep breath to calm down and not go back to Hybern to deal with the king all by himself.

His shadows lunged forward as if they wanted to reassure her, but he held them back. He approached her slowly, stopping just in front of her. He crouched down next to her and waited for her to meet his eyes before speaking.

“Let me help,” he said, unable to hide his concern any longer. He wanted to erase that haunted look from her eyes and he’d do anything to make her feel safe and protected again.

“You’re not alone, Y/N,” he continued, his tone gentle. In his mind, he was cursing himself for not having thought she might experience this kind of problem. “I could help you bathe. We can do it at your pace and stop whenever you wish.”

She stared into his eyes and it felt like an eternity passed before she nodded. Relief flooded his chest at her trust, her willingness to finally let someone help her.

Without a word, she stood up and headed for the bathroom. Azriel followed her, his wings tucked in tight behind his back. He had no idea what he was doing, but he knew one thing: he’d do anything in his power to help her, now and forever.

~~~~~~

Y/N watched the water slowly fill the tub. Her heart was already pounding in her chest, but she could feel Azriel next to her and somehow it steadied her.

Being around him was weird. She couldn’t point out what it was exactly that made her feel that way. There was just something about him that made all her senses go on alert, and yet she wouldn’t describe it as an uncomfortable feeling. Not to mention how Azriel was one of the few things she remembered from that day in Hybern. The Cauldron, and him. His body covered in blood, with that arrow protruding from his chest. And the relief she’d felt the first time she saw him walk into her room, healed.

“Y/N?”

She blinked, the tub now filled before her. Azriel said something else, but she wasn’t listening. A frown appeared on her face as she stared down at the water like it was her worst enemy. She guessed it was, in a way. Especially after what had happened when she’d tried to take a bath a few days ago. But Azriel was right. She wasn’t alone now. Maybe this time would be different.

She hadn’t changed her nightgown since she’d been given it a week ago simply because she couldn’t stand the sight of her own body. It didn’t feel like hers anymore. It didn’t look much different from when she was human, other than the arched Fae ears, but now it felt like it was someone else’s. Like it didn’t belong to her.

But she now let it fall off her body, not even noticing the shadows that shot forward to cover her nakedness. She didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything other than that tub and what was about to happen.

With a steadying breath, she climbed inside. The shadows didn’t follow her into the warm water, leaving her completely exposed, and maybe in another situation she would have blushed. Just a week ago, she would have. But now there was only her and the water, reaching up almost to her shoulders, and for the first few moments she thought it was going to be fine.

And then she was in the Cauldron again.

She began shaking as the dark water rose and rose, and it was now at her neck, and she knew it’d soon reach her mouth and her nose, and then it’d submerge her and the pain would begin. Every cell in her body was yelling at her to get out, to swim toward the surface, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think.

She could hear a muffled voice coming from outside the Cauldron, but she couldn’t make out the words. The world was quickly disappearing, the water rising, and she was trapped, trapped under the surface, trapped in the darkness. Soon she’d feel that excruciating pain again, as if her body was being ripped apart, slowly and thoroughly.

Tears were streaming down her face and she sobbed, drawing her legs close to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She began to rock back and forth and maybe she was begging for it to stop, to never start, maybe she was screaming or calling out for someone, maybe she wasn’t saying anything at all.

As that dark freezing water closed above her and pulled her under, she knew the pain would come soon. And there was nothing she could do to stop it. She was drowning and there was nothing she could do, nothing she could do, nothing she could…

A tender, gentle touch on her cheek. From far away, someone called her name. And among the chaos, the darkness, the crippling fear, she saw a pair of hazel eyes, soft and yet concerned. A male voice assuring her that she was safe, that he was with her.

She wanted to believe that voice, but the water was pulling her under, cold and dark and terrifying. But that gentle voice was still talking to her, those hazel eyes still looking into hers, and she tried to hold on to them, to not let it all slip away.

And then someone took her hand and suddenly she felt something thumping beneath her palm. A heartbeat, she realized. Life.

Heartbeat meant life. Not death, not pain.

Life.

“Breathe with me, Y/N.”

She didn’t know where the voice was coming from, how it could sound so clear and close when she was drowning in the depths of the Cauldron.

“One breath in, one breath out.”

That heartbeat was steady, the voice gentle, those hazel eyes still in front of her. Like a light in the dark. She had to reach them, somehow.

“Can you do it for me, Y/N?”

She didn’t know if she could, but she wanted to. Her lungs were full of water and she was drowning, dragged down and down in the endless pit of the Cauldron, pain tearing her apart as she sank. But the voice never stopped. It kept telling her she was safe, asking her to stay with him, to breathe with him. And so she did, following his instructions.

One breath in, one breath out.

She stared into those beautiful eyes.

One breath in, one breath out.

She focused on that heart beating against her palm.

One breath in, one breath out.

The Cauldron disappeared. She blinked, and Azriel was there. He was kneeling next to the tub, his hands holding hers against his chest, on his heart. There was a small smile on his face.

“That’s it, Y/N. You’re doing great,” he said, his tone reassuring and soothing. “You’re here with me. You’re safe now. No one will harm you, I promise.”

She had stopped shaking and rocking, but tears were still running down her cheeks. Azriel just kept murmuring praises and reassurances, his eyes never leaving hers. And finally, after what felt like hours, she stopped crying.

She watched as Azriel wiped away her tears, as he leaned in to brush a kiss on her forehead. “You’re alright,” he whispered, and she believed him, but her eyes never left him.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? You’re doing great, Y/N,” he continued, his voice low and soothing.

She didn’t stop him when he picked up a sponge, poured some scented soap on it, and then began to pass it over her arm, his touch light and careful as if he was afraid of hurting her. But even if he wasn’t looking at her anymore, she kept her eyes on his face and her hand pressed against his chest. She still needed to feel his heartbeat, his breathing, so that she could sync it with her own.

But slowly, as Azriel passed the sponge on her arms, her shoulders, her back, she began to relax. He’d pulled her back to reality and he was now washing her with such gentleness, as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

“Azriel…” she murmured, her hand finally falling away from his chest. She could breathe on her own now, though a bit shakily.

He paused mid-scrub, his sponge on her neck. “I’m here, Y/N,” he said as he met her eyes. “Are you alright?”

She didn’t know how to answer that question. She wasn’t alright, but she was better than before. And this time, thanks to him, she hadn’t spent hours trapped in the tub, only to bolt out once she’d regained control, without having even touched the soap. Even now, though, she had to fight to keep the fear at bay.

“No,” she murmured. Once again, Azriel’s presence made her feel comfortable enough to share that truth and let herself be vulnerable. It was like an innate feeling in her chest, encouraging her to trust him.

She saw the concern in his eyes as she answered and how he seemed to tense a little, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he offered her the sponge and gestured vaguely to her body, as if to tell her to take over the task. “I’ll wash your hair.”

Before she could say anything, he was already moving behind her and filling a jug with water. While she finished washing her body, Azriel took care of her hair, a hand shielding her forehead and her eyes. She didn’t know if it was just a random precaution or if he could somehow sense that getting water on her face would bring back the memories of the Cauldron. Something told her it was the latter.

She even went as far as closing her eyes, relaxing slightly under his gentle care.

~~~~~~

Azriel felt her relax, and a small smile appeared on his lips as he continued to rinse her hair.

He'd seen the terror and horror seize her body and her mind, his heart breaking at the sight and at the sound of her weak voice just repeating the word ‘please’ over and over. She'd been so lost in it that he couldn't reach her, and he'd been about to pick her up and out of the tub when he'd had an idea and decided to try one last thing. Fortunately, his heartbeat worked, and he was proud of her for pushing through and coming back to reality. Back to him.

Once her hair was clean, she looked so relaxed that Azriel just wanted to make her feel like that for a little longer. He picked up the comb and started to run it through her hair, making sure no tangles remained.

She stirred a bit but didn't say anything. He was glad he could help her now, at least. When she'd been shoved into the Cauldron, he was so hurt and weak that he couldn't do anything more than take one little step in her direction before his brothers held him back.

“I'm all done,” he said after a few minutes, breaking the comfortable silence they'd fallen into. “Would you like to stay here a bit longer?”

She shook her head and immediately rose from the tub, her body dripping water. Azriel made sure to have his shadows cover her nakedness again as he offered her a towel, but it still wasn't enough to prevent his heart from pounding in his chest.

Though it stopped as soon as she stepped out of the tub, and he noticed the tears in her eyes.

“Y/N, what's wrong?” he asked. Maybe he'd gone too far, maybe he'd done something wrong or overstepped in some way. But she had seemed so calm and relaxed till a few moments ago…

She took a step toward him and reached out, gently taking his hand. “I… I just don't know how to thank you,” she murmured, and Azriel felt relief wash over him. “What you've just done for me, I… I can't thank you enough for it.”

Azriel smiled, then. A reassuring, soft smile as he gave her hand a tender squeeze. “You don't need to. You needed help, and I'm glad I was the one who could offer it to you.”

She didn't look convinced, but she nodded anyway and stepped back, releasing his hand. “Thank you, Azriel.”

He wanted to tell her, then. That he'd always be there for her, whatever she needed, because she was his mate and he couldn't stand to see her suffer. But he couldn't tell her, not now, not when she was still so vulnerable.

Instead, he replied, “I told you. You don't have to thank me.”

Azriel wanted to wipe away her tears, to wrap her in his arms and never let her go. He wanted to make all her fears and worries disappear. And maybe one day they could get there. For now, he just gave her another smile. “I’ll let you get dressed. But if you need anything else, please let me know. There’s nothing wrong with asking for help.”

He began to walk out and toward her room’s door, his shadows lingering close to her for a second before they drifted back to their master. And as his hand grabbed the handle, he heard her soft voice calling him once more.

“Azriel?”

He turned back to her. She was standing in the bathroom doorway, still wrapped in the towel, and she was chewing on her lower lip, as if not sure she should continue. When she didn’t say anything, he stepped away from the door. “Yes, Y/N?”

It took her one more moment before she finally answered. “I’d like to sleep, but I… I usually can’t, with all the nightmares. But I’m so tired and I thought…” She paused and he could see she was getting embarrassed. He’d just helped her bathe and she hadn’t shied away, but now she was nervous about whatever she was going to ask? He tilted his head, not sure where this was going, and she continued. “I feel like I can trust you, like I’m safe with you. And after what you did for me, I thought… would you mind staying with me a bit longer? Just until I fall asleep, I promise.”

Her words were so unexpected that he didn’t react at first. Helping her bathe had been his idea, and she’d just agreed. But knowing her trust was enough for her to ask this, that he made her feel safe after everything she’d been through… it warmed his heart.

She must have misunderstood his silence, because she began babbling. “Or not, I guess. I’m sorry, I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just thought… I shouldn’t have taken for granted you would–”

“Y/N,” Azriel interrupted, taking one step toward her. “I don’t mind. I’d gladly stay, if that’s what you want.”

A hint of a smile graced her lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he answered, his breath catching at the sight of that first tiny, shy smile. “You can trust me, and you are safe with me.” He gestured toward her dresser. “Now get changed. You deserve some rest.”

She nodded and Azriel made sure to look out the window as she put on a clean nightgown. He then moved the chair she’d been sitting on earlier close to her bed and watched her climb under the sheets. Even pale and tired, she looked beautiful, with her damp hair spread out on the pillow.

“I know you said I don’t have to,” she murmured, her eyes scanning his face, “but I’ll never thank you enough for this.”

Azriel just smiled. “Try to sleep, Y/N. Don’t worry about that.”

She curled up into herself, her eyes closing, yet she still whispered one more thing. “Just until I fall asleep. Then you can go.”

“I know.”

Now that she couldn’t see them, his shadows seized the opportunity to leave his side and curled through her hair, as if they too found it hard to keep away. He didn’t try to stop them or make them fall back, not when her expression relaxed even more and her breathing became slow and deep.

He wanted to be there, in case she’d wake up because of the nightmares she’d mentioned. So even long after she’d fallen asleep, Azriel kept watch over his mate.

֍֍֍֍֍

Read part 2 here!

[flowersforjude]

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐬

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Azriel x Fem Archeron!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | After surviving the Cauldron’s brutal transformation, you struggle to reconcile the person you once were, all while grappling with an unexplainable pull toward Azriel.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 6,813

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Nightmares, Emotional hurt/comfort, Training, Angsty mating bond things, Unhealthy sister dynamics, Protective sisters Nesta and Feyre, Good friend Rhys, Kisses. 

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Here’s the promised part two of To Keep You From Breaking. It is a long one so grab a snack and buckle up!

masterlist | part one

The water was everywhere.

It filled your lungs, choking you as cold, unrelenting talons dragged you beneath the surface. You thrashed and kicked, but it didn’t matter. Your limbs were useless against the force pulling you deeper and deeper and deeper. The water seemed to whisper to you, taunt you with your weakness, curling around your ears like a lover’s breath, soft and cruel. 

You tried to scream, but the sound drowned in the inky black water. Your body burned; you could feel everything changing, shifting despite your inner pleas for it to stop. Bones stretched, skin seared, and something inside you broke, cracking like fragile glass. 

I never wanted this!

Your thoughts spiraled, desperate and wild, even as the Cauldron’s magic seeped through your veins. It poured into the hollow spaces of your mortal heart, reshaping you into something else—something eternal.

You were sinking.

Down, down, down—until the surface above was gone. Nothing but shadow.

And then you saw it. 

A clawed hand, pale as snow, reaching its talons from the depths, curling towards your ankle—

You shot up in bed, gasping down greedy breaths of air. The room was quiet; too quiet, you could hear your heart beating against your ribs. Your hands trembled as you wiped the sweat from your brow. Your chest rising and falling in rapid, dizzying bursts.

The embers in the hearth glowed just faintly, not enough to warm your frigid skin. Stiff fingers fisted the blanket in your lap, gripping it tightly as you tried to shake the remnants of your nightmare. 

The Cauldron’s water still seemed to surround you. Flowing up through your nose each time you took in a shaky breath. Trying to dispel the leaden water from your lungs was almost always impossible. 

Almost impossible if it weren't for—

A soft knock sliced through the silence.

You couldn’t help it as you flinched at the sound, turning towards the door. You already knew who it was. Seconds after your mind had conjured the thought of him…you knew. 

“Azriel?” Your voice wavered even with your attempt to mask the anxiety in it.

The door creaked open, and there he stood on the threshold. Shadowed and still, large wings looming behind him. He looked so familiar standing in your doorway. Like he belonged here, anywhere you were really. Ever since the moment you shared with him in this very space when he offered you the first solid comfort you experienced since…everything. 

He didn’t speak right away. His eyes scanned the room like he could feel the traces of terror from your nightmare. One of his shadows slipped around his shoulder, darting forward.

It brushed along your cheek in a soothing manner that made you want to lean into it. You could see Azriel’s readiness to call it back if you so wished, could see his hope that you wouldn’t just as well. You wouldn’t, and he knew that, but in the weeks of your growing friendship, he had promised to uphold all limits you set forth. 

Truthfully though, it was rather hard to keep his shadows at bay around you. Their odd behavior had coaxed many laughs from you in the last few weeks. The Shadowsinger had become increasingly more irritated with his sentient companions. It was almost as if he thought they were doing it on purpose. 

“I’m sorry I woke you.” You spoke the apology as the shadow weaved itself between each of your fingers. 

“You didn’t.” Azriel said, his voice rich and seeping with warmth. “They did.” He gestured to his shadows as he stepped inside the room. The door whispered shut behind him, as soft as his voice. 

“They felt your fear.” He explained upon seeing your confused expression. The way he spoke the words sounded so natural, so right. As if the pieces of himself—his shadows, his quiet presence—belonged to you as much as they did to him.

You didn’t know how to respond to that yet. This odd pull between you and Azriel was something you still couldn’t wrap your head around. And he offered no explanation to any of the strangeness. 

He crossed the room with the same silent grace he always carried. His shadows didn’t hover close to him. Instead they lingered at the edge of the bed, rolling over the mattress, like mist reaching for the sun. He knelt by the bed rather than sit on it, his wings folded at his back. A few wisps of shadows curled up your arm, gentle and slow as they offered their comfort. 

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Azriel asked, his voice sonorous, but hesitant.

Your throat tightened at the softness in his tone. He wasn’t pressing, never. He would leave if you asked him. If you insisted you were fine. 

But you weren’t. 

And he knew that.

“Yes…” The word felt as fragile as you did. 

It took him a single heartbeat, and then he stood. Settling himself beside you in the bed as you moved over an inch or so. His back rested against the headboard, and his wings shifted, dark and broad, as he curved them slightly around you both. 

His shadows trailed lazily along the bed, blanketing the mattress as they floated towards you. As if craving the closeness. Azriel didn’t call them back either. As if he wanted to siphon off some of the proximity to you for himself. The thought filled your mind with a fuzzy, silly notion.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

The quietness wasn’t unbearable with him. You both often sat in silence with each other, content enough to just have one another for a moment. But blame it on your nightmare; something about it tonight left you restless. You shifted a bit, your hand brushing his for a split second. 

You froze when he whipped his head to face you. His fingers grabbed hold of yours. It was the most forward he had been with you so far.

“Mother! Your skin is like ice.” He exclaimed, thumb ghosting over the back of your hand. “Is it always like this for you?” Something in his voice had shifted, taking on a more rougher tone.

You swallowed, willing your hand not to tremble in his grasp. “I–I guess.”

Azriel studied you for a long moment, some emotions he wouldn’t let you see long enough to decipher, stirring faintly in his expression. 

“Come here.” He murmured at last, the words soft but edged with steady resolve. “Please.”

You hesitated, but whether it was his plea or his hand already curling tighter around yours, you allowed him to pull you to him. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, guiding you to lean into him until your head rested lightly against his chest. His wings curved slightly, draping like a shield against the cold air.

Everything felt so right. Correct in a way that you didn’t know existed. His warmth bleeds into you, slow and all-consuming. Azriel’s hand slid over your arm, careful as his thumb brushed absently against your skin—soft, reassuring, as if grounding you to this moment. 

As your breathing evened out, and the claws of your nightmare drifted, you felt that all too familiar tugging upon your heart. Something picked at the thread in your chest, making you shudder. The ache that always followed its arrival settled, causing you to question once more what it was that hummed between you.

—

“What are you doing?”

The deep male voice behind you sent a jolt of surprise through your body. You gasped, stepping back slightly, placing a hand to your heart in an attempt to steady it as you spun around—only to find Azriel standing there.

You were momentarily surprised that you hadn’t heard him approach or that his shadows hadn’t raced away from him to greet you first like they often did. 

Azriel’s lips parted slightly, his hazel eyes flickering with a small amount of amusement. “I’m sorry,” he said after a pause. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s alright,” you murmured, forcing a small, sheepish smile.

You turned away from him, shifting your focus back to the training yard below. Feyre and Cassian moved in fluid, practiced strikes, their sparring a dance of strength and precision. It was mesmerizing—the way your sister met Cassian’s blows with calculated ease, her newfound power woven into every step, every block. 

Your sister was back from the Spring Court, having dismantled it from the inside, exposing Tamlin’s allegiance to Hybern for the betrayal it was. It was good to see her again, truly. You think you would have been used to Feyre leaving and coming back by now. But you found yourself still missing her each time. Her stay in the faerie lands the first time around had left you missing her, even when Nesta told you not to because she wasn’t coming back. And now, even with you all back together again, she was still High Lady, still someone with a world on her shoulders.

You had missed her.

You missed all of them even if Nesta and Elain were still in the same house as you. 

You really did love your sisters, all three of them, even if it didn’t come across that way sometimes. Things between the four of you had been…tense to say the least. Even before everything had changed. Nesta and Elain, like you, were still coming to terms with what had happened to you all. And Feyre playing her role as High Lady of the Night Court left her with a never-ending list of duties.

Even with your sisters always surrounding you, you felt alone so often. Alone and weak. It had been months since the Cauldron remade you, but there were still days, too many days, when you felt like you were dying and being reborn all over again. Still days when you looked at your hands and barely recognized them, when your own body felt like something borrowed rather than something yours.

It was pathetic.

Nesta had her anger and icy resolve to help her through. Elain had her quiet grace and subtle strength. And Feyre had…well Feyre seemed like she had everything. You were happy for her; she deserved nothing less than the happiness she found here in the Night Court.

But you…you had nothing it seemed. 

A booming laugh sounded from below as Cassian guffawed at Feyre managing to sweep his feet out from under him. Graceful and quick and powerful. 

Your fingers curled over the balcony railing. You wanted that. The skill, the confidence, the ability to protect yourself. You didn’t want to fight, just to know how if you ever found yourself in the position of having to defend yourself or your sisters again.

Azriel’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You want to train.” It wasn’t a question. It was a knowing statement, one spoken as if he had reached inside you and plucked the truth from your mind.

You swallowed, keeping your eyes on the yard below. “Yes,” you relented. “But I don’t ever want to have to fight someone…hurt them. So it would be useless for me to learn.”

He was silent for a long moment, and you felt the weight of his gaze settle over you like a second skin. His shadows curled at the edges of your vision, shifting restlessly, as if they had something to say on the matter. Finally, he spoke. “Knowing how to protect yourself isn’t the same as wanting to fight.”

You glanced at him, at the way the wind tousled strands of his dark hair, at the flickering torchlight casting golden glows against the sharp angles of his face. His expression was leading, like he was coaxing you to the decision he knew you wanted to make. And his voice—his voice—was nothing but gentleness and patience. 

“I know,” you admitted, looking away. “I just…I've already changed so much.”

Azriel exhaled softly, the sound barely audible over the howl of wind and the distant grunts below. He came to stand beside you, close enough that his wings brushed your shoulders and his warmth seeped into you as his scent of night-chilled wind and cedar wrapped around you. 

“I can’t begin to understand what you’ve been through,” he said quietly. “But we are likely going to war soon.” His wings shifted slightly, a sure sign of some internal debate, and his fingers flexed against the stone railing. Then, carefully—hesitantly—he spoke. “I would feel better if you at least learned the basics of defense.”

Your breath caught slightly.

When he looked at you, there was something attentive in his eyes. Measured, as if he was weighing every word as he said them. There was no demand or expectation in his voice. Just gentle concern, wrapped in a layer of caution, as if he wasn’t sure how you’d take it. 

You paused, not because you disagreed, but because the idea of it—the idea of war, of needing to know how to fight—made your stomach tighten.

“I don’t know if I can,” you confessed, voice softer now. “I—I don’t want to hurt anyone, Azriel.”

His expression shifted, not to pity like you would expect from anyone else, but to a kind of hushed anguish. Like he was pained by the thought of you being forced into yet another thing you didn’t want. 

“You won’t,” he said, and though his voice was still careful, there was something firm beneath it. “It’s just to be sure no one can hurt you.” He went silent again, only for a single beat this time, before something resolute took root in his eyes. “It’s about making sure I don’t lose you before you ever get the chance to see how strong you really are.”

Your heart stuttered, and for a moment, you could do nothing but look at him. 

Azriel, who barely knew you, not really, not yet. Azriel, who kept his distance unless you gave him explicit permission to come closer, who treaded so lightly around you like he was afraid of pushing too hard. Azriel, who had just admitted—however indirectly—that the thought of something happening to you was something he thought about.

You swallowed thickly, glancing away. Grimacing as that pull in your chest flared again. If his words hadn’t stolen your breath away, the tugging around your heart would have. 

“Okay,” you whispered at last. “You’ll be training me, though, right?

His shoulders seemed to relax. He allowed his lips to turn up just a bit at the corners in a ghost of a smile. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else to teach you,” he said. “We’ll start tomorrow.” And even though his voice was as steady as ever, you could hear something else beneath it.

Relief.

—

You weren’t sure what to expect the next morning when you met Azriel in the training yard. He was already there when you arrived, the sky just barely touched with the first hints of the sunrise. He stood at the center of the ring, wings tucked in but still imposing in the most alluring way, his cobalt siphons catching the pale morning light. He didn’t say anything as you approached, but his shadows stretched out towards you in greeting.

“To start, I need to see what you’re capable of.” He was all business today, apparently. His voice held an air of detachment in it that you hadn’t heard from him yet. But there was something about the way he watched you, the way his shoulders remained a little too stiff. His shadows curling more instinctively around your wrists, your ankles—like they weren’t entirely convinced this was a good idea.

Both them and their master seemed…nervous.

Azriel started towards you, closing the distance between you to catch your wrist in his tight grip. “Lesson one,” he murmured. “Try to pull away.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but you kept your face neutral, your heart hammering as you looked up at him. His eyes were unreadable, but the warmth of his skin, even through his fingerless leather gloves, was startling against your own.

“Try to pull away,” he demanded again. 

You jerked your arm back, not surprised when nothing happened. He didn’t tighten his hold, he didn’t need to—he simply absorbed the force like you weighed nothing.

You huffed in mild frustration. This was going to be a long morning. 

Azriel’s mouth twitched, like he was fighting back a smile. “Again.”

You did as he instructed, yanking, pulling, and jerkering against his grip on your wrist. It did nothing. After your fourth failed attempt, you scowled. “This seems unfair.”

His brows lifted, but he didn’t let you go, didn’t even loosen his hold. “Most things in a fight are.”

You exhaled sharply, shifting on your feet. You hated feeling weak. Hated how easy it was for him to hold you in place, to remind you just how little control you had over your own body.

He must have sensed your frustration because his voice softened slightly. “You’re thinking about it the wrong way. Strength alone won’t get you out of this.”

You glanced up at him. “Then what will?”

He finally let go, stepping back just enough to give you space to breathe. “Leverage.” He reached for your wrist again, this time slower, and you let him take it.

He guided your free hand up to press against his own, showing you where to aim. “If someone grabs you like this, don’t pull back. Use their grip against them.” He tightened his hold slightly. “Step in, twist your arm—like this—and push against the thumb.”

You hesitated but followed his instructions, stepping into his space and twisting just as he’d shown you. To your shock, his grip broke. You stumbled back a step, blinking. “I—”

He nodded in approval. “Again.”

You swallowed and let him take your wrist once more, forcing yourself to ignore how effortlessly he handled you. This time, you moved faster, following his guidance until you wrenched free in a smooth motion.

A slow smile—real this time—curled at the edge of his lips. “Good.”

Something warm flickered in your chest. 

He stepped back and lifted a hand. “Now, try to hit me.”

You froze. “What?”

Azriel’s expression remained calm, but there was something knowing in his eyes. “You won’t hurt me.” That wasn’t what you were worried about.

You hesitated, flexing your fingers. “I’ve never hit anyone before.” You paused. “Well, unless I could count that time when I was ten and I punched a boy for picking on Elain.”

His brows arched in barely concealed amusement. “Did it work?”

You scrunch your nose in distaste. “Not really. I mean, he cried, but Nesta had to handle the rest.”

His lips twitched again, but he didn’t let the moment linger for too long. He lifted his hands, palms open in a silent invitation. “Consider this your first fight then.”

Your stomach twisted, but despite that, you lifted your hands in an awkward stance.

Azriel studied you, his gaze flicking over your posture, assessing. You braced yourself for some harsh critique, for him to tell you that you weren’t ready, that you weren’t strong enough—

But he only nodded. “Relax your shoulders. Keep your weight balanced.”

You did as he said, exhaling slowly as you adjusted your footing.

“Good,” he murmured. “Now, hit me.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. “You want me to punch you?”

A glimmer of challenge crossed his features. “I want to see what you’re capable of.”

You scowled, but before you could talk yourself out of it, you threw a punch. He dodged it effortlessly.

Your fist cut through the empty space where he had been a heartbeat ago, and then—before you could react—his hand caught your wrist and twisted gently behind your back, guiding you into a hold you had no hope of escaping.

Your breath caught as his chest brushed against your shoulder, his wings shifting behind you. He didn’t press too hard, didn’t restrain you in a way that felt overwhelming, but—Mother above, he was close.

“Too slow,” he whispered against your ear, his voice a low rasp.

You barely heard him over the roaring in your own head. The same warmth that always flickered to life when you were with him—the same inexplicable pull—tightened in your chest like a thread being wound too taut. And he tensed behind you just for a moment, but it was there you were sure of it. Like he felt it as well. 

You felt like you were overheating. Wherever his body pressed against yours was blazing like a wildfire, even with the thick leathers separating you both. You couldn’t speak, but it wasn’t like the way your throat closed up when the Cauldron’s waters drowned you over and over again. It was because your very soul seemed to thrill at his touch, and if one word was spoken, it would shatter this marvelous moment.

The only thing you could think was yes! This is right. You and him. This close…sharing the same breath. 

“What is going on?” Nesta’s sharp voice cut through the air like a blade.

Azriel had moved before you could even register the sound of your sister’s voice. One second, his warmth was pressed against your back, his breath feathering against your ear, his hands carefully but firmly locking you in place. The next there was nothing.

A rush of cool air filled the space he had occupied, and you barely had time to blink before you turned and found him standing a few paces away, his expression once again unreadable, his shadows curling tightly around his shoulders as if he’d reined them in at the last second.

Nesta’s piercing gaze swept between the two of you, her arms crossed, suspicion and scrutiny written all over her face. “I thought you said he was training you,” she drawled, arching a brow.

You swallowed, willing your pulse to slow as you turned to face her fully. “He is.”

“And that is what training looks like to you?” She snapped, her voice like a whip. Her eyes went to Azriel, hard as tempered steel. “I suppose you told her it was all alright.”

Your face flamed, but before you could say anything, Azriel spoke up. “Nothing untoward was happening.”

Nesta scoffed, taking a step closer, her expression twisting. “Oh, I’m sure. I’m sure you painted a grand picture of bravery and glory all so you could sink your hooks into her,” she hissed. “You fae males are all the same. You think I don’t see the way you follow her around with that love sick puppy routine, how your shadows are always twisting and curling around her. She doesn’t need to train like some warrior; she needs you to leave her be!”

“Stop it!” You shouted, unable to bear hearing her further degrade Azriel and his intentions. “Azriel told me I could train, yes, but I asked him to be the one to do it.” You took a deep breath as Nesta surprisingly kept silent. “And he’s been a wonderful teacher so far,” you continued. “I want to do this, Nes. I have to, for myself most of all. I cannot feel weak anymore; I won’t.”

Your sister simply blinked at you, her eyes showing no recognition or understanding of your emotions. “You’re throwing yourself into something you don’t understand.” Without another glance at either of you, she left. 

You could only stare after her, her last words ringing through your head. You couldn’t help but feel like she was right in some way. You didn’t understand. Not this new world you had to call home, not this body that didn’t truly feel like yours anymore, and certainly not whatever was between you and Azriel. 

You didn’t understand the way his presence soothed you. Didn’t understand the way his shadows wrapped around you with a possessiveness they didn’t show to others. Didn’t understand why you felt like you needed him close, like your very bones ached in his absence.

And he hadn’t explained it either. Almost like he refused to. 

The silence that lingered after Nesta left was heavier than a thousand bricks, pressing against your ribs, weighing down your breath. Azriel stood beside you, unmoving, his shadows curling at the edges of the ring like they weren’t sure if they should reach for you or retreat entirely. His face was carefully neutral, but there was something dark flickering in his hazel eyes. Something he wasn’t saying. And you had seen that expression of his before.

Your throat tightened. You should have let it go. Should have taken a deep breath, squared your shoulders, and moved on. But you couldn’t.

Not when your sister’s words still rang in your head. Not when doubt curled in your gut like a living thing. Not when that pull—that strange, unrelenting tether between you and him—had been thrumming inside you since the moment his hands had touched you. 

You turned to face him fully, lifting your chin. “Why didn’t you tell her she was wrong?”

Azriel’s gaze flickered, but his expression remained guarded. “Would it have made a difference?”

You clenched your jaw. “That’s not the point.”

His wings shifted. “Then what is the point?”

You exhaled sharply. “That she thinks you have some ulterior motive. That you’re manipulating me into—”

“I’m not,” he cut in, his voice quiet but firm. 

You swallowed, something hot crawling up your throat. “I know that.” But that wasn’t what you were really asking. And from the way his shadows coiled tighter, from the way his gaze searched yours as if trying to decide how much to say—he knew it too. Your heart pounded, but you forced yourself to take a step closer. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Everything around you went still. 

You met his eyes, searching his face. “I don’t know what this is,” you admitted, voice bordering on pained. “Why do you feel so… familiar to me? Why is it easier to breathe when you're around? Why are you able to comfort me more than my own sisters?”

Azriel’s throat bobbed, but he didn’t say anything.

“Why?” You cried.

His breath came slow and measured, but you weren’t imagining the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but was forcing himself not to.

You took another step forward, desperate now. “Azriel—”

“I can’t,” he murmured.

The words hit you like a slap as your stomach twisted. “You can’t?” You asked. “You can’t what?”

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to take the words back. But he didn’t. He only exhaled sharply and took a step away. The space between you was small, but it felt like a chasm. “I need to go,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper of despair. 

Something in your chest cracked. You could feel it opening up like a split in the earth. Before you could say anything, before you could ask, beg, or plead—he was gone, shadows swallowing him whole. And you were left standing there, fists clenched, your heart aching with a truth you couldn’t grapple with.

—

Azriel

The past days had been unbearable. Every hour without you—without your voice, without your presence—felt like something had been carved out of him, leaving only raw, open space where you should be.

And yet, he had stayed away; he had made himself stay away.

Because if he got too close, if he let himself give in to the pull of the bond—the bond you didn’t know about—he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. Wouldn’t be able to keep the truth from spilling from his lips. And he had convinced himself that you weren’t ready for that truth. He had convinced himself that he was doing the right thing.

But now, standing in the town house library, facing Rhysand’s scrutinizing stare, Azriel was beginning to wonder if he had been wrong.

Very, very wrong.

Rhys leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely over his chest, one brow arching in a way that said he had already figured out why Azriel was here before he even opened his mouth. “You look like hell.”

He didn’t bother denying it.

Rhys exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Let me guess—it’s due to you and a certain pretty Archeron sister still avoiding each other? I’m sure it’s been nothing short of agony for you.”

His jaw tightened. “It’s not just me.”

Rhys’s expression softened slightly. “I know.”

A shift in the air made Azriel glance toward the doorway—just as Feyre stepped inside, her gaze not unkind but determined. His stomach twisted; of course she was here. You were her sister after all. 

“Feyre, darling.” Rhys cautioned his mate. 

She didn’t spare him a second glance as she settled her gaze on Azriel. “She’s in pain.” She said directly, crossing her arms over her chest.

He looked down in shame, unable to find the right words to say. 

Feyre sighed, her voice more subdued but no less forceful. "I won’t say anything about it to her, Az. It’s not my place, but she’s my sister, and she’s hurting. You have the power to stop that, so stop it.”

The words hit him like a blade to the chest. Because he knew. He knew you were hurting. Knew you were confused and aching and searching for answers that only he could give you. But still, he waited, shied away from telling you the truth. That you were his mate, the one made for him just as he was made for you. The one who he would move mountains and oceans and cities for.

Rhys watched him carefully, his violet eyes sharp with understanding. “You’re afraid she won’t accept it.”

Azriel clenched his jaw. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—admit it, but the truth was written all over his face.

Feyre exhaled, shaking her head as she moved closer, her expression shifting from stern to something gentler. “It’s alright to be scared.” She hesitated, then softer, “I know what it’s like to have a bond dropped on you before you’re ready. But she’s already suffering trying to figure out what’s happening between you two. You can’t keep avoiding her.”

Rhys studied him from where he sat, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “You know she’s going to figure it out eventually.”

Azriel nodded along. “She shouldn’t have to figure it out on her own.”

“Then tell her.” His brother said simply.

He turned away, tension rolling off him in waves. “She just got thrown into this world. We’re on the brink of war. She’s still trying to find her footing. How am I supposed to burden her with this?”

Feyre scoffed, exasperation flashing across her face. “Do you hear yourself? The only thing burdening her is not knowing why she feels the way she does around you. I see it, Az. She looks for you everywhere. And when you’re not there, she just looks…lost.”

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut, guilt lancing through his chest like a dagger.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” Rhys added.

He turned, frustration sharpening his voice. “What if she doesn’t want it? What if she doesn’t want me?” You were still reeling from everything, from the Cauldron, from the war that loomed over them all. What if adding this to your plate made you resent him for keeping it from you?

Feyre softened slightly. “She already trusts you more than anyone.”

He swallowed hard.

Rhys sighed. “Look, we’re not telling you to confess your undying love for her, but at least tell her what this is. What you are to her. Let her decide what to do with that.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, battling with himself on what he should do.

Rhys leaned back again. “Or, you could keep avoiding her, letting her think she’s losing her mind over something she doesn’t understand.” He arched a brow. “Your choice.”

Azriel glared at him. But he knew the longer he waited, the more he risked losing you. And that thought—losing you before he even had the chance to try—was something he didn’t think he could bear.

—

The window seat in your room seemed to be your favorite place in moments of personal crises. You couldn’t draw yourself away from the pane of glass; there wasn’t even anything interesting to look at out of it. But your body remained rooted in place, your nails picking and pulling at your cuticles on their own accord.

When a knock sounded at the door, you felt a sense of deja vu come over you. But you weren’t foolish enough to believe it was him again. Not when he’d been running away from you so intensely. You had spent the past few days in a haze, going through the motions, trying to shove down the ache that had settled in your chest. The absence of Azriel had been practically unbearable. You hadn't even realized how much of your world he had become until he was gone.

You had searched for him everywhere. Looked for him in the training yard, in the halls of the House of Wind, in the shadows that used to brush against your skin as if they missed you, too. But he had been avoiding you.

And it hurts.

You swallowed, your throat tight as you stared at the door. You didn’t want to get your hopes up that it was him. But maybe…"Come in," you murmured, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.

The door opened slowly, and your heart felt like it might give out. But then Azriel stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a gentleness that felt deliberate. His wings were tucked in tightly, his shadows curling and shifting at his feet, restless and uneasy. He looked… exhausted. Tiredness lined his hazel eyes, his jaw taut as if he had spent days grinding his teeth.

You sat up a little straighter on the window seat, hands clenched in your lap. Neither of you spoke for a long moment. Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. 

“You’ve been gone.” You said, hating how fragile your voice sounded. “Why?”

His gaze flickered, something pained flashing through his eyes before he schooled his features into neutrality. He stepped further into the room, but not close enough to touch. Not close enough to give you the answers you so desperately wanted. “I thought it was for the best,” he said quietly. 

You let out a soft, bitter laugh. “For who?”

He flinched, just barely. You saw it in the way his fingers twitched, in the way his wings tensed ever so slightly. “For you,” he admitted, his voice rough. “Because I—” He exhaled sharply. “Because there’s something I need to tell you, and I didn’t know how.”

Your heart pounded, that strange pull tightening in your chest like an invisible thread being drawn taut. “Tell me now,” you said, the words coming out more like a plea than you intended.

Azriel stared at you, searching your face, his expression unreadable. And then, as if coming to some silent decision, he moved. He crossed the room in two strides, sinking to his knees in front of you. The sight of him like that—kneeling—stole the breath from your lungs. His hand lifted, hovering inches from yours, as if he wanted to take it but wasn’t sure if he had the right to.

"You've felt it," he murmured. "Haven't you?"

Your breath hitched. Felt what? The way his presence soothed you like no one else could? The way your body seemed to recognize him before your mind even had the chance to? The way your soul ached in his absence? "Azriel," you whispered.

His eyes were burning embers as he finally—finally—took your hand. His thumb brushed along your skin, a barely-there touch that sent shivers up your spine. “There is a bond between us,” he said at last, his voice hoarse. “A mating bond.”

The words hit you like a physical force, knocking the air from your lungs. You stared at him, your heart slamming against your ribs, your mind reeling. A mating bond.

You were Azriel’s mate.

The world tilted. Everything—every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every unspoken word—suddenly made sense. You felt like a fool for not putting the pieces together before. “You knew,” you whispered. It wasn’t a question.

Azriel closed his eyes briefly, his grip on your hand tightening. “Yes.”

You inhaled sharply, a storm of emotions swirling inside you. “For how long?”

His throat bobbed. “Since the moment I had to watch them toss you into that cauldron, not being able to stop it.”

You sucked in a breath, your hands trembling in his. A sharp breath rattled out of you, and suddenly, the room felt smaller—too small. The walls pressing in, the air too thick. Memories surged forward, slamming into you with the force of a tidal wave. You had tried so hard to bury them, to pretend they were nothing but fading nightmares, but at his words, the dam broke.

You saw it all.

The dark, swirling water.

Nesta’s screams.

Elain’s hand torn from yours.

The hands shoving you forward, forcing you down, down, down.

But you also remembered through the haze of terror there was him. He’d been lying on the ground; you remembered him crying out in pain. His body and wings were wrecked from whatever injuries had been inflicted upon him. You hadn’t registered it at the time, but now in your memories you swore you’d seen him try to crawl to you. You had been too lost in your own fear, too overwhelmed by what was going on. 

“That long,” you whispered, your voice shaking.

“Yes.” His voice was barely more than a whisper now, filled with something jagged, something broken. "I had to watch them take you, hear you scream, and I didn’t know why it tore me apart. And then I felt the bond snap into place as you were dragged from the waters.”

You sucked in a breath, your hands trembling in his. The thought of him going through that all on his own. Injured, in pain, and then discovering his mate had just been brutalized. You couldn’t imagine how he felt. But still, he kept it from you. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I was afraid,” he admitted, his voice cracking around the words. “Afraid it would be too much for you. Afraid you wouldn’t want it.”

Tears burned in your eyes, but not from sadness or anger—from the sheer weight of it all. “I thought I was going crazy,” you choked out. “I didn’t understand why I felt this way, why I needed you and hated being away from you. Why I—” You broke off, shaking your head. “You should have told me.”

“I know.” His voice broke. “I know, and I’m so—” He exhaled sharply, looking away. “I thought I was protecting you.”

You swallowed thickly, staring at him—the feared Shadowsinger of the Night Court, on his knees before you, looking every bit like the man who had spent centuries breaking and putting himself back together again. And now you understood why it had always felt like you were breaking with him.

Azriel lifted his gaze to yours, and the raw vulnerability in his hazel eyes nearly undid you. “Say something,” he whispered. “Please.”

You could barely breathe, barely think. So instead, you did the only thing that made sense. You surged forward, capturing his face in your hands, and kissed him.

He froze, his body going rigid, as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. But then he moved, his hands grasping your waist, pulling you against him like he had been starving for this. His lips were soft but urgent, reverent but desperate, and you met him with equal fervor. Because you had been starving. Starving for this, for him, for the truth neither of you had spoken aloud. Azriel made a low sound in the back of his throat, his shadows curling around you both like a cocoon, like they wanted to keep you like this forever. 

The bond between you flared, roared—a golden tether that snapped into place, no longer quiet, no longer hidden. And you felt it. All of it.

Tears burned in your eyes as you parted. A single tear slipped down your cheek. “You’re my mate.”

“And you’re mine.” His voice was raw as his grip on your waist tightened. He kissed you again, again, again—like he needed to memorize every part of you, like he needed to prove to himself that this was actually happening.

Your tears ran down your cheeks, falling to your lips, making the kiss taste salty. But you didn’t care because for the first time since that Cauldron had stolen your mortal life, you didn’t feel lost.

You felt found.

﹙taglist﹚ @daughterofthemoons-stuff @babypeapoddd @shadowdaddysposts @judig92 @thecraziestcrayon

I played with the timeline a bit to draw things out longer, so it doesn't completely line up with the book. But it's so subtle I think it'd be easy to ignore.

I hope you all enjoyed this and it was worth the long wait! <3

[callsigns-haze]

Signed, Sealed, Delivered.

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Azriel has always been calm, composed, and terrifying—until he mated you, the chaotic light of his life, who just accidentally sent crotchless lingerie to his work address and is about to pay the price.

Warning: Explicit sexual content, dominant/submissive dynamics, suggestive language, mild humour, and shadow daddy Azriel obsession.

You are the talk of the Inner Circle. Not because you try to be, and certainly not because you care to be—but because no one, no one, can understand how the cold, composed, shadowsinger of Night became so hopelessly, devastatingly soft for someone like you.

You, who hums through life barefoot, who drinks wine like it’s a love language, who dances in the kitchen with spatulas for microphones. You, who always has glitter on your cheek or honey on your lip or music playing at full volume. You, who can’t sit still and refuses to hold your tongue.

Azriel, in all his sharp-edged mystery, has become laughably easy to read when you’re in the room. His eyes follow your every movement like you’re the tether to his reality. His mouth twitches at your every grin. His hands, lethal as they are, now exist almost solely to hold you.

You ruin him. Slowly. Steadily. Utterly.

And he lets you.

But he—Azriel—never lets go of control. Even when he’s a puddle in your lap. Even when his voice breaks around your name. Even when you make him laugh so hard he forgets to hide it. Even then…he’s dominant. Always.

Which is why when the door to your home slams shut hard enough to shake the walls, you know—know—he’s had a day. And that you’re in trouble.

You glance up from the mirror, eyebrows raised, as the music blares from your favourite speaker—a sultry Velaris jazz remix you had on while doing your night-time skin routine. You’re in one of Azriel’s oversized shirts and barely-there sleep shorts, your face glowing with oils and serums, a glass of wine in your hand that's so full you had to sip from it just to carry it across the room.

You see the shadows curling behind him before you see him, his wings tight, jaw even tighter. His siphons pulse faintly.

Oh, he’s mad.

You flash him a grin anyway. “Welcome home, husband. You look…tense.”

He doesn't answer. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t even blink.

Instead, Azriel leans against the bathroom doorframe like a warning, eyes dragging slowly down your body. Like he’s debating whether to ruin you right here against the sink or drag you to the bedroom first.

You raise your glass in salute, teasing, “Rough day?”

“Did you…order lingerie recently?” he asks, low and sharp.

You blink confused at first. “Might’ve. Why?”

Azriel straightens slowly, wings flexing, shadows curling tighter around his boots like they’re getting ready to pounce. His voice drops a level darker, a level deeper.

“I’ll ask again,” he says, tone clipped, possessive, domineering. “Did you order lingerie.”

A pause.

“To my fucking work address.”

The grin that spreads across your face is slow. Sinful. “Oh... That.”

His nostrils flare. His shadows hiss.

You shrug, utterly unbothered. “Maybe it was an accident.”

Azriel takes a single step into the room. You can feel his power lick against your skin, the air in the bathroom heating like it’s responding to him. “You sent a box,” he grits, “with black mesh, crotchless, fucking nothingness to my desk. To my office. Which I share with other people.”

“Technically, it was labelled private—”

“Rhysand signed for it.”

Your shoulders shake as you try—try—to hold back a laugh. “Did Rhysie think it was good-looking?”

Azriel’s eye twitches. His shadows snap like whips behind him.

He’s losing it. Slowly. Gloriously.

He stalks closer, until your back is nearly pressed to the sink. You still haven’t put your wine down. You raise it to your lips with the kind of careless glee that makes his composure crack.

His voice is velvet-wrapped steel. “You don’t send things like that to my office.”

“Why not?” you murmur, biting your bottom lip. “You always say you like surprises.”

“Surprises don’t usually have to be approved through the High Lord.”

“Well…maybe now they do.”

Azriel leans in so close that his breath fans over your face, wine and lavender and pure, male heat. One gloved hand braces on the counter beside your hip. The other reaches behind you, taking the glass of wine from your fingers with a quiet clink as he sets it aside.

You’re grinning—until he gives you that look. That look.

The one that always, always puts you in your place.

That slow-burn dominance. That dark, hooded gaze. The one that turns your knees to water and your thoughts to mist.

His voice is a whisper now. Dangerous. Intoxicating. “Do. Not. Send. Shit. Like. That. To my office.”

Your breath catches, but you still smile like the brat you are.

He leans closer, lips brushing your ear. “Do you understand me?”

And stars, you do. You really do. But you tip your head to the side, brushing your lips along his jaw, whispering,

“If you recreate last night… I’ll never forget.”

Azriel’s groan is pure sin, low and wrecked and angry with lust. His hands—strong and gloved and sure—are on your hips now, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. His mouth claims yours with the kind of desperate, punishing reverence that speaks of hours spent imagining this. Of a day ruined by your name on a scandalous shipping invoice and the thought of your body wrapped in black mesh you clearly forgot you even ordered.

“Last night?” he growls against your neck, already nipping down your throat. “Sweetheart, last night was the warm-up.”

You don’t remember what song is playing anymore.

You don’t remember what serum you still have left to rub in.

All you know is Azriel, your mate, your husband, the only male in all of Prythian who could ever match your chaos with his control.

And tonight?

Tonight, he's done pretending to be composed.

A/n: I guess I'm back into ACOTAR again! teheheheheheee...... Any who I saw this video online and had to base this fic off it. Reblogs, comments and asks always appreciated!

credits @tsunami-of-tears to for the dividers!

[a-writer]

Invisible String - Part 7

Not a preview but the whole part!!! Sorry it’s a long one hehe. Hope you enjoy feedback is always welcomed and appreciated!!!!!<3

Azriel x reader

Warnings: smut, injuries, toxic relationship, a little fluffy

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Madja’s office is always welcoming, almost like a second home. The old woman has always treated you like a daughter, more than a pupil, and your relationship has turned into something that goes way beyond potions and healing spells. You are helping her with some concoctions made of different plants and herbs, and although this kind of simple healing is not your favorite, you needed to do anything to get out of the House of Wind.

Luckily for you, Rhysand sent Azriel away on a scouting mission right after that night with him. Now it has been three days, and you know he is going to be back today. In order to get your mind straight, you came here, with Madja, where your mind kept quiet and your hands did all the work. So, here you are, mixing aloe with some calendula and a little bit of lavender oil.

“How’s your stay at the House of Wind?” Madja doesn’t take her eyes off the book she’s currently studying.

“Good.” You keep mixing, also not looking at her.

“Cassian told me you were eager to get off the House today.”

“Cassian is a busybody.” You look up at her, and she’s smiling. “I had been at the House for days, I just wanted a change of scenery.”

She doesn’t say anything else, but her silence makes you feel uncomfortable, as if you need to explain yourself, so you decide to change topics. “Have you found something on a spell that could break Koschei’s curse?”

“Not yet.” Her expression changes, becoming more serious. “But I don’t think what it needs is a spell. His curse is like a braid, full of little tendrils woven together.”

“So, it needs to be undone… Every healer would be able to do that.”

“No, not every healer. It needs to be someone quite powerful, who is able to endure the raw power of his ancient curse. Someone like you, my dear (Y/N).”

Goosebumps erupt on your skin, the mix before you long forgotten. “Why me?”

“Only the gods may know. I never discovered who your parents were, I only know that you appeared at my doorstep one day, full of light, of raw power, and I just knew there was something special about you.”

You don’t remember anything about this, you relied on what Madja had told you: that one day you had appeared outside her door, no older than a teenager, and showed her your abilities. She had taken you in, showed you everything that you know, and asked Rhysand to also trust you to work with them. And the rest is history.

Madja gets up from her chair, and you can see how old she has become these past years. She hugs your shoulders lovingly, stroking your hair. “I’ve always told you that the Mother had great things for you in store.”

“I’m not so sure about that…”

Madja furrows her brows at your words, and as if reading your mind, she hugs you a little bit tighter, her words squeezing something deep inside your chest. “Magic works in mysterious ways, you know that better than anyone else. Sometimes, what should be obvious, takes time… Magic needs to sort itself out, just like us.”

You look at her, and the words are on the tip of your tongue. What about a mating bond? Is it possible that it will take time to sort itself out, too? Your mouth opens, but before anything can come out, a strong knock at the door interrupts you. Madja walks to the door and Cassian stands there as she opens it.

“Cassian, hello.” The old woman smiles warmly at him, but he looks around the room frantically until he spots you. The look in his eyes makes your stomach twist.

“What happened?”

“It’s Az.”

He doesn’t need to say anything else as you approach him and both of you jump into the skies and to the River House.

———————————————

Cassian lands right on the entrance, and he barely has time to put you down before you’re jumping from his arms and running inside the house. Something tugs at your heart, as if in guiding you to Azriel. Your feet take you straight to the living room, and when you’re close you can smell blood.

As you open the door, you freeze and take the scene in. Feyre has her arms crossed, a grim expression on her face, Rhys is right by the couch, face as serious as his mate, and Azriel is sprawled on the sofa, his forehead caked with fresh blood coming from what seems like a big cut on his scalp. He is grasping at his side, his hand bloody from a gash there, too. For a second, you stay still, your heart pumping rapidly.

“I said I’m fine, Rhys.” His words are clipped, and he tries to stand, but a withering look from Rhysand keeps him from moving.

“What happened?” Your feet finally take you forward, and Azriel closes his eyes at hearing your voice.

“He encountered some Autumn Court soldiers.” Feyre says as you kneel next to Azriel, who is still not looking at you. “Right outside their borders, they ambushed him.”

“And they did this?” Your voice is quiet. You look over his wings and see two holes. Ash arrows, probably.

“They were looking for a fight.” Rhys’ words are clipped. “Now they have an excuse to counterattack. Azriel you’re not going on any more missions. At least for the time being.”

“Rhys I said I’m fine, this is nothing.”

“You’ve lost too much blood.” You put your hand over his head, light coming out, and he hisses.

Rhysand raises a single eyebrow at him, and Azriel clamps his mouth shut. Once you’re done with his head, Cassian helps you get Azriel’s jacket and shirt off. You concentrate on the deep cut across his hip, and not on his tanned skin and the ripped muscles beneath. Your fingers dance over the gash, skin slowly threading back together, and Azriel’s labored breathing fans over your face. You look up, his face too pale due to the loss of blood.

“He’s fainting.” You try to breathe deeply, telling your heart that he’s fine and that fainting is quite normal in these situations, you’ve seen it a million times. But your heart beats fast, too fast, as if not understanding that Azriel is not in danger. “I’m going to winnow him to a room.”

You look up at Rhys, who nods, and you winnow both you and Azriel to one of the bedrooms in the River House. You both land on the bed, and you finish quickly with the wound on his hips, putting your hands back on his head. As your magic washes over him, you see color popping out on his face once more, and his eyes flutter open, going straight to you.

You make a glass of water and some chocolate truffles appear, forcing Azriel to drink and eat. He does without protesting, the corners of his mouth quirking up at your instructions. Once he’s finished with the water and chocolates, you look over his wings.

“I’m going to let you rest and then I’ll heal the wings.”

“I’m fine, let’s do it now.” You eye him suspiciously, but agree. The earlier you get this over with, the earlier he is going to be able to rest.

“Okay, sit straighter.” Azriel slowly does as you tell him, sitting on the middle of the bed and against the headboard, his wings slumped on both his sides.

On your knees next to him, you raise a little, trying to get a good look of the small but painful hole in his right wing. Azriel’s warm hands grab your hips, and although he steadies you, you feel as if your whole body has turned to jelly.

Your hands work quickly, taking out the venom and stitching the wing back together, a small scar appearing. You breathe deeply and turn your body to work on the left wing. The wound is bigger, as if in trying to take off the arrow, he had torn the leathery skin.

You straighten your arm, one hand leaning on the headboard to avoid falling, and as your fingers start moving, Azriel squeezes your hips. You stop, looking down at him, scared that you’re hurting him. But he is looking at you, his hazel eyes glassy, his mouth slightly parted. He squeezes again, and you know what he is asking.

You and Azriel have always been able to do this, knowing what the other needs with just a simple look. You swallow loudly, but nod your head once at him. He lifts you just enough for you to move your leg across his lap, and he lowers you once you’ve settled, his hands not leaving your hips. Straddling him, you come face to face with Azriel, a small smile on his lips. Not sexual, but content. A trembling sigh leaves your lips, and you straighten your hand once more.

As you start to wove his wing back together, Azriel hisses, his fingers hardening on your hips. You stop, looking at his face.

“Am I hurting you?” Your voice is raspy and you cough.

“No, no.” He grits through his teeth. “Just sensitive.”

“Oh.” You widen your eyes. “Sorry, I’ll go slower.”

Azriel just nods at you, his eyes closed. You’re aware of wing play, you used to do it with Azriel all the time when you were together. Your cheeks redden at the thought, but you keep going, this time slower, although this wing is taking longer. Azriel keeps his eyes closed, a furrow on his face, his bottom lip between his teeth. He hisses more than once, or tightens his grip on you, and you stop for a few seconds, letting him recompose himself.

But the air feels hot and heavy, a bead of sweat travelling down the strong column of Azriel’s neck, and suddenly you want to lick it. Before you can give in to your impulses, your fingers meet skin, and you realize there’s no rip anymore.

“I’m done.” You look at his face, as he slowly opens his eyes to look at you.

“Thank you.” His voice is low.

You stare at each other, neither one of you making a move.

“You scared me today.” It comes out as a whisper, but Azriel’s eyes soften at the words.

“I’m sorry.” His thumbs caress your skin over the fabric of your dress.

You reach for him, tucking a strand of hair away from his brow, and your hand travels down his face, cupping his cheek. Without thinking, you lean into him, kissing the corner of his lips. You retrieve a little, looking at his eyes, so full of love your heart constricts at the sight. But before the emotions can come pouring down, you kiss him. Slowly, deeply, lovingly. Azriel kisses you back immediately, his tongue working with yours. There’s no rush, only longing. Your other hand comes to his cheek, holding his face as if he’s some precious thing, and Azriel grabs your waist, pushing you against him, your chests flushed together.

You separate, breathing loudly, Azriel’s pupils so dilated there’s no hazel in them. You feel pressure in your chest, as if your body is asking for more, more, more. As if you will never know a time when your whole soul doesn’t crave the male in front of you. Azriel kisses you again, this time deeper, his tongue exploring your mouth relentlessly, his hands traveling down to grab your ass. You quickly separate from him.

“You should rest.” You pant at him.

“I need you.” He whispers, almost pleading. “Please.”

Something breaks and builds again in your chest, as if your whole soul is changing, morphing. You kiss his mouth softly, your lips travelling to his sculpted cheekbones, down to his jaw, until you tenderly bite his earlobe and he moans deeply.

“Let me ride you.”

You look back at him, and Azriel’s eyes are so wide you can see the white in them. He nods once, and something stirs deep in your chest at seeing him completely at your mercy. With a flick of your fingers, you’re both naked and cleaned up, and the smell of your arousal mixes with his, a musky but sweet scent that makes your head spin.

You pump his hard cock a couple of times, Azriel breathing hard at the movement, his hands squeezing your ass eagerly. You’re already soaking wet, ready for him, so you rise on your knees and guide yourself over him. Looking at his hazel eyes, you impale yourself on his dick, a groan escaping both of your mouths. His length stretches you to the point of being deliciously painful, and you stop for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of him being completely sheathed in you.

Azriel’s fingers travel up your back, goosebumps erupting on your skin, until his arms envelop you, hugging you, your bodies completely flushed. His face on the nape of your neck, he kisses your shoulder as you start moving, hugging his neck for leverage. It starts slow, Azriel peppering you with kisses across your skin, jaw, and collarbone.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers and you look down at him.

His pupils are dilated, his mouth parted, and he’s looking at you with so much love in his eyes, you feel your own line up with tears. Something cracks open in your chest, as if this is the moment of truth, as if something big is about to happen. Emotion clogs your throat, so you kiss him and accelerate your pace.

He moans into your mouth, the sex turning faster and wilder. You break the kiss, grinding on him, as his arms are still around you, holding you. You tentatively graze your fingers across the top of one of his wings, and Azriel sucks in a breath, his arms tightening on you. You move slower, as your hands explore more and more of his wings, curse words coming out of his mouth, and you lean down to lick at his neck. Azriel’s hand shoots up to grab your wrist, and he looks at you.

“If you keep doing that, I’m not going to last much longer.”

“Good.” You give him a small smile, and start moving faster, sharper, looking for your pleasure.

Your hand keeps stroking the leathery skin of his wings, touching where you know it will make him see stars. The fucking turns more erratic as you shamelessly grind on him, and you feel your pleasure building. Azriel hugs you tighter again, bringing your body to his, and as you reach your climax, he roars and spills inside of you. At the same time, as one soul, one body. You lay there, his arms holding you, his dick still inside of you, your head on his shoulder.

You stay like this, both of you panting, and as Azriel’s fingers draw circles across your back, you close your eyes. It does really feel like home whenever you’re with him. One of his hands travels to your head to stroke your hair lovingly, and this seems so different from these past years.

Since you and Azriel broke up, it has always been about fucking roughly, about taking the edge off. Teasing and biting and quick fucks, leaving each other without really saying goodbye afterwards. But this somehow seems different. And you want to say it’s because Azriel is injured, and he’s the one who is normally in charge, but, somehow, it doesn’t feel like it’s about that. As if today it was more than a hook up, as if you both needed to reassure that the other was still there.

Azriel’s hands stop after a while, and you hear his breathing go slower, deeper. As you slowly look up at his face, you see he’s asleep. Slowly, you get up, missing the warmth of his body the moment you separate from him. Before you can crawl off the bed, his hand grabs your wrist, tugging you back into him silently.

You obey, a small smile on your lips as you lay next to him, his arm across your shoulders, yours hugging his waist. A force tugs at your heart, as if your body needed to be even closer to him. You try to ignore it, resting your head on his chest.

You don’t remember falling asleep, only the sound of his steady heart like a lullaby and the recurrent thought that there will be no going back from this.

[idkyetxoxo]

Nine | Fading Away | Shadow and Flame

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 2.1k

Warnings - Angst, premature labour, childbirth, pain and injury

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It had been a week since Eris's visit, since I had last seen the haunted look in my brother's eyes, the bruises he tried to hide, the weight he bore alone while I found sanctuary in the safety of Velaris.

The guilt hadn't faded. If anything, it had settled deep in my bones.

So I'd done what I could to ground myself, to feel normal in this impossible time. I'd gone for a walk in the garden, one hand cradling my bump, the other trailing lazily through golden blooms. 

The sun had warmed my face, the breeze carried the sweet scent of roses and wildflowers, and for a brief moment, I let myself believe we were safe. That everything would be fine.

I had just stepped through the threshold of the townhouse, barefoot and humming softly, a bouquet of wildflowers tucked against my chest—when the air shifted.

Tension rolled through the room like a wave crashing against a cliff.

Voices, low, urgent, edged with panic. I heard Rhysand first, clipped and cold. Azriel's voice followed, rough and guttural. Cassian, blunt and frustrated.

"What's going on?" I asked, my voice hesitant as I stepped into the room.

Three male heads snapped toward me.

Azriel moved before anyone else could speak, his shadows curling tighter around him like a second skin.

But it was Rhysand who answered. His eyes met mine, violet gleaming with something like dread. He opened his mouth and changed everything.

"Beron knows about the baby."

The wildflowers slipped from my fingers. They hit the floor with a muted thud, petals scattering like forgotten hopes.

"What?" I whispered, my breath catching, lungs suddenly too small to contain the sheer weight of those words. "He... how?"

Cassian swore under his breath. Azriel growled low and lethal, his whole body coiling like a blade about to strike.

But no one had the chance to answer.

Because pain, sharp, vicious, blinding, lanced through me like fire.

One second, I was standing. The next, I was hunched over, a scream clawing up my throat as my hands flew to my stomach. The ache stole the very air from my lungs.

"Oh—" I gasped, my knees buckling. My entire body seized as though my own muscles had turned against me.

Azriel was at my side in an instant. "What's happening? What's wrong?"

"It's happening—" I choked out, blinking through the sudden blur of tears. "Az—Azriel, it's happening."

His face went pale. "No. No, no, no, it's too early." His voice cracked, barely controlled panic in every syllable. "You're not due for another two months—"

"I know," I cried, clutching his hand so tightly I might've broken bone. "Oh—I know—"

Another wave of pain rolled through me, this one deeper, more primal. I screamed, falling forward into Azriel's arms. My whole body trembled as I sagged against him.

"Cassian," Azriel barked, "*Get Madja—now!"

Cassian was already moving, disappearing in a blur of red siphons and wings, a sonic boom of panic left in his wake.

Rhysand stepped closer, but the fear etched across his usually composed face told me everything. This wasn't just a complication. This wasn't normal.

"Az—Azriel," I sobbed, trying to breathe through another contraction, "What if something's wrong? What if something's wrong with the baby?"

His shadows wrapped around us both now, trying to cocoon us from the world.

"Nothing's wrong," he said, voice hoarse and shaking. "We're going to get through this. I swear to you—I swear it."

But he looked just as terrified as I felt.

He lifted me effortlessly, cradling me against his chest as if I weighed nothing, even though I could feel how my body had gone limp between contractions. 

"I've got you. I've got you," he kept repeating, over and over.

Blood roared in my ears. My vision swam. But the pain was real, rhythmic, alive and it wasn't stopping.

"It's too soon—" I whimpered again, burying my face into his shoulder.

"No," Azriel said, his voice a vow now, hardening with each step toward the stairs. "You've made it this far. You're strong. And so is our baby. You're going to hold on. Just a little longer."

"Beron—" I whispered, tears slipping down my cheeks.

"Forget Beron," he growled. "You're mine. He doesn't get to touch you ever again. And he sure as hell doesn't get to touch our child."

I didn't know where the pain ended and the fear began. The contractions were coming faster now, merciless and close.

And still, Azriel held me.

Rhysand flew ahead, likely sending a mental scream through the city. Cassian would be back with Madja any second. I prayed he would.

But deep in my heart, even through the haze of pain and panic and pressure, I felt the shift. Something raw and unstoppable had begun. And there was no going back now.

The pain didn't stop. It didn't ebb or shift or dull. It tore through me, ripping, searing, merciless. 

A thousand claws raked through my insides, and I screamed so hard my throat gave out, hoarse cries echoing through the townhouse.

The birth had begun too fast, too soon. Madja had arrived within minutes, but it was already clear she wasn't enough.

"I need Criva," I rasped through clenched teeth. My head lolled to the side, sweat pouring down my face, body trembling with effort. "Get me Criva. I want her—"

"I already sent for her," Azriel whispered, his voice rough and ragged. His leathers were streaked with my blood, his face pale as moonlight, eyes wide with a fear I'd never seen in him. "She's coming."

I could barely nod. My hands gripped the bedsheets, soaked with sweat, blood, and something else I didn't want to look at.

Azriel sat behind me, his strong arms supporting my back as I laboured, as I screamed and pushed and sobbed. He hadn't left me for a single breath. His shadows had vanished, like even they couldn't stand to witness this.

He was silent, save for the soft encouragement he whispered in my ear between contractions. "You're doing so well. Just a little more. You're almost there." But his voice shook.

Because we both knew what was happening.

My body—never meant to carry a baby with wings was breaking open from the inside. We hadn't made it past nine months. We hadn't made it to Helion. We hadn't made it to safety.

We had run out of time.

Madja's face was tense, brows furrowed, voice steady only because she had to be. But even she couldn't hide the worry.

"There's too much blood," she muttered under her breath, not realising I could still hear her. "Cauldron spare her."

I felt myself slipping, bit by bit, each contraction shearing off a part of me. The pain became something distant. Almost... detached. 

I couldn't feel my legs anymore. My arms were going numb. My vision blurred at the edges, dimming with every scream.

Azriel's arms tightened around me. "Stay with me. Stay with me—please, just a little longer—"

He was crying.

Azriel—my Azriel who never wept, who stood like stone in the face of blood and death, who had flown through hell itself without blinking was weeping openly into my hair, holding me like I was already halfway gone.

"I can't Az, I can't—" I sobbed, choking on the weight in my chest. "The wings—they're stuck, I feel it, it hurts—"

"I know, I know, I'm so sorry," he whispered, pressing kisses into my damp temple, "I should've done more, I should've found Helion sooner—I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

Madja gave a sharp order, but her voice sounded like it was underwater now. 

I couldn't keep my eyes open. Couldn't breathe. I was drowning in pain and blood and the finality of what was coming.

I turned my face toward Azriel, blinking slowly, trying to see him one last time.

Everything was blurred, his face, the light, the edges of the room smearing together like water over ink. 

But I could still feel him. His warmth, the iron grip of his hand in mine, the tremble in his body as he held me like I was already fading from his grasp.

"Az," I whispered, barely a breath . "Listen to me."

His forehead pressed against mine, a trembling tether to this life. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

"If I don't make it—"

"No." His voice was hard now, cracked and trembling but fierce when he spoke. "Don't say that. Don't you dare—"

"Azriel." My fingers curled weakly against his cheek, sticky with sweat and blood. "You have to promise me. Take care of the baby. Love them. For me."

He was crying harder now. Azriel, the warrior, the spy, the shadowsinger was breaking open right in front of me. The quiet sobs shuddered through his chest as he kissed every knuckle of my hand like they were sacred.

"You're going to do it yourself," he rasped. "You're going to hold them. You'll name them. You'll stay. I'm not doing any of this without you."

Silent tears streamed down his face as he clutched my hand.

I smiled faintly, too tired to argue. "Please. Promise me."

"I swear it," he choked. "I swear I'll protect them with everything I am. But please—don't you leave us."

I blinked slowly, the words on my tongue burning. "If... if it comes to that," I whispered, "tell them about me. Not just the good parts. Tell them I was scared, but I did it anyway. Tell them I chose them, every single day."

Azriel's throat bobbed. His eyes were red-rimmed, tears still falling freely. "I'll tell them everything."

"Let Eris meet them." The words made him flinch. "I know you don't trust him," I continued, voice rasping with each breath, "but I do. He's the reason I'm still alive. He's the reason this baby exists at all. Let him be part of their life."

His mouth pressed into a hard line. He didn't answer at first. I didn't blame him, he'd spent most of his life watching males like Eris destroy others. But he nodded, eventually.

"I'll try. For you."

"Thank you," I breathed. The pain surged again, white-hot and endless. I whimpered, arching slightly, my body convulsing as another wave crashed through me.

"Cauldron, please," Azriel begged, his arms tightening around me, helpless. "Just hold on a little longer."

"I need to see them," I whispered, looking toward the doorway.

He followed my gaze, and in a heartbeat, Rhysand and Cassian were there, already halfway in the room, their faces carved from shadow and anguish.

Cassian looked like a ghost. The whites of his eyes were too wide, his knuckles bone-pale. Rhysand stood beside him, a haunted look in his violet eyes.

"I did this," Rhysand whispered, guilt rolling off him like a tide. "I said it. I told her. That's when it started—"

"No." I looked at him, mustering what strength I had left. "Don't you dare carry this. You've all protected me in ways I'll never deserve. But you—all of you have to protect the baby now."

"Don't talk like this," Cassian said, voice thick. "Don't you dare."

"Cass..." I managed a half-laugh, pained and broken. "You're going to teach them to fly, right? You're going to be the wild uncle that gives them sugar before bed and lets them sneak off training."

He blinked hard, stepping closer, his throat working around words. "Of course I will. But you'll be there too. You'll watch. You'll yell at me for giving them too much cake."

"I'll try," I said softly. "But if I can't... if I don't... tell them I wanted them. Tell them they were born of love. Of choice. And that their mother was free when they came into the world."

Rhysand knelt beside the bed now, quiet for once. No smirks, no masks. Just a male grieving the possibility of another loss. "I will guard them," he swore. "Like they were my own."

"Thank you," I whispered.

Another scream ripped through me, this one shredding my throat. Blood soaked the sheets, too much, far too much, and the world around me tilted violently.

"Where's Criva?" Azriel shouted, raw panic now breaking fully through his control. "Where is she?!"

A flash of wind and shadow, Criva winnowed into the room, silver hair wind-whipped, eyes blazing, already shedding her cloak.

"Oh darling," she whispered, taking one look at the bed.

Madja gave her a quick nod and stepped aside. Azriel didn't even pretend to move.

"I'm staying right here," he announced through clenched teeth, blood on his hands, his chest, his face. "I'm not leaving her."

Criva nodded once, grim. "Then hold her. Keep her awake. If we lose her now..."

Azriel's arms were already locked around me like a lifeline, as if sheer will alone could anchor me to this life.

"I love you," I whispered, voice broken, blood in my mouth.

Azriel's lips pressed to my forehead, to my temple, to my hand. "Stay. Please... just stay."

The pain surged again, blazing, blinding. A fire brighter than flame. Darker than death.

Then, nothing but blood. Endless, crimson blood. And after that—

Darkness.

A/n - So... that happened.

I really hate goodbyes. Like, seriously hate them, so this one was super sad to write :( Of course, I had to drag Rhys and Cass into it too because what's a heartbreak without a little extra pain?

Thanks for reading and feeling all the messy emotions with me, it means a lot <33

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[lunarxcity]

Be Careful What you Wish for - part i

Azriel x Inner Circle!Reader

When you begin to grow tired of constantly being surrounded by so many happy couples and dealing with a one-sided affection from the shadowsinger, you catch a suriel and it insinuates that Rhys is your mate. In light of this information you make a wish that completely flips your world(quite literally). Will you go back home or is this new world everything you dreamed of?

Wc: 7,803 ao3

-

There are many ways to catch a suriel. There are a slew of traps, enchantments, and magical objects on the market that all claim the ability to ensnare the elusive creature for what is more powerful than truth?

While many have tried, very few succeed and those who have paradoxically did not have too sacrifice such strenuous efforts for their moment alone with the magical creature for it is said a suriel catches you as much as you catch them.

From this finding, rumours had begun to spread that a Suriel is only caught when it wants to be for their is nothing more dangerous than the truth. They are more powerful than high lords and oracles because if there is one thing in this world that has power it would be information and the Suriel is a never ending fountain of it.

You remind yourself of this as you trudge deeper into the evergreen forests on the outskirts of the Night Court in pursuit of the mythical being.

For you needed answers and unlike those who have come to these woods, weapons pointed and ready to strike their bloodthirst bordering insanity, you believe that your intentions were pure and the Suriel would see that.

You have been working at the Night Court for hundreds of years since you escaped the Court of Nightmares with your childhood best friend Mor.

You adored each member of the Inner Circle profoundly, but you had always been closest to Mor. After all you have gone through the bests and worsts with one another and that's a bond that once forged cannot easily be broken.

Second to Mor is the shadowsinger. You two were unnaturally quick friends, which had surprised everyone, including yourself. While Azriel's tall walls and prickly nature made him accustomed to the adverse initial reactions he's used to receiving, you had showed him a compassion and care that he had not been used to.

You enjoyed each other's presence which then led to you guys actually talking, which is something Azriel doesn't sincerly do much. You discover that beneath the mask of the shadowsinger, Azriel does possess emotions like a normal person.

A rustle in the leaves snaps you out of your thoughts. You whip your head around.

There.

You dart towards the fleeting figure, whispy shadows and tedrils of black cloak emanate off it's figure. You feel it in your gut.

It's a real life Suriel.

You run towards it, leaving reason and your senses behind, driven by a desperation for truth. For answers. For this was a matter of life and death and you had become rather tired of losing people.

So you run, continuing to chase the figure into the depths of the forest. That's until you trip over a stray branch.

You feel the blood soaking your pants before you register the sharp pain in your knee. You don't have to look to know that there's a gash there now.

You're on the ground in what looks like to be a clearing in the forest. The trees form an unobstructed circle around a wall of shimmering crystal.

The sun shone down on this wall, amplifying the iridescent sheen of the purple and ivory coloured crystal.

You feel it before you see it. The hairs on the back of your neck prick up and the air suddenly feels heavier.

Suddenly, a voice as powerful as the cosmos and as ancient as the very dust of this world speaks to you.

"For what reason do you disturb me? I thought we made our disdain for your kind clear as day."

You feel a whoosh of air as the Suriel hovers over so it's directly in front of you. All bones and a malicious kind of magic, the Suriel is a legend of it's known. While the truth may not be evil in nature, it has the potential to unravel the very threads of all that we know.

"I had a vision. I need clarity if you are willing to offer it. We can discuss payment if needed, you will find I am very well connected."

Your mind floats back to the dark room. The feelings of despair and helplessness. A lingering suspicion that you already met your mate and hadn't known it.

"You are the first being I have seen in a long time that has not pointed a weapon at me." The Suriel comes closer, but this time you don't fear it.

"Daughter of Night, I will oblige your request. I only ask that after all is revealed that you may return to me so we may discuss your payment for you have nothing to offer me now."

You look up at the Suriel and nod your head.

"I oblige to your conditions."

The Suriel grins at your response and worry blooms in your chest. What does the Suriel know that you don't to be so glad with this deal?

You get ready to divulge in the dream you had. The feelings of restlessness in your chest. The bleeding of dreams and feelings that weren't yours.

"So I hear you have been having visions of your mate."

You go still. This bastard-

"Ah yes your mate, a lord of Night and commander of the darkness. One of the fiercest in the Night Court your life will not be easy as his mate, but it will be rewarding. He's nearer than you think, but there is a major obstacle in your way."

You begin to go over the Suriel's words. Lord of Night? No it can't be. Rhysand is already mated... but that would be a major obstacle.

A sinking feeling is suddenly present in your stomach. You think you're going to be sick.

"Your high lord is aware of your mating bond."

You feel the world slow to a stop. After all these years? Rhys? Who you thought of as a brother. Rhys? Who had been your close friend and confidant? Who knew of the mating bond and hadn't told you.

You begin to wonder, when Feyre turned into fae did it alter the mating bond that was supposed to be yours? Is she living the life you are meant to have?

"I know the look very well. Everyone always wants the truth until they learn that reality is not as kind as their hopes and wishes." The Suriel responds.

"Speaking of wishes..." You could almost hear the Suriel grinning underneath it's large black cloak.

Suriel's are trickster spirits, it's in their nature to yearn for chaos. They don't do it out of maliciousness, but rather for their own sense of entertainment.

They are deeply philosophical and love to make you jump through hoops to get the true conclusion.

You try to keep this in mind as you hang on to this Suriel's every word.

"It is said that the magical properties of the Crystal behind me can sometimes have the power to grant wishes. It's made of the same magic that keeps a Suriel's life force going as long as it does and your wish can only be granted if a Suriel allows it."

Suddenly a tendril of shadow snakes around your knee which is still gushing blood. You hear the beats of wings.

"It seems your mate is coming for you. I will see you sooner than you think."

Suddenly the Suriel is off, disappearing into the wind.

You hear rustling in the bushes behind you and see a flash of blue siphons fly overhead going into the direction of the Suriel.

You turn around to the rustling and see none other than Rhys emerging from the bushes.

"Hey, you're alright. I'm going to tell Az and Cas that I found you."

Your mate. Your bastard of a mate who had betrayed you. Who still knows about the reality of your mating bond.

"We should get you to Madja. Can you get up?"

The cut is a lot deeper than you initially thought. It would definitely need stitches.

Before you could respond to Rhys your hit with a gust of air from the landing of both Azriel and Cassian.

Cassian looks to Rhys and informs him, "The perimeter is secure no sight of the Suriel."

Azriel's eyes are on you, betraying his neutral face with the slight worry you can see shining in the hazel, "Are you alright?"

He immediately kneels down next to you and does a complete scan of your body for any other injuries. His shadow assists him swirling up and down your body and then going directly to his ear to whisper something to him.

He then does something that shocks you. He rips off the cuff on his bicep that houses one of his siphons, and underneath is a strip of cloth. A shadowsinger always has to be one step ahead of death for it will always try to find him when he is least expecting it.

He wraps does to wrap the cloth against your knee. He stops and looks up at you, his eyes asking for your permission. You give him a nod and he begins to wrap it around your wounded knee.

"I'm going to winnow her to Madja through my shadows, the magic is weird in this part of the forest it's the quickest way."

Rhys and Cassian nod.

Rhys looks to you, "Update me on how you are feeling and when you're feeling better, we can discuss later why you were in a forest that's known for its danger."

You're immediately swept into Azriel's arms and enveloped in a swarm of shadows.

As the shadows begun to block out the outside world you turn your head to where the Suriel had stood, backed by the crystaline wall, only to see that it was no longer there. Where the wall had been was just more forest.

The world goes dark and you become one with the shadows as Azriel sweeps you away.

-

Madja quickly works on getting you patched up and this was not the first time by any means she had to stitch you back together. She threads the needle through your skin while muttering to herself about the carelessness of the Inner Circle and how one day she would pack her bags and leave you all for the Day Court.

You couldn't blamer the head healer of the Night Court has seen a lot of things in her time. If she wanted to go and leave Rhys for Helion and you might ask her to take you with her.

Madja gives you a smile like she could read your thoughts. It wasn't a normal Madja smile, but rather a mischievous fox like smile you would have never expected to see the older lady bear.

She looks and you and then looks to Azriel who had been silently sitting in the chair next to you the entire time.

"Shadowsinger sitting there and brooding isn't going to help anyone. If you want to provide her company, maybe try holding her hand?"

She was no better than a petulant child making fun of their friend for having a crush, but you and Azriel weren't children and there was no crush to be found here.

You scoff. "He doesn't need to do that. I can handle it I've gotten stitches before."

You turn to look at Azriel expecting him to back you up but you're met with an outstretched hand.

He shrugs. "Doctors orders."

"Seriously?" You reply, confused by his behaviour.

"Physical contact is known to reduce pain."

Why was Azriel entertaining Madja's antics? You sigh and put your hand into his much larger one.

Scars lined his skin, you had always wondered what had caused them but never had the courage to ask. You didn't want to make him uncomfortable or reopen old wounds.

His grip was firm, but gentle in a way a reliable constant in the way you knew him to be. There is something about Azriel that calms the storm in you. His presence is a comfort that you can never get enough of.

You look at your intertwined hands, and one of the shadows, likely finding this whole ordeal amusing. Azriel gives his shadow a death glare but it only encourages it and the little shadow starts swirling excitedly around your hands.

"And done." Madja says while snipping the remaining thread.

You look down to your leg and see that your wound had been fully stitched together. How didn't you feel the needle go in?

You look back to Azriel, confusion written across your features and he gives you a smug look that's clearly saying I told you so.

The moment is interrupted by Rhys barging into the room. His quick footsteps striding towards you.

"Goody, now that you're feeling better, you can tell me why you were trying to catch a Suriel." He clasps his hands together in anticipation.

The man who was meant to be your mate. A good friend of yours whom you were supposed to spend eternity with. You had almost forgotten about that little revelation earlier.

"I had questions that needed to be answered." Your response is dry but adequate.

"If they were questions about this court you should have just come to me."

"They were... personal questions." You hope this would make him give up, but it's Rhys.

"What kind of personal questions? Surely not so personal you wouldn't tell your family."

This is the side of Rhys you never liked. When he would switch from your friend to your boss.

"The kind that I don't need to share with you. It isn't anything to do with the Courts or any matters of security so what's the big deal? Feyre went and trapped the Suriel twice and no one said anything of it."

You're annoyance is apparent to the spymaster who is now on edge eyes darting back and forth between the two of you.

"Feyre was a hunter she could fend for herself but you-"

"But I what? I also caught a Suriel on my own. Just because you don't believe in me doesn't mean I'm not accomplished. I don't need your approval about what I can or can't do with my life."

You storm off from the med bay, slamming the door behind you leaving the high lord in your wake. Leaving your mate behind.

You were done with everyone and everything. You blew up at your mate who was already mated to someone else, tripped on a branch, and offended a being that's likely as old as the bones of this world.

You winnowed to your room only to see Azriel sitting there waiting for you.

Why is it when you were always at your worst, Azriel was right there.

He opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off.

"If you're here for Rhys, I don't want to hear it." You tiredly trudge over to your bed and lie down.

He comes over and lies down right next to you. "No I'm here for you. I wanted to make sure you were alright."

You sigh and let out a defeated laugh. "Do I look alright?"

He turns his head to look at you, "You've looked...better?"

You burst out laughing. Everyone thinks that Cassian is the comedian, but Azriel had that dry humor that was effortlessly funny.

"I'm sorry, I was always told to refrain from saying anything bad about a woman's appearance, but I didn't want to lie to you." He quickly says, trying to take it back.

"Oh Azriel ever the gentleman." You say sarcastically while holding his hand in faux comfort.

His eyes immediately darted from your face to your now joined hands back to your face.

"Unlike the other heathens in this court I do try to be one."

You are almost crying of laughter at this point. "Heathens? Who says that. By the mother Azriel we need to get you to talk to some women."

Those words left a sour taste in your mouth and you didn't know why. Azriel deserves to be happy with someone, but you just couldn't picture the shadowsinger with anyone. You didn't even want to try, the idea of it left a pit in your stomach.

"I prefer to stay where I am." Azriel calmly responds.

"In the shadows? Does it ever get lonely there all by yourself?" You try to let your curiosity be an anchor to keep you awake, but lying down on your bed with Azriel's thumb stroking your hand was beckoning you into the realm of sleep.

He pauses for a moment. Trying to think of a proper answer to your question.

"The shadows are not cold and brash, like most think, they are soft and comforting and make for good companions. I'm not by myself as long as you're around with me."

He takes a long, drawn-out breath. "That reminds me, I have something to tell you-"

He's cut short by the sound of your deep breathing and by the slow, steady rise and fall of your chest you are fast asleep.

"Every time." He mutters.

At the sound of his voice, you turn around in your sleep and bury yourself into his arm.

He looks up and asks the Mother to help him. She smiles down at him, a silent promise that one day she would grant his wish.

He tries to outrun sleep for as long as he can, not knowing if he will ever be in this position with you again.

Sleep finally catches him when he starts listening to your heartbeat, wondering if would ever beat for him the way his heart does for you.

-

You wake up cold and alone. Azriel must have left before you had fallen asleep.

You finally had time to process everything, in your first moments alone, everything had hit you all at once. The realisation of finding and losing your mate all at the same time.

You don't even know why you were devastated you don't even have feelings for Rhys, but the feeling of having something that was meant to be yours taken away from you without you even knowing it was devastating.

For you had always struggled with feelings of worthlessness. You had watched all of those around you fall in love and get married, do whatever their hearts had desires, all while you had been alone tethered to the same job for centuries.

While Azriel's affections had been one-sided for Mor, at least he had the opportunity to feel something. All you have known is nothingness and it seems like that will be all you would ever know. For the cauldron decided that there would be no one for you in this lifetime.

You have yearned before, but it was not the yearning of lovers but rather the yearning of the dreamers. The ones who dream of a love so great that it will fulfill all the stories they have read and justify the abstinence of openness for so long.

In the soft light of daybreak you realise you have been played for a fool this entire time for what was a mate, if not a scam? Why should a force other than yourself tether you to another being for all eternity?

You don't want to deal with this. You can't for you deserve better than some half assed mating bond.

You were desperate and in your distress you did the only thing your addled mind could think of in the moment.

You winnowed back to the forest. Wherever that wall was, you would find it and wish for a new mate.

-

You land in the forest with a thud and look up to see the Suriel looking at you expectantly. It had been waiting for your return.

"It took you long enough, oh, young one." In that same ancient voice that sends shivers down your spine.

You take a breath. "So you know why I am back then?"

The Suriel gives you a smile that is anything but warm. "Any wish your heart desires if you decide to pay the price."

Fae were not generous creatures, especially trickster spirits; magic like this always has a hefty price.

"It's not much, dear, for I was young and misguided once. I've made my mistakes and I see myself in you, so I will take pity on you." You try not to believe a word that comes out the Suriel's mouth.

"One night of your life. I get your assistance with anything I would like for one night and you cannot refuse me."

You're about to interject worried for your future safety.

"I vow that it will not cause you harm or be cruel in nature." Both of those statements are extremely subjective, but this is about the best you will get from a Suriel.

"Deal." The Suriel begins to grin and raises it's hands, the ground rumbles in response and the Crystal begins to glow. The pristine lilac is suddenly marred by a giant crack that splits down the middle of the wall to the ground.

The crystal crumbles, and in its wake is what looks like a doorway. Although the crystal is glowing the doorway is pitch black, no light is coming inside of it and no light is escaping.

Whatever this led to must be otherworldly.

"Okay, now you are going to say your wish and go through the doorway. Your wish will come true on the other side."

You hesitate. "But everything will b the same right? My family will still be there?"

The Suriel shakes it's head. "Yes, your family will still be there on the other side."

"And you? WIll you be coming along?" You curiously look at the strange creature who you are placing your life with.

"I will need a bit to recoup from such a large use of my magic, but I will see you on the other side."

You're a bit more on board now, but there's still a blaring horn in the back of your head telling you to turn back now and just go home.

You wonder if Azriel was awake and what he would think of this story.

You're snapped out of your thoughts by a rustling in the bushes, someone was coming.

"Now or never dear, just say your wish and go through the gate or turn around now and never return." The Suriel hurriedly told you.

You nod your head. Oh gods you didn't exactly plan out the semantics of your wish, but you could hear footsteps approaching meaning you had to hurry.

"I wish I had a different mate." There you go, you'll have a do-over and leave it up to fate for another chance.

The Suriel's hands begin to glow with a wispy white magic you have never seen before.

"Your wish is my command. See you on the other side oh little one."

You run to the doorway, straight into the darkness and immediately realise that you are no longer in the same world. This darkness was not the darkness you knew, the comforting blanket of Azriel's shadows, it was dark and powerful and so ancient that it settled on your skin like a later of dust rather than a blanket.

You look over your shoulder and see nothing but abyss behind you and decide to keep going. You take a step and are blinded by the light.

-

Azriel knew something was wrong the moment he was yanked from his sleep, senses on alert. He is a very light sleeper, he has to be, for sleep is vulnerability and Azriel and vulnerability are not well acquainted.

His shadows wail your name and he already knows that you had left. He checks the bond and the feelings that had once been so vibrant were now muted and strained.

He checked on the bond, went down the pathway that connects you two and he realised that your end spans out far. He can't see you anymore. Wherever you had gone it was not in this world and he prays to whatever gods will hear him for your safe return to him.

-

The air was warm, and the sun was out. Those were the first signs that something had gone terribly wrong. The chill of winter was nowhere to be found and neither was any of the surroundings you were accustomed to in the Night Court.

There were no towering snowcapped mountains, no evergreen trees, and no beats of Illyrian wings coming for you. Azriel had a sixth sense for finding you whenever you were in peril, he would have been here by now.

You take a breath and the smell of the air catches you off guard. Cinammon and Maple, why were you in Autumn? You looked at the trees and saw the golden and orange hues of maple trees in the distance.

You hear a rustling behind you coming from the wall. You quickly turn around, only to see that the wall was no longer there and in it's place stood Eris Vanserra.

While he is technically no longer an enemy of the Night Court, he was still on shakey ground so why did he look so elated to see you.

You don't think you had ever seen Eris smile the way he was smiling at you right now. No mischief or bite, Eris Vanserra had actually looked happy for once.

"Next time you run off my love, please at least tell me where you're going off to."

My love? Oh this is not happening and definitely not with Eris of all people?

He walks up to you, cups you face with his hands, and places a kiss on your forehead. His hands aren't smooth the way you would expect a nobles to be, but they felt nothing like the hands you had fallen asleep holding which sent a wave of disappointment down your chest.

"I can feel you're distraught. Did something happen?"

The weight of everything became much too heavy to bear and the interworld travelling had taken such a heavy toll on your body.

You fell to the ground before you could answer and Eris caught you and yelled for his guards.

-

You had the weirdest dream while out that Eris was your mate and you were in a strange new world. You turn over to tell Azriel about your brain's antics when you're greeted with the sight of Eris doing paperwork.

You look down. Red and white sheets with the emblem of the Autumn Court. It was real. You were here in Eris' bed, in Eris' court, and you were his mate.

You rustled with the blanket, and Eris suddenly turned around. He comes over and hands you a mug with a steaming hot liquid that smelled suspiciously like tea.

"Are you alright? Should I postpone the meeting with the Night Court tonight until you are feeling better?"

Night Court? You could see your family and go home? All you had to do was tell Azriel and he would get you out of this like he always does.

"No!" You say suspiciously quick and then try to backtrack.

"We can't cancel on our guests because of such a minor inconvenience." You try to brush it off, hoping he takes the bait.

"The health of my mate is anything but a minor inconvenience, but you know your body and if you say you will be fine I won't postpone then." He grabs one of your hands in his.

"I will give you a few hours to rest and I will see you right before we greet our guests tonight. Have a good rest my lady." He kisses your knuckles and gently sets them down on the bed and goes through the door that likely leads to his office.

Wow. So this was a side of Eris you never thought anyone would ever see. You can't say you hate it, maybe you guys were put as mates for a reason.

This doesn't feel right without your family though. Without Azriel. Hopefully when you see him tonight you could talk to this Azriel and figure out what is going on and where you fit into this world.

Right now your body needs to recover, you let sleep find you. You dream of large wings and snowball fights.

-

You were awoken by two hand maidens lightly shaking you awake.

"My lady. Your guests will be here within the hour." They open the blinds which didn't do much since the sun had already began to set. The soft glow of dawn was a comfort that had only beckoned you back to sleep.

"We are running a bit behind my lady. Eris told us he would have our heads if we didn't let you rest for as long as possible." The smaller one of the two says as she zips around your room, grabbing an assortment of jewellery, hairpins, and clothes to speed run your getting ready.

You get up groggily, eyes bleary and hair in knots - a hallmark of a good sleep. You are hurriedly dragged into a tub and dunked with water and scrubbed clean.

They were really rushing, you would commend them for their efforts but you were half-drowning as they poured a bucket of water over your head to wash out the shampoo in your hair.

You were quickly dried and dressed in your undergarments, it seems like picking a gown would be last.

You were sat down at the large oak vanity while one maid did your hair and the other your makeup. You now realised that you had no idea what kind of meeting you were stepping in to; You have no idea the current political climate between the Night Court and the Autumn Court let alone if Beron was still the high lord.

You had no clue what the norm was in this reality and you didn't know how to ask without being deemed insane.

"Remind me again, how is our relationship to the Night Court?" You tried to slyly ask the maids and the smaller zippier one who was doing your hair looked at you like you had lost your mind.

"Our relations have been generally good considering they helped us remove Beron from power." She eyes you up and down, stopping her movements to better assess your current state.

If Beron is removed from power, that makes Eris the high lord. Does this mean you're lady of the Autumn Court?

"Miss are you feeling alright. We can just tell the Night Court delegates that you are still suffering from exhaustion and you can skip this meeting to rest."

"Forgive me, it's just my sleep-addled brain. I will be alright, thank you for your concern." You say as nonchalantly as possible.

She nodded, going back to sewing jewels into your pinned up hair.

"Alright, my lady. Well then, we must decide what gown you are to wear."

You had no idea what your current closet housed; it wasn't what you were accustomed to in the Night Court so you did the easiest thing you could.

"I am too exhausted to decide you two may select whatever you wish for me to wear."

They both perked up at this statement. I guess in this reality, you had never let them choose your outfit for such an important event.

"Really? We won't let you down we swear it." She borderline runs out in joy, squealing when she reaches the hallway the calmer taller one right on her heels.

She comes back a moment later with a navy dress with silver sparkles that make's it look like the Night Sky.

"I know you're usually dressed in Autumn Colours, but this dress is magnificent and you have never had such an opportunity to wear it."

You nod your head, it is gorgeous. The flowing tulle skirts and a corseted top made it a dress worthy of a queen or high lady.

They adorned you in matching silver jewelery and with a wave of a hand, the jewells in your hair turned into dark sapphires and diamonds.

You looked positively regal, nothing like how you would normally look at these functions.

You were beyond impressed with the work of these two handmaidens.

"You both did a splendid job." They smiled in response.

"What are your names?" Their faces shifted to surprise.

"I'm Portia." The calmer of the two responded.

"And I'm Nara." The very energetic one said.

Before you could say anything else there was a knock on the door.

Eris came in, decked out in the regal finery you could only expect from a high lord. His entire outfit was jet black minus the golden adornments on his coat.

You could make out symbols of Autumn; leaves, foxes, and branches all adorned his jacket. His hair was swept back cleanly and he looked every bit the gentlemen that you knew he wasn't at least in your world.

"I should be disappointed that you decided on sporting the colours of your old court instead of the ones of the court you preside over, but I cannot say that when you look this beautiful."

He walks around you, admiring you and your cheeks flush.

"I'm not going to give up my home court." You were about to say that your family is there, but you don't even know if they know you any more.

"And that's what I love about you. You know yourself, and you wouldn't change yourself for anyone."

You just smiled in response. You didn't know what to say because how much did Eris actually know about you? The current you, not the you that he thinks that he knows.

He holds his arm out to you. "Ready to face the wolves my love."

You take a breath, both excitement and fear flooding your senses.

"Always."

He winnows you to a doorway and from the shadow peaking from under the doorway, you know exactly who is inside.

The double doors open to a large dining room with a large table right in the middle. The entire room was dark wood, almost reminding you of a lavish tree.

The table was an even darker wood with a large strip of royal blue piped with yellow on the table.

Your eyes immediately find Azriel's and you know that this isn't your Azriel. While you understood that yes this is a different reality and not everything would be the same, the look of indifference he is giving you now plunged a dagger right through your heart.

You look to Rhys and Cassian and it was the same. No friendly smiles or hugs just pure diplomacy. You were getting the mask of the high lord, the general, and the shadowsinger.

You were a stranger or worse, an enemy to your family. The realisation had you wishing you had just stayed in bed.

"High lord and lady of Autumn it is a pleasure to make your Acquantice." Rhys bows and Cassian and Azriel follow.

You really didn't like this. Eris returns the polite gestute with one of his own.

"And you as well Rhysand." Eris bows back and you follow.

You can feel Azriel's gaze bearing into your soul, but you're afraid to look, scared you will break the instant you guys make eye contact.

The moment is broken by the opening of the doors. Lucien rushes in, slightly frazzled and very light.

"Apologies. My travels took me longer than anticipated." He looks around, trying to survey the state of the room.

Eris clasps his hands together and says, "Well now that everyone is here lets eat!"

He waives his hand and all the trays of food on the table are open to reveal a lavish feast.

The table has two seats on each side and one at each head. Rhys took one and Eris the other. Eris pulled out the chair next to him for you and Lucien sat on the other side of Eris.

You really were hoping Cassian would sit next to you so you don't have to face such close proximity with this Azriel so soon, but it seems fate had another plan.

Azriel was sitting directly next to you. Okay no probem you can just ignore him, you focus on your food easy enough.

The food was divine, succulent meats mixed with fresh wild grain and the best seasonal produce Autumn had to offer. One small problem, you didn't like tomatoes and it was in half of the food.

You tried to eat around it as subtly as possible, but you really hoped that no one would notice.

You looked at Lucien to see that he was putting some veal with cherry tomatoes on his plate. Azriel would definetly like something like that. You reach over to grab it when Lucien is done and hand it to Azriel.

You immediately realise your mistake. Rhys, Eris, and Lucien were too engrossed with talks of diplomacy to catch the significance of what you had done, but Azriel was looking at you with pure bewilderment.

You knew he had been eyeing that dish that was being hogged by Cassian and Lucien's side of the table. You had specifically gotten it for him and at this point Azriel has probably picked up that you don't like it.

This is a gesture that is way too intimate for colleagues who allegedly don't know each other. Cassian looks to Azriel and raises a brow, and you know he suspects you.

"Where did you say you were from again?" Cassian asks you, probably trying not to look too suspicious.

"I'm from Night, actually. I only came here after well, you know." You say as you point your head towards Eris.

"Where about in Night?" Azriel looks to you.

"Hewn." That spoke for itself and Cassian goes quiet and Azriel gives you a nod of acknowledgement. You really needed this dinner to be over with.

You take a sip of your wine, plotting your escape when you're snapped out of your thoughts by the feeling of something on your wrist.

You knew it was Azriel's shadows, but these weren't the shadows you had become accustomed to. This shadow was sharper, it didn't flow the way your Azriel's shadow did it seemed that it was more used to striking.

It was circling your hand and wrist and you looked at Azriel in curiousity only to be met with a wall of indifference. You knew Azriel though and you could tell from the whites of his knuckles and the way his right hand was gripping the stem of his glass that he was having trouble reeling in his shadows.

You look to the tips of his ears and see a bit of red blooming there, barely visible unless you know what to look for. He was embarrassed by the lack of control of his shadows.

This may not have been your Azriel, but this was still Azriel, and you learned his language, you know his tells like the back of your hand.

"It's alright, you don't have to hold them back. Shadows aren't meant to hide, not be hidden." You give him a small smile, not wanting him to know that you want him to leave his shadows, that they were the only sense of comfort you had felt in this strange new world. \

Azriel refuses to look at you for the rest of the dinner but he leaves his shadows to wander. They stray to your hands and your hair and although they are different from the shadows you knew, they were still a comfort.

Dinner finished then dessert came. This must be a completely different world because Rhys and Eris are getting along so well.

You were getting so sleepy, you had such a long day and your body needed to recover. You've been pulled in so many different ways in the past 24 hours and you were so emotionally drained.

Dinner ends, and Eris invites Rhys to go to his study to discuss something about post-war court logistics. Cassian volunteers to join because as general he knows the most about the armies. Eris tells you to go rest and they all bid you goodnight.

This left you, Lucien, and Azriel standing in one of the large hallways.

The redhead lets out a large yawn. "Well I'm going to bed goodnight you two."

He saunters off down the large hallway, presumably to his room.

This leaves just you and Azriel. You had been hoping for a moment alone with him all evening and now that you got it you were speechless.

"It seems everyone has left us." You try to make conversation with this Azriel, but you already know that while his walls are up it's a futile effort.

Almost a minute passes in silence.

"That does appear to be the case." He actually responded to your surprise.

"Your shadows, they are very lovely why do you stifle them?" If it was something that your Azriel needed to hear then it was probably something this Azriel needed to.

He looks away. "Many are averted by the idea of shadows running around loose, especially with my... reputation."

"Well, they must be fools for people fear what they do not know." You see bits of a broken soul in those hazel eyes. Oh how you wish you could do more.

"You don't know me and you didn't fear me." He says gently.

You wanted to tell him that you do know him, more than he will ever know. That you had seen the good and bad parts of his soul and still believed in him.

Your cut off by a shadow darting forwards and wrapping itself around your wrist in a protective fashion. This was not the dark, cold shadows ready to strike. No, this shadow was all smooth movements and comfort.

It was Azriel's shadow. Your Azriel's shadow.

Azriel looks at you confused and inspects the shadow.

"This is not one of mine." Cauldron boil me the shadow is going to tell him.

"No it's not." Really? That's the best you could come up with right now?

His shadows come up the shadow slowly, like they were approaching a feral cat.

They started whispering in the language of the shadows, dancing around each other.

Azriel's shadow goes to his ear and begins whispering something to Azriel and his normally stoic face turns into one of pure shock.

"I think you will want to sit down for this, come with me." He looks at you questioningly, but obeys nonetheless.

You walk him into the library and onto two of the couches that are facing each other.

"Explain." He looks at you in the way of the spymaster, which would intimidate anyone, even though you know him so well right now he does not know you.

Right now you are more enemy than friend and you're backing him into a corner and if you know anything about Azriel you know that when he feels like he's being backed into a corner he bites.

You don't know how your Azriel's shadow followed you or why it left it's master. His shadows rarely leave his side, especially for long periods like this. Could the shadow travel between worlds?

You hadn't really thought of the magical capabilities of the shadow's, and why does this Azriel's shadows differ from the one you know.

You're snapped from your thoughts by your newly adopted shadow tugging you into the library.

It is a large library filled with colorful books and oaken bookshelves. Tree trunks and roots adorned the walls and it felt as if you were in the hollow of a tree itself.

The library was built in a circle with desks and chairs placed in the middle and couches on the furthest side, against the windows.

The shadow led you to the couches and Azriel followed.

You sat and he sat directly across from you pinning you down with an icy stare. It's really not fun being on this side of his interrogations, you'll make fun of him for it next time you seen him. If there ever is a next time.

"Okay so the shadow is my friend's. He is also a shadowsinger, it must have followed me home." You knew he probably wasn't going to believe your lie but there was no harm in trying.

"My shadows tell me that this shadow comes from another world and considering that you haven't left Autumn's territory in months, and the fact that there is no other known shadowsinger, I would say that you don't belong here either?"

Azriel was nothing if not good at his job.

"How did you?" You look at him wide-eyed in disbelief.

"I am a spymaster, it's my job. The shadowsinger is he your mate? I can't wrap my head around a shadow straggling off on its own..." He looks at you borderline uninterested. Only Azriel would find someone who has crossed worlds and would find not even a hint of amusement in it.

"Oh no, we're not like that, I mean it's not like I haven't thought about it, but we're just very good friends. I actually ended up here because I wished for a new mate after I found out that my mate already had a mate it's very confusing I don't even know how that happened it's not even possible and-"

You cut yourself off when you saw the look on Azriel's face, like he was contemplating flying away and never returning.

"Pardon my frankness, but do you always talk so much? Your friend, the shadowsinger. He has no complaints of the agitating nature of your voice." Okay this was definitely not your Azriel.

"He enjoys the sound of my voice, thank you very much. We would have such lovely conversations that went on for hours."

"Were you holding him hostage?" Azriel has always been unintentionally funny, which got on Cassian's nerves more than he would like to admit.

"Excuse me-" You huff.

"So what is your plan to get home?" Azriel abruptly asks, making it very apparent how much he wants to get rid of you.

"I have no clue, the Suriel-" He cuts you off.

"Wait pause. You got here by making a deal with a Suriel?" There's a slight flash of worry in his eyes and your heartbeat begins to pick up.

"Yes." You look at him half wary half questioning.

"By any chance did you come through a crystalline gate?" He was bracing himself for an answer and your heart dropped at the question.

"Yes, how did you know?" His head drops to his hands, the darkness dances with his shadows and with the large wings behind his back, he looks as if he could be a fallen angel.

"You may have just doomed us all."

-

note: This piece has been sitting in my drafts for a month and I finally decided to let her see the light of day, she is extremely unedited and this was honestly for fun(I saw Irish Wish and was hit with a bout of inspiration and disapointment for allowing myself to be inspired by such a movie). I'll write a part 2 if this gains enough traction, but like always until next time my darlings!

note note: did we really expect me to have any semblance of editing?

[prythian-angel-doll]

You Are The Cause of My Euphoria (Azriel x OC fic)

Hi, beautiful peoples. I've written sporadically over the years but my love for ACOTAR and specifically one special bat boy has inspired me to put one of my own works out there. Please enjoy and leave me feedback, it will be a slowburn angsty fic with more to come so please be patient! MWAH

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Anwyn (On-win) is the younger bastard half-sister of the High Lord of the Night Court, Rhysand. She's spent the past four centuries sheltered and hidden in the Day Court, where she would assist her distant family when they saw fit. Now that the war is over, she has been invited to join the Court of Dreams in Velaris. A lifetime of rejection and isolation from her people leave Anwyn confused and unsure. These feelings are only complicated by her friendship with Rhysand's personal spy, Azriel, whomst Anwyn has always kept in the back of her mind. How will she navigate life in a new court, with different customs, whose people are closer to her own brother than she is?

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Thump, thump. My heavy luggage crashed against the cobblestone walkway as I exhaled deeply, regretting my decision to winnow in a distance away and walk the rest of the way to my brother and sister-in-law’s new estate. I needed that time to collect my thoughts - what would I say when they opened the doors? Hi, sorry I’ve been hiding away for the past three years, I didn’t want to complicate things for you further, Feyre! It’s so nice to finally meet you! Also, can I see my nephew? Or, I know my birth caused great shame upon my family but I would love to reenter your lives and act like nothing happened! I cringed and decided that neither option was befitting of the bastard princess of the night court and chose to go off the cuff based on whomever answers my knock. “Cauldron, where has the time gone?” I muttered at the ground, bouncing from one foot to the other, as I waited for a response on the other side of the manor door. 

The door swung open with a violent fury, hinges hissing and groaning despite the young age of their construction. The person on the other side of the doorway immediately drew an eyeroll from me. Cassian. He stood leaning against the frame, a wicked smirk plastered on his admittedly handsome and rugged face. “Well, it’s about time you showed up. I was beginning to think that you’d hide away in Helion’s chambers for all of eternity” he said, smirking wider and wider as the seconds droned on. “Funny. I’ve spent just about as much time in his chambers as you have. He should be so lucky to even have a shot at me. Glad to see you as well,” I retort. I kicked at my suitcases, a notion for the large Illyrian to take them inside for me. I had always found Cassian to be an attractive male - tanned, muscled, always ready for a challenge. He’d come and visit the Day Court when Rhys had sent him as my private instructor, teaching me the fighting style of the Illyrians. I wasn’t Illyrian myself - I had no wings, no blood ties to the fighting race of warriors. My mother was not one of them, one of Rhys’s mother’s kind. His mother’s death spawned a heightened fear in my brother and instilled an urgency to make sure I could protect myself should anyone discover my true identity within the Day Court. 

Cassian picked up my belongings in one fell swoop, throwing the trunks over each shoulder without so much as breaking a sweat. I followed him in, drawing in a breath as I entered the foyer. The estate was marvelous. I lived in a luxurious apartment in the Day Court, furnished how I liked and changed when I had even the slightest mood swing. I didn’t quite know how to feel about my brother’s home. This was a home, something I have never had. I could see myself calling this home, eventually. “Nesta and I thought about staying here, but two mated pairs under the same roof would probably reduce this whole block to rubble” Cassian trailed on, not bothering to make sure I was behind him as he continued through the entry hall, striding towards the stairs. I heard from Rhys that Cass and Feyre’s older sister Nesta had joined into a mating bond. Rhys’s icy words for Nesta coincidentally had brought me relief - surely she would be the one to bring his ego down a notch. That’s a perfect match in my book. “I’d love to chat with you about our love lives, Cass, but I would very much like to see Rhysand and Feyre. Where are they?” I said, looking around the hall. It was oddly quiet for a weekday afternoon, though I supposed the duties of High Lord and High Lady of the Court of Dreams required non-stop work and correspondences. Cassian sat the trunks down surprisingly gingerly. Two shadowy figures appeared in the shapes of women; they each collected a trunk and then disappeared once more. Cassian’s lack of reaction told me that these must be servants of a sort, or a cruel prank I’d have to sort out later. He bent his head to the right, motioning towards the long hallway. I peered down the expansive hall - portraits and landscapes adorned the walls in varying sizes and tones. People I knew - Mor, in her ephemeral grace; Amren, a non-chalant muse. “At the end of the hall is the family room - they’re waiting for you” Cassian said, “I’ll come by later on, I’ve got some business in a camp close by”. I nodded a thanks and he strode away and out of the house, no doubt wanting to use his wings to fly into the camp he had to attend to. 

I reached the end of the hallway in what felt like hours. So many images to take in - prized pieces constructed by my sister-in-law. The woman I hid from for two years, a drop in the water compared to the four hundred years in isolation. These past two years stung more, knowing that I couldn’t meet my brother’s mate, couldn’t be a part of their lives directly, continuing to live the same lie everyday. I helped in any way I could before that final battle. I gathered intel, scoured the libraries for any information, negotiated with any court that may have needed extra convincing. My position as an advisor to Helion assisted me with the latter effort. And when it came time to fight, I was there. I went against Rhys’s orders, but I arrived with Helion’s army and blended in amongst the hordes. I fought with all my strength and only informed my brother after the fact - after his resurrection. I shook those thoughts from my mind as I reached the door at the end, the family room. Well, here goes nothing I thought to myself as I wrenched on the door and pushed it open, much like ripping off the bandage you knew deep down you were scared to remove. 

Feyre sat in a settee next to the marbled fireplace on the opposite side of the room; Rhysand positioned next to her, leaning against the armrest. I walked into the room a couple of steps, not quite sure how to begin this reunion and first meeting. My sister-in-law broke the silence quickly, without awkwardness. A true High Lady. “Welcome home, Anwyn. It’s nice to finally meet you after all this time. Rhys has told me so much already” Feyre said, her voice carrying a melody that my ears relaxed at. I smiled - it was earnest, something I didn’t throw to anyone unless I also gave it with a kick in the balls or a punch in the gut. I dipped my head low, attempting to give my High Lady my respects, though it still felt so foreign to be here. “Thank you Feyre. This has been overdue and I have so much to say and tell to you,” I reply, shaking off the inkling of nerves I carried in. I felt more at ease as the seconds passed. “Maybe I should start with some stories about my and Rhysand’s drinking escapades in the Day Court a couple centuries back?” Rhys’s still face finally changed, switching out for a look that balanced between shock and embarrassment. “Anie. Please, let’s not spoil all the fun in one night. You surely have plenty of time to embarrass us all, including yourself. I’m glad to see you arrived in one piece. And, welcome home - this was indeed overdue” he said at last. I rolled my eyes and smirked as I closed the distance to embrace my brother. Centuries of distance and isolation saw that our relationship became strained and contentious at times. Two siblings with different hardships, different customs, different upbringings. Our mutual link proved to be more powerful than our differences and we reconciled with that - our father, the former High Lord of the Night Court, prowled our subconscious and shaped the personalities we formed throughout our long immortal lives. 

Rhysand and his court had sporadically me during my isolation over the creeping four centuries that have passed since I was brought into this world kicking and screaming. Bastard I was branded, the daughter of the High Lord of the Night Court and a handmaiden to the Consort. I will never know the whole truth of my conception. The story told to me countless times was that my father, freshly reeling from Rhys’s mother’s rejection, grew so angry that despite the intact mating bond, sought out my mother and bedded her for a month straight. I knew that my father loved Rhys’s mother - it had completely consumed him from the inside. My mother was a trusted friend of hers, she had confided in my mother many secrets over the years of her servitude. Sometimes I wonder if my mother welcomed him into her bed as a relief to the Illyrian queen - surely it was known that she had little love for the Lord of the Night Court. Thus, 30 years after my brother, I was born unto the world. We shared the same violet blue eyes, but not much else. My snow white hair and winter pale skin juxtaposed Rhysand’s dark complexion. I secretly admired the aura of his complexion, knowing that it must have been drawn from his mother - I would never see that hue on my own skin. 

We spent the next fifteen minutes catching up, making sure I threw in some playful jabs to Rhys and his court while I recounted my time in Helion’s court. Feyre listened with cheerful intent, soaking in all that I had to tell. I knew that we would become close sisters - solidified by her roaring laughter during my monologue about Rhysand stealing one of Helion’s pegasuses for the night. Or perhaps two. Helion came into my apartment in a rage, sending books and goblets crashing against the walls. The shocking bright lights exuding from Helion sent us into a blind frenzy but it couldn’t dull our laughter as we sat cross legged in front of the High Lord’s prized winged mare, which was grazing on the many carrots we had purchased at the market. These were the memories I had clung to during the time my brother was under the mountain, with Amorantha controlling him and so many others I had grown up to know.

 “Where is my nephew? Where is Nyx?” I asked eagerly. As much as I wanted to talk to Rhys and Feyre, I knew that I had eternity to swap stories and exchange information. To see my nephew as an infant, barely walking and babbling incoherently? I would only have a few years at most, given the maturation rate of High Fae. “Oh we’re so glad to see you as well, Wynnie” Rhys chuckled, shaking his head slightly. Surely enough, he had understood this as well. Feyre smiled and looked at him - I only saw pure love and devotion in their shared glance. “He’s upstairs with Azriel. Az has been entertaining him while we get some work done. His own tasks have come up fewer and fewer while we are at a certain level of peace, despite the unrest in Illyria”. Azriel I choked out in my head. Mother watched over me. I had taken many lovers within many courts during my time with Helion and his court - our travels took us to all the varying courts throughout the realm. Many men had the opportunity to share the bed with the bastard princess of the Night Court - though none of them were talented enough for me to keep them in my life. I'd never bedded Azriel. I’ve never engaged in anything with him besides the exchange of polite pleasantries when he would visit the Day Court. Rhysand would send him to me to glean any information which any of the vast libraries could have contained based on what was needed. Azriel spent a deal of time with me, gathering books, learning the weaknesses of the males from other courts - he didn’t ask how I had gathered that specific intel. I never thought of Azriel as anything more than my brother’s errand boy - that was, until that night many years ago. I shook the thought out of mind. Not now. We didn’t see each other for a year afterwards, and only on the occasional trek out to my ward would he grace me with himself. Years passed, and I pushed him out of my mind. A silly crush, very simple. Black and white. The strong and silent Illyrian warrior once blessed my dreams with soothing kisses and longing stares. Sometimes those dreams gave way to other interactions more primal, more seductive and toe curling. 

“I’ll go see him now then, while he’s awake” I said, glancing back towards the door I entered nearly an hour ago at this point. It was certainly not the time for those sorts of devious thoughts. I hadn’t seen Az in almost three years, but I had never seen my young nephew - and now I was growing impatient. Rhysand stood from his leaning position once more, resting his hand on Feyre’s. “Go ahead upstairs. Feyre and I have to finish some paperwork for a restoration project over in the Rainbow - we’ll give you the grand tour of Velaris soon enough. Nyx’s wing is to the of the staircase, at the end of the hallway” Rhys said, never moving a muscle away from his mate. I looked at them both - a portrait of not only love, but of immense power and tact. I would be lying to myself if I didn’t envy my brother. His found mate, his chosen and found family after such loss. Did he still consider me as a part of his family? Surely, if he invited me back here, right? I’m safe now, no more outliers to concern myself with regarding the plots against Rhysand’s life and his circle. “We’ll meet later for dinner. I was thinking we’d go to my favorite restaurant - the food is prepared and spiced to perfection by a wonderful woman” Feyre said. I smiled and crossed my arms “That sounds great to me - I’d love to judge the cuisine of Velaris against the Day Court. Helion would love to see that report”. The inner advisor of me found it hard to turn off my former role - reporter to the High Lord. He would be amused to see such a report cross his desk, though surely he would never concede to Velaris championing the better selection of culinary cuisine. Rhys chuffed a laugh and they winnowed out a minute later after exchanging formalities once more - it would take a week or two more for the familial links to set in, hopefully. 

Taking a deep breath, I climbed the sweeping stairs. By the mother, they really outdid themselves with this mansion. I can practically see my reflection in the floors as well, I uttered internally. I knew the wealth of the Night Court was immense, my own salary provided to me by Rhys was more than enough to allow me a life of pleasure and indulgence should i have chosen it. The river house was a testament to not only the power and intensity of the High Lord and Lady, but to their love and devotion to the city they called home - and would call home for eternity. I reached the end of the hallway once more as I unwrapped myself from my thoughts. I wondered which room was to be mine - where the shadowy women had dropped off my possessions. Unlatching the door softly, I slowly opened the door, peering into the bright lightly colored room. 

Nyx sat in the center of the room. He could hold himself upright in a seated position, and I kicked myself for not being able to be here earlier when he was smaller, more incapable of such feats. He was in the middle of a selection of toys; different shaped animals and rattles and orbs of moving light - all encompassed by meandering and dancing waves of pure shadow. I knew those shadows. They had once cooed around me, I felt their lingering presence many times over the centuries, never fearing them, always wanting to let them in closer. I did not allow them such liberties though. I took one step into the room and then I saw him. I was barely able to pick up on his scent, his presence nearly absent in Nyx’s nursery room. Azriel sat on a rocking chair behind Nyx. His dark short hair tussled haphazardly around, like Nyx may have given it a rapture while they played. His white tunic complemented the golden hue of his skin, only brightened by the sapphire siphons on his heavy gauntlets. He looked up at me, an unreadable expression on his face. What was he thinking of? Will I ever be able to tell? I stood there, half in shock of seeing my own kin on the floor, half in shock of seeing my brother’s trusted spy in here acting as a babysitter. 

“Hello, Anwyn” 

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End of Chapter One

[tovibeornottovibe]

Broken Things

Azriel x Fem!OC (Sereyna)

this is based on this request! thank you, anon, for being so patient with me, i hope this is worth the (month long, i'm so sorry) wait and that you enjoy it <3 (if not, i can always write you a different version, i have about five drafts all with different plot points lmao)

After a terrible night in the Day Court, one where he feels more lonely than ever, one where his heart won't stop fucking shuddering in his chest, Azriel unexpectedly meets his mate. The problem? She wants absolutely nothing to do with him and rejects him in all but name. He goes to Rhys for answers, and doesn't like what he hears. [8.5k words]

warnings: we're dealing with Under the Mountain here so abuse, implied sexual assault, canon typical violence, Amarantha, but also angst, fluff, suggestiveness, horny azriel, angry azriel, protective azriel, drinking, smoking, swearing, protective rhysand, asshole rhysand, az is also kind of an asshole at the start of this, but he's a sweetie at the end

masterlist | Prefer Ao3?

So they’re in a club. Him, Rhys, Feyre, Cass and Nesta, Mor and Helion, all in the Day Court. Rhys had called it a diplomatic mission. Everyone else is in agreement that it’s an excuse to drink all of Helion’s wine, play some games, dance a little.

It’s called letting loose, Az, Cass had told him. Have you heard of it?

Az had said nothing, had done nothing. He let his brother primp and preen and enjoy calling him a killjoy. Tonight, he doesn’t feel like snarling or snarking. He thinks everything will be easier if he just waits out the night alone, quietly, letting everyone get cosy and coupled, too drunk—even Nesta—to wonder if he isn’t doing the same. Maybe tomorrow, when they’re back home, his chest will stop feeling so fucking heavy.

It’s like his heart is working to claw out of his chest and his ribs are tightening and tightening and tightening to try and stop it. The music’s loud and his shadows hate the lights; they keep hissing at him to go outside, curling around his ears and ducking under his wings. People keep bumping into him. He’s remembering why he hates clubs. The female next to him at the bar is eyeing him like she wants to ride him like a horse and thinks he’s hung like one too. 

Suddenly, he’s feeling sour and he’s dying for a drink that’ll make his head go quiet. He catches the bartender’s attention, asks for a shot of something stupid expensive and strong. Necks it in one. The female next to him chuckles.

“Rough night?” she asks, her voice dipped, sweet like honey, raspy, sultry, practiced.

He glances at her and motions for another shot (it’s all on Helion’s tab, so why not?). She’s pretty in the same way that all High Fae are pretty. Long legs, long lashes, tanned and toned in places meant to please. She’s blonde, wearing red. Az scoffs at the sight, thinking of Mor, then, resentfully, of Elain, while his fifteenth shot of the night runs down his throat and beats down his heart trying to crawl up his gullet.

“Worse now someone’s talking to me,” he says. Rude, his shadows bark. So what, he thinks. Still he tucks in his wings, keeps his gaze firmly uninterested, and tries not to look like he’d punch her in the mouth if she said the wrong thing. Which he wouldn’t, but he’s seen it happen. Character building, that’s what Devlon used to call it, until Azriel held him over the side of the cliff which marks the edge of Windhaven and threatened to drop him. They’d bound his wings first, of course.

Anyway.

If this female would kindly leave him alone and let him do another shot, he’d be much happier.

Instead, she whistles low and takes a sip of whatever cocktail she ordered, placing it back on the bar with a clink. A martini, maybe. She seems the kind, and his shadows trill to confirm it. “So it’s true,” she says. “The famed Shadowsinger is a mean son of a bitch.” His mother aside, she might be right. “I’m Rhona.”

Az turns his back on the bartender and leans against the bar, scanning the crowd. Rhona glances at his forearms braced against the side. So, Cassian had it right for once—he says ‘The Forearm Effect’ is part of Az’s strategy to pick up lovers in bars, even in spite of the scars.

He asks, “Is there something you want from me, Lady Rhona?” 

She laughs. Gets closer. Touches his upper arm as she does. He clenches his jaw and stills, but his shadows spike. “I’m not a lady,” she says, “but I appreciate you saying so.” He stares. She gets the idea. “To answer your question, yes, Shadowsinger, I do want something from you.”

Again, Az doesn’t talk—he’s good at waiting, and people hate silence. Rhona’s no different. 

She leans in. Her chest brushes up against his bicep and she starts to stroke his forearm, tracing the uneven skin with the pad of her thumb. Az can smell liquor on her teeth.

Her lips graze his earlobe.

“I want you to fuck me until I can’t remember my own name,” she murmurs. “Can you do that for me?”

Hm…

He can. 

On a different night, he probably would. There’s nothing wrong with Rhona. In fact, Az would say the only thing she has to improve on is picking who she wants to go for in clubs. Plenty of males are capable, and if Rhys and Cass weren’t mated, he’d send her their way in a heartbeat.

Gently, Az places his hand on hers, barely touching, and moves it off him. “Not tonight,” he says, and his heart thunders again to the point of pain. 

To her credit, Rhona takes it on the chin. She shrugs and moves away completely. “Pity.” And for a moment, she just looks at him, assessing if perhaps she could persuade him otherwise, then she picks up her glass and drains it with a grimace. All the grain spirit had settled at the bottom, Az guesses. “See you around then.”

“Sure.”

With a playful little wave, she turns and stalks into the crowd. If she sways her hips when she walks away, Az doesn’t have the inclination to notice.

His shadows smoke and fizzle in his ears. Outside, they seem to say. Go now. Now. Now.

Why? he asks, catching sight of Rhys and Feyre in a booth. She’s draped over his lap and he’s looking at her like she’s the only person in the world, like she hung the moon and stars just for him.

Go, they repeat in a whisper. Outside, outside, outside. There’s distinct urgency in their tone but no threat, it’s not life or death. Just important, somehow.

Az takes another look at his friends. Cass and Nesta are dancing hip-to-hip, smiling, laughing, to the thumping music. Mor and Helion are talking quietly by the band, but it’s not particularly amorous—they look serious, involved, and decidedly aren’t looking in his direction. Feyre and Rhys are kissing slowly, his hand snaking up her thigh and rucking the hem of her dress beneath his fingers, until she pulls away, peppering his jaw and his neck with glittering marks of her lip gloss. He sees Rhys sigh, his throat bob when he surely makes a noise that causes Feyre to smirk down at him, shifting on his lap carefully, positioned just right to feel what she can do to him. She coaxes his mouth open. Trails her hand up his neck. Sticks her tongue down his throat and—Az snaps his gaze away, swallowing harshly, appalled, less than he should be, by the growing heat starting to flood through him at the sight. 

By the Mother, he needs air. And maybe a tab of mirthroot or two, though he hasn’t smoked since Rhys got back and he shouldn’t break his streak. Still, he’s drunk enough to want it, and turned on enough to think he might need it.

So.

The crowd parts for him, but not in a way that draws attention. It’s glances behind them, sudden realisation, and shuffling to give him room. When he slips out the front door, his hearing is dull and muffled and that annoys him. He hops the barrier before the bouncers can even think about moving it for him. The queue to his right makes sounds of excitement, thinking that now he’s leaving, they’ll be able to get in, but Az is walking away and tuning them out before he can see if they do.

Away from the club, the street is quiet. It’s narrow, would be shaded even in the day, and lined with rows of townhouses with cafes and family businesses on the ground floor. The soles of his black leather shoes clack against the cobbles. He rubs at his ear, hoping to regain some of what was lost in the blaring music, and his hearing slowly gets replaced with high-pitched ringing, which might be worse, honestly.

He doesn’t know where he’s going; he doesn’t have a plan or a goal, only places he knows he doesn’t want to end up: the palace; back at the club; any of the libraries; nor the tavern he visited once with Rhys and Cassian when they snuck past the wards of the city and ended up running half-naked from the barmaid’s father down the street. Az is simply moving, one foot in front of the other, letting himself get pulled in whatever direction seems the right one. No one is following him, nor does he have Rhys or Feyre tapping against his mental shields, so he’s in the clear.

His shadows chirp contentedly while the buzz of the alcohol starts to drain from his body in the cool night air and it settles in his blood, slightly jittery, but pleasant enough. Eventually, he finds himself down by the river banks, faced with the boardwalk by the water, and the view.

Az remembers it—or, rather, what it used to be. Over the other side of the wide water, right up against the banks and lined with piers and boats, there were hundreds of buildings. Libraries mostly, but houses, restaurants, all manners of shops too. He always thought that of all the places in Prythian, that stretch of Helion’s city was the only one which could rival Velaris. 

Every building intersected. You could walk from one end to the other and never step foot on the street, and if you wanted a taste of the outdoors, all you needed to do was find one of the terrariums. The largest collection of ancient relics, books, and scholars had made it their home.

Now, it’s flat. Utterly, completely razed to the ground, replaced with a park, littered with grey stones, names etched onto each one. A memorial for those who were killed when Amarantha and, Az reminds himself bitterly, Rhys tore through the city. Rhys had been earlier that day, quietly, without the rest of them in the first hours of the morning. Az knew, but didn’t follow.

Thousands of years of knowledge had been destroyed when she had those libraries burnt. Yet more souls were lost. It looks different at night, faintly lit up so anyone can visit at any time. Something about it is so intensely lonely.

At the edge of the river, a little ways away, a plume of smoke catches his eye.

With her legs swung over the side, dangling just above the calm water, a female sits, staring out at the park. Then it hits him, that woody, earthy scent—mirthroot. By her side, she has a case, glinting gold under the faelights which brighten the street, with rolled tabs inside it. One hangs from her mouth, half smoked.

Would she share? he wonders.

Oh, but he shouldn’t.

No, really, he shouldn’t. It always makes him feel like shit the morning after in a way that alcohol and sex and blood on his knuckles can’t give him. If he goes back and Mor sees him high, she’ll look at him with such disappointment. Cass might smack him. And Rhys will either get worried—Az was always the one to turn down a smoke before—or ask him if he smoked everything he bought.

He almost turns away. Almost. But he looks at her again, this lone female by the river, and he watches the way her hair moves in the gentle breeze, trails the dip of her spine that he can see where her top leaves the smooth skin of her back exposed. She’s leaning back slightly, resting on one hand while the other pulls the tab from her mouth. On her neck, there’s a scar, cut from the bottom of her ear and disappearing at her shoulder.

And just doing that… well, his head goes quiet. His ears stop ringing. His shadows too have stopped chattering. In fact, they’re curling beneath his shirt and in the black of his hair as though they wanted to hide, or at least be unseen. His heart though, that throbs. 

It stutters against his ribs, clenching, lurching painfully and he fights the panic starting to flood to his brain. He’d thought it was just anxiety, just the club, the people, the noise, but that’s wrong. 

And he realises.

It’s her, isn’t it?

Gods, it’s her.

Azriel knows this feeling. He’s read about it, seen it in his brothers and in Feyre, in Nesta, even in Elain, even when she doesn’t want it. He’s longed for it. He’s wanted it for so many years that now it’s actually happening he thinks maybe he isn’t ready for it after all.

That thread in his chest, something shaky but alive, unfurls in his chest. It wraps around his ribs, tugs and pulls like it can’t help it, and the pain sputters to a stop, replaced with… calm.

Go, his shadows insist, skittering back as soon as they can. 

Of course. They knew. Of course, of course, of course.

He should talk to her—or, at least ask her for a tab—but he can’t find the words. Actually, he’s not sure he even knows any words. Is it enough, he thinks, just to know it’s her? Does he have to speak? Or can he just be content in the knowledge she exists and she’s his and that’s all?

His shadows creep up to his ears slowly. Like they used to when he was a kid, they whisper to him, telling him words for him to fit together, and then they vanish again.

And Az looks at her again.

And his feet move.

And suddenly he’s standing too close for her not to notice but not close enough to be strange, even though he is strange, isn’t he? For the love of the Mother, he’s a single, drunk Illyrian in a foreign city, approaching a single female in the dead of night with no one else around. If she doesn’t run at the sight of him, she might be a fool.

Gentle and quiet, she says, “You can have one.”

What?

She glances up at him, a brow quirked, and a soft smile turns her lips when he says nothing. Then it disappears. Wordlessly, she pushes the case of mirthroot tabs towards him, sets down her lighter, and goes back to watching the other side of the river.

Right. He sits, his wings splayed out enough to be comfortable but not large enough to intimidate, with the case between them, untouched. 

The words spill out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“You’re my mate,” he says. He can’t bring himself to regret it when he does. It feels better this way, the weight in his chest lifting a little. It’s hardly romantic, but he’s never been the type for that anyway.

She flicks ash off the end of the tab and looks at him again. “I know.” Fuck. Okay. “I saw you in the club earlier.”

And he hadn’t even noticed. Azriel didn’t see his mate when she was right in front of him. 

“You—you didn’t say anything,” he replies, because there isn’t much else he can do but wonder why.

Her brow furrows. Her eyes turn sad. She looks away.

“You’re part of Rhysand’s entourage, aren’t you?”

It’s not an accusation. Her voice doesn’t shake or fill with emotion. No anger. No hatred. Nor any love or even pity. It’s just a statement, a question asked when she already knows the answer and dislikes it.

He says nothing. What is there to say? She has every right to take issue with it and—Rhysand, the word, it strikes him. Not Rhys, but not High Lord either, and not any nickname or insult that’s been thrown at him.

They’re familiar.

She knows him, but Azriel doesn’t know her. A horrible sinking ache spreads through his bones as he casts his gaze out across the water. 

“Aren’t you?” she repeats, this time with enough weight behind her voice that he has to speak.

He swallows thickly. “He’s my brother.”

A bitter-sounding huff escapes her, half a laugh, half incredulous.

“Then I’m sorry,” she says, “but I don’t have anything to say to you.” 

It probably makes him look insane, but his lips twitch into a dark smirk and he doesn’t have the decency to hide it. 

What a cruel, clever joke of the Mother to give him a mate who all but rejects him before he can even get to know her. She’s good at that, the Mother. He supposes his brothers got lucky so She has to balance it out with giving him some misery. As though I haven’t had enough, he thinks fleetingly, but the self-pity is pathetic, so he purges the notion. 

It’s fine. His mate has her reasons, Az is sure, and that’s okay. Who is he to question it? If he were her, he’d probably have been meaner about it. So, it’s fine, because it has to be. He just wishes it didn’t feel like getting stabbed right in the heart. Honestly, he might prefer the real thing.

But, it’s actually a little bit funny, isn’t it? That he’s just destined to be alone? 

Or is he just delusional? 

Or is he starting to overthink the fact that he has nothing to do with it and that the only male name that’s come out of her mouth is Rhysand?

Its end burnt down to her fingertips, she stubs out the tab of mirthroot on the stone beside her. Looking at him, she waits in the silence between them.

He looks back.

“I’m sorry too,” he says. For whatever it is, I’m sorry.

That doesn’t seem to satisfy her, but nor does it displease her either. She just nods, a muscle ticking in her jaw, and, with a murmured sigh, she stands, right on the edge of the bank.

This is it. She’s leaving. Az’s heart squeezes like it might stop beating if she never looks at him again.

“Your name,” he blurts, entirely not ready to see her go. “Will you at least tell me your name?”

She stops. Hesitates. Opens her mouth. Shuts it again. Then, blissfully, she says softly, “Sereyna.”

Sereyna. His mate is called Sereyna. It sounds like a song.

“Azriel,” he offers back, even though she doesn’t ask and probably either already knows or doesn’t want to.

It doesn’t seem like it matters, because she smiles at him again, a weak, tiny thing, but it’s there. “You can keep the case, Azriel,” she says. 

And then she turns, and she walks away without looking back, and Azriel watches until she rounds a corner and he can’t anymore.

His shadows start to wrap lightly around his wrists and wind through his fingers but he bats them away, wanting the quiet. 

He picks up the gold case of mirthroot, a little piece of her in his hands. On the back, engraved, recently, sharply, are her initials: S.C. Sereyna… something. 

Az plucks a tab out of it and flicks on her lighter. It’s a clever contraption right out of the Dawn Court—powered by a conduit of elemental magic that has to be replaced every so often—the flame a perfect teardrop shape. Against the scars of his hands, the fire flickers, and though Azriel hasn’t been afraid of fire for centuries, having it so controlled right in front of him makes something uncomfortable settle in his chest, right next to the glowing, gaping absence of his sweet, quiet, soft mate by his side.

He lights the tab, smokes it until his lungs can’t take any more, and savours the taste on his tongue while he looks across the bay.

×

It’s early morning when he makes it back to Helion’s palace, his head hazy and Sereyna’s case empty, tucked into his pocket with her lighter.

You see, over these past few hours, Azriel has formed a plan. One that his shadows don’t know because he hasn’t told them. One that makes absolute, total sense to him just about now, five tabs of the strongest mirthroot he’s ever smoked down.

One that involves dragging Rhys from his bed and pummelling him until he tells him what the fuck he did to his mate.

He passes through the palace like a whisper, careful to keep out of sight of the guards and servants, feeling anxious that they might somehow know his plan and try to stop him. The door to their guest wing clicks shut behind him. Az listens for any signs of movement—but there are none. Unsurprisingly. After last night and without interference, it’ll be a miracle if any of them wake naturally before noon.

Rhys and Feyre have the biggest chambers, but not ones with wards that can keep him out. In here, it smells like sex and power, sweet, stale arousal mixed with the metallic tang of High Fae magic. His High Lord and Lady are asleep, tucked into one another, Rhys’ wing cocooning them from the outside world. 

He doesn’t give himself time to feel guilty.

In fact, he feels a pleasant amount of abject rage. It’s better than nothing at all.

He approaches silently.

In one jutting movement, he grips Rhys by the back of the neck, firmly, enough to hurt, enough to wake him, and closes a fist around the top of his wing. By the time he can do anything to respond, Azriel has already yanked him upwards, and the darkness that explodes through the room is left behind as Az winnows him into the main living area of their quarters and smashes his face against the wall, keeping him there, paying no mind to his state of undress. 

He’s taller than Rhys. Stronger because he hasn’t let himself go soft. It’d be even easier if he had his siphons. Against his bucking, Azriel holds well. The domination clears his head a little. 

It’s true that Rhys could kill him with a thought, rip through his mental shields like he’s trying to do now, but he won’t.

They’re still brothers, after all.

“Explain,” Azriel snaps, unbothered by Rhys’ order to let go, now, despite all the roiling in his stomach that tells him to obey, thinking that a refusal probably amounts to treason and that he doesn’t much care. 

Rhys splays out his wings in an attempt to break Azriel’s grip and knocks at a painting on the wall, causing it to crash down and smack against the floor. The others will hear and come in, expecting a fight. He’s a little shocked Feyre isn’t in here already. He wrestles Rhys to stop him moving, all too aware that his patience will run thin and he’ll use everything he has to get him off him.

“Cauldron, Azriel, what the fuck is wrong with you?” he fires back, trying to get a grip on his belt buckle to yank him away.

A mirthless laugh escapes him. “Answer me.”

“It might help if you tell me what I’m supposed to explain to you!”

“Sereyna,” he hisses, the word heavy on his tongue while the bond lashes in his chest at the sound, “explain whatever it is you did to her to me and I’ll decide if it’s worth letting you keep Feyre’s favourite part of you.”

Rhys lets out an exasperated sigh and Azriel’s irritation joins his anger.

“Let go of me, Azriel.”

“Give me a reason to.”

And that’s the exact moment Cassian and Mor decide to open the door.

Wanting to avoid getting pulled across the room by Cass, Azriel lets go of his brother, and Rhys uses the split second where he’s looking between them to throw his fist directly into his gut. Cassian swears when he doubles over, bracing a hand against the wall to stop himself from bringing up bile and whatever alcohol might be left in his stomach, while Rhys flicks a wrist and dresses himself.

“Will someone please explain what’s going on?” Mor asks, glaring daggers at her cousin, who sets himself down on one of the sofas like nothing happened.

“Azriel,” he says, his nostrils flaring, “is acting like a child.”

He whirls, ignoring how his stomach protests. “Fuck you, you—”

“Gods, Az,” Mor says, drawing closer to him, her brows furrowing as she looks over him, “are you high?”

Ugh, here it comes. That look. Pure disappointment. Mor counted how many days clean he’d been more than he had. And now it’s back to zero.

He sags back against the wall, his head pressed against it. “A little,” he says, refusing to look anywhere but at Rhys, who’s staring at him with something in his eyes he infuriatingly can’t place. 

Cassian shuts the door. “Azriel…” 

“Don’t,” he snaps, cutting him a look, but, as ever, he persists.

“You swore—” he starts, but Az interrupts.

“I lied,” he says, pushing himself up and locking eyes with Rhys, dismissing Cassian entirely. “Sereyna, Rhys.”

He doesn’t miss it when Mor stiffens, her mouth set. So she knows too—and the one thing Mor knows about Rhys more than either him or Cassian is Under the Mountain. That horrible sinking ache returns.

“You’ve met her then,” Rhys drawls. “Is that who you disappeared with last night?”

The insinuation makes a feral rumble bubble in the back of his throat. “She’s my mate,” he snarls, pushing closer. “Explain to me why my mate won’t even talk to me because of you.”

Silence cleaves through the four of them, but the utter shock on all of their faces almost makes it worth it. Rhys’ quickly deteriorates to complete devastation, before it’s gone in a blink. He rubs a hand over his face, either in frustration, or for some impending headache.

Cassian dares break the quiet. “Cauldron, you pick your moments, Az,” he says, sighing, sitting across from Rhys, and pouring a glass from the decanter of whiskey that someone has presumably left out from the night before. Mor, her face tight and looking between them, joins him, taking a sip from his glass when he puts it down.

“Where’s Feyre?” she asks, ignoring it when Az scoffs.

“Asleep,” says Rhys, “I told her everything was fine.”

“You always were good at bullshitting,” Azriel says. “Did you use that much Under the Mountain?”

He feels a kind of coldness washing over him, thick with terrific fury, not caring that Cass and Mor are in the room. Let them see, he thinks, let them see.

“So you know,” Rhys says, “and you ask me to explain for what? Punishment?”

“I don’t know shit,” he shoots back, his voice so, so hard, “but I can figure it out. Don’t make me think the worst of you.”

“Because you’ve always struggled with that, haven’t you? I did what I did for us—”

“I’m aware. And I’m grateful. Aren’t we all?” Az asks drily. “I’m certain my mate knows exactly what you did—!”

“She was a child!” Rhys roars, before his tone softens and goes quiet. “She was a child and I tried to protect her from the worst of it. You weren’t there, Azriel.”

“Then start at the beginning.”

“This is totally unnecessary,” Cassian mumbles into his drink.

“If it were Nesta,” Azriel says, “you’d want to know too. If it were Feyre, Rhys…”

And he waits, knowing how low he’s going, knowing how much it’s going to hurt, but needing an answer, needing to know because if he doesn’t he might go mad with guilt.

Rhys squeezes his eyes shut, sighs, and talks.

“Amarantha,” he starts, the name coming out of his mouth ruefully, like a curse, “ordered the destruction of the libraries in the city, and the extermination of the scholars here who were publishing condemnations of her Court. Just because she was petty and she could… Sereyna’s parents were two of those scholars, and they lived in the riverside commune, so they were on the list, as well as any of their family. Old, young, ill, it didn’t matter to her.

“I found Sereyna hiding from me in a closet in their bedroom, and I was going to leave her there.” His eyes had gone blank, like he was lost in the memory of it. “I told her to be quiet and to wait, but she was scared and she begged me not to hurt her, that she was the one that had encouraged her parents and that it was her that Amarantha wanted, not them. She’d heard me, in the other room, with her parents, you see. She was lying, of course, but if anyone had heard, they’d have dragged her out to Amarantha in public. She—I don’t know—she couldn’t have been more than nine or ten, too clever for her own good, and she just kept pleading with me and by the time I’d slipped into her mind to get her to stop, Amarantha had come into the room and seen. So I bargained with her. I knew that she’d have me kill her if I didn’t, and she agreed to have her come Under the Mountain if she ‘earnt her keep.’

“She used to do little tricks for her. She was known for it. The rest of the fae from the Day Court called her a prodigy, a future genius. She could remember things exactly, like they were printed in her brain. She did spellwork far beyond what a child should be able to. And Amarantha made her use all that extraordinary power to turn wine into blood and make people dance until their ankles gave when she got bored of using me to do it. She’d make her sing for hours on end until her throat bled and at first she wouldn’t let me heal her, but she gave in when she realised there was no chance of her doing it on her own.

“She grew up in that fucking place. Had her childhood wasted and there was nothing any of us could do about it. You think you can picture the worst, Azriel? Well, you can’t. The things that bitch made her do when she came of age would make even you sick. 

“I tried to help her. I promise you, I did. And when we all got out I asked Helion for permission to see her, to talk or apologise or something. And she declined, rightfully so. Apparently she just said she wanted nothing to do with any of it. She didn’t need anyone to say sorry or to get involved.

“So,” he says, his voice harsh, “when I tell you to say the fuck away from her, I mean it. Don’t look at me like that. You aren’t entitled to her and she owes you nothing. She told you she didn’t want to talk to you, so you don’t. That’s an order.”

It should stun him like it’s knocked Mor and Cassian out of their thoughts.

The audacity of it. Of pulling rank like that.

But it doesn’t. In fact, it’s exactly what he’d been expecting. They’ve been here before, but it worked then, and it won’t now.

Az holds onto his rage, keeps it tucked away, rage for the sake of his mate and at his brother, but mostly at a dead female he wishes he could resurrect so he could kill her again.

He laughs wryly.

“Is that everything?” he asks. “Not gonna tell me to go to a pleasure hall this time?” 

Rhys sits back, any sign of anguish vanished from his face, replaced by a High Lord who doesn’t like being tested. “You still resent me for that? When it turns out I was right all along?”

“Go fuck yourself, Rhys.”

Az straightens, sets his jaw, and goes to leave.

“Stay,” Rhys orders, and he ignores him, even though it takes everything he has to keep walking.

When Az turns the door handle and opens the door, Rhys tries to get Cassian to stop him.

Just as he shuts it behind him, for the first time maybe in centuries, Az hears Cass tell Rhys, “No.”

×

Sereyna wakes up with the dawn, but then, she hadn’t really slept. 

She strips out of the clothes she had on the night before, still smelling faintly of mirthroot and sweat, and takes a damn long time in the bath, running over her skin in places where she can still feel someone else’s hands. It doesn’t really help. 

Out on her balcony, she takes dandelion tea from a pot made for two and sips it slowly while she watches the city breathe. People pass by on the street below, carrying produce to sell, sometimes with children on their shoulders, chattering innocuously.

The world keeps spinning, Sereyna, no matter what happens to us.

Rhysand had said that to her, so long ago that it feels like yesterday. He’d been healing bruises on her thighs, but had to leave the ones on her neck; Amarantha enjoyed seeing marks.

The thought makes her stomach swoop like she might throw up, but a faint warmth spreads throughout her chest, almost like an accident, and for the briefest moment, she lets herself enjoy the comfort. 

Then she shuts it out.

Drinks her tea.

It had to be, didn’t it? The Mother isn’t fond of letting her catch a break.

Just when she was getting better, when she could stand to be in crowds, to wear clothes that didn’t make her skin crawl when it was exposed, to drink and kiss and fuck because she wanted and was wanted by another. Just then, when she was considering talking to her High Lord about taking up her mother’s old post, or at least working up to it, to actually use her magic for something worthwhile after years of letting it fester, then a mating bond snaps. The idea of being involved in anything that might remind her of being there and her and him looking down at her cowering from him at nine-years-old sent her spiralling. 

She’d broken her streak of being nine months clean and found the stash of mirthroot she hid in her apartment and even that just made it worse.

Her parents were mated, you know, but they loved each other. They had been married for a century before it snapped, and all it was was confirmation of what they already knew.

But they’re dead, and her mate’s brother is the one who killed them.

The world keeps spinning, Sereyna. 

The world keeps spinning.

The Spymaster, Azriel, she reminds herself, a pretty, old name. An angel—she remembers reading the stories as a child. He ferries the dead to the land of milk and honey. Some call him benevolent, others say he kills his victims himself just to give himself something to do.

But her mate doesn’t seem like either, or maybe he’s somewhere in between. She’s heard the stories of him too.

When she saw him in the club, in a huddle with her friends across the room, she had thought he was the most exquisite, most unfairly beautiful male she had ever seen. He had real, true, classical handsomeness. The kind the fae of old would start wars over. The kind that would make the gods jealous. He had these living shades peeking over his shoulders and sliding around his wrists like sworn protectors, and brutal scars, ancient, faded, but burnt into the skin like someone had doused them in oil and set them alight, and before she could stop it, her heart had ached for him. But most of all, his wings. Glorious, glorious things with sharpened talons and intricate membranes she knew took centuries of study to understand.

He had glared at his brother, another Illyrian, and she’d heard a laugh. Rhysand’s laugh. One she knew better than the back of her hand, one that had once been tipped in cruelty so often that it was hard to separate then from reality. 

The bond snapped right there, at the apex of that laugh, stretching out her heart and cracking against her ribs.

She left before her friends could stop her. Before her mate could even see her.

She knows it could never work. He’s Rhysand’s Spymaster, for the sake of the Mother. He is a warrior, a war hero, a figure of nightmares and of dreams and she, well, she can barely get out of bed some mornings.

He would want her to know him, know his family, but she can’t. It would be an insult to their memory, a betrayal of everything she promised herself when she was scared and alone and Under the Mountain.

But when she saw him, when he stood next to her by the river, still so, so beautiful, but so sad, so angry, so tired, she saw something of herself in him, some reason for the Mother to join them like this.

She couldn’t reject him. Not officially. Not when everything had been screaming at her to touch him, to talk to him, to just lean against him and stay there for a little while.

It’s better this way, she thinks, finishing her tea, about to pour another. We’ll both be happier this way. She can’t give him what any male would want in a partner, let alone a mate, and he shouldn’t have to wait around for her to get her shit together. This way, she thinks, we can both move on, but something in her chest twinges, and it feels oh so very wrong.

Sereyna decides to make a plan for her day to stop herself crawling back into bed and doing nothing: finish the tea; put the pot away; stretch*; find all the mirthroot stashes and flush them; buy bread; eat lunch; see Carmella and apologise for ditching last night—no, scratch eat lunch, have lunch with Carmella; pay; then apologise; come back; write a letter to Melphalia and get a talking session tomorrow; finish book chapter; make dinner; start new chapter; bathe; bathe again; make sure all the stashes are gone; no drinking, none at all. Bed. Sleep—at a reasonable time.

She drains her mug. Her deck chair scrapes across the balcony tiles when she stands, but there’s no avoiding it. The basil plant by her door is sagging a little. *Add water plants to the plan.

Teapot set down, draining beside the sink, she takes a moment just to breathe. 

The world keeps spinning, Sereyna, no matter what happens.

A knock comes at her door. Two hits, quiet, almost hesitant, and somehow, she thinks she knows who it is.

The thread in her chest goes taut, strung tight with anticipation.

She doesn’t want to talk to him. For his own good, she shouldn’t. She should leave him out there so there can be no confusion—they are mates only in name.

Yet the bond lashes out, tugging, pulling, and she wonders if it’s him doing that, or if it’s the Mother willing it so.

He knocks again, something final in it, and Sereyna realises this is the last chance she’ll have.

Her body won’t let her stay put.

She crosses her apartment in an instant, pulling open the door just to confirm—yes, it’s him, and the bond sings.

He’s standing there like he hadn’t expected to see her, and his pretty shadows skitter behind his wings when they notice her. A day has made him no less stunning, and he’s perhaps more so now, his eyes wide and his hands clenched nervously by his sides.

His lips, which look so soft, part. He scans her face, then the rest of her, and she can’t tell if he’s admiring or assessing, and she’s not sure it matters.

“How did you find me?” she asks gently, her voice just so because anything louder might startle him.

“Shadows,” he replies simply, his tone equally quiet.

Sereyna swallows thickly, frowning, looking him over again. The purple bruises under his eyes make it look like he hasn’t slept, maybe not for a few days. His wings are tight against his back as though he were trying to make them, and himself, look smaller.

“I know you said you have nothing to say to me—” I have a lot to say, I just can’t, “—and if you want me to go and to never see me again, I’ll make sure of it. Just say the word and I’ll leave. But… I have some things to say to you, if that’s okay?”

It’s not. It’s not okay because she wants to forget about everything else and hear him out. It’s not okay because she wants to touch him, wants to feel his hands on her and take away the memory of everyone else. It’s not okay because she wants to let him in.

Because she wants him.

“Okay,” she says, widening the door. 

“Okay?” he repeats like he can’t really believe it.

She just nods. “You—you should probably come in.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she cuts him off. “Just come in before I change my mind.”

So he does. He follows her inside, ducks his head to fit under the doorframe, and she fights the urge to pace by her sofa. Instead, she sits, her knee bouncing while he looks around her apartment, probably thinking it’s too small, too cluttered, and noticing that the floor is uneven and that her books aren’t kept in any order on her bookshelves. He stands awkwardly in the foyer, waiting. Despite herself, she thinks it’s endearing, if unnecessary.

“You’re allowed to sit, Azriel.”

The sound of his name seems to garner his attention, and they lock eyes for a moment. Hazel, she thinks, with flecks of gold.

He does as she says and sits in the armchair across from her, rearranging his wings as best he can in a chair not built for them, still not saying a word.

Right, she supposes she’ll have to coax it out of him.

“What is it that you wanted to tell me?” she asks, clasping her hands in her lap because she suddenly doesn’t really know what to do with them.

Sereyna sees as he runs his tongue over his teeth, chewing on the inside of his cheek, searching for the words.

“Rhys,” he says, the name almost making her flinch, “told me what happened—here, and Under the Mountain.” Some restrained kind of anger simmers the gaps between his words.

Her lips twitch. “That wasn’t his story to tell.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but I asked him. I had to understand and I practically forced him to tell me.”

She sits back a little, her discomfort soothed by just his proximity, by the thought of him being in her apartment, surrounded by the scent of her. “So he knows,” she says, less a statement, more a question.

Azriel nods uneasily. “He does. He asked me—ordered me—not to come here. Not to talk to you.”

He ignored a direct order from his High Lord just to see her?

Fuck.

“Yeah,” she lets herself laugh, because she’s not certain of the alternative, “that sounds like him.”

That makes Azriel frown, before he schools his face. “You don’t hate him.”

“No,” Sereyna says, before she adds, “well, sometimes I do. He—I owe him my life, and I don’t blame him for what he did—I think it would make me a hypocrite if I did.” She forces herself to look at her mate when she continues; he deserves to know the kind of person she is. “We all did things we aren’t proud of down there. I did things I’m not proud of. But I’m alive because of them, and I can’t regret them or I think I’d go crazy with guilt.”

For a second, she thinks he might call her out, or leave, or tell her she’s a bad person. But he doesn’t. In fact, he gives her a look, one that no one else would catch, that says one thing to her, I understand. Then he gives her a small smile, the first one of his she’s seen, and says, “That wouldn’t be ideal.”

Oh, and a chuckle escapes her, and his eyes light up at the sound, and the bond jumps like it can’t contain itself.

And she has to tell him before it’s too late.

“Azriel,” she says seriously, “I—I don’t think I can be who you want me to be.”

He tilts his head at her. A curl of dark hair falls over his face, and her instincts yell at her to brush it off his forehead, maybe card her hands through his hair until he keens. “You don’t know what I want.”

“You want a mate,” she says. “Someone you can spend the rest of your life with. I can’t give that to you. I can’t go to the Night Court, I can’t live there or visit or even think about it without wanting to—to cry, honestly. I don’t have my life together, I drink too much, I have about seven different stashes of mirthroot hidden around this place so my friends don’t take them off me, sometimes I don’t get out of bed until three in the afternoon and—”

“Sereyna,” he says, stopping her spiral before she can tell him something stupid like how she still gets scared of the dark sometimes, “just breathe.”

Right. Air. Yes. That’s good. He’s good at that, at comfort, even if he doesn’t know he’s doing it.

She inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales, catches how his fingers move like he wants to touch her, thinks that she might quite like that, but he doesn’t, inhale, exhale, until her breathing evens out.

The world keeps spinning.

“Can I tell you what I think now?” he asks, not smugly, not arrogantly. It’s just a question, given without judgement. Sereyna thinks that if she says no, he would leave her be, even now.

She nods, so he talks. “I think that you’re my mate, so none of that really matters.”

“That sounds like you’re settling.”

He laughs, such a lovely thing. “If you think anyone is settling for you, you might like to reevaluate.”

A flush creeps up her neck and blooms high on her cheekbones. 

He’s a flirt.

“I—was that everything you wanted to say?” 

At the question, he turns coy, almost boyish. “I suppose so. I just—I just thought you should know,” he says.

Silence settles over them, but it’s comfortable, the kind of peace that comes when a weight has been lifted. In it, his shadows start to simmer around his shoulders, shyly peering at her as though they want to look but not to be noticed. She pretends not to, just to see if they’ll stick around.

Azriel, though, starts to brace his hands on his knees like he’s going to get up and leave, but Sereyna doesn’t want him to.

Absolutely, unequivocally, she wants him to stay. 

If this is how it’s going to be with him, if he doesn’t mind her and everything that comes with that, if he can offer such understanding, if he can be alright with managing his expectations—though it seems he doesn’t expect much at all—maybe she can do the same. Isn't that fair? Doesn’t he deserve to be treated well, in the same way that he treats her? To be complimented and flirted with?

To be understood?

She can do that. 

No, it’s worse. She’d like to do that for him. She wants to make him smile, laugh even. She could listen to his voice all day, even if he was spouting nonsense and nothing else. She wants to know every petty, little detail of his life and hoard the knowledge all for herself.

Most importantly of all, if she doesn’t prevent him leaving now, she might never see him again, and that fills her with such grief that she decides she has to stop him.

Fuck the plan.

“Tea,” she blurts, already wincing as the word comes out of her mouth, realising how stupid it sounds. But he stops moving, waiting for her to continue, so her strategy worked, she supposes. “I mean, do you want any—do you want to stay for tea, a cup of tea, is what I’m trying to ask. And breakfast, maybe? Not made by me, of course, for obvious reasons, but there’s a bakery down the street which has these pistachio pastries and those are really nice and—please, just say yes or no so I don’t have to keep talking.”

He smiles again, so making a fool of herself was worth it. “I’d like that,” he says, still grinning. 

She narrows her eyes at him. “Were you enjoying me rambling like an idiot?”

“Maybe a bit.”

“You fucker,” she says, but she’s smiling too.

“If you want me to be.”

“Gods,” she groans, burying her face in her hands to hide the blazing heat on her cheeks, “let’s just go get breakfast before you get completely shameless.”

Sereyna stands before the world can come crashing down, before he can turn around and say that actually it’s all a lie and he doesn’t want anything to do with her, crosses over to him, and holds out her hand.

“Come on,” she says, wiggling her fingers. 

His gaze drops to her hand, and tentatively, like she might spook if they touch, slides his hand into hers, standing too. The skin is rough, marred by the scars she’ll one day ask about, probably right after he asks her about the one on her neck, and a little cold. That’s okay, though. She’s always had warm hands. Gently, she interlocks their fingers and squeezes, only once. 

He squeezes back.

As she leads him back to the door, he says, “I still have your case. And your lighter.”

She shrugs. “I told you, keep them. I’m getting rid of all my tabs anyway.”

He goes quiet for a bit, thinking, and she lets him. If he wants to say something, he will. And he does.

“The C on the engraving…” he starts, “your family name?” 

Letting out a little hum of confirmation, she replies, “Yeah. Caerwyn. It’s one of the old names from before the Courts.”

As they leave her apartment and he shuts the door behind them, he says, “It suits you.”

“Thanks,” she laughs, “just don’t call me Lady Caerwyn. My poor mother would roll in her grave. Titles made her passionately aggravated.”

“Right,” he says, “so glare at anyone who calls you Lady until they get the idea?”

“You catch on quick. She’d have liked you. My father too.”

Ah, success. He blushes so sweetly.

“I’m glad,” he says quietly.

“Me too.”

And they go down the stairwell, hand-in-hand, content in the moment with no need to worry about what comes next. That’s all for after. He can sort out the fallout of whatever happened with his brother, and she’ll be there, supporting him how she can. And she can start actually getting her act together, and he can support her.

Sereyna thinks, gratefully, that this might actually work.

But for now, pastries and tea.

a/n: saw a typo? let me know! this behemoth of a fic is 8k words and they're easily missed :)

[thelov3lybookworm]

Alone (part 2)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: The morning is bleak, business as usual. Nothing new. Nothing fun. Until someone decides to make it fun.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 1568 

Warnings: just yn being depresso espresso and done with life and az lol, some vague descriptions of the previous part i think, and kidnapping teehee 🤭 ig you could also say angst? idk tho lol you decide

A/n: GUESS WHOS BACK MY GUYSSSSSSSS 🥹🥹🥹 ive been SO DESPERATE TO WRITE SOMETHING THE PAST FEW MONTHS but couldnt cus of exams and stuff and then had a bit of writers block lol but OMG IM SO HAPPY RN

this is like. a sequel to Alone, a ficlet id written for starfall week hehe. ALTHOUGH THIS IS A SEQUEL, IT CAN STILL BE READ AS A STANDALONE!! so go ahead and pls comment hehehehe i love reading comments <3

this purely exists because of the amazing people who commented on the previous part, and also people who asked to be tagged in part 2 hehe: @blessthepizzaman @vanserrasimp @sophieliz and @saltedcoffeescotch

ANYWAYS, ENJOYYYY!!!🥳🥳🥳

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Brows furrowed, Y/n pushed her face into the pillow, her annoyance slowly rising.

Why did every morning have to start with sunrise? Why couldn’t she wake up and it be night outside for once?

This had become a routine, almost. Her, lying in bed, then glaring out the window at the sun that didn’t seem to care, and then rolling as far away from the rays as she could without tumbling over. Nothing was fun anymore. Nothing to be excited about, nothing new. Only fatigued nothingness remained.

The only time she left her bed was when the rumbling in her stomach became too loud to ignore.

Which, as was evident by the slow but steady feeling of her stomach starting to cramp up, Y/n figured would be happening sooner rather than later.

Lungs expanding, air filling them, Y/n shoved the covers off of her body, scowling at the soft material, then swung her legs over the side of the bed, huffing. A small moment passed, and then two, as she stared down at the grainy planks of wood.

Somewhere outside the small apartment she had rented out a week after starfall, children played amongst themselves. The sounds of loud, free and innocent laughter that would have made her smile once now only served to grate against her nerves.

Eyes closed, breathe in, breathe out.

A flick of her wrist, and the house was covered in a sound barrier, suddenly silencing any and all sounds that before penetrated the walls. Quietly, Y/n stood, pushing strands of hair away from her face and then tying it up in a bun with the small strip of leather lying on her bedside table.

Feet bare, Y/n traipsed down the hallway to the kitchen, trying to remember if there were any leftovers she could have as she splashed her face with cold water from the tap. But the clean, empty counters told her that no, there were no leftovers.

Checking the cabinets, Y/n realised that the two slices of bread she had stored away to eat someday when there was nothing to eat had caught mold and now looked like the sadistic announcement of doom.

Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, trying desperately to find something, anything to satiate her needs for the day, she looked around. But alas, not even a dust particle dared to show face.

Having had her mental health on a downward tumble the past few weeks, Y/n disliked doing anything, much less cook for herself the first thing in the morning, and so, caving, she walked back out and towards the main door of the apartment, pulling off her thick coat from the corner where a lone shoe cabinet stood haphazardly.

It had been one of the things the homeowner had left for her in the partially furnished house. Granted, it looked older than the mother herself, much like everything else in the building, but it held up, and that was all that mattered.

It wasn’t that Y/n couldn’t afford to rent better living quarters. She could probably buy around three of the buildings in the area and still live out her life comfortably from what she had acquired. It was just that she didn’t want to get anything fancy.

What was the point in pretty things, anyway?

After all, she had lived her whole life bathed in riches and jewels and luxury, and yet, the thing that mattered most in life stayed just out of reach. All the warmth she craved, the comfort, the feeling of belonging, remained contained in books and soft bedding.

All the love she craved right in front of her eyes. Always there, never hers.

Glancing in the small mirror covered in questionable stains that for some reason refused to budge when taken to with a rag and soap, Y/n deemed her hair to be… fine, for an errand that was meant to be quick. She just had to walk a few blocks down, grab a few necessities, bread, and maybe a cup of coffee from the shop across the street that always tasted way more watered down than it should, and then it was just her and the comfort of the apartment against the world.

Preparing herself mentally, Y/n quickly pushed her feet into the boots set in the corner, tugging up the hood of her jacket, and pulled open the door. As she stepped outside and began to lock the door, a stale breeze from the cracked window in the far end tickled her nose, making her scrunch her face in distaste.

She always wished they would repair the thing, because not only did it make her cold sometimes, it often brought in smells of alcohol and everything else that disgusted her, and she hated it with every fibre in her being.

Not to mention, the stench also reminded her of cold nights alone on a high peak, surrounded by lights and glitter and stars, bottles and tears and liquid that made her throw up in the Sidra when walking all by herself in the snow while a party raged in her wake.

Y/n shook her head, shoving the icicles on her hands into her pockets as she walked down the steps, glad no neighbour of her seemed to be out and about.

Going unnoticed in the streets was almost too easy, considering she blended well in with the crowds of people going to work. All of them wearing dark coats, so bleak and ordinary. It would be a lie to claim she did not prefer this over the fur and jewels her friends decked themselves in.

Well, most of them anyways.

The tiny little building of the bakery was easy to spot, not because of the peeling colours and cracked steps, but because of the scented smoke billowing out of the chimney first thing in the morning, announcing the making of new, fresh bread.

The door creaked open under Y/n’s stiff fingers, blasting her in the face with the warm whiff of freshly produced goods, and she sighed, letting the door fall shut behind her. Instantly, the air warmed up her skin.

The bakery was fairly crowded, mostly filled with some buying smaller packages of cakes and muffins to eat on the go, and others bringing bigger packs of bread, likely to feed their families. Ignoring all that, Y/n walked over to the small old lady behind the counter, calling out orders at the younger female running about in the back visible through a small window, likely baking more.

"Good morning, darling. What can I get for you today?"

Y/n tried her best to offer her a smile, she really did, but she was ready to bet her small toe that it looked more like a grimace than anything else. "Just a roll of white bread, please."

The lady quickly put the bread in a brown paper bag, then paused, before adding in a small muffin. Y/n began to protest, but one wink from the lady and a secretive smile later, Y/n once more stood in the bustling streets of Velaris’ almost forgotten square.

Its on the house. You look like you could use a bit of sweetness, child.

The words were so simple, yet they swirled around Y/n’s mind like a whirlpool.

Maybe I do need some sweetness.

With the thoughts in her mind, Y/n began trekking back to the ramshackle apartment. One foot in front of the other, an occasional sidestep, and repeat. Until a pit opened up in her stomach, making her pause.

Y/n looked up, scanning her surroundings. Nothing out of the ordinary, and yet…

Am I just hungry?

She continued on, shaking off the concerns. But with each step, the pit deepened, spreading, and encompassed all her insides with unshakable dread.

Maybe… this isn’t hunger.

But just as she had the world breaking intervention from the mother, there was a crunch behind her. A whoosh, and then a bag was thrown over her head.

The first thing she noticed, even in her panic- aside from the sudden darkness, of course- was the stench coming from the threadbare bag.

A stench she, as part of the inner circle and one of the more skilled chemical researchers of Prythian, was quite familiar with.

Faebane.

Faebane, mixed with something more…acrid, something she recognised but couldn’t quite put a finger on, but knew it was meant to put someone in a deep, uninterruptible slumber for the very least of a day, or something similar to that.

Way to go down, I guess.

Y/n decided, then and there, as the bag tightened on her head and she was pulled back and to the side towards her captor- and what she assumed was into the small, dark alleyway, away from sight- that she wouldn’t fight back. What was the point in trying to overthrow someone who undeniably had you in captivity?

At least I can say I went with dignity. No kicking feet and screaming.

The bag tightened, and tightened, and tightened, and gradually, her head became lighter, and whatever limited vision she had began fading, her limbs loosening, falling limp. With barely any consciousness left in her, she felt her body being jostled, thrown over someone’s shoulder, maybe, before the person started walking off.

Into an adventure, I hope.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

ACOTAR taglist <3

@bubybubsters @berryzxx @sarawritestories @milswrites @throneofsmut

@daycourtofficial @sweetorangeblossom @serenescureforboredom @cassie6392 @harrystylesfan2686

@hijabi-desi-bookworm @dnfhascorruptedme @littlest-w01f

@eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686

@cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1

@hnyclover @minnieoo @piceous21

@mybestfriendmademe @saltedcoffeescotch @lady-of-tearshed @starsinyourseyes

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@sunnyspycat @artists-ally @milswrites @riddlesb1tch

@buttermilktea11 @loving-and-dreaming @yucanbmylxdy

@dnfhascorruptedme @fuckingsimp4azriel @moonchildlv @12358

[yourlittlebunnyy]

loving you softly

Azriel x reader - masterlist

Summary: After a bad day at work, your Azriel is always there to help you.

Warnings: none, just pure fluff!

W/c: 2,5k

The door closes behind you with a quiet click, but the sound seems to echo in your bones. It’s been a day — that kind of day. One of those days where everything felt a little too sharp. Where your chest felt too tight, your voice too small, your light too dim.

You’re not even fully inside before the tears sting your eyes, blurring your vision as you set your keys down with trembling fingers. You don’t want to cry. You’ve been holding it together all day — through the clipped tones, the impossible demands, the exhaustion you’ve been swallowing like poison. But now…

Now you’re home. And something inside you just gives.

You don’t even make it to the couch. You just stand there, frozen in the middle of the hallway, head hanging, breathing in ragged, shaky gasps.

And that’s when you hear him.

Soft footsteps. The familiar rustle of wings. And then his voice — deep, quiet, and gentle, like the first stars rising at dusk.

“Sweetheart?”

You can’t look up. You don’t want him to see you like this. Not after how hard you tried today. Not when your makeup is probably smudged, your heart cracked open, your hands clenched so tightly they tremble.

But Azriel doesn’t need you to look up. He’s already crossing the room, already gathering you into his arms, already holding you like he’s been waiting to do it all day.

You fall into him like a tide hitting shore.

There’s no judgment in the way he wraps you up — only warmth. Only strength. His wings curve around you protectively, shielding you from the world you just escaped. His hands cradle the back of your head, one gloved thumb brushing your cheek as your tears soak his shirt.

You don’t speak, and he doesn’t ask.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “You don’t have to do anything now. Just let me hold you.”

And you do.

You don’t know how long you stay there. Minutes blur together. But Azriel never moves until you do. When your sobs finally soften to hiccups, when your trembling eases just enough, he presses one last kiss to your forehead and pulls back.

His gaze finds yours — those deep, fathomless hazel eyes, full of moonlight and shadow and love.

“Let me take care of you,” he says, and his voice is so tender it makes you cry all over again.

He lifts you without asking, one arm beneath your knees, the other curled around your back. His shadows swirl like they’re worried, nuzzling at your cheeks and brushing your hair with barely-there touches, as if trying to help.

He carries you down the hall, past the warm flicker of faelight, past the soft scent of bergamot he always keeps burning in the evenings. When you reach the bathroom, it’s already warm — lit in low, golden hues. The bath is drawn, steam rising in lazy spirals, the scent of lavender and vanilla curling in the air.

“How did you…?”

“I heard your breathing change before you even opened the door,” he says simply. “You sounded tired.”

You try to laugh, but it cracks halfway out. He doesn’t push it.

He kneels before you as he helps you undress, his movements slow and reverent. Like you’re something precious. Something breakable. He meets your eyes each time he peels away a layer, searching for any sign of resistance. There is none. Just exhaustion. Just the quiet, unspoken need to be held, to be cared for.

He guides you into the water and settles behind you, fully clothed, sitting on the edge with his sleeves rolled up. You lean back against the porcelain wall, sighing as the warmth wraps around you.

Azriel’s hands are in your hair next. Strong hands made for war, made for shadows and flight — now massaging lavender-scented soap gently into your scalp like he’s trying to coax the pain right out of your bones.

He rinses you with care. No rush. No words needed. Just the rhythm of water, the soft press of cloth to skin, the quiet hum he sometimes makes when he’s focused.

Eventually, your eyes flutter shut, your breathing evening out.

“Still with me?” he whispers, kissing the crown of your head.

You nod sleepily.

After the bath, he wraps you in a thick towel and dries you off slowly. The towel’s warm — of course he warmed it — and it smells faintly of cedar and him. He leads you to your shared bedroom and helps you into your softest clothes: the oversized shirt you always steal from him, the fuzzy socks you wear when you’re too tired to feel like a person.

Azriel pulls back the covers for you, but you don’t climb in just yet. Instead, you follow him back to the kitchen, if only because you want to stay close.

He makes the hot chocolate exactly the way you like it — dark, with cinnamon and a bit of nutmeg. Marshmallows, yes. But only two. He remembers. He always remembers.

You sit at the kitchen table, legs curled beneath you, cradling the mug as the warmth sinks into your chest. He watches you over the rim of his own cup, those shadows still flickering protectively around your feet.

“I know today hurt,” he says softly. “But none of it changes how strong you are.”

You glance at him, and he leans forward, brushing his fingers along your cheek.

“Even strength needs rest. Even the stars need the night.”

You don’t have words. But you don’t need them. You just set your mug down and crawl into his lap, curling into his chest. His wings wrap around you again, his arms strong and sure.

He carries you back to bed in silence.

Once you’re tucked in, he lies beside you, pulling you close with one arm around your waist and the other gently carding through your damp hair. His lips brush your temple once. Then again.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, like a promise.

You’re just beginning to drift off, the tension in your chest finally loosened by warmth, chocolate, and the solid weight of Azriel wrapped around you — when you feel his hand shift slightly.

He doesn’t let go, not even for a second. One arm is still curved tightly around your waist, anchoring you to him like he’s afraid you might float away. But now his thumb is moving in slow, steady strokes over the fabric of your shirt. Back and forth. Back and forth. Gentle as a lullaby.

“You’re not asleep yet,” he murmurs into the crown of your head, his breath warm against your skin.

You smile faintly but don’t open your eyes. “How do you always know?”

His voice is a low hum, barely more than a breath. “I know your breathing. And your heartbeat. I know you.”

You turn slightly in his arms so you’re facing him now, nose brushing his collarbone. He’s already watching you, even in the soft glow of the faelights, eyes half-lidded and full of something you don’t have a word for — something deeper than love, heavier than adoration.

“I’m sorry I broke down like that,” you whisper.

His brow furrows. “Don’t apologize for feeling, ever. Especially not with me.”

You try to speak again, but he cuts you off gently by pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t have to carry everything alone. Not when I’m here.”

Your heart cracks open all over again, but this time, not from pain. From relief. From the weight of love too big for your chest.

You reach up and run your fingers lightly through his hair. He melts into your touch immediately, the tension in his jaw easing.

“You always know what I need before I do,” you murmur. “It’s a little unfair.”

He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through your bodies where they’re pressed together. “You deserve to be known that well.”

A silence settles over you — not awkward, not empty. Just full of the quiet understanding that no words can improve upon. His hand slides beneath the hem of your shirt, settling warm against your bare back, and you sigh at the contact.

“You’re warm,” you mumble, already slipping back toward sleep.

Azriel shifts so you’re tucked fully into his chest, legs intertwined beneath the sheets, one of his wings folding over you like a blanket. Safe. Hidden. Sheltered.

He kisses your hair again. “You’re safe now, love. I’ve got you.”

And he holds you like that — heart to heart, skin to skin, shadow to shadow — until your breathing slows. Until your tears dry. Until your muscles go soft and your mind floats somewhere between dreams and reality.

Just before sleep finally pulls you under, you feel his lips brush your ear, soft and careful as a prayer.

“You’re everything to me. Even on your worst days.”

And in the quiet dark, you believe him.

You fall asleep wrapped in his arms, and for the first time in days — maybe weeks — you don’t dream of the things that hurt. You dream only of wings and warmth and home.

You wake slowly, reluctantly — as if even your dreams knew better than to leave his arms.

The first thing you feel is warmth. The second is weight — the protective press of a muscled arm draped over your waist, and the solid curve of a wing still tucked half over you like a second blanket. The third thing you feel is… peace.

You blink your eyes open, slow and bleary. The room is still wrapped in dawn light, soft and pale, the color of cream poured into tea. Faint birdsong filters in through the cracked window, and the scent of Azriel’s cedarwood skin still clings to your sheets.

He’s still asleep. Or at least, you think he is — until his thumb starts tracing slow circles against your hip again. His voice, low and rough with sleep, slips out against the curve of your neck.

“Morning, sunshine.”

You hum, burying your face into the crook of his shoulder. “Mm. It’s not morning yet.”

“It’s been morning for twenty minutes.”

“I don’t recognize that time zone.”

He laughs softly, and you feel it — the vibration through his chest, where your palm is still resting. He’s shirtless, of course. Which is unfair. He knows what he’s doing. One glance down at the exposed plane of his chest, warm and golden in the early light, and you feel a different kind of heat stir in your stomach.

But you’re still tired. Still soft.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asks, voice a little clearer now. His hand rises to push the hair from your face, and his thumb lingers at your cheekbone.

You nod against him. “Because of you.”

Azriel doesn’t respond immediately. Just watches you for a long, still moment, like he’s trying to memorize you in this exact second — sleepy, safe, curled into his chest in a tangle of blankets and love.

Then he leans in and kisses you.

It’s not rushed. Not greedy. Just the kind of kiss that says everything words fail to — I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re loved. His lips are warm, and soft, and familiar in a way that makes your entire body sigh into him.

You kiss him back.

When you pull away, you expect him to settle again. But instead, he gives you a soft look — all mischief and shadow — and brushes his nose against yours.

“You hungry?”

You blink, caught off guard. “You’re making breakfast?”

Azriel raises a brow. “I do know how to cook.”

You squint. “You also know how to threaten entire war camps with a stare. That doesn’t mean you do it for fun.”

He smirks, already sitting up. His wings stretch behind him, catching the morning light as he rolls his shoulders. “I’ll take that as a yes. Don’t move. Stay cozy.”

He leans down to kiss your forehead, then again at the corner of your lips, then your jaw, as if he can’t help himself — as if he needs to kiss every inch of your face before he leaves the bed.

And then he’s gone, his bare feet whispering across the floor, shadows curling playfully behind him. You watch him move — shirtless, hair tousled, so casual and lethal and beautiful all at once — and you wonder how you ever survived a day without him.

You stay wrapped in the blankets like he told you, smiling faintly to yourself as you hear cabinets opening in the kitchen, pans shifting, the soft sizzle of something being cooked in butter.

You think maybe he’s humming.

Ten minutes later, he returns — shirtless, smug, and carrying a tray.

Two slices of thick, golden toast. Eggs, fluffy and perfectly seasoned. Stewed fruit. And beside it, a steaming mug of your favorite tea with a tiny drizzle of honey. Not too sweet. Just right.

You sit up slowly, blinking at the display.

He sets the tray across your lap and kisses your temple. “Told you I could cook.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “Okay, fine. I surrender. You’re the full package.”

Azriel smirks. “Took you long enough.”

The two of you eat together in bed, your legs tangled beneath the covers, his hand resting on your thigh when he isn’t reaching for his own mug. You feed him a bite of your toast and he leans in without hesitation, smiling around it. Your heart aches in the best way.

When the plates are empty and your stomach is warm, he takes the tray back to the kitchen — only to return moments later, climbing back into bed and pulling you onto his lap like you belong there.

And gods, you do.

You curl into his chest again, letting your fingers trace the faint scars across his back, the ones he never flinches at anymore when you touch.

“Thank you,” you whisper, because you can’t not say it. “For last night. For this morning. For everything.”

He presses a kiss into your hair.

“You don’t have to thank me for loving you,” he says quietly.

You bury yourself deeper into his embrace.

“I love you too,” you whisper, and feel his arms tighten around you, just a little. Like he needed to hear it, even if he already knew.

He leans back into the pillows, one hand stroking your spine, and murmurs sleepily, “We don’t have to do anything today. Just stay right here.”

You nod, already half asleep again in his arms.

And that’s exactly what you do.

[angelsueeeeeee]

NOOOOOOOOOO YOU CANT DO THIS TO MEEEEEEEEE THAT CLIFFHANGER IS DIABOLICAL

But First, The End

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/her pronouns used)

Word Count: 10.5k

Summary: A one-night stand with Prythian’s most notorious spy leads to an avalanche of life changing events. 

Warning/Notes: Hoping to make this a mini-series if people are interested! Some talk of anxiety, smutty/adult content, I think it can be categorized as fluff, but there will definitely be some angst eventually because I can’t help myself. Please let me know what you think and if you’d be interested in more parts! Thank you.

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The glimmering purple liquid burned as it raced down her throat, shot number–who even knew– as her hips swayed back and forth, the upbeat music acting as a guide. 

Heat danced across her flesh, pirouetting on every inch of her skin, as her friends pressed closely around her, dancing the night away. Lena–her twin sister, had been the one responsible for tonight. When she learned that her sister had been accepted to intern under the best healer in Velaris, well, she’d wanted to celebrate by taking Y/n out and–apparently– getting her laid, or very drunk, whichever happened first.

She hadn’t given much of a fight, it was rare that she got to enjoy a night out. Usually, she sequestered herself away in her own corner of the world studying herbal remedies and medicinal practices, or doing research on all sorts of plants and carnivorous insects.

“We need more alcohol,” Mari– one of her good friends, called out, not waiting for a response before dragging Lena behind her as they headed for the bar. Y/n watched as the small, fearless seamstress flipped her hair over her shoulder, exposing a small constellation tattoo, and smiled seductively at the bartender. Laughing slightly, Y/n spun on her heels, grateful that her friends were enjoying the night as much as she was.

Vasilisa, her sweet roommate, quickly filled in the gap the other two had left. Smiling softly at a male before she twirled once, the delicate glimmering mesh of her skirt chasing after her thighs. 

“The High Lord’s here tonight,” she giggled, throwing her arms around Y/n’s neck as she danced with her, but kept eye contact with the male just out of view. Perhaps alcohol was, in-fact, not what they needed more of. “And, he looks delicious.”

“He’s mated, Lesa, probably best to pick some other poor soul.” Despite the oddity of Lesa’s drunkenness, she couldn’t help but warm at her friend’s state. 

A small, devilish grin plastered across the girl’s face as she quickly shifted gears, “What about the shadowsinger? He’s not mated and Cauldron, he is scrumptious.”

At this point, Y/n would definitely have to be the one to stop drinking. With Mari and Lena still chatting up the bartender, more drinks appearing and disappearing before they ever left the counter; Lesa all but grinding against her as she mentally undresses the High Lord and the Spymaster of the Night Court; and Peri’s complete disappearance once a beautiful female had shown interest; it was a safe bet that she’d need to make sure everyone got home safely tonight.  

“I have an even better idea, Y/n,” Lesa squealed, her toes bouncing as she gripped both of her arms, big doe eyes pleading. “You should ask him to dance!” Lesa seemed so happy with herself, but she had to hold back the cringe that fought desperately to claw its way free.

She must not have done a good enough job hiding it, because Lesa pouted, “You don’t think he’s hot?” 

Y/n blanched, “No, of course I think he’s hot. I mean he's very tall, and gorgeous, and I like the way his shadows surround him, and I can only imagine what they can do in–” her cheeks flooded with heat that she couldn’t blame on the atmosphere. Good gods, she needed to reattach her tongue to her brain. Clearing her throat, and ignoring Lesa’s growing smirk, “that’s not the point.”

She laughed awkwardly, hoping to change the subject. She certainly wouldn’t be asking him to dance. The male took her breath away, she’d never be able to speak to him, not without clamming up or dying on the spot– the latter more preferrable. 

It was entirely possible that she was a little obsessed with the male, but in a ‘I’ll adore you from behind the scenes and never, ever do anything about it,” kind of obsession. Totally healthy. Not at all going to bite her in the ass.

She just admired him, and well, all of the Inner Circle. They did so much to keep the Night Court safe and an enjoyable place to live. 

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t dance,” Peri spoke as she finally made her reappearance. She took one of the shots that Lena handed her as she and Mari finally made their back, as well. “Besides, you're out of his league,” the purple haired faerie said, shooting her a wink. 

Of all of her friends, Peri understood the anxiety that lingered beneath Y/n’s bones the best. The circumstances that she and Lena had grown up in– they hadn’t been the best and it followed them even now, nearly one hundred years into their lives.

She smiled back at her friend, spinning Lesa into Mari’s arms, the girl gasping at the sudden movement, Lena catching the two barely before they tumbled. Y/n slung an arm around Peri’s shoulders, the two swaying back and forth as she thanked the Mother for her friends.

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The night lived on, the girls tapering off to dance with all kinds of people, the lights switching from flickering rainbow rays, to disco, to low set golden glows. Y/n let the euphoria from adrenaline and excitement drive her body– she had stopped drinking what had to have been hours ago, but she still felt the light thrum in her limbs that made her feel like a cloud, made her feel untouchable. 

By the time midnight rolled around, her feet had started aching in the best ways, her thighs felt like they were on fire, and she could feel dobs of sweat beading her brow. She had danced with her fair share of men and women, but no matter how many times Lena shot her a ‘go for it’ look or Mari gave her a thumbs up, she never lingered for more than a dance.

With all her friends occupied, she made her way out the back exit, needing some fresh air and a glance at the stars. Stargazing had always been a source of comfort for her, it was her mother’s favorite thing to do– and Velaris is the best place to do it. The beautiful dark sky was mixed with deep blues and unnerving black hues that made the stars shimmer like diamonds.

She sighed, resting her back against the brick wall of an alley, taking comfort from the cool texture against her bare skin. Her eyes stayed glued to the sky, but she jolted when she heard a small can knock over a little deeper into the alley. She stood frozen, too confused, and a little scared, to do anything other than watch.

Her breath escaped her quickly, though. She watched a small black tendril of smoke slither out from behind the bin, moonlight gleaming on the silver can as more shadows revealed themselves around it.

They made their way towards her, some of them wrapping around her ankles and running the length of her arms, gooseflesh following swiftly after them. She giggled softly, cooing at the adorable things.

“What are you doing here?” She whispered, utterly enamored by the way they moved, the cool tenderness that they left in their wake. She’d blame the alcohol for her utter lack of awareness, despite feeling completely sober, she was sure it was the only explanation for how she missed their master entirely. “You’re quite cute.”

“That’s not typically how people describe them,” a deep, rough voice spoke from behind her. 

She wasn’t proud of what happened next, but, in her defense, she panicked and instinct took over. 

She screeched, her heels spinning swiftly as she threw her fist at the intruder behind her, all of her small, but mighty force put behind it.  

In hindsight, should she have been able to make an informative guess on who it was? Absolutely. If she had taken even a moment to look at her surroundings: the creatures she was speaking to, or even the bar that the alley they currently stood in lay attached to– she may have chosen a better way to react.

Still, she tried desperately to hold onto all of her brothers’ teachings, it had been years since she’d properly trained or had taken part in any sort of physical combat, so she was a little rusty. 

Her fist collided with a skin, hard. She hadn’t realized how tall the male before her was, her head barely reaching his shoulders, her fist vibrating where it hit the palm of his hand. 

He hadn’t even flinched. A small smile tilting the side of his mouth. She stood frozen, her wrist now encased by a warm, calloused hand as he twisted his grip, gently.

Their eyes locked, his warm hazel gaze taking complete control of her being. Her mouth popped open a little, her eyes wide as she took in the beautiful specimen before her. The quirk of his lips disappeared almost immediately, but he still wore a soft look on his face, it was obvious he was doing his best to not be intimidating. He dropped her wrist without complaint and took a large step backwards, his hands clasping behind his back as he dragged his wings in behind him, making them look smaller.

He cleared his throat, the look on his face giving nothing away, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Her first thought? That he could startle her whenever he wanted to because he’s breathtaking. His short curls lay in dark wisps along his forehead, his eyes glazed with a bewitching twinkle, and his clothes clung tightly to his muscles, nothing left to the imagination. She could see the swirls of his tattoos as a few sat slightly in view beneath his sleeves and open collar.

Finally, finally, she found her voice, it cracked, “Wo-ow, you’re beautiful.” His eyes widened and his mouth hung agape for a short moment, shadows dancing along his shoulders as they thrummed with what looked like giddy-delight. 

Cauldron. Boil. Her.

She cursed herself inwardly, why the hell had she said that? She needed to get out of here, fast. 

“I mean– you aren’t– I’m–” words failed to form, and he just stood and watched, mesmerized, as she floundered, as she crashed and pathetically burned. “I’m so sorry, for punching–oh gods– and for the beautiful–” swallow, “–thing… uh– i’m just gonna,” She pointed her thumb to the door she came through.

“I don’t think–” He started, but quickly stopped when she swore, pulling on the door handle that didn’t so much as budge. She pulled harder, over and over again as embarrassment to the nth degree began washing over her.

She groaned, allowing her upper body to fall against the large door, her forehead resting against the cool metal. Why do these things happen to me?

To all his credit, the shadowsinger just stood back and watched as she slowly unraveled, utter amusement dancing in his eyes. He had never seen anyone fumble so entirely when trying to speak to him. It intrigued him. It certainly had him thinking of ways to make that blush bloom across her cheeks again. 

“Are you alright?” He finally asked, cutting off her repetitive mumblings. Her gaze snapped to his, her head still firmly planted against the door. 

“I should have drank more,” she said to herself before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “I’m peachy,” Was how she responded to him, “thanks for not, you know, killing me for punching you.”

He mouthed the word peachy, as if he had never heard it before, his brows crinkling in the most attractive way. Gods, she really needed to quit staring at him.

She started her walk towards the front of the alley, doing her best to sidestep the large male. He merely turned, allowing her to pass him with plenty of room between them, but he did follow her as she made her way to the front.

“I would hardly call that a punch,” he spoke, a teasing lilt to his tone, “Although, you do move fast, so that’s at least something.”

She gawked at him, “You startled me, if I had been ready, I definitely would have hit you.” She proclaimed, her eyes catching on the shadows that had reattached themselves to her. She smiled at them.

She missed the way Azriel stopped breathing, his gaze snatching onto the smile she gave his shadows, the way she looked at them as if they were something amazing, something worth acknowledging.

He regained his composure, doing his best to shove down his growing need to hear her voice, her laugh. And gods, he wanted to see that blush again, too. 

“An opponent isn’t going to give you the time to get ready,” he pointed out, both of them stopping as they reached the edge of the alley, real life a mere step away.

She narrowed her eyes, calculation and mirth swirling around, “Why exactly were you in the alley anyways?”

He shrugged, a casual gesture that made her heart flutter wildly. She watched as his wings shifted with the motion, the moonlight illuminating them in an ethereal glow, she wanted to reach out and touch them.

Nope.

She held her hands tightly to her sides. If she knew anything about Illyrians, it was that their wings were sacred, and people tended to lose limbs when they touched them uninvited. 

“My shadows were curious about something, I merely followed their lead.” He neglected to mention that they’d slithered to the alley with the pull of a hundred Illyrian men–hell bent on getting their master the.

“There wasn’t anything special in the alleyway,” she spoke, confused. Certainly an old garbage can and littered papers wouldn’t have caught the attention of the spymaster's shadows, would it?

His head tilted sideways, taking her in as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. As if he were trying to read if she was being truthful, intentional. Whatever he found seemed to satisfy him, though as he lifted his hand, a shadow weaving its way around him, 

“You’re in the alleyway.”

His voice had a low timbre in it, he spoke quietly but firmly, his eyes never shifting from hers as she swallowed. 

She felt her cheeks heat, the warmth bloom across her chest as he looked at her, not a single fiber of her being going unnoticed by the male. No wonder so many people cowered in his presence.

Shaking her head, “I’m nothing special,” her hand flew to the back of her head, nervously patting her hair down as she awkwardly smiled his way. “Maybe they just needed a change in scenery,” she offered.

He hummed, “May I ask why you were in the alley? You seemed to be having fun on the dance floor.” She balked. He had seen her? Her mind had to be suffering from whiplash because there was no way this was actually happening. 

“I just needed some air, to watch the stars for a bit.” When he hummed again, she realized that he must not be much of a talker, but the silence she found them in wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable, it felt… safe, kind of like a fresh breeze of air on a hot day, or a warm bath after a hard day’s work. And, she supposed it made sense that he would talk much, he was the Spymaster, after all.

“I’m Y/n, by the way,” He repeated her name back, a thick, intoxicating sound as it fell from his lips. His tongue flicked across his top lip as if he were chasing the word. She wanted to chase the movement, her eyes tracking it like a hound. 

“Azriel,” he offered back, though both of them knew it was just a formality. Of course she already knew his name. 

“Would it be alright if I bought you a drink?” Did she hear a nervous pulse in his words? “To make up for startling you and interrupting your star gazing?”

She froze, did he actually just ask her out? Well, not out, but to have a drink with him? These were the kinds of things she needed her friends around for, how in the Mother's name was she supposed to know what to do. 

She thought about Lesa, and what she’d said earlier about asking him to dance. Lesa, despite her alcohol consumption, was usually the most leveled headed of them. It’s what was going to make her a great healer one day. She knew about the kind of men Y/n typically found herself gravitating towards. She knew that it was unlikely she’d ask anyone to dance unless they gave her a reason to. Did she know something about Azriel that she didn’t?

She’d have to remember to bring it up tomorrow, once Lesa had her head on straight again. But, at that moment, she decided that she could do this. She could be spontaneous and have fun. 

“I would love that,”

Besides, it was one drink, what could possibly happen?

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One drink had turned into two, and two had quickly turned into three the longer the night went on. She and Azriel had danced for what felt like hours. Eventually they’d found their to a table, just the two of them talking and laughing, sharing stories. She did most of the talking, the male drawing words and memories out of her with no problem at all. He always hummed and asked questions at the right times, he listened in a way that made her think he was far too interested in her, but it was…nice. 

She hadn’t even realized how late it had gotten, but as she did a sweep of the room, she realized a lot of the patrons had left for the night. Even Mari and Lesa had waved at her as they left. 

Her gaze locked with her twin’s from across the dance floor, she slowly sipped from a pink drink, Peri sitting at the bar with her as they chatted. Lena raised a brow at Y/n. She didn’t need twin telepathy to know what she was asking, are you coming home with us, or going home with him?

She sent a glare her sister's way, knowing Lena had a preference for which option she chose. Honestly, Y/n knew better, though. Ignoring her sister only spurred her on. Which was why, now, Lena and Peri were making their way to the two of them, a shit eating grin on the former's face.

“Y/n,” She cooed, sitting down on her chair and placing a chaste kiss on her cheek. 

Azriel’s eyes snapped to Lena’s, then quickly to Peri, assessing and putting information together that she’d slowly given him over the past few hours.

“Peri and I are leaving, we have that very important thing to do tomorrow, as you know,” A very ‘subtle’ wink, “We don’t want to leave without you.” She pouted. “It’s so dangerous out there.”

Before Y/n could respond, Azriel cut in smoothly, “I could take you home.” The blush she’d been trying so hard to keep down all night ignited beneath her skin. 

Peri rolled her eyes as Lena clapped, “What a wonderful idea, who better to get her home safely than the Night Court’s Spymaster, himself.” 

She could have sworn Azriel smiled into his drink, clearly catching on to Lena’s antics. She shot an apologetic face towards him. He merely smiled at her, causing her breath to hitch.

“You don’t have to do that, I’m sure you’re busy.” She spoke quietly. Her eyes casting down toward the near-full drink she’d been sipping for the last hour. 

“I’m not. And, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” All three women stared at him, the sheer honesty in his tone casting them in stone. The fact that he wanted to spend more time with her and didn’t care that she and her friends knew. It started chipping away at the obsession, and started morphing into something much scarier.

Lena made a noise mixed between utter fascination and ooey-gooey sweetness. The arm hooked around her shoulders was used to swing her around swiftly, bringing her eye to eye with her twin, the startling gray color of their eyes meeting her own. 

“Make good choices,” She waggled her brows and flicked the zipper of her top down a millimeter more, revealing more cleavage.

“Lena!” She hissed. Hands automatically moving to cover herself. She didn’t zip it back up.

She winked, backing up to a laughing Peri. “good choices” she merely mouthed. 

Y/n looked towards Azriel, afraid of what he’d think of this whole show. Her eyes widened, he had a pink blossoming along his cheeks, a bashful expression briefly taking hold of his face before it turned into something more–deeper. 

As Lena turned towards the exit, her arm grappling Peri’s, she faced Azriel, “If anything happens to her, if she comes back with so much as a scratch,” she spoke cooly, “I’ll gut you from scrote to throat, capiche?”

She tossed a clean napkin at her sister, “I’m fine, go.”  Horrified that she had just threatened the freaking spymaster of the Night Court. One of the most infamous fae warriors in Prythian.

Something like appreciation flashed in his eyes, though. Instead of threatening her back, or using his title against her, he merely reached his hand out–covered in a black leather glove.

“I’ll protect her with my life.” Lena stood straighter, hesitantly reaching for his hand to shake it. Despite the glove, some sort of magic seemed to breathe new life into the world. An ebony vine wrapped its way along Lena’s wrist, bleeding flowers encasing the thin band, a matching one covering his own. 

She stared at their wrists, surprise flickering through her. Weren’t those kinds of promises…permanent? Why in the gods' names would he make a promise like that? He hardly knew her. Then again, she supposed it was sweet and comforting that a member of her home’s Inner Circle cared so much about the safety of their citizens.

Because that’s definitely all this could be about. 

Her sister and friend left quickly after that. And not long after that, Azriel paid the tab– refused to accept any of her money– and had wrapped his jacket around her shoulders. The fabric drifted over her arms, completely engulfing her frame and covering her thighs half-way.

She found herself close to Azriel, clinging to his warmth, as they made their way down the cobblestone street. Moon glimmering against the stone and street signs, casting the area in a deep, evanescent glow. 

Azriel walked at a slow pace, no doubt to keep up with her heeled steps. One of his hands hooked into his pocket, the other one – the one closest to hers– lay still at his side. She had a sneaking suspicion it was in case she decided to hold his hand. Heat blossomed in her stomach at the thought.

Lena had told her to make good choices. She had no doubt that meant to have fun, to allow herself some flexibility. She wasn’t sure of much when it came to this male, but she knew that she liked him and everything she’d learned about him tonight.

She knew she didn’t want the night to end, not yet.

“Will you take a detour with me?” She asked abruptly, effectively ending the calm silence. She could smell the salty air of the Sidra, a cool air rushing its way through the strands of her hair, his shadows stuck to her like sweetgum balls. 

He looked ethereal in the light of the moon, his unmatched beauty enrapturing her wholly. She hadn’t been able to look away from him for more than a moment the whole night.. His canines flashed briefly as he smirked, and then he hooked his pinky in hers, the gloves he had been wearing all night smooth against her skin.

She laughed as he spun her around, her heels clicking against the sidewalk.

“Lead the way,”

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They walked along the colorful sidewalk, crystal water filling the Sidra, the waves lulling softly in the calm of the night. 

Azriel had started opening up, slowly, telling her about his family, his job– or at least a pg version– and his interests. She clung to his every word, so grateful that he’d been willing to share parts of his private life. Their hands slowly grew closer, fingers finding their way together, his hand squeezing hers when it finally rested in his. 

She smiled softly at him, his eyes catching on her mouth. Thankfully, he couldn’t see the blush that always appeared when she looked at him too long. The whipping wind blasting her cheeks with frigid, frost coated air. 

Looking up at the stars glittering in the sky, “My mother loved the stars,” she spoke softly. She admired a mixture of constellations and a magical aurora– beautiful hues of golden orange, blushing pink, and enchanted, deep purple blending together. 

“She used to say that the stars were proof that the small moments in life are just as magnificent as the big ones.” 

She watched the stars, but he watched her. 

Meeting his hazel eyes, close enough to see the warm, green flecks that dusted his irises, she couldn’t help but move closer. Later, in the comfort of her home, she might say it’s because the wind was brutal, and his body offered her more heat than his jacket ever could. But, right here, right now? She simply wanted to follow that tugging in her chest, a sensation that led her straight to him.

His hand slowly drifted up her, following her outline before it settled against her cheek. He swallowed, “She sounds like a very wise woman,” He finally answered. His thumb lazily rubbed the skin along her jaw, allowing her ample opportunities to stop him if she wished.

She did not wish. In fact, she wanted to feel his skin against hers, and she couldn’t do it by holding his hands.

Instead she raised onto her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her middle, holding her steady against him. “What are you up to?” He murmured, a sweet look on his face as he moved a piece of her hair from her face. “Gods, you’re beautiful,” her body stiffened, he hadn’t meant to speak that aloud, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it, not when she smiled like that.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” He vowed, his eyes glued to her lips, he only waited long enough for her to nod her agreement before his lips descended onto her.

She didn’t have even a moment to freak out, to second-guess, because one second he was leaning into her and the next his lips were on hers and–

 She. Stopped. Breathing. 

His lips were warm and soft, but also firm and perfect. The hand that was attached to the arm not securing her to him found its way to her cheek, cupping her softly. Her hands wound their way into his hair, a sigh escaping her as he kept kissing her, his tongue flicking across her lower lip.

This man didn’t simply kiss, he devoured, he took everything that she offered and more. His tongue danced along her mouth, and when his fingers grappled the ends of her hair, tugging just-so, she gasped, her mouth opening just enough for him to slip in. 

He deepened the kiss.

The small noises she made were consumed by his lips as they bubbled in the back of her throat, her legs somehow winding up around his waist, holding her up so he no longer had to bend so far. And through it all, he kept kissing her. Both his hands holding her back to keep her right where he wanted her. His tongue tangled with hers as his shadows ran along her neck, her exposed back, and her legs. The cool sensations doing unholy things to her senses as they mixed with the pure male heat of him.

Her hands pulled on his silky strands, pressing her chest, somehow, even further into his. Her body angled more above him, as he groaned, a sound she swore she could live off of. His canines flashed, a smirk dancing along his lips before she crashed her mouth back onto his, she wanted to taste every bit of him. His minty breath, the sweat beading his brow, the simple taste of his skin–could be her undoing. 

And oh golly, her skin tingled, her lips dancing with anticipation as he pulled away. His forehead falling against hers, his eyes so dark she wondered if she’d imagined the hazel of them all throughout the night. 

Their breaths came out in soft spurts, the cold night air bringing them to life around them as they stayed close. Her legs still wrapped around him, holding her to him, careful of his wings that seemed to flare whenever he lost some of his undiluted control.

“That was– you are–” He stopped, his lips trailing a path from her neck to her jaw and up her cheek before landing on the corner of her lips. Those glorious teeth scraping along her skin. She wanted him to bite her, to leave marks so she could remember this in the morning.

Maybe tomorrow–or for the rest of her life, let’s be honest– she’d daydream about how she’d turned this man into a puddle of words with just her mouth, gods knew he’d done that to her. But, right now? Right now she wanted nothing more than to feel more of him. To feel all of him.

“Can I take you home?” His voice came out breathy, still pressing sweet kisses along her skin, anywhere he could find. 

“That depends,” she cooed, moving her head back and baring her neck so he had better access. “My home or yours?”

She could feel that smile as it lifted his lips, his soft kisses on her throat making her lose any sense of understanding.

He rephrased, “Come home with me?” 

And how could she possibly say no to that?

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Azriel’s room was everything she could have pictured it being. Dark, neat, and not a single item that screamed “I’m Azriel, this is my space,” unless she counted the wall of knives and weapons. But she imagined that had more to say about how he was a spymaster, not the man himself.

They’d come in through his balcony, the glass doors pristinely shining as the moonlight cast onto them, giving his room the same aura as its dweller– dark and mysterious, but oh, so sexy. 

His bed lay in the middle, large enough to house someone with wings, and the dark linens neatly placed atop them were calling her name. A crackling fire lit the stone laden fireplace on the far end, books stacked neatly on a desk that was filled with papers and organized writing quills. 

She didn’t have time to dwell further on her surroundings, though. Not as Azriel pressed his front to her back, the evidence of his arousal chanting her name like a prayer. His gloves had come off, his calloused hands tracing the skin on her arm slowly.

“Are you still with me?” He whispered, his teeth grazing the tip of her ear. Shivers ran down her spine as she spun towards him, her hands finding their place on his forearms. 

“Yes,” she whispered, her eyes already on his lips. She had no qualms with what this was. She knew. This was one night. One amazing, probably will ruin sex with anyone else ever again, night. And she was okay with that. Lena had told her to have fun, to make good choices, and she couldn’t imagine what was a better choice than this. Than him.

His lips quirked up, lust pooling in his deep hazel, near black eyes. As he leaned down, his hands found their way to the zipper on her dress as his mouth met her shoulder, a trail of saliva following her bone. 

Her hands trailed up his arms– right over his new tattoo, and then skated down his front, finding the band of his pants, she slipped them under his shirt. A pleased sound coming from his throat as her hands travelled the length of his torso, the beautifully crafted skin hot beneath her needy touch. 

In no time her dress pooled at her feet, leaving her in nothing but a cute deep sapphire lace bralette set– she thanked every god that she had thought to put on a matching set. Her heels were already discarded somewhere she couldn’t bring herself to care about right now. Not as his lips finally made their way back to hers. He tasted her wholly, his large hands touching her everywhere, her back, her arms, her stomach, her ass. She preened at his attention.

“You’re beautiful,” he said again, his lips never leaving hers as her hands finally got tired of their fabric confines. “Fucking gorgeous,” he growled. As he lifted her without absolutely no effort at all, depositing her softly onto his bed as he leaned over her. His dark locks falling over his face, she couldn’t stop her hand from pushing them back, his beautiful face cast in soft golden light from the fireplace. 

He leaned down, his lips brushing hers as his hand found her breast. Her back arched as he plucked her nipple with his fingers through the thin fabric. His other hand massaging her other breast languidly. Then his mouth, his magnificent mouth, fell to the fabric as he sucked her in. She couldn’t stop the noises that came out of her as he continued his ministrations. All she could do was throw her head back, hold his hair in her grip, and hope she didn’t topple off the edge of this world. 

“Azriel,” she breathed, “please,” her eyes blown out with lust as the heat in her belly stirred and writhed with every touch, every look.

He smirked, flashing those canines she had an unhealthy fascination with, “Already begging and I haven’t even touched you the way I’ve been wanting to all night,” His tongue flicked between her breasts as he unhooked the small clasp in front, letting them spill out. 

Any other time she may be embarrassed, or try and cover, but one look at Azriel, and she knew she didn’t need to. He looked at her like he wanted to ravish her, like he could live off of touching her.

“You’re breathtaking, I thought it when I saw you dancing, and the Mother knows I can’t stop thinking it now,” he spoke, such utter candor in his voice–just like when he’d told her there was nowhere else he’d rather be– it made her breath catch. 

She imagined that Azriel was not an easy male to get over. So she’d just need to get under him.

A blush took over her cheeks, but she managed a breathy, “Off,” a plea, really. As she tried to lift his shirt. He chuckled, a sexy, deep sound that went straight to her core. The next moment his shirt was off, and then somehow, his pants. 

She was sure saliva had to be coming out of her mouth because this man. He was a work of art, he definitely bordered on an eight pack, small cuts and scars lined his torso and only made him more attractive. His golden skin looked iridescent in the light, his tattoos swirling all around his arms and chest. Shadows danced along her peripheral vision, not quite touching, but observing as if they wanted to. She wanted them to.

She felt her tongue as it involuntarily flicked her bottom lip, her teeth catching it in the same place. Azriel didn’t miss the motion, his eyes turning a molten color that set every nerve in her body aflame. Her hands were everywhere, running the length of his torso, his sides, she steered clear of his wings, but damn, she’d be dreaming of them for years to come. They splayed out magnificently as he loomed over her, neither of them touching the bed, they cocooned her in a way that made her feel safe, and guarded.

They were both in only their underwear now, “We can stop whenever you want,” he spoke softly, earnestly. His gaze caught hers to emphasize that he meant it, if she wanted to stop–despite being able to feel him against her leg, feel how much he wanted her– he’d back off, bring her home. And well, that gave her the warm and fuzzies, and only cemented how much she wanted this. Wanted him.

Sitting up on her elbows, her hair falling over her shoulders, she hooked one of her legs around his waist, catching him off guard as she repositioned them. Now she sat astride him, her hands landing on his pecs as his hands found her hips. 

She leaned forwards, her breasts flush with his bare chest as she kissed her way down his body. She started near his ear, whispering, “I want to hear more about what you’ve wanted to do to me all night,” she bit down, just slightly, catching his lobe. Then she kissed his jaw, a trail of warm kisses down his neck, his chest, his abs, his navel. Her hand found its way to his boxers, the tight black fabric hiding very little of his very large member. A little part of her wondered how this would work, she was not a virgin by any means, but it had been a good couple of months, and he– gods, he was impressive in all the best ways.

The sound that came out of him was purely male as she continued her movements, his hands tightening enough that she knew they’d leave bruises. Good. She wanted to remember this–in any way she could. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he said it so low she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right, but then he was sitting up, his arms wrapping around her middle to keep her from toppling off of him. 

His lips met hers as he ground into her, their underwear left little to the imagination and she stopped caring about the noises that came out of her. She just let herself go, let him take her fully.

His mouth met her nipple, his teeth plucking softly, but so sweetly. Her back bowed into him, her hands flying to his hair as she held on for dear life. He suckled and nipped and licked her breasts, the heat pooling low in her belly as she continued to grind on him. 

“Oh, gods–Az,” she spluttered, doing her best to hold on to what little scrap of sanity she had left. He didn’t bend, though, no–he flipped her over, her back hitting the plush mattress once more, her ass coming to kiss the edge of the bed as he kneeled on the floor before her.

Her knees fell open on either side of his body, the cool air rushing against her as his shadows locked themselves around her body. One wrapped around waist, and two on her ankles, keeping her in the exact position their master wanted. 

His eyes caught hers, only for a brief moment, he flashed the sexiest grin and then bent down, placing a soft, reverent kiss to her center over her panties. And somehow, despite all that they’d already done, that was the sexiest, most obliterating part of this whole ordeal. 

Her body tried to move, tried to get closer as he chuckled, clearly enjoying her struggles against his helpers as they kept her locked in place. 

“Now, now, pretty,” he cooed, “Be a good girl and keep making all those sweet noises for me,” Oh, she so wanted to be his good girl, she wanted to be his everything right now. 

Slowly, so freaking slowly, he pulled her panties down, baring her fully to him. He didn’t waste any time, and she cried out as his mouth finally closed over her most intimate part. He kissed and licked and suckled her into nothingness. His tongue flattening over her, his lips catching that sensitive nub and sucking, then his tongue was inside of her. He groaned at her taste, his hands splaying across her thighs and holding on. She could feel him grinding himself against the mattress, chasing any sort of friction he could without losing himself entirely.

She was careening towards that edge so swiftly, she truly stood no chance once he started adding fingers. He filled her with one, his tongue never letting up on its pace as he glided his digit in and out of her smoothly. His eyes met hers, and whatever he saw, he must have liked, because then he was adding a second finger, that wicked smile on display as he licked one stripe straight up her center.

Her body tried to buck, to chase the feeling but she couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything except hold onto the mattress for dear life. 

She chanted his name over and over, it seemed to be the only word she could remember. Especially as he added a third finger, and they curled in just the right place, as his tongue swirled around her center, his teeth grazing the flesh. 

She came so hard, her legs were visibly shaking where they lay sprawled apart on the bed. His shadows finally relented as she arched, her hands immediately finding his hair, his shoulders, anything of his she could touch. She thinks he offered one of his hands, the calloused skin squeezing her own soft ones to keep her grounded. 

Then he loomed over her again, his lips shining with her desire as he licked them, then she watched, his eyes never straying from hers, as he sucked each of his digits into his mouth, drinking all of her in. 

She thought she might actually come again just from the sight. Never had a guy gone down on her and seemed to so thoroughly enjoy the process. Gods, this male, he really was going to ruin any other men for her. 

Worth it.

His lips met hers in a harsh dance, his fingers gripping her chin upwards so he could fully devour her. She found herself latching onto the band of his underwear and ripping, she had no time to waste trying to get them off safely. She simply didn’t care, she needed him, like yesterday. 

He chuckled, a sound she was getting awfully familiar with, but didn’t stop her as she just threw the pieces of fabric somewhere in his room. Then her hand found his cock, thick and throbbing as she pumped him once, twice. He groaned, his head falling against hers as she swiped the head, collecting the precum that had already begun leaking.

“Fuck, Y/n,” His lips finding her neck as he latched on, sucking and licking. 

She kept her pace, loving the feel of him in her hand. Then she positioned him at her entrance, their eyes meeting, one final confirmation nod from her and he was moving. 

She tensed for only a moment, the feeling of being so full not something she’s used to. But he went slow, entered her slowly, allowed her to adjust as he went in glorious inch by glorious inch. 

They were both breathing hard, she kept saying his name, he cursed under his breath as he did his best to not rut into her like a teenager chasing his first high. And gods, it was a high because he felt so good inside of her. Nothing could compare to this moment, how she felt.

Then his hips were flushed with hers, his body coming to a complete standstill as he watched her, his fingers pushing her hair out of her face, tracing the outline of her lips, her jaw. 

“You still with me, pretty?” He spoke softly, as if speaking any louder may break whatever bubble they’d built around themselves. 

“Yes, fuck, yes,” she breathed out. Her body doing its best to adjust to the sheer size and girth of him. He kissed her through it, his lips finding space on all of the bare skin he could reach. Even his shadows seemed to caress her softly, cooing and guiding her through the motions. 

“Please, Az, move,” she swirled her hips in emphasis, catching the moan he let out with her mouth as he finally moved. His hips pulled out halfway and then he pushed back in slowly at first, gauging her reaction. When she mewled, her nails scraping his back, he did it again, faster. He kept a steady pace as she felt their liquids combining, oozing out of her in the most delicious way. 

He kept a steady rhythm, their moans meeting in the air and dancing together as they continued to move together in sync. Her legs wrapped around his middle, getting him even deeper, and when she came the second time, it was just a good as the first.

“So beautiful,” he cooed, “So fucking tight, milking my cock so good,” He hit that spot deep inside of her as he cooed her name, his grunts filling her ears in tandem with his thrusts. Her lips found his and he obeyed her request, his tongue meeting hers and tangling, their saliva mixing as one of his hands gripped her waist, the other finding its way to her face. 

When the aftershocks finally started to ebb away, Azriel wasted no time in flipping her over, her knees and hands on the mattress, her ass in the air. She let out a noise of distress when his cock slipped out of her, but it was quickly followed by a moan as he reentered her from behind. 

And holy trinity of all the gods, he was somehow deeper inside of her, she could feel every pleasure inducing inch of him as he lost all of his control. He pounded into her, his hands on her hips as she did her best to meet him thrust for thrust.

She couldn’t believe it, she could already feel that pool of desire growing in her for the third time tonight. Her sounds no more than a slew of moans and expletives as he continued his brutal thrusts. 

“Fuck, you’re doing so good, that’s it–” he praised, his hand pulling her hair away from her neck as his chest became flush with her back. His other hand found that sensitive nub between her thighs, pinching and flicking in the most torturous ways. “You can give me another one, can’t you, pretty?” He asked, his voice a husky sheen in her ear as his thrusts continued to wreak havoc on her. “Just one more, I know you can do it,” she had never been one for dirty talk, but fuck, Azriel could talk about grocery shopping and she’d find it hot as hell.

The praise only brought her closer to that edge, coaxing her on. And when his fingers added just enough pressure to her center, she fell right over that edge for the third time, her orgasm causing her legs to shake so wholly that Azriel had to hold her up as he continued to thrust into her. A cocky, but proud smile lighting his face briefly before pleasure took root and he came inside of her, his cock throbbing and swelling as he spilt rope after rope of his seed into her.

They stayed that way for a long moment, it could have been minutes or hours, Y/n wouldn’t be able to tell even if there were a knife to her throat. His naked, sweat beaded chest pressing against her back as their harsh breathing filled the room’s silence. 

He finally slipped out of her, his hands slowly lowering her onto her stomach, her legs nothing but jelly as he flipped onto his side, careful of his wings. 

Their gazes collided, a sexed-out smile slapping its way to her mouth as she took him in. His own smile found its way onto his face, just a small, intimate one that made her heart do dangerous flips inside her chest.

“That was–” she started, her breathy voice sounded as ruined as she felt.

“Fucking amazing.” He finished, his hand reaching out to push a piece of hair that had fallen over her eyes, behind her ear. Then he kissed her forehead, his arm slinging over her back. 

“Stay.” He murmured, his eyes already closing as sleep began to take him hostage.

Once again, she found herself unable to say no to this man. Her eyelids already heavy with her own sleep, drifted shut. She briefly recognized the feeling of a blanket being dropped over her, maybe his shadows? She didn’t have time to question before sleep finally claimed her.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

Y/n woke to soft beams of sunlight trickling across her face through the balcony doors. The warmth seeped into her skin as her eyes adjusted to the light. 

It took her a moment to remember where she was. An unfamiliar, but comfortable, bed caressed her body. Her body completely naked where she lay against the comforter, a small throw blanket had been placed over her to keep her warm in the night.

And then, there was the weight.

A large, muscled arm thrown over her waist, an even heavier leg pressed between her thighs, their legs tangled. His body was warm and the limbs attached to her only kept her close to the male she found herself facing. His beautiful face somehow less intimidating in sleep, all the smooth lines and fine angles completely at ease. 

Azriel.

The Spymaster of the Night Court.

Her eyes widened as last night's events all came flooding back in troves. Azriel finding her in the alleyway, her sister and friends, Azriel dancing with her, her internship, Azriel and his glorious kissing, his hands, his shadows, and his body. 

Fuck. 

She needed to leave. She wasn’t sure how this was supposed to work, but she was damn sure it’d be awkward if he woke up and she was still here. In his bed. 

She briefly remembered him telling her to stay, but surely he hadn’t meant through the morning. She highly doubted that he was about to invite her to lunch with his family. 

His family.

Oh, gods.

Did they live here? Had they heard them last night? If she hadn’t been so caught up in the shadowsinger, she may have stopped to ask herself about these things, but nope. Instead she fell head over freaking tea kettle and– admittedly– had the best sex of her life. 

She needed to leave, like hours ago.

She ignored the sweet caresses of his shadows as they welcomed her with a morning that, any other time, she’d be thrilled about. But right now she needed to figure out how to get out from under his arm, and his leg, and was that his wing cocooning over them? 

Somehow, an act of the Mother and Cauldron themselves, she managed to disentangle herself from his monkey hold. He really did seem peaceful, and she did her best to remain quiet, not because she didn’t want to speak to him– although that may have definitely been a factor– but because she didn’t want to disturb his sleep, who knew how much he got on a regular basis. In his line of work, she imagined, not much.

Quietly she peeled around the room, grabbing her dress and quickly shimmying it on and grabbing her heels. Fuck putting those bitches back on, last night Y/n was not this morning Y/n, and her feet would thank her for it. 

She slowly slipped out of his room, not sure how she was going to get out of this place. He had flown them last night, brought her in through his balcony. Surely there had to be a front door. The last thing she wanted to be doing was roaming around the Inner Circle’s private dwelling, she imagined that was how one ended up on the wrong side of jail cell. 

She gulped, taking in the hallways around her. There were loads of paintings adorning the brilliant, sophisticated walls. All of the members of the Inner Circle in various positions. There were some of just the General Commander and his mate, Lady Death. There were some of the High Lord and Lady with their adorable son, and even a few of the lesser talked about members. They were beautifully done, and if she wasn’t mistaken, the High Lady had probably painted these herself. 

She had been so caught up in looking at the photos along the hallway, following them unconsciously that she jumped when somebody cleared their throat. 

She flailed, horrendously. Heels thrown in the air, her feet slipping from beneath her as she swiveled around and came face to chest with a very large male. She would have fallen on her ass if he hadn’t grabbed her arm to steady her. Her eyes tracked all the way up his leather-clad chest and to his large membranous wings that somehow seemed slightly different than Azriel’s. Were there scars on his? And, were they smaller? She shook her head, so not important.

“Well, hello there,” he crooned, a crooked grin lighting the General Commander’s features as he used a leather strap to bind his hair in a bun atop his head. 

She cursed herself inwardly, gods, she really needed to work on her observation skills. How had she missed him of all people? He was definitely the largest of the three illyrian men who belonged to the Inner Circle. And, he had always seemed like the most approachable, though that wasn’t saying much. He was still absolutely terrifying.

And here she was, staring at him with her mouth agape like a fish out of water. Perhaps she should take her chances with the balconies after all, maybe a free fall would do her some good right about now.

“Hi,” she squeaked, quickly grabbing her flyaway shoes and holding them to her chest like a lifeline. 

“You must be Az’s…friend,” he said, a knowing smirk on his face. She could feel her blush as it crawled from the tips of her toes to her cheeks. 

She swallowed, trying to take this gift from the Mother. The general had wings, which meant he could probably get her out of here without causing too much trouble, she doubted he’d tell her no. Plus, that meant she really wouldn’t have to face Azriel again, so a bonus, at least, that’s what she told herself. 

“He’s sleeping,” Cassian’s brows rose at that, a look of shock briefly flitting across his face before his easy demeanor was back. 

“That is–interesting. Were you joining us for breakfast?” 

“No–” She calmed herself, reigning in the slight shout she’d let through in all her panic. “I mean– no, I’m not. I just– I’m trying to get home, I’ve got a busy day and I’m not quite sure how–”

“Ah,” he said, that ridiculous smirk still plastered on his smug face. “Too bad, Azriel doesn’t usually have…sleepovers.”

Sleepovers? What were they, twelve? 

She gave her best smile, “Is there any chance you could show me the way out?”

“You’re not going to wait for him to wake up?” He cocked his head, his tone full of confusion, as if this wasn’t something he’d ever had to deal with. 

She shook her head, “He looked peaceful, and I really need to get home, my roommate’s probably worried sick.”

Understanding bloomed on his face, “Well, there are two options then, little ghost,” her brows pinched at the nickname. This male didn’t know her from Adam, and yet, he seemed so incredibly warm and kind. She chastised herself, it didn’t matter, she would probably never speak to him again. “You can either venture down the 10,000 steps to the bottom,” he laughed at the sour look that crossed her face, her poor, poor feet. “Or, I can fly you back home, if you’re comfortable with that.”

“That would be wonderful, as long as it doesn’t put you out,” she said, praying to every god she could remember the name of that he truly didn’t mind. 

His smile was easy. “It’s no trouble, I’ll even tell Azriel you said goodbye.”

“That’s really not necessary,” she blushed as he led her toward an opened foyer, large balconies lining the room. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do,” and she was also sure that Azriel wouldn’t care. They’d had their night of fun, now she needed to get out of here and try and go about her life like normal. Whatever that meant, she really wasn’t sure that’d even be possible. 

He merely smiled at her, something was off about it though, as if he didn’t really believe her.

But, he did as he said and flew her home.

It was time to get back to normal life, she had a lot going for her. And the Spymaster of the Night Court didn’t have anything to do with it.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

Weeks passed in a blur, between her internship starting and her ordinarily chaotic life, she had hardly had time to think about her night with the spymaster. He only ever found her in his dreams, and if she was lucky, her subconscious would grant her some of the memories of that night in dream form. 

She hadn’t so much as seen him in the past six weeks, she tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter, that it was only one night and she should accept that for what it is– and she did. For the most part. But, sometimes, in the wee hours of the morning, when her thoughts were just a little more hostile, she would think about him, and what he’d thought when he woke up that day and she’d been gone. Had he been upset? Or had he been relieved? And why had Cassian seemed so sure that he’d see her again? He had even winked at her when he dropped her off that morning. Weird. 

“Take this twice a day for a week and the rash should clear right up,” She spoke to a short, mousy looking female. The nuclear green liquid sloshing around in the vial as the woman thanked her and scurried away after tossing her a few coins. 

Madja came out of the back room, “Y/n, can you help me in here for a moment?”

Without hesitation, she quickly wiped her hands on her apron and followed Madja to the back. She felt her stomach sink as the older fae led her silently into the main medicine bay. She had asked Madja a few weeks ago about some medicines that could help with stress-induced nausea. It didn’t matter what she brewed, if it was a personal concoction or one out of one of her textbooks, none of them seemed to be helping. She only ever got sick in the evenings, and at this point, she was starting to get worried that something was seriously wrong. So she’d asked Madja, and the older fae had said she’d look into it and make her something that should help. 

Y/n couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what this was about, she had said it wouldn’t take long and that had been only two days ago. But, when y/n found herself in the furthest room in the back of the building, her thoughts quickly emptied out.

A young girl sat on the seat, her arm full of what looked to be glass shards. The other arm, sat gently in medicated water, blood pooling in thin layers as it soaked.

Y/n’s stomach lurched, the girl couldn’t have been older than nine or ten, and the wounds looked awfully painful.

“I need you to apply the salve and wrap this arm while I start working on getting the glass out of the other arm,” Madja spoke, handing a pair of gloves to her as she quickly made her way back over to the young girl. Her mother was pacing back and forth as she watched. Y/n shot her a soothing smile, the best she could manage, the one she’d learned specifically for this reason. It seemed to work, long enough for the mother to sit down, but she kept her eyes trained on them. Y/n couldn’t blame her, she could only imagine what a mother went through when seeing their child in pain.

“Hi,” she spoke softly to the girl, “My names Y/n, you’re gonna feel a cooling sensation when I apply the salve, it shouldn’t hurt, but if it does, just let me know and we’ll adjust,” She smiled, the little girl’s lip wobbled as tears silently streamed down her cheeks. 

As she began applying the medicine softly, her ministrations smooth and practiced, she asked the girl for her name, hoping that talking to her would keep her mind off of Madja, who was currently taking glass shards out of her other arm. 

“Margo,” she spoke, her eyes solely focused on y/n. “I was trying to help momma at her food stall, but I tripped.” She sniffled. 

“Ah,” she hummed, quietly grabbing the wraps, “Do you help out at the food stall, often?” 

“Yes!” Margo lit up, she began babbling on about all the different fruits and veggies her mother grows and how they always wash and prep them for stall day. She asked the young girl about school, her family–her siblings, and anything else she could to keep the young girl’s mind occupied. 

Over the course of the next half hour, Madja and her worked tediously to apply the salves, soak the wounds, and get them wrapped so that they could start healing. With a vial of cream and a lollipop in her hand, Margo danced out of the clinic with her mother, her smile never leaving her face. 

“You did well, keeping her calm.” Madja spoke, her tone even as always as she worked behind the counter. 

“Thanks, I can only imagine what she must have been thinking,”

It was then that Madja handed her a few vials of a pinkish, red liquid. The confusion must have been written all over her face because the older fae prattled on, “That should help with the morning sickness, but I can’t guarantee that it will make it go away entirely.”

Every thought blinked out of Y/n’s head.

Morning sickness?

“It’s not–” Madja stopped when she interrupted, her eyes blinking uncontrollably as she tried to do the math in her head, “It can’t be–” she stuttered.

There was no way, absolutely not. 

She hadn’t been with anyone in months, no one except–

Him. 

“I got your blood work back today,” Madja had taken her blood a few days ago when she had initially brought up the nausea, just in case, she had said. It was standard procedure, something Y/n was very familiar with having worked in all sorts of clinics for the past few decades.

No, no, no.

“You’re pregnant.”

[illyrianbitch]

Are We Still Friends?

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: Worried about how his new relationship seems to be changing him, you talk to Azriel about your concerns. Things take a turn when he refuses to listen.

Warnings: some wine sipping, gossiping, angst, miscommunication, friend fighting, jealousy (but no one realizes), az being defensive and blind

Word Count: 5k

(Completed) Series Masterlist | Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

“It’s not that I don’t like her.”

The words tasted as false as they were, and you grimaced the moment they slipped out, already bracing for the look Mor would throw your way. True to form, she didn’t disappoint, her expression halfway between amusement and exasperation.

A defeated sigh escaped as you accepted the glass of wine she offered, watching as she filled her own nearly to the brim.

“You’re better than me, then,” she hummed, settling back onto the couch across from you. “Because I don’t like her.”

You raised a brow. “You don’t like many people nowadays.”

She shrugged, casual as ever, though a smirk tugged at her lips. “True. I’m not exactly lining up for any peace medals, am I?”

You chuckled softly, leaning back in your chair. “I just… have this odd feeling about her, you know?”

Mor tilted her head, letting out a noncommittal hum. “Oh, I know. She drags Az around on a leash.”

You were tempted to say something about the irony in her words—remind her, in a loving manner, that she might've been guilty of that once upon a time, too. But you decided against it. She wasn't wrong.

You swirled the wine in your glass, watching the dark liquid move in slow, mesmerizing circles. The feeling wasn’t new; it had been there since the first time you’d met her. Azriel’s new girlfriend Selene was perfectly fine—charming, even. But there was something else, something you couldn’t quite name. Like a faint hum in the background of a quiet room, just irritating enough to notice but not enough to prove anything was wrong.

“Why don’t you talk to him?”

You glanced up, finding Mor’s bright brown eyes sharp and focused on you, the lazy humor of a moment ago gone.

“I doubt he’ll listen,” you admitted, resting the bottom of your glass on your thigh. “He didn’t listen to you.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s really not.”

Mor raised a brow like she wanted to argue, but she only sighed in response. “He’s been so weird about his love life. Gwyn didn’t work out. Elain’s probably the happiest out of all of us. Maybe he’s treading lightly.”

“Maybe,” you murmured, though you weren’t convinced.

Azriel had changed in small, almost imperceptible ways since everything had settled—since everyone had paired off and fallen in love. Everyone except you. And him.

You were fine with your situation, content in the quiet steadiness of your life. Azriel wasn’t. You knew it. He knew it, though he’d never admit it. So much of his self-worth was tangled up in whether he believed himself worthy of love. And the absence of it—of a solid, undeniable love in his life, of a partner, of a potential bond—seemed to weigh on him. To him, it wasn’t just an empty space; it was a failure.

You’d almost go as far as to say he’d become desperate, living in the shadows and watching his brothers experience loves so profound they might as well have been plucked from stories meant to inspire poets and dreamers.

Mating bonds were rare. You reminded yourself of that often. Your family was just an anomaly, their luck skewed impossibly high. But logic wasn’t enough to soothe Azriel, and it certainly wouldn’t stop him from chasing it. He was obsessive. Stubborn.

Nothing you said or did could change his perspective.

Mor’s voice pulled you out of your head again. “Speak of the devil,” she sang out. “Hi, Elain.”

Your gaze snapped up to the doorway, finding Elain standing just beyond the archway. She looked like a spooked deer, frozen in place with that polite smile you’d come to recognize as her default around company she hadn’t fully warmed up to yet.

“We were just talking about Azriel’s unfortunate romantic history,” Mor said smoothly. You glanced at Elain for her reaction.

It had taken time for that particular history to fade. Maybe it was appropriate to joke about now, but you personally would’ve waited a few more years before bringing it up so flippantly. Mor, however, had little patience for such niceties.

Elain’s expression didn’t shift beyond a faint flicker in her eyes, and you realized how much her composure had improved over the years. Then again, it had been a while since she and Lucien had found each other for good—long enough for their bond to solidify and for them to leave for the Day Court after their mating ceremony.

A twinge of jealousy sparked in you before you brushed it aside.

“We’re just gossiping in general. Want to join us?” you asked, gesturing to the chair beside you. Plush and inviting, it mirrored the one you sat on. “Unless Lucien is waiting for you upstairs?”

Elain’s cheeks flushed crimson. 

“Lucien’s still with Feyre, catching up,” she said, stepping further into the room. “What are you drinking?”

Mor reached for the bottle on the table, plucking it up and turning it in her hand to read the label.

“Something good and expensive,” she replied, with a half-hearted air of indulgence, before tilting her head at Elain with a faint grin.

“It’s from Rhys’s rather gluttonous collection,” you said, sensing Elain’s hesitation. “It won’t be missed at all.”

She smiled at that. “I’d love some.”

“There are a lot of glasses in that cabinet,” you said, pointing to the wood door with ornate carvings. “Grab whichever one you’d like.”

Mor sat up straighter, scooting herself back into the pillows behind her. You hummed, impressed, at her ability to hold both her full wine glass and the bottle without so much as a wobble.

You hadn’t spent much time with Elain one-on-one. Emissary duties had kept you busy during the years the Archeron sisters had adjusted to their new lives. But you liked Elain, from what you’d seen. She had a kind heart. She also had a sharp humor that surfaced at the oddest moments, usually when she and Lucien were whispering in corners, conspiratorial before seamlessly rejoining whatever social event they were at like they’d never left.

Elain returned and sat down with her chosen glass—a delicate crystal piece that gleamed in the soft light. Mor went to fill it instantly. 

“Can I ask why you were discussing Azriel’s romantic life?” Elain asked. Her voice was smooth, certain. No hesitation.

It didn’t faze her anymore, you realized—being such a strange, pivotal turning point in Azriel’s past experiences. She’d made peace with it, the way immortality seemed to demand. Time softened the edges of even the messiest situations, turning them into stories you could recount with startling detachment. Almost humorous, really.

Because how else could you explain being casual about the fact that your best friend had almost allowed his pride—and arrogance—and, somehow simultaneously, his insecurity—to lead him into a blood duel over Elain’s affections? A blood duel.

But now, it was just… something to write off. A distant memory, softened by the years and Lucien’s easy confidence. Lucien was better than you. You would’ve held that grudge against Azriel for many more years—long enough to make it a point of pride. But then again, Lucien had won everything he wanted in the end. He had the girl, the bond, the certainty that whatever lingering rivalry Azriel might feel was entirely one-sided.

It wasn’t important enough for Lucien to waste any more energy on.

You exchanged a glance with Mor, who arched a brow, clearly just as amused by Elain’s openness.

“Y/n doesn’t like his new girlfriend,” Mor said.

Your mouth fell open. “You don’t either.”

“True,” Mor agreed easily. She looked to Elain. “We don’t like her.”

“For clarification,” you said firmly, “I never said I didn’t like her.”

Mor laughed, sipping her wine with an amused grin.

Your face fell flat. “What?”

“Nothing,” she replied breezily. “But if you get a bad feeling about someone, that’s usually dislike.”

You resisted the urge to scowl, already turning over the guilt in your mind. You didn’t want to be that person—the kind who dismissed another female off the bat. Maybe your gut was wrong this time. Maybe her smile had reached her eyes, and you’d been too preoccupied to notice. Maybe her tone hadn’t been as assessing as you remembered, and you were projecting. You wanted to like her. You wanted to be happy for Azriel.

But he didn’t seem happy. He seemed distracted. Busy. Not himself.

And not the kind of busy you’d seen before—the methodical, obsessive focus he funneled into work or training. This was different, scattered in a way you couldn’t quite pin down. It had made sense in the beginning, when things were new and exciting, but now it was starting to feel uncomfortable. He’d started missing things—small things at first, like sparring sessions or those late-night conversations you, Mor, and him would have when you couldn’t sleep. Then came the bigger things. He’d stopped being able to review external court updates with you, even when those meetings were critical for your diplomatic roles.

Azriel had always been the one you could count on. Out of everyone, you considered him your closest friend—even more than Mor, though you’d never admit it out loud. But now it seemed like every time you made plans, Selene needed him more.

And then there was how fast it was all moving. Too fast. At a recent family dinner, she’d casually mentioned that she and Azriel could move in together—offhand, like it was the most obvious next step. Something about leaving the townhouse behind, creating a space with décor that matched her aesthetic. Azriel had just stayed quiet, looked at her like she’d just proposed the most brilliant idea in existence.

You noticed he did that. The way he looked at her. The way he’d looked at Elain and Gwyn back when they were seeing each other. It weirded you out—that tendency to put the people he saw as romantic interests on a pedestal, as though they were flawless. As though they were something he didn’t deserve.

You knew where it came from. That deep-rooted insecurity that even centuries hadn’t managed to erase. He didn’t see it, the way he wore himself down trying to prove his worth to people who, for the most part, had already accepted him. But you saw it. You always had.

And it made it harder to like Selene. To trust her intentions. Maybe that was unfair, but you couldn’t help but feel like she was just taking—taking all the parts of Azriel that used to be all of yours to share, and twisting them into something else. Something that didn’t include his family.

Still, you wanted to try. To let go of the gnawing irritation in your chest and convince yourself it didn’t matter. If she made him happy—truly happy—then none of it should matter. You were adamant on ensuring that you didn’t turn into the stereotypical overbearing female best friend.

Elain tapped her glass lightly. “Lucien doesn’t like her.”

You blinked back into reality. “Really?”

She nodded, a beat passing before she added, “To be honest, I’m not sure I do either.”

Mor leaned forward, grinning like she’d been handed a stack of gold. You almost wished Amren was here to bask in the moment. Amren didn’t like Azriel’s girlfriend, either. Maybe your family really was as unwelcoming as people claimed. Or maybe Selene simply brought out another level of scrutiny. The thought of either option made you feel bad— gross. 

“Why?” Mor asked.

“She was dismissive toward Lucien. And,” Elain hesitated, her brow furrowing slightly, “She seemed… entitled, I suppose. Especially with Azriel. Like she expected him to accommodate her every whim.”

You frowned, turning over her words. “I’m sure she was just nervous. We can be an intimidating group. Maybe she just needs time to settle in. We just want Az to be happy, right? So, if she makes him happy, then I’m absolutely fine with her.”

The silence that followed was thick. For a moment, you wondered if you’d said something wrong. Something weird.

“Are you?” Elain asked, her tone sincere.

“Are you?” Mor echoed at the same time, voice dripping with sarcasm.

You shot Mor a glare, but she only raised her brows and sipped her wine again, infuriatingly unbothered. Exhaling, you willed yourself to meet Elain’s gaze.

“I am,” you said, trying for conviction. “Really.”

Elain pursed her lips. Her gaze shifted to Mor, lingering longer than you liked, and then back to you.

“Alright,” she hummed. “I guess I was wrong.”

You stilled. Elain reclined deeper into her seat, accepting a refill from Mor. Her wine glass remained only half-full compared to yours and Mor’s.

Curiosity burned. You leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

Elain furrowed her brows. “What do I mean about what?”

“You said you guess you were wrong. What does that mean?”

Mor’s gaze bored into the side of your face. Any second now, you were sure she’d make some quip about how bothered you were. But you weren’t bothered. Just curious.

Elain swirled her wine, watching the light catch the liquid. “I’m not sure. Things feel off. Like something’s coming. Az needs help with it, I think.”

You froze. “Off? Like—how?”

She hesitated, thoughtful. “It’s hard to explain,” she murmured, her voice quieter now. “But I feel it. In my chest. My visions sometimes do that. That’s why I asked.”

Well, that unsettled you. You glanced at Mor, whose amused grin had fallen into something more contemplative.

It seemed you might need to have a conversation with Azriel after all.

“I don’t like that,” you admitted, your nose crinkling. 

“I think I heard him get back earlier. Go talk to him,” Mor said, her tone gentler now, though a hint of mischief lingered in her eyes. You didn’t read too much into that. Mor’s eyes tended to be expressive. She also tended to be mischievous when her blood was primarily red wine. 

“Okay,” you said. “Maybe just to check in.”

Elain nodded. “Just to check in,” she echoed, almost reassuring.

“Have fun,” Mor added, her grin returning just enough to be annoying, but not enough to distract you from the unease curling in your chest.

You didn’t respond, instead taking another slow sip of your drink. The glass clinked softly as you set it down on the table before you made your way upstairs.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Mor turned to Elain. “Did you really feel something that unsettling?”

Elain let out a laugh. “No,” she said lightly. “I completely made that up. But she doesn’t need to know that.”

Mor’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. Seconds later, her head tilted back in a laugh just as vibrant as it was unapologetic.

“Genius,” she declared, raising her glass in mock salute.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The walk upstairs was quiet.

The townhome, in general, was quieter nowadays. Aside from the times others came to visit—like Lucien and Elain—only you and Azriel lived here full time.

When you reached Azriel’s bedroom door, your steps faltered for a moment. There was a hesitation in you that hadn't existed before. You raised your hand to knock, but the action felt more awkward than usual. It made you sad, momentarily, that you hesitated. You never second-guessed yourself with Azriel. You wanted to tread carefully in this new era of his life, though. You didn’t want to overstep, to become a nuisance. But whatever this was—whatever had unsettled Elain enough to mention it—you needed to know. Azriel had always been a constant for you, and if something felt “off,” you wanted to understand why.

Your knuckles rapped lightly on the door. “Az?” 

Inside, you heard the shuffle of movement, followed by his low, familiar voice. “Come in.”

You didn’t see Azriel immediately, but the smell of soap and the damp air told you that he recently showered. Shadows slithered across the floor, comfortable and excited, exploring the familiar confines of his room.

You greeted the tendrils as you usually did, letting them brush against your legs as you flopped onto his bed. The bed, like everything else in his room, was simple: plain black sheets, no extravagant pillows, just the bare necessities. It used to drive you mad, the emptiness of it all.  But what was in his room spoke volumes—— bare walls except for a dagger mount on one side, a small uncluttered desk with a well-worn sharpening stone. 

Azriel exiting the bathroom pulled your attention, your eyes settling on him as he rubbed his wet hair thoroughly with a towel. He shook his head slightly, wet curls bouncing onto his forehead, and met your gaze. His eyes flicked to where you lay, scanning your body. He nodded toward your feet.

“C’mon,” he almost whined. “No shoes on the bed.”

You looked down at yourself, grimacing as you realized that your shoes were, indeed, on his clean comforter. A simple set of house slippers, so nothing entirely too dirty, but it had completely slipped your mind. Very comfortable shoes, you noted, maybe you’d get Feyre a pair as a solstice gift.

“Oh whoops,” you said with an apologetic smile. “My bad, clean freak.”

He rolled his eyes, but you caught the quirk of his lips anyways.

For a moment, the old sense of comfort settled over you. But then, a thought crept in—the thought that maybe you shouldn’t lie on his bed like this anymore. It had been fine before, but now… now it felt different. He had someone else in his life. It wasn’t weird, exactly, but it was a little inappropriate.

You sat up straighter.

“Did you and Mor grow tired of rehashing the same centuries old gossip?” He teased.

You snorted, watching as his shadows flitted above his shoulders. They were amused, laughing in their own way. “Never,” you responded, pushing yourself off his bed. You were drawn to the otherside of his room, to the simple dresser against the wall. “Elain joined us this time.”

Your back was to him, but you had a feeling that the momentary silence, the stillness that you felt, was a knee-jerk reaction from Azriel—something reminiscent of embarrassment, shame, or guilt at her name. But all he responded was, “Oh?”

“I like her,” you said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I kinda wish I spent more time with her…”

You paused, your words trailing off quietly as you took in the small details before you. 

Azriel’s dresser had always been the one surface he decorated, not because he cared for decoration, but because it was the only surface large enough to hold anything. Over the years, it had become a quiet testament to the things that mattered to him: a mix of Solstice and birthday gifts, trinkets you’d both collected on missions and trips. You liked seeing what had changed, what had been added. It gave you a glimpse into where Azriel had been, who had been with him. 

Lately, there had been more—more trinkets, more oddities that stood in stark contrast to the weapons displayed elsewhere, the ones mostly hidden away in his closet. A macaroni necklace from Nyx. A horribly made clay version of him you’d created during a drunken pottery night with Feyre, Mor, and Amren.

But now, the dresser was foreign. The once familiar surface had been wiped clean, replaced by delicate perfume bottles, jewelry that looked too fine to be his, and a candle that smelled—oddly—like the puke of a flower faerie. Some of it was new. Most of it was hers.

Azriel’s presence had vanished from his own furniture entirely.

“Huh.”

“What?” Azriel asked.

You glanced over your shoulder. “I see you’ve decorated more.”

Azriel tilted his head, and a few of his shadows slithered down his body, crossing the room to pool around your ankles. “I guess,” he said. “Selene said my room needed more life.”

You leaned forward, brushing your fingers along the ceramic jewelry dish, the cool surface sending a strange chill through your skin. The shadows flickered over your hand, almost as if they were inspecting it too. They moved with purpose, then slowly obscured it, hiding it from view.

You frowned, confused.

Azriel, still silent, was rifling through his closet. You could feel the weight of his eyes on you as he moved, but he said nothing. The shadows returned to his side as you turned to look at him.

"Are you going somewhere?" you asked, trying to break the silence.

Now, Azriel barely spared you a glance.

“Yeah. Meeting Selene,” he replied simply.

After a few seconds of silence, Azriel turned his head and properly held your gaze. “Why? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you responded with a casual wave of your hand, but Elain’s words echoed in your mind. You cleared your throat. “Well, actually, no. I was hoping I could talk to you.”

He frowned, standing up straighter, his wings flexing with the motion. “Is it something serious?”

You paused, carefully filtering through your words. “No, just something that’s been on my mind.”

Azriel studied you, doubt flickering in his hazel eyes. It was the kind of look that always made you feel like he was reading you too easily. He probably didn’t believe you, not entirely—but he nodded anyway. His lips curved into a small, apologetic smile. “Raincheck then?”

You mirrored his smile, though it felt thin. “Yeah, sure. We can talk tomorrow, once we’re back from the Hewn City.”

Azriel stilled. The way his gaze dropped to the floor and lingered felt like a guilty dog, an animal caught in an act forbidden. “Shit,” he said, his tone cautious. “I can’t go.”

You blinked, the words taking a moment to settle. “Seriously? Az, Rhys is expecting an update.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere enough. It didn’t matter. “But you can handle it on your own, you know this.” 

“Are you serious?” you said, the hurt slipping out before you could stop it. “I don’t want to deal with Keir alone.”

Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll talk to Rhys, but Selene’s been wanting to—”

“Never mind,” you cut him off, shaking your head. You forced a smile. “Have fun tonight. And tomorrow.”

Azriel scanned your face. After another moment of silence, he sighed.

“Okay, what is it?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You clearly have something on your mind. Tell me.”

You hesitated, holding his gaze. “I actually wanted to talk to you about Selene.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened instantly. He looked away, his tongue running across his teeth as he shook his head. “Not you too. Don’t be like this.”

Your frown deepened, offended by the immediate shift in tone. “Be like what? I haven’t even said anything yet.”

He met your eyes again, his stare almost challenging. “We both know what you’re going to say.”

“Do we?”

“First Mor, then Nesta, and now you.” His voice was sharp, but not loud. “Should I be concerned that the females in my life are so quick to rally against my girlfriend?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms to mirror his pose. “Well, yeah, Az. Maybe you should be.”

He rolled his eyes, the shadows at his feet flickering with the motion. “Fine. What do you want to tell me, then?”

For a moment, you hesitated, the words lingering on the edge of your tongue. Azriel had always been good at looking through you, unraveling thoughts you hadn’t fully formed yet. And now, under the weight of his sharp gaze, you felt exposed.

“I just want to make sure you’re happy.”

Something flickered in his expression, quick and fleeting—too fast for you to decipher. For the first time in a long while, Azriel felt unreadable, like he’d drawn a curtain between himself and you. “Really?” he asked, his tone tight, almost incredulous.

You faltered, a small thread of doubt weaving its way through your resolve. Was he happy? Would he even tell you if he wasn’t?

“Yes, really,” you replied, a defensive edge creeping into your voice. “You’ve been distant lately. Running around at her beck and call. None of us know her. I want to understand what’s going on with you. I want to understand her.”

Azriel’s wings shifted again, his gaze hardening.

“I want to make sure this is the kind of relationship you want,” you finished, quieter now.

The room fell into silence, heavy and still. Azriel watched you as if he was turning your words over and over in his mind. You waited, unsure of what to expect—if anything at all.

“I wouldn’t be in a relationship I didn’t want. Can we drop it, please.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. What a strange, dismissive answer. It bothered you— bothered you more than anything he’d ever told you before. 

“Az, I just don’t want you to change who you are for someone. You don’t need to cater to her every whim.”

His expression darkened, shadows curling tighter around his boots. “I’m her boyfriend. I do what she asks.”

You raised an eyebrow, unable to stop the scoff that slipped out. Azriel had never been so clipped with you. “That’s not the definition of a boyfriend. That’s the definition of a bitch.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his wings flaring in irritation. “Excuse me?”  His voice cut through the room. “Do you really think I’m some incompetent love-sick loser?”

“I think you stop seeing flaws in the people you love.”

The words hung between you, heavier than you’d anticipated. A small part of you wondered if “love” was the word Azriel would use to describe his feelings for her. Another part worried that he didn’t correct you.

“That’s not true.”

“It’s not?”

“No,” he snapped. “I can clearly see that you’re being unfair. Quick to judge, much like Mor. That’s a flaw.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, “You know what I meant. The people you’re infatuated with—”

“Where is this sudden concern coming from?” he interrupted, his shadows now beginning to curl between you like restless mediators, unsure where to settle. “Are you trying to cause issues?”

Something ran hot through your body.

“Seriously? I’m talking to you about this because I care. Because Elain had some cryptic feeling about you—”

“Elain is involved in this conversation, too?” His voice dripped with frustration now. “Gods, Y/n, should I send word for Gwyn while we’re at it? Get her opinion?”

“What the hell has gotten into you?” You took an authoritative step forward.  “I’ve never judged you. I’ve always tried to support you and your messy love life, no matter how complicated. Don’t you trust me, Azriel? As a friend?”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his shadows flickering uncertainly, still deciding whether to retreat or rise.

You gestured around the room. “Look at this place. You’ve erased all traces of your family—of you, of us. Where did you even put—”

“Oh, gods.” Azriel’s voice broke through, and for a moment, you thought he might crumble. His wings folded, and his hand dragged across his face, the weight of his exhaustion sinking in. “She was right.”

You froze. “What?”

Azriel met your gaze, his eyes hesitant for a heartbeat before turning sharp. “About you. Selene said you were jealous. That you had feelings for me.”

The words hit like a slap, and your world tilted on its axis. “What?” you asked again, your voice breaking on the word. Maybe you had misheard him. Maybe he had misspoken.

“I told her she was wrong. But now…” He let the sentence hang in the air, searching your face for something that maybe wasn’t even there.

“Now, what?” Your voice rose, tinged with anger. “You think I’m here because I’m jealous? Because I have some… crush on you?”

His wings flared slightly at your tone, but he didn’t back down. “I don’t know. It’s just—why else would you care so much about this?”

Your stomach twisted, a deep, cold ache settling there. “Why else?” you repeated, the words bitter on your tongue. “Because I care about you, Azriel. Because you’ve been my friend for centuries. Are you seriously confused about this?” 

For a moment, Azriel’s expression faltered, but he didn’t apologize. Instead, he said, “I didn’t ask you to care about my love life.”

“You didn’t have to,” you snapped, stepping closer. “That’s what friends do. But you’re standing there, letting her perception of me—someone who doesn’t even know me—warp your judgment. You’ve known me longer than that. Or at least, I thought you did. And the fact that you’d entertain this—” You stopped, shaking your head. “It’s insulting.”

Azriel said nothing. He just stood there, shadows now curling tighter around him. 

You had no idea how this conversation had gotten away from you, no idea how it turned into this—where this defensiveness, this anger, had come from. This wasn’t Azriel. Loyal, overly so. Impulsive. Protective. 

Or maybe it was. Maybe that loyalty was directed at someone else now—someone who clearly saw you as something threatening. You’d never been on the other side of Azriel before. Never thought you’d see the day. The realization hit like a slap to the face, leaving you shocked, stunned, a pit opening in your stomach that felt too deep to climb out of.

“You know what? Forget it.” You stepped back, the fight draining out of you all at once.

Azriel’s brows furrowed. “Really? That’s it?”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, your lips curving into something that might have been a smile if it weren’t so bitter. “Yeah,” you said, your voice flat. “That’s it.”

You turned for the door, hand on the handle, but paused. The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, sharp and pointed, a petty jab that felt equal parts satisfying and hollow. “Make sure to lock this door when you leave—I’d hate to accidentally stumble back in and throw myself at you.”

Azriel stiffened, his wings snapping taut behind him. For a brief second, you thought he might say something, anything. But he didn’t.

You closed the door behind you with a heavy thud.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: no one tell them they probs have feelings for each other bc they’ll probably fight you (also elains moment is so self indulgent bc i would totally be making shit up based off my powers. like yeah actually you can’t be mean to be :/ powers are saying you’ll die if you are)

Part Two

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[idkyetxoxo]

Eight | Sanctuary in Starlight | Shadow and Flame

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 3.2k

Warnings - Mentions of parental abuse, slight angst

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Walking around Velaris felt like stepping through a painting, each breath laced with lilac-sweet air, each cobbled path glowing under soft starlight. 

The city pulsed with magic, beauty, and most of all... peace.

Peace I had never known before. Peace I hadn't earned, but Azriel was determined to give me anyway.

At eight months pregnant, there was no disguising it anymore. My belly was round and aching and undeniably full of life. 

The glamour I wore while walking the streets of Velaris was less for vanity now and more for security, an invisible veil Azriel had woven with his own shadows, just in case. But among the Night Court's inner circle—my circle now, there was no need to hide.

Still, I felt the weight of their eyes sometimes.

Rhysand and Cassian had been... complicated. And understandably so.

They didn't say it aloud, but I could feel the judgment in the early days, the wary tension every time I entered a room. 

I couldn't blame them, not when my blood tied me to Beron. Not when the scent of Autumn had once meant danger to everything they held dear.

But time has a way of softening even the sharpest edges.

Cassian had thawed first. Probably because he couldn't resist a sparring partner, even one whose sparring days were long behind her thanks to swollen ankles and a constantly shifting centre of gravity.

Rhysand had taken longer. He watched me like he might need to shield his family from me at any moment, like trusting me was a luxury he couldn't afford. But slowly, he came around. 

Maybe it was the baby, his niece or nephew. Maybe it was the way Azriel had changed, softened in my presence. 

Or maybe... it was the way I'd changed too.

These days, I mostly saw Madja, the Night Court's legendary healer. Criva still sent notes, still kept up her research into the complications but Velaris had become home. 

Madja confirmed what Criva had warned, the baby's wings were developing beautifully. Dangerously. Too large for a body that wasn't made to bear them.

Azriel and I had agreed, if we reached month nine without a solution, we'd go to Helion. If anyone could help, it was him. But for now, we were still trying. Still hoping.

And I was still pregnant. Still tired. Still hungry. Always, always hungry.

Which is how I ended up on a stool in the middle of the townhouse kitchen, trying to reach a jar of pickles tucked cruelly out of reach on the top shelf.

"Mother above, do you have a death wish?" a voice boomed, and I yelped, my fingers brushing the glass just enough to send it tumbling.

Strong arms caught me before I could even think to panic, lifting me down like I weighed nothing at all. I looked up to see Cassian frowning, one giant hand braced around my waist, the other steadying the stool.

"No, I believe you don't," he muttered, setting me on the ground. "But Az would absolutely kill me if anything happened to you on my watch."

I blinked. "Your watch?"

He rolled his eyes, manoeuvring me away from the mess. "Yes. My watch. We're on a schedule, princess. Don't act surprised. It's no secret my brother has lost his damn mind."

"He's not that bad," I grumbled, eyeing the broken glass on the floor. "I just wanted my pickles."

"No pickles," he said, brushing me off like I was made of glass.

"But I—" My voice cracked.

Cassian turned, eyes widening. "Oh, no. No, no, no—don't cry."

It was too late. Tears spilt from my eyes, sudden and hot, as my shoulders began to shake. The sound that came out of me was somewhere between a hiccup and a sob.

Cassian looked horrified. And of course, that was when Rhysand walked in.

"You made her cry?" the High Lord asked, voice filled with outrage.

"I didn't!" Cassian shrieked, rubbing my arms like that might fix me. "She just—she started!"

"He took my pickles," I whimpered, turning those watery eyes on Rhysand.

His violet gaze flicked between us, and I could see it, the barely restrained amusement. I wasn't even offended. I'd laugh too if I didn't feel like I was about to burst into tears every five minutes.

"Cass," Rhysand said slowly, "why would you take her pickles?"

"I didn't take them! I was trying to stop her from climbing a death trap for a snack!"

"Pickles are not just a snack," I snapped, and then hiccupped again.

Rhysand reached over and plucked a new jar of pickles from the pantry, putting it directly into my hands.

"I believe this is what we call diplomacy," he said smoothly.

I sniffled, clutching the jar like a sacred relic. "Thank you, Rhys."

Cassian muttered something about dramatics and stalked off to get a broom.

Rhysand only smiled gently and brushed a knuckle down my cheek. "We'll keep you safe, you know."

"I know," I said, voice catching.

The kitchen smelled faintly of cinnamon and lemon, the scent of safety and domestic calm. But the illusion shattered the moment Azriel strode in, shadows licking at his heels like hounds bracing for blood.

His eyes cut sharply through the room, landing on the broken glass scattered across the floor.

"Why are you surrounded by broken glass?" His voice was low but sharp, the threat not aimed at me but at whatever had caused the mess.

I didn't even flinch. 

"Ask your High Lord," I said, thumbing toward Rhysand, who stood at the counter looking far too regal for someone who'd just gotten blamed for shattering a pregnant female's craving.

"It wasn't me," Rhysand drawled with a tired sigh. "She climbed the stool on her own."

"Your niece or nephew says otherwise," I muttered, resting a palm over the prominent swell of my belly.

Cassian chuckled under his breath, broom in hand, but Azriel didn't smile. His eyes didn't even flicker with amusement. Something was wrong.

"We'll deal with that later," he said. And the way he said it... I knew.

I set the jar down slowly. "What is it?"

Cassian stiffened sensing the shift before a word was spoken.

Azriel's shadows curled tighter, as if trying to shield me. "My spies have confirmed it. Beron knows you're here."

The words hit like a cold wind.

I blinked. "How... how does he know?" My hand went instinctively to my stomach, a weak, protective gesture that did nothing to slow the rising dread.

Azriel shook his head, guilt written in the tight line of his mouth. "We don't know how much he knows. Not yet. But he's angry. And he's not being quiet about it."

"And the baby?" My voice barely made it past my lips. "Does he know about the baby?"

Azriel's throat worked around the answer. "Not as far as we can tell."

I nodded slowly, but inside, my panic had already begun to spread. "He won't stop, Az. You know that. He will hunt me to the ends of Prythian just to drag me back."

"Then let him try," Azriel growled, stepping closer. "Let him try, and I will show him what fear tastes like."

There was a truth to his promise that made even Rhysand go still.

Our relationship, whatever fragile, blooming thing it had become wasn't just about a child anymore. Azriel wasn't shielding me out of obligation. The way he looked at me now was raw. Real. Unshakable.

This was him, his soul, his heart, laid bare and violent for me.

"You've changed things by seeking sanctuary," Rhysand finally said. His tone was calm, but behind it, the High Lord loomed. "You've forced our hand. The other courts will hear of this soon. This won't be a private matter for much longer."

"I didn't ask for sanctuary," I said, trying not to let my voice waver. "I asked for a safe place to raise my child."

Rhysand's violet eyes met mine. "And that's exactly why they will see it as a threat. Because you didn't just run—you defied a High Lord. And your father sees that as treason."

Cassian snorted, arms crossed. "Your father's a monster. He doesn't get a vote."

"I know him better than any of you," I said, my voice low. "You can't understand what he'll do when he feels cornered."

"I don't care what he'll do," Azriel said, deadly soft. "You're not going back. Ever."

I opened my mouth to say something but the baby shifted, and the jab that followed was so sharp, I let out a soft cry and bent double.

Azriel was there before I could blink. His hands steadied me, one pressed against my lower back, the other gripping my shoulder like he could anchor me to the earth. 

"What is it?" he said, panic etched into every syllable. "Is it happening? Are you—?"

"No, no," I panted, exhaling slowly through clenched teeth. "Just a kick. A really, really bad one."

Azriel still didn't move his hands, didn't stop watching my every breath like he was ready to go to war if I winced again.

Cassian, meanwhile, groaned and clutched his chest. "For the love of the Mother, I thought we were under attack."

I couldn't help it, I laughed, short and tired and real. "Your niece or nephew is practising their combat form on my organs."

Cassian knelt, placing a massive hand on my belly. "Hey, tiny terror, maybe save that for training when you're actually born?"

"Talking to my stomach again?" I teased.

"It listens better than you," he shot back with a wink.

"Let the baby bond with their favourite uncle," he added shamelessly smug.

"Like hell you are," Rhysand muttered, shoving him with his boot until Cassian flopped backwards onto the floor.

I rolled my eyes and leaned back against the counter, letting out a long breath. Without thinking, I set the pickle jar on top of the round swell of my belly. It balanced surprisingly well.

Cassian blinked. "Are you seriously using your stomach as a table?"

"It's convenient," I said with a shrug, grabbing a pickle and munching on it. "Built-in shelf."

He gawked, then snatched the jar away like I'd just set it on something sacred. "Don't use our baby as a table."

I arched a brow. "Our baby?"

Cassian didn't miss a beat. "Yeah."

I blinked. "As far as I'm aware, you didn't impregnate me."

He smirked, infuriatingly smug. "You'd remember if I did, darling."

That was when one of Azriel's shadows slithered out and smacked Cassian clean across the back of the head.

He yelped, almost dropping the jar. "Hey!"

Azriel didn't even look up from where he was still holding me steady.

"Serves you right," Rhysand drawled from behind the counter, his voice the picture of smug amusement. "And for the record, you are absolutely not the favourite uncle."

Cassian narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"

As the two began bickering like overgrown children, Azriel gently turned me, guiding me from the mess and pressing a kiss into my temple.

His hands were warm as they slipped around me, one resting protectively over my belly. "I've got you," he whispered, brushing a kiss over my lips, gentle and grounding. "I've got both of you."

"I know," I whispered back, resting my forehead to his, letting the warmth of him seep into the places still frozen from Beron's reach.

I had already survived one court of fire. And I would not burn again.

Later that night with my feet propped comfortably on Azriel's lap, I let out a satisfied sigh as he continued rubbing slow, expert circles into my ankles. My body ached in places I didn't know existed before pregnancy, but the small comforts helped.

Across the room, Cassian and Rhysand were at it again, bickering like children over who the baby's favourite uncle would be.

"You can't buy their love," Cassian snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at Rhysand as if he'd committed a crime. "You think you can just toss a few diamonds and miniature flying ponies at them and win?"

Rhysand scoffed, lounging with predatory grace in an armchair that looked far too fine for his attitude. "Yes, thank you very much."

"You're pathetic," Cassian muttered, folding his arms. "Nepotism at its worst."

I smothered a laugh behind my hand. Azriel's fingers paused on my foot just long enough to glance at me with amusement in his shadows.

For a moment, all was well. Peaceful, even. Then a ripple of energy cracked through the room.

A winnow—unannounced.

We all sat up in an instant. Azriel's shadows leapt toward me as he moved to stand but then I saw him.

That familiar auburn hair, burning like autumn leaves caught in sunlight. And those eyes, clever, golden, lined with exhaustion I recognised far too well.

"Eris," I breathed, my voice catching in my throat.

I moved to stand, awkwardly manoeuvring the weight of eight months of pregnancy, until Azriel was beside me, steadying me with a hand on my elbow.

Eris blinked once. "You're huge."

I gaped at him, stunned. "I'm pregnant, you asshole."

A bark of laughter escaped Cassian. Rhysand raised an eyebrow.

Eris smirked, unfazed, and I shoved him in the chest lightly before wrapping my arms around him. He returned the embrace, one hand cautious at my back.

"Yes, that's what I meant," he muttered into my shoulder.

When we pulled apart, I cupped his face in my hands. His skin was colder than I remembered, paler. A fresh bruise bloomed at his jaw, half-hidden beneath that infuriatingly perfect hair.

"Mother above," I whispered, fingers brushing the discoloured skin.

He pulled away, jaw tightening. "Don't." His voice cracked. "I'm fine."

But we both knew it was a lie.

He stood stiffly beneath the weight of the three males watching him like a predator in foreign territory. The Eris they knew, or thought they knew was ruthless. Poison-tongued and loyal to a monster. Not this version, quiet, worn, and still fighting the war behind his eyes.

"I'm sorry," I murmured. The guilt in me was immediate and overwhelming. "You shouldn't have had to deal with him alone."

Eris gave me a look that said don't start. He stepped in before I could spiral.

"Stop," he said sharply. And when I opened my mouth again, his hand rose and lightly covered it. "I didn't come for that."

I blinked at him, caught off guard and he let his hand drop.

"So," I said with a forced brightness, trying to ease the tension curling in the corners of the room, "you missed me."

He exhaled through his nose, lips twitching. "Unfortunately."

I tugged him toward the couch. "Come sit before you collapse where you stand."

Eris glanced at Azriel, who hadn't stopped watching him. Then at Rhysand, who leaned back with the eerie grace of a ruler ready to strike. Cassian didn't even pretend to like him.

"Continue your fight," I snapped at them. "Don't mind us."

Reluctantly, Eris sat beside me. His posture was tight, wary. Like he wasn't sure if this was a trap. But his eyes kept drifting toward my stomach, round and impossible to ignore beneath the soft stretch of my dress.

"The last time I saw you," he said slowly, "you were barely showing."

"Well," I smiled, "they grow fast when you're being kicked from the inside out."

"Do they..." He trailed off, awkward for the first time in his life.

"Want to feel?" I asked, already reaching for his hand.

Eris hesitated but didn't pull away. His fingers were cooler than Azriel's, more callused than I remembered. I guided his hand to the top of my stomach, where I could feel fluttering movement beneath my skin.

A soft gasp escaped him. The baby kicked again, gentle but firm and Eris stilled entirely.

"Oh," he breathed. His eyes widened with something I hadn't expected to see there—wonder.

A different kind of silence filled the room, heavier but not hostile. I watched him feel the presence of a life untouched by our court's cruelty, a life born of something raw and real and finally free of Autumn's rot.

I gave him a moment. He needed it.

When he finally looked up, his face was unreadable again, his walls slotting back into place like a well-worn shield. But I still saw it, the crack that remained.

And then I asked, softly, "What's happening with Beron?"

Eris froze. His hand slipped from my stomach, settling stiffly in his lap. His eyes, once filled with reluctant tenderness, darkened instantly.

"We don't need to discuss that," he said, too quickly.

"Yes, we do," I insisted, shifting in my seat. Azriel's hand found the small of my back instantly, steadying me. "Eris, I need to know what's happening back there."

Eris gave me a hard look, the type that used to silence entire war rooms. But I didn't back down. I wasn't that girl.

"He's angry," Eris said finally, voice low. "Furious. You embarrassed him. You left. And now you're not only living, but thriving—in his eyes, flaunting your defiance in the arms of a male from the Night Court."

Azriel tensed beside me, so sharply I could feel the change in the air pressure. His shadows curled tighter around my shoulders, protective and cold.

Eris looked at him. Then at Rhysand and Cassian, who had both gone deathly still. The playful chaos from earlier was gone, replaced by razor-sharp silence.

"Let him come," Azriel said, voice like carved stone. "Let him try."

"I'm not saying this to scare you," Eris added, gaze flicking back to me. "But you need to understand—he's not just angry. He's obsessed. You made him look weak. And Beron never forgets that."

I swallowed against the rising guilt in my throat. My hands drifted instinctively to my belly.

"Maybe... maybe I can talk to him," I said quietly, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "Maybe if I just—"

"No." Azriel's voice cut through the room like a blade. He turned to me, brows drawn in a rare show of open emotion. "Absolutely not."

"You don't know him like I do," I whispered. "He doesn't let things go."

Azriel leaned in closer, his fingers brushing mine. "I don't need to know him. I know what he's done to you. I know the bruises he left on your spirit. I know the fear you carry in your sleep."

My chest tightened, but I didn't look away.

"I can handle him," Eris said then, more quietly. "Let me deal with our father."

Something flickered in his eyes—resolve wrapped in weariness. He knew what that meant. What it might cost. But he offered it anyway.

I hated that. Hated the guilt that clawed its way up my spine.

"You shouldn't have to," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I left. I escaped. And I left you behind to deal with him alone."

Eris didn't answer immediately. He looked at me—really looked and said, "You survived. That's what matters."

He didn't say you were worth it, but I heard it in the way his eyes softened just slightly. In the way he straightened his shoulders, as if bearing the weight of Beron's fury was simply the cost of protecting what little good still existed between us.

"I should've taken you with me," I whispered.

"Someone had to stay behind and set fire to the curtains." he said, shrugging.

Despite the tightness in my throat, I let out a huff of laughter. Cassian groaned from across the room. But even the humour didn't mask the tension lingering between us all.

Rhysand finally spoke, his voice measured but grim. "If Beron moves against us, we will respond. He's threatening a child of the Night Court."

Eris glanced around the room, nodding slowly. "Then you'd better be ready."

Azriel's hand tightened around mine. I leaned against him as exhaustion began to creep in, not from the conversation, but from the weight of what it all meant.

Still, I looked at Eris, quiet and battered and too brave for his own good. "Thank you. For coming."

He inclined his head, a rare softness in his eyes. "Keep your strength, little flame. You'll need it."

And I would. For what was coming. For the war we hadn't yet named.

But in that moment, surrounded by fire and shadow, by broken males still trying to love and protect and rebuild—I knew one thing with certainty.

I wasn't facing it alone.

A/n - After seven straight parts of pure angst, this is the least I could do—cue the Batboys being overprotective and funnyyy :)

And then I went and spoiled the mood by sprinkling in a bit of Beron threatening reader's entire existence... sorry!

We're almost at the end of the story so thank you so much for sticking by so far <33

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[pellucid-constellations]

I Have A Feeling You Got Everything You Wanted

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Falling in love with Azriel had never been in the cards. Falling in love with anyone other than the husband your father appointed to you had always been a far-fetched notion. And that was a truth you had lived by. 10 years ago.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Yearning, pining, all that is longing and angst and exes to lovers <3

a/n: Guys I adored writing this so I hope you love it!! Inspired by 'We Hug Now' by Sydney Rose. I so so appreciate hearing what you think. Thank you for reading!!

Read the continuation of Warren's story here

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

You fiddled with the ring on your finger, passing it over your knuckle and twisting it back down. 

Your stomach hurt, pain and nausea mingling with such severity you feared you would be sick. The thought was comical, in a way. The company at the table would be so concerned over their dresses and the obscenely expensive tablecloth that you could probably sneak away. But that would still be a feat considering the heavy palm resting on your thigh. 

Warren was a nice man. He fulfilled his duties as the man you were to marry with dutiful purpose. He learned your favorite foods, how you liked your tea in the morning, and the shops you frequented. He touched you kindly, respectfully, and he was always nice to your friends. He was nice. But you were not in love with him. 

In Warren’s defense, you were never going to be in love with him. Your father had decided that you should be, however, so you were promised to him from a young age. That was typical of the high fae with your family’s rank, and you had evaded that duty for some time now. Your father had given into your whims for several years, allowing you to “galavant around”, as he would say, acting as the Winter Court’s emissary until Warren’s family grew impatient. 

Your return to Winter had been met with immediate wedding planning. You had been called upon for floral arrangements and the menu and to finalize the color scheme. Warren had done his best to quell his incessant mother’s demands, but the wedding was a court affair and everyone was thrilled. 

Well, most were. 

Before you had stepped foot in the Night Court ten years ago, you had been indifferent about the wedding. Sure, it wasn’t optimal to have to marry a man you knew so little about, but it had been an expectation since your birth. Warren may not have been your choice, but he was certainly not the worst choice when compared to the other eligible bachelors in the pool. You had left to act as emissary with a gentle begrudging that cared little for the future. 

You had returned with so much indescribable longing that you had trouble speaking to others. 

Every decision you made was accompanied by an inundating weight that threatened to crush you. You chose daisies for the aisle and you thought of him. You wore that ridiculous wedding dress with the high neck and drapey sleeves and you remembered how he used to touch you. You sat at this dinner, celebrating the joining of two families, and you reminisced on how it felt to sit with him, with his family, and to feel that you belonged somewhere. 

The urge to be sick persisted as your future mother-in-law hoisted her glass in the air, bubbles losing weight and flying up to the rim. 

It was cruel—all the mundane things that reminded you of him. 

“To my son,” Warren’s mother toasted, white furs puffing around her cheeks. “And his new bride-to-be. We are overjoyed that the long-awaited day meets us!” 

You gritted through your smile, raising your glass to your lips. The edge hit your teeth and the sound of the impact vibrated your brain. 

“Oops,” you giggled, the splattering of fae wine against cobblestone suddenly hilarious. “Who did that?” 

“I believe you are the only one in this alleyway, my love.” Azriel’s smooth voice sent a pleasant warmth up your spine. 

You whirled around, night air kissing your bare shoulders. It felt electric when accompanied by Azriel’s adoring smile—addicting. 

“You followed me,” you mused, curling your glass into your chest and stepping closer to the Shadowsinger. 

Azriel met your steps without pause. “Of course I did.” You smiled at him, light and airy. He brought soft fingers up to brush along your face as he asked, “Are you alright?” 

“More than alright,” you were quick to reply. “Just needed some air. It gets so hot in there.” 

He hummed, eyes tracing over your features. “Want to go home?” 

“I feel that Mor would be angry with me.” 

“She would only be angry for a day. Buy her those shoes she was eyeing.” 

“And why should I choose to go home with you?” 

Azriel pressed his lips against yours in a tender kiss. He moved back, only an inch, and whispered, “Come with me and you’ll find out.” 

“That reminds me of when Warren climbed that icy tree in the courtyard. Oh, what a silly child he was!” A boisterous aunt clapped her hands as she shouted, snapping you out of the memory with a small jump. 

Your chest ached as you breathed out a laugh and rejoined the table. 

Beside you, Warren chuckled, his hand brushing lightly near your knee. “Please, do not bring up anything I’ve done before the age of twenty,” he pleaded. His eyes shone their pretty blues. His hair looked enticingly soft. “I don’t need y/n to have those images in her mind.” 

He turned slightly, flashing you a small smile that spelled marital secrets and private conversations through eyes. 

Where you should have felt the lightness of new love elating you, buzzing at your skin, you felt the increasing urge to cry. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t cry. You hadn’t cried since the night you left him. 

“I’m sure it would only make you that much more endearing,” you teased, swallowing hard when Warren took your words as an opening to dive into a tale of the past. 

He didn’t deserve this, in all honesty. 

Warren was a nice man. 

But Azriel— 

“You are so beautiful.” 

“You’re supposed to be watching, Az,” you admonished, tucking your face into his arm to hide the heat on your face.

“I am watching,” he argued. He leaned down, your back pressed to his chest, and kissed the skin above your ear.

“Not me. The stars,” you clarified. 

You tilted your head slightly, meeting the crook of his elbow where it rounded your shoulders. He kissed you again and again, mapping out the top of your head with the delicate pecks. You laughed and that only egged him on. He turned you and pressed you back until your spine met the railing of the balcony, and then he was kissing your cheeks and your temple—the bridge of your nose and your brow. 

“Azriel,” you tried again, but his smile was against your skin and he wasn’t listening. “You’re missing Starfall!” 

“I can see it next year,” he murmured against you.

“And you can kiss me whenever you want.” 

He paused, pulling back to catch your eyes. You smiled, confused at the serious moment in the otherwise light mood. He had no response to your confusion, only leaning back in to brush his nose against yours. 

Maybe he had known. 

You had foolishly thought this all to be avoidable, figuring your father would understand that you had found happiness. That he would have cared and given up on this unwanted marriage. 

He hadn’t.

“Isn’t that right?” 

You blinked, turning to your fiance with a haze in your eyes.

You hadn’t been listening. 

The cake on your plate was becoming stale, its untouched state starkly contrasted with the empty glass of champagne to the left. You pulled your lips into a line, searching Warren’s encouraging eyes as he tried to help you. It didn’t work; you had no idea where the conversation was left. 

“I’m sorry,” you bluntly stated, voice turned up into the posh tone your father had ingrained in you. You turned to address the table. “I seem to have been lost in my head. I didn’t sleep very well last night. Catch me up?” 

Warren gave your knee a fond squeeze before removing his hand to place it on the back of your chair. He leaned down slightly, his voice lowering as he offered a gentle excuse for you. She has been so incredibly busy, he offered warmly, she’ll be even busier when the wedding is over. 

You felt as if you were underwater. Your face lit up with another asinine smile and it was difficult to breathe. Not because you weren’t used to this setting—not because Warren was a bad man. This was supposed to be your life. This was what you were supposed to be doing. 

There had never been any indication of a different path.

“I love you.” 

You whipped your head to the side, abandoning the sketchbook in your lap as your charcoal rolled into the seat cushions. 

“What?” 

Azriel smiled. He leaned over the pillow separating you, tucking your knees further into your chest as he closed the space on the loveseat. “I said I love you,” he repeated, breath fanning over your lips. “I’ve told you before, but you haven’t heard me.” 

You let out an incredulous huff of laughter, your gaze bouncing between both of his eyes. “When? I don’t remember that.” 

“At the Sidra yesterday. Last week at the shops. Three days ago when you fell asleep on me.” 

“No, you didn’t! I would have remembered.” 

Azriel tucked your hair behind your ear and left his hand resting on your cheek. “You are often oblivious to your surroundings, my love. Especially when something is interesting in front of you like fish or jewels.” 

You scoffed. “Not true. My father made sure I was very observant. My tutor would smack the back of my neck any time I got distracted.” 

Azriel tutted, disapproval darkening his eyes as he brushed his scarred hand to cup the back of your neck. He shifted on the loveseat so you were sat on his lap, his other hand finding a home on the side of your thighs. 

“That is cruel,” Azriel remarked. “Being distracted is in your nature. I don’t know if there is a time you are not distracted.” 

“There are many interesting things to look at,” you mused, humming as his fingers inched up your scalp. 

“I’m sure.” A pause. Azriel had the gall to look unsure. “You do not have to love me back.” 

Your posture stiffened, the words leaving you before you could consider them. “I love you, Azriel. I love you, too.” 

He seemed to slump against you at that, tension you didn’t know was there leaving his body. He offered you a warm smile and then kissed you—and kissed you and kissed you. 

It had seemed like there was another path. 

“If you’ll excuse us,” Warren announced to the table. A musician had begun to play the harp in the corner of the restaurant. “My bride and I have much to discuss tonight so we must retire. Please, continue to enjoy the night.” 

Confused and disoriented, you took his gloved hand in yours and said goodbye to the correct people. You weren’t supposed to be the first to leave. This was your rehearsal dinner. 

Warren guided you into the winding hall, his grip soft and reassuring. You attempted not to trip on your dress as you went, your head throbbing with an invisible pain that seemed to linger these months back in Winter. 

It had been months without seeing him. 

You were getting married the next day.

It would be final then. 

The first step outside the restaurant was both invigorating and unpleasant, the cold air assaulting your senses. It did the job of snapping you out of your thoughts, but then you were left standing in the snow before Warren, and that was a similar form of torture. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he prompted, tugging your cloak over your shoulders. You had missed him grabbing it from the coat check. “You’ve been off since you returned but it’s worse tonight.” 

Warren had known you peripherally before you left for the Night Court. You were to be married, so he made it a point to at least meet you before you were gone. He had not known you would be gone for years, but neither had you. The last time you spoke to Warren before you had met Azriel, a wilted salad sat between him and your father, the pair discussing politics and import prices. 

Warren would not have known something was wrong, he hardly knew you, but he did anyway. Because he had made it a point to be a good husband. 

That’s what made this even more tortuous. 

Maybe, if he were terrible, it would be easy. 

Your chin wobbled for a moment of breath. You’d pass it off as a chill. 

“Nothing is wrong,” you smiled, cheeks already stiff from the cold. “I didn’t sleep well. That’s all.”

Warren closed his eyes, breath a white puff before him. “Don’t lie.” 

“Don’t lie.” 

“I’m not!”

Azriel tugged his hand through his hair. His face was flushed, feet taking him in a disorganized line around the room. “You are engaged.” 

“Not by choice. I don’t know him, not really. I could tell my father—” 

“You would be shunned—cut off. I know how noble families are, y/n.” 

The use of your name struck you, a stark contrast to the soft, endearing terms Azriel so loved to use around you. You flinched unconsciously, eyes darting around his room to find some sort of explanation for this. 

“I don’t care about any of that,” you urged. You remained rooted in the doorway, unable to move. “I’d stay here. I wouldn’t go back.” 

“You would leave your family? Your… fiancé?” Azriel spit out the last word. The crumbled missive crinkled in your hand as you clutched it tighter. 

“I would do anything to be with you.” 

“Don’t say that. Don’t make this my decision.” 

The paper fell from your fingers. You brought your palm to your chest, ignoring the harshness of his tone. “No, I know. This isn’t—this is my choice, Azriel. I want to stay here. To be with you.” 

“I can’t be the reason you abandon your family. Your responsibilities. You—You lied, y/n. You never told me about any of this,” Azriel bit out, hands curled into fists. 

“I’m sorry! I wanted to—I did—but I was so afraid you would be angry. And then I fell in love with you and—” 

Azriel held his hand up, abruptly stopping your teary explanation. His chest visibility heaved. “You should go.” 

“What?”

“Answer your father. Tell him you’ll comply with the date.” 

Tears wet your cheeks, the silence following his demand pressing them down in heavy streaks. He stared back at you and he looked so angry, his eyes a calculated cold. He had never looked at you like that. 

“You’re hurt,” you spoke, voice a mess of tears. “You don’t mean that.” 

He only shook his head slightly. “I do.” 

“Azriel, I love you. I was promised to marry him when I was born. I don’t—” 

The muscle in his jaw feathered, effectively silencing you. His shadows were going haywire, half of them wrapped around their master, protecting him, the other half twining around your chest. Did they know you were in pain? Did they know your chest wouldn’t move?

“Okay,” you relented. More tears fell when Azriel only gave you a hard stare. “Okay, I—I’m sorry, Azriel. I love you—” 

You choked on a sob when he turned around, apparently unable to watch as you broke down. 

And that's what made this the most torturous of all; you could leave Warren—maybe—and Azriel still wouldn’t want you back. 

You decided you wouldn’t lie to Warren just as you didn’t to Azriel.

“I fell in love.” 

Warren nodded, barely blinking at your admission. “In Night?” 

Your brow furrowed. “Yes, but—you aren’t angry?” 

“I couldn’t expect you to tie yourself to me. You didn’t know me when we were engaged and I didn’t do the best job at getting to know you when we came of age.” 

“I left.” 

“To meet your soulmate, it seems.” 

“We had no mating bond.” 

Warren’s mouth ticked up at the corner. He adjusted the collar of your cloak and dusted the snow from your shoulder. “A mating bond is not always the answer.” 

Faelight from the post beside the restaurant gleamed off the bronze hues in Warren’s hair. He leaned back, hands encasing your upper arms. “I’ve missed my chance then.”

Something soft fractured inside of you—because he was right. Warren could be all things kind and loving and he wouldn’t be Azriel. No one would be. 

“I’m sorry,” you softly spoke. “I never meant—” 

“Don’t apologize. Go to him.” 

Your lips parted. “Warren, I couldn’t. We’re to be married tomorrow. I wouldn’t do that to you. And our families would be enraged.” 

“I’m hardly concerned about our families. As much as I would have enjoyed marrying you—and I would have, please do not get that misconstrued—there are several noble ladies my mother has lined up and already ready, I’m sure. And as for your family… to be honest, y/n, you came back from Night brighter than I remember you. It seems you have another family waiting for you.” 

It all sounded wonderful—wonderful and so, so easy. You’d have Warren as an ally and you could return to the people you’d called home for so many years. You’d feel at home. The loss of your homeland would sting, but it was a worthy sacrifice. 

But then you remembered the anger and hurt in Azriel’s eyes, and this was no longer easy. 

The light extinguished from your eyes, shoulders deflating in Warren’s hold. “I can’t. He was so angry with me.” 

“When?” 

You met the blues of his eyes, chest hollow. “He found out about our engagement the night before I returned. He told me to go. He was—Warren, he wouldn’t want me back.”

Warren clicked his tongue. “I can guarantee that he’s kicking himself over that. He didn’t mean it. Imagine you learned he was engaged after so many years together. That can’t have been easy.” 

“I know,” you mumbled, ashamed. 

“But—” he continued “—if he loves you, he would have regretted that the moment you left. Go back to him. Speak with him. If he turns you away we can still be married in the morning.” 

“You would still marry me?” you deadpanned, brow raised in amusement. 

“It’s either you or the girl my mother surely has on standby.” 

You scoffed out a laugh and pushed at his chest. He grabbed his sweater in mock pain, a charming smile playing on his face. 

Despite the task that awaited you, you felt lighter. You let out a resolute sigh before saying, “You’re going to be a wonderful husband, Warren.” 

He looked up at you from where he had bent his neck, peeking out from below his lashes. “Just not to you?” he asked. 

“Not to me,” you affirmed. 

~~

The air in the Night Court felt different—shimmering, somehow, although that may have been chalked up to the anxiety coursing through your veins. The crystalline silk dress still adorning your frame stood out against the dark hues of the court. 

It had been a feat to get up to the house. After winnowing into the outskirts of Velaris, you had prayed Mor was home to the tune of several knocks on her door. She was—thankfully—and seemingly more than happy to see you. She had rushed through a tale of how terrible Azriel was doing without you that quickly morphed into a lecture about how pissed she was that you left without a proper farewell. 

You had apologized, and she had sent for someone with wings. 

Cassian appeared next, rattling off much of the same as Mor only with more shouting and less snapping. After several apologies, Cassian brought you up to the House and then promptly left to the opposite side of the House. 

And so, you were left alone with an insurmountable task. 

The halls of the House were painfully familiar, each step a reminder of the life you once thought to be forever. You passed your room—only used for the first few months before you made a home in Azriel’s—several sitting rooms, the kitchen; Azriel’s door was closed. 

You hadn’t knocked on it in years. 

You sucked in a breath, allowing it to fill your chest and then your stomach, and then you knocked. And knocked again. 

“I told you to leave it, Cassian,” came Azriel’s reply. “I don’t wish to talk about it.” 

His voice was rough and thick. You knocked again, listening close to the wood for the sound of footfall or movement. You only heard Azriel’s bed shift. 

You knocked again.

No answer. 

Well, if you were going to do this it wasn’t going to be halfway. 

You turned the knob, the metal cold and reassuring under your palm. You had done that before. 

Azriel’s room was much of the same. Some things were missing; paintings on the wall had been removed, the side of the bed you typically slept on looked all but bare, his curtains had been changed. 

Your gaze went out before it went in, and when it went in, you saw him. Hunched over on the side of his bed, Azriel sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His fingers were threaded through his hair, his room almost unseeably dark. He didn’t look up when you entered. 

“I want to be left alone,” he grunted out. He sniffed. “Tell me after she’s married and only then.” 

He knew you were getting married tomorrow. He had kept track. 

Obviously, that had been a possibility, but you had expected more avoidance. He was angry with you—at you. He couldn’t even look at you when you left, hadn’t told you he loved you as you packed your things and vanished. It would have made sense if he resented you. If he stayed away from all things that involved you. 

“I am not getting married.” 

His head snapped up at a vicious speed, hands falling into his lap just as quickly. His shadows, once in a clump at his feet, exclaimed in the air before cautiously edging towards you. He took you in, eyes roving over your figure in a panic. You caught the reflection on his cheekbones in the small amount of light filtering past his curtains. His eyes were swollen, his face gaunt. 

His voice cracked as it formed the sounds of your name. 

Nerves caught up with you. You closed the door behind you and stayed rooted in the same spot you had left him in, feet creating an indent by the wall. You played with your fingers at your waist. 

“Um, hello,” you greeted, clearing your throat. It hurt to look at him, you realized. You tore your eyes from his ruined expression to gaze down at your hands. “I realize you told me to leave. And I did—I had every intention of following my father’s requests as you told me to do. But—um. Warren could tell something was off. I was trying my best, I swear I was, but it was hard to fall back into that role after spending so much time here. After being comfortable here. With you.”

You chewed at your cheek for a moment. A bad habit you had picked up in the months back in Winter. Azriel’s bed creaked. He’d stood up. 

He was going to leave. You needed to get this out, quickly. 

“I know you’re angry and I’m so sorry, Azriel. I had foolishly thought I could avoid the fate my father had set out if I just ignored it. If I just lived out my life here with you. I thought it would all go away so I never told you about Warren and—” 

“Please,” Azriel interrupted. “Stop saying his name.”

You could feel his presence. Now directly in front of you, his shadows became more comfortable and had taken to sliding along your skin. Azriel stepped forward until you could hear his breath, but you refused to look up. You couldn’t. 

You apologized instead. “I just came back because… I just wanted you to know that you have become my family. You had said that I was making a choice between you and my family, but that’s not true. I feel at home here. And you can tell me to leave again. You can and I’ll—” 

“Look at me.” 

You sucked in a breath, picking at the skin of your palm. 

Azriel placed his thumb and forefinger on your chin, tilting your face up to his. The first touch of his skin against yours had warmth blooming in your gut, but it was quickly replaced with a tight ball of anxiety when his eyes met yours. 

“Gods, I’ve missed your eyes,” he all but sighed. You backed up a step until your back met his door. He followed. “Is it my turn to talk?”

You pressed your lips together and nodded. 

“Letting you leave—speaking to you like that—has been my greatest regret,” he began, the gravelly nature of his voice conveying more than his words ever could. His lashes were damp as they fanned against his cheeks. 

“I didn’t tell you the truth. You had every right—” 

Azriel pressed his thumb to your bottom lip and trained his eyes on the skin he displaced. He winced with a slight shake of his head. “I’m talking, my love.” 

He continued. “I did not have the right. I was hurt, you were correct, but I wasn’t listening. It was unfair of me to react that way. I wanted you to come back the moment you left.” 

“Then why didn’t you come get me?” you whispered. 

“I thought you had everything you wanted. I figured—y/n, I have never been the best option. I’m a killer. I have hang-ups. I wanted you to have a way out.” 

“I didn’t want a way out,” you stressed, gripping Azriel’s wrist. He had moved his hand back to cup your jaw. “I wanted you. I didn’t care about any of that. I was willing to throw away my entire life in Winter to stay.” 

“I know.” 

“And then you told me to leave.”

“I know.” 

“It’s not fair.” 

Azriel let out a tortured breath. His shoulders sagged and his forehead met yours, even though he didn’t ask, even though you weren’t sure who was mad at who anymore. You kept your eyes open as his closed, watching his face twist. 

“Wanted?” 

You drew back. “What?” 

Azriel’s eyes opened. “You said wanted. That you wanted me. That you were willing to stay.” 

You could only stare at him. 

“Does that mean… is this irreparable?” 

“Why do you think I’m here, Azriel?” A broken, defeated smile donned your face. “I don’t think we could ever be irreparable. I don’t think I’d have the strength to keep that up.” 

He was kissing you, a hurried press of his lips against yours, and his sticky cheeks became wet once more as they brushed against yours. His hands found the back of your head, your waist, pulling you in closer. His wings came around to keep you in place—unnecessary. You weren’t going to leave. 

He pressed harder still, barely enough air between you to breathe. He took the small amount that was there, whispering apologies and declarations against your lips. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

“I know, Azriel.” 

“Please don’t marry him.” 

“I won’t.”

“I love you. So much.” 

You kissed him more, softer, and he let you set the pace. At some point, his feet had guided you to the plush surface of his bed, positioning you at the head without ever breaking from your lips. 

“I’m sorry,” he said again—a kiss to your jaw, one along your temple. “I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you. Showing you how much I love you.” 

“It’s okay, Azriel. I’m sorry too—” 

“Don’t. Please. I played out you returning to me so many times in my head. You never apologized in them. You have no reason to.” 

You threaded your fingers through the hair on his nape, eyes cast softly up as he hovered above you. “I could have been more open.” 

“I’ve thought about that. I—I was foolish to think you’d want that future. You are nothing like the woman they have forced you into the mold of.” 

A small smile. “So you’ve noticed?” 

Azriel only kissed you once more before a seriousness cast over his face. “Were you… treated well?” 

“Treated well?”

“I believe his name is Warren.” 

You fought back a laugh at the way he mumbled the words. “You’re worried he was cruel?” 

“Among other things. I know how noblemen can behave.” 

“And when did you begin to worry about that.” 

“From the moment you said his name was Warren.” 

You did laugh that time, shifting on the bed until Azriel laid on his back. You rested along his side, palm flat on his chest. Like a moth to a flame, Azriel’s wings captured you in their own hold. “Warren would have made a good husband. He is a kind man—doting, even.” Azriel tensed beneath you, but you only smoothed your fingers down the plane of his chest. “But I didn’t love him. Maybe I could have tried, before I met you. But not after.” 

Azriel rested his hand atop yours, squeezing your fingers. “I will thank him then. For caring for you when I did not.” 

You looked at him softly, removing your hand to brush stray hairs from his forehead. “He told me to go to you. I was at my rehearsal dinner. I think if I had opened my mouth I would have said your name.” 

He responded with a hand rubbing circles into your back. You laid your head on his chest. “Things will be different now. I can’t go home for a while.” 

“You are home,” he replied. “Things may be different, but I will never be different. Not when it comes to you.”

Read the continuation of Warren's story here

[valentina-writes]

ovulation

Azriel x reader

kinda a part 2 to this

summary: it's your first time ovulating as a fae and your mate Azriel is more than happy to satiate the need within you

genre: smut!!! | words: 3.7k | masterlist

warnings: 18+, pwp (not even a sliver of plot), smut, piv, oral (f receiving), wingplay, creampie, the breeding kink goes hard in this one, slight exhibitionism, cumplay, ovulation (duh)

Smut! Only proceed if you're 18+. Minors dni

A/N: Here it is, sorry for the confusion earlier! I have no words to excuse this unhinged piece of filth, except that I'm sorry it's not longer ;) Don't ask me how I came up with it. Maybe this is the last time I'm writing smut, cause honestly? I think I've peaked with this.

Sweat was glistening all over Azriel's torso. The sun caught the droplets at just the right angle. It looked almost like he had a faint glimmer to him as he was sparring with Rhys. His toned abs were a sight for sore eyes, the way they flexed as he put his weight into a punch directed at the high lord. But Rhys was fast and dodged the attack. The males circled one another, waiting for a moment of weakness to strike again.

Had Azriel's back always been so muscular? Did it look like this as well when he wasn't tackling his brother, but instead bending you over and fucking you? Azriel looked so wild, so carefree in the heat of the moment. His big wings unfolded halfway as he landed his first punch in Rhys's face. And you couldn't help the shudder that went through your body at the sight of your mate and thought about how he would –

"...and then he – Y/N, are you even listening to me?" Feyre waved a hand in front of your face to win back your attention.

"What? I mean sure I am". You were perched on a bank, observing your mates sparring. Shirtless. You had no idea who was winning. The only thing you noticed was the way your mate's biceps flexed and how the sun hit his perfectly sculpted chest –

"Hey! You're practically mind-fucking him. What's going on with you? This is so unlike you". A blush crept over your face. But the wetness in your panties only intensified when a breeze hit your nostrils that carried the shadowsinger's scent. And a strange heat settled in your abdomen.

You were already half out of your seat before you realized you had stood up in hopes of clawing the pants off Azriel right there. "Oh Gods, of course", Feyre laughed, "I think you're ovulating". Azriel's head whipped around to you so fast he should've broken his neck. He stared at you, wide eyed and whatever he saw in you had his eyes darkening and a blush appearing at his neck. A moment of weakness Rhys used to hit him square in the face.

The hiss you shot at Rhysand was inhumane, animalistic almost and maybe you would've tried to tackle him, if your mate hadn't immediately stood up again and walked towards you with a grin on his bloody lips and looked so sexy you contemplated having a wagon-load of winged babies.

"Did he hurt you?". You brought your hand up to his face, your fingertips lightly grazing the small wound. Your mate shook his head no and, for some reason, Rhys was chuckling somewhere behind you. Your finger stilled at his upper lip. You took him in now, close up. His dishevelled hair, the sweat mixing with dirt and blood made him so masculine, so attractive your knees nearly buckled.

"You looked so hot fighting like this", you breathed. Rhys wheezed before laughing out loudly. But your mate drew you into a hug and whispered into your ear: "I could smell you all across the training ring". Your hands grasped his arms to stabilize yourself. Your heart hammered inside your chest and the burning desire between your thighs got unbearable.

Azriel turned his head towards the others. "Did you tell her what it would be like? Does she know? I don't want to take advantage of her like this". As if on cue, you moved your hand down his front, down the delicious muscles and to his pants that hid his manhood. And then you brushed over his half-hard length firmly, fumbling to open his pants. Azriel's scarred hands clutched your waist tightly and a small gasp left his lips.

"She does", Feyre was nearly crying from laughing, "besides I think it's her who's taking advantage of you, not the other way around".

"Azzie", you begged, unable to open his pants while he held you so close, "I need you. I love you so much. You're so sexy. And it... it hurts".

Concern etched on his face. "My love, where does it hurt?". Deep inside you, straight at your core.

"I can show you". Somewhere in the back of your mind, you were screaming at yourself to get it together, but it was like all your senses were attuned to him. Like every filter had been removed, when you grabbed his hand and tried to shove it down your own pants while simultaneously tracing the whirls of the tattoo on his chest with your tongue.

"Get a room, for Cauldron's sake", Rhys bellowed and your mate grimaced at your antics.

Azriel grabbed you by your arm, the world turned dark around you and all of a sudden you were in your bedroom, hanging onto Az.

"My mate is so strong and powerful", you grinned. "And so hot and so big". He choked on plain air when you palmed him through his pants again. You whimpered. He was fully hard now, straining against his confines. "So big", you repeated and stroked him through his pants. A growl left Azriel's lips and his lips crashed onto yours in a passionate kiss. Your blood was boiling, clothes too tight on your body and his naked skin drove you insane. Every thought left your brain as you touched every inch of his body you could reach and pulled him to the bed, on top of you without breaking the kiss. You were starving and the only remedy were his lips and his tongue that were just as desperate as your own. Only when you were gasping for air, did Azriel move his kisses down to your neck.

"It hurts, Az"

"I know, baby. I'll take care of you. But you've been a bad girl, my love. Very bad". He panted. Dark tendrils of shadows slipped around your waists and ankles, binding them to the bed.

"First, you smell so delicious you make me lose against Rhys". He pressed a hot kiss to your neck, flicking the delicate skin with his tongue. A loud moan escaped you and you thrashed against the shadows holding you in place. "Then you try to get me to fuck you right in front of my brother". He took truth-teller and cut across your shirt and bra before throwing the knife away and latching onto your now freed hard nipple. It took everything within you to not come undone then and there. "And then you touch me and almost make me cum in my pants even though you want it so much, don't you?" He rolled his hips against yours once, against the powerful bundle of nerves.

"I can't help it", you replied breathlessly, "I – fuck – I need you".

His tongue circled your nipple. "Hmm... use your words. Where do you need me? I'll make you feel better" The shadows snaked up your legs now and smoothly pulled off your pants, leaving only your panties that were so wet the fabric clung to you like a second skin. Azriel kissed all over your breasts. "Here?" You shook your head. His kisses wandered further down, stopping near your bellybutton. "Here?". Vehemently, you shook your head again. "Hmm... where else?", he teased. You wanted to grab him and lead him, but the shadows wouldn't let you. Azriel chuckled softly and his mouth moved down again, agonizingly slowly towards where you needed him most. Your body was ablaze, writhing against the shadows that bound you. At the seam of your panties he stopped, breathing you in. "Gods, you smell divine". A hungry expression grazed his eyes. His nose pressed into your clothed crotch and he inhaled deeply, groaning. Azriel pressed a kiss right there, making you keen. "Do you need me here?".

A shadow caressed your cheek lightly. "Yes, right there". A wicked gleam showed in his eyes. He pressed a kiss to your still clothed sex that had you chasing his touch. You could only see his dark hair when he kissed your thighs, higher and higher, until he reached delicate skin next to your panties, soaked with arousal. By now, you were reduced to a whining mess, the only word leaving your mouth his name. You couldn't see what he was doing, your view obscured by his big wings, but the next moment, air hit your cunt and he had a ripped piece of fabric hanging from his grinning lips. Your heart skipped a beat and you moaned out in delight. Azriel had ripped your panties off with his teeth.

Azriel pressed light kisses to your folds, and then licked through them up to your clit in one slow motion.

"So wet for me". And then he ate you like you were his last meal. With deliberate strokes of his tongue, he gathered your moisture and greedily swallowed it all. His tongue dove into your waiting hole, a hand moved up to grasp your breast and with every lick, your mate's nose hit your clit at just the right angle. He was thrusting against the mattress now, you realized wirh a shudder. It was too much.

"Come on my tongue. Let go for me", he panted between licks. He thrust his tongue deeply inside and you came hard, screaming out his name and fell limp to the mattress. He helped you ride out your orgasm, drinking up every drop of moisture. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, but the pain in your womb hadn't receded. If anything the searing ache had only intensified.

"You're so pretty when you cum". Azriel kissed you softly on your lips and this small affection had you arching up against him again.

"Fuck, Az. I need more of you"

Calloused fingers ghosted against your clit and then slipped downwards, circling your entrance.

"My pretty girl can take another one, can't you? For making a fool out of me infront of Rhys". But he didn't look angry at all with his wide smile and blown out pupils as two fingers slipped inside you and curled against your walls.

The stretch and the textured feeling of his scarred fingers was oh so welcome and you greedily leaned into him, but it just wasn't enough. It just wasn't his rock-hard cock that lay against your thigh now, promising pleasure beyond anything you had ever felt.

You stroked lightly against the shadows binding you to the bed. They purred at your touch, turned soft and pliant. Enough so that they allowed you to move. Without wasting precious time, your hand shot out and stroked his wing, found the big vein right next to the main bone. Azriel shuddered above you and dropped his head onto your chest, his hand stilled within you. Slowly, you traced the vein and then the strong tendons next to it. His wing was limp in your hands, dropping half-opened to the bed and Azriel collapsed on top of you. He groaned deeply into your neck, making your toes curl and you nearly came from the sound alone. He humped against your leg, his cock now so hard it was throbbing through his pants, desperate for any friction. Another light touch of your fingertips against the delicate membrane and he bit your neck softly, growling.

Cold air whipped over your arm and ripped it off his wing, bringing it back to its original position. Azriel shot up and knelt over you and you couldn't help the whine that escaped you at the loss of contact.

"You can play later. For as long as you want", his chest was moving rapidly with his strained breaths, "but not yet"

"I can't help it. I need to feel you and touch you. I need your cock inside me and –"

He ripped his pants off, freeing his hard length that slapped against his abdomen. Its head was an angry shade of red, leaking precum all over. His veins stood out prominently against the soft skin and you swore it pulsed harder the more you looked at it. The ache inside you intensified, saliva pooled in your mouth and you were sure if you didn't get him inside you right now you'd die.

"I wanted to prepare you for me". He was shaking, restraining himself from taking you right then and there. His eyes wandered down to your waiting cunt, clenching and dripping around nothing, and the look on his face became predatory. "Do you think you're ready for me?" It was laughable, the way you thrashed against his shadows, your arousal so evident in the wetness pooling between your thighs and the hunger for his cock. You felt painfully empty, an ache deep inside you that you knew only he could cure.

"Please. Fuck me already. I need you, please", you whined. And the last sliver of your sanity went flying out of the window at your begging.

He was above you again so fast you didn't even see his movement. His hot tip slid through your folds, nudging against your clit in a deliciously devastating way that had you seeing stars. Azriel coated himself in your wetness and then stopped, his tip right at your entrance. You bucked your hips forward in annoyance, but he held you in place firmly.

There was little restraint left in his voice when he asked: "How do you want it?". The big wings at his back were trembling.

What a stupid fucking question. "Hard"

You didn't need to tell him twice. With a fast movement, he entered you and pushed all the way inside in one hard thrust. Azriel's eyes rolled back and you cried out in ecstasy. The way he filled you so completely, stretching you with a delicious burn around his hard length made the need for him even worse.

"So wet and ready for me. You take me so well", he whispered and thrust hard once. You tugged at the shadows again, but they wouldn't budge this time. "Such a needy little princess". Another thrust, hitting a spot that made you see stars. "I love the way you feel around me. Always so perfect". His eyes darkened as he looked down upon your naked body. "Hold on tight". He grabbed one of your legs and spread you wider, allowing him to settle even deeper inside you, taking your breath away. And then he fucked you roughly into the mattress. He set a rough and punishing pace, his hands wrapped so tight around your waist they would leave bruises. His cock hit all the right spots inside you and every thought except for him left your mind.

The moans that escaped you were beyond shameless. Again and again, you tried to arch up into him, but the shadows wouldn't let you. Your eyes met his and the love he put into this look was enough to send you ober the edge, crying out his name.

He stopped inside you without pulling out. "Do you feel better?". All you could register was the hard length still buried inside you up to his balls, throbbing and twitching. You shook your head.

"No? What more does my princess need?". Azriel's mouth latched back onto your breast, sucking and kissing the hardened nub and you felt yourself getting impossibly wetter by the second. "I need – fuck – I need – your – cum", you gasped with each flick of his tongue.

A deep groan sounded from him and it was music in your ears.

"Want me to come inside you? Fill you up with my seed?". He pressed a hand to your abdomen, right were he was nestled inside you and you bucked your hips against him.

"Yes. Please – don't pull out"

Azriel dropped down on you again with almost all his weight. It was pure torture having him so close and not being able to touch him.

"Breed me, Az"

Something inside him snapped at your words. He started moving again, thrusting harder and faster than before. Moans escaped his lips, mingling with your own.

The shadows relaxed their pull around you. You flung your legs around his waist, allowing him to go in even deeper. And your hands shot up straight to his bag, fingers clawing at his hard muscles. Azriel growled deeply into your ear.

"Want me to breed you?"

"Yes", you moaned, nodding frantically. He was almost there, his thrusts grew sloppy and impatient. The throbbing of his cock against your cervix the most beautiful thing you had ever felt.

"See how deep I am?" The fingers of his hand pressed to your abdomen flexed right where a bulge formed with every thrust. All you could do was nod weakly, your eyes rolling back. "Feels so good"

"This cock is yours". Your hands threaded into his hair and pulled him down to your lips. Shadows flew down to your clit and started nipping at it. "My seed is yours", he whispered against your lips.

With a strong twitch, he came inside you, hot ropes of his thick cum spurted out of him, right where you needed it the most. There was a lot of it, warmth spreading deep inside you. He kept moving, his cum squelching obscenely and the feeling of him and his seed right against your womb, the shadows working your clit perfectly, had you convulsing around him in a hard climax.

Azriel buried his face in the crook of your neck. The mating bond between you glowed in a familiar light and you felt the love radiating off him.

"Did I hurt you, baby?", he asked breathlessly.

"No. I loved it". You shuddered. There was semen dripping out of you now and you hated every drop that was wasted.

"Do you feel better?"

He tried to withdraw, but you kept him from escaping by pulling him further in with your legs around his hips.

"Not enough", you complained, out of breath, "need more of you". The burning inside your womb had died down by a fraction, but you weren't satisfied yet. Your body needed more of him, even though you could already feel him softening inside you.

"You're insatiable. Like a desperate little slut, begging for my cock to fill you up".

Azriel's lips found your neck, licking, kissing and biting until you were reduced to a whining mess below him again.

"Wait a bit, I'm not ready to go again"

But you couldn't wait. He let you roll him over onto his back with you sitting astride him. Azriel's hands gripped your hips and there was nothing but love in his gaze. Cum ran out of your cunt and dripped into his short pubic hair, onto his thighs and the sheets. Your pussy pulsed at the sight.

You dipped your fingers into his cum and brought it to your mouth to taste him. The slightly salty aroma made you moan on your fingers. And Gods, he was so sexy below you, his chest still glistening with sweat, the illyrian tattoo and his toned abs, the absolutely fucked-out look on his face. You knew exactly what to do.

Both of your hands found his neatly folded wings. You stroked all over the membranes, unfolded the wings to reach the better hidden spots that he loved the most. And he just let you.

He grew harder inside you by the second. Not long, and you were circling your hips, sliding slowly up and down his cock, slick with arousal and cum.

You got off on the sight of him, completely at your mercy. With each deliberate touch of yours, his wings trembled under your fingertips and his cock throbbed inside you.

"You're so hot like this", you gasped as you rode him slowly, "I want to fuck you until your balls are empty and I'm full of you".

You brushed against the main veins of his wings. A full-body shudder went through him, his gaze turned clear, and the next moment, he had you face down, ass up in the air and entered you from behind, making you scream.

"Fuck, that's better", he groaned, "Didn't I say it's time for wings later?". You only mewled, the new angle bringing a foreign stretch and deep penetration.

You were close to orgasm again

"But my girl needs more of my seed, right? You need to milk me dry?". He underlined his words with a deep roll of his hips and then stilled, his hands at your hips to keep you from bucking your hips back at him.

The words tumbled from your lips like a prayer. "Fuck yes. Please, Az"

With one sharp movement, he started pistoning in and out of you again, his balls slapping rhythmically against your clit.

"You're perfect like this, taking me so well".

His pace was relentless, each thrust shoving you deeper into the pillows.

"Come for me again, love". Azriel's fingers found your clit, rubbing slow circles. Your climax ripped through you with a force that had you screaming his name. You clenched around him trembling.

One more thrust, until he was buried deeply inside you, his tip nestled directly against your cervix, and he found his release with a roar that had the bed shaking. Warmth spread inside you once again, straight to were you needed it.

He pressed a kiss to your back and pulled out of you. A small river of his cum trickled down your thighs. Your pussy felt sore, but the ache was gone and so was the fog in your mind.

Azriel pulled you tightly against him, laying down.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Is it better now?".

A blush crept over your cheeks at the thought of how wanton you had been only minutes ago. The things you had said, for Cauldron's sake. You hoped Rhys and Feyre had at least left the house before you started. There was no way you'd be able to look anyone into the eye again if they'd heard that. Not to mention the embarrassment you felt towards your mate. The way you had begged for his cum.

"Yes. Is it over now?"

A grin settled on his face. "If you're lucky, it'll be over in a few days".

You hid your face in your hands. "A few days? Oh Gods, I'm so sorry for how I behaved. For what I said. That was so –" Embarrassing? Humiliating? Shameful?

"That was really hot", he said softly and took your hands off your face, "that was probably the best sex I've ever had and, judging by the sounds you made –" you wanted to die on the spot "– and how you begged for more, I think you liked it too. Nothing to be ashamed of. It's instinct, you can't control it". A peck on your nose had you smiling again.

"I know, but still". He stared at you, disbelieving. "Okay, fine. I loved it. And it doesn't sound too bad to have you fucking me like that for the next couple of days"