#az writes stories

[azvolrien]

The Home of Dragons - Chapter Three

In which everyone is very upset.

~~~

           Roan ran with the crowd, shoving left and right, until finally she fought across the torrent to the meagre shelter of a doorway. Breath sawing in her throat, she flattened herself against the door, pressed her forehead to the wood, and forced down every instinct roaring for her to give the battle-madness free rein and slaughter her way back to the plaza. She squeezed her eyes shut, gritting her teeth, and tried to count heartbeats until relative quiet fell in the street behind her, but her pulse raced so fast that she lost count before long.

           The stream of people gradually slowed to a trickle. One hand pressed over the base of her throat, Roan emerged from her shelter. Smoke still rose over the rooftops, but only a few stragglers of the stampede wandered around the street in a daze. Roan leant on the wall for a few more seconds, breathing hard as she tried to work out where she was and which way she should go, before she broke into a run back towards the plaza.

           It was almost deserted. The crowds, the band, and all the various dignitaries had fled. A local fire brigade had arrived and set to work, pumping water from the harbour onto the still-burning building across the square, while a group in the habit of some local temple had commandeered the stage for a field hospital. Roan cast an eye around the square and sprinted towards the stage, vaulting up onto it in one go. Perhaps the battle-madness wasn’t as at bay as she’d thought.

           One of the monks straightened up from where he knelt beside a patient, wiping blood and soot from his hands with a damp cloth. “Are you hurt?” he asked, brisk and workmanlike.

           Roan didn’t answer immediately; her eyes darted around the stage, checking all of the casualties. A dozen or so people lay on makeshift pallets not much more than blankets folded on the boards, groaning with broken arms and bruised ribs. One little girl sniffled in her father’s arms as another healer stitched a cut on her forehead. On the other side of the stage, a few more figures lay still beneath white shrouds. That first one was too tall; that other one, far, far too small. But some of the others…

           The monk turned to follow her gaze. “Are you looking for someone?” he asked more gently.

           Roan grabbed his shoulders in both hands. “I – I was with my wife. She’s – she’s about so tall. Brown eyes, sort of goldish skin, and black hair down to her hips. She was wearing – she had this blue skirt and a long green coat.”

           “I see. No, I’m afraid we haven’t found anyone by that description.”

           Both Roan’s grip on his shoulders and the small, tight knot in her heart loosened a little. “Oh.”

           “Yes.” Still quite gently, the monk brushed her hands off his habit. “Now, if you’ll excuse me – if you aren’t injured yourself, there are still people who need my assistance.”

           Roan nodded, only half hearing him, and sat down on the edge of the stage to lower herself back to the ground.

           Maybe Asta had gone back to the house and was waiting for her there. Aye. That was the sort of sensible thing she’d do.

           A shadow, then a rush of wings. Redbolt landed heavily on his hind legs, clutching Bramble – squirming and none too happy at this treatment, but unharmed – in his front claws. He placed her carefully on the ground and dropped to all fours, his feathers shivering along his back as he looked frantically in all directions.

           “Where is she?” he all but screamed in Roan’s face.

           Roan knelt to catch Bramble’s leash and comfort the frightened puppy, stroking the softer fur on her ears. The shaking Bramble shoved her head under Roan’s arm, trying to hide between her back and her cloak. “I don’t know,” said Roan, very quietly. “There was… There were so many people. People running. She fell. I… I lost her.” Her voice cracked, her eyes brimming. “I don’t know where she is!”

           Redbolt’s eye widened a little and his feathers settled flat again. His voice softened. “Hey. Easy there, lass.” He lay down on his front and folded one wing over Roan and Bramble, drawing both of them in against his side. Still with one arm around Bramble, Roan dug the fingers of her other hand into Redbolt’s warm, dry feathers, closing her eyes until her breathing steadied. The feathers of a gryphon were a long way from her grandfather’s wool-and-wolfskin cloak, but still… Perhaps not so far as all that.

           “All right,” said Redbolt once Roan could speak without howling. “Talk me through what happened here.”

           Roan stood, Bramble leaning against her shins. “We were – we were over there, by the fire. Under a balcony. The square was full. Thousands of people, must’ve been most of the city. The Emperor’s son, the prince, he’d just come through a portal up on the stage with his people. The queen of Myrkfjord – at least, I think that’s who she was – had just given him some official greeting. And then there – there was an explosion. Up on the balcony, or in the room just off it. A big one – I mean, you can see what’s left of the house after it.

           “Everyone panicked, started screaming and trying to get out of the square. We were running. Asta tripped, and I lost my grip on her hand. It must have been…” She shuffled around in a circle before pointing. “Just about there. No, a little further that way, not far from the stage steps. Aye. That was the last time I saw her. We got separated in the rush. I got carried off down the street, down that way. Came back here as soon as the crowds were gone. I spoke to one of those temple healers, but they hadn’t seen her.”

           Redbolt sat up to look over at the site of the blast. The fire brigade had mostly extinguished the flames. “An explosion, you say?”

           “Aye. An accident in someone’s kitchen, maybe – I know flour can go up if you’re not careful with flames around it.”

           “Hrm.” Redbolt stalked across the square and reared up to rake his talons across the remains of the balcony. Roan jogged after him with Bramble close behind. He sat back down on the flagstones, holding the tip of a talon close to one of his nostrils.

           “What is it?” asked Roan. Bramble gave the nearest ashy puddle a curious sniff and backed away, pawing at her muzzle.

           “Black powder,” said Redbolt. “They use it in fireworks, and for blasting in mines and quarries. Sees the odd use in battle, too, though most commanders prefer to use war mages instead – more reliable. Less likely to blow up your own fighters.” He took a handkerchief from one of the pouches on his harness and wiped the black dust from his talons, then looked very seriously at Roan. “This wasn’t an accident.”

---

           Blackness, at first; then a few indistinct shapes. A faint glow – a lamp or a witchlight. Then a pair of sapphire-blue eyes piercing the fog.

           Asta shied away with a choked scream. “No! You’re dead!”

           “I think perhaps you have me confused with someone else,” said an unfamiliar man with a soft Kaldrfjord accent, a far cry from Daro’s aristocratic Duncraig cadence. “You should lie back down; you took quite a knock.”

           Asta opened her mouth, a dozen different questions on her lips, but her stomach lurched before she could voice any of them. Someone shoved a large bowl under her chin an instant before her breakfast made a dramatic escape.

           The bowl was removed; a hand cupped the back of her aching head and held a canteen to her lips. “Drink,” the man from Kaldrfjord gently ordered. “Slowly. Small sips.”

           It was just water, clear and cool. Asta drank as she was bid, though her own hands would barely obey her to help support the canteen, and her vision cleared enough to make out some of her surroundings. It was a large, plain stone box of a room, with no windows and little in the way of furniture other than a few shelves and barrels around the sides. A storeroom of some kind, then. Nor was she alone; more than a dozen other people sat around the chamber, though most of them were half-hidden in the shadows cast by a small storm lantern on the floor. Someone’s coat had been spread out beneath her, with another rolled up for a pillow – not much of a hospital bed, but an improvement on the bare stone floor.

           Her vision began to swim again and she swayed where she sat. Her new friend helped her to lie back down on the coats. She squinted at him from her new perspective, frowning, before she realised that she recognised him. “You… were on the stage,” she said, pointing. “With – the prince.”

           He nodded. His ash-blond hair was considerably more dishevelled than before. “My name is Torvald,” he said. “I am… part of Prince Leovar’s entourage, yes. And you?”

           She stared at the ceiling for several seconds before answering. “Asta. Asta zeDamar.”

           “Do you remember what happened, Asta?”

           Another few seconds. “There was – something exploded. We were running. We were all running. I fell. Someone… kicked me? No. Not on purpose. But they tripped on my head.” She pressed the fingers of one hand against the side of her skull, just above her ear, and winced at the tender lump that they found. “Then I… There’s nothing. Did I faint?”

           “‘Faint’ is not the word I would use,” said Torvald. “Though certainly you lost consciousness. That was about an hour ago. The twins saw you go down and ran to get you out of the crush before you were trampled.” Two of the dark shapes across the room waved. “Ida had a look at your head while you were out cold. You aren’t slurring your words, and you don’t seem to have lost your memory…”

           Asta sat bolt upright, and almost immediately fell back down when the movement made her head throb like a hammer blow. “Roan! Where is she? Is she here?”

           “I don’t know who Roan is. But no, I’m afraid she’s not here.”

           “My wife,” said Asta. “Tall – six feet tall. Long, long red hair. Pale skin… Maybe not as pale as you, though. More freckles. Lots of tattoos, these blue symbols all over her face and arms. She has a cloak made from a seal…”

           “We’ll keep an eye out for her,” promised Torvald, “but you should rest.”

           Asta nodded. Torvald patted her shoulder and got up to speak to someone in the shadows. He spoke quietly, but she was pretty sure she heard the word ‘concussion’. Someone else took his place at her side – the woman who had stood with Torvald and the prince on the stage. Her elegant braids had been let down from the pins securing her complicated hairstyle and were instead bound into a sensible ponytail at the nape of her neck.

           “You’ve met Torvald; I’m Ida,” she said. “Excuse me a moment; I’d like to have another look at you now that you’ve woken up.” She closed her eyes and carefully laid the tips of her fingers on Asta’s forehead. A soft turquoise light began to shimmer around them and she slowly drew her hand back over Asta’s scalp to the lump above her ear. “Good,” she said after a few seconds. “No sign of bleeding, bone fracture or excessive swelling. I expect you’ll be a little dazed for a while longer, but nothing that won’t pass in time.”

           “You’re a healer?” asked Asta.

           “To an extent; I have some training. I have little power as far as physically closing wounds or mending bones go, but I have a good handle on examination spells. How are you feeling?”

           “Head hurts.”

           “Well, that’s only to be expected.” Ida raised her voice a little. “Nova! Have you got any of your potions to spare for our guest?”

           One of the shadowy figures emerged into the light. It was one of the god-soldiers; she had removed her helmet but still wore the rest of her armour. The number 859 was engraved on one steel pauldron. “Only a couple left after this one,” she warned, handing over a small, sturdy glass vial from the boiled-leather case strapped to her hip. “We’ll have to spin them out until we can get back to the rest of our kit.”

           “Noted – thank you, Nova. Here, this should help with the pain for a while.”

           Under Ida’s watchful gaze, Asta tipped the bitter contents of the vial down her throat. Sure enough, her headache began to ease off after a couple of minutes, but at a stern glare from both Ida and Torvald in unison she stayed on her back on the floor. “Where are we?” she asked, the words coming less hesitantly as her head cleared a little.

           “Holed up somewhere in the cliff tunnels above the town,” said Torvald. “Most of our people scattered in the panic, but the Snowstriders kept the four of us together and got us out of the square.” He made a gesture that included himself, Ida and Asta.

           Asta made to sit up, but lay back again at Ida’s firm hand on her shoulder. “The four of us?”

           “Well, they certainly weren’t going to let me out of their sight.”

           Asta slowly turned her head to the side, noticing for the first time the man leaning against the shelves a few feet away. Up close, Crown Prince Leovar looked a lot like his father; his skin was a deeper shade of brown, more of an ochre compared to the Emperor’s olive, and his black hair was short and tightly curled where the Emperor’s was wavy and shoulder-length, but they had the same high cheekbones, strong jaw, and dark, hooded eyes. It was, Asta realised with a small jolt, his blue coat laid out beneath her. The plush velvet probably cost more money than she and Roan saw in a year.

           “Your Imperial Highness-” she began.

           “I’ll excuse you for foregoing a curtsey, given the circumstances,” said the prince with a small, wry smile. “You don’t sound like a Myrkfjorder.”

           “No, I – I grew up in the Imperial City, but I’ve been living by Loch Gorm for the last few years. With my wife – Roan! Have you seen her? Is she here?”

           Ida, Torvald and Leovar shared a glance. “Again,” said Torvald gently, “no, she is not here. You just stay lying down for a while longer, all right?”

           “Quinn, Hex?” said Leovar. “You were the ones who got her out of the stampede. Did you see what happened to her wife?”

           The two dark shapes that had waved from across the room came closer into the glow of the lantern; two more god-soldiers, a man and a woman of similar height and build. The man ran one hand back over close-cropped sandy hair. “If her wife’s the big redhead who was running with her, pretty sure she made it out of the square,” he said. “Quinn? You’ve got quicker eyes than me.”

           The woman nodded. “Looked like the crowd carried her off down a side-road, but she was still on her feet,” she said. “Didn’t see what happened after that, but a big strong woman like her – probably got out all right.”

           The tears that had threatened since Asta opened her eyes began to spill over and she covered her face with both hands. “Thank you.”

           “So, what precisely are we looking at here?” Leovar asked the room at large. “I had an excellent view of the blast from the stage; that was a bomb, not an accident. We weren’t warned of any particular unrest in Drekaheim when this visit was arranged. Alpha? Do you have any theories?”

           “Unclear, sir,” said another man. “Wren and Moth went out to undertake some reconnaissance. We’ll have a clearer understanding of our situation when they return.”

           “‘Undertake some reconnaissance’,” scoffed Quinn. “Just say ‘scout’ next time.”

           If Alpha reacted to this, he did not do so audibly. Certainly the prince let it pass without comment. “Good. Then in the meantime I recommend we all get some rest. Keeping a rotating guard on the door, of course.”

           “Yes, my prince,” the god-soldiers chorused with one voice.

           “Wren and Moth may be the two most skilled scouts out of every war-pack in the Bastion Guard,” Torvald explained to Asta as two god-soldiers barricaded the door with their shields and the others tried to make themselves as comfortable as they could in full plate armour. One of the soldiers extracted a pack of cards from somewhere inside her breastplate and began dealing them out to three of her comrades. “They’ll work out what’s happening and we can start making a plan when they get back.”

           “You’ll be back with Roan before you know it,” Ida assured her.

           Asta quietly turned her wedding ring around on her finger, and hoped that Ida was right.

~~~

We’ve actually met the Snowstriders before; they’re the war-pack assigned to guarding the Stormhaven delegation in this older story. There have been a few developments to the god-soldiers since then, however. For one, I established in The Hawk Steppes that they do have nicknames that they go by as well as their numbers.

Despite his nickname, Alpha is not really their leader; all the soldiers in a war-pack are officially of equal rank. He just has a habit of appointing himself their spokesman, which the others tolerate because it means they don’t have to do it.

#az writes stories

[lilybug-02]

You’re making a lot of promises there Chara…

Part 24 || First || Previous || Next

—Full Series—

I enjoyed doing this little Flashback scene. We’ll be back to our regularly scheduled freakout session soon. Having monochrome color is very nice.

Here is a gif of Chara spilling their water because YES. And I spent way too long on it :)

Wow technology is so cool.

#Frisk is finally name dropped!! WOOHOOO #Az and Chara are my Little Lily bugs and I love writing their interactions #they still have a lot to learn about each other though. it’s only been a few months! #the tiny nudge made me happy #untitled goose game is just chillin in the corner #if you want lol. I ain’t cannonizing anything there #gif #I’m really happy with all this. I was planning on making almost 7 pages but with some help from friends I decided to cut it down a lot #i’ve also really been wanting to solidify all of their pronouns for a while now but couldn’t find a suitable time #anyways…I still have some vacation time planned so the next update will also be somewhat delayed #thanks to all those who are still loving the story #much love #bread #art #deltarune #deltarune chara timeline #chara #Asriel #Kris #my art

[prythianpages]

here's a sneak peak to the Az one shot I'm working on inspired by ABBA's I've Been Waiting For You. No glimpse of Az but a glimpse of the reader's friendship with The Suriel. Might be slightly ooc of the Suriel but that's the beauty in fanfiction sometimes, right? lol

The brilliance of a thousand stars shine down on you and the night seems to hold its breath, as if it too, awaits the whispered prophecies from the celestial expanse above. Like always, you are itching to unveil them with your finely attuned senses. A gust of cool wind brushes through your hair, sending shivers down your exposed skin. Pulling your gaze away from the night sky, you turn in time to see a cloaked figure approaching like a shadow in the night.

Your lips curve into a smile. “Hello, friend.”

“y/n.” The Suriel greets you, hovering beside you. Then, not missing another beat, he says, “I told her Rhysand was her mate.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, a gasp escaping your lips. “You did not.”

“I did.” He grins back at you, flashing you his stained teeth.

You can’t help but laugh a little at your dear old friend. The Suriel lets out a rattled sound you discern as a laugh as he joins you. Always the one for dramatics. You still remember hearing about his first encounter with Feyre Archeron and how he told her to stay with the High Lord.

“I told her she must stay with the High Lord.”

“Did you specify which one?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“I’m sure she handled it well,” you respond but your smile fades, giving way to a wistful expression. “She’s lucky. Not only is she made but the Cauldron has blessed her with a mate. The High Lord of the Night Court at that.”

The weight of his gaze settles upon you. You’re aware that your words carry a tinge of envy, a sentiment that feels unjust when considering everything Feyre has endured. The Suriel, ever perceptive, acknowledges this as well. He chooses not to remind you and indulges you instead.

“The Cauldron has blessed you as well, my child.”

“Have you seen it?”

Hope sparks in your eyes as you turn to face him. His eyes, pools of ancient wisdom, seem to pierce through the veils of time and secrets. You sense one of them unfolding. But he only gives you a teasing glimpse.

“Perhaps.” 

#azriel x reader #acotar x abba #sneak peak #i've written most of background and though I'm tempted to make it a two part series #i'm determined to keep it a one shot #so please bear with me lol as I'm finally getting to writing the actual love story between az & reader

[lineffability]

huarghhh The Nanny AU.......rich guy Aziraphale Edenson who's not good with children but has taken in his neighbour's kid Warlock after his parents disappeared under mysterious circumstances hires Crowley Fell as nanny for reasons as of yet comprehended by the neighbors

#story seeds #good omens #ohno...... #i wanna write it #a little oneshot...? #the reason he hired crowley is bc his brain melted at her hotness #i jest i jest #other ppl applied among them an actual mary poppins type #but then SHE knocked looking like a soaked puppy out in the rain without an umbrella #and instead of apologizing for being late or saying sth funny about forgetting an umbrella she just looks PISSED #but az invites her in and offers her a towel and makes her tea #hjmmhmmhmhmhm #and gifts her his umbrella when she leaves #amd she expects to never hear from him again bc well THAT went down like a lead balloon didn't it #but the next day he calls her like so when can u start?

[communistchilchuck]

im personally fine with lilhy being a villain or antagonistic character but i think that the themes denny set up with her were not followed up on in any meaningful way and that’s what make how she was treated by the narrative not sit right with me. did she deserve healing? yes, of course she did, she was a victim of the Order and nobody deserves to be treated the way she was. she escaped the Order and was thrust into a world where she was immediately regarded as lesser for her gender in a different way, facing misogyny in the Order and considered naturally stupid and dehumanized and then objectified for her beauty and abused by a partner when she left them.

but i also think that she served as someone who showed that not everyone can break the cycle, sometimes they try and find empowerment within it and they end up hurting people like they were hurt all the same. lilhy returned to the Order, the institution she was raised in, when it was proven to her that the way she was treated wasn’t justified by her touching the face of St. Dumas and not being “struck down”. it was the faith still believed in and she was given a sign that she still had a home in it, and thus came back to it despite how harmful it was. this is something that happens in real life. lilhy manipulated jp from the moment she met him. she, a rich white woman, traveled to China to bring an asian Azrael back from a mission branch of the Order that she then used as a tool. the Azrael narrative is no stranger to things like this. ultimately, rather than break from the system that oppressed her, she leaned into it and as someone connected to that system used it to exploit others. you could do something with that.

but instead of making coherent commentary about her relationship to misogyny — hell, even JP when he’s under the Order’s influence is misogynist towards her — she’s treated in a misogynist way by the narrative itself. she’s made into an evil temptress type. and it bugs me, constantly, every time i think about her.

#i also think that ‘victim becomes the abuser’ narratives have to be handled with EXTREME care. care i do not trust az-solo era denny with #i think its worse for lilhy to be someone harmed by the order who goes on to use the order to harm others when there are no other #female characters around who share a similar story to her but go on to break the cycle. #handled with care because they as i said do happen in real life and are important to portray BUT it has to be clear this isnt inevitable #and having jp/az/azbats be people who start to break that cycle while the woman theyve treated sexist in the past doesnt… well! #***denny did write ludovic as a victim of the order who perpetuated the cycle but ludovic is also a man #and before you ask yes i can in fact speak on this 👍

[grandwretch]

what i wanted to do: finish ch 5

what i ended up doing: 5k of outlines and rewrites

#shut up az #oimw #the problem with me is that i love edits and outlining and planning #its sooooooo fun #like planning and editing is doing a fun puzzle in your house in your comfy pajamas #actually writing is like being the opener at a comedy show- telling a funny story to a group of people who are only here to see the next gu #one of them is fun and im very good at it #the other one is scary and im not very good at it #so i end up doing the fun one im good at wayyyyy more #i still can't spell tho. those typos will be there forever whether any of us like it or not

[kururu418]

Tales Of Mewni: End Of A Legend

Jagur, Morgana, and Puff to visit Az-Pratu. The elderly goliath is looking in rough shape, but still entertains the youngsters…

Commission for @thepaladincosplays

#tales of mewni #callyieverse #puff #morgana #jagur #az-pratu #story commission #writing commission #posted this one late T-T

[az-cain]

would anyone like to hear about my silly little allegory/metaphor for racism/homophobia/sexism in the form of fae and humans (but the humans are the shitty overpowered ones)? that i don’t know if i’ll ever write but i want to? badly? and maybe, if you’re a poc, give me input on how it could be changed to better represent you?

#my writing #my story #my silly little stuff #az speaks

[lsdchannel]

A zokni szökése

Péter tanácstalan volt. Éppen befejezte a mosást, és észrevette, hogy hiányzik egy zoknija. Átnézte a mosógépet, a szárítógépet, a kosarat és a padlót, de sehol sem találta. Vállat vont, és össze nem illő zoknipárt húzott. Nem foglalkozott vele, amíg másnap megint nem tűnt el egy zokni.

Átkutatta a lakását, de nem talált nyomot az eltűnt zoknikról. Azt gondolta, hogy valaki tréfát űz vele, vagy hogy van egy zoknitolvaj a házban. Elhatározta, hogy felállít egy kamerát a mosókonyhában, és megnézi, mi folyik ott.

Legközelebb, amikor mosott, bedobott egy zoknipárt a mosógépbe, és bekapcsolta. Hagyta futni a kamerát, és visszament a szobájába. Várt egy órát, majd megnézte a felvételt.

Nem hitt a szemének. Látta, ahogy a zoknija lebeg a vízben, forog a többi ruhával. Aztán hirtelen eltűnt. Mintha átteleportált volna egy másik helyre. Visszatekerte a videót, és újra megnézte. Ugyanazt látta. A zoknija elment.

Rohant a mosókonyhába, és kinyitotta a mosógépet. Csak egy zoknit talált benne. Ránézett a kamerára, és elgondolkodott, mi történik. Eldöntötte, hogy kísérletet végez. Bedobott még egy zoknipárt a mosógépbe, és bekapcsolta. A mosókonyhában maradt, és figyelte a gépet. Várt néhány percet, majd meglátta.

Egy fényes villanás jött a mosógépből, és hallott egy hangos zajt. Érezte az áramütést, és hátrarepült. Beverte a fejét a falba, és elájult.

Amikor magához tért, egy furcsa helyen találta magát. Körülnézett, és rengeteg zoknit látott. Különböző színűek, formájúak és méretűek voltak. A mennyezetről lógtak, a padlón hevertek, és a sarkokban halmozódtak fel. Rájött, hogy egy zokni világban van.

Felkelt, és próbált kijutni. Körbesétált, és sok ajtót látott. Kinyitott egyet, és egy mosógépet látott. Kinyitott egy másikat, és egy szárítógépet látott. Kinyitott egy harmadikat, és egy kosarat látott. Kinyitott egy negyediket, és egy padlót látott. Rájött, hogy ezek a portálok az emberi világba.

Azt gondolta, hogyan juthat vissza a lakásába. Próbált emlékezni, melyik ajtón jött be, de nem tudta. Elvesztette az irányítást. Eldöntötte, hogy megpróbálja a szerencséjét, és kinyitott egy véletlenszerű ajtót. Remélte, hogy az hazaviszi.

Átlépett az ajtón, és egy másik mosókonyhában találta magát. Körülnézett, és egy táblát látott, amelyen az állt: "Üdvözöljük Párizsban". Rájött, hogy átteleportált egy másik országba. Pánikba esett, és visszafutott a zokni világba. Kinyitott egy másik ajtót, és remélte a legjobbat.

Átlépett az ajtón, és egy másik mosókonyhában találta magát. Körülnézett, és egy táblát látott, amelyen az állt: "Üdvözöljük Tokióban". Rájött, hogy átteleportált egy másik kontinensre. Megijedt, és visszafutott a zokni világba. Kinyitott egy harmadik ajtót, és imádkozott egy csodáért.

Átlépett az ajtón, és egy másik mosókonyhában találta magát. Körülnézett, és egy táblát látott, amelyen az állt: "Üdvözöljük Budapesten". Rájött, hogy átteleportált egy másik városba. Feladta, és leült a padlóra. Azt gondolta, hogy soha nem jut vissza a lakásába.

Lenézett a lábára, és látta, hogy össze nem illő zoknikat visel. Mosolygott, és azt gondolta, hogy talán nem is olyan rossz. Eldöntötte, hogy a legjobbat hozza ki a helyzetből, és felfedezi a világot. Felkelt, és kiment a mosókonyhából. Remélte, hogy talál valami kalandot, és néhány új zoknit.

De nem volt egyedül. Egy másik alak is követte őt. Egy lidérc, a magyar néphit egyik természetfeletti lénye. A lidérc háromféle formában létezhet: csodacsirke, földi ördög vagy ördögszerető1 A lidérc, amelyik Pétert követte, egy ördögszerető volt. Éjjel repült, tüzes fényként, tűzmadárként vagy tűzlabdaként jelent meg. Emberi alakot is felvehetett, általában egy rég siratott halott rokonét vagy szerelméét. Lábnyoma lópatkó volt. A kéményeken vagy a kulcslyukakon át jutott be a házakba, betegséget és veszedelmet hozott az áldozataira. Tüzes csobbanással távozott a házból, és összepiszkította a falakat. Tömjén és nyírfaág égetésével lehetett megakadályozni, hogy a lidérc bejusson az ember lakásába1

A lidérc Pétert választotta ki célpontjának. Meg akarta szerezni a lelkét, és a szeretőjévé akart tenni. De nem volt könnyű dolga, mert Péter mindig más-más helyen bukkant fel. A lidércnek követnie kellett őt a portálokon keresztül, és megpróbálnia elcsábítani őt. De Péter nem volt érdeklődő. Ő csak a zoknikat és a mosógépet kereste. A lidérc egyre dühösebb és elkeseredettebb lett. Végül úgy döntött, hogy erőszakkal veszi meg, amit akar.

Egy éjszaka, amikor Péter egy kis szállodában aludt, a lidérc besurrant a szobájába. Tüzes fényként jelent meg, majd emberi alakot öltött.

#write me a story about missing socks and teleporting washing machine #digital art #ai generated #ai artwork #ai #ai art #surreal #the washing machine and the missing socks problem #ai image #budapest #the missing socks problem #missing socks #zoknipzobléma #az eltűnt zoknik problémája

[azvolrien]

The Home of Dragons - Chapter Four

In which we finally get some idea of what the hell is going on out there.

~~~

           A hand on her shoulder shook Asta awake. Nova’s painkiller was still working, and the room didn’t spin when she sat up to prop herself against the wall.

           It was the soldier Leovar had called Hex. His pauldron was marked with the number 856. “Sorry,” he whispered. “Ida said to wake you up every so often, just to be on the safe side. I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

           “I don’t know if I can just yet,” said Asta, drawing her knees up to her chest. “Are your scouts back?”

           “No, not yet.”

           Asta looked around. Two soldiers numbered 857 and 861 were guarding the door; Quinn was scribbling something in a small book. The rest of the war-pack were asleep, dozing against the walls or flat out on the floor. Torvald, Ida and Leovar also slept, piled together on the bare stone. The prince lay between the other two, his arms tightly around both of them and his lips resting against the crown of Torvald’s head.

           “I haven’t been keeping up with news from the Imperial City,” said Asta, wrapping her arms around herself. “Are they his consorts?”

           “In his heart?” said Hex. “Yes. On paper, only Ida is.” He sighed and sat on the floor, his shoulders to the wall. “Torvald has been close to the prince since they were boys, but he’s not of noble or even wealthy birth,” he explained. “He once told me that his family herded reindeer for a living. An Imperial consort has to provide an heir, seal some bond politically, or both. If Tor could do one, the other could be overlooked, but as things are…” He made a drifting what-can-you-do gesture with one hand.

           “That doesn’t seem very fair,” said Asta, fidgeting with her wedding ring again.

           “It doesn’t, does it? They’re still together, mind, and everyone in the Bastion knows it. Things just… have to be a bit less official.” Hex smiled, watching the trio fondly. “His Imperial Dadjesty thought Prince Leo’d been shadowing him for enough time to handle an official visit by himself. At least, without the Emperor,” he added when Asta indicated the numerous other people in the room, wordlessly questioning his definition of ‘by himself’. “We Snowstriders have always got on best with Leo out of all the war-packs in the Bastion Guard, so we were sent to keep an eye on him.” He folded his arms with a clank of armour. “I swear to the Great Bear, after this trip I will never complain about lictor duty being boring ever again.”

           One of the other god-soldiers sat up, rummaged in the sack she had been using as a pillow, and threw an onion at Hex. He caught it in one hand before it could bounce off his head. “Trying to sleep over here!”

           “Sorry, Books,” said Hex in a stage whisper. He shot Asta a rueful smile and closed his eyes.

           Asta watched the prince and his consorts for a while longer, feeling very lonely.

           Someone knocked on the door. Asta couldn’t tell how much later it was, but it couldn’t have been too long; 857 and 861 had not finished their guard shift. They both donned their helmets, lifted their shields, and levelled their swords over the tops, ready to block the doorway and stab forwards at a moment’s notice.

           “Frost gathers on the leaves,” said 857, his voice pitched to carry from behind the red-enamelled visor of his helmet.

           “And the Great Bear returns to his den,” replied a woman’s voice from outside the door. Both guards relaxed and stood down, lowering their shields and sheathing their swords. 861 opened the door to let in the scouts as Hex woke Leovar, Torvald and Ida.

           Leovar stood. “What are we looking at, Moth?”

           “Things have mostly calmed down out in the city,” said one of the scouts, removing her helmet and tucking it under her arm. “At least, there isn’t widespread panic in the streets. Most of the residents have taken shelter in their homes or in public buildings. But smaller fires have broken out all over the place. No more explosions, but the city guards are chasing their tails trying to track down whoever is starting the fires, and every time we saw one – a fire, that is – this symbol was on a wall nearby.” She held up a scrap of paper marked with a scribbled copy of the dragon stencil Asta had seen before.

           Leovar nodded. “Wren?”

           “We’re definitely looking at an organised group here,” said the other scout, folding her hands behind her waist, “but I’m afraid it’s not one I’m familiar with. This dragon emblem isn’t associated with any we’ve encountered before – no rebel or protest groups or outlaw gangs. I don’t think it would be wise for you to venture back out into the streets yet, my prince, but equally we should move on from here; these people – whoever they are – didn’t set off their bomb until you were in the plaza. They may be looking for you.”

           The prince nodded again. “We should head for the emergency fall-back point,” he said. “In the hills behind the city. We can dig in there and try to get word to my father.”

           “We’ll have to go through the tunnels,” said Torvald. “Until they get the new lifts working, there’s no way past the cliffs on the surface. Ida, do you still have that map from before?”

           “I do,” she said, patting the leather satchel at her side. “No telling how up to date it is, though.”

           “Um…” said Asta.

           “We aren’t going to abandon you here,” Prince Leovar assured her. “As soon as we get up to the fall-back, we’ll start looking at how to reunite you with your wife. Can you walk?”

           Asta rubbed her forehead, testing how she left. “I might need to lean on someone part of the way,” she said, “but I think I’ll manage at a walk.”

           “Good.” Leovar turned back to the god-soldiers, who had all strapped on their helmets and now stood in two neat rows of six, each one with their shield at their side and their sword in its scabbard. “Most of these tunnels will not be broad enough for us to walk more than two abreast,” he said. “So: Alpha and Wren, I would like you to lead the way, followed by Nova and Red. Best if you stay within speaking distance of Ida, since she has our only map of the tunnels. Quinn and Hex, I’m making you responsible for Asta; I want you to keep her safe and help her to keep up with the group if necessary. Zero, you’re the best shield we’ve got, so I want you to bring up our rear.” The biggest of the god-soldiers, head and shoulders taller than any of his pack-mates and built like an ox, nodded and hefted his outsized shield on his left arm. “The rest of our formation, I leave up to your judgement. Asta, may I have my coat back? Thank you.” He pulled it on and draped his bearskin mantle around his shoulders, but hid his steel diadem in his pocket. Torvald brushed the dust from the back of his coat. “Let’s be on our way.”

---

           “Well, they were worse than useless,” grumbled Redbolt as he walked away from a group of city guards. “No, they don’t know what this was about. No, they haven’t seen Asta. No, they don’t know where might be worth looking.” He glanced thoughtfully down at Bramble. “She any good at tracking?”

           “She’s a five-month-old puppy,” Roan wearily pointed out. “And she’s a wolfhound – even fully-grown and fully-trained, they’re not tracking dogs. They hunt by sight.”

           “Better if we leave her at the neighbour’s house, then,” said Redbolt. “She did say the other day that she and her kids would be happy to watch her for a while.”

           “You’re the one who carried her over here!”

           Redbolt hunched his shoulders. “I didn’t think it through, all right? I just heard the boom, grabbed her, and flew over.”

           “It’s not a bad idea, though,” Roan admitted, stroking Bramble’s ears. “We’ll cover more ground without her.”

           They left Bramble with the neighbour – equipped with blanket, food dish and chew toy – and headed back out into the streets. “What sort of weapons have you got with you?” asked Redbolt, looking up at the plumes of smoke rising across the city. “Can’t swear this won’t get sticky.”

           “Just my knife,” said Roan. The eight-inch hunting blade hung in its sheath on her belt. “My spear would be more use in a fight, but I didn’t think I’d need it – I left it at the broch. Lot of good it’s doing me there.” She folded her arms as she walked. “But I don’t want to get into any fights if we can avoid them.” Redbolt gave her a sidelong look. “What?”

           “Not something I thought I’d hear from a berserker, is all,” he said.

           “Aye, well,” said Roan. “I’d like to make it home without killing anyone, if possible.”

           “Ah.” Redbolt awkwardly fluffed out his feathers and let them settle again. “Fair point.” He sighed. “I’ll look from above. Even with just the one eye, my sight’s ten times better than yours.”

           “Oh, thanks.”

           “I’m a gryphon. It’s a fact, not a brag.”

           Roan nodded. “Fair point yourself. Aye, that’s a plan. I’ll search on the ground, try and do this systematic-like. I’ll whistle if I find something – like this.” She stuck her thumb and forefinger in her mouth and blasted a sharp rising note.

           “Good luck.” He met her eyes. “We’ll find her.”

           Roan briefly laid one hand on the side of his beak. “Aye. I know.”

           With a last nod, Redbolt unfurled his wings and leapt into the sky. Roan took a steadying breath, squared her shoulders, and set off on foot.

           She walked. Up one street and down the next, and the next and the next. They were almost deserted; only a few people sheltered in alleyways or under balconies. Whenever she met someone, she asked what they knew, but none of them had seen Asta. Faces peeked out from behind curtains and shutters here and there. Every so often, she passed another fire. Some had burnt down to a few smoulders, or had gone out altogether; a few still blazed against the fire brigade’s best efforts. Near each one, the same dragon emblem she had seen in the cavern and by the plaza had been painted on a wall, recently enough that it was still wet. Roan tapped a fingertip against one and frowned at the olive-green paint that came away on her nail. She kept walking.

           Eventually, near the foot of the great cliff, she came across someone doing more than keeping their head down. The man glanced left and right – Roan ducked back around a corner before he spotted her – and taped up a huge paper stencil, then hefted a pail and began to slather white paint across the wall with a broad, well-used brush. The now-familiar dragon quickly took shape on the stone. On the ground beside him, a metal canister steadily dripped oil from the rag jammed under its half-screwed cap.

           “Hey!” Roan stepped out from her hiding spot. “I want to talk to you.”

           He jumped back and dropped his paintbrush. Only his eyes could be seen behind his mask – paper and paste moulded into something resembling the skull of a dragon, its muzzle down at his chin and its horns sweeping up and back over his hair – but they narrowed in calculation and, instead of fleeing as she had expected, he drew a knife; shorter than hers, but well-made and honed sharp.

           Roan’s blood quickened at the sight; she drew her own blade and shifted her weight into a fighting stance. Her vision sharpened and her jaw tensed, teeth baring. The man hesitated. Without taking her eyes off him, Roan lifted her free hand to her mouth and whistled her signal. A few seconds crept by as they sized each other up.

           He lunged, and Redbolt dropped from the sky on top of him. One huge front claw pinned the man flat on his back with the great hooked talons to either side of his head. The man’s arm moved as if to stab upwards with the knife, but Redbolt’s head came down as quick as a striking viper and seized the arm in his beak.

           “Drop it,” growled Redbolt, “or I bite.” To prove his point, he tightened his grip very slightly. The cutting edge of his beak bore tiny, fine serrations like those on the tooth of a shark, and droplets of blood oozed up where they met the man’s skin. The man’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and he opened his hand and let the knife clatter to the pavement. “Very wise,” said Redbolt, and lifted his head.

           Roan kicked the man’s knife out of his reach just in case. “Good timing,” she said.

           “Ah, well,” said Redbolt. “Asta would never forgive me if I let you get stabbed.” He cocked his head, looking down at their prisoner. “This the firestarter, then?”

           “One of them, at least,” said Roan. “I doubt he’s alone.” She crouched beside the man, sitting on her heels. “Did you set that bomb in the square?” He shook his head, making his mask wobble awkwardly. “I’ll bet you know who did, but we’re not here to get involved in whatever fight you’re trying to start.” She reached inside the collar of her tunic, drew out her small gold locket on its chain, and clicked it open with a thumbnail to show him the miniature portrait of Asta inside. “We’re looking for my wife. I lost her in the panic after the blast. Have you seen her?”

           He peered at the image for a moment and shook his head again, but a spark of recognition flickered in his eyes.

           “I don’t think you’re telling the truth,” said Redbolt. He opened his beak again; it broke the dam and the man began to babble helplessly.

           “I didn’t set the bomb! I didn’t, I swear, I didn’t even know they had that in mind – a fire, yes, I’d been told they were going to set that building on fire, but not a bomb! Your wife – I saw, I was on a rooftop across the plaza – she fell, you were dragged away – yes, I remember seeing you now, I remember that skull on your cloak. The prince – the soldiers with him – they carried her off towards the cliff!” He pointed towards it with his free hand. Redbolt lifted his claw slightly, taking off some of the weight without actually letting their prisoner up, and a strange light came into the man’s eyes. “Those southern cowards couldn’t face up to our holy fire! The Home of Dragons will be burned clean and the great ones will return!”

           Both Roan and Redbolt stared blankly at him. “What,” said Roan, “are you talking about?”

           “Myrkfjord belongs to the Sons of the Sky! We are the true heirs of the dragon riders!”

           “Oh, great,” said Redbolt with disgust. “Dragon cultists.” He lifted his claw away altogether, letting the man scramble to his feet. “Scurry off before I change my mind.”

           He hesitated, looking at the oil canister on the pavement. Glancing cautiously at Redbolt, he reached back for it.

           “You want to keep that hand? Then scoot, boyo.”

           He scooted.

           “Dragon cultists,” said Roan once he had disappeared. “They showed up in Granda’s stories now and then.”

           “Mm. Not heard of the Sons of the Sky – must be a new lot, or just an old lot with a new name – but… Yeah, every so often you hear of another bunch convinced that anything as powerful as a dragon must be a god, and they’ll come back from wherever they went if enough fires get started.”

           “Granda also said that given enough time, they usually get tired of just burning buildings.” Roan looked up at the cliff towering above them. “Sounds like the prince and his guards took her to shelter in the tunnels, you think?”

           “Sounds like.” Redbolt sighed. “The ground-level doors are for humans – I couldn’t squeeze through half of them. I’ll have to start in one of the dragon caves.”

           “It’s a maze in there,” said Roan. “Wander off the marked paths and… Well. We’d never find each other if we got split up.”

           “Better we don’t split up, then.” Redbolt bent his forelegs, bringing his chest close to the ground. “Climb on.”

~~~

Torvald is actually down on the Bastion roster as Leovar’s ‘assistant’ (sometimes including the inverted commas) so he has an official excuse to accompany him and Ida to stuff. It’s not a complete fabrication; he does help him out with paperwork now and then.

Redbolt has retired from active service and mostly lives off his military pension, though the army does sometimes bring him in as an advisor or a guest instructor for the latest crop of trainees. He’s a hundred and eight years old (in his mid-fifties in gryphon years) by this story, so he’s got a fair amount of experience to pass on. Usually he prefers to downplay both that he is capable of biting off a human arm and has done so in the past, but it sometimes comes in handy.

#az writes stories

[assriels]

here i go again

pairing: cassian x reader x azriel

summary: your half of the bond snaps and you’re faced with a choice.

word count: 4.7k

warnings: more of cass’s inner monologue speckled with az and reader’s thoughts as well, some brief mentions of sexual content!, angst angst angst

a/n: i truly was not planning on writing a part two but the love that everyone has shown me on the first part has inspired me :’) ty everyone for making my first fic posting so memorable; ALSO because i’m a sucker for happy endings, i will be writing an alternate ending for this story that is not as angsty i promise

(banners by @/cafekitsune!)

part one

When the bond first snapped, Cassian had initially tried to continue on as normal, engaging in his usual banter and friendly affection that your relationship ordinarily dictated. But as the days stretched into weeks and then months, he wasn’t sure he could keep a lid on his emotions for any longer.

Six months, normally a small blip of time in a near-immortal’s life, felt like an eternity. Six months of picking up the scraps of his broken heart was torture of the purest kind. Six months of clinging to every ounce of affection you offered him, playing it over and over in his mind to placate the urges the mating bond so desperately wanted satisfied.

Occasionally, he’d gently tug on that golden string tethering him to you, but he’d be met with an endless, empty void; the bond hadn’t snapped for you. And maybe it never would, Cassian caught himself thinking more times than he’d like. Maybe your love for Azriel was so powerful it overshadowed anything that the mating bond could offer you.

Azriel was your chosen mate and maybe no Cauldron-born matchmaking could override your unyielding loyalty and dedication to the male you spent the last twelve years loving.

Maybe Cassian was destined for loneliness in perpetuity, forced to watch his mate – the one person he loved more than life itself – live in immortality with someone who was not him.

The night of Starfall, Cassian had taken your advice and met Feyre’s friend, a beautiful high fae female who had become a regular at Feyre’s studio. They’d hit it off that night, and eventually spent the night tangled beneath the sheets of Cassian’s massive bed.

And while Cassian couldn’t deny the charming allure and beauty of this female, she wasn’t you. He wanted her, absolutely he did, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t slept with others in the past while his heart belonged truly to you. But it was like the mating bond had imprisoned his desire, reserving it for the one person who could satiate it.

He couldn’t even finish that night, and an ugly mix of humiliation, guilt, and disappointment swirled in his gut for the next few days, even as his one time lover graciously accepted his onslaught of apologies and assured him it was alright, that it happens, that she wasn’t offended. Through it all the bond was screaming at him.

Wrong, wrong, this was all wrong.

Cassian quickly disposed of the notion that he could just ignore the bond after that night. If sex and distraction were going to do nothing to keep his desperate need for you at bay, Cassian was forced to find alternative means for managing this newfound revelation.

And so, despite the brief moments of hope the snapping of the mating bond sparked in him, Cassian resolved to continue his journey of getting over you. Admittedly, though, it was becoming increasingly more difficult, as if the bond was becoming impatient and was spurring him to make bolder and bolder moves towards you.

But Cassian was nothing if not respectful and he couldn’t ever imagine telling you of the bond and forcing your hand to choose between him and his brother. So, he slowly titrated his daily dosage of you, gradually spending less time with and around you in an effort to relieve himself of the aching pain of his longing. He was mindful of his words and actions, not wanting to clue you in to the raging conflict between his mind and his heart; he disguised his purposeful avoidance of you with excuses that he had suddenly become overwhelmingly busy.

It was a tactic he knew wouldn’t last for long, but it might give him enough time to figure out what he should do next.

But ever the keen observer – having picked up a thing or two from spending so much time with the Spymaster of the Night Court – you noticed the change, however slight, in Cassian’s behavior. At first, you had fallen for his ploy; with newborn fatherhood forcing Rhys to be partially out of commission, it made sense that Azriel and Cassian had been busier than usual.

As Nyx grew, however, and both Feyre and Rhys were more adjusted to life with a child, Rhys had resumed his usual duties – but Cassian was still busy as ever.

It only took one passing comment from Azriel for you to begin perseverating on the idea that maybe Cassian was avoiding you. Az had confided in you once about Cassian’s constant denial of his invitations to spend some time together despite the arsenal of ideas that Azriel threw at him.

Drinks at Rita’s? No... A flight around Velaris? No. Lunch with Rhys? No. Training? No.

Azriel lamented that every conversation ended with Cassian hastily making an excuse to exit; it wasn’t like him, and it was beginning to get concerning.

So, you decided to test the theory yourself.

It was a lot more difficult getting Cassian alone than you thought it would be, which was strange in and of itself. Your past with him had lent itself to many occasions where you’d find yourself alone with Cassian on an errand, training, eating meals. But lately, it was like Cassian was a ghost, disappearing as soon as you had your sights on him, seemingly vanishing out of existence before you could even mutter a greeting. It seemed like everywhere you were, Cassian had pressing business elsewhere.

(Once you had walked into the kitchen, and Cassian had left in the middle of making himself a meal, mumbling something about Rhys needing his help, his half cut vegetables abandoned on the counter.)

You had every intention of cornering him with Azriel’s help, but before you could execute your sneaky plan to ambush him during training, you quite literally bumped into him on your way from the library to the dining room; clearly, he hadn’t anticipated that you’d interrupt your usual perusal of the House’s libraries to make yourself a snack.

Cassian fumbled for words, flustered and taken aback at the suddenness of your presence, still unused to the heightened feeling of his emotions around you.

You were about to interrupt his awkward stumbling, but a feeling so visceral, so outrageously all-consuming flooded every nerve in your body and you felt like you would collapse onto the floor. It was like the world had suddenly decided to start spinning in the other direction, scrambling your sensibilities, and the only thing tethering you to your reality was a thin golden string that led you directly to Cassian.

Cassian was your mate? And by the feel of it, the bond had already snapped for him who knows how long ago. Why did he not say anything? How long had he known? What the fuck?

The questions repeated themselves incessantly in your mind before you had the wherewithal to erect the strongest mental shields you could as you made flimsy excuses for why you needed to leave. Funny how, as soon as you had the opportunity to speak to Cassian alone, you were the one spinning white lies to explain your sudden departure.

If Cassian had felt your awareness on his side of the bond, he didn’t let on, only stared bemused after your retreating figure.

You wound through the maze of hallways in the House with such precision that you had to have set a record for how quickly you made your way from the dining room to Azriel’s study; you hadn’t even meant to go there, body habitually routing its way to your lover in moments of distress.

Azriel.

Your heart twisted painfully at the thought of him, and you contemplated not telling him or Cassian that you had felt a bond whip into place. But you knew that would be a disservice to all parties involved in this sadistic twist of events.

You would talk to Cassian, have a discussion, figure out what this meant for your friendship and his and Azriel’s brotherhood, but you needed to collect yourself and unscramble the tangled web of thoughts knotted in your mind before you did any of that. You needed to talk to Azriel.

You stood outside his study with your forehead pressed to the door, not yet having the courage to open it.

In the past twelve years you’d been in a relationship with the Shadowsinger, you had many conversations exploring the what if’s of your future. The notion of the mating bond snapping between you and someone else – or him and someone else – had been something you both considered. Neither of you were naive enough to assume that it would be as simple as just choosing each other – what with the intensity of the mating bond – but neither of you really thought that it would happen either, often just assuming that it would snap between the two of you in due time.

You had been so incredibly enamored with each other since the day you met; everything had fallen so beautifully into place that it had been easy to throw all caution to the wind and fall helplessly in love. Mating bond be damned.

You knew that if a bond had snapped between you and anyone else, the choice would be simple. You and Azriel prepared for something like this — the swirling lines of complementary ink on both of your torsos had been proof of that — but never did either of you consider that it would involve the one other person that you both loved almost as much as you loved each other.

You had a long history with Cassian, and though nothing romantic had ever occurred between you, somehow the choice was now infinitely more impossible. It wasn’t difficult to admit that you loved Cassian, you knew him and cherished him for as long as you could remember. But could you love him in the way that the mating bond demanded? Could you love him in the way that he deserved?

Those were questions that you couldn’t answer, too confused as you contemplated the implications of your mate being someone you loved in an entirely different way than you loved Azriel.

So you opened the door to Azriel’s study, seeking safety and refuge with the one person who could help you make sense of this impossible predicament.

One look at you standing in the doorway told Azriel all he needed to know. The time he prayed would never come was finally here. The knit of your eyebrows and the quiver in your lip shattered his usually calm countenance as he tried to ignore the overwhelming feeling of dark uncertainty settling in his chest.

The sad, resigned smile that he gave you as he sat at his desk made tears well up in your eyes. You felt guilty and confused and so, so horrible, wondering what must be running through his mind as he looked at you, understanding intuitively that you had found your mate.

And that it wasn’t him.

You wanted to soothe the fears that were so clearly written all over his face, but you couldn’t find the words, afraid that if you opened your mouth nothing but nonsensical blubbering would come out. But you needed to say something, to explain the overly complicated cocktail of emotions roiling in your gut.

However, before you could even begin to string together a coherent sentence, he crossed the room in three long strides, resting his palm against your cheek as his thumb ran a soothing path back and forth across your skin. Azriel leaned down to kiss away the tears that had escaped before pulling your head into his chest.

The comforting warmth of the body you knew so well worked wonders on your nerves, your mind already clearing itself enough to tame some of the turmoil that had overtaken your consciousness. You allowed yourself to focus only on the feel of the strong planes of his body against yours, losing yourself in the luxury of his embrace.

“It’s Cassian,” you said after a few long minutes.

Though your words were muffled into the fabric of his shirt, Azriel had heard them loud and clear. He almost laughed at the sheer atrocity of it all; how could the Cauldron be so spiteful? You — the greatest love he’s ever known — and Cassian — his brother in all but blood — were mates.

He felt as though the Mother had taken Truthteller and carved a path through his chest, leaving him to piece together the vestiges of his heart after she had stolen you from it. But he wouldn’t let himself fall apart, not when you were so clearly in need of his unwavering stability.

“Does he know?” Azriel cursed the way his voice betrayed him; it sounded so small as it broke over each syllable of his question.

You tightened your arms around his waist, anchoring yourself to the steady thrum of his familiar heartbeat, “Sort of. It’s snapped for him, but I don’t think he’s realized that I know yet.”

Your words hung in the air, heavy and somber. Neither of you said anything, only holding each other as a gentle breeze wafted through Azriel’s open windows. You wondered again what must have been going through his mind, wondered if he was as scared and sad and torn as you were. By the way his fingers trembled almost imperceptibly as his hand ran up and down the length of your spine, you concluded that he was.

Azriel wanted to stay like this forever, savor the moments before either of you had to make a decision. Infinite possibilities raced through his mind, and his heart warred with itself.

He loved you — gods, did he love you — but he also loved Cassian. Knew that Cassian was an honorable male, had a suspicion for years that Cassian loved you the same way that he did. But even then, Azriel wanted to be selfish. Wanted to beg you to choose him because if you didn’t he wasn’t sure what would happen to him.

You had been his lifeline since the day he met you; he didn’t think it was possible to love and be loved the way you had shown him, and he greedily didn’t want to live a life without it.

But he loved you so fiercely that your happiness was paramount, your decision to choose for yourself was of utmost importance and, arguably, was the only thing that mattered in this moment. Azriel couldn’t help but think, though, that you deserved the love and connection of a mate, deserved the love he’d seen blossom beautifully between Rhys and Feyre, and if that meant you’d leave him, then he was glad it would be for Cassian.

“I don’t know what to do,” came your small, rasped confession. You pulled your head away from his chest to look up at him, eyes glassy with unshed tears, “Tell me what to do, Az.”

He gave you that sad smile again (and you quickly decided you hated that you were the cause of this forlorn look of his), his scarred hand coming up to tame the wisps of hair that had clung to your forehead, “I can’t, love.”

After a beat he added, “I think you should tell him, though. Soon. He deserves to know, and you both deserve the chance to…talk about it.”

You knew what he was dancing around saying, knew that he meant he would let you go if you decided that you wanted this mateship with Cassian rather than what you had with him. That it was all in your hands, and entirely your decision. Your heart twisted painfully as you were confronted with the bottomless depth of Azriel’s love for you; he would sacrifice his love and happiness for yours without contest.

“Az…”

“You have me,” he started again, his hazel eyes burning into yours with such unwavering loving conviction you were glad his arms were around you to keep your knees from buckling. “No matter what you choose, you have me. Mating bond or not, I’m yours. If you want to see where things go with Cassian, you should. I’d wait for you…even if you decided you’d never come back to me, I'd wait.”

His heartfelt confession made another round of tears burn your eyes as you nodded. You cradled his neck, pulling him down to kiss him. Both of you savored the familiar feel of your lips moving together in a practiced dance.

“I love you.”

Azriel knew you meant it; even if you chose to explore your newfound mating bond, knew that nothing could ever take from him the parts of yourself you allowed him the privilege of loving. And so he said it back, insistently ignoring the gnawing worry that it would be the last time.

It wasn’t that much of a shock when Cassian felt you tug oh-so-tentatively on the bond the week after he ran into you in the dining room. He had immediately noticed your shift in demeanor, the heat creeping up your cheeks as you made a beeline out of the room despite having just entered. He had felt something change on his end of the bond the moment your skirts brushed past him in your rush to exit. The bond had finally snapped for you, but he couldn’t reach you, your consciousness locked behind steel-reinforced shields.

A rush of conflicting emotion had erupted in Cassian’s chest at the realization, and it took every ounce of self discipline he had to not chase you down. He knew you would need time, would probably want to tell Azriel before anything else, so he waited and ignored the incessant nagging of the bond to seek you out. He would do this right, would leave the decision entirely up to you despite his overwhelming desire for you to choose him.

Truthfully, Cassian didn’t think that you’d open up on your end so soon after it had snapped, and he tried not to read too much into what that could mean. Instead, when he felt that gentle pulse from you beneath his ribcage, he tugged back in acknowledgement.

Cass…?

Your voice flooded every inch of his head and it was sheer bliss to feel you so intimately intertwined with his mind.

Hey, you.

He replied, heart thundering so loudly he worried that you’d hear it.

Can we talk? Meet on the balcony near the library? Maybe in an hour?

Cassian had never been so anxious, had never been so uncertain and nervous and excited in his life. Regardless of what happened — of what you said — he just wanted to see you. His avoidance of you these past few months was nothing short of torture, and just the thought of being near you again in a way that meant something sent Cassian’s entire being into a new plane of happiness.

Wouldn’t miss it, sweetheart.

You didn’t reply, but he felt you send a wave of fondness and appreciation towards him; Cassian felt like a starved man who had just been offered a loaf of bread.

He had intended on getting at least a little bit of work done in the hour before he was set to meet you, but Cassian found his mind drifting to thoughts of you as he flew around the perimeter of Velaris, running through scenario after scenario that could happen. His excitement was overshadowed by the looming possibility that you would reject the bond, and just the thought of it sent bile churning in his gut.

Cassian knew how much love existed between you and Azriel, had seen firsthand how much you both had committed yourselves to each other. Part of him felt guilty; Azriel was his brother and he didn’t want to be the thing that stood in Az’s way of keeping the love that everyone knew he deserved and that you so willingly provided. Cassian’s mind was twisting circles around itself as he thought about how this would end. Because while Azriel loved you, so did Cassian. And he would be a fool to give up so easily on the opportunity to show you just how much you meant to him, how much he adored you.

Before Cassian could make any headway in finding a solution for this impossible situation, it was time for him to meet you. So, Cassian fluttered his wings and made his way towards the House.

You were already standing on the balcony when he landed, pacing as you alternated between worrying your bottom lip with your teeth and biting your nails. Even with confusion marring your features, the golden hour light of the sun encased you in such warmth, that you glowed luminescent, and he wanted to freeze this moment and remember it forever.

Cassian tamed the urge to kiss the worry away from your raw, swollen lips and massage the crease out from between your brows, and instead said, “Hey.”

You looked up at him and stole the breath straight from his lungs with the radiance of your smile, though dimmed no doubt by the anxiety that plagued you.

“Cass,” you started, soft and the slightest bit hesitant. “Hi.”

An awkward silence that never existed between you two settled in the air now, neither of you wanting to be the one to broach the subject you knew tormented you both day and night. You had almost backed out of having this conversation three times within the past hour, but you knew that it needed to be done. For all of your sakes.

“We’re mates,” you said, and Cassian didn’t miss the way your statement sounded half like a question, as if you still couldn’t wrap your head around the notion. He nodded, stating more definitively, “We’re mates.”

Again, another silence permeated the too large space between you and Cassian thought he’d hurl himself off the ledge of the balcony to avoid the palpable awkwardness of it all. This certainly wasn’t what he pictured in his mind when you both finally had the conversation about your mateship.

You cleared your throat stiffly, not quite meeting his eyes as a cute blush betrayed your serious countenance, “I’m not really sure what to do, Cass. I’ve been thinking about this nonstop for the past week and…I just don’t– I don’t know what to do. I really just–”

Cassian aptly noted the way your emotions showed so clearly on your face. Maybe it was because he could also feel you unwittingly sending them down the bond, but he could tell that your stuttering and frantic fumbling for words was wrought from a week’s worth of anxiety and spinning your thoughts over and over in your mind, probably similar to the way that he had been doing for the past six months. He hated thinking that you felt even a fraction of the confusion and pain that he had endured for the past half a year.

Slowly, in the face of your pain stricken confusion, Cassian's resolve to fight for your affections was crumbling.

Your eyes finally met his, and the glassy sheen of tears that marred their usual clarity made Cassian’s heart lurch; how he wished you would never look at him with such an anguished expression on your face.

“I care about you, Cassian. I care about you so, so much,” you said, and he knew you meant it. He saw it in the way your brows twisted together in earnest and the way your fists clenched at your sides determinedly. He could feel the conflict storming beneath your ribs and wanted to do everything he could to chase it away, make it so that you never faced uncertainty for the rest of your days. But he let you continue, his pulse thundering so loudly he almost couldn’t hear you over the rush of his own blood.

“I just–” you trailed off then, unable to voice your thoughts as they were a tangled mess roiling around in your head, ricocheting off the walls of your skull.

What were you even going to say? You thought you had made a decision, thought you would tell him that you couldn’t accept the bond, that you could never leave Azriel like this. But one look at Cassian and the hope he so desperately tried to mask in his eyes left you floundering, the mating bond begging you not to sever it, not to hurt Cassian. You didn’t expect to be at such an impasse; how were you supposed to choose between instinct and desire? Love and connection? Weren’t they all one in the same anyway? But if they were, how could they be split between the two most important people in your life? What a cruel, cruel fate you all had been subjected to.

Cassian watched as you puzzled through your thoughts, and his desire to ease your worry spurred him to action. He knew the decision would tear you apart, would obliterate not only your relationship with Azriel, but his too, even though he knew Azriel would never hold something like this against either of you. But Cassian loved you both too much to tip the scales in his favor at the cost of ruining his family, of hurting you, of forcing you to make an impossible decision and living with the regret of hurting them both.

So, he chose for you. Despite the way that his heart screamed at him, begged him not to reject the bond, he did anyway. He used every ounce of self control he had to hold himself together and remind himself over and over again that this was the right decision. The future with you that Cassian so desperately wanted was a hair’s breadth away, and for a few precious seconds he allowed himself to sit in the bliss of the in-between, pretending that his next words would be I love you instead of—

“I don’t think we should do this, Y/N,” he said, forcing his voice not to shake, his eyes not to water with the pain of pushing you away. “Maybe…maybe the Cauldron got it wrong.”

He hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt. Because how could the Cauldron get it wrong when being near you, loving you felt so right?

The look you gave him at his words was a mixture of relief and…something else that he couldn’t place. Was it disappointment? Regret?

Cassian didn’t let himself dwell on it further because if he did, and if he convinced himself that he saw even a glimmer of disappointment at his rejection in your eyes, he’d take everything back and say fuck it, I love you, give me a chance. So he averted his gaze as you took his hand, iron willpower crumbling at the sweet euphoria that filled his chest at your touch.

“Cassian,” you rarely used his full name, but you did now and he looked up at you and into your eyes. When he finally met your gaze again, you pulled him into a wonderfully tight hug, “Thank you. I– thank you.”

Despite the searing sting your words left on his heart, Cassian let himself pretend that you were his for the last time as he reveled in your embrace, holding you so steadily, so delicately that if you didn’t know he loved you before, you must have known now.

You pulled away after a few moments but kept him close, holding his face in your hands as your thumbs brushed the apples of his cheeks, eyes searching his face in earnest, “You know I’ll always love you right, Cass?”

You knew it was a cruel and selfish thing to say to him, especially because you could feel the echo of his true feelings down the bond that was slowly, painfully weakening at Cassian’s unwanted rejection. But you needed him to know, needed him to understand more than anything that your love for him transcended the romantic and was existing in a plane reserved solely for him. You wanted him to know that you couldn’t ever thank him or repay him for his sacrifice born out of pure unadulterated love for you; you only wished you could do the same for him.

Briefly, you concluded that — in an alternate universe, another life — Cassian would have loved you with a ferocity that put the heat of the sun to shame. But in this life, you couldn’t tear your heart away from Azriel; your love for him was built on the foundational elements of trust and choice, and you would pick him time and time again.

In this life, you would be greedy and accept Cassian’s sacrifice of his own love for yours, and you would damn well make sure it was worth it.

As if he could read your thoughts — and maybe he could now — he nodded and pulled you in again with a parting kiss to your forehead.

“I know," he said, closing his eyes and leaning in to your touch, savoring the fleeting moments that you had been so close to being his, telling himself that he was grateful for the love that you would offer him, even if it wasn't in the way he so desperately desired. "I know."

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[theeveninghour]

All My Dreaming | Part 2

Summary: After accepting the mating bond, you and Azriel explore some missed opportunities. That’s it, that’s the tweet.

A/N: Thank you for the love on All My Dreaming!!! Not to be horny on main but I couldn’t stop writing for this story, here’s ~8k more words of extremely sweet and very nasty Azriel. I really wanted to write a fun scene with Mor and the gang Rita’s but couldn’t find a place for it in the first part, so y’all are getting it here. There is like, so very little plot here, I just wanted to write a few more scenes and give some additional backstory on these two because I think they’re cute. Also, I love writing little vignettes for this storyline so I might post a few more, much smaller (lol) snippets of them as an epilogue! 

Pairing: Azriel x Winter Court!Reader

WC: 8.4k (i have no self control)

TW: 18+, Minors DNI, smut, cunnilingus, face sitting, more love declarations, Cassian being a lil flirty in flashbacks, soft dom!Az, little hints at jealous!Az, the slightest amount of angst, talk of previous abuse (but nothing too descriptive) and slight breeding kink because Az has one (I feel this in my bones). Azriel is down astronomically bad for the reader in this one y’all. The last 2.7k is literally just porn lol 

Part 1

True to his word, Azriel kept you in the meadow until dawn. The sun beginning to paint the night-sky with sepia hued pinks and oranges. You’d long since finished the wine, eaten half the bread, and most of the fruit and cheeses. He laid against the quilt, wings spread magnificently as you laid against him, thigh over his abdomen, head on his shoulder, fingertips tracing idly at the tattoo inking his chest. He hummed contentedly, and you ventured your eyes up his, finding his gaze already on you.

“Can I ask you something?” You tested the waters of this new thing; bond, love, cocoon that enveloped you. “Anything,” he smiled. “When did you know?” You asked softly. He furrowed his brow. “That I loved you?” He asked and you nodded, turning your upper half to rest your chin on the hand that had stilled against his chest. He laughed. Mother above, he laughed so warmly that it made your eyes crinkle and lips spread into a grin from the sound alone. 

“You’re going to hate this,” he said as a preface, smiling, dimples appearing as he looked to you, “but it was a few weeks after you joined us, and Cassian mouthed off at you about being late to training.” You raised a brow. “You fell in love with me, while I was being…….degraded?” You asked, a little deadpan. “No,” he shook his head in correction, still chuckling. “It was what you did after.”

Cassian kept a strict training schedule. He trained in the early hours of the morning on the balcony at the House of Wind, ate breakfast, then moved to outdoor weapons and flight training off the banks of the Sidra until the early afternoon. He was strenuous and strict in his routine, as was Azriel. You’d begun training with them the week before, and if you were totally honest, you weren’t fully comfortable with the two brothers yet. Cassian was rough around the edges, brutish, with a mouth that often got him into trouble. Azriel was quiet, observant in a way that unnerved you. You’d caught his eyes following you often and you hated the warmth that pressed into your cheeks when he did. 

Rhysand had warned them to give you time to adjust. You’d been brutally attacked by Beron’s dogs only a few months ago and forced to live in the wilds for nearly six weeks, eating foraged fauna and what game you could kill with a makeshift spear you’d carved using sharpened obsidian and a walnut branch. Your body grew weary in those weeks; endless fear, starvation, and sleepless would do that. You were still a jittery little thing, like a wild animal, jumpy when Amren or Mor managed to sneak up on you by accident. 

Azriel recognized these symptoms and allowed you a leniency he didn’t normally offer his trainees, but trauma, physical and mental, took a toll on the body as he well knew. He’d gifted you a golden hilted dagger on your second week with them and asked if you knew how to use it. You held it in your palm, noting the blue stone that sat in the bolster and double edged blade that you could see your reflection in. You looked a little gaunt, but your cheeks held color again, your lips were fuller, no longer dry and chapped from mountain winds and cold nights. 

“I know how to use a blade Shadowsinger,” you said in an even tone. You didn’t call him by his name then. You also called Cassian ‘General’ to his face, and ‘asshole’ behind his back. “Most females learn to use them,” you followed up, “out of necessity.” Azriel hated to dwell on those words, hated to think about what you’d gone through before Beron, what your father had done. He nodded once, and placed a sheath and belt down on the table next to you before taking his leave. 

You’d awoken late for training that day, the sun had rose to a bright position in the mid-morning sky and you knew you’d never hear the end of it from Cassian. You dressed slowly into your training leathers, belting your dagger around your hips and took a deep breath. You walked to the balcony, noticing the males absence and winnowed to the training grounds at the Sidra. Cassian’s eyes found yours immediately and he sheathed his broadsword, turning to look at you. Azriel was perched on a fallen tree stump nearby, and his eyes traced your face, noting the darkened circles there. He’d heard you screaming in your sleep last night and his heart ached at the sound, his shadows slinking off to find you. 

“So you didn’t forget,” Cassian said, muscular arms crossing over his chest. “Tell me something, little girl, do you even want to be here?” He stressed the word want in his sentence in a way that had both you and Azriel narrowing your eyes. “This is the third day this week that you’ve been late to training, and the second that you’ve missed morning warm ups altogether.” He huffed a disbelieving laugh, “I’m beginning to think Rhys was wrong about you.” Azriel went still and he felt a bit of rage creep up his spine at his brother’s harshness. 

In the blink of an eye, you’d unsheathed your dagger and thrown it at the Illyrian general. It whizzed past his head, nicking his cheek, and landed in the training dummy behind him. “Fuck you,” you’d growled teeth bared, as you shifted a stance that begged for a fight. Cassian turned and pulled the knife from the dummy’s eye socket, before throwing in the dirt at your feet. “A little to the left next time you try to kill me,” he smirked. “If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have missed, asshole,” you said as you fixed him with a glare and your jaw ticked in anger. Cassian’s face broke into a shit eating grin and he laughed, which made you sneer with frustration.

“Good to see you’re still alive in there,” he said smiling, “I was hoping we’d see that spark.” Your anger dissolved as fast as it built up. You reached down to pick your dagger from the dirt and sheathed it at your waist. “Seriously, Cassian, fuck you,” you said and grabbed a bow and quiver of arrows before stalking off to train alone. Cassian sighed and went to follow you but Azriel rose to feet to stop him, stepping into his path. “Let her calm down,” he suggested, placing a hand to his brother’s arm. Cassian sighed. He knew he was being rough with you, but it the only thing left he could think to do. “We’ve tried nice, brother. Tough love worked on Amren, maybe it’ll work on her too,” Cassian spoke softly before trotting after you. 

A few paces off you’d begun firing arrows into a target carved in the bark of an elm tree, teeth grinding. Cassian was right in his intent though, you had to get out of your own head if you were to move forward. You pulled an arrow from the quiver and nocking it on the bowstring and pulling it back until the bow met the pile at the tip. You heard him coming before you saw him.

“Listen, I’m just—” you heard Cassian’s voice and turned then, aiming and firing in his direction. The arrow flew through the air towards the General. The feathered fletching caught the bun at the top of his head, pulling hairs loose, before the tip burrowed into the tree behind him with an echoing noise.

“Mother above, you could’ve killed me!” The General shouted, face blanched. Azriel’s lip quirked up and he looked to you again, you were smiling, closed mouth but smiling, and he felt his heart grow warm at the sight. “I told you, asshole, I don’t fucking miss when I’m aiming to kill.” 

You laughed aloud, cheeks warm as you buried your face in Azriel’s chest. “I’ll go around threatening Cassian more often if it gets me a mate in the end.” The male at your side chuckled warmly and his hand found yours on his sternum. “He still talks about it, you know?” He offered with a shake of his head. “It was precisely the kind of thing Nesta would’ve done too.” 

You smiled back. “Good to know you Illyrians have a type.” He looked to you then and he smiled, eyes tracing your lips, nose, lashes, and the Winter white hair haloing your face. “Not a type, just blessings from the Mother,” he murmured softly. His hand trailed up your arm and pushing your hair off your shoulder and down your back. You blushed, warmth blooming on your chest and running up your neck to your face, painting your skin pink. 

 “Gods, who knew you had such a silver tongue,” you said chastising, looking to where his fingers played with yours as they rested on his chest. “You used to be so quiet,” you added, letting a small laugh escape you. Azriel shrugged and pushed up on an elbow as his hand left yours to run up your arm and cup your cheek. “Good to know you’re still thinking about my tongue,” he whispered before kissing you for the millionth time that night. 

It was mid-morning when Azriel ported you both to the River House. It was surprisingly empty, and you made your way to the kitchen to seek out food, still in the dress from the night before, though it was now wrinkled on your body. Rhysand had stocked the kitchen it would seem, as you found an array of fruits, vegetables, and meats in the cold storage there. 

“I guess Rhys was serious about quarantining us here,” you laughed before looking over your shoulder to find your mate, leaned against the counter, watching you with warmth. “If I cook for you again, are you going to ravish me?” You asked jokingly, pulling a knife from the block to begin prepping carrots for a quick stew.

He pressed forward then, coming behind you to push you into the marble, bringing his lips your shoulder and his hands to your belly. “I plan on ravishing you either way,” he said, lips tracing to the hollow below your ear, a spot that made you whimper as he’d found out the night before and catalogued in his head. You pressed your hips back against his, loving the feel of his body against your own.

 “Very interested in that, though I think it’ll be easier on a full stomach, so maybe go bathe while I cook,” you said, turning your head and nudging your nose into his own. He laughed again and the noise set your heart to skittering. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to having him like this, so free and warm.

You’d seen Azriel in every form. The warrior that fought with skilled precision, teeth bared as he cut down his adversaries; the Spymaster that tortured, maimed, and killed Night Court threats; the brother that took his friend’s teasing in stride, lips quirking silently as he shook his head. You’d never had him like this though, laughing and full of affection, touching and grasping so freely.

His hand found your chin and you knew he’d heard your thoughts again from the look in his eyes. His fingers stroked up your jawline, fingers pushing hair behind your ear. “There is no one in this realm, on this continent, male or female, that has as much of me as you do on any given day,” he whispered before he pushed away to stroll out of the kitchen and up the stairs. You let a shaky breath go from your chest. He was trouble. 

Later, after you’d both bathed and eaten until your bellies were full, you sat at the dining room table, sipping a glass of wine. “You asked me this morning when I knew,” he started, setting down his wine glass as his index finger began tracing circles into red table cloth next to it. “When did you know?” You laughed and took another sip of wine, you’d need it to keep up with him. “Mine’s not as violent,” you fixed him with a pointed look and he smirked.

You took a deep breath, “it was several months later, at Rita’s.” He laughed warmly in disbelief. “What?” Surely you weren’t serious? “What in the Cauldron could’ve happened at Rita’s to make you fall in love with me?” His eyes were twinkling under the fae lights. 

Mor had begged you to go and you’d told her no at least thirteen times. You’d grown fond of the blonde as had she with you. She’d helped you immensely in your first months with the Night Court. She knew what it was to be hollowed out by trauma, particularly trauma that extended from those in the Autumn Court. She also knew bad fathers. You were grateful to her and you’d opened to her in a way you’d hadn’t yet with anyone else in Rhys’ Inner Circle. 

“Please?” She tried again, “We can go into the city and get you a dress, I’ll even pay for it!” You rolled your eyes, “You won’t give up until I agree, huh?” She’d laughed then. Her laugh was the kind of full bodied female laugh you hoped you’d get back some day. “You already know me so well, Little One.” She nudged your shoulder, before patting your cheek and leaving you alone to dress for the day ahead.

Little One had started a few months prior when you poked fun at Cassian during a dinner. You’d been ready to maul the General in your first weeks, but you’d settled into a peaceful truce. He’d been talking loudly about the female he’d been with the night prior, all bravado and innuendo. “Amazing you were able to land her at all with that ego,” you’d muttered taking a sip of your wine. Amren sat across from you and her lips quirked as she looked your way in silent agreement. She and Cassian were also at odds often. Cassian slid his eyes to you and they narrowed as you feigned innocence, setting your glass down and looking to your nails. “Did you just mock me, Little One?” He asked, head tilting as he watched you pick at a cuticle. 

You met his eyes and raised a brow. “Tell me Cassian, is what they say about Illyrian wingspans true?” You said, eyes glancing to Rhysand and Azriel, both looking thrilled at this development. “Cause as I see it, you look to be outmatched.” The room went quiet before Cassian bellowed a loud laugh, bringing a hand to his chest. “Cauldron save us, she’s got jokes,” he snickered and your lips curved into a smile. He turned to you then, lips smirking. “For the record, it’s not the wingspan that matters, it’s how you use it.” His rebuttal caused you to let out a breathless laugh as you picked up your wine and rolled your eyes. 

Mor had dragged you into the shopping district of Velaris to find an appropriate dress. The first store was a bust, and the second was looking to be the same. “Come on, Little One, there has to be one you’re interested in!” She’d said, voice going a little whiny on the tail end of the sentence. You’d scanned the boutique again, and noticed a dress hanging in the far back corner that was looked like threaded starlight. “That one,” you pointed and her eyes slid to it before her lips broke into a knowing grin. “You go to the dressing room and I’ll grab it,” she offered and you’d nodded, wanting this to be over as soon as possible. 

She’d brought you the dress and you shut the curtain in her face as she laughed. You’d undressed slowly, eyes scanning skin as it appeared. Your eyes zoomed in on the heavy scarring at your legs, Gods you hated those markings. Once the dress slid on, you pulled up the zipper at the side and adjusted the bust line.

You loosed a loud breath, it was…. generous in the amount of skin it showed and the style screamed Night Court. You turned and realized the back went down to your bottom, showcasing the two dimples at the small of your back. The slit at the side came all the way to your hip. ‘Cauldron, this isn’t a dress, this is a scrap of fabric,’ you’d thought. 

You turned and opened the curtain stepping out to find Mor looking at you with an open mouth.  “Are you sure you aren’t into females?” She’d asked. “Because I’d love to keep you to myself tonight.” You’d blushed and laughed heartily. “Is it good?” You asked cautiously, turning in a circle. “Good? Little One, the males will be on their knees,” she said eyes twinkling with mischief. 

You’d bought the dress despite the insecurities and gone home the House of Wind to get dressed. Mor had sent Nuala and Cerridwen to you to help with your hair and make up and you’d thanked them profusely.

As the moon rose for the night, you stood in your quarters staring at the mirror on the wall opposite your bed. You had looked lively again, your cheeks were fuller and the hollows under your eyes were less bruised than they had been months prior. You sat on a bench at the foot of your bed and started to pull on your heels, a leg shining through the slit of the dress. 

Once you’d buckled the strap your shoes, you stood, a little wobbly. It’d nearly a year since you’d worn heels and the last time you had, you were set to be engaged to the Autumn Court princeling. You refused to dwell on that and moved toward the door, opening it and stepping into the hall.

Cassian was exiting of his room as you were shutting your door and your eyes met down the corridor. He let out a wolf whistle and began walking your way. “Well, well, well,” he started and you braced for his comment, “don’t you look pretty enough to eat.” You grimaced and looked at him before scoffing, “pig.” His laughter made your lips curve into a smile. 

You strolled down the steps to find Rhysand and Azriel waiting there. Rhysand looked to you and smiled warmly, “You clean up nice, Little One.” Azriel’s eyes found yours next and his jaw dropped, then shut quickly, muscle ticking. A gloved hand at his side set into a fist and he could hear the knuckles crack. “I think she’ll be fighting the males off tonight,” Mor piped, appearing next to you, “wouldn’t you lot agree?” 

Rhysand and Cassian hummed their agreements but Azriel’s eyes couldn’t look away from your form. The dress draped your body like liquid starlight, the slit at your hip had his fists clenching at the desire to touch. Mor walked you past the males and he caught glimpse of your exposed back and something primal reared its head shouting at him to grasp, lick, bite until you were covered in his marks. Cassian flanked the Shadowsinger and whistled low, eyes following you. “I’ll have to find her on the dance floor tonight,” he said, eyes gleaming as they traced your retreating form. Azriel, though he loved his brother dearly, wanted to rip his throat out for even glancing at you. 

Rita’s was littered with intoxicated fae. Mor grabbed your arm and pulled you to the bar, while Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel made their way to the section explicitly reserved for their use. As you stood at the bar with Mor, a male came up to you, leaning into your space and asking your name.

The male ventured a touch to your arm and you leaned away, disliking the overt physical attention. As he spoke, a gloved hand appeared between you and Azriel pushed his way into the space without apology or acknowledgement. “Hey, I was talking to her!” The male tried to protest loudly before Azriel turned and fixed him with a devastating look, causing the male to wilt before putting his hands up in surrender and walking away.  

You stumbled out a laugh as he turned back to you. “I think you may have hurt his feelings,” you said smiling, looking to the Shadowsinger. He eyes were already on you again, tracing your face, and hair, the long line of your neck. “That’s much too bad,” he said, signaling the bartender over and you both ordered a round of drinks.

“You look beautiful tonight,” the words came out of Azriel in a rushed whispered, as if he’d forced them out against his will. You turned to meet his eyes and your face warmed at the look there. “I was so nervous to wear this,” you breathed, “the last time I was in a dress and heels like these, I was engaged to marry a Vanserra.” You let out a small, cynical laugh. “Gods, I’m so glad I left.” 

Azriel softened then. “He didn’t deserve you, Autumn didn’t deserve you, I hope you know that,” he’d said, gloved hands laying flat on the bar top, the length of his middle finger grazing your own. You wanted to reach out to them, to ask why he wore the gloves around you, but you resisted. 

“For what it’s worth,” he continued, “I’m also glad you left, I’m glad you’re here most of all.” You met his hazel eyes again and traced his face. He was likely one of the most beautiful males you’d ever seen and he was being awfully sweet with you. He looked to Rhys then, the High Lord likely speaking into his mind. He smiled turning back to you, “Rhysand says he’s also glad you’re here,” he said mockingly and rolled his eyes. You laughed, a small tinkering thing, that made Azriel’s heart beat quicken. “Thanks, Az,” you smiled broadly at him and he knew for sure and certain you would ruin him.

You turned to your drink then as the bartender sat it down in front of you. You picked it up and took a long sip. If Azriel kept looking at you like that and speaking to you in hushed tones that made your heart race, you’d need about five more of these. 

You heard him take a deep, steadying breath at your side, turned to look at him, brow furrowing slightly. You were ready to ask if he was alright when he finally spoke. “Cassian said he was going to ask you to dance tonight,” he ventured and you snorted. ‘Of course he did,’ you thought with a roll of your eyes and a shake of your head. “Would you allow me to be your first?” He asked, holding out a gloved hand. 

You looked to his hand then back to his hopeful hazel eyes, and you blinked a little slowly, a little disbelievingly. Just when you thought you figured him out, he threw you for a loop. You took his hand and let him lead you to the dance floor. As your body moved with his, you couldn’t help but wish for forever in this moment, forever in his hands, and his eyes. Mother above, you were in trouble. 

“That dress was pure sin, Little One,” Azriel smirked. “And I told you, I am quite fond of dancing.” You huffed a laugh and looked to him, a little bashful. Azriel laughed softly again. “Cassian pouted for days after that night,” he spoke, “he was mad I stole you away.” You wondered if Cassian could tell how utterly smitten you were after that night. “I think he was a little infatuated with you in those early days too.” 

You grimaced. “That’s much too bad,” you said, echoing his words from centuries prior. You stood then and stepped towards him to halt at his side, leaning down to press a kiss to his hair. “I always had eyes for you, baby.” 

You trailed a hand up his arm to his shoulder, then back to the shoulder joint of his wing, tracing the bone up to the clawed crest. His breath guttered out of him as he closed his eyes, brows furrowing at the sensation that zipped down his spine and settled in his lower abdomen. 

“One more question for you,” you said softly. “No,” he growled out, “I’ve had enough questions, I want to have you again.” His eyes opened and looked to you, scarred hands grasping your hips, fingers digging into the flesh there. “One more and I’ll give you whatever you want,” you offered. He raised a brow. “Whatever I want?” He questioned and you nodded. “Even if I want to bend you over this table and take you from behind until you come all over my cock?” 

Your eyes watched his predatory gaze and a feline grin appeared on your face. You laughed again, “considering that’s a win-win, I’ll gladly trade for that.” He laughed too and rolled his eyes in fondness. “Fine,” he conceded, “one more question, mate.” His hand traced back, grasping the flesh of your ass through your thin silk housedress and you gasped, “then I get to have you in every way I want.”

You had to shake the lust from your thoughts, focusing on the question that had been circling your mind since your return to River House. “Why didn’t you to tell me of the bond?” You asked softly, hand resting on the arm that held you. He took a deep breath, he should’ve expected this eventually, but in all honesty, he’d hoped to put it off as long as possible. 

“I just mean,” you took a shaky breath, growing a little nervous. “It snapped so early for you, and I—” you swallowed, “I wouldn’t have turned you away, surely you must know that?” Your eyes found his and he saw the imploring look there, brows slanting as your eyes swam with emotions. He took a grounding breath and his hand traced up your hip to your back as he pulled you in to bury his face in the soft of your stomach. 

“I was scared,” he said, though it came out muffled. You combed fingers through his hair soothingly and he tilted his head up to face you. “You were—” he stopped himself, “you are the single most magical thing in this realm.” He spoke softly, as if he was scared he’d burst the bubble of newfound love that had surrounded the two of you in the last few weeks.

“When I was a child, my half brothers tortured me,” he started, eyes wincing. “They did this, you know,” he held up a scarred hand. You nodded, Rhysand told you of Azriel’s brothers and father years ago when the subject of Windhaven came up and how you would likely not be sent on any missions there. “For my gift with shadows, they’d called me every name under the sun, insisted I was a bastard child, beat me, shunned me, cast me out. I was alone until Rhys and his mother took me in.” Your eyes teared up when you thought of how isolated he must’ve felt, how damaged. You knew feeling well. 

“When I knew I loved you, I resolved myself as unworthy of your gaze, your touch, anything,” he sighed and his hands pulled from you to fall in his lap. “I figured I’d been alone for centuries up until that point, and it was likely I’d be alone forever.” You pulled one of his hands into your own and brought the knuckles to your lips. “I love you,” you said softly, lips resting against the marred skin there, “I hope you know that.”

He looked to you and he smiled, a small watery smile as his eyes closed and he nodded his head. There was that gift again. “You know,” he said, “more than your beauty, or strength, I admire your courage and vulnerability. I think that’s what scared me the most.” He spoke softly again, wanting to preserve the shroud of gentle love that surrounded the two of you. 

“I saw how you were with Mor and Amren. How you cared for Cass, despite his explosive anger when Rhys went Under the Mountain for fifty years. How you attended Rhys when he returned in shambles, traumatized and broken.” He looked to you, eyes shining. “You took it all in stride with such….. care and endless love and I—” he paused, bottom lip trembling. “I didn’t think I’d ever be worthy of your heart, of your attention, so I took what I could get. Your glances, your smiles, the teasing at dinners. I took it all and I made myself content with it,” he shuttered out a fragile, broken breath, eyes falling to the shadows that gathered at his feet attempting to console their master. 

“I’ve loved you in secret for two centuries, Little One, I’ve loved you so much my chest ached and I thought I would die from the unsung bond that resided there. My soul would know yours in any life. At the ends of the earth in total darkness, it would still find you.” He let out a shuddering breath, “you’re the other half of me.” His eyes found yours then and the look there made you feel overwrought with emotion.

You and Azriel had been friends for two centuries. You laughed and cried together. You’d shared meals and secrets, dances and fleeting glances, little chaste touches. You’d told him of your father, of Beron, showed him your scars. You’d pined for him for just as long and to know he’d silently yearned for you in return, your heart felt like it might break apart.

“The bond snapped for me during the war,” you offered him a small secret of your own and his eyes found yours, going wide at the revelation.

The second war with Hybern had been a brutal thing. Feyre and Cassian had taken to recruiting help out of the Ancient Prison on the northern shore of the Night Court due to Prythian’s limited numbers. You’d known it was a suicide mission going in and you’d nearly been right. You’d fought alongside death gods and monsters alike in a battle that would be legend for ages to come.

“I wrote you a letter before we left for battle,” another secret, but for him, you’d bare your soul. “I was going to tell you then,” you continued, “I’d been in love with you for 189 years at that point. I was so far gone for you but I’d assumed, that if you wanted me, I would’ve known. You would’ve said something, anything. So I put it all in a letter, worried I wouldn’t return alive.” His breath hitched, remembering the sight of you impaled on a sword, bleeding out in his arms.  He’d taken the soldier’s head off their body as penance and it still didn’t feel like enough. You let out a small gurgling laugh, throat tight, eyes wet with tears. “Sometimes I can’t believe I did.” 

You took a steadying breath and leaned to kiss his forehead, his eyes closing from the contact, mouth humming. You leaned your cheek on the crown of his head, your thumb rubbing soothing circles in the space behind his ear. His hands went around to your back, nose and cheek resting against the cradle of your chest as he listened to your heart, still beating strong beneath. The two of you were the sort of image that artists carved into marble, the picture of lovers so inseparably bound that they were one eternally, in every life. 

“In that letter I apologized for not telling you sooner, said I didn’t need the Cauldron to know it was you my soul sang for. That you were the one the stars had fated me to meet.” He clenched his eyes shut from where his head rested on your rib cage. Every word you uttered was like a poultice to his damaged soul, filling the cracks that had been there since his adolescence. 

He was wrong when he’d thought you’d ruin him. No, you’d save him, from the darkness that encroached his mind, the insecurities that lingered there. You were a flower blooming against all odds in the shadows, and he’d do anything for you. All his wasted centuries of dreaming had been given a name and form in you.

“I’m glad I ran from Autumn that day, glad it was Rhys that found me in the wilds, glad it was the Night Court that saved me, but more than anything, I am glad that every step I’ve taken in this life has led me straight to you.” Your hand dragged forward, over his cheek, to gently tip his chin up to face your gaze. “May you never doubt the depths of my love for you.” You kissed his forehead then before moving your lips to the space between his brows, the tip of his nose. His eyes fell shut and his hands came to hold on tightly to your wrists for fear he’d float away. You kissed his cheek, and eyelids, before making your way to his mouth. 

This kiss was just as electrifying as the first and he pressed his insistent mouth to yours desperately. He pulled at your bottom lip with his teeth and took your gasp as the opportunity to slip his tongue against your own. He could kiss you for a millennia and he would not get enough. He wanted all that you had to give and everything after that too. Nothing, not even flying, could compare to how his heart sped when you kissed him like this. He poured centuries of yearning into it.

He pulled off of your mouth and kissed the corner of your lips before leaning back to gaze into your eyes. “I’ll need to tell Rhysand not to expect us back for a few months,” he said, hand coming up to brush a stray hair behind the shell of your ear. Your brain, still two paces behind from that kiss, registered what he was saying and you let out a breathless laugh. “Months? Thought the frenzy was a few weeks?” You replied, still smiling, tears drying and he shrugged, fingertips tracing the skin at your collarbone. “I’ve got two centuries of love to make up for,” he stated softly before smiling in a feral, cunning way, “and I plan on taking my time.” 

Azriel ported you to the bedroom and you’d laughed, “I can walk you know.” He smiled, leaning down, kissing your cheek. “Save your energy, Little One.” He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled you to stand between his legs. He allowed himself to look at you, unhurried, a little predatory. You did the same, eyes passing over tanned skin and freckles, tattoos and scars as your gaze made it’s way down to his hips, where you notice his length pressing tightly against the front of his pants. Your eyes trace back up to his, cheeks a little pink, only to find him smirking. 

“Are you ever going to be sated?” You laughed. You pulled the hem of your dress up to lean over him and settle a knee next to his hip as you crawled into his lap. He hummed, pulling your hips to his own. He traced his nose along the skin of your throat, inhaling your scent, committing to memory as he nosed the silk strap of your housedress, pushing it down your shoulder and pressing his mouth to the skin there. “For you? Never.” His tongue laved at the length of your throat, as he made his way up before bringing his mouth to yours.

This kiss was slower than the one you’d shared in the dining room. Tongues entwining, teeth biting. He dove deeper, sucking against your tongue before licking along the bow of your upper lip. He rocked his hips up to meet your own, his cock sliding against your slit in a way that had you gasping. His hand pushed your gown up over your hips to your waist and his gaze fixated on the center of your hips, you’d forgone underwear after your bath. “No panties?” He breathed into your mouth. “Maybe I should’ve taken you on the dining room table after all.” 

You laughed, rutting your hips against his own, loving the sound that rumbled in his chest. You pulled the little silk dress up and over your head, baring yourself entirely to his gaze. “There will time for that,” you said, voice laced with promise, “but I’d like for you to take me in a bed, properly.” He gave a little laugh then, bringing his face to your own, teasing at your mouth again. “Under the stars wasn’t romantic enough?” His hands found your hips and fingertips pressed into the flesh there. You were sure you’d be bruised all over come tomorrow. 

He leaned back pulling your hips up his abdomen. “C’mere,” he commanded, jerking his head in instruction as he laid flat upon the bed, wings spreading in full. He looked like a god this way, but the way he looked at you, muscles rippling as he tensed, jaw ticking, hair debauched, love bites down the tanned column of his throat from your mouth, eyes heavy lidded with lust; if he was a god then certainly you were his goddess. He growled then the noise escaping him unbidden as he hauled you higher to his chest, your hand shooting out to his shoulder to steady yourself.

“You are a goddess and I am but a hopeless disciple,” his voice had pitched deep with want, desire alight in his eyes and you thought you might never tire of seeing him this hungry for you. His fingers dug into your thighs and he hooked your knees to pull you higher. “Let me worship you until I find absolution.” He pulled you to his chin, teeth nipping at the flesh of your inner thighs. His found your eyes again and he nodded to you. “You’re going to sit on my face, sweet one, and I am going to feast on you like the goddess you are.” 

Your breath left you in a shuttering broken gasp, and you leaned up, shuffling the last few inches. His arms wrapped around your legs, caging you to his face as hands came around to open your cunt to his view. He let out a primal noise that had the air leaving your lungs in pant and your hands grasped the headboard in some pitiful attempt at grounding yourself. He nosed your clit before pulling you down on his mouth, suckling at you like a man starved. 

His tongue pressed flat against your clit and you thought you might break apart. You were sensitive from the night before and you had to actively try not to rock down against his face. As if reading your thoughts, he pulled you forward, hands grasping your hips and rutting you against his hot mouth. You couldn’t help the shuddering moan that left your throat and he hummed along with you, the vibrations sending shocks up your spine. 

He circled his tongue in a pattern, quick flicks then slow drags of friction that had pleasure zipping through you until your thighs were twitching, nails digging into the wood of the headboard, hips rocking on his mouth. He nosed at your clit as his tongue slipped down to circle your opening, collecting the wetness that gathered there, groaning at your taste. His lips returned to your clit and he sucked it into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks, speeding the flicking of his tongue until your hands were shaking and your moans keened to a higher octave. 

“Azriel,” you gasped, a trembling hand found his hair, nails scratching. “Az — fucking Gods.” You looked down to him between your thighs and he watched you, the definition of sin. His cheeks had grown pink, brows furrowed, hazel eyes gone molten as he nuzzled his face into you. He unhanded your thigh to slide back to your ass, fingernails digging into the ample flesh there before he released it and his open palm came into fierce contact with the cheek. You jolted at the impact and the sound that left you was the highest, most trembling whine he’d heard come out of you. He catalogued it in his mind for later. 

His hand soothed the skin at your behind before smacking the skin again, the contact rippling across the flesh like a tiny earthquake. Your hips tilted against his chin faster, more desperate and your moans grew closer together, a little more frantic as you felt yourself approaching your peak. His tongue circled you again before he sucked the button into his mouth and began a steady, insistent pattern. 

You could feel the pleasure focusing, your lower belly tightening.  “Az— I swear I’m—” you gasped and your head fell back, exposing your chest and neck to his greedy view. “I’m going to come, baby,” you whined deep, hips canting in tight circles, desperate for release. He hummed an affirmation and his hands grasped your hips to guide your through it. Your release hit and the moan that left you was shattering.

You leaned back, hands finding purchase on his chest, as he pressed kisses to your thighs. “Gods,” you gasped, falling to his side as you moved off of him and pressed a hand to your chest, catching your breath. “Fuck me,” your eyes shut for a moment and you felt his lips pressing tender kisses to your eyelids. He kissed to your cheek, the corner of your mouth, before whispering devastation there. “I told you my love, I want to take you apart slow.”

His lips came to your chest, pressing a kiss to the jugular notch at the base of your throat between the clavicles. “There is no war,” kiss, “no mission,” another kiss, moving south to the globe of your breast, “no threat this time.” He breathed into your sternum, tongue tracing the skin of your cleavage. 

You were right that Azriel was mouthy. Mother above, now that the gates had opened, he was bent on taking everything from you and you would let him. You would let him shatter you to pieces, trusting he’d put you back together again. 

“You’re wearing too much,” you complained, fingers pulling at the waist of his trousers, which seemed to have grown impossibly tight around his hardness. Your hand pushed under the band and fingers grasped him firmly, his gasp escaping directly into the skin over your heart. He rutted into your hand, mouth coming up to your own as he kissed you desperately, all teeth and tongue.

You pulled back from the kiss and fixed him with an imploring look. “Can I put my mouth on you now?” You asked softly, batting your eyelashes a bit, just shy of begging. He felt desire rip through him, his cock giving a jerk. A growl released from his throat. “As much as I want you on your knees for me,” he breathed deeper. “As much as I want to fuck this pretty little mouth,” his thumb tugged at your bottom lip and you leaned forward to pull it between your lips, tonguing the scarred skin there as you sucked. 

His eyes fixated on the action, pupils blown wide.  He pulled his thumb from your mouth and spread his hand to grasp your neck at the height of your throat, “I thought our bargain was every way that I wanted you?” He watched your eyes flutter as he squeezed from the sides, your breath hitching, cunt growing wetter. He could smell your arousal and the feral need of the newly minted bond had him feeling utterly primal. “And right now, I want you on your hands and knees, begging as I take you from behind.” His voice had pitched deep, and you thought you might never recover from this. 

His hand traced down to your wrist, pulling it from his cock and then he patted your ass. “Be a good girl for me.” Your breath came out shaky and you nodded, scrambling to turn around and bend down to present yourself for him. A pleased hum settled in his chest as he stood to slip off his trousers before kneeling behind you. He ran his eyes up the expanse of your back, the scars that now resided there. He’d kill anyone who threatened you again, he’d take hands from their bodies if they touched you.

He watched your shoulders roll as you adjusted your weight, and he was reminded of every backless gown you’d worn in the last two centuries. How he had never allowed himself to touch you in the way he wanted.

He ran a scarred hand up the center of your back, leaning forward and grasping your neck from behind, bringing you up and into the long line of his front. His nose trailed your shoulder and his lips found the spot below your ear again. His teeth came in contact with the flesh there, biting then pressing his tongue into the skin to soothe the sting. The little whimper you let out made him smile, he loved you like this. His other hand reached down to guide his cock to your core, hips dragging the length through to slick there. His brain catalogued each sound that you made, he was mapping you out slowly, learning your body and memorizing all. 

The hand holding your neck released its grip, and he pushed you back forward, your hands trembled as they came to hold your weight.

Before leaving you, his fingers gathered your hair and he wrapped the length of it around his hand once before fisting and pulling, causing a low moan to escape you. “Hold on, little mate.” His voice ground out and he guided himself into your warm cunt, pulling back once, then twice to work you open until he sheathed himself fully.

His hips were flush against the flesh of your ass as he ground in and your breath began to come in pants. You were so in over your head and you loved it. He laughed, ‘I heard that, my love,’ he spoke into your mind. ‘Let me know if you want to stop.’ You nearly laughed aloud. ‘As if,’ you repeated your words from the night before.

His hand tugged at your hair in response as he pulled out to the tip and slammed back in, hard and deep. Your back arched and your arms threatened collapsed. He began a slow and steady pace, rutting to the hilt and pulling out before slamming back home, skin slapping against skin. You could hear the loud suck of your cunt on every pull, the noise itself was desperately erotic, and Azriel fucking loved it. He wanted you like this like always. He wanted to stay in the warmth of your cunt for the rest of his days. He picked up his pace and groaned when he felt you clench around him as a wanton moan escaped you. 

His hand released your hair and he leaned over your form, kissing your shoulders, holding you tightly as he pushed back to the hilt and ground in, small cants of his hips causing your breath to tremble.

“Azriel, baby, you’re gonna ruin me,” you spoke quietly, head falling forward. He laughed darkly, biting at the skin at the top of your spine. His hand grasped the front of your throat and brought you back up into him, mouthing at your shoulder. “Tell me you’re mine,” he ground out, hips pushing faster. His other hand found its way to your front, tracing down your soft stomach to rub slow circles at your clit. “Tell me you’re mine and let me fuck you into oblivion.” 

You groaned feeling your orgasm crawling up your spine, cunt tensing. “I’ve been yours for two centuries,” you gasped out, breathless, head falling back to his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut. He growled out something primal, but you continued, delirious with pleasure as his fingers and cock broke you apart. “I’ll give you anything.” His fingers tightened at your neck and he slammed to the hilt, grinding in. 

“Anything?” He questioned, voice shaky with need. “Would you let me take you apart? Would you let me ruin your sweet cunt daily? Would you let me fuck a baby into you?” Your mind blanked and your voice pitched into a deep moan, a base desire possessing you. “Yes,” you nodded, breathless. “All of it,” you gasped, “anything for you, mate.” His eyes pinched shut, a low whine escaped somewhere from the pits of him. Mother above. His fingers squeezed your neck and he picked up the pace, fucking you faster. You shook with each impact of his hips, your breath leaving you in small whines. 

The scarred tips of his fingers worked your clit faster. “You’ll give me anything?” He questioned again, breathless, pace faltering as his own release tightened at the base of spine. “Come for me, my love, come with me.” Your breath caught at your throat as your cunt tightened impossibly around him and he groaned deep. You called his name as your climax hit and he keened a low whine, hips grinding into you, his seed painting your walls. 

He released your throat and gave a shaky laugh as he grasped your chin to find your mouth. The kiss was utterly depraved and your walls fluttered again, making him groan into your mouth. You pulled back and your eyes found his over your shoulder. “A baby, huh?” You spoke, voice a little wobbly. He wanted to shrink under the weight of your gaze, the question there. “Not yet,” he spoke softly, “but if you do decide to gift me with a child, I’ll be the luckiest male alive.” You smiled and kissed him, softer this time, heart singing at the promise there.  

He pulled out of you and let you collapse against the bed, rolling over to rest at your back. His eyes found your cunt and he watched with rapt obsession as his release leaked from you. You traced his gaze and a laugh escaped you. “Come here, my love,” you spoke softly, opening your arms. “I want to get some rest before you go feral again.”

He smiled, laughing lightly before crawling up the bed to where you awaited him. He settled into your embrace, head resting on your chest while his restless fingers began idly tracing the skin of your arm. Your fingers set to combing through the strands of his hair and his eyes closed, pleased with gentle intimacy of the action. “I love you,” he spoke softly, exhaustion beginning to creep in on him. You smiled, fingers trailing to his back, caressing the skin at the base of his wing. “As I love you,” you whispered, “more than anything.” He hummed and nuzzled to the skin of your chest as darkness overtook him. 

#azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #acotar fanfiction #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger #i love this bat boy sm #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #Azriel smut #bat boys x reader #bat boys #azriel acosf #azriel acomaf #This is utter filth guys #These two really went at it for like 24 hours straight

[lineffability]

silly au idea #946483: Crowley as a famous fake author and Aziraphale as the ghostwriter he hires to write his next smashing hit in the highly anticipated Device&Nutter series

#good omens #story seeds #cousin Beez is the one who roped him into this scheme btw #az is a wonderful writer but doesnt have what it takes to make it in this cutthroat publishing industry :( #at least according to his ghost writer boss gabe #it's called “and they were co-authors” #or maybe “don't ghost me” #pffff #not planning to write this btw feel free to take it if the famcy strikes you

[neil-gaiman]

This will sound confrontational but its a genuine question, I promise. Why is it ‘embarrassing’ to wonder about the sex lives of these characters? GO is not a childrens book or show as far as i know, the characters are not underage, unable to consent, related, cheating, canonically asexual or any other thing that would make them having sex even remotely reprehensible or anything like that. They literally get called husbands every single day on this app and im sure you’re well aware people are very much writing about them having sex constantly so I’m just wondering. Is it just the word choice? If someone had asked when az and crowley ‘made tender consensual love’ instead, would there be less actual harrassment in their inbox right now? Or is it just very bad and wrong to discuss gay sex… ok maybe it is confrontational after all. oops

I think you might have misread or misconstrued what I wrote, when I said "I feel a bit embarrassed for the people sending them when they come through, but nothing more than that". My embarrassment is over what people think is appropriate to send as messages to the author, not over whatever they want to speculate about. They have the whole of Tumblr, not to mention AO3, to ponder, imagine and discuss anything they like about any and all things in the stories, including sex, gay and straight. But sending stuff like that to me is just inappropriate... it's like watching someone turn up to a school meeting drunk, or watching someone trying to tell dirty jokes to an audience that wishes they'd stop. I'm the wrong audience, and it makes me embarrassed on their behalf.

Every now and again, in the Asks, someone will write apologizing for something they sent in years before, which they've now realized was inappropriate -- or which they always knew was inappropriate and they've grown enough as people to apologize. And enough of those messages have come in over the years that I'm never upset at receiving inappropriate asks. Just embarrassed for the people sending them, and hoping they don't beat themselves up too badly when they figure out, as many of them seem to eventually, that perhaps that wasn't a very sensible thing to do.

[grandwretch]

if I ever pubbed my novel and one of those cringe "here's all the tropes in the book like its ao3 tags" tiktoks gets posted im gonna need yall to not let me know for my own mental health

#shut up az #I cannot write a novel about religious trauma and recognition of the self through the other that turns into a codependent love story #and then have someone on tiktok be like omg f/f strangers to friends to lovers #💖 black cat gf/golden retriever gf 💖 would kill me dead #like I can't stop them but I would not cope well with the knowledge

[reiincarnatiion]

shadows of destiny | azriel x reader | part two

summary : jealous but confused azriel, yearning shadows and sexy lucien and sexy reader ;)

🧚‍♀️

a/n: 💗 WOW. SO MUCH SUPPORT ON THE FIRST PART BROOO GUYS I JUST OFCOURSE HAD TO WRITE PART TWO and def will have part 3 i guess? ngl i am an angsty writer so im not good at writing happy endings HAHA rip for u all.

this is so addictive ive already written 3 stories in a span of like three days HAHAH 💗

also most azriel stories i read are never from his perspective so im keeping it from his perspective to change things up! he is def a bit out of character because i havent read acotar for a while rip but enjoy! thanks for the support and let me know your thoughts !! also this isnt proof read cuz ya girls lazy >.<

read [ part one ] !!

---💗---

"What are you two doing?"

Lucien and you both looked up, shocked (but not really) , to find Azriel standing in the middle of the dance floor, clad in his black silk shirt and pants, with swirls of tattoos peeking through, his collarbone on full display. Fae moved gracefully around him, dancing and making out, carefully avoiding the famed shadow singer.

He stands in front of you two, just as you two had begun your pathetic attempts to drunkedly dance. Your short dress had ridden up to the top of your thighs, pressed against Lucien's pants, and Azriel knew it was entirely inappropriate. He observed as you raised your eyebrows and looked down at him.

He couldn't fathom how you two had crossed the line from friends, but he knew it was wrong. Over the eons, he had seen you with many men, but they had always been strangers to him and the Inner Circle. They had never been serious.

Were you and Lucien serious? The club fell silent to him,  as he awaited your answer.

His shadows swirled around his feet, urging him to intervene. Some even attempted to caress your legs, but Azriel swiftly reeled them in, refusing to acknowledge how soft and sweet-smelling they might be. He couldn't bear to know how apparently tempting they were.

Azriel clenched his jaw as you gazed back at him with your kohl-lined eyes, their newfound seductive power nearly breaking his stoic demeanor.

He bit the inside of his cheek to quell the sudden effect your look had on him, not wanting to indulge in such thoughts; they could only lead to trouble.

"Uhhh... Dancing?" you drawled back finally, rolling your eyes in a way that he would have only have liked to see in bed with you, behind you, with his hands wrapped in your hair as he-

He blinked, the deafening thumping of the music returning to his consciousness, as the rush from his panicking shadows ebbed away, calming his racing heart.

What was he doing? Why did he even come here? A wave of guilt washed over him as he tore his gaze away from your captivating eyes, only to hear you laugh and giggle as Lucien whispered something in your ear, drawing you closer. A giggle Azriel had never noticed was so adorable and sexy at the same time.

Azriel shook his head, trying to make sense of the overwhelming emotions within him. It didn't make any sense. You were like a little sister to him, an integral part of his family.

Stupidly, he realized that he didn't know why his shadows urged him towards you, nor did he understand the sudden waves of jealousy coursing through him.

"AZ! SO NICE OF YOU TO FINALLY JOIN!" a voice screeched, breaking the tension that had enveloped him and the couple in front of him.

They weren't a couple, but they looked like one, and he couldn't stand it. He didn't know why he was acting this way, but he knew one thing for sure: he didn't like it.

He didn't like how Lucien's slender fingers gripped your waist with such familiarity and intent.

The voice that had called out before now manifested next to him as Cassian stumbled over, dragging Nesta along. Their interlocked hands taunted him once more, but Azriel forced himself to look up at Cassian.

"BROTHER!! LET'S DANCE!!" Cassian howled, reaching them and clumsily starting to move their bodies to the rhythm, grabbing Azriel's shoulders to mimic their motions. Azriel stumbled back, desperate to escape the situation, but Cassian persisted.

"Leave me alone, Cassian," he mumbled, brushing his brother's hands away with his gloved ones.

"Why don't you ever dance with us?" Cassian whined, oblivious to Azriel's attempts to withdraw.

Azriel burned with annoyance, returning his attention to you and Lucien. But then, a tender voice spoke out behind him, and he knew it was Feyre even before turning around to see Rhys drunkenly laughing with Cassian as the other couple joined.

“Az, what are you doing, staring holes into Lucien and Y/N,"

"I--" Azriel faltered, trying to make sense of his emotions and jumbled thoughts. "It's just wrong."

He blinked, wondering why he had even gotten up in the first place.

"They're just drunkenly dancing; Elain is fine with it. You don't have to defend her honor here, Az," Feyre assured him, patting him on the back before returning to her mate.

Azriel stood still, smoothing out his pants and running a hand through his tousled hair. The club's hazy atmosphere seemed to envelop him, and he realized that the fae wine he had consumed tonight had hit him hard. Perhaps he had gone too far this time.

"Yes, yes, of course. I just thought Lucien should respect Elain..." he answered hastily, though he knew Feyre had already left. Shadows informed him that Rhys and Feyre had retreated to their more secluded spot again, and Azriel felt a pang of envy.

A couple of fae rammed into him, slightly spilling their drink and apologising in a haste as they realised who they had just knocked into. He glowered down at them and shook his head, stalking back silently back to the booth.

He walked back to the booth where Elain was still seated, nursing a pink drink.

"What was that all about, Az?" she asked innocently, though her doe eyes betrayed her knowing nature.

"It was nothing."

"You were clearly distraught, Az."

"My shadows sensed something was wrong, that's all, Elain."

"Lucien and Y/N?" Elain asked gently, her hand reaching for his gloved hands.

Azriel looked down at her delicate skin brushing against his black leather glove and he felt a sudden overwhelming contrast between the two. He removed his hand from hers, realizing how mismatched they were.

Cassian and Nesta complemented each other perfectly, a match made from the Cauldron itself. Feyre and Rhys shared a love and trust so profound, it was interwoven within their powers.

But what did he have with Elain, other than a forced interest in gardening and her white and pink flowers?

"They're just dancing, it's fine," he told her, his voice numb. He couldn't help but look back at you and Lucien, still writhing against each other on the dance floor in ways that supposedly platonic friends shouldn't.

Lucien's hands were still firmly on your waist as you both gyrated, laughing and singing along to the music. You'd blame it all on the alcohol the next day, if asked about your actions. Azriel knew that, just as he'd experienced countless nights where Cassian or Rhys had kissed him during similar inebriated moments.

Beside you two, Nesta and Cassian mirrored your movements, seemingly unfazed by the intimate nature of your dance. The club's flashing colors continued to shift and flash all around Azriel, in strikes of pink, blue and green but all he saw was red, and he did not

Know

Why.

---

read part three here dearies !!

taglist for shadows of destiny : @allyjoe755 @impossibelle @t0uch-starved-h0e @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @marina468 @cassan1306

#acotar #enemies to lovers #angst acotar #azriel x reader #rhysand x reader #cassian x reader #eris vanserra x reader #lucien vanserra x reader #feyre archeron #high lady feyre #feyre cursebreaker #rhysand acotar #rhysand #elain x lucien #elain archeron #elain x azriel #azriel shadowsinger #nesta x cassian #cassian acotar #a court of wings and ruin #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #crying rn #jealousy #jealous!azriel