#azriel hurt/comfort

[utterlyazriel]

an eternity, my love

eep! this is a bit longer than the last at just over 6k forgive me... but thank so much for all love on the first piece 🥹 and thank u for all your lovely ideas! i hope this does sum justice to the nonnie who asked for further miscommuncation... <3 part one here but u don’t need to read it to read this :)

How does one even begin to decide what to wear to dinner with a person, the person, who matched your soul perfectly?

When your friend had hunted her way through clothing stores of Velaris and stashed away a custom dress — far fancier than anything you owned — for the first date with her mate, you had laughed at her.

Now, staring at your closet in only your undergarments, you were beginning to envy her preparation.

Seriously, how are you supposed to choose?

You pick up your latest addition to your closet, a glossy dress the colour of red wine that reveals the length of your legs and planes of your collarbones— perfect for a night out dancing.

With a grimace, you place it back on the hanger. It was far more scandalous than you would want to be on a first date, even though — well, you’re sure that, being mates, Azriel would like anything you wore.

You heave a sigh. An uneasy prickle beneath your skin has you crossing your arms; it was almost alarming how badly you wanted to impress him. But… mating bonds were rare and powerful.

Almost as if you had summoned it — in fact, maybe you had — there’s a soft shimmer in your chest. Your beautiful glow, the bridge between you and Azriel humming to life. In a way you can’t explain, it’s as though you can feel him soothe across your mind, his soft touch full of assurances.

He’s comforting you. All your emotions must be shooting down the bond without your permission. Gods, that would take some getting used to. You wonder if he can feel your resounding pang of embarrassment as well.

You do your best to push back something less nervous, more of your excitement for the night to come — and you know, without even seeing him, he’s smiling.

After another moment of fussing, you decide on something simpler than your glossy night dress.

Comfortable black slacks with plenty of flow to them and a shirt you thought was one of your nicer ones. With the slightest touch ups to your makeup, you rush yourself out the door before you convince yourself to change all over again.

The Sidra keeps you company, a rush of water beside you as you wind through the streets of Velaris, eyes flicking up to take in the darkening sky. The sun was sinking below the mountain tops, rays tickling across the ridges.

And while you could admit that Velaris was very beautiful in the daytime, you were a true Night court citizen— and believed its true beauty came out at night.

Somehow, despite the lack of concrete plans made as you had ushered the male out of your office, you knew resolutely that you would be able to find him. You weren’t even worried about the timing of it all. It was… what was the word? Absurd. Insane. Utterly, breathtakingly incredible.

Sure enough, as you exit the alley and round the corner, your eyes falling on the sage green building you reside in for work, there he is; waiting for you.

You inhale a sharp breath. A thousand cells in your body fizz, hum, and glow, at the mere sight of him.

It's easy to understand just how he had garnered his dark reputation, the image of him every bit of the Spymaster of the Night Court — a title like Shadowsinger has never been so fitting for him.

He’s blurred at the edges, a thousand tiny wisps that blend him into the shadows of the nighttime. His wings stretch up behind, towering over his already tall frame, black as ink, and beneath his darkened attire, you can spot his tan skin. Your eyes drag up his neck, tracing his adam's apple, along the scruff of his sharp jaw until you reach his hazel eyes.

Your heart burns.

In the depth of it, you know, if he doesn't love you, he will undo you completely.

It's wholly terrifying to come face to face with — the intensity of the mating bond scorching through your mind like a fierce wind, burning embers left in its wake.

It's enough to make you pause, the definitive thought that doing this, offering him your heart and trusting him, could very well lead to your ruin.

Your chest squeezes tightly. You let your eyes drink in the Illyrian, the Male who waited so patiently for all those years and was prepared to wait years more, if you had asked.

Focusing, you pluck up that golden thread in your chest and hold it tightly. It heats and melts, hotter and hotter, and you know that any fear you have, you can conquer to be with him.

Ruination be damned.

—

Azriel notices you the moment your frame exits the alley, notices the moment you pause — has been able to feel you drawing nearer to him this whole time. Your every emotion is transparent to him through the bond between you, whether you’re aware of it or not.

You must not have the tightened mental shields he had come to be so familiar with over all his years. It makes sense; you are no warrior. Mental walls over your mind are not something you have ever had to concern yourself with.

Azriel vows it to be one of the things he teaches you. You deserved the privacy of your emotions, at the very least.

But... for now, Azriel can feel them all. It's why, as you round the corner, Azriel can feel your eyes on him and then, then he feels it.

The wash of fear that spills over your bond like icy water.

An old enemy rises within him. He grits his teeth, even as he feels the fear from you slide away and he tries to ignore the sting from an unhealed wound. But self-deprecation never seems to drown, no matter how much he tries to suffocate it within him.

He shifts his hands, relieved suddenly to have them covered up beneath gloves. His wings tuck in tighter, if possible, and he wills his shadows sternly to contain themselves. Something in the slightest baring of his teeth has them obeying. They shoot to his sides and make themselves scarce.

All this in time to greet you pleasantly as you bounce into view, sidling up before him with a shy grin. It's only been a few hours since he got his proper look at you and yet, you're every bit as breathtaking as you were earlier. More so, in fact.

It feels as though Azriel has never seen the sky before and you before him, are the first sunset of his life. You look so pretty that Azriel could probably gaze at you all evening if you so allowed him to.

And then, he remembers the pang of fear.

He doesn't waste time mulling over which detail of him had made you afraid — only that he would dim or change or hide any part of himself to stop it from happening again.

"Hello, again," You say, your lips pressed together to contain your smile. You have to tilt your head back to look up at his handsome face. His shadows swirl around him and despite his strict instructions, one still slips away to touch you.

You don't notice it circling your ankle, tentative and shy.

"Hello, again." Azriel echoes your words, unable to help his own glimmer of joy.

He wants to offer you his arm, his hand. Can feel it within him, down to the very marrow of his bones, the craving to be closer to you, to touch you, however he can.

Azriel swallows heavily and does what he has done over decades, over centuries; he takes the wanting and pushes it down, down, down.

The two of you begin to walk, side by side, with no destination in mind. Aimless and content at the same time.

Azriel doesn't need the bond to see the flittering of nerves hidden in your expression. The shadow still circulating around your ankle climbs higher, like it wants to comfort you too.

Azriel wills it to still, desperate to not scare you again. He drops his shoulders from his usual warrior posture in hopes of making himself a little smaller.

“You don’t need to be nervous.” He says reassuringly.

You steal a glimpse at him, your smile breaking into a grin. Your nerves are still potent but less so.

“Who says I’m nervous?”

Azriel smiles gently, his eyes dancing across your face as he reads your lie easily. “I do."

There's a scrunch between your eyebrows then, like he had seen during his time in your office earlier. Azriel places a hand on his chest, over the place where the glowing tug is strongest.

"I can feel it.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you stare at his gloved hand, the cogs in your brain spinning and turning at a rapid rate. Still strolling, your hand rises slowly and touches to the same spot on your own chest. Azriel can feel his heart stutter at the sight, you holding the spot that connected you to him undeniably.

"You can?" Your gaze lifts to his face, puzzlement adorning your features. You frown and focus for a moment, staring hard into the distance — and Azriel feels a sudden twinge of disgust through the thread.

"Did you feel that?" You ask, eyes wide and curious.

Azriel nods wordlessly and he can't help but ask. "What is it you were thinking of?"

You look embarrassed for a moment, eyes averting to the ground. You chuckle awkwardly and tuck your hair behind your ears, glancing back up at the Male with a sheepish smile.

"Brussels sprouts."

Azriel blinks once, twice, and then has to turn to hide his smile. He tries to cover his laugh with a cough. It doesn't work, given how you make a small noise of indignation. He turns back, his politest expression on.

"Don't laugh at me!" You whine, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder. Your touch radiates through his body like a drop of golden sun, blazing warm.

"You're right," Azriel hums, his lips twitching as he presses back his smile. "My apologies, my lady. This is important knowledge I should be filing away. I swear on my life I will feed you no brussels sprouts this evening, or any in the future."

He wants to nudge your shoulder with his own, just to touch you, wants to reach out as easily as you had. But his shadows slip before his self-control does, skittering out along onto your shoulder and giving you a small shock and Azriel remembers himself. His fists clench tightly at his sides.

You walk side by side all evening, like two planets in orbit — close, oh so close, but never quite touching.

—

The first date you share is nothing short of… wonderful.

Resolutely and overwhelming good, the entire date you can't help but feel as though your very soul is singing, a thousand particles blithesome at the nearness you get to share with Azriel. He's surprising in a manner of ways.

Firstly, he's terribly quiet.

Next to him, you look quite the blabber-mouth, no matter how much he insists he enjoys it. His dark eyes are intense as they watch you closely, soaking in every word that passes your lips, and yet, beneath it, his dry sense of humour comes out to play. There's the occasional tease, almost as if just to see if he could make you flustered. (He could, easily).

With a Male as beautiful as him, suited to your very being in every way, it's nearly unbearable how much you ache for him. How much his very attention creeps down your neck and makes every nerve along your spine tingle.

You know it will take some time to get used to his unwavering and devoted attention.

There’s… just one small, itty-bitty, tiny problem.

He doesn’t touch you.

Throughout that whole first evening, you had noticed it somewhat— a flex in his gloved hands, a moment where his wing strayed too close only to be pulled back in a flash, even his shadows, darting out to be near you but never quite touching you as they had on that first meeting.

His hands reach out but they do not find you.

At first, you believed it was a first date thing. Azriel was, first and foremost, a gentleman, and you thought perhaps, his skirting touch, like his hand lingering over the small of your back but not touching it, was to be polite. Courteous and gracious.

Then, you had seen him just two days after that date, all bundled up in your giddiness that it had managed to slip your mind.

The two of you had spent the day together, traversing through the market — before you quickly found a quieter space for your mate as it became clear that large bustling areas, such as the Palace of Threads and Jewels, were not so suited to his tastes.

As you had tugged him out of the crowd, laughing over your shoulder at how he fought to keep his broad wings from knocking into anyone else, the thought suddenly snapped back into you.

Though you yearned to link his arm with your own, to interlace your fingers with his, you remembered his hesitance. Remembered the hover of his gloved hand.

And so, you dropped his arm the moment you cleared the crowd.

A hurt warbled deep within you to so do and knowing you were not the deftest at schooling your expressions, you hid your face so you could contain your childish reactions. You huffed at your own upset. What matter is it if your mate has no affinity to touch?

Truly, it was a miracle to have found a mate at all, you tried to scold yourself. You would not take him for granted for a moment, not even if it was not quite the picture of perfection you had envisioned.

Rooted deep in you was a truth; you could abide by this, abstain to his level of comfort for years, for millennia, if it made him happier.

The fabric of the mating bond, connecting the two of you intrinsically, made it so you would not want it any other way.

It's a decidedly Azriel thing.

He always wears the gloves, he never touches you more than he has to, and he's got... this really specific look when you're doing a terrible job of hiding your emotions.

As he had vowed, Azriel had set about teaching you how to build the mental walls up within your mind, brick by brick by brick. While it would help you hold against daemati if that loathsome situation should ever arise, it would also shield you from your mate.

It would protect you from having your emotions ripped out for him to see, no matter how much you held back — if it was in your mind, it would travel down the bond.

So, the wall had to be built. It had been tedious, tricky, and tiring work. Yet every time you would feel yourself ready to throw in the towel, Azriel would lean in closer, his hazel eyes softened, and his hand resting upon your arm, thumb swatching up and down, to encourage you.

"I know it is tiresome," He had mused, that faint smile twitching at his lips as you scowled at the ground. His thumb was still moving, still drawing light circles on your bicep. The skin beneath it blazed with warmth. "But it is worth it, that I can promise. You deserve this privacy, my dear. I would never wish to take it from you."

My dear, my dear, my dear— the words had sunk into your sternum and bloomed, bright and golden.

It's enough to hold onto, his kind affections. The sweet shape of his mouth when it says your name. The way his lashes kiss in the corner when he can't hold back his smile.

It's enough to soothe yourself over. To take the lack of touch on the chin and swallow down your desire for more.

It's why— why you can't help yourself— why you couldn't tear your eyes away from Azriel's hand where it touches Cassian's arm.

You're meeting his family today, which you've quickly realised doesn't mean his mother or father but instead means... the literal Highlord of the Night Court.

There are several warriors crowded around the cramped entrance room to the River House. Each of them is taller than you, and two of them with the very same huge wingspans that you've come to revere on your own mate.

Your usual talkativeness has been dimmed in your shock, though, really, it shouldn't be such a surprise. Azriel is a force to be reckoned with, honed over decades, and the Spymaster of the Night Court. You know these things. The company he keeps makes sense.

Somehow... still, seeing them all together leaves you strikingly speechless. The legion that protects your home — a family.

Rhysand greets you first, dapper in his dark attire, his violet eyes equal parts calculating and welcoming as he steps forward and offers his hand.

Despite the fact you have never bowed to him before, you still have to repress the urge. His power is overwhelming, the very night lapping at his edges and you're suddenly very grateful to be meeting him as a friend and not as a foe.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rhysand's voice purrs out, soft as silk. When you place your hand in his, he brings it to his lips and presses a polite kiss to the back of your hand.

"Any friend of Azriel's is a friend of mine."

You can feel your own heart thundering in your chest. Azriel hovers behind you, his presence soothing in itself. You can't see it but his wings are outstretched towards you, cocooning around you ever so slightly. A shadow hovers behind your shoulder, just out of sight.

"I— the pleasure is mine, my Highlord." You manage to make yourself speak.

You almost wish you hadn't when your words inspire a burst of laughter from one of the others behind Rhysand, the other Illyrian. He's tall, his hair dark but longer than your mate's own.

As your hand is dropped, Rhysand turns to scowl at the Male laughing, and you only grow further perplexed when he gives a whack against the other's shoulder. They begin to squabble for a moment — and you don't even hear Azriel move until he's speaking, his lips right by your ear.

"You'll have to forgive Cassian." His voice is low, raspy in a way that sends a zing down your spine. You shiver lightly. "He can be well-mannered at the best of times. But I promise he isn't laughing at you."

The two Males seem to tune back into Azriel's words, even though they had been whispered for you specifically.

"It's true!" The Illyrian, Cassian you now know, pipes up. He brandishes a devilishly handsome grin at you, with his hands held up in defense. "I apologise. It just still makes me laugh to see someone address this one so formally."

You blink. "But... he is the Highlord."

Azriel speaks again, bent over still to talk in your ear, but much less of a whisper this time. "Rhys is our Highlord but he does not bother with such formalities."

"And," Cassian interjects, lugging a punch into Rhy's shoulder, much like the other had done to him not a moment before. "Before he was the o'mighty Highlord, he was our friend."

Cassian says the word o'mighty with such an air of sarcasm that you can't help but glance at Rhys, sure he wouldn't take such disrespect. But around you, there are only easy grins.

"Might we move to somewhere more comfortable than the doorway," Azriel speaks up from behind you, his voice dry. "Unless that is, you're all hoping to do one-on-one greetings with her?"

There it is, the dry sense of humour you've come to adore. The group before you seems to grumble, as if they were quite keen on the one-on-one meetings but begin to move through the house.

One of the group dips back to walk beside you and you do your best not to repeat your past mistakes, even as your eyes widen almost comically. Azriel chuckles silently to himself, feeling your polite astonishment down the bond.

"It's so great to finally meet you.” Feyre, your Highlady greets you, her pretty face rife with glee. She seems genuinely very happy to make your acquaintance. "Azriel has told me all about you."

You stumble in surprise, your eyes casting back to Azriel behind the pair of you. His eyes are fixed on Feyre, narrowed at her blatant betrayal, his shadows swirling around him. She sticks her tongue out at him playfully and you smother a laugh.

When his eyes shift over to you, you're positively delighted at how his cheeks have turned the lightest shade of ruby.

"Feyre is very persuasive when she wants to be." He murmurs, almost grumbling. You turn back to the Highlady and she grins at you, devious and captivating all at once.

It’s a whirlwind once you reach one of the many living rooms, each member of Azriel’s family all very eager to shake your hand.

Cassian grips it firm, his grin still on the side of wicked as he tells you he’s been waiting years to find the woman who could contain Azriel. Nesta, his mate as you find out, is a fierce kind of pretty with a grip as strong as Cassian’s. She tells you welcome to the family with the smile of a shark.

Morrigon is next, breathtakingly gorgeous, and every bit as charismatic as Azriel had described. You don't catch the glimpse between Mor and Cassian, not the beat of relief they both feel at your arrival in their lives— in Azriel's life.

It's swallowed up in her words, going a mile a minute. She jumps about, like popcorn in a pan, overly keen to finally speak to the one whom the Mother deemed worthy of Azriel’s heart. Where are you from? What do you do? How did you meet?

“Mor,” Azriel warns, after her twelfth consecutive question about your life. He hasn’t moved from his protective position behind you, close enough you can feel the heat of his body. His wings had brushed your shoulder just once.

“Yeah, Mor,” Rhys jeers. He nudges his cousin in the side playfully and Cassian snickers behind the group. “Give the girl some time to breathe.”

Even with all of Azriel's masterclass on who you would be meeting, it's still terribly overwhelming just trying to keep track of them all. They're each such strong spirits, each with seemingly a thousand battles in their past and far more years with Azriel.

On top of this is the fact you met both your Highlord and Highlady so casually in one single afternoon. It's difficult to not be daunted by the group that is so clearly intertwined with each other on a deeper level altogether— bonded by devastation and choosing each other through love.

Try as you might, you can feel the seed of doubt, of insecurity, make a home between your ribs.

You clamp down the shields you've spent the last few weeks learning, building the wall up and holding it tight. It's silly to feel dismayed because these Fae, these friends, know your mate better than you do.

Azriel had told you he had been waiting for you for five hundred years. For the first time since you've met him, you wonder if he was ever disappointed.

And then— then, you see it.

Azriel's hand on Cassian's arm. Then the half embrace they share, a hand on each other's neck as Cassian grins, wild and fierce, and presses his forehead against Azriel's own; brothers, sharing a moment of euphoria at the other finding his long-deserved happiness.

You should be soaking in the smile Azriel hides from you too often, showing his teeth and crinkling his eyes. But instead, you can't see past it, can't stop the loop in your own mind as it prints a fact over and over and over.

It isn't an Azriel thing; it's a you thing.

He doesn't touch you.

The mental walls in your mind feel paper-thin as a fresh kind of agony ripples through your chest. The soft rejection of a mate stings, a papercut on your very heart. You can feel it warble through you and know, terribly, the exact moment that Azriel feels it too.

His head whips around, his dark shadows that surround him suddenly spinning and flitting faster than before— a couple dive across the room to you.

You stand up and the chair scrapes noisily beneath you.

"I—" You say before you realise you haven't planned an exit or an excuse in the slightest. Azriel's gaze burns into you. You turn to Feyre instead, who had been talking across from you when you rudely stood up.

"I'm so sorry, I just—" Some excuse, any excuse! "I think I— left the stove on."

It's a lie. A complete utter lie that fools no one in the room as you retreat from it hastily. None of them try to stop you though, which you're thankful for. Each of them watches, every expression slightly concerned as you hurry out of the room, your feet walking backward rapidly until you bump into the door frame.

You pass through it with your eyes on the floor, knowing that all of the eyes are on you. You know the ones you can feel searing into your soul are Azriel's.

You leave the River House. You walk along the Sidra, your steps hurried and your chin tucked low. It hurts. It hurts the feeling inside you. A tear streaks down your cheek, unbidden, and collects on your jaw. You wipe it away meanly.

The sight of your apartment door is an overwhelming comfort, one that has you sighing aloud as you rush up to it, your fingers already digging around in your pockets for your key.

And like always, you never hear him coming.

"What happened?" Azriel asks, his voice almost pained.

You give a little yelp of surprise and whip around, remembering half a second later that there's still evidence on your face of your tears. Azriel grows characteristically still, his hazel eyes fixed on yours as you sniffle for a moment, aggravation beginning to creep in.

He could feel everything from you and you got... what? Whatever he deemed fit to offer? How is that fair?

His usually wispy shadows are inkier than usual, almost tornado-ing around his shoulders. They keep leaping out towards you before being caught in an invisible net, a barrier between you and them.

Even as Azriel remains motionless, his eyes are the opposite—they jump around, searching, hunting, begging to find the cause of your pain. Had it been one of his friends?

"Please," He tries his words again.

His heart throbs painfully when you finally find your key and turn your back on him without a word, unlocking your door and pressing your way inside. He follows quickly, wings tucked in tight, unable to keep his shadows at his side this time. They whiz to you, circling your ankles protectively.

"Please," Azriel says, an anguished growl to his words. "What hurt you? I will— my friends, if they said something— if it was someone, I hunt them down and make it right for you."

You inhale sharply and when you speak, your tone is cold in a way you have never used before with Azriel. You say the words without thinking.

"It would be impossible to hunt yourself, Azriel."

Regret howls through you like a hurricane the moment you say the words. You don't mean to be mean, jealous, or whatever unseemly emotion you can't stop from sprouting in your chest, growing in size, tangling into your heartstrings like twisted gnarled vines. It hurts.

You turn back to him, mouth open. No words come out.

Hurt is slashed across his face, his eyebrows furrowed tightly, his shadows tucked in tight. It's as though he's blended into the very air, the wispy edge of him threatening to retreat into his own shadows.

All his emotions on display just for a moment, before they're schooled away. Tucked away, hidden, not for you to see.

Inside, your hurricane howls again, this time in pain.

You can tell he feels it, even as you mentally gather your bricks. It isn't fair. How can he have every bit of you and you get what he pleases to return?

You want to know him completely, want to see every part of his rugged, weathered soul, and love him anyway. It's an untold type of agony to have him deny you.

"My love," His feet finally move, his wings almost dragging on the floor as he steps forward, slowly, as though he was afraid he might spook you.

"Tell me how to fix this pain." He pleads. His gloved hands are held out, palms up and suddenly, he looks nothing like a warrior. Just a Male, afraid of losing what is most dear to him. You shake your head, like a child, and keep building your brick wall.

"Please don’t keep this from me," He takes another step forward, his shadows sent awry as they dart across to you. You can feel them on your calves, on your arms, feel the tiny kisses they leave. Azriel speaks again, voice low. "My love, I can feel your pain.”

You can't help how you screw your eyes closed, the ache in your chest unbearable— made worse when you know he can feel it too.

"That is my problem." You utter the words quietly, eyes still clenched shut, knowing he can hear you. He takes another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat of his enormous frame, his wings bracketing around you. "I cannot hide anything from you."

Azriel makes a noise, a punched-out wounded sound that reverberates down the bond.

"My love," He murmurs for the third time. Down the bond, you can feel his sweet love, his golden gentle feelings travelling along to assure you. "I would not wish for you to hide anything from me."

“But you hide everything from me." You whine, eyes finally crinkling open. Azriel stares down at you, his eyes softer than they've ever been. You can see the hurt swimming in them, the hurt you've caused. Still, you speak.

"You hide your emotions. You hide your touch, yet you give it willingly to your friends." You share each ugly thought with him, whispered as you gaze into his face to search for your answers.

Lifting your hands, you curl your fingers around his wrists tentatively. Azriel swallows heavily, his eyes dancing down to where you're touching him. You slide your hands forward, dragging the pads of your fingers over his pulse, along his palm, til your hands are holding his gloved ones.

"Is there some test I don't know about?" You ask, your focus on your intertwined hands. "Is there— do I have to earn this?"

"No," Azriel chokes out the word suddenly. You look up at him. He clears his throat and you feel his hands grip yours back, surer and stronger than you had. "No, I'm sorry. There is no test, nothing to prove you deserving of this. I just..."

His words trail off and you watch as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if gathering his courage. His hands slide from yours, pulled backward and you nearly feel the urge to cry once more— before you realise he's removing his gloves.

The skin of them is warped, you realise acutely with horror. The skin of his hands is swirled and mottled, an injury long healed but scarred for eternity. Azriel is watching your face closely, holding his hands close to his chest as though he was prepared to hide them away at the first flicker of fear.

You're grateful for the link between and all your shoddy attempts at blocking him out. Your love and your unwavering devotion drifts along the bond.

Azriel shudders, his wings giving the tiniest shiver. Slowly, gently, he reaches out towards you. You feel his hands, the unruly scarred feel of his skin sliding along your jaw to hold it tenderly. He has never held you like this before.

He cradles your face gently — like his hands have never held weapons of war, like they aren't twisted and marred with a memory he can't forget, like they're worthy of holding something so precious.

Azriel holds you as if you're holy — and he's come to kneel at your altar.

"I was afraid of what you would think." He admits. His voice is hoarse, gravelly as he fights off the lump in his throat. "I— on the first day we met, I felt your fear along the bond and—"

"It was not of you." You interrupt him, your hands jumping up to cover his own where they hold you. Azriel inhales sharply, eyes darting to watch.

But you pay him no heed, the palm of your hand covering his like a lover would. You let your thumb soothe up at down the ridges of his skin. You let your love ripple along the bond.

"It was not fear of you, Azriel." You repeat, your voice soft. His eyes are still fixed on your joined hands. His wings have begun to pick up, no longer drooping behind his back— you're not sure if he even notices.

"It was fear for how strongly I already felt for you." You lean into his hand and Azriel lets you, lets the length of your nose nuzzle into the touch of his hands — something no one in all his years of living had ever done before.

"It was fear that you already could ruin me," The words are murmured. "And that I would let you."

You whisper his name to pull his wide-eyed gaze from where his hands touch you and his hazel eyes burn into yours. Every whitened scar on his skin, every eyelash, the adorable pinch between his eyebrows; you drink it all in and smile at him. Azriel, your mate.

"Azriel, I chose this despite that fear. I choose you.”

Azriel quivers at the words, at your unflinching tone and suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, time moving around you, untouching, with such a perfect grace.

“I choose you too,” He murmurs, an emotion so strong a fire of possessiveness streaks down the bond. This time, you can feel his wall melt away, allowing you access to all he feels — his mountain of fear and his melting relief.

“Forgive me—” He begins and you laugh without meaning to, cutting him off.

“Stop,” you say, the word light and as pretty as your grin. “We keep doing this to ourselves, tying ourselves in knots over and over.”

Azriel laughs, his lips twitching into a smile as he allows himself to stroke his thumb lovingly over your cheek. The way you melt beneath it, your lashes fluttering and heart burning so brightly he can feel it in his own chest too— Azriel knows this longing will long outlive his body.

“We do,” He agrees. He dips his head a little lower, probably the only apology you’ll let him have, and inhales shakily. His hands shift across your face, down to hold your chin, his fingers pressed together tightly to hide the way they quiver.

“Then let me apologise in another way,” He murmurs, his voice closer to playful. “In a way I’ve been selfishly depriving you of.”

And when he kisses you, it’s with a reverence that softens all your corners.

His lips are plush and sweet, and with the way he dedicates himself to your bottom lip, you can’t help how you sigh into his mouth. He finds home in the curve of your mouth.

It’s delirious the way he kisses once, twice, three times like he’s hungry for something found only in your lips.

Your hands stagger forward, leaving his own to wind over around his neck. Your fingers curl up, raking through the hair on the nape of his neck — feeling the shiver that travels up his spine, his wings giving a little flare out.

He kisses you breathless, one hand abandoning your jaw to wrap snugly around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

When he pulls back, something within you glows molten gold at the panting that leaves his lips. He’s gazing at you, his hazel eyes alight in a way you haven’t quite seen before. His wings shift behind his shoulders, curling forward to wrap the two of you together, not quite touching.

Your heart thrills. You grin, your lips still just an inch apart as Azriel nudges forward, his own twitching in that way when he fights his smile. His lips brush yours, his smile barely held back.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” He says, sweet and low, allowing the smile to finally pull his pretty mouth up at the corners.

“Or should I make it up to you a little more?”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, chaste and gentle.

“Mmm,” your eyes are bright as they peer up at him, full of playful mirth and adoring affection. “You're forgiven but... I think you should make it up to me, just a little more.”

Azriel willingly obliges, his smile as sweet as the moonlight.

—

some people i thought might want to be tagged :)

@strangerstilinski @astoriaviviane @lana08 @florence-end @lportes-22 @torrick17 @florencemtrash @sidthedollface2 @seafrost-fangirl @goldenmagnolias @jeweline16 @meshellexplosionmurder @michellexgriffey @susiekern @toobsessedsstuff @fxckmiup @littlebookbengal @elenapril0502 @glitterypirateduck @hnyclover @technoelfie @itsapunklife @coffeecares

[pit-and-the-pen]

I Can Do It With a Broken Heart (Pt 2 to unrequited love)

A/n: HERE IT IS BESTIES!!! The official Pt 2 to unrequited love! I know the poll is still live but I’m impatient. So to make sure I’m still taking everyone’s votes into account there will be an alternate ending that should be posted right after this.

Read the Alt ending here, it's pretty similar in places

Read Pt 3 here

I'm still absolutely blown away by how well-received the first part was. This is going to be an ongoing series, all could be read individually but the "background" will be these two fics.

Warnings: Angst, Cursing, reader suffers from depressed thoughts

WC: ~3.4k

divder by @cafekitsune

The next morning I was in Rhys office. He barely even looked up from the paper strewn over his desk before I spoke. 

“I’m going back home.” 

He sighed, leaning back into his chair. His eyes raked over me, “Does this have anything to do with why Azriel was so huffy this morning?” His eyebrow raised and I felt the anger I’d been trying to quell since last night rise its head up like a sleeping dragon.

“Fuck off. Let him be mad if he wants to be mad.” I snapped. 

“Mad isn’t exactly how I would put it,” He paused looking at me. “What happened?” The High Lord questioned. I sighed not having the strength to recount the events from last night. 

“Nothing but the inevitable.” he frowned at my non-answer but didn’t press any harder. 

“I’ll miss you. We all will.” He said finally. I nodded. 

“You all should visit.” Not an I’ll visit. No. If I could avoid it I would never step foot into this miserable court ever again. 

I was gone by mid-morning. Mor had helped me winnow the things I wanted to take with me. What they did with the rest wasn’t any of my concern. Rhys or Feyre had bought it all for me anyways, let them decide what to do with their money. 

Once I had gotten settled into my room, I hugged Mor goodbye and thanked her for her help. She just gave me a tighter hug and told me she would visit soon. 

It was two weeks before I could see Helion.Two weeks of settling back into my court that I loved so dearly.  He was visiting Dawn court for some trade agreement that needed to be signed. I came by every day, asking if he’d returned you. His second would just silently shake her head at me. And I would stomp back to my room like an angry babe. 

Two weeks of checking before I finally saw her nod her head and I had to stop myself from running into Helions office. I had the control to at least knock on the door but not much else. I quickly shut the door behind me as he called me in. 

“Sunbeam!” He called out when saw my face. “I had hoped the rumors of you moving back home were true.” He walked around the desk and gave me a brisk hug. Very out of character for him. 

“You’re not an easy man to schedule an appointment with, Helion.” I smiled warmly at the High Lord of my court. 

“If you wanted a piece of me, you only had to say the words and I would have come running darling.” There's the flirt I remember. I thought, rolling my eyes.

“But judging by your urgency in requesting a meeting that my second expressed to me, I’m going to assume that’s not what you wanted to see me for.”

My smile dropped as I braced myself for the question I needed to ask him.

“I need you to break a mating bond”

His mouth fell open. For once in my life, Helion was speechless. “I don’t know if I can even do that. Are you sure that’s what you want?” His eyes saw right through me. I threw my head back, a sad laugh bubbling past my lips. 

“Yes. No. Gods I don’t know. I just don’t want it to hurt like this forever.” I felt treacherous tears starting to fall down my face. Helion grabbed my arms gently before I could wipe them away. 

“I know you well enough to know that you don’t run away from hard things.” He held me against his chest as I really started to sob. 

“Helion. Every second that I’m away from him it kills me. I’m over here dying inside over some male who only ever saw me as a second option.” 

“Then he’s an idiot. But the mother still saw fit to make you two mates. Give it some more thought, you’re clearly still not fully decided. I’ll do some research to see if it’s even possible and if you still want to, I’ll be here to help.” I nodded my thanks into his shirt. He takes my head between his hands and uses his thumbs to wipe the tears still streaking down my face. He gives me a gentle kiss on the top of my head before I walk out of the room. 

I sat on the decision for a month. A month of volleying back and forth. Weighting the pros and cons of my choice. I had started doing my own research through the tomes in the library I had access to. My eyes widened as I finally found the information I needed. 

Picking up the book I all but sprinted to Helion’s office. I didn't bother knocking as I pushed past the door. Helion looked up from his desk and raised an eyebrow at me. 

Panting, I showed him the page in the book. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my whole life.” I promised him. He still looked skeptical but walked around to where I stood anyway. 

“I can’t say this is going to be pleasant.” He said wearily as I laid down on the couch in his study. “I’ve never heard of anyone doing this. I’ve seen rejection but this is cutting off the magic at the source.”

I looked into the males eyes, eyes I had known my whole life.

“Please. Nothing can hurt more than this already does.” Sympathy washed over his face and he leaned over me, placing a hand to each of my temples. It felt like the worst headache I had ever had in my life. My head was being split open and I heard the whimper leave my mouth. The pressure of his hands lifted slightly and I fought to get out the words. “I’m okay. Keep going.” I couldn’t open my eyes to see his face but his hands didn’t move. The pounding broke to a burning heat. I could feel the moment it snapped, I could almost picture the scissors snipping that tight string that connected us. One last fleeting rush of pure pain pushed through the bond. And then it was gone. My head was still pounding, I opened my eyes and saw Helion panted above me. 

“How do you feel?” He asked, helping me into a sitting position. 

“Like I have one hell of a hangover.” I pressed a hand to the bridge of my nose. Like I could squeeze out the uncomfortable feeling. “But also lighter.” My free hand going to my chest. It would take some time to adjust to this new feeling. But I could not stop the smile that spread over my face. Before Helion could say anything else, I reached up to wrap my arms around his neck.

“I can’t thank you enough.” I said into his neck. He gave a tight laugh and hugged me back. 

“You should go sleep this off. Please tell me if any of the pain gets worse.” He held my face between his hands and I nodded as much as I could. I all but floated back to my room. 

I fell into a familiar routine back in the Day Court. I took up my old job as a researcher. My days were spent surrounded by the massive libraries of my home court. People would come to us with questions and it was our job to use the knowledge at our disposal to find them answers. It kept me busy at the very least, but I did have to admit that I love doing it. I felt more useful here than I ever had at the Night Court. Pangs of sadness would rip through me when someone snarked in a way that made me think of Cassian. When someone would smirk and I could only picture Rhysand standing in front of me as he beat me in chess. The art was so beautiful that I longed to show Feyre if only to see that twinkle in eye as she dissected the colors and shading used. 

I smiled as the pang in my chest at the thought of Azriel held no pain. It had taken me some time to get used to the emptiness in my chest, I had grown so used to the hollow feeling of the unreturned bond but this emptiness wasn’t pain but instead it was like a weight had been taken off my chest. 

Someone calling my name pulled me from my musing. One of the messengers, Dia, smiled brightly up at me. “Hey sunbeam. Helion asked me to deliver this to you.” I took the golden envelope from her. I thanked her and she turned around, leaving me back to my books. 

I slid my finger under the seal and pulled out the letter. He was flirty even in a letter. He had requested that I accompany him to the latest ball he was hosting. Helion, ever the charmer, even placed boxes for me to check yes or no. I giggled to myself at the juvenile nature of it, but checked yes with the quill sitting next to me. 

The ball was just a few days away and I was so excited as dress after dress were brought into my room for me to try on. The one that ended up catching my eye was a floor length glossimer dress, such a pale golden color it looked almost like sunlight itself. The bottom was dyed a light pink color that flowed into it seamlessly. It took my breath away as I smoothed out the light fabric. It fit like a glove and I knew instantly this was the dress I had to wear. 

My reflection looked like a stranger. My hair was pinned to one side, sweeping down over my shoulder and my back. A golden tiara was woven into loose curls. Long golden chandelier earrings studded with diamonds almost touched my shoulders. The sun had created a sultry blush on the high points of my cheeks. I looked happier than I had in years. I sensed Helion's presence in my room and caught his eyes in the floor length mirror. 

He let out a low whistle and I blushed, adjusting my tiara. I walked over to him and he held out his hand for me, twirling me around dramatically when I took it. “No one will be able to take their eyes off of you, Sunbeam.” His eyes hungirly raked over me, “If you ever reconsider my offer. I would take you to bed in a heartbeat. Just say the words.” I pushed his shoulder, I didn’t doubt his words. 

“Keep your pants on Helion. We have a ball to get to.” 

“I’m High Lord. I can be late.” His pupils had dilated and I rolled my eyes, pushing him out the door before I linked my arm into his. 

The ball was as lavish as I had expected. There was much to celebrate and this was mostly to welcome the new High Lord. Eris. Beron had finally died a few months back and Eris had officially stepped into the role with grace. The autumn court once known for its cruelty seemed to be taking a new direction and as I talked to nobility from the court, it was for the better. I had gotten to know him over the years, his frequent visits to the Night Court, plus a few flirty exchanges that I always brushed off, while he was helping us during the war softened me to him. Learning the true events of that night with Mor. 

I locked eyes with Eris across the room. He had been heartbreakingly handsome when he was just High Fae but as a High Lord? His hair had grown slightly longer, just touching his shoulders. Dressed in a deep maroon suit that showed off every single one of his muscles. The permanent scowl that had been etched into his face had been replaced with a smile that radiated comfort. My feet seemed to move without deciding to. Eris kept his eyes locked onto mine as I got closer. My cheeks heated up under his intense stare. 

“Hi little sunbeam,” Honeyed words wrapped around me. “Seems like you’re no longer hiding in the shadows.” He held out his hand, eyes flickering to the dance floor. I smiled up at him and gently placed my hand in his. 

His touch was firm and the warmth of his power radiated off of him. He clutched my waist, pulling me flush to his front. I felt every plane of his toned body pressed against me and goosebumps broke out across my skin having nothing to do with the temperature in the room. The two of us gilded across the floor. I could feel the eyes of the room on us but I only had eyes for the male in front of me. 

“If I had known you danced this good, I would have pulled you out of that miserable court a long time ago.” He spoke into the shell of my ear.  “I’ll never understand what the Shadowslinger was thinking, even I could smell the mating bond on you. Plus, one look at me with those beautiful doe eyes and I would have been putty in your hands.” He nipped at my earlobe and I felt it deep in my stomach. 

“Well good thing he’s not my mate anymore.” I whispered back to him, voice breathy. He responded with a kiss to my neck. All of a sudden I felt his warmth disappear. Before I could even process what had happened, I was standing half ways across the room. Eris just smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief. 

“Stand down, you overgrown bat.” The High Lord said and that’s when I heard the growl from my side, caught a glimpse of wings and sapphire blue. Before another word could leave my mouth, I was being pulled out of the ballroom and outside to the balcony. 

I thrashed against Azriel’s grip on my arm. His hand wrapped around my wrist tight enough to bruise. 

“What the hel was that?” He yelled at me, finally letting go of my wrist.

“You had no right!” I screeched at him. Anger seethed through me. I felt my palms heat up from the light trying to escape from them. He went to grab my arm and I ripped it back from his reach. “Don’t you fucking dare.” 

“Please.” Was all he said and suddenly it was like that night all over again. Me pouring my heart out and all he could say was please. 

“Please what, Azriel? Is that all you know how to do, beg and plead. For what? Was breaking my heart once not enough for you.” 

“Gods. What do you want me to say?” He ran his hands through his hair. He looked like he was about to lose it. Good. “Do you want to hear how I was fucking terrified. How any good thing that I had ever received had been taken away from me? That when I felt that twinge in my chest, that I knew what it meant but prayed to the gods that it wasn’t that.” I went to start in on him again. “Would hearing that I looked for you in every female I came across help us here?.” 

“Stop. Just stop. I’m sure you’ve rehearsed this all before but do you actually think I’m stupid enough to believe it?” I spit out between my teeth. 

“No. Gods this is coming out all wrong.” He ran a frantic hand through his hair. I clocked the shake in them “Why did you break the bond?”

I laughed at his audacity. “Why? You have the nerve to ask me why?” My voice dripped venom, “I did it because I couldn’t stand being tied to you like that. That night..” I started, he interrupted me.

“I said the most vile things I could think of. I panicked when you told me about the bond. If you could feel it too, I knew nothing good could have come from that so I pushed you away.” I shook my head, as if I could shake his words away from my ears. 

“You seemed so shocked when I told you.” 

His head sunk down, voice small “I was shocked because no part of me believed, believes, that I deserve you in that way.” When he stepped forward, I didn’t step away. Mind too busy catching up with his words. “Please say something. “ 

I turned my eyes up to look at him. Hazel eyes soft sparkling with unshed tears. I wanted to rip into him. I truly did. Some sick part of me wanted to make him hurt like he had hurt me but I know that wouldn’t fix anything here. What is done was done. 

“You don’t get to do this to me. You don’t get to say all the right things and just have me forgive you. You don’t get to say that you love me after everything you did.” He sighed. Leaning his head on top of mine. I frowned at the contact, but didn’t push him away, refusing to melt into him. “Whatever your reason. You said all those things that you knew would hurt me, you said them and some part of you had to believe them.” 

“I know. There isn’t a day that I don’t regret everything that I said, everything I had put you through over all those years. I took you for granted and I didn’t realize how much I loved you until you were gone. Until I felt that bond being snatched away from me” I wanted to push him back but something in me let his words sink into my bones. 

“I had dreamed for so long how it would feel when I finally heard you say those words, And do you know what I feel?” His eyes glimmered with hope as I took a step away from him, out of his grasp. “Nothing. I feel nothing for you. Not anger, not contempt.” Tears slipped out of his eyes at my harsh words. “Of course I remember what it felt like before. Maybe some part of me will always love you in my own way but I’m not tied to you anymore and I have never been so thankful for something in my entire life.” He flinched like I had hit him.

“Do you really mean that?” His voice was so small it almost made me feel bad for him. Almost.

“I do.” I sucked in a heavy breath. “Look, we’ll most likely still have to see each other so I don’t want to end on a bad note. You were still one of my best friends for over a century and this doesn’t undo all of that but this,” I gesture between the two of us, “Will never be anything else but that, a friendship.” He gave me a sad smile. 

“I’ll take whatever you are willing to give me.” I turned to walk away and he reached for my arm, I grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before I walked back to the ball that was in full swing. 

I weaved in between bodies easily. Finding Eris with ease. Despite being in the middle of a conversation, he stepped away the moment he sensed my presence. Not sparing a glance to the fae surrounding him. 

“That’s all settled then?” He asked, giving me a once over. I nodded and took his hand again.

“I believe we were in the middle of a dance?” I pulled him against me, not realizing how much I missed the feeling of his heat against my skin. I placed my head on his chest. We didn’t so much as dance, more so swayed in place. Arms wrapped around each other. He tapped my chin with a gentle finger and I let him guide my mouth up to his. The kiss was soft and sweet, like holding your hands in front of a warm fire after a day in the cold. When I tried to deepen it, he laughed against my lips. I let out a shameless whine as he disconnected our lips. As I looked into his eyes, I felt the stirring of something familiar and for the first time, welcomed it as that hole in my chest was filled again.

Tagging people that seemed excited about pt. 2

@cleverzonkwombatsludge @yearninglustfully @myromanempiree @starsandsins @melmo567 @saltedcoffeescotch

[multiversalfandomwriter222]

Hi hii I'm the one who sent the az request! AND I ABSOLUTELY LOVED IT!! 🩷🩷

would you write reader saying something she doesn't mean and making az cry and then comforting him? (Established relationship btw so like they're already mated) basically the same thing but roles reversed 😭 I'm sorry I just love angst to fluff too much!! Thank you and have nice day/night bb <333

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, Azriel crying, slight mean Azriel.

At Least Tell Me

You slam the door as you go into your bedroom, everyone in the House flinching. Cassian walks into Rhysand's office, confusion all over his face. "What's wrong with Y/n?" He asks.

Rhys sighs heavily. "Azriel's on a mission, and he's coming back tonight." Cassian tilts his head. "Shouldn't she be happy?"

"Azriel didn't tell her that she left." Rhys sighs. Cassian's eyes widen. "How did she not-" "Azriel told her that he was going to visit his mother for a day and was going to return this morning. He has been gone three days, and Feyre darling told her yesterday that he was on a mission. Y/n has been slamming doors ever since." Rhys says, exasperated. Cassian shakes his head. "Y/n's temper rivals Nes, we may have to evacuate the house just because." Rhys snorts.

Time Skip-

Azriel lands on the balcony of the house, being greeted by his High Lady. "Y/n is pissed at you." Feyre says. Azriel's shoulders slump. "I know." "It's going to be bad." Feyre says. Azriel nods, and walks into the house, ready to face the wrath of his mate.

You knew Azriel was in the house. You overheard your older sister talking to him. But the rage bubbling inside was hard to keep a lid on it.

The door opens to reveal your mate, his wings drooped slightly. You turn to face your vanity, not bothering to make eye contact in the mirror with him. "I'm home." Azriel says.

"That's a first." You say coldly. Azriel sighs. "Y/n-"

"No don't you Y/n me! What the fuck Azriel?" You shout. Azriel flinches slightly, and the mask of the shadowsinger appears in that second. "I did what I had to do."

You laugh. "You did what you had to do." You laugh some more. "Did we hear that?" You yell, laughter erupting from you. Azriel rolls his eyes at you. "Azriel, you lied to me! Do you not see what's wrong with that? I was worried for you! I thought something happened to you!"

You come closer to him. "You don't need to worry about me." He says. "That was being reckless." You snap. Azriel lets out a cold, mocking laugh. "Now that's a joke. Miss Reckless, calling me reckless!" He scoffs. The shadows move about, flurrying in the range of emotions between the two of you.

You let out a yell of frustration. "See this is why I fucking hate you Azriel! By the gods, somedays I just want to fucking leave and never return!"

You cover your mouth, eyes widening. Azriel goes still, his shadows dropping. The house grows silent. You step back and Azriel rushes toward you. He kneels and clings to your legs. "A-Angel, I'm sorry. I'm so-" Huge sobs cut him off as he sobs into your stomach. "Angel please don't-" he sobs. "Please don't leave me. You can hate me all you want, just don't leave me."

Your heart breaks as you kneel to meet Azriel's height. "Oh no. Baby I'm so sorry. It cannot make up for my words and I'll do anything to make it up to you. Darling I'm so sorry." You wipe his tears away.

Azriel pulls you into his lap and buries his face into your neck. "Just don't leave me. Don't leave me." He sobs. "Oh baby, I'm not leaving you. I don't hate you, not at all. Oh baby." You coo, rocking the both of you left and right.

Finally, his sobs quiet, and he pulls away to look at you. "I'm sorry baby." You whisper. He shakes his head. "I'm sorry for lying to you. I shouldn't have. I should have been up front, and-"

You kiss him, interrupting his rant, and he desperately kisses you back. You break away and rest your forehead against his. "Do you want to take a bath first, then nap? Or do you want to nap, then take a bath?" You whisper. "Nap." He murmurs. He picks you up and carries you to your shared bed. You take off your dress, revealing your bra and panties, and Azriel strips down to his boxers.

You get into the bed first, opening the covers for him. Azriel follows right behind you and buries his face into your stomach, and you run your hands through his black hair, slowly putting him to sleep.

[hellcat8908]

Long Gone Pt. 2 Azriel x Female Reader

Warnings: Angst, Language

You were surprised to see Azriel sleeping on the couch, his wings hanging over the edge. You're almost tempted to massage the stiffness out of them that you knew was forming. You shook the thought from your head as you picked up your book and curled up in one of the chairs. You struggled to retain any of the words you read as your mind kept wandering to Azriel. A flutter of his wings caught your attention as he stretched on the couch. His eyes focused on you as he woke up, surprised to see you sitting there. "You're know we have a perfectly good bed upstairs." You say as you turn your attention back to your book. "It's not the same without you in it." He says as he stretches his arms and back, causing his joints to crack.

"Welcome to my world." You say sarcastically before turning the page. "Can we please talk about this?" He asks softly. "Shouldn't you be headed back to your mission." You say with disdain. "No, I'm staying here until we fix this." He says as he pulls the book from your hands and sets it on the side table. He has you seeing red as months of pain and frustration coming flooding to the surface.

"Now you want to stay, after the countless times I begged you to stay for once, to choose me over work?! You made sure I knew exactly where I fell in your list of priorities and I was willing to accept it because I loved you with every fiber of my being and like an idiot I hoped that maybe one day I'd be at the top of that list, but you've made it clear I will never be. Watching you constantly walk away without a second glance, let alone any sign of hesitation. The countless times I've had my bags packed and a note written, but like a fool, I can't leave you! Some fucked up part of me still loves you after everything you've done!" You say as tears of anger and sadness streak down your face.

"It took me having a breakdown for you to come back. I'm surprised you even cared enough to come back, or did Rhys order you to?! Do you really think this is worth fixing at the point?!" You shout as you fall apart in front of him, seeing every word land its mark. The sorrow in his eyes mixed with guilt for allowing it to get to this point. He wants so desperately to reach out and hold you, but he can't. "Your love is always worth trying to fix. I know I've destroyed us, seemingly beyond repair, and I'm the fool for not realizing it sooner." He says as he keeps his attention on you.

"I'm choosing you over everything else in my life. I should've always put you first, but I didn't. I know words mean nothing without the actions to support them. I want you to question me and doubt me every minute of every day until hopefully one day I can prove to you that I do love you and that this is worth fixing." He says as he gently takes your hands in his. "Please, y/n, all I'm asking is for one more chance. One chance to reignite the mating bond between us. One chance to love you the way you deserve to be loved." He begs you.

You look into his eyes and can tell he means every word he said. "I'll give you one chance and one chance only. Please do not make me regret this." You say as he pulls you into his arms. "I won't, angel, I promise I'll be the mate you deserve." He says as he holds you close to him. The tension in his body easing as you let yourself relax into his touch. He pulls you into his lap as he cradles you against him, allowing both of you to relish the warmth of the other. The sound of your stomach growling interrupts the silence. You ignore it as you're starved for comfort from Azriel. He gently strokes your hair as you cling to him.

"We should get you something to eat," Azriel says as he hears your stomach protesting again. "I don't want to move," you say as you settle in against him. "Ok,  few more minutes," Azriel says with a smile before kissing the top of your head. A little bit later, there's a knock on the door, interrupting your peace. "Angel, we have to get that." Azriel says when you don't move to let him up. "No, they can come back later." You whine against him. "Trust me, you're going to want to answer that." Azriel says with a smirk. "Fine." You relent as you make your way towards the door. You open it, and your heart sinks when you see who's standing there.

"He's in the living room." You tell Rhys as you step back to let him in. "What makes you think I came to see him?" Rhys asks, feigning offense. "I just assumed -" you start to say but are interrupted. "I came to bring you this," he says as he holds up a bag from your favorite bakery, "and to see how you were doing." He laughs as your eyes light up at the baked goods in his hand before handing it over. "I take it you must be doing better," he says. "Certainly seems to be." Azriel chimes in as he walks over and stands beside you. "Thank you for doing that." He says to Rhys. "It's the least I can do to help you out." Rhys says. You quickly pick up a chocolate pastry and take a bite, savoring the sweetness.

Both of them chuckling as you let out a moan of approval. "Thank you." You tell Rhys before taking another bite. "Anything for you." He says with a wink. "I should get going, y/n, let me know when you're tired of Azriel and want me to send him away." He teases. "Not for a while, at least." You say back with a smile as Azriel wraps his arms around you. Rhys takes his leave as you finish your pastry. "Did you ask him to bring me goodies?" You ask accusingly. "I told him it might be safer if he shows up with something to sweeten you up." Azriel says with a grin. "Thank you." You say before kissing him. "This is only the beginning of the long road ahead, angel," Azriel says, "but it's a road worth traveling."

[billyrayjo]

Drowning Without You

Azriel x reader

Warnings: some violence, sexual references and scenes. Mainly fluff , hurt/comfort

The first mission that you had together. You could barely contain your excitement when Rhys pulled you and Azriel into his office. Not excitement for the alone time, you told yourself, but excitement to finally have a purpose.

You had been in Velaris for months. Training with Cassian and Azriel day in and day out, trying to find that place of belonging. While you weren’t an Illyrian warrior, you had experienced the gruff life of battle before. In your place of birth, the Dawn Court, you were brought up training just like your mother before you. Only after Amarantha’s terror-laced reign did you decide it was time to get out, finding Velaris to almost call to you, beckoning you to visit.

What was supposed to be a short trip turned longer once you were introduced to Feyra, Nesta, and Mor. The three of you clicking immediately, especially during training. Elian was okay, too, you just couldn’t shake the sting of seeing her intimate moments with a certain shadowy figure.

It wasn’t jealousy, not when you had barely shared words with the dark haired, tanned god of a man. Other than in training and “family” nights in, as the group called it, did you ever really see him. You were confused when you first felt the longing. Desire to touch him, to speak to him, the desire to find him in the crowded rooms. You shoved the longing deep down into your gut the second you saw the beautiful, timid, sweet look of Elain looking at him that way too. You could almost see the exact explanation of the feeling in your chest, just by her look. And by the looks of it, Azriel replicated her looks of longing, only not towards you.

You had to remind yourself that you were new here. They had known each other for Gods knows how much longer than you had. Azriel was always kind, unless he was pushing you in the training field, but you never felt like he was seeing you the way you were seeing him. The only intimate moment the two of you had shared was weeks ago, when Cassian had accidentally landed a particularly hard blow to your arm, spraining your wrist. Azriel quietly lead you inside, helping you wrap it in the kitchen, before giving you a soft smile and retreating back to his room.

“Y/N? Are you listening?”. Your head jerked up at that, a small blush heating your cheeks when you realized Rhys was looking at you expectantly, realizing you had zoned out. You had to pull it together. This was your first chance to prove yourself, and you damn sure weren’t going to have it ruined by a petty childlike crush on the shadowy figure to your left. To your luck, Rhys continued on, explaining the purpose of the mission. He didn’t miss the small grateful look you passed his way.

“The Autumn Court guards were spotted by one of Azriel’s men just outside of the Winter Court. I need you both to watch, and listen. They are still under the guise of the Queen, and gathering what they know could be detrimental to our side. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary.” Rhys explained, swiftly and strictly. You felt yourself nodding along, noticing one slight nod from Azriel on the other side of the room.

“We do not know their plans, who is with them, only that they are aiming to kill. We have spoken to Eris, and he is in agreement with you two staking them out. Remember, if the power of the crown reaches you, you will succumb to anything they desire. Be careful. I’ll winnow you a mile north from the soldiers at dawn.” He added, nodding to both of you, and disappearing into the house elsewhere. You forced yourself to remain stoic, awaiting words from the Shadowsinger. “See you at dawn, Y/N” he muttered, disappearing into the shadows around him.

Trying not to let the disappointment of the small encounter grace your features, you straightened your spine, heading up to your room in the townhouse to prepare. You took a particularly long bath, soaking in oils and scents. After removing all of the hair on your body besides your head, you slipped into a silk nightgown, brushing out your long, damp hair. As your head hit the pillow, you felt a nervousness deep down in your bones, anxious to get on with the mission.

Serenity. That’s the best way to describe what Azriel was seeing as he and Rhys stood next your bed. It was still early, but when they heard no noise coming from your bedroom, they decided to wake you so you had time to prepare. You laid on your side, facing the two sculpted men. Your lips slightly parted, no noise coming from you besides the small sound of your breathing. Your eyelashes were long, lying against your cheeks, a slight blush on your face from whatever thoughts invoked you in slumber. The strap to your nightgown hung off of your shoulder, resting on the top of your arm, and the blankets were pulled right up to the neckline of the silk garment. Just as Rhys was about to wake you, he got a distant look in his eye, muttering something about Feyra before instructing Azriel to wake you.

He really, really didn’t want to. You looked so peaceful, like the kinder opposite to the sleep Az had gotten last night. Tossing and turning, he was confused by the stress he garnered, most of it coming from you and your eagerness to go on this mission. He told himself to snap out of it, that you were strong and capable, but he couldn’t shake the eating feeling in his gut. His shadows kept him awake for most of the night, whispering horrifying thoughts and outcomes into his ear up until the early hours of the morning. He sucked in a deep breath as he approached your bed, sitting lightly on the edge, scared to touch you with his scarred, brutalized hands. Almost like it would hurt you… poison you.

“(Y/N)”. You stirred, another night with dreams tainted by a certain Illyrian warlord you assumed. You had just about fell back into slumber when you heard it again. “(Y/N)”. Only this time, you felt the gentle touch of something on your shoulder. Your eyes slowly opened, having to blink a few times to clear your vision before you took in Azriel, sitting in front of you on the bed. You shot up, the other strap to your nightgown falling, as you anticipated what he was doing here. “It’s okay. I just wanted to wake you up before we had to leave.” he almost whispered. With a few intakes of air, you simply muttered “oh” before you laid yourself back down, the air seeping into your nightgown suddenly donning realization that you were half naked in front of him.

“Before we go, I just wanted to remind you that uh— you can handle this. Your training proves that.” he stated, halfway stuttering as he thought of what to say. A small smile graced your face as you looked at him in thanks, and you almost didn’t notice his gentle touch as he lifted both straps of your nightgown back into place, his touch lingering for half a second before he was up, marching for your bedroom door.

After winnowing into somewhere deep in the cliffy forest, Rhys went over the plan one more time before he left you two, nothing but your leathers and packs, standing alone. “What now?” you asked, stretching out your sore ankles you glanced at Az. “First, we get to high ground. We’ll have better advantage that way.” a man of few words, you noted. You simply nodded, and that was exactly what you did.

Hours later, your breaths ragged, you dropped your pack onto a bolder. You had finally made it up the cliff, and boy was it challenging. Not only with the cold temperatures, but also the close proximity of a certain male, you struggled to find breaths that didn’t sting when you inhaled. Your eyes were glassy from the wind, and your hands frozen every time you wiped away a stray tear. Being a fae didn’t matter when it came to your sensitive eyes. Just before you, Az just watched as you gathered yourself, not a hair out of place. You slightly chuckled when you saw his look, almost of humor, pointed towards you. You could’ve sworn you saw the corner of his lip raise before his back was to you, assessing the things in his pack.

By the time it was nightfall, you had dawned a few more layers, sitting on the cliff with a blanket wrapped around you. There was a lake at the bottom, the water almost as black as the shadows that danced around your partner. You couldn’t look away from it, even as Azriel had cooked dinner, rabbit meat, you assumed. You felt his presence before you heard him, and looked up to see him outreaching a plate towards you. “Eat.” He said “We have more climbing tomorrow.”. You grabbed the plate from him, and didn’t realize how hungry you had grown until you took the first few bites. In silence, Azriel plopped down beside you, his wing raising to fight off some of the biting wind from hitting you. “Do you ever wonder… wonder what things lie out in the world that we have no idea about?” you almost whispered, your empty plate having been deposited into the snow minutes ago. “Sometimes.” was all he offered, his gaze on the side of your face, before he spoke again. “We should get some sleep.”

With the wind chill and the dropping temperatures, Azriel decided that sleeping in a cave would be best. You both tucked into it, the only light coming from the moon outside the mouth. Just as you laid your head down, you felt Azriel shift beside you. He too, had laid down, only he was facing you. “If you get too cold, wake me up and I can share some of my blanket with you.” he said. You nodded, before saying “I’ll take first watch.”. He simply nodded at you, and turned the other way.

Dripping. Dripping was all you heard as you peered out the mouth of the cave. Dripping and a slight snore from the large man laying behind you. He had fallen asleep, and you didn’t trust not having eyes on the outside in case of emergency. You should’ve woken him hours ago, but he looked so calm and so peaceful, that you decided a few extra minutes wouldn’t hurt. Right as you were turning to tap him, you heard leaves rustling and cracking sticks outside of the cave. You crept onto your feet, being light as a feather kicking in by your instincts before you even thought about it. Once you reached the mouth of the cave, you peered out into the moonlight. You heard something. Someone. “(Y/N)!!!! (Y/N)!!!!” It screamed, your heart stopping. It was your mother. Your mother calling for help in the darkness of the night. Before you even thought about it, you were running. Running and running and running. Running until something hard knocked you in the head, and you collapsed. The faint screams of your mother haltering in the distance.

When you awoke, the first thing you noticed was the pounding. The head-splitting throb you felt right in the spot of that object’s collision. You groaned, slowly raising your head, and took in your surroundings. You were tied, both hands extended by ropes attached to the trees on either side of you, your feet barely hanging off the ground. Everything ached. Your wrists were numb, your shoulders contorted and tired, and you didn’t miss the trail of blood coming down your face from your hairline. Once you assessed yourself, you looked ahead. There, 25 feet in front of you, was Azriel, kneeling on the snow. They had his hands tied as well, and what looked to be ash arrows were protruding through his wings. His head was hung low, as if looking at you would disgust him.

“Well…. Look who decided to join.” a deep, older voice sounded. Berron appeared in your line of vision, and you could’ve sworn you saw Azriel’s head snap up just over his shoulder. Surrounding you, there were a dozen Autumn Court warriors, all with that familiar glassy look in their eyes. “Now we can really get to the fun.” he growled. Without a warning, his fist collided with your face. With nowhere else to go, your head jerked backwards, your gaze landing on the clouds above you for a split second. Another blow, this time to your gut. Nothing but a gasp escaped your lips at the impact, the breath being knocked out of you.

“Stop!” Azriel growled, and you almost sighed at the sound of it before Berron started laughing. “I’ll stop when you tell me what business my son has with the night court.” Berron mused. You sagged. He knew, he knew about the alliance, and he damn sure wasn’t letting either of you go without answers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Azriel growled. You caught Azriel’s gaze, and quietly said “I can take it Az.” A silent pleading to give up nothing to save you. He didn’t dare look your way and out himself. Internally, he was panicking. They had dosed you with Faebane in your sleep, your wounds still slowly bleeding. You didn’t have long before you succumbed to blood loss, and Az didn’t have a plan. The guards were too close, too feral for him to get to you. “Maybe this will motivate you..” Berron drawled, inching closer to (Y/N). In half a second, he had drawn his sword, slicing through the ropes hanging you from the tree, and launched his foot into your chest, sending you flying backwards. Only, you didn’t hit the ground. Between the blood loss and the impact, you barely registered that you were still falling, falling so slowly you could see the birds flying above you. Your back impacted with something sharp, something so cold it had you alert in milliseconds. Right before you submerged into the beautiful lake you were analyzing the night prior, you heard a deathly roar rattle the world around you.

Darkness, darkness, and more darkness. What you had failed to notice earlier, was that along with your wrists, your legs had been bound as well. As you kept sinking deeper, your hands struggled, fighting against the rope tying them together. You were going too deep, too deep to be able to reach the surface before you drowned. Focus. Focus. Got it. The rope snapped from your ankles, and you immediately pushed to ascend back to the surface. Right has you started kicking, something sharp seared into your ankle. You shot your gaze downwards, and some creature had dug its claws so deep into your leg you let out a shout in the water. You started kicking it, fighting it, but it was relentless. Its claws sliced up and down your legs, pulling you further down with it. Air. You needed air. You started to internally panic as you fought against the creature. Right as everything started to go dark around you, your body stilling, you saw a blue glow just in the distance of the water.

Rage. Rage and fright was all Az felt as he watched your body soar over the cliffs edge. Without even thinking about it, he tore himself from his restraints, taking down all 12 soldiers in the matter of seconds. Berron only watched as Azriel sprinted to the edge, and dove right down into the water. It shocked him, but he kept going. You had been under for too long. There was no way you were coming back up. He pushed deeper and deeper until he heard it. A slight yell in the water. Without his vision, he used the blue glow to guide him in the darkness. Down towards the bottom, he saw you thrashing against a creature so mortifying he was even slightly scared. In a quick battle, he used his shadows to bound the creature to the sandy floor before he grabbed you, pushing off the bottom and racing to the surface. All he could hear was his heartbeat in his ears, and he felt your body jerking with the intake of water.

The surface broke. Just as you were fading out, your lungs ingested a breath of air so hard it hurt. Coughing, you pushed your hair backwards, reminding yourself to kick your feet. You looked beautiful. Your hair was slicked back from the water, your eyes large and clear, eyelashes dripping. Your lips were slightly blue from the cold, your delicate neck and chest expanding and shrinking with each breath you took. All Azriel could do was stare. Stare at you as you pulled yourself together. He was panting, too, but nothing could tear his gaze away from you in this moment. Just as he was about to speak, you launched yourself towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your fingers in his hair, your face tucking into his shoulder. You pretended you didn’t notice your legs wrapping around his waste. His arms snaked around you, shadows too, as he gripped you just as tight. You both breathed together, grounding yourselves on eachother. When you pulled away, eyes looking up, so intoxicatingly into his, he didn’t even fight it when he cupped your face, and kissed you. A kiss so deep, so cold, that your eyes had no choice but to close. His hands were all over you, on your neck, in your hair, on your ass. Nowhere and everywhere all at once. Your tongues met each others in a pattern, his grip landing right on the front of your throat. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t rough, it was perfect. You wrapped your legs tighter around him, and ran your fingers through his hair, earning a low groan from him, making heat pool between your legs, even in the frozen water. As if he could sense your arousal, he arched your back into him further, and you let out a slight moan.

Azriel yanked his head away from you, and with a frenzy in his eye, growled “mine” before pulling you back in.

(Should I make a part 2???) IM IN LOVE WITH HIM

Update: PART TWO IS ON MY PROFILE ;);)

[acourtofladydeath]

Poly+ ACOTAR Week Day 2: Comfort

Nesta has always struggled with more intense cycles than most, and when she became fae it only got worse. Thankfully, her mates Azriel and Cassian are there to take care of her.

Based on my headcanon that Nesta has endometriosis, which became more intense after she went through the Cauldron.

Have some Nessriel hurt/comfort fluff for @polyacotarweek day 2. Start reading below the cut, and read the full fic on AO3 here!

When Nesta rolled out of bed that morning her body felt sluggish, tired even after a full night's sleep. But warriors, especially Valkyrie’s, didn’t let anything keep them from training. She held in her groan as she sat up, trying not to wake Azriel. The male could sleep until the second before training started, still make it on time, and be one of the most alert people there.  Cassian had awoken and left the bed almost an hour ago, preferring to have extra time for his hair and breakfast routine. Nesta fell somewhere in the middle. She allowed herself only the exact amount of time it took her to pull on her leathers, braid her hair, grab a quick snack from the House, and make it to the training ring.  Each step she took felt heavier than the last, and her arms ached from what was typically the easy task of taming her hair. If that wasn’t a sign that something about this day would be different, the House providing Nesta with a pan au chocolat instead of her regular oats with berries definitely was.  Groaning at the realization of what the House was trying to tell her, Nesta decided that she would pretend like it wasn’t happening and accept the House’s gift as a token of friendship and not the warning it was. This was her first mistake. The second mistake was heading up to train with the Valkyries and her mates.  Training was horrible. Azriel and Cassian kept an eye on Nesta as she faltered slightly. Not enough that any of the usual priestesses training with them would notice, but these males were finely in tune with their mate’s abilities and they noticed the subtle differences. Toward the end of practice Emerie and Nesta sparred. When Emerie actually managed to land a gut punch Nesta had been properly defending for years, both females immediately stopped.  Nesta stood hunched over, fighting for her breath through the pain that radiated through her body. In an instant, Emerie was by her side.  “Fuck Nes, are you okay? I didn’t think I hit that hard, I’m so sorry.” Emerie grabbed Nesta’s arm and helped her to sit on the ground. It took several moments before Nesta could gasp in a full breath. She felt the stares of her mates from across the training ring, and sensed their concern flow down their shared bonds. Cassian and Azriel respected her enough to know that she could handle her own training, even if she took a bad hit. They wouldn't approach unless she was too injured to respond or she asked for them. Instead of getting up as she usually did, Nesta curled further in on herself. The scent of blood filled the ring, and Cassian could no longer keep himself from helping his mate. Within moments he was kneeling beside Nesta and Emerie at the edge of the ring. 

Finish reading on AO3 here!

Please let me know if you would like off or on my taglist! @pippsmcgee @born-to-riot @chunkypossum @bubybubsters @queercontrarian @yanny-77 @fieldofdaisiies @iftheshoef1tz @secret-third-thing

[nightcourtseer]

Nyx’s Nightmare

Summary: Nyx wakes up in the middle of the night from a bad dream - to be expected, as war is on the horizon. Elain comforts him, with the help of someone else.

Pairing: Elriel

Read on A03

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Nyx woke with a start in the middle of the night.

Cool air swept through the window of his bedroom, flung wide to let in fresh air and the comforting sight of the multitude of stars twinkling brilliantly above Velaris.

His father was always telling him that whenever Nyx missed him or his mother, that he should look up to the stars. That Nyx’s mother and father would always be there for him, no matter how far away they were, along with the High Lords and Ladies before them and their family and friends from long ago - they would all be there, among the stars, watching over him.

But that night, not even blinking his sleep-heavy eyes at the expanse of the night sky could comfort him from the nightmare from which he had just awoke.

For war was approaching, and quickly. And no matter how carefully his family tried to shield him from that fact, there were also difficult conversations had with Nyx, at a delicate 5 years old, to prepare him for the possibility of the worst.

One such recent conversation revealed the ultimate bond made between his parents. A bargain that comforted him in the fact that his parents would never again be without each other. But could also leave Nyx an orphan.

They had told him in his parent’s study, where Nyx felt more like a High Lord’s son than solely Nyx. The oversized leather chair in which he had sat made him puff out his chest, tracing the buttons beneath his fingertips as his father began speaking, first gesturing him to the constellations mapping the walls of the skies above them, and the skies above worlds that they did not even have access to.

His father had reminded him that no matter what, he would never be alone.

There were so many who loved him, who took care of him like their own son. His Uncles Cassian and Azriel, Aunts Nesta and Elain, Amren and Varian and Aunt Mor and Nuala and Cerridwen and Lucien and Gwyn and Emerie and the priestesses and the Valkyrie…

But he had only two parents. Who he could lose at once in the snap of a finger.

Each night since they had sat him down to tell him this, the same nightmare had plagued Nyx’s normally sweet dreams.

A bloody battlefield, his parents on the frontlines. Side by side. Facing a horde of beasts and monsters and somewhere in the crowd among them, a cackling evil, a nameless and deathless god whom Nyx had only gleamed whispers about while lurking around the meetings he had no business overhearing.

What he had wished his father had told him was that the stars were also protecting Rhys and Feyre.

Nyx’s covers suddenly felt restricting, the typically comforting tuck pulled up to his chin by his Aunt Elain, his caretaker for the evening while his parents were away in Day. Nyx always loved when he got to spend time with his aunt, one of the most patient figures who took turns caring for him. He loved gardening with her, learning about each unique plant that resided in the garden. And he loved baking with her, the product of which sat upon his bedside table. A plate of cookies with a small note that cheekily read, “For Emergencies…”

Judging by the moon’s position in the sky, it was still the middle of the night. But even though Nyx was far too old to be clinging to his aunt because of a nightmare, he shook with the need to be held. His small hands tremoring as he blinked away his tears ashamedly, slipping out from under the covers and padding barefoot across his room.

He passed under the posters of constellations gifted to him by his father, and the paintings that he had done with his mother.

Reminders of those who loved him filled the space, never making it seem too large or empty. A wooden sword was propped up in the corner, a rocking pegasus in the opposite one. The western windowsill held a flourishing garden, where Nyx was tending to a pot of night-blooming jasmine with his aunt’s help. A small piano resided on the wall opposite his bed, upon which rested a silver crown adorned with an obscene amount of tiny rubies. It was joined by a stuffed fox on the tiny wooden bench, which looked as if it were about to start playing with the keys, a mischevious look on its red-orange face.

Nyx turned the knob of his door, which was tied with a pale blue ribbon.

The dark hallway loomed menacingly ahead of him. His aunt’s bedroom on the opposite wing from that of his and his parent’s.

Winnowing was not allowed in the house, he had been expressly told by his parents, except in the case of an emergency or injury.

His parents had told him it was rude to winnow, and that it was especially forbidden to winnow into their bedroom, or any of his aunt’s and uncle’s bedrooms, unannounced.

But to Nyx, his small body still shaking with fear, this felt like an emergency.

So he squeezed his eyes shut, picturing his aunt’s warm bedroom with the pale yellow quilt and the vase of flowers never empty on her nightstand. The ornate wooden jewelry box filled with pretty things and a cobalt blue cloak hung on the back of the door.

And then Nyx winnowed, an easy task as he had been practicing with his parents whenever allowed.

His aunt’s back was to him as he appeared inside the dark room. Her windows also open wide, overlooking the garden she tended down below.

Elain’s form moved up and down rhythmically, fast asleep in the late hour of the night.

But as Nyx’s eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, he started in surprise to see that she was not alone in the large bed. A dark frame held her close to him, wings pulled in tight behind him as he slept on his side. Midnight hair swept over his face and hid it from view as Elain slept soundly next to him, her own face burrowed in his tattooed chest. No shadows to be seen - Nyx figured even they must be sleeping.

“Aunt Elain…” Nyx hesitantly reached out to touch her shoulder.

Elain woke with a small gasp, turning around abruptly to see who had woken her. Nyx took a small hesitant step back, twisting his hands nervously in front of him - even though he had never once been chastised by his Aunt Elain, the gentlest of his many caretakers.

“Nyx!” She breathed, squinting through sleep-bleared eyes. “What’s wrong?”

The concern in her voice threatened to send a new wave of hot tears spilling down Nyx’s pink cheeks, which flushed in embarrassment. Future high lords were not meant to cry over a bad dream.

To distract himself, he addressed his initial source of confusion.

“Why is Uncle Azriel in your bed?”

Elain froze, kind brown eyes wide as she stared at her nephew.

Nyx looked over her shoulder to where Azriel still slept, unaware of the conversation taking place. He hadn’t seen his uncle in weeks - and often went long stretches wondering where the spymaster was.

Elain went to open her mouth, but Nyx whispered again before she had the chance to speak.

“Are you scared too?”

“Oh, baby…”

Elain’s arms reaching for him sent the first tear falling as Nyx tried to furiously blink it away. His aunt’s gaze softened as she lifted the covers, carefully moving from beneath Azriel’s heavy arm to pull Nyx closer to her, replacing the blanket back over the top of them once he was settled.

“Having Uncle Azriel here makes me feel better,” Nyx whispered quietly, as if to console his aunt as Elain wiped the stray tears from his face, brushing back his dark hair away from his eyes.

Her warm touch soothed him, her calloused hands still somehow soft.

“He makes me feel better too,” Elain admitted with a soft smile, eyes crinkling in the corners. “He’s very, very tired tonight, so we’ll have to try not to wake him.”

“But what are you afraid of, Aunt Elain?” Nyx inquired, already feeling calmer in his aunt’s reassuring presence, his uncle’s quiet breathing another balm to his worried mind.

“You helped win the last war. You’re not afraid of anything.”

“It’s okay to be afraid,” Elain murmured, not fully addressing his question. She paused, and then lifted a finger to tap twice on top of one of the stars embroidered onto Nyx’s soft sleep-shirt - where Nyx imagined his heart must be.

“To fear is to love, honey. It means you have a big heart - and you love something, or someone, very much.”

Nyx looked down, and then back up to his aunt’s loving face.

“I’m afraid of war. Of what could happen to mama and papa.”

The words hung heavy in the quiet night, and Nyx held his breath - afraid that even whispering them might speak that awful scene into existence.

Elain nodded slowly, a stray curl falling in front of her face as she leaned in to press a kiss to Nyx’s forehead, pulling him closer for a hug.

“You’re a very brave boy, Nyx. And I promise you, your mother and father will do whatever is in their power to always come home to you.” Nyx nodded, willing his aunt to be right. “They love you very much. We all do.”

And Nyx knew that to be true, without a doubt. He let that love surround him, as he nestled into the warmth of the blankets and Elain’s touch which continued combing through his hair. The rhythm of it a gentle lull back into sleep.

——————-

It must not have been too much later, as Elain was still awake when new movement roused Nyx once again. He blinked open his eyes, readjusting once more to the darkness of the room.

Nyx peered over the top of his aunt’s shoulder. His uncle had started murmuring something in his sleep, muffled by the pillow as scarred hands knotted and twisted in the casing.

“I think Uncle Azriel is having a nightmare,” Nyx said frowning, concern coloring his voice as he noted the furrowed brow on his uncle’s face.

“What does he have bad dreams about?”

Nyx could not fathom the formidable spymaster, his kind but stoic uncle, being afraid of anything.

“Yes, he does have bad dreams.”

“About what?” Nyx asked curiously. He couldn’t make out what his uncle was saying.

Elain turned to look slightly over her shoulder, at the male sleeping next to them.

“He’ll tell you himself when you’re older.”

Nyx knew not to protest this rationale by now - he knew well that when one of his parents or caretakers said he had to wait until he was older, there was no argument to be had.

Even if he wasn’t yet allowed to know what his uncle was dreaming about, Nyx didn’t want his uncle to suffer. Remembering his own nightmare just hours before.

He reached a small hand over Elain to nudge his uncle’s shoulder, but Elain was faster, capturing his wrist in her hand before he could touch Azriel.

“Gently,” Elain warned softly, but firmly. “Sometimes Uncle Azriel is confused when he wakes up, and he doesn’t remember where he is. We don’t want to startle him, especially since he will be very surprised to see you.”

Nyx nodded seriously. When it came to all matters of his uncles, he never wanted to disappoint them.

“Okay,” Elain affirmed, twisting and lifting Nyx so that he now lay in between his aunt and uncle. Still guiding his outstretched hand, Elain led Nyx to gently lay a palm on Azriel’s cheek. His skin was cool beneath Nyx’s touch, soon enveloped by the warmth of his aunt’s palm as she gently stroked both his uncle’s face and Nyx’s hand.

Nyx knew the second his uncle woke, as shadows swarmed from the corners of the room to fly about their master, tickling Nyx’s cheeks and nose in their haste to get to Azriel.

The shadows had never frightened Nyx, but seemed to trail after him once in a while like a stray puppy. Probably by the will of their commander, but Nyx appreciated their presence all the same. It was like an extension of his beloved uncle, even when he wasn’t there.

“Elain?” Azriel muttered dazedly as his brow tightened even further while he fought to open his eyes.

“We have company,” Elain murmured back carefully to his uncle, a kind of warning in her tone. Nyx waited with bated breath.

He didn’t have to wait long, as Azriel’s hazel eyes opened fully at her statement, landing quickly on Nyx who was mere inches from his face.

“Holy mother-“

Nyx couldn’t help but let out a small giggle at his uncle’s surprise, having never once been able to actually startle his stealthy uncle before.

“What’s wrong?” Azriel rasped, pushing up to his elbows to look behind Elain and Nyx toward the still closed door. A few of his shadows darting out beneath it into the quiet hallway.

“Everything’s fine… Azriel.”

Elain’s voice was just as soft as it had been with Nyx.

“Nyx had a bad dream, too, and winnowed here.”

Azriel’s shadows settled closer to him once more once he had determined that neither Nyx nor Elain were in any real danger.

Nyx’s cheeks turned bright red, and he hoped the darkness might hide the fact from his uncle.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m not supposed to winnow in the house.”

Azriel’s expression softened, hazel eyes lowering toward Nyx’s wide blue eyes and wobbling lip.

“It’s alright, Nyx.”

Elain chimed in gently, suggesting, “Why don’t we take you back to your room and we’ll wait until you fall back asleep?”

She squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

“Yes, please,” Nyx answered bashfully.

Elain led the way out of the room, shadows twisting around her ankles affectionately as Azriel followed behind them both. Nyx had never seen his uncle so casual before. He padded barefoot and bare-chested in a pair of soft sleep pants, hair mussed every which way.

It had been strange to discover him in his aunt’s bedroom, as every i interaction he had ever witnessed between the pair before had been polite, cordial, but nothing more. But clearly, they were good enough friends that Elain turned to him when she was frightened, too.

He was grateful for both of their presence that night, and the memory of his nightmare was quickly fading.

A small hand reached forward, grasping Azriel’s and then the other reaching just behind him to grab Elain’s.

Azriel gave a small smile to Elain over the top of Nyx’s head, while Elain beamed.

The walk down the long hallway no longer seemed so frightening to Nyx, as shadows twisted and danced along their path, the dark shapes leading the way back to Nyx’s room.

Once inside, and Nyx was settled back underneath his covers which once more seemed comforting rather than restrictive, Elain and Azriel sat on either side of him, Elain fussing while Azriel sat quietly, his tired eyes bouncing between the boy and his aunt.

“Uncle Azriel, will you sing?”

Nyx’s small voice was already fading as his eyes drooped with exhaustion.

Elain flashed Azriel a pretty smile, which made the corners of his uncle’s lips turn up before he started to sing quietly, a song that he had sung to Nyx since he was in swaddling clothes. It was in a language he did not recognize, but comforted him all the same. His uncle’s voice was rich and deep, like the roots of a tree digging deep into the earth.

The last thing Nyx thought about before he drifted back to sleep was that he hoped his aunt and uncle would not have any more bad dreams that night either. And that the stars would watch over them too, just as they remained bright and twinkling outside of his bedroom window.

———————

Once they were sure Nyx was resting peacefully, with no nightmares in sight, Azriel and Elain quietly took their leave back to Elain’s bedroom.

As soon as the door had clicked shut behind them, Azriel scooped up Elain and carried her down the rest of the way down the hallway, against her whispered protests.

Now that he was awake and sure that his nephew was sleeping soundly once more at the other end of the hall, Azriel had no intentions of falling asleep again anytime soon.

“We’re lucky that I needed that nap before properly greeting you,” Azriel murmured, pressing teasing kisses up and along Elain’s throat. “Otherwise we would have needed to have a much different conversation tonight.”

Elain huffed a laugh, even as she gripped his shoulder tighter, urging him on.

“I’ll figure out what to explain this as in the morning, to keep him from saying anything to Rhys or Feyre.”

“Is something distracting you from devising a plan right now?” Azriel murmured against her neck. Elain could feel the curve of his lips turn in a teasing smile.

“I’ve been waiting for this distraction to come home to me for weeks, so I would say yes…” Elain retorted, pushing him away and on his back with surprising strength and hiking her nightgown up in order to straddle him.

“Now, distraction, show me exactly how much you missed me.”

Tag List: @ultadverb @reverie-tales @123moiaussi @demarogue @gracie-rosee @impossiblescissorspeachpaper

[feyreswaterybowels]

Falling Star🌠

Azriel x Rhys’ Sister

Word Count: 4.4k

Tags/Warnings: Angst. Death. Love Confessions. Friends with benefits to fated mates. Hurt/Comfort. Not Y/N. Third Person. Probably grammatical errors.

Summary: Stella is Rhys’ little sister. Her and Azriel are best friends with benefits on the down low. The bond snapped into place and things didn’t work out the way Stella wished they had.

Stella stood outside the heavy wooden doors of the High Lord's study. They were preparing for battle, the battle against Hybern. Tensions were high and things would either work in their favor or change life completely as they knew it.

Her hand was half raised—ready to knock but she had stopped herself twice, debating if now was the proper time for this conversation. Her heart ached in her chest at the decision she was about to make.

Just come in, little star.

The words echoed in her head. She wasn’t surprised he knew she was standing out there, she and her brother had always been in tune with one another.

She sighed, reaching out to push the door open. Rhysand was already standing to greet her as she walked in. He didn’t bother with a smile or greeting to cover the frown on his face. He could read her better than anyone even without entering her head. All it took was one look at her face and he knew something wasn’t right.

What is it? What’s wrong, Stella?

She fiddled with her hands for a moment, leaning against his desk. Thinking. Trying to find the right words. Decide how much she wanted to give away. If she wanted to tell her brother that she found her mate—that said mate did not want her and she was heartbroken because she had been in love with him for years before the bond snapped into place. That she had wrongfully assumed he felt the same way.

She was wrong about a lot.

“When the war is over,” she started, pausing to choose her words, “I want you to send me…away.”

“Away?” Rhys asks, arms folded, dark brows rising high above his violet eyes.

“Yes.” She nodded. “After the war. Assuming everything goes to plan—works in our favor. I want you to send me away.”

“Why?” He asked, confusion etched all over his face.

“I can’t be…here,” she breathed, the pain in her chest tightening. That string that connected her to her mate pulled taunt as if he was pulling away as hard as he could hoping it would snap in two.

“Why?” It was more of a demand than a question. She knew that tone. He wasn’t going to let her go on a half-assed explanation. He wanted details. A reason. The truth.

She felt her eyes water, it would be easier to just let him in her mind. Show him what was wrong but then he would see too much. See things that might make him hate her fated mate, someone he loved dearly and she couldn’t allow that.

“Azriel’s my mate…” She whispered, unsure if he heard her.

“What?” Fuck, don’t make me say it again.

Her violet eyes met his, brimmed with tears and pleading.

“Azriel’s my mate,” she whispered again, her voice breaking into a sob.

Then she was being scooped into her brother's arms. Wrapped up like she was a little girl again and cradled against his chest. She didn’t know how long they stood there. She heard the faintest click of the door closing but didn’t bother to check if he used his magic or if someone else had done it. But her cries turned into soft sniffles before dying out.

Rhys pulled back, grabbed her face, and wiped away her tears. His eyes met hers, violet searching violet.

“Did he reject it?” He asks, eyes flashing with anger, Stella shakes her head.

“No. He didn’t reject it. But he made it very clear he doesn’t want it either,” she shrugs, sniffing.

“And this is why you wish to leave?” Rhys asks, hands still holding her face as she nodded.

“Where would you go?” He asked, emotions lacing through his voice.

“Tarquin has told me I’m welcome in his court. I haven’t talked to him in some time but I—I think that’s where I could go. If not, maybe Helion would be willing to let me go there…” She trails off. She had thought that far ahead. She could stay in Velaris…but to see him every day? Work with him? Just the thought was painful. Painful enough to make her gasp and clutch at her chest.

Rhys growled, taking a step away and heading for the study’s doors. Stella’s eyes widened and she stumbled reaching for him.

“Where are you going?” She asked, panicked.

“To knock some sense into his stubborn ass,” Rhys had the door half opened before she slammed herself against it to stop him.

“You can’t,” she shook her head. He looked at her skeptically as if to say, yeah he absolutely could do that. But she shook her head again. “Not with this, Rhys. Please. He has to choose or reject it on his own—you can’t make him.”

Rhys hung his head with a sigh. He knew she was right. She was forever grateful for her brother's love, his protection but not with this. It wouldn’t be real if he fought Azriel into the mating bond. She didn’t want that. She wanted it to be real.

She thought what they had was real.

“Don’t hate him, please,” Stella begged. “He’s your brother as much as I’m your sister. You know blood has never mattered. So don’t hate him. But…but when this war is over I need you to let me go. Please, Rhys.”

Rhys looked up, their eyes meeting again and he nodded.

“Okay, sweetheart.”

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

That night Stella was in her room. Packing away the last of her things. Her entire life was packed away in boxes and luggage. At this point, she and everyone she loved would die in this war or they would win and she would leave the only home she’d ever known behind. It hurt to think about.

A knock on the door sounded and opened before she could answer whether to come in or not. She wasn’t completely surprised to see Feyre entering, she knew Rhys would tell her, they didn’t keep things from one another.

“So, it’s true? You’re planning on leaving?” Feyre asks, walking over, her dark dress dragging the floor silently as she takes a seat by the open windows. Stella nodded her head in answer.

“I’m sure Rhys told you why,” She said softly, taking a seat next to her.

“He did. I could tell he was upset and demanded to know why, I couldn’t imagine it was anything like this,” She says, a frown tugging at her lips. “Does he know you and Azriel were sleeping together?”

Stella’s eyes burned with tears as she looked away from her friend. Fuck. She shook her head. If she had shared that with Rhys there would have been no stopping him, he would have hunted Azriel down.

“No. I don’t want him to hate his brother,” Stella said, swiping at her cheeks quickly.

“Are you going to tell him you’re leaving?” the High Lady asks, waving a hand for a tray of steaming tea to appear. “Azriel, I mean.”

Stella bit her lip as Feyre handed her a mug. She hadn’t thought about whether she would tell him or not. She didn’t want to just disappear but she didn’t want him to blame himself either.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged with a sigh, letting the steam from the tea waft up into her nostrils. Something floral with a hint of sweet honey. “Would you?”

“I kind of did leave, remember? I mean I was the one who wasn’t sure of the mating bond at first but that time alone helped me…process. So maybe the distance could help? I don’t know,” Feyre frowns before continuing, “Whatever you decide will be the right decision. Don't second-guess yourself. Only you know what’s right for you.”

“I—I thought he loved me,” she admitted softly. “As more than a friend. As more than family. I thought he loved me, he said—”

Stella hiccuped on a cry trying to find it’s way from her mouth, taking a sip of tea and letting it burn its way down her throat.

“He said he wanted me. We shared a bed almost every night. The way he touched me, kissed me, made love to me…was it all a lie?” I cried, my eyes meeting hers, gray-blue pools brimmed with tears.

“I’m sorry,” Was Feyre’s answering whisper, her hand reaching out to rest on Stella’s knee.

The rest of our visit was spent in silence.

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Today was the day. Stella braided her hair back, dressed in her leathers adorned with three purple siphons, and strapped her weapons to her body. She looked in the mirror, wings arching behind her. She turned around, the room now so empty, only the corner filled with boxes and luggage was occupied. The shelves and bed were stripped bare, ready for her departure.

The bed she shared with Azriel so many nights. Secret meetings, dinner and fucks. Various nights where he showed up bloody from combat and she patched him up. Drunken nights after too many drinks at Rita—stumbling into this room to undress one another. Or on the occasion one or the other had a nightmare, as they plagued them all, would lead to cuddling until the sunrise.

Stella nearly jumped as a shadow slithered up her thigh. She hadn’t noticed it, only giving her a second before Azriel appeared, dressed in his leathers, all seven blue siphons faintly glowing. She’d always loved those siphons.

“What’s all this?” Is the first thing he asks looking around the room. No hello or greeting of any kind.

She shrugs in answer. Maybe now was as good a time as any to tell him. But would her decision matter enough to distract him in the battle? She couldn’t live with herself if she was the reason he got hurt. “Are you leaving?” He asks.

“After the battle,” she nodded in answer.

“Where?” He asks, with what seems to be a concern—or was the worry?

“I don’t know yet, why do you care?” Stella snapped. Azriel’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You’re leaving because of me.” It’s not a question. She clenched her jaw looking down at the shadow still wrapped around her thigh. “You don’t have to—”

“I can’t be here. I can’t be around you,” She snarled, watching him and his shadows cringe at it. “Do you have any idea how painful it is to see you every day, Azriel?”

A look of guilt and shame passes over his features.

“Because I won’t accept the mating bond?” He says in disbelieving shock.

“Are you kidding me? You know as much about mating bonds as I do. You know how painful it can be. Why are you pretending like we’re any different? I feel you pulling away from it every day and it feels like my heart is being ripped from my chest every time you do,” She said, voice shaking and emotional. She shook her head and blinked away the tears. “After the war, you can reject the bond formally and then I’ll leave.”

They stood there in silence. Staring at one another. His shadow squeezed around her thigh as the rest swirled and whispered around him. She stood tall, batting his shadow away, she would not break down in front of him. Not today, not now.

“I made it clear how I felt from the beginning…” He begins, trailing off and she could swear she heard his shadows hiss as if offended for her.

“Yeah, I know what you said. Just sex,” She rolled her eyes, fists clenching at her sides. “But then everything you did, every action after that said something else. The way you touched me, fucked me, spoke to me all screamed more than sex. But that was my mistake, I guess. So, you have no reason to feel guilty when I leave. It was just sex for you and I—I fell in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for years and I foolishly thought…” She stopped herself.

Azriel stepped forward, opening his mouth but a knock on the door echoed through the empty room.

“We’re all ready,” Feyre’s voice calls.

“Coming,” Stella called back. Her eyes caught Azriel’s before she stepped forward and walked around him.

Are you okay? Feyre asked once she was out of the room.

No. She shook her head, letting Feyre hug her tightly.

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

EARLIER

“Az,” Cassian greeted, stepping out onto the training level.

“Morning,” Azriel said from where he was seated on the ledge, overlooking the city below.

Cassian walked over, surveying his brother, leaning against the edge and crossing his arms.

“Everything okay?” He asked, watching the storming shadows slow a bit.

Azriel’s quiet for a minute before sighing, and hung his head. Cassian stayed quiet too, waiting for his brother to say whatever he needed to. It’s a long minute before he lifts his head, looking out over the expanse in Velaris.

“I fucked up,” He confessed.

Cassian’s brow raised as his spine straightened. “How so?”

“Stella’s my mate,” He breathed, the first time he’s said it out loud to anyone.

Cassian let out a low whistle. “And how exactly did you fuck up?”

“I told her I didn’t want it,” He admitted, swallowing thickly, looking over at his brother.

“I thought you two…” Cassian trails off with a vague hand gesture and an eyebrow raise. Azriel shrugs.

“We were sleeping together. But that’s it, that’s all it was,” Azriel explained, but the look Cassian gave him made him cringe away. “We agreed—”

“That girl has been in love with you for years, at least a decade, there’s no way you didn’t know that, Az,” Cassian said, remembering how those two were a couple without actually being a couple. They were more in love than anyone else he’d ever known, or at least he thought they were. “How did she react when the bond snapped?”

“She was excited,” Azriel answered, a thickness taking over his throat. “She made a big dinner. I thought it was just dinner. She kept asking questions, I guess trying to figure out if it snapped for me too, it hadn’t. Not at that time. She eventually just said we were mates, that the bond snapped for her that morning when we were in bed together—during our fucking. She was so happy. And I completely shut her down. Told her I didn’t want it, that we weren’t together, that I didn’t want to be together, and that we needed to figure out what to do about it.”

Cassian's eyes are wide. He wasn’t one to judge but he would never expect that kind of harshness from his brother directed to someone he knew the shadowsinger loved.

“Fuck, Az. That’s rough…” Cassian eventually said. “Fuck. I know that hurt her badly.”

Azriel nodded, dropping his head to his hands.

“Yeah. She cried a lot. Begged me not to leave when I got up to go. I can feel her pain all the time through the bond even with it not being accepted. I can feel her happiness when she sees me before it turns to dread. What we had was good, so good, but what if…what if the bond changes that?” Azriel’s voice broke. “I love her. Of course, I love her. But I don’t know if the bond is right for us.”

“Az, man, you’re overthinking this shit,” Cassian shook his head. “Of course the mating bond is right. The mother doesn’t make mistakes. I know you’ve always felt unworthy of love but man, that girl loves you more than anyone. You deserve love and happiness. You and Stella deserve it, together.”

“I don’t know how to fix it,” Azriel whispersed.

“Just talk to her man. Tell her how you feel. The bond doesn’t have to be accepted right now, maybe tell her you need to think about it not that you don’t want it,” Cassian offered, reaching out to grab his brother's shoulder, squeezing it.

“I—I’ll talk to her before we leave…”

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

The next time Stella saw Azriel was in the midst of battle. High in the sky. After meetings and marching onto the field were done. It was nothing but fighting after that. It had been a long time. Many soldiers are dead or injured already. More would be too.

Stella knew Rhys and Feyre had something up their sleeve with talk of the Bonecarver. They needed any help they could get. They didn’t have as many men as Hybern.

Little Star? Echoes in her head as she shoved a Hybern warrior away, slashing at him with her sword.

I’m fine. You? Is her answer, plunging straight through his heart.

Me too. Then her head is silent again. Turning her attention to the next warrior to approach her. They came quick enough, when one fell, another was immediately there to take its place.

She looked around, there were many warriors in the sky but it wasn’t hard to spot Azriel. Something felt wrong as she watched Azriel, not with him but with the Hybern warriors around him. She wanted to tug the bond and alert him to something being wrong but that could distract him and put him in a dangerous situation.

Stella slit the throat of the warrior approaching her and shot through the sky before the next one could approach. She had to dodge and swerve around fighting pairs, missing swords and fists landing in all directions.

She was closer to Az, there are fewer warriors around him now. She stopped where she was, with no immediate danger around them, and tugged on the bond. She saw him freeze and tugged again. He whirled around searching for her.

She could see the panic on his face as he scanned the sky for her. He spins around and their eyes meet. She tugged the bond, trying to gauge if he’s okay, something still felt wrong, but he must have understood because he nodded—and for the first time he tugs back.

Her heart leaps in her chest and if she was standing her knees would have gone weak. But something was still wrong. Instead of a warm feeling spreading through her at that tug it was something cold and icy. Worry? No, not worry. Warning.

Their eyes met again, hazel orbs wide and his shadows storming violently. She swore the bond tugging in her chest felt like it was trying to pull her forward. Just as she was about to follow it she stopped.

Azriel’s face is one of pure pain when she fely a force behind her and then everything went numb. She felt a heavy weight in her stomach. She drop her eyes from Azriel’s to her stomach and there sticking from her stomach was…a sword?

Stella’s eyes meet Azriel’s again, a sob tearing from her throat as the sword ripped from her stomach.

“NO!” Azriel’s voice rips through the space and she felt the world around her shake. She felt the warmth spreading over her abdomen and the wetness there when she touched it.

She heard a pained sound behind her but before she could turn to see what happened her wings gave out. She knew she was falling but she couldn’t do anything to stop it. She saw Cassian shove a body off his sword, a panicked-pained look on his face when their eyes met.

Her eyes find Azriel again, flying to her. She tried to reach for him but he was too far away. Then he was gone, nowhere in her sight. She squeezed her eyes shut, and felt the tears leak down her temples. Not like this. I don’t want to go like this.

Stell’s body smashes into something hard and she knew it had to be the ground. Dead. Am I dead? She sobbed and pain radiated from her wound all over her body.

“Sh.” A voice rumbled into her hair and she realized she hadn’t smashed into the ground. She smashed into a body, into Azriel who had her wrapped tightly in his arms, flying faster than she had ever felt.

His shadows wrapped around her tightly as they flew before everything disappeared as he winnowed. She grabbed him tightly, shoving her face against his neck and praying to the Mother to just let her stay in the warmth of his arms a little longer.

Another body quaking shake wracked through her as they landed harshly on the ground.

“Rhysand!”

“Feyre!”

“Thesan!” Azriel’s voice thunders around her. Screaming desperately for someone, anyone to heal her.

Stella heard voices around them but couldn’t make out what they were saying. The sunlight is gone but as she’s laid down she realized they’ve been brought to a tent. She tried to grab Azriel, sobbing for him not to leave her.

Sh, little star we have to heal you. Rhys coos in her head but she can hear the emotion that he tries to cover.

“I need these leathers removed,” An older voice said, Madja. It’s got to be Madja. A pain radiated from her stomach and she sobbed again.

Hands worked to remove her leathers, she opened my eyes. Feyre and Rhys stand above her, unbuckling armor and removing layers to allow Madja to work.

She yanked the bond hard. Azriel. She wanted Azriel. And then he’s there crouching next to her head, hazel eyes wet and pained, a hand stroking through her hair.

“Az…”

“Sh, don’t speak,” He strokes her hair. “I’m here. I’m not gonna leave you.”

Stella felt Madja’s hands on her stomach, the warmth of her magic and it hurt. She screamed over the hushed hurried speaking around her.

And then there’s nothing but black darkness.

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

When Stella opened her eyes she was at the river house, curled up in her favorite chair. Her eyebrows pulled together in confusion and nearly sobbed when she realize what this was.

“Hey, little star,” Rhy’s voice echoed around the room before he appears on the couch across from her.

“How bad is it?” She breathes, wrapping her arms around her middle. “Don’t lie, please.”

“It’s bad,” Rhys breathed quietly after a moment. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. A heavy sigh leaves him. “Madja couldn’t heal you. You aren’t healing on your own. Feyre and I both tried and nothing.”

“Thesan?”

“Madja’s gone to retrieve him but there’s a chance even his power may not heal you,” He said, and she could hear the emotion in his voice.

“Is it faebane?” She asked, chin wobbling, he nodded. “I took the antidote, I don’t understand.”

“Neither do we, we’ve asked Thesan but he doesn’t understand either. No one else has been affected by the faebane,” Rhys explained, eyes flashing to her.

“So…I’m going to die?” Her voice cracked.

“I’m going to do everything in my power to save you—”

“I don’t think you can,” She whisper, holding his gaze. She could see it in his eyes, he knows as much as she doesn’t three powerful healers can’t save her there’s not much hope. “Wake me up, I need to say goodbye to him.”

Rhys looks at her and nodded. He stood and she followed. She couldn’t stop herself from throwing her arms around him. Hugging him tighter than she ever had before.

“Tell everyone I love them,” she whispered against his shoulder. “I love you, Rhys.”

His hand cupped the back of her head, holding her tight, his body shaking with silent cries. “I love you, Little Star.”

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Warmth. That’s the first thing Stella noticed. She was warm and comfortable. She blinked her eyes open with a soft groan. She turned her head and saw Azriel, eyes shut and forehead pressed to his hands clasping hers.

“Hey there,” She whispered, squeezing his hand. Reaching out through the bond relieved when it was open and welcoming. She melted into the cot, not in much pain. She was sure her brother was to thank for that.

Stella looked down over myself, covered in a thin blanket up to her waist, eyes landing on her bandaged abdomen—on the blood-soaked bandage.

“Hey back,” He whispered, keeping a grip on her hand with one of his while the other reached out to stroke her hair. She let herself relax into the touch, nuzzling against his hand.

“Rhys says I’m not healing,” She breathed, voice cracking.

“I know, baby,” Azriel answered softly with a nod. Eyes wet and lips bloody red from being bitten. “Come here.”

He lifted her easily, placing her in his lap and cradling her. She could vaguely feel his shadows curling over her skin, through her hair, trying to comfort her as much as he was.

“I’m gonna die,” She cried, pressing her face to his chest.

Azriel shushed her, continuing to stroke her hair as he rocked them back and forth. “I’m sorry,” he cried, looking down at her. “I was wrong. I was so wrong to tell you I didn’t want the mating bond. It had nothing to do with you, my love. You are the perfect mate. I was trying to deny it, thinking I didn’t deserve the love of such a perfect mate. I’ve been in love with you for years, fighting it as hard as I could. And I was afraid. Afraid I would love you and it wouldn’t be enough. Please, forgive me my love, my mate. Please. I love you.”

His broken sobs were painful. His body was shaking hard. All Stella wanted to do was kiss him. So she did. She grabbed his face, pulled him down, and kissed him. Her lips were dry but she didn’t care.

“I forgive you,” She whispered against his lips. “Reject the bond.”

“What?” He asked, eyes squinted in confusion.

“Reject the bond, it—it will hurt less when I go,” She said, she wanted to save him from that heartache.

“No,” He shakes his. “No, I won’t put you through that pain. I won’t let you die like that.”

“It’s okay, Az—”

“It’s not,” He growled, sobbing when she touched his face. “You’re my mate, I won’t reject it.”

He leaned down to kiss her again, his lips were soft but tasted like blood. The kiss was a mere pressing of lips, she was too weak to fully kiss back.

When Azriel pulled away her eyes stayed closed, breath slow and shallow. He could feel her life slipping from her body. But it’s not when she’s limp in his arms and chest no longer moving that he knows she’s gone. It’s when he feels the emptiness in his chest. When that place in his chest that connects them is no longer there

“No,” he whispered. Shaking his head. Tears falling onto her beautiful pale face. He held her tighter to his chest. “Stella, please. No, please come back to me, baby. Please, come back.”

But her eyes stayed closed. Her chest stayed still. And that space stayed empty. It hurt. It hurt so fucking back.

And all he could do was scream.

[bloomingdarkgarden]

What Bloomed in the Darkgarden

Chapter 33: Periwinkle

A very tender hurt /comfort memory of Azriel and Elain finding each other after Hybern’s war. Snippet below.

“How would you write your story?” Elain asked faintly. “What life would you choose, were you not born to be such a fearsome warrior of Night?”

Despite it all, the soft praise of her words coiled into a particularly male corner of his heart.

“An exceptionally boring one. I’d imagine I’d need to earn a living somewhere… normal,” he considered quietly. “Work as a smith. Maybe in a kitchen.”

Elain stared at him for a long, long moment.

And then she laughed.

Well and truly laughed, deep in her belly. The sound ringing liquid gold throughout the chamber. She laughed so hard it had his own mouth curling upwards, his shadows peeking towards her curiously.

She laughed until it leaked away from her, and then asked with total sincerity-

“Would you work in my kitchen?”

“Absolutely.”

No hesitation.

She laughed again, and Azriel’s shadows skitted back with delight at the melody of the sound.

Elain needed this, he realized. So did he, in truth. The distraction from ruined lives and the horrors of war. It was a different sort of medicine.

“Maybe we ought to run away,” she sighed, staring up at the ceiling, tiredness lacing her gaunt features. “Open a bakery somewhere.”

“I can be ready within the hour.”

A weak grin grew across her lovely face and it was a song of desperate, lost impossibilities.

“With great wide windows and wooden tables for tea.”

Azriel smiled, too, at the thought.

“Blue walls,” she whispered, “Will you paint the walls blue? I’m not sure I can reach.”

He’d steal every star from the night sky if she asked him to.

Azriel nodded. “Which blue would the lady prefer?”

Elain sighed again. “Pale, I should think.” Her eyes sparkled, adrift. “Paler than the moon. Like a goodbye. Like a memory.”

He had never, in all these long weeks, heard her speak this way.

He was going to fall in love with her if she kept speaking this way.

“Periwinkle,” he murmured.

“Periwinkle,” she repeated, with that same smile, blooming of lost hope. “We’ll serve everything on old plates from the market, none of them matching.”

“None of them?”

“Not a single one,” she chuckled. “There's something I’ve always loved about a cupboard full of dishes that don’t match. It’s rather a comfort, don’t you think?

Azriel watched her speak like she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“Fresh flowers for the tables,” she murmured distantly.

“You could grow them out back,” his voice was quiet.

“What sort do you think?”

Azriel considered for a long moment.

“Periwinkle,” he paused, “to match.”

She smiled then. “You know flowers, Azriel,”

He would die a thousand deaths to hear his name on her lips again.

“A few.”

She quirked an eyebrow upwards. “Vincas are difficult plants. They’re monstrously hard to keep from drying out.”

“My faith in you is unwavering.”

“Too-right,” her smile grew wide again.

“I’ll put you to work, you know. In the garden too. But we mustn't work one day a week. We must have a day to ourselves. To laze about and eat sweets.”

“Laze… about,” he murmured cautiously.

“You mustn't work every day, Azriel.”

A foreign notion to him.

She nudged his shoulder with her own over the bath’s edge.

“I’ll make sure you don’t anyway. Lure you to laze with me in the garden with those cherry scones you love so much.”

He glanced sidelong at her. She shrugged nonchalantly.

“I notice,” she murmured. “All the things you finish first. Spiced quail eggs in the morning. Rosemary lamb at supper. Nuala’s winter stew. Seedcake. Cherry scones.”

Azriel swallowed, color staining his cheeks. “I was never permitted such things as a boy.”

“I know,” she murmured softly, “I know.”

The light was leaving her eyes again and he hated himself for being responsible for it. He wanted- needed to hear her keep speaking of beautiful, impossible things.

Which is why the shadowsinger parted his lips and said something he never in a thousand years would have said otherwise.

“Honeyed carrots.”

Elain glanced up to him. “Honeyed carrots?”

“Honeyed carrots. I have a weakness for them, just as you have a weakness for those sweet cheeses late into the night.”

“I do love cheese, really.”

“I know.”

She studied him with a tired smile. “How do you know?”

Because it was the first thing I watched you eat after months of wasting away, and I felt like I could breathe again.

He looked at her softly.

“How do you know I prefer cherry?”

The sorrow in her features was dissipating like fog into the night.

“We’ll eat it all.” Elain closed her eyes. “We’ll eat whatever we like whenever we please and grow old and fat and wiser than we’ve ever been.”

Azriel quirked an eyebrow at the prospect.

“I’ll need a day to train each week if I’m to be of any use on a battlefield ever again.”

“Nonsense,” she muttered. “I killed the king of Hybern and I’ve never trained a day in my life.”

Azriel laughed then. Warm and rich and honest. Because it was so impossible. Because it was so true.

Elain laughed with him, a golden melody, until the sound ebbed away from them both.

“Anyway the pies will be good,” she wheezed. “So good we’ll become famous for them.”

“The family will come looking for us.”

“Busybodies,” she waved a hand dismissively. “We’ll draw the shades. Bolt the doors. I can’t have Cassian stealing away my kitchen boy.”

Azriel would murder Cassian with his bare hands before allowing himself to be robbed of becoming Elain's kitchen boy.

“I expect the work will be demanding?”

“I’ll have you carving fruit and pastry from dawn to dusk.” She nodded to Truth-Teller, bloodied and bound to his waist. “I hear you are good with one of those.”

Azriel huffed a dry laugh because he was actually falling in love with her now.

“I hear the same of you.”

Elain grinned, scooping up a handful of bath foam. “It will be marvelous advertising for the shop, anyway.” She huffed a breath and softly blew the foam towards a nearby shadow, which writhed with delight.

“Knife wielders of the Night Court making pastries and all.”

This female, speaking of runaway dreams and bakeries like she hadn’t just slayed Prythian’s most ancient and formidable enemy.

Blowing fucking bath bubbles at his shadows.

He was undone.

“As my lady commands.”

She grinned wide then and sank slightly deeper into the water.

“I might frighten away all of your customers,” he muttered a moment later. Not untrue.

Elain scoffed. “You won’t frighten away the customers. If you just lessen your brooding and offer up one of those divine smiles every few weeks, people will line up around the block.”

A scowl formed on her face. “The females anyway.”

Azriel said nothing, a golden blush crawling up his cheek.

Elain’s chestnut eyes lingered on TruthTeller at his side before drifting to him again, her voice was barely a whisper.

“If you’re frightening, I’m frightening.”

The truth laid bare between them.

He wanted to wrap her in his arms.

“Yes you are.”

He spoke the words as if she were holy.

Because she was.

“You’ve killed dozens of people,” Elain whispered.

“Hundreds,” he corrected.

“I’ve only killed one,” she murmured, “but I made sure it counted.”

He would damn every star in the great night sky to kiss her now.

“Yes you did.”

“People will think I’m strange now, I suppose.”

His throat bobbed.

“Strange and beautiful. So much so, it might be difficult to look away.”

He did not look away. He meant every word, body and soul.

Something in Elain’s gaze glimmered as she beheld him. Something hidden deep beneath the devastation and loss.

And then Azriel heard it.

The quietest whisper of the song she usually emanated, lost in the dark, now reaching- reaching for the light.

“Promise you’ll paint the walls blue?” she whispered softly.

Tired and drunk on the ashes of war. He told himself they’d forget it all by the morning.

But just for tonight, stars above, let her be mine.

“I’ll paint the walls blue,” Azriel whispered back.

Read the rest on AO3

[yearning-for-autumn]

Trauma-Verse -- Part III

Rhysand

A/N: Rhys is hard to write for you know...

---

Summary: Rhysand wakes after a nightmare and struggles with memories of the past, whilst also grappling with the pressure of being High Lord.

Warnings: Allusions to rape, self-harm, nightmares, angst.

Pairings: Rhysand x Feyre

Word Count: 700

Darkness swirled and swarmed. It spread, thick inky blackness across the walls, creeping through the cracks of the door, sloughing off the furniture.

Rhysand had always kept things dark in the room with Her. He made sure of it. The only thing visible through the dim light her shock of red curls. It felt better that way. Safer. That way, he could squeeze his eyes tight enough to hurt, until the swirling colours that formed behind his eyelids took the shape of someone better.

Feyre’s face, hazy and unclear until he had finally found her that Calanmai night. After that, she was as clear as day.

He awoke suddenly from his nightmare: her nails raking down his back, Feyre’s face as she stared death in the eyes, Azriel’s hands, Cassian’s mother. Re-runs of every way he had failed his family.

His sister's screams of pain.

Rhysand emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor, retching and gasping. Then grimacing he misted it away. He clutched his head in his hands until fingerprints marred his temples.

On shaky legs he staggered to the bathtub, wide enough to accommodate the wings that had sprung forth unprompted, his handle on his writhing magic weak. The water burned his skin as he sunk low, the overpowering scent of lavender rising with the steam. Rhys didn’t care. Didn’t care that as he scrubbed, his skin turned red raw beneath his hand.

It wasn’t enough to clean him. It could never be enough. The dirt was deeper than his skin, running through his blood, pooling in his magic. Infecting his soul. He could never scrub hard enough to rid him of it. But he kept scrubbing.

Before Her, when Rhys was younger, his brothers had been jealous. They tried to hide it, but he remembered clearly Azriel’s envied glances when his mother fussed over his clothes or ruffled his hair. Cassian took his things. Azriel pushed and shoved him. Perfect Rhysand. Prince Rhysand.

High Lord Rhysand.

He should be perfect. He had to be perfect. His nails broke the skin of his forearm. Hissing, he looked down, unfocused eyes watching the water turn red.

Footsteps hurried barefoot across the marble floor. Rhys barely reacted as soft hands smoothed across his shoulders and massaged the nape of his neck. Her hands had been rough, and cruel, with long nails that raked his skin. Feyre’s hands were small, and soft. Feyre’s hands were loving.

“Rhys.” She said, gently disapproving, “Rhys, your arm.”

Rhys sniffed, avoiding her eyes. Feyre clicked her tongue and he raised his head to see her standing with one hand on her hip. His perfect mate. His rock. He had disappointed her, yet again.

“Come on, Darling.” Feyre hauled him up, “Back to bed.”

Rhys shook his head.

“I can’t.”

“Then let’s sit on the balcony together, but no more boiling in the bathtub.”

Rhys relented. He knew better by now than to argue with his mate.

When dawn broke, Rhys’ arm had healed, and he was in bed. Feyre’s cold feet were pressed against his legs. He couldn’t remember falling asleep, but it must have been outside in the cool air of Velaris, Feyre holding him as they looked up at the stars. He wished he could stay forever with her, in her arms, hair tousled and eyes bleary with sleep. But High Lord Rhysand was perfect. High Lord Rhysand did what was expected of him. He rose early, brushed his hair and answered letters.

Cassian greeted him after training, hair falling loose in a way Rhysand could never allow his own to do. He leaned over Rhys and hugged him in his over-affectionate way, covering him in his sweat. Rhys wrinkled his nose, smoothed his clothes, glamoured his scent. Cassian laughed, but didn’t say anything.

He saw Azriel in the evening, at dinner. Feyre was sat with Nyx, spoon feeding him mashed potatoes whilst Mor chatted easily, carrying conversation that he couldn’t keep up with. Azriel was sneaking food onto Rhys’ plate. Adding a potato here and there, some roast beef off his own plate, an extra spoon of dessert.

Rhys frowned at his wife, suspecting her of spilling his secrets, but she simply smiled in return. He knew what she meant.

High Lord Rhysand was perfect. But Rhys didn’t have to be.

[elliemarchetti]

Gwynriel Weeks Day 5

I know today's prompt for @gwynrielweeksofficial was domestic life, and I kind of respected that, but I couldn't resist the opportunity to write this sort of fake dating AU

Prompt: Domestic Life

Words: 1064

Azriel opened his eyes slowly, annoyed by the pale sunlight coming through the decorative curtains. He had overslept, a unique occurrence, but the worst part was that he wasn't recognizing his surroundings. The room was too small, the bed definitely not his, and the light wooden door located in the wrong place, too close to the window, beyond which voices speaking an unknown language chattered softly. Instinct told him to sit up, to make sure there was no danger, and to chase away whoever was daring to peek into his privacy, but a familiar weight on his chest and left arm glued him to the mattress, its warmth comforting for both his body and his spirit.

“Good morning,” a female voice, still drenched in sleep, murmured, and Azriel remembered everything. The mission that could have resulted in a disaster, the cover story Gwyn had invented on the spot, the kind family that had found them on the borders, his injuries, and the priestess desperate plead for help. He heard her say they were a couple of diplomats returning from Vallahan, who had been tasked with managing delicate commercial relations but had been followed by criminals who had almost killed them.

"All for a stupid necklace," she had said, probably showing the pendant whose original recipient was in Prythian, in the arms of her red-haired mate. The lesser Fae believed her, and accompanied them to their village, where Azriel could wait for his right wing to recover.

“You were lucky,” their healer, a tall, lanky creature with long straw-blond hair, had told him. “If they had hit you closer to the shoulder I wouldn’t have known how to save your ability to fly.”

Azriel had shuddered at the thought, and Gwyn had immediately approached him, placing a delicate hand on his muscular arm. She had reassured him, and caressed his face, just like a worried lover. When she had left him alone to rest, she had returned with their hosts to the living room, which also served as the kitchen, and had helped them prepare dinner. They had given her a simple dress, a little worn but still her size, and an apron to avoid getting dirty, into the large pocket of which she had immediately begun to stuff fresh herbs from the small garden in the back. She had put her hair up in a soft braid, and had laughed and joked with the little ones at home, who had the same teal eyes as her and the dark skin of the Summer Court’s inhabitants.

“I would like to have wings like your boyfriend,” the youngest had told her. “So I could beat the other kids in running races.”

She hadn’t denied that their bond was romantic, she hadn’t shown the slightest sign of discomfort at the idea, and even though Azriel knew he didn’t deserve her, he kept spying on her from the crack of the door she had left open, and had listened to her tell to the youngling that even though she didn’t have wings, she was still the fastest among her friends.

Three nights had passed since that day, and although he was starting to get better and no longer felt strong pangs of pain when he tried to stretch his shoulders, he knew he couldn’t resume the mission. Gwyn had helped him with this too, to understand where to start again, how to contain the damage, but above all she had taken care of him like no one had ever done before. She helped him bathe, and get dressed, and she even fed him the first time he got up to eat, making him blush like a lovesick puppy. During the night she had asked him if she hadn’t gone too far, her voice little louder than a breath of wind, but he had reassured her by holding her close and giving her a long kiss on the forehead. The truth was that he liked that farce, he enjoyed the illusion of being able to have a normal life with her, a peaceful existence, where there were no wars, secret missions, enemies to face openly and allies whose loyalty had to be controlled with bargains and blackmail. If someone had told him he would have this kind of thoughts a few days earlier, he would’ve laughed in the face of anyone who dared picture him so weak, but now that he had experienced what it was like to have a normal life with the priestess, he couldn’t help but wish for a little house just for them in the middle of nothing, a place that hadn’t been given to him by Rhysand and that didn’t remind him of the past, maybe a cottage he'd built with his own hands, though he wasn’t sure they knew how to make something so pure. For her, he could’ve learned. With her, perhaps he could forget the horrors of his childhood, and ennoble those bastard origins without being someone’s torturer. He was grateful to Rhysand for everything he had done for him, for saving his life and offering him food and shelter and protection, but working for him inevitably took away the daily life he longed to share with a partner. He could already imagine her walking around the house barefoot, relaxed, the smell of stew in the air and a child or two jumping around asking when dinner would be ready. For centuries, Azriel had been adamant on the issue of offspring: he had a terrible father, and he wasn’t going to be the same for an innocent creature. But with Gwyn…

“Everything okay? Are you feeling sick?” she asked, propping up on one elbow to get a better view of his face, and Azriel wondered what kept him from digging his hand into the flaming cascade of hair that had escaped from the silk tie, forming a puddle of harmless fire on his naked chest, to kiss her senseless. Decency and fairness would’ve been the right answer, but it was fear and guilt, so he just shook his head and told her he was simply hungry.

“I’ll go get you something for breakfast,” she murmured, and as if nothing had happened, as if sleeping together and being so close had been the most natural thing in the world, she got up, heading towards a kitchen that wasn’t theirs but could’ve been.

[thefangirlofhp]

somewhere in these eyes (i’m on your side)

in which Elain and Nyx look after Azriel when she notices he’s not getting any rest.

The morning in the home of the Night Court royals had been particularly a busy affair from the earliest peak of the sun’s rays over the first mountain range, dawn having been greeted by a home up and running in defiance of its usual habit. For the High Lady’s sister, it is a normal ordeal to greet the sun, and her usually quiet time in her garden amongst her plants and flowers was interrupted by the commotion of the others waking up.

When Elain walked into the kitchen, early garden hours forsaken for the sake of preparing breakfast, she found herself face to face with the person she least expected to find so early in the day.

“Hello,” she says simply, hands absent-mindedly brushing her skirts down as Azriel straightens up from a slouch against the countertop.

“Good morning,” he bids back, voice sharp and well-attuned to match his alert eyes. His hands encircle a chipped mug, steam floating up from the interior and disappearing somewhere in the air. Elain’s nose picks up a startling smell of coffee—the good kind. The smell alone is enough to shake up the sleepier parts of her mind up.

“Up so early?” she asks, grabbing the lavender apron hung up amongst two others. She glances at him while wrapping the ends around her waist. “Or up so late?”

“The latter, I’m afraid,” he murmurs, head bowed over his beverage.

“Then the coffee is a necessity, it seems,” she tugs her hair up and over her wrist, wraps the long tresses around themselves and secures the sloppy work with a ribbon. Azriel leans back, stretching his torso, and widely yawns. He has forsaken his usual Illyrian leathers uniform or the armor, resorting to a fitted shirt and pants blacker than night.  

“Always is,” he rubs his forehead, and her eyes automatically scout the counter for signs of a vial gifted what seems like an age ago. He notices her gaze. “Would you like some?”

“Mhm, yes please,” she nods, striding to the kitchen’s back door where the daily groceries are delivered every morning.

Ceramic clinks, hot liquid is poured, the door swings shut quietly, basket wickers against the table and eggs thud on wood. Upstairs, Nyx is heard loudly yawning, muffled bidden mornings and gentle greetings. Somewhere upstairs, a family is waking up. But downstairs, Elain reaches for a hot coffee, in her favorite mug, sips some of it and sighs deeply. Though almost everything consumable is far superior on this side of the Wall, in Prythian, than anything she’s ever had in her human years, there is a trick to brewing coffee that she notices many people have not mastered. It is an infuriating thing, because the beverage is still more delightful than anything of the kind she’s had before, but there is an itch in the throat that it does not seem to satisfy unless brewed in a particular manner. A manner which requires patience above all else.

“Thank you,” she breathes to the most patient male she’s ever met in all her years, and directs her attention to the stove and the eggs that need cooking.

It is without a word that she finds herself scrambling eggs into prepared plates and slicing bread while Azriel slices up oranges in halves and squeezes the juice out of them thoroughly, while Rhys strides into the kitchen and Feyre follows closely with Nyx perched on her hip, as they all take their seats at the kitchen table and pass along cutlery and plates.

The early morning is owed to Rhys’ week-long stay at Day Court, an affair Elain’s not been privy to the reasons behind. She bids him farewell when she catches him leaving his study, and is asked to look after her sister and nephew. It is a useless request, but made all the same. Still, she agrees. Watches him walk off to the front doors, and catches sight of Azriel stowing away reports into thin air in the study, catch her eye, offer an acknowledging nod before disappearing into shadows himself.

Off to sleep, she reckons. She faces her own day.

-

Cassian extends an invitation from her sister to come join her and her friends for lunch at the House after their training, and Elain plucks some flowers from her garden to arrange in a gifting bouquet. Cassian keeps a red net around the thing in Elain’s hold while he flies her up, and Elain tucks a smile away at the thought of the great Illyrian felled by simple pollens, thinks what weak creatures they all are.

Tea is hot in the pot, fish fresh and salty in their plates, laughter and teases generous between them as Elain gets to know the females Nesta’s taken a liking to. Cassian is kicked out the House for having not showered, and Gwyneth threatens to douse him in cold water if he hangs around any longer. Emerie shows an interest in the art of baking, and for once, Elain feels like her hobbies can be a topic of conversation not held in the late three o’clock hours by people too polite to ask her to shut up. Gwyneth asks about icing, and Nesta explains the basics she knows and somehow it is not a conversation made to end but one more thing that people discuss in the name of conversation and companionship.

Azriel is seen passing by, rubbing damp hair with a towel and suited up to the final buckle in his Illyrian leathers. Nesta calls out to him, invites him to share their meal, and he brushes them off idly.

“Why, where are you headed all suited up?” Nesta asks.

“Something Rhys asked me to do before he left,” he replies, slinging the towel over his shoulder and it disappearing into thin air. “Why? Need anything?”

“I was hoping you could take us to the theatre,” Nesta grins sheepishly. “I kicked Cassian out because we were going to discuss his birthday present.”

Azriel pauses, running fingers through his hair. “When do you need to go?”

“Dusk,” Gwyn chimes in. “It’s the seaside theatre? The opening act starts at seven.”

He nods slowly. “I’ll be back then.”

“Bye!” they all echo as he leaves, and Elain brings her teacup to her lips. Emeries asks Elain about any suitors and somehow it is the curious inquisition in order to get to know her, and she finds that it is easy to discuss her love life or lack thereof with women—females—her age and it strikes her dumb with how normal it is.

Emerie flies her down to the riverfront estate, promises her to once again repeat this happy occasion in the future and Elain gathers her things to go tend elderly fae’s gardens for the rest of the day. It is less about the actual act of snipping roses and pulling weeds so much as it is keeping them company in their lonely lives, previous losses having cost them their families and anyone to spend their time with. So they sit with her in their iron-wrought garden chairs and offers her refreshments while she listens to them recount their days and she plants seeds and waters bushes.

Sun sinks down, and Elain passes by the Palace of Bone and Salt to purchase lamb chops and spices for dinner. On her way to the estate, she finds herself face to face with Azriel once more.

“Oh, hello!” she smiles, hitching her basket up to her elbow.

“Good evening,” he bids softly, twisting his knuckles in his palm.

“Back from your task?”

“Mhm. Just dropped the girls off at the theatre. You didn’t join them?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t have the time. Feyre likes painting this time of day and I promised to look after Nyx. I’m preparing dinner. Come by?”

“Can’t, I’m afraid. I’ve a meeting in a few minutes. Need help carrying that home?”

“No thank you, I can manage. I’ll set you aside a plate, in case you stop by. Take care?”

“Thank you. I will, you too.”

Feyre paints in her studio, Nyx recounts the exciting tales of his day at the daycare from the kitchen table while he colours pictures his mother draws for him every night and Elain chops vegetables, cooks meat and stews soup. Birds chirp their final songs for the days in the trees outside, and it is calmly quiet as fire crackles under the pot and Nyx sniffs his way through dragging coloured pencils over parchment and it is serendipity at its finest.

Dinner is a gentle affair, Nyx repeating his day to his eagerly listening mother and Elain filling their plates with second helpings, Feyre asking Elain about the spices she’s used and it is another instance where Elain feels conversable; they talk about herbs and blends for the sake of hearing one another’s voice, companionship at its finest. Plates and cutlery clink and water sloshes and bubbles pop as they clean up after themselves, Nyx eagerly perched on a high stool to wipe plates clean after Feyre rinses off what Elain scrubs clean. Feyre sweeps up the floor, Elain gets the fire starting in the sitting room because the weather is taking a turn for the crisper tone and Nyx settles in his favorite spot of the furniture (Papa’s armchair) with his storybook that he’s too young to read on his own but still he entertains himself with the illustrations.

Elain fetches her book, while Feyre listens to Nyx interpret the tale of his book and logs pop in the hissing flames. Night-time rolls in, Nyx is soundly asleep all wrapped up in his father’s jacket and Feyre is looking over official documents and work fetched from Rhys’ study that she can’t be bothered to abandon the fire for. Her sister braves the hours wading through them and taking notes, while Elain reads through her book and feeds the fire. Just a little before midnight, Feyre calls it quits and sets them aside declaring them finished, quite proudly. Elain is proud of her, as well.    

“I’ll take this one to bed, and turn in myself,” Feyre waves to her sister. “What are your plans tomorrow?”

“I’m spending the morning at the orphanage,” Elain flips the attached bookmark in place and closes the book. “I promised the children breakfast.”

“That’s sweet. Will you take him with you? I’m hoping he’ll spend more time around children.”

“Of course,” Elain smiles. “Do you need me to wake you for something?”

Feyre rubs the back of her neck as she thinks of her upcoming day. “No, I’ve got a meeting with the financial officers tomorrow at ten. I think I’ll sleep in and go flying after, Azriel’s promised to let me try an obstacle course.”

Elain blinks. “I think Nesta said he’s training the priestesses tomorrow.”

“Yes, after,” Feyre adjusts her sleeping son against her shoulder. “Cassian mentioned they’re going to start a tournament of sorts. I don’t know what the winner gets, he said it’s a surprise, though he might just be at loss, knowing Cassian.”

Elain softly chuckles. “He’s probably just bidding for time.”

“Hope he gets there in the end,” Feyre snorts. “Anyway, good-night, Elain.”

“Nighty, Fey-fey,” she softly echoes and her sister quietly giggles at the childhood nickname before making her way upstairs.

Elain decides to finish her book, and nods awake to the fire reduced to glowing ashy embers and faelights dimmed to little specks along the walls. She snaps the book shut and tugs her socks up her legs, only to hear the quiet snap of the door closing and Azriel’s tell-tale silent footsteps bringing him to the sitting room.

“Oh, hello,” Elain croaks hoarsely, softly in the quiet, as if the late night is asleep and mustn’t be disturbed.

“Hello,” he responds, sounding rushed, as he reaches for what Feyre’s left behind. “Did she say anything about them?”

“Um, not that I can remember,” Elain responds, confused. “Is there something the matter?”

“Was s’pposed to pick them up an hour ago,” Azriel leafs through them. “But I got held up by a spy.”

“Oh,” Elain realizes. “But I thought Mor or Amren were responsible for court affairs after Feyre?”

“Mor’s in Winter, Amren on holiday in Summer with Varian,” Azriel replies absent-mindedly and rolls the papers up in his palm. “Do you need anything?”

Elain blinks. “N-No, I’m all-right.”

Azriel straightens up, meets her eyes, breathes in and nods. “All-right. Good-night. Don’t stay up—“

“There’s dinner in the kitchen. Have you eaten—?“

He winces. “I can’t.”

“Sleeping can surely wait—” Elain chuckles.

“Oh, no, my work starts now. Bye, Elain.”

She is left staring at the spot he’d just been standing in. “…Bye.”

-

While Elain herself is one of those people who sleep little by default, when her eyes groggily open before the rise of the sun, she rolls over in bed and wishes she’d been a little kinder to herself prior when making plans. Still, she manages to push herself up and drag her feet to the washing room. Ice-water always does the trick, and pressing her numb fingers to her eyes squeezes remnants of sleep out of her.

She trudges downstairs to the cold kitchen in the quiet house, so eerie and calm this morning. Boils water and drags out the flour sack and hears the delivery boy set the groceries at the steps before rushing off to his next job. Flour is soft in her hands, finds its way beneath her nails and clouds up the air and surfaces around her, and kneading dough this early in the morning is the finest catharsis for all the things that are too early in the day to find names for. She packs up fruits and eggs and cheese, wraps up the steaming hot crispy batches of bread and wakes Nyx up.

The orphanage is bustling from all the children it houses, and Nyx remains glued to her side while she and her little helpers set out breakfast along the large dining table with its mismatching chairs. Eventually he is convinced to tag along with the others in setting out plates while Auntie Elain boils and poaches eggs, makes oatmeal and cuts up fruits into small colorful plates.

After breakfast she minds the children playing outside, holding the youngest babe and softly laughing at a young boy’s lispy jokes which he’s memorized from his joke-book that had been a solstice gift and guessing answers to a girl’s riddles. By noon, Nyx acts as if he’s never known any friends other than them and is too engrossed in their games. She helps the kids not old enough for school with their reading and mathematics and soon it is time to tend to gardens. She parts ways with them promising to come back, leaves Nyx with them to play for a while longer while she goes to work and sends word to Feyre in her studio. 

The boy she sent off comes back with a note from her sister saying no problem I’ll pick him up, make sure to be back in time for dinner, I’ve got it covered!

It brings about a wince because while Feyre has the spirit of an artist, she has yet to extend that talent to cookery which makes actors of them all whenever they have to sample or—God forbid—eat some of her meals. Motherhood has brought a sense of proper nourishment requirements to Feyre but it’s yet to help her execute them in an orderly fashion.

p.s. It’s not my cooking.

Elain actually laughs out loud, too relieved for a supportive sister’s tastes.

By the time the sun calls it a day, Elain too takes off her apron and dusts of her skirts and walks back home through the busy city, taking the longer road in order to appreciate the sights Velaris has to offer in the twinkling twilight.

Coming home to the smell of a meal cooking might be one of those things Elain considers to be the equivalent of a hug that reaches the soul. It reminds her of simpler, nicer times. Nyx’s laughter is one of those too, as its tinkering and infectious sound brings a smile to Elain’s face as she takes off her shoes by the door and exchanges them for her slippers.

“Did my baby have a good time today?” Feyre is heard cooing, and she comes into Elain’s view standing in the doorway to the kitchen with her son at her legs, holding a spatula and making funny faces down at him. “Did he get to roll around in the dirt and soil his clothes?”

“Yup!” he proudly responds.

“Good boy!” Feyre cheers. “Oh, hello, Lain!”

“Hello, Lain,” Nyx echoes, grinning.

“Hi, baby,” she says into one of his cheeks and ruffles his hair. “Did you have a nap?”

“Uhu,” Nyx reports, eyes puffy and voice a smidge nasal. “Uncle Az put me down after we went for ice-cream.”

“Your Uncle Az was supposed to pick you up, put you down for a nap and take control of dinner in my name, but we’ve been abandoned.”

“Oh no, has something come up?” Elain startles, mostly from the way her heart drops so suddenly.

However, Feyre’s too unbothered for it to be serious. “No, he’s upstairs. Out cold. One day without their High Lord and mutiny runs amok—Cassian’s been holed up all day ‘working on that tournament’ and now Azriel abandons his post.”

“It was five minutes,” a deep gravelly voice quips and Elain whips round to find Azriel barefoot at the stairs in casual rumpled clothes, hair standing up at all odds. Somehow her heart leaps into her chest.

“In which I’ve already started on the chicken,” Feyre points the spatula at him.

His barely opened eyes fix on her. “Who do you think stuffed the fucking thing?”

Feyre hides a grin. “I thought it comes that way.”

“All you have to do is put the thing in the oven and make sure it doesn’t burn,” Azriel states, leaning an arm on the railing.

“A formidable task,” Elain teases.

“You just watch. It’ll be perfect,” Feyre promises, eyes narrowed. “Baby Nyx, go annoy Uncle Az.”

A task which their joy takes very seriously, and immediately carries out. Demanding Uncle Az read him his book, to watch him do cartwheels that he’s learned to do today, to draw with him and play soldiers with his blocks and to catch him when he runs around the sitting room.

“See that gorgeous female, Nyx?” eventually Azriel grabs the boy by the shoulders and points at Elain. “Unlike me, she’s dying to spend time with you. Shoo—“

“Lain not dying,” Nyx mocks, sticking his tongue out, but his uncle’s had enough. Evident enough by him slumping into the chairs at the dining table and letting his head thud on the table. Elain gives Nyx a magnifying glass and asks him to collect whizzles from the garden as much as he is able, without so much as an explanation what whizzles are.

Elain studies Azriel’s slumped posture and the leg he’s pulled up on the nearest chair.

“Are you all-right?” she finds herself quietly asking.

The question seems to take him by surprise, because he freezes for a while before sitting up. “Yes. Did you need anything?”

She blinks. “No. I—You look ill.”

He stares blankly. She can practically trace the darkness around his tired eyes and the circles expanded over to his cheek. His complexion looks pale to her, and she frowns a little.

“Are you sleeping well?”

He suddenly winces, both hands shooting up to clutch his temples with white-knuckled grasps and a soft gasp escaping his lips. She catches sight of red and open cuts along his arms and neck, and some littering his chin—she cannot remember the last time she’s suffered a trivial wound that hasn’t instantly healed-over. Illyrians like him wouldn’t even bear them in fractions of a second later—unless their powers were occupied elsewhere.

That’s it.

“You went flying with Feyre and trained the priestesses today, didn’t you?”

A muffled sound of affirmation resonates through clamped lips.

“Hold on,” she firmly says, marching into the kitchen where Feyre keeps the salve for her muscles and snatches up some from storage, boiling water and fetching cloths.

She comes back to him, only to see his pant leg rolled up to the knee and find him examining a large gash on the entirety of his leg covered by a thin meshwork of cobalt blue light. Elain quietly approaches, gently setting down the basin of boiling water, salve and cloths down before him.

“When was that?” she breathes, somehow heartbroken for a reason she cannot pinpoint. To think he’s been running around with those wounds on him—

He looks up and bites down on his lip. “Last night.”

“Why hasn’t it healed up?” she inquires, dipping a cloth in the water and soaking it up.

“Bit pre-occupied with this one,” he gestures to his chest. Her heart drops.

“Is it bad?”

“I’ve had worse,” he murmurs. “But the blasted thing’s claws had something in them that stops it healing. It’s a nuisance more than anything.”

“When—“ she stammers. “When have you been fighting creatures?”

“Yesterday, two days ago—more. Does it matter?”

“Can I see? Here, soak your hands in this.”

Azriel quietly obliges, stiffly grabbing the back of his shirt and dragging it off his back and torso, wings maneuvering mindlessly along with his arms. Elain finds herself facing a gash on his back tearing through a wing and another on the side of his chest wrapping around.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” she says quietly, staring at the injured wing. “But this is ridiculous and irresponsible.”

He tenses up. “I’m sorry.”

“Enough,” she says firmly. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“I don’t sleep—“

“When?”

His face twists in thought. “I—a week ago? I think. I haven’t been at the House for a while.”

“Why?”

“Your earplugs were a very thoughtful gesture but they fall short in the face of a freshly mated couple, you know.”

“Come sleep here.”

“Can’t.”

“Why?”

“Just can’t. Orders. Besides, exchange one newly mated couple for another?”

Elain finds herself frowning at the wounds on him. “Don’t you have a home?”

“The House was where I lived.”

“But now you don’t.”

“You needn’t worry—“

“Soak your hands,” she softly but firmly orders, soaking a cloth in the hot water mixed with antiseptic and healing potions. “May I?”

He quietly complies, and the way his shoulders slump is nearly comical.

“Can I touch you?”

“Mhm.”

Elain tentatively lays the warm cloth along a muscle by his wings, studying the blue-coated wound carefully. “I’m going to put salve on your wings.”

“Be my guest,” he mutters, his head hanging.

Her fingers shake in the slightest when they spread salve over wings and muscles, but her will’s reinforced by the way Azriel completely deflates and collapses against the table, upending the remaining water over his scarred hands and arms. Elain works out tight knots in his back, mindful not to stretch the wounds, to refresh the hot cloths along his muscles and the one at his neck. Azriel is exactly what dough was in her hands this morning, compliant beneath every movement of her fingers.

“Why don’t you lie down ‘till dinner?” she suggests, rubbing out the remaining salve from her fingers and picking up the shirt he discarded on the table.

“Azriel?”

He manages to push himself up, but not before wiping his face on his arm, making her heart stop.

“What is it?” quiet, soft, gentle, barely above the sound of a breeze in trees.

“Nothing,” he sniffs, taking his shirt, avoiding her eyes. Glistening face. “Just—no one’s noticed before.”

“When’s the last time someone looked after you?”

The question hangs heavily in the air, one Azriel avoids by ducking into his shirt and taking his time pushing his arms through it. In a way, it is answer enough.

“No-one notices,” he explains, ashamed of his reaction. “When you first did, I was taken aback, and it was funny at the time—the joke you passed it to be. But then I realized I’ve been too starved for my own good. I’m sorry, but I never know how to be when you see me like this.”

She doesn’t know how to be either.

He sits up straighter, tugs the leg of his pants down over the gaping gash and surreptitiously wipes his face on his elbow. “Has Feyre burned the chicken yet?”

Elain remains quiet, arms hanging at her sides, and somehow there’s a hallow feeling in her chest that sucks the air into it.

Azriel looks over his shoulder at her, putting on a smile that reaches his eyes but it doesn’t bring Elain much joy. “I boiled the potatoes, would you mash them, please? I’d do them myself—“

“All-right,” she quietly relents. “You just stay put. Go lie down.”

An order that’s ignored, she discovers. While she is mashing potatoes and boiling vegetables and Feyre sits like a cat in-front of the oven monitoring it with hawk-like attention and determination of a boar, Nyx comes back from the garden with all sorts of insects in his jar and grinning widely, worms his way in his uncle’s lap and insists on telling him all about the creatures. Azriel, bless his kindness, listens without a word.

“No living creatures on the table but us, Nyx,” Feyre reminds, bringing out the chicken with as much pride as she presents Nyx to the world, Elain following behind with potatoes and gravy and waits for the boys to clear the table up. Everything is swiped away into thin air, vanishing in a sneaky shadow that gobbles it all up.

“Teach him to put things away properly!” Feyre cries out. “Not whoosh everything off like there are people to pick up after him!”

“There are more things to do with your time than put things away neatly, Nyx,” Azriel tells the boy, just because Feyre’s scowl is funny to witness, who bobs his head in agreement and climbs into his own chair.

“You’re lucky you’re the politest of the bunch,” Feyre smiles through clenched teeth. “If you were Cassian, I’d spit in your food.”

“If I were Cassian, I’d eat it.”

Nyx laughs heartily, and it’s a sound that never fails to bring smiles to their faces. Elain takes a seat while Feyre plops mashed potatos and green vegetables on plates and pools gravy over them, passing them along to Azriel cutting up the chicken. Nyx balances his fork on the bridge of his nose—tries to—until Elain grabs her knife and shows him how. It’s nice to break decorum every once in a while for fun, especially in the company of your family who couldn’t care less about your misdemeanor. Nyx does them the honor of being their entertainment for the night, saying ten sentences for every bite he eats with his mother nagging him to finish his plate. Threats of cancelled dessert fuels him to comply.

“What did you want for dessert?” Elain asks, pushing around a bean in her plate.

Nyx’s face lights up. “Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate cake with strawberries and cookies and—“

“Hey,” Feyre nudges him. “What is this, solstice?”

Elain turns to Azriel, who’s been quiet all throughout. “What would you like..?”

Her question dies off as her eyes take in the food he has barely touched, the tight expression on his face and the clamminess of it. He stares at his chicken as if, if he moves his eyes, he will be sick immediately. Jaw clenched, brow furrowed, lips pressed tightly. The pain in his face physically ails her.

Her fingers toy with the fork in them, and redirects her attention to the bickering mother and son.

“How about cookies?” she offers.

Nyx bobs his head eagerly.

Elain wants to ask Feyre to make Azriel take a break, but she doesn’t think it’s her place to do so, not when Feyre and Azriel remain at the table after dinner overlooking documents and discussing court affairs. So she keeps her silence, implores Nyx’s help in baking all the while mulling things over in her mind.

Elain plates them cookies, cinnamon and vanilla that have a mouth-watering effect of a smell, and brews herbal tea from her garden. Sage has a never-ending list of beneficial properties, for all ailments, but she doesn’t know, still. For humans, sure, but faes who are self-sufficient and self-healing?

“Thank you,” Azriel looks up at her when she places a lavender plate before them, and three cups of tea. She avoids his eyes, busies herself with pouring the drink and offering one to excited Nyx.

She quietly monitors him out of the corner of her eye, while he and Feyre pour over court business together and she plays blocks with Nyx. He hides it well, incredibly well, while speaking with his High Lady—one look at him and you’d never guess he had a care in the world. But the untouched dessert and drained teacup tells Elain otherwise. Feyre eventually abandons the work an hour later, and joins them for a game of make-believe, leaving Azriel sat where he was, shoulders hunched and back bent over his work.

Block turns in Elain’s hand, she watches his frame contemplatively.

“Anyone up for a board game?” she asks the room at large.

Feyre pushes her hair over her shoulder, contemplates the offer and shrugs. “I’m up for it. Az?”

“I’ll have to decline.”

Elain leans against the couch, worrying her lip with her teeth. “It’s rude to work after dinner.”

“By whose decree?” he replies with a chuckle, pen audibly scratching away at paper, head plopped in his palm, fingers threaded in his hair.

“Mine.”

Azriel pauses, looks up and over his shoulder. “I must beg your forgiveness then, my lady, and ask you to excuse me.”

Damnit, polite people.

“I’m surprised you’re keeping us company. Don’t you have things to do?”

“If my lady is bothered by my presence, I can always make myself scarce.”

“And go where?”

“I’ll find someplace.”

“You would have if it was an option.”

Azriel stills. Feyre watches them closely with curious eyes, ignoring the nudges Nyx delivers her side, her lips toying with the idea of a smile but somehow unsure if it’s merited. “I invited him to stay. Well, forced him, really. I…” she hesitates. “I don’t like the house without Rhys. Feels empty.”

Elain pulls her knees to her chest. “What will your husband say to you replacing him so soon, I wonder?” she teases.

Feyre snorts. “Please. As if he hasn’t left an extensive list of instructions to look after us to that one before he left.”

Azriel blows out a heavy puff of air and bows his head.

Elain watches him clutch his forehead tightly, brow furrowed. Slowly, she stands up and strays to the liquor cabinet locked up with spells keeping the contraband out of Nyx’s wandering hands. She rummages through and finds a small bottle, just where she’d left it.

She comes to the table with her books and sketchbook, brings a new serving of tea and settles down in a nearby chair, careful not to move his things spread out on the surface, or to spill any tea.

“You didn’t have to,” he murmurs gratefully when she sets a saucer and teacup next to his hand. “Thank you.”

“It’ll help, with the headache.”

His eyes linger on hers for long, round and quiet and thankful, and somehow it warms her insides. Elain opens her botany and healing textbooks, and says nothing else. Bows her head, and so does he, and the silence is upheld by Nyx’s words, Feyre’s storytelling, blocks knocking into each other and the ground, thuds and rustles and pen scratching paper. Hours later makes the mother and son retire, Feyre to her painting and Nyx to his dreams, and Elain braves into her garden in the dark followed by floating faelights illuminating the way.

She must have overlooked at least one pesty root, she reasons. Hitches up her skirts and crouches by bushes and flowers. Faelight obediently glide overhead, and descend when asked, shedding light on the plants she examines. But Elain does not find what she’s looking for.

Her extensive care in her garden comes back to bite her, it seems. Growing such a large haven of plants brings her much joy, but it also means a large expanse of greenery to search around and under, and a crushing disappointment in her failure.

Eventually she’s scratched enough skin and irritated much bushes and insects, and her fingers find what they’re looking for. She grins with relief when her hands tug the itchy spiked root out from beneath a bush of roses, and nearly hugs the thing.

Azriel is still hunched at the table in a sore posture. She decides to ignore it while crossing the sitting room to feed the faint fire with more logs, and spread her kit on the floor. It requires much muscle-effort to ground the weed with her pestle and mortar, and it’s quite noisy but he doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t acknowledge Elain’s grinding of the remmenthond root and its mixture with athelas. By the time she’s found herself grinding her pestle in paste, an accomplished grin stretching her lips, Azriel sits upright with a deep sigh and a stretch that pops loudly in several places enough to make her wince.

“You should have listened,” she chimes, brushing hair from her face. Azriel groans lowly, and stands up carefully. “How’s your leg?”

He tests his weight on it, a flash of a wince ruining the effect of his words. “Fine.”

“Usually you’re a much more prolific liar.”

“I take offense,” he stretches his arms to the sides and approaches her. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Found weed in the garden, I read it could be useful.”

Azriel joins her on the floor, stretching out his long legs. “That’s not nothing. What’s the weed?”

She pauses, and glances at him. “Remmenthond. And athelas. Here, I made sketches.”

Stained, paste smeared fingers reach for her sketchbook and flip it open, slide it across the carpet. Azriel picks it up, and examines the drawings.

“I think I’ve encountered them before,” he muses. “Never thought they’d have uses.”

“Well you probably know Remmenthod as the Snare.”

He chuckles softly. “I’m ashamed to say I don’t.”

“That’s all-right,” she reassures, putting down the pestle and letting the paste sit. “Most people don’t.”

“And this?” he points to one she hadn’t named. “I know this.”

“Azuradan,” she informs him. “It’s a renown pain-reliever. It’s also known as Farmer’s Sorrow.”

“Mhm. I pride myself on my ability to survive in the wilderness, but I realize now that I’ve been suffering needlessly throughout.”

“You’re self-sufficient so you have no use for it. Others not so gifted with your powers need this information to survive.”

Azriel traces the pages tentatively.

Elain wraps her arms around her knees. “Azriel?”

His head jerks up suddenly.

“How was your week?”

The question is one that is casual, friendly, and caring. She asks because she wants to know, genuinely, and the way he stares says that is exactly what is leaving him at loss for words.

“Good,” he whispers.

“What have you been doing?”

He blinks. Then his eyes soften. “It’s an exhaustive list. Not entirely pleasant, either.”

She’s not an idiot. “What’s your favorite dessert?”

“What’s with the questions?” he softly breathes, gently closing her notebook. Elain shrugs.

“Can I not befriend you?”

An honestly innocent look overcomes his face. The expression is alien on him, the male who is renown in the entirety of Prythian for being the Night Court’s legitimate terror personified. One look at him when they first met and Elain had immediately known Azriel was the source of all the tall horror tales spun about faes. And still, his soft voice and polite conduct was a contradiction to everything he was that had ensnared Elain ever since.

Moth to a flame. She cannot help herself.

“The last time I’ve been befriended, it was Cassian throwing me off a cliff to teach me to fly,” he muses. “You’ll excuse me if I’m not acquainted with gentle friendships.”

She smiles. “I can be coarse.”

He tilts his head. “Why would you change the very thing that sets you apart? I like you for your gentle touch and kindness.”

It is Elain’s turn to be at loss for words.

He adds, after a moment’s hesitation: “We all do.”

“Yes…” she finds her voice. “Though sometimes I wonder if it’s… well if it leaves things to be desired.”

A little furrow appears between his brows. “How so?”

She pulls her knees closer to her chest. “It is alienating,” she confesses, hushed, barely heard over the roaring fire. “I am surrounded closely by…loud beings. Their personalities are boisterous and large, and I’m afraid they have to, well, purposely shrink in order to interact with me. Or I have to puff out my chest and be something I’m not comfortable being.”

Azriel stares, quietly, hanging onto every word.

“It’s hard to find a footing with them,” she clarifies. “I feel most times the only common ground to be found is something trivial, and it holds us back from true friendships. I’ve declined to use my voice for so long that it’s gotten hard to find.”

She looks up, hesitantly.

Azriel is staring blankly at her, notebook spine pressed to his knuckles.

“I understand,” he blurts out. “You probably think I don’t, but I truly do.”

Elain presses her cheek to her kneecaps. Shrugs.

“They really do give me headaches,” he says with a smile that brings one out in her. “I don’t exaggerate. They’re loud and pigheaded and incredibly stubborn, and on good days when they fight, only a few mountains rumble. Everyday is a power struggle. Another competition, another game, another bet to best. But they’re the fiercest loving fae anyone can have. They’d quake earths and tear skies apart for you.”

“I know,” she breathes out. “I only mean it’s lonely sometimes, being the butterfly in the background amongst giants.”

Azriel bows his head. “If it means anything, I like joining you in the sidelines.”

“I used to think you did too.”

His eyes flash to hers. “Why wouldn’t you still?”

Elain blinks slowly. “Wasn’t it a mistake?”

Azriel, to his credit, maintains his composure. “I was…confused. I misread and mistook and overstepped. I’m not proud of my blunder.”

She looks towards the fire. “Mhm.”

“But your company is never a mistake.”

Her lips twitch. “How was your day, then?”

The grin is practically audible in his voice. “Abysmal. I don’t know when it even started. Spent all night hunting down the Fourth Trove based on a tip in a spy’s report I’d met earlier, and all it led me to was this great ugly brute of a serpent creature in a cave guarding some High Fae’s lost heirloom with a bit of power to it. I had to send it to the Prison, it was a grade 2 and all I had on me was Truth-Teller so I had to get close and personal with it. Oh, we classify the great monsters into grades, have I ever told you? Worst of them are the special grades. I had the misfortune of meeting…”

And out spilling comes a gush of consciousness and words as Azriel recounted his days and tribulations. Elain listens to every word as if she’ll be tested on it, and in some ironic sense she’s too distracted by the cheer in her chest as Azriel spills every intelligent thought in his head in soft tones, enunciating his words with hand gestures and proper facial expressions, resorting to his shadows sometimes to depict a scene. He leaves nothing unsaid, all the things no-one’s deigned to tell her like Rhysand’s leave, or the objectives behind his missions, the problems reported in meetings and trials of court, the current geopolitical situation and afoot policies. He discloses classified information like his favorite winter drink and preferred dance, his first fight, his taste in clothes. Asks her sensitive questions like her favorite colour in a dress, or the interest behind her hobbies, plans for her gardens.

And for the period of time, there on that ground before the fire that he feeds occasionally, Elain is human once again, at home in her skin, listening to an interesting boy she’s met at a ball and sharing her own mind. For a while, Azriel’s exhaustion is forgotten, as he reclines on his back and stretches on the floor, asks about the healing properties of common herbs, listens to her talk about plants with fervor and incredible attention.

And when Elain’s eyes tease open, forced by the cool sky in the window lightening up a smidge, it is to a dark sitting room, ashes in a fireplace where red coals were burning, and a soreness in her side from sleeping curled up like a cat on the hard ground. She is sitting up, rubbing her hipbone and ribcage with a wince, until her eyes focus on Azriel stretched out a few feet from her, right where he’d been listening and talking to her. Out like a light. Arms lax at his sides, eyes peacefully closed, a faint blue glow emitted through his pant leg and shirt where his wounds are.

__

Azriel wakes to the ruthless onslaught of sunshine on his face, and the too-loud sound of boisterous Nyx in the kitchen shaking the very earth awake. A muffled breath escapes his nose and rumbles in his throat when he turns his head to the side, still getting his limbs to wake up as well, trying to make sense of where he is and how he’s fallen asleep.

His lips peel apart, his eyes are burning, and a cough escapes him. Somehow he feels like he’s been trampled by a wild boar and simultaneously been beaten into a pulp over every inch of his body. He cranes his neck, looks around him and realizes a pillow’s been placed beneath his head, and someone’s tucked a blanket over him. A frown twists his face as he sits up, barely holding in the loudest groan ever heard by sentient life.

Despite the physical soreness, Azriel hasn’t felt this clear-headed and rested in ages. He rubs his eyes, brushing sleep-dust from the corners and noticing the vanished marks on his hands.

Tugging up his shirt reveals a neat, crusted spreading of paste along his wound, covered by the blue light of his siphons. Smudging aside the smallest possible touch of paste from the edge, he’s surprised to be faced with a healthy red covering of healed tissue in contrast to the gaping open wound previously.

Feeling like he’s been slapped around the head, Azriel makes himself stand up, wincing at the ruckus that Nyx is making—too loud this early in the day—and looks at the clock hanging from the wall.

Noon.  

He’s slept till fucking noon.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—

“Why don’t you go see if Uncle Az is up, Nyx?” Elain’s voice floats from the kitchen, soft and pleasant. “Don’t disturb him if he isn’t.”

“Okay!”

The little lord comes running, and pauses abruptly at the site of him. He then promptly cheers so fucking loud. “Uncle Az! Now we can have cake!”

“What?” he’s taken aback by his own hoarseness.

Elain pokes her head out of the kitchen, a pleasant smile on her face. “Oh you’re up! That’s nice, now we can play cards.”

“I—I’m late for—“

“Nothing,” Elain announces. “I’ve cleared it with Feyre, and she’s utilizing Cassian and calling in Mor from Winter. You have absolutely nothing to do for the entire day.”

“But Rhys—“

“He’ll understand. Besides Feyre gave the go-ahead. You have a fever and a cold, for crying out loud. Now go sit down and wrap yourself in a blanket, we’ve made you soup. Nyx, make sure he doesn’t move. If he does, scream at the top of your lungs.”

“Got it!” the evil little lord grins up at him. “Come on, Uncle Az.”

“Is this—is this Hel?” Azriel wonders when he’s taken by the hand and made to sit on the couch.

His nephew grins. Absolutely feral that one. “Absololotey.”

“Don’t you have things to do?” Azriel asks Elain when she brings a tray serving a large bowl of chicken soup. Nyx pats down the blanket over Azriel’s lap, where she places the tray.

“No,” she says, smiling brighter than the sun. “Nyx and I are going to stay and look after you all day.”

Azriel doesn’t know what to say, really. Or if there’s anything to be said. He doesn’t have the words to describe the warmth of a stricken belly by the soup made lovingly, or the way every tension in his neck disappears when Elain tackles the knots in it, while Nyx massages his palms (a loose generous term; he is testing how far he can twist his Uncle’s fingers and knuckles apart until it becomes borderline painful) and somehow Azriel feels like this is a hallucination from the fever Elain claims he has.

“How’s your back doing?” she inquires, tackling his hair with too-smart fingers that scratch his scalp and he swears, by everything anyone ever cherishes and holds dear, that it is witchcraft. “Sorry, I couldn’t move you to a mattress. I had to make do with a pillow.”

A pathetic muffled groan is the only response from his neck. Even Nyx’s borderline-torture is soothing.

“We’ll draw you a bath in an hour,” Elain reveals her plans. “And I’ll use the last of the salve for your back, then I promised Nyx we’ll play cards together and have cake. I made chocolate.”

His teeth bare in a stupid little smile. “Didn’t think you’d remember that.”

“That you’ve got a raging, practically debilitating sweet-tooth? Are you high?” she laughs. “Nyx wouldn’t believe his luck.”

“We gotta make you all the sweets so you’ll get better!” his nephew shouts, too close to his ear.

Azriel winces. “Inside voice, Nyx,” he mumbles. “And I suppose you have to taste-test to make sure they’re adequate for me, huh?”

The little boy seriously nods. “Your medicine.”

Azriel ruffles his hair up loosely and softly sighs, melting further into the couch. “Elain if you keep doing that, there won’t be anything left of me.”

She removes her hands from his hair—fuckingbullshitbringthembackrightfuckingnowthatsfuckingunfair—and presses a hand to his shoulders. “I’ll bring you more soup and then draw you that bath.”

“Hngh,” he manages. “Elain, you don’t have to, I’ll be fine—“

“Nyx, baby, watch duty!” the aunt calls over her shoulder as she walks away. The boy stands at attention like a stone gargoyle, eyes fixed unblinking at him with steely determination and wings poised at his back ready to wreck unholy havoc at the drop of a pin.

Azriel blinks slowly. “Chocolate cake, huh?”

The nephew mistakes his watch duty for an oath of silence.

“Any good?”

“So, so, so good!” he gushes, deflating. “Uncle Az, be sick a lot, please! Lain said it’s how you get better, and promised to let me help her whenever so—“

“All-right, you heathen,” Azriel chuckles quietly. “Let me close my eyes for minute.”

“As long you don’t go anywhere.”

Azriel would never leave, if he had the choice.

______

{Tags: @tswaney17 @julesherondalex @mis-lil-red @gorl-power @thesirenwashere  @stars-falling @trying-to-read @dreamerforever-5  @hail-doodles @eloeloeheheh @i-am-lost-in-my-world @abraxos-is-toothless  @queen-of-glass @elrielllll @negativenesta @b00kworm @harmonyindark245 @ducksmurf135   @empress-ofbloodshed @sleeping-and-books @thewayshedreamed @agem10 @superspiritfestival @maybekindasortaace @maastrash @courtofjurdan @ireallyshouldsleeprn @gracie-rosee @bookstaninthesoul @elriel4life @fawnandshadows  @123moiaussi @impossiblescissorspeachpaper}

[maladapt1vedaydreamer]

Shackles Of The Past - Chapter 1

A/N: Saw there was a concerning lack of Az-centric fics that don't revolve around mate discourse, aka bat boys/inner circle centric and wanted to contribute.

for a more detailed summary see here.

chaptet summary: tired parents, their toddler and his angsty friend.

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There is unrest in Prythian.

Skirmishes along courts’ borders are becoming more frequent, inside conflicts rising in most. Feyre would love to think that the Night Court has been spared after everything its people have been through, but she would be lying to herself. Report after report is dropped onto their desks each day, Rhysand is frequently moving between courts for meetings, some more pleasant than others, while Feyre stays behind with Nyx to deal with internal affairs. Cassian and Azriel are almost never at home, much to Nesta’s displeasure, the General paying visits to the camps while the Spymaster is off collecting intel, trying to get at least some idea on what has the people frazzled. The lack of such is taking a toll on every member of the family.

Feyre sighs, taking in the blurring letters of the report about the latest slaughter in one of the outermost towns of the court. That’s what they were, slaughters. This is the tenth one In the past month. Reports would contain depictions of multiple bodies torn apart, limbs strewn all around. Families, strangers, neighbors, there was no pattern. The only thing all the attacks had in common was the bloodbath and the fact that there were no witnesses. None. No one has seen, or heard, anything, the bodies would be found in the morning with the earliest riser. As if that wasn't making their job hard enough, when they went out to investigate in person they would find nothing. No bodies, no blood, no recollection of the people those bodies belonged to. It's as if they never existed, as if the incident had never occurred. Rhys and her pried into the minds of the people who wrote the reports and they would, once again, find nothing. Not even a spell that could be an explanation to all of this. He doesn't mention it, but Feyre knows it's eating Rhys up inside.

Frustrated, Feyre drops the report and pushes away from the desk, rubbing at her eyes after hours of staring at the papers that never seem to end.

”I hope that frustration isn't going to end up with a brother less for me.”

The effect of his voice in her head is instant, the warmth that flows through her down the bond is enough to grant her momentary relief from the oncoming headache.

”I'm not making any promises.”

The lightness that echoes brings a smile to her face and she leans back in the chair with a sigh.

”Should I be placing bets?”

The snort that leaves her would be called unfitting of a High Lady if you asked some of the High Lords, but Feyre was never one for following norms.

”They would have to be home to get on my nerves. You as well”.

The light on the other side dims a little and she almost feels bad for her words. Before she can apologize, a trickle of borderline giddiness shoots through her as Rhys answers back. “I know, love. I will be home soon, tomorrow actually.”

Feyre shoots up in her seat, a grin spreading across her face so big her cheeks start hurting.

”I thought it wasn't supposed to be another week or so?”

She's up now, moving out of the office and towards the nursery where Nyx is playing in his little playpen. After more than a year, she finally feels settled enough to leave him in a room with only the wards as her eyes and ears.

”True, but Az says he has some news. I'm meeting up with him before we head back. Cass should be there by tomorrow night as well.” That peaks her interest and she knows he feels her curiosity.

She enters the nursery and finds their son sitting up in the playpen, a stuffed bat in his hand being flung around, courtesy of aunt Nesta. She thought it was hilarious, Rhys not so much. “Even if the main topic will be work, I'm glad we can all be present for a family dinner. It's been weeks since we've all been in one place.” She stands in the doorway for a moment, taking in their entire future playing peacefully, swaddled in darkness with only the setting sun providing enough light to see his smiling face. Adoration warms her from the inside.

”It will be nice to have us all gathered. I still owe Cassian a beating for last time.” Feyre manages to stifle a laugh, not wanting to interrupt Nyx in his play. ”I'll be taking bets on that.”

Nyx babbles at something in the air and Feyre tilts her head, not seeing anything at first. He's almost a year and a half now, toddling around and falling over, babbling and repeating everything he hears. She has Cassian to thank for the arsenal of cuss words the child has, his pronounciation of shit and fuck is immaculate. He hasn't started speaking in full sentences yet, and Feyre would be worried, but he's happy and healthy. If it takes him a little longer than most, so be it.

”Do you have so little faith in me Feyre, darling?” The drawl in Rhysand's voice has her rolling her eyes in exasperation even as it makes her legs feel weak. Stupid male.

”Now don't go putting words in my mouth.” The amusement shooting down the bond has her regretting her choice of words immediately.

”I can think of something different to put there.”

If he were physically there, she would've whacked him on the head before putting Nyx to bed and taking him up on the offer. Instead, she scoffs and sends the annoyance down the bond. The sound is enough to catch Nyx's attention and her heart melts as she watches his eyes crinkle with a smile and small giggles escape his lips. She lets Rhys in on the scene and the bond lights up with warmth.

“Hello, precious.” Taking light steps towards the playpen, now that she got his attention, she smiles at her son. The babe giggles at her once more, wings fluttering on his back, before he turns to look over his shoulder to continue babbling. Feyre frowns and looks at the wall behind him, yet there is nothing there.

“Who are you talking to?”

Her voice is gentle, always gentle with Nyx, as she opens the small gate and steps into the playpen before kneeling in front of him. Her son turns back to smile at her and once again looks, or rather tries to look behind himself.

”Is everything alright?”

She's so focused on the background that Rhys's voice almost startles her. She checks on all the wards and shields around the house and all of them are intact.

”I think so…" She trails off as a flutter of something whirls around the tip of Nyx's wings. Not wanting to alarm the babe or her mate, Feyre keeps her calm because logically, nothing that shouldn't be here is present. Gently, she reaches out and wraps her hands around his middle, tugging him up so he's standing in front of her. That has him turning around once again as he shrieks and claps happily while trying to bounce in place. He is so precious to her. To them. She is so happy to have him.

”Feyre?”

The undertone of worry has her focusing back on the task at hand, and she goes to turn Nyx away from herself to check his back. Before she can though, that same something flies out from behind his back and twirls around the tips of his wings. Feyre laughs. She laughs in relief and amusement and adoration.

”An update, please?” Her heart is still thumping in her chest as she lets her feelings flow down the bond once again.

”Seems like Nyx here, got himself a friend.” She projects the scene to Rhys once more. This time, it's of the babe still bouncing in his mother's arms as a wisp of shadow twirls almost playfully around him, snaking down his arm and dancing between Feyre’s fingers before going back to Nyx. She feels the amusement and surprise as if it were her own.

”Well, that's something our Spymaster failed to mention.” Nyx lets put another giggle as the wisp flies in circles up and down his arms, and he bats his hands to try and grab at it. Feyre finally pulls him into her lap and relaxes on the floor as she watches him. The wisp disappears behind Nyx at some point and Feyre has a suspicion it's hiding under his wings.

”I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't know. Those little pests sometimes have a mind of their own.” She calls them pests, but they're anything but. With the amount of times they helped save the Court, their family, Az, they were as much part of the Inner Circle as their master. Rhys hums in reply and Feyre doesn't bother stopping his access. Instead, she lets him watch as she plays with their son, stuffed toys pulled into various scenarios. At one point he looks up at her with those starry eyes alight with wonder and tugs at her hair.

“Mama.” If Feyre melts every time the word leaves his mouth, no one has to know.

“That's right, mama's right here.” The boy smiles before he tilts his head, seemingly confused.

“Dada?” She doesn't know whether the pang of sadness that shoots through her is her own or her mate's. Regardless, she smooths down the unruly mop of hair before responding. “Dada is busy right now, but he will be back tomorrow. As will uncle Cass and uncle Az. Do you miss them, as well?”

Nyx positively shrieks at the news of his father coming tomorrow and Feyre struggles not to grimace at the volume. She hears Rhys's laugh in her head and the thought that their peace could once more be ruined by outside forces is almost enough to make her combust on the spot. Almost. The wisp peaks out from behind Nyx once more and gets the same reaction.

”I should invest in some ear-plugs.” Laughter is the only thing she gets in response. This time, the tiny thing circles Nyx's left wrist and stays there, undisturbed by the boy's constant movement. Feyre finally decides to acknowledge it and pokes Nyx in his side.

“Is that a new friend?” When he finally calms down from his giggles he shakes his head resolutely. “Nuh-uh. Az.” He says it with such indignation that Feyre can't help but laugh.

“I apologize, of course it's Az. Does he keep you company sometimes?” She's mostly curious because while she occasionally sees whispers of their Spymaster's shadows around the house, keeping an eye on things, they never linger.

Nyx opens his mouth to respond but he's cut off by a yawn. He rubs at his eyes and lets out,“Always.” A short ”Huh.” is all she gets from Rhys's end. Curious, indeed.

“Let's get you to bed, precious. It's been a long day.” She scoops him up in her arms and can't help but smile at the obvious frown that appears on his face at the mention of calling it a day. She can't have that now, can she?

“If you go to bed now, you'll have plenty of energy to play with everyone tomorrow.” The stars in his eyes light up once more at that and she takes it as a go ahead. The warmth of the bond is almost unbearable as she tucks Nyx in and kisses his forehead before wishing him goodnight. The boy doesn't mind sleeping on his own, he burrows deeper into the blanket with the promise of tomorrow's fun.

”Go to bed, Feyre. I'll be home soon.” She slips out of the nursery and goes to their bedroom. No sooner than she changes her clothes and her head hits the pillow, she's fast asleep. The only thing on her mind being the male on the other side of the continent.

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Gentle claws tap against Azriel's mental shield and he lowers them just enough for his brother to get through.

”I'll be there in a moment. You got everything you need?” Azriel responds with an affirmative and lets the almost scorching sun of the Summer Court beat against his skin as he waits. The heat does wonders for the coiled muscles in his back and wings. He took off the fighting leathers a few minutes back, the heat from them unbearable, leaving him in a black short-sleeve. While most of the tension has been from the evasiveness of the new danger in Prythian, he would be lying If he said some of it isn't apprehension of seeing Rhys. Not that they haven't spoken since the Solstice, they have. While there has been tension and anger between them for some time, they're on the mend. After all, one discussion has nothing on more than 500 years of brotherhood. Things are easier now, almost back to how they were. Azriel simply couldn't forget the look on his brother's face from that night.

The judgment.

The barely held back anger.

The disappointment.

His shadows swarm around his shoulders and up his neck, as if being swallowed into oblivion would protect him from his own mind. The comforting whispers aren't received but he appreciates their presence nevertheless. It's been months and Azriel hasn't disobeyed the order given by his brother, his High Lord. That was his High Lord in that office. He spent some time simmering in anger, at Rhys, at himself. Soon after, he realized he needed to do better, be better. Azriel knows the truth, deep down. Centuries, he has spent ignoring it, keeping it close to his heart and mind in the hopes that if he didn’t admit it to himself, it wouldn’t be true. The implications of it might just fracture him irreparably. Another secret that will die with him. So, chasing something that wasn't meant to be, wasn't going to help him protect his family. They have something to fight for, to live for, he only has them; And he'll be damned if he doesn't protect their peace this time around. Azriel would give pieces of himself away, if it meant keeping them.

The sudden appearance of his brother before him would've startled him if not for the whispers of Brother is here, a second before he is and he reels away from the thoughts to give Rhys his full attention. His brother looks worse for wear, even as he stands there in the middle of a field in elegant attire, the bags under his eyes and unruly hair, both of which were probably the result of worrying about little Nyx and Feyre and a lack of sleep, give him away. It still doesn't dim the shit-eating grin across his face as he approaches him, arms spread.

“Brother dearest.” Azriel scoffs but doesn't shy away when Rhysand pulls him in for a hug. It makes something deep inside tremble, so he pulls away before he can fall into himself. The grin on Rhysand's face doesn't falter even as his eyes scan him for any injuries. Overprotective bastard.

“Hello, brother dearest.” Just to ease his mind a bit. The light of mischief in the starry eyes almost makes him choke because he hasn't seen it in so long.

“I knew all that eye rolling was for show.” It's natural to slip into the back and forth banter, as easy as breathing. “Don't you have scores to settle with Cassian?” The usual monotonous voice is gone, mellowed into a deep timbre that allows those listening to get an actual read on him. His shadows, forever his loyal companions, respond in kind, snaking down his body and up Rhysand’s, greeting his brother’s darkness and he greets them back in his own way before turning back to Azriel.

“If you mean, am I beating his ass tonight? Then the answer is yes. He should be back soon as well, earlier than expected. Something about missing Nesta too much.” Azriel graces him with a raised brow and a very judgmental look. In response, Rhys simply holds up a hand between them.

“Not a word, Az.”

A grin teases at Azriel's lips that he tries and fails to hold back.

“I didn't even open my mouth.”

“You didn't have to, I could sense your judgment from over here.” The annoyance is watered down with a grin overtaking Rhys’s face and Azriel very foolishly thinks he has options. He considers putting the information that he has in the back of his mind under lock and key for at least a few hours so they can have a peaceful get-together. He considers never letting them know and just taking care of it himself. Or just letting somebody else do something for once. But he knows all of that wishful thinking would be irresponsible and detrimental to their future.

“Ready to go home?” Azriel thinks to himself that he needs to get it together, there is no reason a question worded like that should make him feel as if there was a knife twisted in his gut. He’s always ready to go home. Instead of answering verbally he takes a step closer to Rhys and they clasp forearms as Rhys prepares to winnow them home. As the familiar darkness swirls around them and eats up the view of the outside world, Azriel takes one last look at the mirth and happiness on his brother’s face, before the darkness swallows them completely.

There, in pitch-black darkness where they disintegrate into nothing, he wonders how he’s going to keep that smile on Rhysand when what he has to share will shake their calm and safety away once more.

How will he protect them from her when he already failed once, all those years ago? Can he?

The only thing Azriel is certain of, is that he will do anything to keep Amarantha's claws away from his family. Whatever that entails.

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A/N: posting this here as well just to see what are your thoughts (if you do end up liking it, the rest (of what I've written so far) you can read HERE), be mindful of the tags.

Let me know what you think!

[multiversalfandomwriter222]

Hii can you write az saying something he doesn't mean and making reader cry and then comforting her? Or the classic flinching during argument? I just really love hurt/comfort loll

Thank you and I hope you have a good day!! <33

OH I LOVE THESE TROPES! Your wish is my command!

Warnings: Cussing, Yelling, somebody almost getting stabbed.

Reckless

"You can't keep doing that shit y/n!" Azriel yells. "Well, what the fuck was I supposed to do Azriel? Just let them corner my older sisters?" You yell. You were supposed to only stay with Nest and Feyre while they were in the library, but you had risked your life, distracting them so Nesta and Feyre could go get help while you led the Hybern Intel down, down, down into the library, and that's when you had met your new best friend, Bryaxis(which is beside the point). Azriel was horrified to find out that you were down there, by yourself, with no one to protect you. But you were always like that. Doing reckless things with your new immortality.

"You were supposed to find a way out, y/n. You put yourself in these situations and it pisses me off!" He steps close to you wings flaring; eyes filled with icy rage. "You cannot keep being so fucking dumb and reckless!" He shouts.

You flinch at the insult, tears filling your eyes. "You whimper and a sob spills from your lips "I-I'm so sorry Azriel." Azriel's eyes widen. "No, no I'm sorry. I'm so sorry angel, I didn't-" He tries to pull you against his chest, but you shove him away. Azriel's heart breaks as he sees you sob, mentally kicking himself for hurting you.

"I was scared. So, so scared to lose you." He whispers. You look at him. "I didn't mean to say that you're dumb, y/n. You are so smart, the most beautiful fae I have ever seen. And the fact that I insulted you just now kills me. I am so sorry." He says. "It's fine." You whisper. "Now please come and hug me. I don't want to be apart anymore." Azriel nods and starts to walk over, but you rush over, impatient to be in his arms. He kisses the top of your head as he rocks you back and forth, sort of like a slow dance moment. "I love you Azriel." You say and look up at him, adoration filling your eyes. Azriel leans down to give you a sweet kiss. "I love you so much angel, you have no idea how long I've been waiting for you." He says. "Well, it's a good thing I came along!" You say cheerfully and kiss his cheek.

A/N: Okay! Three in one day! Y'all keep coming with the request, it's helping me be motivated and keep me out of the funk in my head. Keep requesting from the list, but also give me some other characters so I don't get bored and back into my procrastination mood. Love y'all, be safe!

[glowinthedarkmouse]

a rough evening w/ azriel

A/N: hi!! this is my first attempt at a more angsty kinda fanfic? let me know how i did and if you like this one! these are doing better than i expected them to so i’d love to write more for the community. also, this one is like 3x longer than what i normally do soooo, enjoy!! :) WARNING: mentions of childhood trauma and abuse

Everyone bowed as the Inner Circle sauntered through the Court of Nightmares, taking their places around the throne. Rhysand and Feyre sat upon the throne, Cassian and Azriel stood guard in front of them, with Nesta by Cass and her by Az. Amren stood directly next to Rhys, and Mor next to Feyre. Rhys spoke with Keir momentarily, before announcing for everyone to eat. 

She felt out of place in the Court of Nightmares. The others wore blues and blacks, with jewelry meant to resemble the stars. She, however, was instructed to wear only colors such as champagne and eggshell white, with jewelry made from pearls. Mor told her she was to be seen as innocent, sweet, and soft, a lighter side to the court. She was also meant to perfectly rival Azriel, who was in his usual all black, save for a white ring on his left hand. She had a matching black ring on hers as well, as they were meant to resemble a yin and yang balance for the court. To show they were capable of niceties, along with handling its enemies in a swift and dark way, to prove that they were not a court to mess with. 

She must’ve gotten lost in thought, for the next thing she noticed, she and Azriel were dancing. It was a quicker dance, one Mor had taught her many moons ago. It seems as though the muscle memory stayed through the years, for she was remembering the dance without thinking much of it.

“Are you okay? You seem out of it,” Az murmured in her ear, not wanting the busybodies of the Court of Nightmares, who had nothing better to do than gossip, to hear.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just ready to go home and take this stupid frilly dress off,” she softly whispered.

“We’re leaving here soon, love.”

“Good.”

He laughed a little at that, knowing her hatred for too much human interaction. He spoke to Rhys momentarily before leaning back down by her ear, “Rhysand says we can leave now, would you like to head home?” 

“Is that even a question, Az? Of course I want to head home,” she murmured back. He smiled softly before grabbing her hand and lightly guiding her out of the court, or at least he was planning to.

Until that bastard Keir calls his son grabs her shoulder, turning her towards him with such a force that Az knows equals a death sentence. The cheeky bastard smiles a wolfish grin, like he was the big bad wolf and she was Little Red Riding Hood, just waiting to be eaten. 

“Whoa whoa whoa, where's a pretty lady like you going with an ugly brute of a man like him?” he said with pure malice in his voice, getting closer to her and Azriel. He touched her long hair, before smiling even harder at the poor girl. 

She was in shock, for the way the male grabbed her arm hurt, a lot more than it should’ve. She stole a look at it and saw it was bright red and burning, leaving a massive imprint on her arm. She instantly goes back to when she was a young girl, when her older brothers would hurt her and leave similar imprints on her arms and legs. When they’d cut her long, beautiful hair because she was too ugly to have such pretty hair. Her hair was the last memory of her mother she had, before she passed from an illness that swept through the Illyrian camps many moons ago. She remembered her mother brushing and braiding her hair countless times a day, just from how much she loved it. Her mother had loved the freckles dotting her cheeks and shoulders in the warm summers. She swore her mother visited her dreams every now and then, brushing her hair and asking if her freckles came back every year like they used to. The freckles she’d gotten from her mother. The freckles her and her brothers shared.

She didn’t realize she hadn’t been breathing until Azriel lightly grabbed her other arm, threatening the hell out of the bastard son. She flinched away from him, only being able to think of her brothers from her childhood. Az released her arm, sort of in shock, as she’d never flinched from him like that before. He knew nothing of her childhood, knew nothing of the abuse she endured from her elder brothers. She stumbled back a bit, trying to remember where she was, before Az tried to move towards her. She took another step back, before running past him and taking flight as soon as she could, with her beautiful white wings. She truly did look angelic under the starlight, her jewelry dully reflecting the moonlight. Azriel went to shoot up after her, but Rhysand grabbed his arm before he could.

“Az, let her go just this once. She’s in a state of panic, and you won’t be able to help her like this,” Rhys told him mentally. Az kept a look of desperation on his face, wanting so badly to go after the woman he loved. A few minutes later, he added “She just got back to the House of Wind, Az. Go to her, but let her come to you. She’s been through more than one might think.” He released his grasp on Azriel’s arm, sending him a look of warning before the Shadowsinger took off into the night.

As soon as she arrived home, she went to one of the more hidden guest rooms, specifically the one with a small hidden cupboard behind the bookshelf, barely large enough to fit her small frame. The house lit a small candle that sat in a little alcove, putting off just enough light to keep the area from being pitch black. She had ripped off the tight dress on her way through the house, too upset to take it off properly. She managed to find a thin nightgown on her way to the guest room and changed, grabbed her cloak and went into hiding. This was the one spot in the house where no one could find her, for only she and Rhysand knew of the spot, as he had added it just for her. 

She brought the cloak around her body and shuffled into a slightly more comfortable position. She didn’t want Azriel to see her in this state of pure weakness. She was commonly seen as innocent and sweet, but weak was not one of the words to describe her. She softly sniffled, before curling into herself and softly crying herself to sleep.

Azriel barrelled through the doors of the house, silently cursing himself for making such a loud noise. He slowly shut the doors and walked quietly through the house, listening for any signs of life. His shadows searched the house for her, wanting to make sure she was okay. He noticed the ripped dress on their bedroom floor, instantly worrying about someone getting in before his shadows alerted him that they had found her, and that she was safe. He made his way to the room with the hidden compartment, which he went and sat next to (Cass found it one day, and is terrible at keeping secrets). He stayed up to keep an eye and ear out to make sure she slept through the night with minimal issues, guarding the room with shadows. He didn’t dare disturb her sleep, knowing how difficult it came to her some nights.

Morning came much faster than it should have, for the moment he heard slight stirring coming from inside the compartment, he silently sat up and opened the small door. Her legs fell out first, which he quickly grasped before softly setting them down, not wanting to push any boundaries. She rubbed her eyes before pulling her legs back to her, covering them back up with her cloak. They sat in silence, neither wanting to ask any questions. 

“You can have the house to yourself today, if you'd like. I’m sure there’s things for me to do elsewhere if you need the space,” Azriel said after minutes of nothingness.

“No, don’t leave me here alone today. I don’t think I could handle it,” she muttered softly, not moving from her spot in the compartment.

“I won’t leave, darling. Do you want to go lay down on the bed? There's no way you were able to properly sleep in there.”

“...yeah, can you carry me, please?” 

“Of course darling.”

He gently picked her up and grabbed her cloak, before briskly walking to their room, wanting her to get some proper rest. He pulled the comforter back before placing her down, making sure she was as comfortable as she could be. He went to walk away to go get something small for her to eat and drink before she grabbed his arm.

“Please just…stay in here with me for a while, I don’t wanna be by myself right now,” she said, slowly getting quieter with each word. He climbed into bed next to her, leaving some distance for her to decide how close they’d be. She instantly scooched over to him, softly folding her white wings around herself and his torso. He instantly wrapped the both of them in his much larger wings, knowing it would comfort her more. She started to softly sob into his chest, no longer being able to hide it from him. She slowly tells him about what happened when she was a young girl, with her brothers dipping their hands in faebane just to hurt her more. They didn’t possess the magic she did, so it never affected them. She explained the way they’d cut her hair, and how much her hair meant to her, especially after losing her mother. She told him of the cruel pranks they’d play, of the scars that he’d never seen due to a glamour she started using many moons ago, and of the vile and wretched things they’d tell her. She even told him of when she started to believe what they had been saying. She continued to cry into Azriels chest, letting out all of her pent up emotions. 

He just sat there and held her, letting her release all of this rage and anger she had been feeling for years. When she settled down some, he pulled her onto his chest and softly talked to her.

“Darling, you will never be less of a person due to what your brothers put you through. They were idiotic fools who couldn’t see the woman you would grow up to be. If they hadn’t been taken out during the Blood Rite, I would’ve seen to it that they paid for what they did to you. You are the light of my life, the yang to my yin, the one person I could never say no to. I love you so terribly much, darling. I’ll never let you feel less-than for what your brothers did. You’re my moon, my stars, and my entire life. Let me continue to show you this everyday, for as long as you’ll let me.”

She sniffled for a moment, before starting to cry harder, absolutely in love with the Shadowsinger in front of her. He held her, utterly in love with the woman in his arms.

Suddenly, something shifted.

Shifted into place.

Like it was supposed to be there the entire time. 

The mating bond. 

Just clicked. 

She slowly leaned away from him, making sure he felt it too. He looked back at her with a face of shock, but mainly a face of pure love and adoration. She lunged at him, holding him in the tightest hug she could manage. He peppered soft kisses on her cheeks while she slowly started to giggle, pushing him away. She leaned in and gave him a proper kiss on the lips, and he just melted into her, as if they were becoming one person. 

“One quick question?” she said in a more serious manner.

“Yes darling?”

“What was done about the man who grabbed my arm?”

“Oh, Rhys has him locked up far, far away, where he’ll never be missed.”

“Good,” she softly stated, “I love you Azriel.”

“I love you too, darling.”

[billyrayjo]

Stumbling Home With You (part 2)

** I am so sorry for the late post😭. I have been going through a lot for the past few weeks. I have been having crippling dreams about Jacob Elordi that have left me almost useless to do anything. Anyways, here’s part 2! **

Warnings: Violence, mature themes, vulgar language, sexual themes, SMUT(?).

As Azriel strided toward you, the only thing you could do was keep your gaze on his. The way he was looking at you was paralyzing, his steps slow and calculated as he neared the edge of the bed. Your heart seemed to be on overdrive as you watched his eyes take in your figure from head to toe, his eyes turning a shade of hazel you hadn’t seen before.

Now, you weren’t a virgin by any means. But, every experience you had ever had with a man had been pretty average. Whether it was an alcohol induced one night stand, or a casual fuck buddy encounter, none of them had ever been with someone who meant something to you. They for damn sure hadn’t been toe curling like the scenarios you might have imagined with Azriel over the last few months.

Azriel wasn’t someone you could have sex with and move on from. You aren’t oblivious to your feelings for him. You have had a deep rooted fear when it came to this moment for a while. Once you had him, you knew you were done for. You had basically fallen in love with him already, and adding sex into the mix might make you go absolutely feral. The fear of having him, and then losing him, was way more prominent than not having him at all.

You weren’t aware of the frown that had etched on your features from your thoughts, and when Azriel lowered himself above you, the look of concern on his face caught you by surprise. His eyes flicked back and forth from your own, and before you could wipe the frown off of your face, he was talking.

“What are you thinking about?” came from his lips in a soft voice. A voice you noticed in the past that was reserved for you. You tried to piece a response together in your head, but there were so many thoughts bouncing around you struggled to voice your feelings. Right as you opened your mouth to respond, a frantic voice in your head cut you off. The guarded look on Azriel’s face confirmed that he heard it too.

“Velaris has been invaded. Hybern soldiers have broken through the wards. Where are you guys?” Rhys exclaimed, a panicked tone hidden under his words. Before you could even register what was happening, Azriel pushed himself off of you, his gaze still hardened like he was replying in his mind. While he was occupied, you pushed down the throb in your chest at the loss of contact and headed towards your wardrobe. Pulling out your leathers, you began the process of getting dressed for battle.

“What are you doing?” Azriel asked from behind you. You could hear the shuffle of clothing as he pulled his leathers back on. “Putting on my leathers? You heard Rhysand didn’t you? Velaris is under attack.” you pushed out, your voice occasionally getting muffled by the fabrics being pulled over your head.

“Yeah I heard him. Why are you acting like you’re about to go fight them off?” he questioned, his hands busy strapping on his holsters when you turned to look at him. “Because Az, I’m not going to sit around here and let them attack our city without trying to defend it. I’ve been training for years, it’s not like I’m not capable..” you ranted, a feeling of frustration taking over at the look on Azriel’s face. It almost looked like he was disappointed, a mixture of concern and sadness taking over his features.

“I didn’t say you weren’t capable (y/n). I think it would just be safer for you to stay here until it’s taken care of. Me and Cass can handle it. Hybern soldiers have no sense of reality. They’ll do anything they have to if they believe it is to serve the king. I don’t want you caught in the middle of that.” he went on, pulling his shoes on and coming back to a stand at the end of his words. His gaze was unwavering from you as you stood before him. You were at a loss from his words, trying to think of what to say to prove yourself to him. You know he just cares about you and wants you to be safe, but it also sends a wave of doubt through you that he doesn’t trust in your abilities.

“I have to go. I’ll come get you when it’s dealt with.” he mutters, giving you one last once over before he turns and heads for the door. You watch his shadows open it for him, and right before he steps through the frame he turns back to you one last time. “Just stay here, (y/n). I’m serious.” coming from his lips before he continues out the door.

“Just stay here (y/n). I’m serious” you muttered to yourself in a mocking tone, your steps echoing around the stairwell as you descended. It took you all of two minutes to decide you were going to fight regardless of Azriel’s words. Azriel might have more experience than you, but this was your city too. You didn’t endure hours of training and the pain that followed to hide in your room at the next threat.

You don’t have wings, and you can’t winnow, so taking the 10,000 steps down to the city was your only option. For every single step, you boosted yourself up more and more. You focused on your breathing, cleared your mind, built up your mental shields, and talked yourself up in your head until your feet landed at the bottom, right in front of the door. You pushed the door open, and were shocked by the amount of chaos that hit you as soon as you were outside of the barrier.

There were soldiers everywhere, citizens of Velaris running and screaming as soldiers chased after them. Buildings were being destroyed, blood was coating the streets, and by the number of soldiers appearing at the border it was clear there were more coming. You took in your surroundings for a moment, your mind sharpening and the focus from your training taking over.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw what looked to be like.. water animals? Spotting Feyre below them on the cobblestone, you quickly darted in her direction. You swiftly ran through the streets, dodging debris and trash as you went. Rounding the corner of the street you were on, you skidded to a halt when four Hybern soldiers appeared right in front of you. Their backs were turned to you, their attention pointed towards the shop in front of them. You spotted a woman over their shoulder, stood in front of the door with a piece of wood in her hands. She was going to fight them.

As you were about to intervene, you saw movement out of the corner of your eye. Feyre stood across the street, eyes meeting yours, and without a word she nodded. A signal. She wanted to help. Without hesitation, you both took off. You let out a grunt as you latched onto the first soldier, wrapping yourself around him and pulling him down. He hit the cobblestone with a grunt, and as you rolled out of your fall he rushed to stand back up. When you turned around, he quickly rushed at you, his sword swinging frantically in your direction. You pulled the dagger out of your thigh holster and dodged his attacks, quickly disarming him before you stabbed the dagger into his chest and pulled it out just as quickly. After he was down, you quickly moved onto the next.

After 10 minutes of hand to hand with a few soldiers, you and Feyre had managed to take them all down. You turned to Feyre, your breaths coming out quick and harsh as she did the same. “There are still too many. We need to go towards the Sidra.” she explained, pulling a nod from you as you went to head that direction. You tried to ignore the blue siphons flashing above you as you both ran towards the fight.

The excitement had quickly turned into a repetitive sequence of running, fighting, running, fighting, and more running. For every block you ran, a group of soldiers would appear. They were relentless. The damage to the city only worsened as you and Feyre advanced, Feyre using her powers to do the majority of her fighting. Having powers would be nice in a moment like this, as you were left to your physical capabilities to take down your opponents. After multiple stops and fights, you finally arrived at the Sidra.

There was commotion everywhere. Hybern soldiers battling in every direction, buildings falling, screams erupting, water running. You wouldn’t be surprised if the sounds you were hearing appeared in your nightmares for the next few months. As you took in your surroundings, you pushed away the anxiety that flowed through you when Azriel appeared down the street from you, mid battle with a group of soldiers on his own. You analyzed the fight for a moment, trying to see if he needed help before you quickly turned away when his eyes met yours. You knew he saw you, and you were trying to avoid any more looks of disappointment from him.

You and Feyre continued forward, and right when you reached the bridge you heard movement from behind you. Turning around, you took in a massive group of shoulders heading towards the both of you. You quickly looked to Feyre right as she looked at you. You shared a wordless look before you both turned back toward the soldiers, you taking a fighting stance as Feyre conjured up her powers.

All hell broke loose. You and Feyre kept getting pushed back, soldier after soldier appearing right as you took down the one before. Feyre’s powers were getting weaker, and so were you. You kept pushing on, taking down one after the other that Feyre’s water wolves missed or that broke through the crowd. They were starting to surround you, leaving you no route of escape as you were distracted with the fights.

You were covered in blood, the soldiers and your own. You were tired, your body was weak, and your mind was jumbled. There were only a third of the soldiers left to deal with, the rest lying about the concrete in front of you. You had just been brought to the ground by a soldier when you heard Feyre let out a groan next to you. A soldier had come from behind her and pushed her face down onto the cobble.

Without even thinking about it, you kicked the Hybern soldier off of you and pushed yourself in her direction. As you stumbled towards her, her wolves began vanishing one by one, her power finally fading. The Hybern soldier that pushed her drew his sword and had it raised over his head, about to push it down into her chest as she rolled over to fight him off. You lurched forward, diving on your stomach to push her out of the way before a sharp pain erupted in your back. White filled your vision momentarily, your eyes wide and staring at Feyre as your vision came back to you. A sound you could only describe as a wheeze escaped you as your arms collapsed in front of you, the pain erupting into your entire body. Trying to push yourself up, your hands shook as you lifted them to connect with the ground, your eyes involuntarily filling with tears at the sensation.

Feyre was laying motionless and weak in front of you, her eyes boring into yours in concern as you stared. Body shaking, you tried once again to move before a scream was flying past your lips as whatever was lodged into your back was ripped out. The scream was broken and mangled, and you realized there was blood coming from your mouth when you coughed and it dripped onto the cobbles beneath you. Something hard made an impact with your side, and you realized the soldier was kicking you, a mutter of “Weak female.” coming from his lips as he kicked you again, sending air out of your lips along with blood as you felt yourself going dark.

Right as your eyes were about to close, you heard a roar from the distance before the ground was literally shaking with impact at someone’s landing. You knew deep down who it was, a warmth filling you for a brief moment before the pain returned ten fold. Your eyes closed and opened slowly, the fight to keep them open a struggle as you heard commotion around you. You laid your cheek on the ground, blood rolling down your cheek from the corner of your mouth and tears running down your temple from the corner of your eye. Everything in front of you was blurry as you looked off into the distance, the pain slowly turning into numbness as the seconds passed.

You thought you heard your name, but you couldn’t hold your eyes open. After closing them and opening them again, you noticed the face of the Hybern soldier laying in front of you. He was dead. You felt a presence beside you, and arms slid under you and slowly rolled you over as you groaned at the movement. “(Y/n). (Y/n) look at me. Look at me dammit!” Came from above you as you slowly fluttered your eyes open. Azriel’s face came into view, a look of pure distress on his face as he took in your features.

His eyes scanned down your body, his eyes locking on your abdomen before his hand came up to push on it. The sword had went all the way through. Not only were you bleeding from the back, but you were bleeding from the front as well. You felt nauseous at the thought, a sob escaping you at the realization that this was worse than you hoped.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay. You’re fine. Look at me (y/n).” pushed from Azriel’s mouth as he took in your distress. You slowly looked up to him, a small smile forming on your lips as you took in his appearance. His eyes were glassy, his face bruised and lip split from the battle beforehand. Dirt and debris covered him but he still looked as handsome as he always did. His hair was disheveled and his frown was evident, but his lip curved up slightly at the sight of your smile.

“Thanks for taking care of me, Azzie” slipped past your lips in a muffled whisper as your eyelids drooped, your soft smile unwavering as you reached a hand up to his arm and squeezed, the strength behind it not really there. At the repeated words from the night before, Azriel’s eyes only watered harder, his distress coming even more to the surface as he turned over his shoulder and yelled to someone in the distance “Where is Madja?!? She needs healing!” before quickly turning back to you.

His heart stopped when he looked back to you, your eyes closed and your head slumped back. “No. No. No. Wake up. Open your eyes (y/n). Wake up!” tumbling past his lips in panic as he pulled you closer to him. His shadows wizzed around the both of you, blocking you from the outside world. Right as he was about to scream a hand fell on his shoulder, and a comforting elderly woman’s voice muttered a “She’s okay. I’ve got it from here.”. He dropped his head down to yours and placed a kiss on your forehead before surrendering you to Madja.

As Azriel watched Madja tend to you, her apprentices coming to lift you from the ground and out of his arms, all he could do was pray to the Mother. Pray to her again and again that you were okay, and pray to her again and again that he would have the chance to show you how much you meant to him.

I SWEAR THERE WILL BE A PART 3!!! 😭 don’t hate me.

Tag list: @cherryinsalemverse @jeweline16 @torrick17 @amara-moonlight