#* ⟢ ━━ azriel. ( threads )

[slytherhys]

Threads of Fate & Magical Inns

Synopsis: Elain is driving to Velaris for Christmas but a snowstorm forces her to spend the night at a remote inn in the middle of the Illyrian woods. With only a few days until Christmas, Elain finds herself snowed-in in the middle of nowhere, a solemnly-looking cat her only company. Or so she thought.

This series can also be found on AO3!

TW: Strong language & explicit content

Chapter One: 22nd of December

When Elain had first told her sisters she’d be driving to Velaris instead of taking the train, they’d been rightfully dubious. Besides her hatred for driving, it was known to snow quite frequently in the mountains. Elain had thought her car could’ve endured it despite being a relic from ancient times, but she had seriously underestimated the snowstorm heading her way.The roads were slippery, the heater in her car was broken and an old Christmas CD had gotten stuck in her radio, meaning she had been listening to the same song for the past 40 minutes – a nightmarish rendition of “White Christmas” that consisted of the last 2 verses on loop. She was fearing for both her life and her sanity.

Still, Elain had persisted - it wasn’t like she had any other choice.

Whatever remained of her usual optimist was slowly dwindling as she parked on the side of the road. Nothing surrounded her but a grove of trees, growing snowbanks and the empty road. She couldn’t quite recall the last time she had seen a road sign, but she knew that although she was close enough to Velaris that she might’ve gotten there in under an hour under normal circumstances, she was absolutely not getting there when a blizzard loomed over her.

She knew she should’ve stopped as soon as she had first listened to the announcement of the impending storm on the radio, but truth be told, it hadn’t felt right stopping then. Elain wasn’t entirely sure why – could’ve been the Venti black coffee she had had for breakfast, could’ve been the fact that she hadn’t eaten anything but chocolate candy all day (‘tis the season, after all) – but her gut had told her she should’ve kept driving.

Now, she was stranded in the middle of nowhere, inside an ancient metal contraption with only M&Ms for sustenance.

Elain rested her head against the headrest of her car with a sigh, cursing her fate for the millionth time that day. She wasn’t a big fan of fatalisms or hyperboles, but she was probably the unluckiest person alive. At least, that’s what it felt like watching the snow fall on the hood of her car, a flurry of snowflakes surrounding her at an alarming rate.

Her eyes snagged on something. Just a few miles ahead, a wooden lamppost unexpectedly came to life, its light glaringly bright against the snow covering the ground. Elain could just make out a small wooden sign from under it, even if she couldn’t quite read what it said. Maybe a motel? A service station? If only fate was on her side for once.

She turned her car back on, closing whatever distance remained between her and the sign. But the closer she got, the odder the sight in front of her became. Despite all the snowflakes falling around her, the lamppost remained remarkably undisturbed by both the snow and the wind. With the way the wind was howling, the sight nearly made her delirious.

Through the glare of the light, Elain could easily make out the words in front of her.

THE DUSK INN - Just up the winding road.

Hope bloomed inside her chest as she let out an embarrassing loud yelp. There was no time to question if the inn was open, let alone time to make sense of the weird lamppost and its too-bright light. Elain quickly turned her car to the narrow country road, elation coursing through her veins at an alarming speed. For the first time in a while, Elain felt like fate was on her side.

The more she drove along the gentle incline of the will, the more the temperature inside her car seemed to drop. Here, the sun could barely penetrate the wood’s canopy. Evidence of the last snowfall remained frozen in clumps around the trees where the awning was thicker.

Just as apprehension started to trickle in, Elain turned the corner, a soft gasp coming out of her mouth when she finally spotted what she had been looking for. Standing like one of Feyre’s paintings, a small house stood against the eery, frigid landscape. The inn itself was merely an old-looking cottage with white stone walls and a grey slate roof. Smoke was coming out of the chimney, and the lights to at least two separate rooms were filtering through the thick drapes. Elain could just barely make out the silhouette of someone pacing in their room.

 If she hadn’t been looking for it, she doubted she’d be able to find it. Other than the inn and one parked car, there was nothing around her and from the state of the untouched woods, Elain doubted many people ventured to this side of the countryside.

Parking her car, Elain quickly grabbed her things before rushing to the inn’s thick, wooden front door. She pushed the door open, goosebumps covering her skin as warmth quickly chased the cold away from her frozen limbs.

She dropped the suitcase on the floor, looking around the empty foyer. “Hello?” She called, but the sudden stillness was too noticeable. Elain chose to observe her surroundings instead, a pleased smile on her lips as she noticed how absolutely adorable everything was.

The warmth, she quickly realised, was coming from a small carron fireplace just near the door to her right. A cup of tea had been left forgotten on the desk, but other than that, there were no other signs of life. The walls were covered in a dark green flowery wallpaper that played beautifully against the dark wooden panels, the same colour as the floor. Under her feet, however, was a large, rust-coloured rug that muffled her every step as she walked around the entryway. To her left was a door that led to the darkened living room and to her right the dining room. The staircase, Elain assumed, led to the rooms – including the one where she had seen someone pacing. She tried to listen for the sound of footsteps, but a sound from behind her quickly distracted her.

Elain turned around, panting slightly as her eyes locked with an older woman.

If only seconds ago the entryway had seemed completely abandoned, now it was brimming with life. The lamp on the desk was now lit, emanating a soft light onto a leather notebook. The cup of tea was suddenly steaming, though no teapot was in sight.

“Welcome to the Dusk Inn.” The old lady smiled gently. “Running from the storm, are you dear?”

Elain chuckled nervously, brushing off the oddness of it all. “I didn’t have much of a choice.” She looked around, still a bit uncertain.

“We rarely do.” The old lady said in a feathery voice, eyeing her with clear, grey eyes. “I’m guessing you need a room.”

“Is there an available one?” If the silence was any indication, she had several, but it didn’t hurt to be polite.

The old lady chuckled, shaking her head as if that was the silliest thing she had ever heard. “The Dusk Inn welcomes only those it wishes to welcome.” Her eyes glinted, but Elain was momentarily distracted by a moving shadow in the corner of her eye. She frowned, leaning her head back as if to try and see whoever lurked beneath the darkness. “Of course, I have a room for you.” The lady’s voice said.

Elain smiled, sweet relief coursing through her veins. Her gaze snatched on the vase in front her, a beautiful pairing of roses and baby’s breath. Had it been there before? She wasn’t quite sure.

“Here you go, Miss Archeron.” The old lady smiled, handing her a key. “You’ll be in room 6.”

Elain took it, grateful. “Thank you, Mrs…”

“No need for formalities, dear.” She gave her a crooked smile. “Just Rhiannon is fine.”

“Rhiannon, is there anyone else staying here for the night?” She asked, a bit restless at whatever she had seen in the living room.

Rhiannon beamed at that. “Well, of course, Miss Archeron.” She said. “Fate will always have its way, will it not?”

Elain wasn’t sure how to reply, so she opted not to, sending Rhiannon a gentle smile before going up the stairs.  

Her room, much like the rest of the inn, was perfectly quaint. The walls were painted in white, the ceiling made up entirely of irregular oak wood beams. Thick drapes covered the only window in the room, but it did little to shut out the howling sound of the wind. The queen-sized bed, however, looked like a dream. There was a fluffy, burgundy comforter as well as a plaid blanket.

All things considered, this inn was the closest thing to paradise Elain had down in the past 24 hours. Sure, some things might’ve sent a saner person running for the hills, but Elain felt oddly comforted. Like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

At least for the night.

Rhiannon had been amicable enough to make her feel at home, but her sisters were expecting her. Her whole life was expecting her in Velaris, and Elain, for one, couldn’t wait to let everyone know why she had dared drive through the hellish hills of Illyria to get to them. Hazel eyes flashed in her mind, but Elain quickly brushed them away. There would be a time for that. She refused to let herself fall into a spiral of hope and despair as she weighed the cons and pros of what she was about to do.

Elain looked around the room, wondering if Rhys and Feyre were aware of this little cabin in the middle of the woods. Rhiannon hadn’t seemed familiar in any shape or form, but there had been a familiarity to her when she had said Elain’s name for the first time.

Although…had she told Rhiannon her name? Suddenly, going over their conversation from downstairs was like threading through murky water, and even Rhiannon’s face seemed to change the more Elain tried to focus on it.

By the Mother, she needed to eat something, or she’d be passing out soon.

She wondered if Rhiannon would let her use her kitchen, considering there didn’t seem to be enough guests for the inn to serve dinner. Rhiannon, however, was nowhere to be seen. The entryway was empty once again, and other than the flare from the fireplace, no lights illuminated the room.

“Rhiannon?” Elain called, going down the last steps of the staircase. “Hello?” The dining room was darker still, as unfamiliar as the sudden urge to bolt back to her room and only come out in the morning. The charming inn now seemed too cold, too empty. The blizzard made itself heard outside, raging against the windows with enough strength to be menacing.

Through the corner of her, a shadow moved before disappearing once again. Elain was trying not to panic, but all of a sudden, the idea of staying at a remote inn seemed like the worst thing she could’ve done. She rushed to the light switch, heart racing as her hands clumsily turned on the light.

Only to find a white cat staring right back at her, long tail swishing from left to right.

“Oh, hello there,” Elain beamed. “Are you the other guest fate brought to me?”

“Is that why I’m stranded here?” Elain’s head snapped to her right, a gasp escaping her as she made sense of the deep voice coming from the doorway.

There, leaning against the doorframe, stood Azriel Rosehall in all his glory. Elain felt her cheeks heat under his stare, felt her tongue turn to dust as he smiled knowingly, eyeing her from head to toe. His eyes flickered to the solemnly looking cat. “Have you been making deals with the fates, Elain?”

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #elriel fanfic #elriel fic #elriel fanfiction #christmas story #threads of fate and magical inns #my writing #christmas prompts #idiots in love

[flowerflamestars]

Effloresce snippet

“How did you,” Nesta had managed to surprise her, “How did you come to meet this woman?” Nesta let out a ragged, half-mad laugh. “I tried to hire her to smuggle me into the Spring Court to save my sister.” She twisted, looking straight at Kali. “Why do they call Rhysand a pretender?” Warmth, whatever warmth Nesta had garnered, evaporated. “The heir died,” Kali pronounced. “The current High Lord prevented us from vengeance. We could not- the Lady Shahar did not return to the sky. You cannot lead the clans without honor.” Nesta’s honor was tarnished in every direction. Her father, her sister, her dead uncounted. “Who is the next heir?” Kali sucked in an audible breath and then, just as careful, off as the way Koram had touched her, clapped the back of Nesta’s shoulder where bone and muscle would meet in wings were she something else. “That pale bitch who’s been dragging Cassian around by his throat for centuries, my lady.” Morrigan. Of course, it was Morrigan. Nesta wiped her face. “Will it cause problems?” “Your friend, the mercenary? The mortal child of an Illyrian?” Kali shrugged, motion half wings, “It will be strange. Not violent.” “And probably good for them to see.” “Them,” Kali echoed. Nesta pressed hard against her wet eyes, once, the pressure twinned with pain in her face. “I’m not going to tell anyone who they can or cannot consort with,” Nesta nearly hissed, before she reeled herself back in. “I am not a High Lord. These things happen, and there is nothing wrong with them.” Kali, quite obviously cautious, squeezed Nesta’s shoulder like it was made of bone fine porcelain. “Lady Nesta.” It was kind, and utterly unbearable. “Why do you need her?” Kali asked, after a long moment. “The mercenary?” Nesta, feeling like the expression cracked her, bleeding open, smiled. “She travels in the company of Jurian,” Nesta told her, one more Archeron secret laid bare, “Breaker of chains and kings. I have need of him.”

#hi hello for anyone new to this au I HAVE NEVER FOUND A THREAD I DONT WANT TO YANK #yes forever and always on my personal Rhys was not meant to be heir bullshit #Nesta is about to have the worst week of her life while Elain is on her wartime sedition themed honeymoon #Kali has known Cassian since he was ten! #she hates Mor! #(I do not...exactly. But this story is not great for her) #Jurian and Lucien friends if not lovers in every au #culture clash! #Azriel slow motion losing his shit completely #something something Rhysand's sister having a NAME #and her death rebounding all the way back to ruin his shitty government beloved #effloresce

[tencrushesperday]

Pulling on Threads pt3

Azriel x reader and very much angsty

happens during acowar so far, i forgot the exact time line bc i’ve read this book over a year ago

part 1 , part 2

i have an important exam tomorrow yet it’s 2:30am and i’m still here pls appreciate my dedication 😩

The first time you met Azriel, Rhysand had brought you to the House of Wind for a report about the repairs on the city’s wastewater drainage that had caused some problems recently. Everything was going well until shadows started gathering around you. They were not threatening but you would lie if you said it didn’t startle you.

“You could have just come in and said hello, you know. No need to send your little friends over.” Rhysand’s chuckle brought you out of your apprehensive thoughts about the shadows swirling around you. You didn’t understand what he was saying but it all made sense when the door opened to reveal the most beautiful male you have ever set your eyes on.

You were staring, wide eyed, as the shadows regained their masters, cladding his body in this dark, mysterious aura. It took Rhysand’s voice again to get you out of your fixation. “This Azriel. Azriel, this is a friend of mine.”

You shot up to your feet and extended an arm, out of courtesy. However, the tall male didn’t reciprocate your gesture. Withdrawing your hand, you let out a shy “Hello” suddenly very aware of his gaze on you.

You wished you had the confidence to keep the eye contact but he was so imposing that you sat back down. Rhysand told him that the both of you had a meeting that would soon end and he would seek him out once he was done. At that, Azriel left with a short nod. Nothing else had left on that he was aware of or even listened to what was going on in the room. You wondered if he was always that expressionless.

Rhysand apologised for his Spymaster’s behaviour but you brushed it off, reassuring him that there was nothing to apologise for.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him after that. You got nervous each time you were around him. He was so pretty it literally hurt. It was pathetic how nervous you were around him at the beginning because you wanted to get to know him but had no idea how to engage. And he certainly wasn’t making it easier.

Yet, with time, you two grew comfortable around each other. Obviously he wasn’t one to talk much, but you stopped trying to get him to do so and started appreciating his silence.

Since you started going out with Rhysand’s Inner Circle more often, you also noticed his feelings for the Morrigan (for a sly spymaster, that had been pretty easy to read). You weren’t exactly comfortable with her yet when it happened. However, a year after the fateful Starfall party, you both went shopping for gifts for the holiday. You started talking about relationship statuses, just mindless gossip at first. But it was the perfect opportunity for you and so you asked her about her relationship with Azriel. She laughed it off at first but later in the night, when the both of you were drinking wine in your apartment, she decided to open up about her story. Obviously, she asked you in return why you were so curious about Az and since she trusted you with her past, it felt wrong to lie to her. So you told her about your little crush, insisting that she does nothing about it.

After speaking about it, it became easier for you. Seeing that it wasn’t reciprocated, you buried your feelings deep down and started simply enjoying his company, stopped overthinking every move when in the same room as him. Of course it still hurt to see him take home a cute female after a night out, but you tried a few relationships of your own.

They never worked out, though. Your partners always complained that you weren’t giving your everything to the relationship. And since the bond never snapped with any of them, you didn’t bother. You knew your heart belonged somewhere else.

You wished it didn’t.

Especially tonight. When you woke up to everyone panicking about a missing Elain. Of course it was tragic. She was a lovely girl, that meant a lot to many people here, yourself included, as she was Feyre’s sister.

But she mattered a lot to Azriel too apparently as he flew to rescue her not thinking twice. He hadn’t heard you call his name before he shot up into the sky with Feyre. No planning, no strategies. That was so unlike the calm and collected Azriel everyone knew. She could elicit such reactions from him when you could barely get him to smile at you recently.

How cruel the world could be.

Rhysand was going mad all night waiting for them to come back. You understood, at least you told yourself that you guessed, what he was feeling when his mate was in danger like that.

Over the decades, you have mastered a composed exterior. When you’re in love with someone you copy their antics and manners, right ? At least Azriel taught you that.

But right now, with him being in the middle of the Hybern war camp, you knew it was threatening crack. You were holding on to your sanity by a thread. Because what would you do if something ever happened to him? How would you survive that ? You knew you wouldn’t. You would blame yourself everyday for at least not telling him of your feelings. He deserved to know that someone loved him as fiercely as you did, even if he didn’t feel the same. Rejection could maybe mean closure for you.

Going over every worst scenario in your mind made you nauseous so you had to leave Rhys and go to the bathroom. If nausea passed once you had a glass of water, hyperventilating only got worse, as silent tears were rolling down your cheeks. After a few minutes, you heard a knock on the door and Mor’s soft voice asking if you were okay.

You simply opened the door for her and let her hold you in her arms. You needed to ground yourself back into reality, needed someone to tell you he was going to come back, safe and sound.

She held you like that, softly stroking your head and whispering reassurances in your ear, for at least fifteen minutes before you were able to calm down your breathing and thoughts. “Let’s go make tea in kitchen, huh?” Her voice was so gentle and you were only able to nod back.

You had to get your shit together. If Mor saw you like that, it didn’t matter. But the rest couldn’t. Not Amren, not Cassian and certainly not Rhys, who was already panicked enough.

Hours passed and your worry didn’t. You drank tea with Mor, practiced some breathing exercises Cassian once taught you, even tried to get yourself busy with some other work.

Nothing has ever felt as good as Rhys announcing that Feyre told him all three of them were alive and on the way back through their daemati gift.

Nothing has ever felt as horrible as watching him land with her in his arms.

You were worried sick over him. While he was risking his life for her. When she was mated to another. When he was…

As fragile and hurt as she was, you decided that you didn’t like her. It was definitely biased, unfair, uncalled for. But you couldn’t shake that feeling. That she was stealing something from you.

“You’re hurt” Azriel shot his eyes at you. Nobody said anything before nor after you stated that. And you didn’t know if centuries or milliseconds had passed since they landed. The world was heavy on your shoulders as he held your gaze. You wanted nothing more than to run into his arms. To hold him as tight as possible to make sure he was real, that he was with you and alive.

But you stayed on the other side of the room, still holding eye contact for what felt like an eternity.

Cassian got in between you as he took Elain from his arms. Azriel still stared at you over his shoulder.

You approached him slowly. You were doing everything in your power to not throw yourself at him. “Can i help you clean that?” He nodded slightly. He was so tired.

He was so, so tired. And you looked so welcoming. He just wanted to crash in your arms and let you hold him forever.

You barely caught him before he fainted.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #pulling on threads #acowar

[theanonymousopossum]

The Threads that Bind Us Part 3

@siriusleee It's here! Part 3 has arrived, and Elain and Azriel have officially met. Hope you love it!

TW: none

The sound of music filled the air, and the party was in full swing. Despite their apparent hostility towards the king, most of the kingdom had shown up for the party, wearing whatever the nicest thing they owned was. As such, there was a range from formal suits to overalls with only a few mud stains. 

Azriel’s doulon had quickly briefed him on the course of the evening: all the guests would arrive, then would come the king and Princess Elain, dancing would occur, and then would come the banquet for the nobles and important personnel. Small trays piled high with small snacks were dotted around the edges of the room already, but apparently an entire feast had been planned afterwards, though only for the wealthy, at which point the king would give a speech in honour of his daughter, and then the guests were free to mingle as they pleased.

As honoured guests of the king, Azriel and the other men were provided with the formal attire they would need, as well as permissions to attend the banquet and afterparty. Dancing couples floated around the room, spinning and swaying to the sound of the violins playing a classic dancing song.

Azriel knew how to dance, given that his profession often required him to infiltrate very elegant settings, though he did not prefer to, and as such, he was hanging around the sides of the room, seeing if he could pick up on any important fragments of conversation.

So far his efforts had yielded nothing promising, only some vague palace gossip from the wealthy folk and complaints about harvest from the lower classes. 

Azriel took a few steps backwards, intending to make another sweep, when he walked directly into someone behind him.

The person stumbled, and Azriel quickly reached out his hand to steady her. A noble, based on the dress she was wearing, though which one he couldn’t place until-

As the young woman looked up into his eyes, he realized he had accidentally crashed into Princess Elain, whom he presumed had been trying to escape the ball without being caught. 

“My lady,” he said, bowing slightly, “my deepest apologies. I didn’t see you there.”

“Not at all,” she responded with a smile, accepting his proffered hand, “in fact, you were just the man I was hoping to speak with.”

Not trying to escape, then. Though why on earth was she speaking to him?

“What may I do for you, my lady?” he said, polite but with an air of confusion.

“You are aware of the monster that has been ravaging our cities?” she asked him.

“I am, lady. I was under the impression that our task would be to defeat this monster.”

“Yes. So far, all whom my father has sent to destroy it have failed. However, the gods have spoken to me. I believe it is you who will be able to lift my curse, and be able to defeat the Archetaur. However, you will not be able to do it without my help.”

Azriel’s mind was spinning. This was not at all what he had anticipated when he came down here into the ball. But the princess was offering him aid, and from all he could calculate, her offer was genuine. The part that stuck out to him was the part about a curse. 

Stories of Princess Elain had of course floated around all the islands, most claiming her a shy, beautiful girl who kept largely to herself. Azriel was beginning to realize that there was a lot more to her than met the eye. So he decided to take a chance.

“You honour me, princess, with your confident words. Perhaps you would honour me further with a dance? I wish to know more about your curse, and about what it is that I must do,” he said, with a stoke of boldness. He hadn’t planned on asking her to dance, but as a smile graced her beautiful mouth, some tiny, irrational part of him would die to see her smile like that again.

“I would be delighted,” she said, and he led her out to the dance floor.

—---------------

Elain was very satisfied with herself. Having attracted the attention of the man-Azriel, she had learned- and having successfully said her piece, she was delighted that he was at least considering her help.

As she had rested before the ball, a dream had come to her. A man with dark skin, dark hair, and dressed in a white toga had spoken to her. His face was regal, but he spoke kindly to her.

“Elain,” he had said, “Elain my child. You have suffered much for a crime that you did not commit. Take heart, girl, for the favour of the gods is with you. There is a way your curse may be broken. The man that you have seen shall break your curse, if he should choose to accept your help. Trap the creature within its lair, and give him this. He will know what to do with it when the time is right.”

As soon as he finished, he pulled out of thin air a ball of what appeared to be soft yarn, golden in colour. She took it hesitantly.

“Good luck, child. Flee this island if your curse is broken. Flee, and do not look back.”

With all that said, the man in white vanished, and Elain awoke, confused about her dream. In her hand rested the yarn that had been given to her. 

She took this as confirmation that whomever it was that she had spoken with, the man really was a god, and Elain know firsthand the consequences of angering a god. Besides, it wasn’t like she had much other option than to trust him.

With Azriel’s hand in hers, they swept out onto the dance floor, and for once the princess felt completely unbothered by the eyes that tracked her every movement. No longer were they foxes chasing a young dove. Elain was strong, and if everyone in this palace was too useless to break the curse, then she would just have to do it herself.

A/N: Thus concludes Part 3. Next chapter will be dance scene, and some more information on how exactly Azriel will be fighting this monster. Let me know what you think, I love comments from everyone!

#elriel fanfiction #elriel #theanonymousopossum #the threads that bind us #elain x azriel #pro elriel

[denouemente]

it was a rare evening they got to spend together, one where rhysand, feyre, and nyx were off on business. and he thanked the cauldron for that — these nights were the only ones he got to spend with the one he cared for most. they talked, they did more, but what he liked most was laying with her after, his wing covering the two of them and his fingers brushing gently over her rosy cheeks.

“ i still fully believe one day we won’t have to hide this. ” he says suddenly, reaching up to brush a strand of honey - brown hair from elain’s forehead. he’s wondered plenty of times if perhaps the cauldron made a mistake about her and lucien — he didn’t know a thing about @homebehind, he didn’t know what made her smile or what she disliked. he didn’t know what made her blush and what annoyed her. HE DIDN’T KNOW ELAIN LIKE AZRIEL DID. if he had his way, the autumn court heir never would. “ when the whole . . . mess with eris and beron is over. then we won’t have to hide. i won’t have to pretend like my whole world stops when you enter the room, or that i don’t want to whisk you away to the shadows and have my way with you there. ” or, as their high lord would say, pant after her. one day, he won’t have to pretend.

NO ONE’S EVER MADE ME FEEL THIS WAY. he thought mor did, once upon a time — but the reality of it was that his feelings for her, despite being held for centuries, completely paled in comparison to what he felt for elain. she brought light and color to the darkness that surrounded him, she reached into his very heart and soul and made him feel noticed for the very first time. he was a shadowsinger, but with her, HE WAS AZRIEL. “ me neither. ” he smiles, leaning in to kiss her again, face still close to elain’s even after he breaks their kiss. “ will you stay the night? our high lord and lady aren’t going to return for another two days. perhaps . . . perhaps we may spend them together. ”

#homebehind #IC: AZRIEL. #ANSWERED. #needed this to cancel out the rhys thread LMAO

[draconikia]

he’s brought leathers for the valkyries, the newcomers who wish to train in something other than the garb of their usual position or rank. the priestesses in particular were what made him think of it. while the flow of fabric added a layer of elegance, he couldn’t help but imagine it binding around legs and ankles. so, he’d asked his mother for aid. and upon hearing that nesta archeron and her friends had reignited the valkyries? she’d been delighted, and while she’d not known specific sizes, between azriel and the shadows, they’d come up with decent approximations. with clever corsetry in the sides for loosening or tightening.

though upon his delivery he’d not expected anyone to be there, laden with packages he cannot help but look slightly… well, shocked. the shadows that normally warn him of anyone nearby are more interested in curling around her feet. a silent glare to them, mouthing traitors.

‘ i — thought i’d leave these here. for the women who’d like to change. my mother — made them. ‘

the packages set on the nearby bench, the paper wrapping unfurling to reveal the cleverly made pair of trousers and top.

‘ she — she was a laundress, for years, she mended and kept a lot of the leathers for the camps. we thought — if they felt like changing, that — these would make it better. so they’re not all… borrowed and cobbled together. ‘

he feels as if he’s been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar, he’s never caught at anything. the betraying shadows still seem to hum with enjoyment trailing along gwyn’s feel and lower calves.

‘ i didn’t mean to disturb anyone, i thought it would be empty —this hour. ‘

"nice of you to drop by." gwyn to az! // @wyrdhearth

#azriel // interaction #wyrdhearth #answered // feel free to turn into threads if inspiration strikes

[merymoonbeam]

A slight altering of fate

I was discussing this post by @azrielisababe about the parallels between rowan/lyria and elain/lucien with @lesolehabitantdelalune and we noticed something in that post.

Maeve says this about how she shoved Rowan down that other path and made him think Lyria was his mate...

And we have Lucien saying this about Elain...how she had been thrown at him

It is also interesting that Maeve says that “it was so easy to tug on the right psychic thread” for lyria and rowan... @icedflames made a post about threads and mating bond if you wanna read it.

And we have Maeve saying...

It is a parallel to Azriel’s bonus chapter

It is all very interesting 👀👀

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #mating bond #threads

[fereldensheroes]

@forgotten-from-the-realm, Marie for Azriel.

Oh, she was not happy. Not in the slightest. Mind flayers? Disgusting creatures, disgusting technology, disgusting aesthetic. It was a blessing when the nautiloid crashed... though, perhaps less so that she'd been on it when it had. Her pod had kept her relatively safe beyond some bumps and bruises. Her first order of business was to fully crack it open and slip out. She tore a strip from her damaged shirt and bound it about her hand until she could safely smash fist to glass and tumble out.

#the companion | threads (azriel) #forgottenfromtherealm #the companion | tadpoled

[velidewrites]

I would love to see the bat boys as rat boys and the Valkyries ( as a rat owner, this would give me joy )

The Rat Boys™

Rhysand

The ultimate rat boyfriend. I don't have to tell you to look at him - his beauty already commands your full attention. The sly smile tells me he's well aware of it. His bravery has no end as he stands over the edge of the world, basking in all its glory. Everything the light touches. . .is his kingdom.

2. Cassian

Things are not looking as good for this rat. Look at his hands, clasped together. He just pissed off his girlfriend and he's praying to the gods she doesn't find him. His dark eyes flare with nothing but fear, and for good reason. His girlfriend is scary as hell.

3. Azriel

Is that a little microphone in his hands? Why yes, it is. Is his mouth parted slightly? Without a doubt. You may ask, "Does this rat sing?" He does, and he is damn good at it.

#the rat boys #aka the bat boys as rats #thank you for submitting this i thoroughly enjoyed making this little thread lol #acotar ask game #rhysand #cassian #azriel #rhysand acotar #cassian acotar #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #pro nessian #pro gwynriel #nessian #gwynriel #acotar memes #acotar #my asks

[imhonestlyjustsoconfused]

I was gifted like 200 lb of fabric a few years ago and I was digging through it and found some fucking suede, like authentic suede, and do you want to know what I'm going to use that beautiful piece of fabric for? binding someone's fucking fanfiction

#i speak #it'll be the cover #It's this beautiful black suede and I think I'm going to use some of the golden embroidery thread that I have to hand stitch the title #This is going to be the prettiest book in my collection #you're divine #Azriel Green

[theanonymousopossum]

The Threads that Bind Us Part 2

@siriusleee Part 2 has arrived for your present from the @acotargiftexchange, and serving today we have some of Elain and Azriel's POVs, and a little more detail on what exactly King Archeron is doing.

Note: I've changed the monster's name to Archetaur so that it's the bull of Archeron instead of Minos, but like the original myth it is supposed to be a Minotaur.

Warnings: nothing really, other than me rambling about makeup looks (spy the cosmetologist lol)

Hybern was known for being a wealthy city despite being so small, and it was obvious the king took great pride in this fact given the state of his throne room.

Upon a raised platform sat two thrones, one smaller than the other. Huge banners emblazoned with the Hybernian mascot-a giant chimera in golden thread surrounded by silver fire-hung from the high rafters, and braziers lit up with some strange sort of silvery-white fire glowed along the edge of the platform.

Beneath it was the reception hall, and this was clearly where the party was to be hosted tonight.

Servants were rushing around frantically, hanging strings of multicoloured lights from every surface, scattering flower petals along the floors, and placing bouquets and wreaths of every shape and sort of flora along the beautiful walls.

In one corner, the orchestra’s area was being set up, and there were at least 200 seats present, along with the most elaborate pianoforte, whose size, etchings, and quality of crafting were unparalleled. 

Massive buffet tables were laid out, and soon food would be brought in to fill the entire area.

Sitting on the larger of the two thrones sat the king. Azriel knew well what he looked like, having spied him on his various diplomatic visits, but he knew nothing of the girl perched upon the second throne.

He knew it was wrong to stare at royalty, but never in his life had he seen such beauty as Princess Elain. Waves of a light brown streaked with gold fell to her waist, elegantly arranged with clips, and a small hair comb embedded with a cobalt stone was visible.

Soft brown eyes examined him and the others that had come through the door, and Azriel thought that they reminded him of the hue of a young doe. 

A gorgeous dress the colour of a blooming marigold hugged her figure, decorated with so many tiny golden embellishments the cost of the dress alone probably could have fed a small village. But such were the luxuries of royalty, he supposed.

Her eyes moved across the people standing in the throne room, and her soft gaze seemed to linger on him for a moment longer than the rest before darting along to the others. Perhaps he had imagined it.

“Welcome, welcome,” boomed the king. All eyes fixed upon him. 

“It is my pleasure to have you all here. In show of my delight at your arrival, I would be honoured if you would join us at tonight’s celebratory ball in honour of my daughter.”

Excited murmurs broke out, and Azriel knew that none of these young folks, who were all undoubtedly from poor families who signed up for the army for a little extra coin and the free meals and bed it offered, had never been to anything resembling the grandeur of a ball. 

“Your doula will help you to prepare, so worry not. The only other matter left to discuss is that of your coming-your first assignment has already been decided.”

The murmuring ceased, but the air of excitement did not die in the least. It was stupid, the spy thought, but he realised these men all wanted to be a hero, and either didn’t know or didn’t care about the fate of the others that had come. He, however, also listened intently, as it would be his mission as well.

“My kingdom, as of late, has had a monster of sorts that has plagued us. Your task will be to end the monster in any way you can. All the resources of this palace and anywhere else you can get them will be open to you to use. If you wish to know more about the monster, you need only speak with your doulon. That is all I will say for now. You are dismissed.”

When he had finished speaking, all of the servants bowed to the king, before beginning to exit. Azriel and the others quickly followed suit, bowing and following the servants to their rooms.

—-------

Princess Elain was miserable. And while there was nothing sadder than being sad on your birthday, she couldn’t help it. 

Servants rushed around the palace in a tizzy, preparing everything for the ball hosted this evening, including her. 

No less than 6 servants were doing her hair, because apparently this morning’s 2 hours of work spraying enough hairspray to stun an entire army were insufficient. 

Another 3 were doing her makeup, though ironically the look they were doing was “natural”. 

If it takes 3 people a full hour to do ‘natural’ makeup then I fear for myself should I ever have to get anything extravagant, she thought. Natural looks always suited her, she was told, so tonight’s gold eyeshadow was about as wild as it got.

As even more servants came forward to help her into her dress, her mind wandered to her problems. Well, more specifically, that problem.

The fact that in exactly 2 years time, on her 25th birthday, if the monster remained undefeated, she would be offered as sacrifice per the gods’ demands.

Such was the fate of a princess born to a king who thought himself greater than the gods. 

The wretched monster had already taken the lives of untold thousands of peasants and villagers that lived out in the countryside where it roamed. 

The Archetaur, it was called by the local people. The bull of King Archeron, his curse for vanity.

And as if the deaths of the peasants weren’t bad enough, an oracle had informed her father that were the beast not killed by her 25th birthday, then she would be claimed by the Archetaur as a punishment. 

Elain knew this ball was her father’s pathetic attempt to win back some of the support of the people, who were rightfully angry at him. Only recently had he begun to do something beyond sitting idly on his throne assuring everyone that he was doing his best.

Of course, that something was requesting soldiers from a land Hybern had vague ties to under a facade that they were to fight in a war. 

Instead, all were sent off to the Archetaur, and inevitably met their doom.

This new batch of soldiers that had come in today all looked the same as the others, eager young men with no idea what awaited them.

Except for him. The one with the hazel eyes.

Elain had spied him amongst the other soldiers, and she could tell that unlike the rest, this man knew combat, and for the first time in all her 23 years, a small, fragile blossom of hope bloomed.

Perhaps this one could end her curse. Perhaps he could be the one to shatter the thin, golden chain that rested around her ankle. And perhaps, just perhaps, he could be the one to get her out of this godsforsaken island, away from her overbearing father and the people who resented her family. 

As she contemplated this, the princess resolved to speak to him at the ball tonight, where he would surely be in attendance.

A/N: Thus concludes Part 2! Please let me know your thoughts, your comments inspire the story :)

Also side note, I'm very sorry for the sporadic updates. Due to health and family issues, I don't have as much time for writing as I'd like.

#elriel #elain x azriel #elriel fanfiction #pro elriel #theanonymousopossum #secret santa #the threads that bind us

[denouemente]

it was the hardest thing he'd ever done, pretending to still be ignoring her after all they'd done, after all they'd confessed. the feeling of her kiss still lingered, the feeling of her hands on his body and the feeling of her pressed against him that day in the garden. as far as azriel knew, no one knew. he hadn't told cassian, he definitely hadn't told rhys about it. or nesta. or feyre. this was something he wanted for himself — after so much dedication to the night court, he found it fair to keep this for himself.

it was a shame that he needed to keep those affections down in public. still, whenever he saw @homebehind, his heart began to race. he knew rhysand knew. this time around, he knew his high lord knew. elain entered the room, her sweet scent fills his nose and he can feel those violet eyes boring into the back of his head. WITH AN INHALE, azriel controls his heartbeat, eyes closing momentarily as he tries to ground himself. SNARL ALL YOU WANT. IF I SEE YOU PANTING AFTER HER AGAIN, I'LL MAKE YOU REGRET IT. that message rings loud and clear in his mind, and he clears his throat. “ i think i'll take my leave. ” he murmurs, placing the book he'd been mindlessly thumbing through the past couple seconds. “ rhys. ” he bows his head, then walks towards elain, clearing his throat again. “ lady elain. ” he says slightly quieter, bowing his head toward her — but as he walks past her, his eyes flicker down to her hand. but rhysand is probably looking. he looks back up at her, his wing angling slightly downward. perfect. fingers brush against hers, and that feeling of electricity shoots through his arm again, and it takes everything in him to mask the blush on his cheeks as he moves forward, doing his best to make it look as though nothing's different between them. still, as he walks past her, he has a soft grin on his face, fist clenching and unclenching as he moves through the estate.

[ passing confidence ] – for the sender’s muse brush their finger’s against the receiver’s muse’s hand, too scared to hold their hand.

#homebehind #IC: AZRIEL. #ANSWERED. #set this after their smooch thread hehe.. #HOMEBEHIND FT. ELAIN ARCHERON.

[stvvlblcde]

closed starter for @royalreiqn ( cassian tyrell ) !

the last council meeting had been particularly rough, azriel biting his tongue far more than he desired. when they'd been dismissed, the lord commander had waited by the door, giving a polite but strained smile to a few of the other members as they passed him by. when cassian strode out, azriel did not hesitate to fall into step beside the taller man. " you owe me a drink, lord tyrell," he spoke as if it was fact and not something he'd decided upon that morning. " perhaps we can share it your office, discuss the investigation as well," azriel flashed a half smile at that, far too much teeth in it. " you must posses a bottle of arbor red, i've heard you're a man of finer things."

#a.redfort ; thread #cassian & azriel ; thread

[draconikia]

he'd been told to. it's the truth. unpleasant though it may be. and though instinct had him fight it. duty had won. who is he if he is not rhy's most loyal soldier? who is he if the blood of rhy's enemies don't stain his hands? who is he if he were allowed to want something?

shoulders lift in a gentle sort of shrug, non-committal as scarred fingers curl around the stubborn root of a weed. ruthless in his efforts to withdraw it. he will say nothing if possible, silence prevents from untruth, prevents him from causing pain, from revealing the reason. so he settles for an excuse he's used before. when another woman he cared for asked him why he left.

' the highlord had places i needed to be. the shadows -- ' a vague gesture towards the edge of the garden where a rather amorphous group of shadows seems antsy for him to retreat from the bright sun where he lingers. ' i go -- where i'm ordered. '

there was another highlord who sent him away, another one who told him what the price of loyalty was, and he was a man that azriel thought had not lived on in rhysand. but even spymasters are wrong sometimes it seems. he holds that knowledge close, not willing to show his disappointment in the man he has chosen as family, as a brother -- one who he has never failed to be loyal to. until it seems - now.

' the twins -- did they stay with you? they prefer your company to mine. i don't blame them. i like yours better than mine. '

he says it so nonchalantly, that it's as if he hasn't peeled a piece of himself away. offered to first rhys, and then to her, something that once cost him. but the thought of them staying with her seems to lighten his mood, ' they mentioned there was a great deal of baking with the little lordling -- ' amusement in umber eyes as he rests back on his knees. dusty hands brushed off on the dark clothing he always wears. not quite leathers, but not entirely casual either. but this? with the sun pouring down on his dark hair, his wings tucked against his back as he navigates the narrow paths between gardens, with dirt instead of gore beneath his nails -- this is the happiest azriel has ever looked. and it is a sight all for her.

‘why’d you go?’ // elain && azriel // @homebehind

#azriel // interaction #homebehind #answered // feel free to turn into threads if inspiration strikes

[utterlyazriel]

the green emotion

someone requested jealous!azriel and i... made up a whole plot. i hope it's decent and fulfills the craving ! i'm a firm believer than he's so silly when he gets jealous <3 friends to lovers, about 4k

Azriel was not a jealous Male.

That was what he told himself. Jealousy was something that possessed the likes of Cassian or Rhys, driven to territorial acts that likened them to wild beasts. Fueled by their protectiveness, their senses dulled beyond reason.

Jealousy was a sharp whip with a taunting bite and Azriel was one of few who did not bend beneath it.

He had adopted a strength over millennia, an iron will, that prevented him from harboring such unsavory feelings. He was a stronger male than that, not so easily willed by strong ugly emotions such as jealousy.

That was what he told himself — as he tailed behind you, hanging back far enough you could not detect his presence, his shadows shrouding him.

It was reaching evening in Velaris, the last remnants of the sun's dappled light scattered across the cobblestones. You were clothed in a velvet cloak that reached down to your ankles. Its hood was drawn up, to cover your face.

If Azriel didn’t know you so well, not the weight of your steps and the lithe you carried yourself with, you may have slipped by unnoticed.

But Azriel was the Spymaster for a reason — and you were keeping secrets.

Truly, it itched and picked at him as he turned reason over and over again in his mind as he followed you. What possible reason could you have for skirting around in the dark? To slip from your friends and cloak yourself, wishing to remain unseen on the streets of your home?

It didn’t make sense to him. No thoughts of treason ever breached his mind. You wouldn’t dare, he knew that. You treasured your family as deeply as Azriel did himself, having bled and fought for your space beside them many years ago.

But as Azriel traced the path you walked, knowing you were fully in your right to go about your business however you pleased, it couldn’t be ignored. Logic kept pointing fingers in the same direction.

If he did not suspect you of withholding vital information from your court, then his quiet tailing must be fueled by something else. Something as trivial as an emotion such as…. jealousy.

Azriel bristled at the thought and his wings shook silently behind him, as if shaking off some imaginary snow.

He did not get jealous.

He was simply… ensuring the safety of his court. Which included your own safety. Even the thought made him grimace in the shadows, knowing the smack he would receive from Cassian if his brother ever heard the implication you couldn’t fend for yourself.

You most certainly could. Azriel and Cassian had both spent their fair share of hours battling against you in the fighting ring, training you up.

And it’s hardly likely that the image of you — donned in your fighting leathers, forehead beaded with sweat, chest heaving as you gripped your sword tight and grinned across the ring — was something Azriel would forget anytime soon.

Cauldron boil him if he ever had to admit aloud just how often he thought of that image.

Still, something within him kept his feet moving, footsteps as quiet as the night.

Faelight illuminated across the cobbles, the light of the rising moon, brighter in this court than any other, cast across the doorsteps of the townhouses. You had wound through the streets and ended up two streets stray from the Palace of Threads and Jewels. On a doorstep that Azriel had never seen before.

Your hood fell to your shoulders as you pushed it back gently, revealing the column of your throat and the curve of your shoulders. The faint moonlight glided across your skin, a luminous glow curling up against your collarbones. Azriel swallowed from his place in the shadows.

It was never a surprise to find you beautiful. To revere your enchanting otherworldly beauty — that Azriel was used to. And yet still, even after all these years, he had not managed to master the way it stole the breath from his lungs every time.

A familiar hunger yawned within him. He averted his eyes from you to the door.

He forced himself to take in the details, listening as his shadows whispered things his eyes could not attest. An artist's home. Damaged and rebuilt in the last battle of Velaris. The inhabitant was a Male, living alone.

Something blistered awfully inside Azriel.

Why would you visit a home such as this? Azriel could think of a few reasons that could warrant a visit so late in the evening, with your face concealed and your footsteps light. He felt his stomach turn over. Something foul burned in his gut.

The door before you opened and Azriel turned his face fast, slicing his gaze to the ground before he could see the Fae who greeted you.

Suddenly, this felt too close to an invasion of privacy. If you wished to keep your lovers a secret, as he himself did, this was a direct violation of your wishes.

That was... if this man was, indeed, your lover.

Something vulgar, something ugly reared up in his veins. Azriel clenched his fists at his sides, siphons gleaming, and willed it down.

Jealousy would not become him. Jealousy was not— did not control him.

And yet he could feel it, coursing through his blood, choking up his throat. Azriel tried to push it down, to fight against it with reason, with logic. You were promised to no Male, least of all to him. But...

But he could've sworn.

As quickly as the words appeared in his mind, Azriel stamped them down with an icy fury.

A silent curse followed them, directed at himself for his own foolishness. How many times would he walk this road before he eventually learned?

There had been no heated moments between you, no wandering eyes, no lingering hands; none that he had not imagined. None that his mind had no conjured up in its own twisted hope.

When you sought him out in the night, tormented by your own mind and how it kept you from sleep, you were seeking... a friend, Azriel realised bitterly.

There was nothing deeper to your decision to show up at his door but no one else's. Nothing was hidden in the way you chose a seat next to him at every dinner, nor the way you found a way to be beside him at the tables at Rita's.

Sitting close enough so that he could smell the alluring scent of your perfume. Could see the gleam of your bright eyes as you glanced at him after every joke, almost as if to see what might make him smile.

No. He steeled himself, shutting down every sweet moment of you he had been subconsciously collecting, holding to a greater magnitude than you clearly did.

You were not like Mor or Cassian. You did not warm the sheets of many Fae beds, slipping in and out of them without a care.

You were... alike to himself, Azriel had thought. Dedicated yourself to one.

He scowled at himself in the dark. This— this rendezvous in the dark did not dispel what he knew about you. It did not make it untrue.

It simply meant his feeble hope, that the one, the Fae you might dedicate yourself entirely was him... was just that—a hope.

It did not sway the reality of the world, the matter of truth that you crept out in the night to meet on shadowed doorsteps. Azriel felt his shadows smoking around him, spun into a frenzy at his unwelcome revelation. He snapped in his wings a little tighter.

Coming here tonight, following you, had been a mistake.

—

It seemed perfectly logical after that night for Azriel to take a step back, to rein himself in.

Not that there was not much to rein back — but the small actions reserved just for you, the unrestrained smiles, the inside jokes ribbed back at one another.

The things he had perceived as meaning more. He knew, that if he wanted to protect his heart from further ache, he should stop doing them.

But... maybe the only thing he did better than fighting, he thought grievously, was being utterly lovesick for someone who would never feel the same.

At the very least, he would hold his feelings to secrecy. It began with the smallest retractions, like weaning an addict off their favourite drug.

Azriel knew if he pulled away too quick, it would send him into a sort of withdrawal — and after all these years spent together, he wasn't sure he knew how to live with a deficit of you. Of your brazen smile and sparkling eyes.

Slow and sure. Over the next week, he willed himself to quit bothering you, to empty a space in your life so you could invite in others, those that meant more to you. So, there could be space for your new... lover.

Even the word sounded bitter in his mind.

Azriel opted for longer training in the morning. Let his sparring sessions with Cassian bleed longer and longer, not leaving the blazing hot rooftop even when Cass winds up limping inside.

He had received a halfhearted scowl from the warrior, undoubtedly for how unrelenting he had been in his fighting this week.

The time he usually sets aside for you, to read side by side in the library, to bake, to enjoy each other's company — Azriel swept it aside for you, to free up your schedule.

Noticed how you spend your free time down in Velaris. He doesn't dare tail you again.

The week crawls by slowly, stretching out thick, black tar.

Come Sunday, a day you normally reserved for spending with him, Azriel knows his extra insistence on training isn't enough of an excuse to keep you away. He trains late anyway.

True to his suspicions, it takes less than an hour for you to appear— having come to find him.

Azriel can sense you, even before his shadows murmur sweet things in his ears about the most beautiful Fae watching him through the window.

You're lingering at the door, unusually reserved. He can feel your hesitancy, even as he works his aching muscles through yet another set of exercises. His shadows stay in close, the edge of his body whispering in and out of darkness, his siphons gleaming.

You wait, watching quietly, until the sword he's wielding, a strong, broad Illyrian blade, is placed down to rest. Then, there's the soft pad of your feet as you step out into the training area. He hears you coming but he does not turn to face you.

“I've missed you this week.”

Even with his back turned, Azriel fights to keep his expression neutral, even as his eyes flutter at your admission. There's a tug on his shadows, their desire to wisp across to you proving a challenge to resist. He holds himself still, stern, and doesn't even a ruffle of his wings to indicate he's heard you.

"I—" Azriel begins. He still can't bear to turn to face you. "I'm sorry to hear that."

He can hear the noise of confusion that slips from your throat — evidently, it isn't the response you're expecting.

Azriel focuses on the sword before him, his bicep bulging as he lifts its weight and wanders to the stand of weapons. He pretends to be immersed in the decision of which to train with next, even though he's been out here for hours.

Even with his silent cold shoulder, he can still hear you behind him, your feet dragging softly across the ground in what is surely a hesitant nervous action. But still, you haven't left.

"Well, maybeee…" You continue on, voice still aiming for light and breezy, as if he hasn't been avoiding you. You're still trying.

Azriel's chest tightens up with a familiar ache, one that always lingers around you. Since seeing you that night, on another Male's doorstep, its sting has become particularly cruel. Jealousy has a cold bite.

"If you’re nearly done... I mean, if your somewhat obsessive workout regime is finally complete..."

You're winding on, taking jabs that would normally make him smile. You'd take a gentle rolling of his eyes at this point. Azriel turns to you, his face remaining passive.

"I was wondering if you wanted to come sit with me in the library," You say, voice suddenly softer now that he's facing you. "If you’re not too busy, that is.”

Azriel steels himself, eyes cutting to the ground as he forces himself to not wilt beneath your hopeful gaze. He knew it would be hard to pull himself away from you but this? This is nearing torture.

He clears his throat. “I am.”

He turns and begins to peel off the layers of Illyrian leathers from his torso, remaining diligent at keeping himself from caving to you. He can feel the ugly emotion rolling just beneath the surface, a gruesome green monster that threatens his usual composure.

Behind him, he hears your soft, saddened oh. His wings give a tiny shiver at it, even as he continues the methodical process of unwinding after training.

Piece by piece, his armor comes off, until even his shirt has been shed. His skin glistens under the shine of the afternoon sun, the muscles beneath rippling and sore from exertion.

There's a moment of silence and Azriel keeps his head bowed as he gathers himself, prepared to bathe the sweat and grime off himself. It wasn't a complete lie he had told.

Perhaps, he thinks wistfully, he could wash some of his unjust jealousy away with it. Being so unwound by his feelings is taking its toll on him, considering how unused to it he is. He waits, ears keenly listening for the sign of your departure.

After a minute of quietness, he can only assume you've slipped away silently. He sighs, half in relief and half in his sorrow.

"What are you busy doing?"

Your voice pipes up and Azriel glances behind him, surprised that you haven't left after all. His wings tuck in a little tighter.

"y/n." He murmurs your name and it comes out almost as a plea. Now, faced with you pulling apart his loose lie, Azriel finds he doesn't have it within him to lie to your face. "Please."

You don't say anything.

Azriel's shadows dance around him, agitated and frenzied, and he wills them to calm— though, that had always been an impossible request in your presence. He takes a sharp inhale and walks towards the door, leaving you behind on the rooftop.

He gets halfway down the hallway, heading for his room before your voice calls out again.

"Busy avoiding me?"

You've followed him from the training ring and now you stand at the end of the hallway, your arms crossed firmly across your chest. Your face is contorted into a hard expression, a furrow between your brows.

Azriel sighs and turns back to you. He hadn't been able to keep his secret from Mor — why, oh why did he think that he would have any more luck when it came to you?

You— enigmatic, wonderful you. Maybe, all Azriel hopes to do today is to delay the inevitable rejection for a different day. An easier day.

A day where he isn't feeling so easily undone by his the enormity of his envy. Envious of what he can't have but so desperately desires.

As he turns to face you, it's impossible to miss the way your eyes dart down to his bare chest. You stare for a moment too long and it looks like it takes an effort to drag your eyes up. You swallow heavily, the bob of your throat unmissable. Even from afar, Azriel swears there's a glow to your cheeks.

No. No, he wasn't doing that to himself anymore! He wouldn't— he couldn't be having those thoughts about you anymore. You had a lover for Mother's sake.

"I'm not—"

"Oh my Gods, don't even try to say you're not avoiding me." You interrupt him sharply. You begin to stamp your way down the hallway, eyes narrowed, your annoyance clear to see.

A door in the hallway opens. Distracted by something over his shoulder, Cassian takes a blundering loud step out into the hallway before he freezes.

He spots you first, eyes widening and wings bunching up at your obvious fury. His head turns, finding Azriel down the other end of the hallway.

"Oh... Mother, this is happening now, huh? I'm just gonna— uh, get food later." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder, quickly turning and disappearing back into his room. His door closes with a quiet snip.

In the moment of distraction, you don't notice how Azriel has moved away stealthily— his shadows aiding his quiet getaway. He's not entirely sure what his plan is; he doubts he can avoid this argument by simply shutting himself in his room. Turns out, he's selfish enough to be willing to try.

Sure enough, it takes another moment before his wings twitch, his shadows reporting on your incoming footsteps moments before he hears them himself.

He busies himself with digging through his drawers and sends a silent request to the House, praying it might keep the door locked against you.

He can do this— he can swallow down his burning heart and keep your friendship he values so dearly, he swears he can. Just not today.

He hears the door open.

Glancing up, he narrows his eyes at the House and calls it a foul word in his mind. The Faelights of his room seem to twinkle mischievously in response.

"Az," You breathe softly.

His name sounds unbearably tender coming from your lips. His wings give a little rustle, curling closer around himself.

Despite his lack of reply, you aren't deterred. He can hear your footsteps, gentle and not at all like your prior furious stomps down the hallway, as they wind around his bed.

Chest stirring with an old ache, he keeps himself facing away. He slips a shirt on and prays you give him one more day to rein in his treacherous heart. One more day. He just can't do it today.

"Did I... Did I do something?"

Your voice is suddenly a lot smaller.

Azriel softens instantly at the sound of it, feeling his resolve begin to crumble. He crushes his eyes closed and thinks of what he had seen down in Velaris — forces himself to imagine you with another Male, in his arms, in his bed.

But even if his jealousy is so terribly unwarranted, he cannot bring himself to lie to you.

"No," The word grates out his throat roughly.

Because it's the truth. You hadn't done anything wrong and— and Azriel refused to hurt you just because he couldn't contain a few rampant feelings.

"Really?" The tinge of annoyance is back in your words and Azriel can't even blame you.

"Because then why it is that you have been avoiding me since— since the day I was-"

You cut your own words off and Azriel fills in the blank on his own. Since the day down in the city—where I saw you entering another Male's home, hidden in your cloak, like you were meeting a lover— and even though you're completely allowed to do that, I am like every other gods forsaken jealous Male in Prythian, getting upset over this, even if you are not truly mine.

He turns to you finally, his hands clenched at his side and he wills the next sentence out.

"What or who you choose to spend your free time with—" He inhales a long breath, forcing his face to remain neutral even as he feels his teeth grit together. "—is none of my concern."

Your face scrunches up, confused. Then the furrow between your eyebrows is back and Azriel feels a tad nervous. You aren't often angry, least of all with him.

"Cauldron boil me," You bury your face into your hands for a second. Then you drag them down languidly with a groan, peeking up at him over your hands.

"Did you follow me?"

Azriel feels a bit off-guard. His voice isn't as sure when he says, "It is my duty to survey my court."

You bristle a little at that and the nervousness within him grows a little bigger.

"'Who I choose to spend my time with?'" You repeat his words back to him with a tone of incredulity, your hands motioning wildly before you. Faintly, Azriel begins to sense the feeling of foolishness rising within him.

"For Mother's sake, Az, I was buying you a birthday gift, not sleeping with him!"

The moment the words burst from your lips, two things happen. Azriel stiffens, the true nature of your stealthy endeavor through Velaris making a fool of him indeed.

You were... cloaked and hidden because you had been planning a surprise. For him. For his birthday. Something he hadn't even considered was around the corner as it held no high merit with him. His eyes widen and his lips part an inch.

And you — you straighten up, eyes wide, looking as though you've been struck by lightning.

"You were jealous." You gasp.

Not a question, a statement.

"No," Azriel denies, without thinking. His heart rabbits in his chest. The irony of acting out the way he did, because jealousy had blinded him in the first place, is not lost on him.

Suddenly, all his envy is washed away, replaced quickly by a bumbling foolish embarrassment. He wishes he could winnow out of the House. He considers the window behind him for a moment, if only to spare himself from revealing his true feelings to you.

One glance back at your face, your expression edging towards crestfallen, and any thoughts of running away vanishes.

"Yes." He quickly amends, voice meek.

His wings give a little shudder, twisting in closer as he realises what he's admitted aloud. How there was no coming back from this.

No one had ever made him as loose-tongued as you do. Azriel is embarrassed to be caught stumbling over his words.

"I realise..." He croaks out, suddenly finding the slats of the floorboards immensely more interesting. His shadows have slowed from their nervous frenzy, making lazy motions instead, as if to soothe him. "That may not be ideal. My feelings, that is."

A beat of silence. Azriel studies a spot on the floor intently. His heart flounders wildly behind his ribs. His embarrassment seeps something closer to mortification.

Your shoes peek into the edge of his vision and Azriel's head shifts up slowly, his hazel eyes finding yours and burning into them.

His shadows whisper a thousand things to him — but all of them are dulled, quietened, as he simply stares at you. Feels something between the pair of you hang in the balance, just a breeze from unraveling.

Your eyes are bright. Acutely, he realises he can smell relief rolling off you in heavy waves. Amongst it, too, is a hint of... happiness. Happiness.

“Oh, you big Illyrian baby,” You coo, a teasing lilt to your tone.

His cheeks grow warm. Something white-hot tips down his spine as you step in closer, swaying into his space. He can smell the alluring scent of you and his heart thrums in his chest at your nearness, aching to be closer.

"Some spymaster you are, huh?" You say, voice barely above a whisper.

Azriel stays silent but his head tilts to the side just an inch in his puzzlement, his eyebrows knitting together. Hazel eyes peer at you with such an intensity that it sends goosebumps crawling across your skin— his eyes searching your face for answers to his thousand questions.

"Knowing everything except for this." You continue, words feather-soft.

You don’t say what this is but Azriel thinks he knows. Hopes he knows. His hands at his sides clench tighter, his fingers curled up into fists, and the motion catches your attention.

Moving so slowly, you reach out and gingerly take his wrist between your delicate fingers. Azriel lets you. A whine crawls up in the back of his throat and his swallows it back down.

He watches closely as you pull his hand up, forward, cradling it with your own two. His fingers twitch, so unfamiliar with such tender touches.

The shadows scouring around his shoulders burst into a frenzy, circling down his arms and twirling around your intertwined hands. It's as though they're... dancing, Azriel thinks.

"I... hoped." He admits quietly, his voice full of longing.

You shift his mottled hand, turning it gently so his palm is facing yours. Then you hold your own up against it, like you're comparing hand sizes.

Azriel can barely tear his eyes off where your hand presses into his to look up at you. Something molten hot begins to scorch through his veins. A realisation. A dream that may be finally answered. It feels like pure starlight.

Your hand is dwarfed against his own scarred one — and when Azriel curls his fingers, they hug the top of yours gently. You press back against his hand, like the smallest hug back.

You murmur back. "You don't need hope."

Your gaze skirts up from your joined hands, your lips twitching into a nervous smile.

Your eyebrows have drawn together in the middle, just a bit, as though what's happening is something you find devastatingly beautiful. As though you think that way about him. About the two of you, together.

Azriel finds himself thinking of all he would give in the world —all the mountains he'd move and dragons he'd slay— for you to keep looking at him that way.

"You already have me."

#i'm so on the fence on whether i like this one ! >.< #but i do think he would be sooooo foolish once he got jealous #esp if u were nearly a thing but not quite #and i do think he wouldn't have a kiss. just a handhold #when u two finally come together :") #azriel x you #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x reader #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger x you #acotar

[pellucid-constellations]

Reversal

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: When protecting your mate brings out a side you swore to keep hidden, you have to deal with the consequences.

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: Violence, injury, angst, some self-deprecation

a/n: This is loosely based off of this request <3 thank you for sending it!! I hope you enjoy and I also love comments!! ♡

Masterlist ♡

~~

In the heat of battle, there was kindness. 

That was a ludicrous sentiment, and Azriel had reminded you of that many times, but it was something you believed in. 

War was hot flames and blood and the clashing of metal, but it was also reassurance and soft hands and wisps of healing light. If war was cruel and it stole, you were kind and you gave. 

The first war had been a teacher, guiding you to your role. The second war had been reinforcement, showing you what it meant to be the Night Court’s healer. And then you thought you were done—done with attempting the impossible. 

But then Beron took a stance that no one could foresee, and you were not done. 

With the soldiers of Autumn Court came an impenetrable heat, and it was your job to quell the scars that plagued Rhysand’s frontlines. You were the one set to heal the broken and save the damned, and you were the one set to protect the court with kindness. 

It was awful work. 

Azriel was always quick to agree. 

Your mate hated these wars more than you did, and that was an almost impossible feat. Azriel was never close to you in the throes of battle. There was always a cluster of shadows on your trail, but he could never be there himself. You knew it ate away at him, distracting him when he was supposed to be zeroed in on the enemies. 

But, you had reminded him as he held you close in the tent the night before, you hadn’t died yet, and maybe you’d never die from a war. Maybe you weren’t destined to. 

He had only pulled you closer at that, pressed his lips to your head as his wings hid you from the camp that made far too much noise. He held you so tightly you felt his pulse on the skin of your cheek and you pretended you were back at home. 

Because although you were the kindness within the war, you wanted to go home. 

Gods, did you want to go home. 

Flames raced along the outskirts of the blue shield that had enveloped you the moment your knees hit the ground beside the unconscious Illyrian soldier. They pushed and pried, trying to force their way past your mate’s protection as you trained your attention on the wound marring the soldier’s skin. 

Azriel would protect you. 

He always did, even when he couldn’t be beside you. 

“I’m… going to die,” the male beneath your hands huffed out, a line of sweat at his brow. 

“No,” you assured. “No, you’re going to be okay. I just need a few more moments.” 

You couldn’t see what was making him so assuredly pessimistic—couldn’t see the way the flames were creating cracks in the shimmering blue light. They were covering every inch of the shield, making the air in the circle red with heat and promised death. 

You noticed a moment too late. 

It was unbearable, the suffocating fire. You threw your body over the soldier as if that would make a difference, arms and shoulders wrapping over his head as your leathers scorched and your lungs burned. The male screamed, his legs thrashing. You wanted to replicate the sound, but you were kindness. Kindness did not scream. 

It ended as abruptly as it began, flames dissipating into blackened embers. You felt a crack in the bond during the disappearance, Azriel’s fear and rage embedding itself into the golden thread connecting you. That, too, ended as abruptly as it began; Azriel shut his side down, saving you from the ravaging emotions. 

You whipped around to search for him, eyes up towards the sky. You found him quickly, with a practiced eye. You’d looked for him in every room you’d entered for almost your entire life. It was easy to find Azriel. As easy as breathing. 

That breath was stolen from you the moment your gaze locked on his form.

He was falling. 

He had charged—alone—into the group that was to blame for your injuries, for the flames that had almost consumed you, and now he was falling. 

He was falling and he wasn’t conscious. 

You think you screamed, but that couldn’t be right. Screaming led to panicked patients, and panicked patients led to worse outcomes. Your screams were not welcomed in war. 

You tugged at the bond, desperate to rouse him into saving himself. But it was no use; he was plummeting to the ground and there was nothing you could do. 

When you looked back on it later—when it fizzled as dim memories within your dreams—your actions would become more clear. You’d remember that you stood up, and then the ground shook. That the years of training required to be a field healer included so much more than twisting bursts of soothing light. 

And something within you had awoken that day, the moment you saw wakefulness leave Azriel’s being… something that was not kindness or giving or calm. 

It was rage. 

A piece of you recognized that Azriel had been caught. Cassian’s wings had most likely ached from the speed with which he dove to catch his brother, but both members of your family were safe. Harmed, but safe. Not dead.  

Your rage didn’t care. 

Something deep within you snapped, and light was pouring from the tips of your fingers. It wasn’t the same hue that healed. It was darker; a hungry red. 

The enemies from the sky fell. 

When those on the ground saw the damage you had inflicted, you became their target. And fine, let them, because this power coursing through you had no sense of who was to blame for your mate’s injuries. To you, everyone was a threat. Everyone was to blame. 

With a practiced grace, tainted by years of disuse, you attacked. The scene was cloaked in a red hue. Fae after fae charged at you, but it was all fruitless. You felt pain, injuries covering your skin, but it was all muted by the overwhelming desire to end this. To somehow soothe the ache you felt from watching your mate fall.

Time became obsolete. 

Morals became blurred. 

You were a machine, a complete reversal from the position you had assumed all those years ago.  

“Y/n!” 

Through the fog, a scream.

“Y/n, stop!” 

Another far away call. 

“It’s done. It’s over. Stop. Look at me and stop.” 

Something was pressing against your cheeks. It was firm and grounding and the focus returned to your gaze. 

“That’s it. Look at me, y/n.” 

Cassian. When all was righted, Cassian stood in front of you, his posture hunched as he leaned down to catch your eyes. He was dirty and his leathers were torn, but all you could focus on was the panicked frenzy marring his face. 

When he spoke next, the words were no longer accompanied by the incessant buzzing that had invaded your ears. “You with me, sweetheart?” 

Your lips felt numb. 

“Give me a nod or something. Az will kill me if you go catatonic on us.” 

“I’m okay,” you whispered, voice rough. “Azriel, he—” 

“He’s here.” Cassian turned your head in his hands, showing you the shadowsinger propped up against a dirt bank. “That self-sacrificing idiot is fine.” 

He wasn't fine, not really. His breaths were labored and his hand clutched at his side with a shaky grip. You wanted to move towards him, to try and take away some of his pain, but your legs were stuck. Everything was stuck and you couldn't move. 

It didn’t matter, anyway. When your eyes trailed up from his body, the look on his face would have deterred you from even speaking to him. He looked… horrified. Hazy eyes blinked across the battlefield—the one you decimated—and they shut just as fast. They squeezed shut, clamping down so tightly it looked like it hurt. Azriel seemed to shiver at the carnage. 

When your chest heaved at the realization, your body seemed to shut down. You felt your legs give out first, heard the curse shot out by Cassian, and felt the hands pressing to your back as your mind gave way to unconsciousness. 

~~

When you woke, the heaviness in your body was not entirely physical. 

There were, of course, a few broken bones. You could feel the aches and pains from battle and knew that you hadn’t gotten away unscathed, but that was all manageable. Fae healing was fast-acting and you would be fine within a few days. 

But it wasn’t the physical pain keeping you from opening your eyes.

It was the reminder of Azriel’s face. 

The disgust written into his features. 

You were supposed to be his antithesis.

When Azriel came home at the end of a day, he was supposed to be comforted by your warmth and softness. You were kindness and light and graceful silence. You were a healer, granting life, and he was an angel of death. 

Before you had met him, that had not been the truth. You were a healer, yes, but you were a field healer. The continent you hailed from prided themselves in being both the saviors of life and the bringers of death. You were to be the judgment—deciding who received which fate. 

But then you met Azriel, and with him came balance. With him came the need to be only one part of you. 

So you hid away the side of you meant to be cruel. You trained softly in self-defense only and you shied away from the instinct to protect with fists and power. 

And you loved the way he looked at you because of it. 

You loved the soft eyes and silent laughs; the tender way he held you and the sweet way he brushed his lips to your innocent skin. He coveted you, protected you, and you were the one he sought comfort in. 

You were his mate, his equal, his mirror. 

You wished your eyes could remain shut forever. 

“Will she wake up soon?”

Mor, you could deduce. 

“The healers said there was no way to know. She… Gods, Mor, you should have seen her out there. I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

Cassian. 

“I wish I had been there. It sounds like she kicked some ass,” Mor smugly replied. 

Cassian huffed out a laugh. “That’s an understatement.” A pause. “It was more than just that though. It was like she was using her healing in a different way. She cleared the field in front of her. There’s no way that just… came out of her.” 

“You know what the mating bond does to people. What it can unleash.” 

“I get that. But it looked natural for her. It looked practiced.” 

You heard Mor sigh. A hand brushed against the top of yours, taking it into a soft grip. 

“I just hope she's alright,” Mor murmured. 

“She has to be.” 

~~

When you awoke next, it was alone. You had been fighting sleep for what you assumed to be the better part of a day and decided that was enough. Eventually, you had to face the consequences of your actions.

You swung your feet over the side of the cot, feeling surprisingly rested and well despite the few pains shooting along your limbs. You took hesitant steps towards the mouth of the tent, propping open the canvas billowing in the wind before taking a more confident step onto dirt and rocks. 

“Good, you’re up.” It was Rhysand who spotted you first. “Just in time for our debrief.” 

The casualness with which he spoke left you disoriented. The High Lord only blinked at you, a small, impassive smile on his face as he waited for you to take the arm he had outstretched. Your mouth parted as if to speak, but nothing was coming out. 

“I know you’re recovering, y/n, but I need my best at this meeting,” he encouraged, elbow jutting towards you. “Come. We’ll speak and then we’ll return to Velaris. We will go home.” 

Your reservations were odd when you compared them to the understanding on Rhys’s face. He wasn’t upset or disgusted or angry; the High Lord’s smile turned up at the corner of his mouth and his expression spoke of sympathy, as if he already knew about the turmoil raging within you. 

“Azriel—” 

“Is there already. Unhappy, but there.” 

Unhappy. 

Of course. 

Who would want a mate that ravaged battlefields? 

Your lip quivered, but you bit it to stop the emotion from showing. “Right,” you nodded, and you let Rhys guide you to the large tent in the middle of the camp. 

It was full; you had to push your way in to meet the rest of your court. Azriel was the only one seated amongst them, and you could tell by the twitch of his wings that he had been placed in that chair begrudgingly. 

Your eyes skated across his for a fleeting moment. You were quick to turn away, focusing on the material of Rhys’s jacket as he stopped in the corner of the tent. 

There was a faint tug on the bond, muted by the wall you had erected. You thought about letting it down, but you were scared of what you’d feel. Azriel was a good male; good enough to attempt to hide the revulsion he was feeling. 

But you’d be able to parse it out the second you dropped your mental shield. 

You kept your eyes forward as the high lords spoke around the tent. The large table in the center was covered in maps and wooden pegs and you flowed in and out of focus as treaties and strategies and plans all mingled in the space. 

Another tug at the bond. 

Another shield placed around your mind. 

“And what of her?” 

Rhys took a step in front of you, covering half of your body from view. “What of her?” he countered, a calmness in his tone as he replied to the High Lord of Spring. 

Tamlin raised a brow. “Are we just supposed to ignore that your ‘healer’ is a danger to all of our courts?” 

“You are a fool,” Feyre spat out, hands splayed on the table. 

“She is a weapon,” Tamlin seethed, finger jutting out towards you. 

You flinched, and the room exploded in shadows. 

You heard several gasps, a few weapons being unsheathed, but over everything was the low rumble of Azriel’s voice. 

“Don’t speak of her as if she is an object,” he threatened. “Don’t speak of my mate at all.” 

“Reign in your dog,” Tamlin spat, but that only spurred on the hostility in the room. 

A chair screeched back, crashing against wood as loud, reverberating footsteps echoed in the otherwise silent tent. No one made a sound. Some of the shadows gave way, retreating to wind around your body, and you were met with the scene across the table. 

“I will show you a weapon, High Lord,” Azriel promised, chest-to-chest with Tamlin. 

The sight made you sick. 

Azriel was a protector. You were used to that truth. But before, things were different. Before, he was protecting you while you were still pure, still innocent in his eyes. 

Now, it was after. After you had killed and killed for him. After he had hurtled to the ground and awoken to find the death his mate had caused. And he was still protecting you, defending you, despite it all. 

Were you really worth this? 

You were worth it before. 

Now, you weren’t so sure. 

On shaking legs, you shouldered your way out of the tent, breath caught in your lungs. The ringing from the battlefield returned to your ears, blocking out the conversations starting in your absence. The shadows stayed with you, twirling with alarm and flowing through your hair in an attempt to gain your attention. 

A weapon. That explained you well—the ability to save lives and take them away. If they all considered you a weapon, where would you go? By Tamlin’s logic, being locked away would be best. 

Maybe that was best. 

You wondered what Azriel would think was best—where his weapon of a mate belonged. Because it was certainly no longer in the calmness of the home you shared. 

Your shaking continued as you brought your hand up to your forehead. Azriel did that sometimes, when you were panicked or anxious or scared. He’d place his scarred touch on your forehead and lean your head up to grant you more air. He’d follow with his lips and then pull you into his arms, but you knew none of that was coming. 

So you leaned forward and felt the sobs creeping up your chest to take the place of air. Your knees fell to the dirt and you collapsed into the feeling of your family, love, life changing forever. 

Until the shadows retreated. 

You glanced up when their swishing stopped and found another pair of knees pressing to yours in the dirt. The leathers covering them were fresher than yours, cleaner, but they were also wrapped in bandages and stabilizers that matched the ones along their ribs and stomach. 

Another crane of your neck and Azriel was leaning down to catch your gaze, mouth parted. Maybe he’d been speaking for a while; the buzzing made it impossible to know. 

“Are you alright, my love?” he asked, low and so, so concerned. Much more concerned than you deserved. Much more gentle than he had spoken in the tent. 

And all you could think to say was, “I’m sorry,” and you sobbed out the words with gut-wrenching sincerity. 

“I’m sorry, Azriel. I’m so sorry. I never meant—I never wanted this—“

Azriel shushed you, his fingers working to guide your hair away from your face. You felt selfish for needing that from him as his body was bandaged and his wings were wrapped. 

“I’m sorry I’m not who you thought I was. That I’m a monster. You were just falling so fast and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn't stop it,” you gasped out, giving in to your instincts as you grappled at the material of Azriel’s shirt. “I wanted to protect you and there was nothing I could do. You’re supposed to feel safe with me and I’ve ruined everything.” 

With each word came more tears and more heaving breaths. Azriel held you through each of them, his hands firm at your elbows, his head shaking as you laid everything before him. Occasionally, your name fell from his lips in a soft whisper, but he never interrupted you. 

“I’m not supposed to be this person to you. I’m supposed to be all of the good parts, and now I’m—now I’m someone else and you can’t—you’re not going to love all of the parts and—”

“Look at me, angel,” Azriel softly interrupted, sliding his fingers along your hairline, his eyes searching every inch of your face. When your gaze snapped to his, a bittersweet smile graced his pretty features. “There she is.” 

A hysterical laugh left you, your emotions mingling with his as the bond flowed freely between you. You didn’t have the energy or willpower to block him out anymore. A rush of relief was sent through you as Azriel realized the opening. 

“You are not a monster.” Azriel’s whisper was so clear, so close. “And I love every part of you, y/n. Especially the part I saw on that field. You saved me—protected our court and family. How could I not love that?” 

“I saw your face,” you whispered back, the words brushing Azriel’s lips as your foreheads met. “You looked—”

“I looked disappointed in myself.” 

“In yourself?” 

Azriel brought both hands to your cheeks. “I lead you to that carnage. Y/n, I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to take that load for you… to shoulder that burden.” 

“You aren’t… disgusted by me?” 

“My love, I love you more. What you did for me… you’re so strong. Cassian told me how amazing you were. Why have you never told me?” 

You shifted back on your knees, blinking under Azriel’s adoring, forgiving gaze. The shadowsinger didn’t let you get far, however, sliding his hands down your jaw, your shoulders, and settling on the tops of your thighs. 

Touching you, it seemed, was imperative. 

“When we were mated,” you began, tears still lingering in your throat. “I was new to Prythian—new to having a family. Everyone kept telling me that we were equals in opposite. They said I was a blessing from the cauldron to be so different from you but so in love. And then you… you called me things like peace and safety and calm. I saw the work you did and I knew I couldn’t tell you what I was trained for. Being a healer was enough.” 

The hands on your thighs tense. Azriel’s shadows pooled beneath you, swirling like a puddle of darkness. 

“I never meant for you to hide,” he murmured. 

“Azriel—”

“Never, angel. You could burn down the world and you’d still be my peace. You could be a weapon and I’d find my safety in you.” 

He sighed out a disbelieving laugh. 

“I love you,” he affirmed, eyes so sure. “I love you when you heal the broken and I love you when you decimate battlefields.” A small smirk. “I wish I had known about the second half a little sooner. I might not have teased you about your book choices as often.” 

You scoffed, a watery smile finally lighting up your face. “Don’t start.” 

“Should I tell you all the other times I should have been wary? Or maybe all of the reasons Cassian should be afraid now? It seems that’s the only way to get you to smile, and seeing as you are the reason we won the war, you should be doing far more of it.” 

The bond shone within you, bursting with joy as a laugh escaped your lips—a real laugh. The sound was soon smothered by Azriel’s kiss, and you knew things were changing. 

And that was okay. 

#azriel x reader #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel fanfic #azriel angst