#azriel x reader slow burn

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Eleven

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: None. Gwyn and Y/n bond over books. Azriel and Y/n get even closer — this had me kicking my feet and screaming internally and externally

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Rhysand’s training sessions always started with him sliding over ten objects: a book, a piece of jewelry, an article of clothing — anything he could find with meaning for you to discern.

“This one is Mor’s.” You held the red satin box in your hands. Two months ago you would have only been able to tell him who it belonged to. Maybe nothing at all. The meaning held by the object was weak. The jewelry too new. Unworn. But now you could harness your power with more precision, like you’d finally been handed an image of the puzzle you were trying to complete so you knew what to look for. “You bought it two months ago at Cizero’s as a Winter Solstice gift.” 

“And what is it exactly?” 

The box was still closed. 

You pushed your power forward, imagining light slipping in through the seam of the box. An image flashed in your mind. It was blurry, but held onto its form long enough for you to make it out. 

“Drop earrings. Rubies,” you said with a straight back before dropping the box into Rhysand’s open palm.

He smirked and clicked it open. Gold banded rubies hung from the backing like bloody tears, each drop separated by a diamond that flashed brighter than the stars in the ever darkening sky. 

You dared to smile, staring at the jewelry with a level of satisfaction you hadn’t felt since being handed top marks as an apprentice. 

“Very nicely done.” 

The box disappeared back into his desk beside a glimmering gemstone the size of your fist wrapped in tissue paper. 

It’s probably for Amren. You thought to yourself. Azriel told you she loved shiny things and hoarded her treasures like a crow. Hence why she’d yet to return from Summer with Varian. 

You moved on to the next portion of your exercises. With a feather light touch, Rhysand laid his hands on your palms, your wrists, your forearm, your shoulders. He moved up and down your body, waiting a minute for you to control yourself before touching the next flash of exposed skin. It was still difficult to completely contain your power, but you were getting better at moving it around your body. When he reached for your hands, you slid the magic up to your chest. When he reached for your knees, it moved down to your ankles. It was a delicate dance, like the curling of ocean water away from the shore or the splitting of a river around a stone. 

You did what you could to experience the touches with a clinical detachment and Rhysand did as well. He was careful. He stopped the moment you let out a gasp of surprise at the feeling of warm skin pressed against your own and there wasn’t an ounce of judgement written in his beautiful features when you trembled beneath his touch. 

“Take your time,” he said encouragingly.

For him, touch was a necessary part of life. He always had an arm slung over Cassian’s shoulders or wrapped around Feyre’s waist. He fell asleep with his mate pressed against him and he walked around the River House with Nyx on his shoulders and Velaria curled up in his arms. But there were also mornings when he’d wake up in a cold sweat, the feeling of Amarantha’s red-tipped nails dragging down his chest like she wanted to take more from him than just his body. Those were the days Feyre knew to give him his space. 

“Take all the time that you need.”

Rhys stepped away. You steadied your breath and took time to record your progress in the journal you kept close by. Although there was no true way to quantify your learning, your Day Court training never left you and you wrote down what little could be put into words — for posterity’s sake. Then maybe the next Clairvoyant the Mother willed into existence would have an easier time navigating this than you. 

Gwyn found you squirreled away in your usual reading room, back bowed over a flurry of books and note pages like a reed in the wind. You reached for the mug on the desk only to find it disappointingly empty. Unlike the River House, the Library did not fuel your caffeine addiction with reckless abandon. 

She floated over, abandoning the cart of books she’d been tasked with returning that night. Her legs were throbbing from the split squats Cassian had coached her through that evening, and she was desperate for a break. 

“Some light reading, I see?” she teased, sinking into the seat across from you. 

You looked up, eyes red-rimmed and swollen. It took a few moments for Gwyn’s shape to come into focus. 

“What?” The word slurred coming out of your mouth.

She tapped the ever growing pile of papers beside you. Your manuscript: 120 hand-written pages and counting. When the book became too frustrating to handle, you abandoned it in exchange for another productive task. Even if the 120 pages you’d reproduced were utter garbage.

You groaned, forehead slamming against the wood with a clatter. Thoughts of white blood cells, lymphatic vessels, and innate and acquired immunity knotted in your brain like the world’s worst game of cat’s cradle.

Gwyn would have found it amusing if she didn’t know just how much time you spent within the mountain. You’d effectively been adopted by the priestesses. Lurking here and there like a cat coming in from the cold. And you were just as disapproving as a stray. Gwyn would often catch you among the stacks, mumbling about the disorganization and how you couldn’t work in such paltry conditions. 

“Cauldron boil me, I’m sorry for asking.” Gwyn raised her hands in surrender. 

You let out a great, heaving sigh. “It’s not you.” 

“Oh I know it’s not me. You look like you’ve been dragged through a gutter.” 

You blinked wearily at the lovely priestess.

“A very clean, well-managed gutter.” She grinned. Her skin shone, reflecting the pale, fuzzy moonlight that filtered through the window above and doused the library in a silver sheen. 

“Thank you, Gwyn.” 

“Anytime.” She drummed her nails against the table, the beat of it almost sending you to sleep. “How long have you been here today?” she asked with concern.

“I don’t know. What time is it?”

“After midnight.” 

“Oh.” 

“How long?” Gwyn repeated and you dragged a hand down your face. 

“Seven hours? Give or take?” Your stomach growled. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” 

Gwyn grabbed you by the end of your robes, tugging you up several floors and down an unfamiliar hallway until you stopped in front of a teal-blue tapestry. Selkies, sirens, and water nymphs dove in and out of rippling waters highlighted by iridescent beads. She flung it to the side and pressed her hand against the bare stone. The slab sank into the wall and then slid open to reveal a cream-colored room adorned with bundles of babies' breath. 

“Sit,” she commanded, pointing to the neatly made bed. You swayed dangerously on your feet. 

“I’m really fine. I didn’t mean to bother you.” 

“Sit. Down.” She cut you with a lethal gaze Nesta would be proud of. 

You snapped your mouth shut, shuffled across the carpeted floor, and sank into the queen-sized bed. You played with the ties of your robe wrapping them around your finger, then unwrapping them, then wrapping them again.

King Tiberion, third of the Nachmanian line, born Aschieron Cambria Nostrus Tiberion Dalgna to Effel Taul and foreign-born…

Found dead at a young three-hundred-and-ninety-two years of age at the hands of her brother. Spell cleaver or not, Ingrid…

Something like a lock and a key. Magic that’s perfectly complementary might be afforded the unique ability to seal… and break… gods I’m tired… 

There have only been seven recorded Shadowsingers in history: Lovania Vallant born 895 in the age of Alders (see ref. 18992HBG Carstairs), Gherald Dashiv born 1459 in the age of — 

Gwyn snapped her fingers in front of you, pulling your mind out of the hurricane of thoughts. You were a strange creature. You spoke little, moved about the Library as quiet as a mouse, and you had an interesting habit of running your fingers along every book on the shelf. Back and forth, back and forth you’d run along before jerking to a stop like one of the books had caught you at the end of a fishing lure. 

“Are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” you repeated. 

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Some would say that’s a good thing. It would make me incredibly trustworthy, at least when it comes to responding to things. I’d be terrible at keeping secrets, unless I was very careful about how I went about things. You know how it is. With the things.” 

Gwyn huffed with silent laughter and opened one of the cabinets in her small, makeshift kitchen. “Eat.” She commanded again and you were too slow to catch the sleeve of biscuits she tossed in your direction. It bounced off your forehead and landed in your lap. “I’ll be right back with something more substantial.” 

The door shut with a puff of air and you were left to chew on the chocolate and orange biscuits in silence. 

Gwyn’s room faced the city and you saw the lamplights burning through the windows that had been cut into the mountain rock, mimicking the stars that twinkled overhead like salt poured onto black glass. 

Cream satin sheets caught the moonlight until it glowed and you had the sudden urge to tip back and fall into oblivion. You could work for a long while, so long as you didn’t sit still long enough for the exhaustion to catch up to you — which you were doing now. 

You shoved another biscuit in your mouth, now almost halfway through the sleeve. It helped settle the hollowness in your stomach so you could pick yourself up and move over to the bookshelf. 

Bodice ripper, bodice ripper, murder mystery, bodice ripper, romantic comedy, found family adventure, spy thriller, bod—

Your face went red. Damn.

The priestess chose that moment to return to her room carrying a tray laden with bread, orange slices, and a thick mushroom stew leftover from dinner. She froze, pale cheeks turning a dusty rose as you silently pushed the book back onto the shelf. 

“Dragon-born? Really?” You shoved a burning spoonful of stew in your mouth and drowned the stale crust of bread, waiting for it to get sufficiently soggy enough you could chew it.

Gwyn groaned and buried her face in her pillows. “It was a phase.”

“Must have been a very long phase. You have the whole series and I know it took her thirty years to write them all.” 

Her head shot up. “How do you know?” 

“I read the first book.”

You sat up straighter, back pressed up against the closet that housed her daily robes, ceremonial garb, training gear, and Valkyrie armour. 

“So how can you judge me?!” 

“It makes no anatomical sense, Gwyn!” You threw your hands up in the air. “She’s four feet shorter than him. He’d sooner tear her in half before giving her any pleasure, and I’m not talking about his claws.”

The priestess scoffed. “Have some imagination, Y/n.” 

You huffed and pulled out a notebook from your ample pockets. You both spent the next thirty minutes going through hastily drawn sketches that would have disappointed Feyre to no end testing out your imaginative capabilities. Gwyn couldn’t stop smiling at you as you moved your hands through the air with animated fervor. Half of what you said didn’t make sense, but she would blame it on your sleep deprivation. 

You had Gwyn in stitches. The female hung off the bed, red-brown hair brushing the ground as she gasped for breath. You looked like you were sitting on the ceiling, black robes pooled around your knees like shadows. 

That sobered Gwyn up a bit. It was a real shame she liked you as much as she did. It made it harder for her to stay mad at Azriel.

And as if you read her mind, you asked, “Why don’t you come around to the River House?”

“What?” She wasn’t laughing anymore. 

“Why don’t you come to the River House?” You asked again. “You’re close friends with Nesta. You’re part of the Inner Circle. You have a guest room there, but I haven’t seen you at the house.” 

“Do you even spend enough time at the River House to know?”

“Yes.” 

Gwyn sighed and straightened up, folding her legs neatly beneath her on the bed. “Some… Some things happened a couple years ago. I won’t bore you with the details and I don’t know if I even have the right to tell you everything, but it’s colored the way the Inner Circle works now.”

“The details are the most important part,” you murmured, “I wish I had more details. Then maybe I wouldn’t feel like such a stranger in that house.”

“You’re not a stranger,” Gwyn reassured you. “Is that why you spend so much time here?” she asked with genuine curiosity. 

“Yes and no. It feels closer to home here. Even if your lack of organization has made my job ten times more difficult. I don’t see why you haven’t adopted any kind of classification system. It’s a small library. It would be very easy to implement.” You sighed and rubbed your eyes. Gods, you were tired. The feeling came and went in waves. “I shouldn’t complain though, everyone has been incredibly kind and welcoming. Especially Azriel.” 

You wrapped your arms around yourself, fingers fluttering against your shoulders. You tucked your chin into your elbows and tried not to think about that glorious night of sleep with only Azriel and his shadows. Waking up with his chest rising and falling on the floor beside you.

You were falling for him and you knew it. Gods did you know it. Or maybe you could convince yourself you weren’t falling yet, but it was a steady march to the cliff’s edge and you weren’t stopping anytime soon.

Gwyn felt her heart stutter. “Oh? He’s usually so… quiet and… reserved.”

You thought about it for a long while. 

“I don’t think he’s nearly as quiet as everyone believes him to be,” you said thoughtfully, “I think he just speaks in his own way.” 

 You were right about Godswood and The Gallows. 

The letter arrived on your desk early in the morning. 

The Bookkeeper, Taunum Hyst, was found trying to burn books in the western greenwoods along with some texts from Argot’s. He fought back against the guards sent to retrieve him, but he didn’t know what he was doing. Even now he’s confused and adamant that the last three weeks have been a blur. There’s a daemati at work here. Someone other than Henna. Rhysand knows, if he hasn’t already told you.

I’ve sent a translated folktale in old Bauldish and Common, and another in Demnyon along with the others you asked for. They might be worth looking into to help with the book. I hope you’re enjoying your stay at the Night Court. Happy hunting and stay safe. 

~ Helion 

You were right. 

You dropped the letter, hands coming up to your mouth as you took in a deep, shaky breath. You knew Taunum Hyst. You could picture his salt-grey braids and coal-black skin. He’d helped perform the funeral rites for your mother. Hell he’d managed to make you laugh that terrible day. 

 Your stomach turned. If there truly was another daemati left in the Day Court that could help explain the killings. Either the Librarians could have died trying to keep the knowledge in their minds safe, or the daemati had made them kill themselves before moving onto their next victim. You didn’t know which was more tragic. 

The clock rang eleven bells and you hastily folded up the paper, dropping it into the box along with the rest of your father’s letters.  

“I think this might be the first time you’ve ever been late,” Rhysand said with an amused smirk. He leaned against the doorway to his office, ankles crossed over one another. Did that male ever stand normally? 

“It is the first time.”

“Of course you would know that.” 

You smirked, pushing open the door to find—

“Azriel?” 

The Shadowsinger stood with his hands neatly folded behind his back. “Y/n?”

“Cassian!” The Lord of Bloodshed leapt in front of his brother, arms spread wide. “I’m also here. Nesta couldn’t make it with Valkyrie training.” 

Feyre rolled her eyes with affection. She reached for Rhysand’s hand without thinking and he accepted with barely a glance. They were two magnets, always pulled towards one another in space.

“What’s going on?” You glanced back and forth between them all. It had always been just you and Rhysand during these lessons. 

“I thought it would be good to start practicing with other people when it comes to physical touch,” Rhysand explained. Azriel’s nostrils flared. “You’re getting comfortable with me, which I’m happy about. But I want you to get comfortable with everyone else too.” 

You told me you wanted another debrief about the Mortal Lands. Azriel was loath to admit that just the thought of touching your hand was making his heart race like a schoolboy. 

And I do. Rhysand said rather smugly, as if he already knew Azriel was freaking out inside. But I also know you wouldn’t have agreed to this if I asked you ahead of time. It’s amusing to see you like this, brother. Have you forgotten how to touch a female? His violet eyes glittered with mischief.

Azriel swallowed, eyes trained on you as you mulled over Rhysand’s comment and nodded. You wanted to be comfortable too. Comfortable in your body. Comfortable with other people touching you.   

You thought of what it might feel like to have Azriel’s hand tucked beneath your chin, not just his shadows, and shivered. 

Azriel nearly choked when you started undoing the ties of your robes. The gold embroidered fabric slipped off your shoulders in a soft hush that had Azriel going rigid. You wore traditional Night Court fashion beneath your Librarian robes — a tight black shirt revealed the gentle curves of your arms, the cut of your collarbones against your chest, the thin band of flesh around your stomach; a breezy skirt with slits cut into the sides that revealed flashes of your thighs with every movement you made. 

Feyre, Rhysand, and Cassian all shared looks, nearly bursting out laughing at the way Azriel’s shadows were in flight around him. A swarm of bees buzzing and murmuring about how beautiful you looked. 

Azriel had seen many fae in his time in various states of undress. He’d seen males and females in the Court of Nightmares parade about in scraps of silk and lace. He’d taken countless lovers to bed. Bodies were something he knew well. Something he knew intimately. But he had never felt so flustered as he did looking at you like this. He thought his heart might just burst in his chest.

Cassian elbowed Azriel in the ribs when you weren’t looking and one of Azriel’s shadows looped around his ponytail and pulled. 

“Ow.” Cassian rubbed the back of his head with a grin. “Rude.”

You felt rather ridiculous standing in the center of the room with your arms and legs stretched out to the side. 

“Right arm,” Rhysand called out. 

Cassian bounced back and forth on the balls of his feet, fists held loose by his sides with the lightness of a male a quarter of his size.

You squinted. Is he… is he about to punch me? 

Cassian read the alarm on your face and grinned, hitting you with a tap gentler than rainfall. 

You snorted, but felt nothing. Perfect.

You had to be grateful for Cassian’s light-heartedness. He had the worry melting off your shoulders. With every limb that Rhys called out, Cassian would do a little dance before punching you or kicking you. At one point he even faked a blow to your face, spinning up to you before leaping into the air and shooting out his right leg. You didn’t flinch as his boot swung an inch away from your face. You could smell the rubber soles of his boots. 

“You missed,” you teased. 

Cassian pouted, turning around to walk back to the wall now that he was finished with his piece. Azriel looked ready to tear his head off his body. 

You’re lucky you missed. Azriel’s eyes screamed across the room. You’d be a dead man if you hurt her.

Cassian winked and blew him a kiss.

Feyre was next. You practiced brushing against her like you would do in a crowded street complete with the obligatory fumbling of apologies. 

“Oh good heavens.” Feyre fanned her face like the old, upper-class women in her village used to do and laid on that sickly sweet accent they all had. “I’m so dreadfully sorry.” — They never were. 

She shook your hand and touched your shoulders and looped her arm around your waist. That was the part that had you worried. You slid your power away from every inch of your skin, wrapped it up like a secret, and held it deepin your chest. 

“Good.” Rhysand smiled and Cassian punched the air. 

You breathed deeply and gave a small bow like you’d just finished a performance. But there was still one person you were meant to touch today, and they made you the most nervous of all.

Azriel stepped forward, a picture of calm. Inside, he was raging like a storm. He kept his hands firmly grasped behind his back, wings pressed so tightly he felt his shoulders start to ache. 

You took a step forward as well, tilting your head back to look at him. You felt the grip on your power falter when he held out his hand palm up like he was asking you for a dance. Months ago at the Summer Solstice ball you’d been approached by a number of males hoping for a song with their hands at your waist and at your shoulder. The prospect of that kind of touch had terrified you then, and it still terrified you now but for different reasons. Because this time, you wanted it. 

You wanted him.

You gently slid your hand into his, feeling the scars roll beneath your soft skin like the mountains that surrounded Velaris. Your breath caught in your throat, but before Azriel could rip his hand away you held on and squeezed reassuringly. 

You’d read hundreds, if not thousands, of romance novels in your time. You’d consumed them with a ravenous hunger, surviving on them when real touch felt like a hopeless dream and the loneliness became too much to bear. And in nearly every single one of them, the first touch between lovers was described as an explosion of color. A dangerous shaking of the world down to its foundations. A cataclysmic event. 

But you were surprised to find that they were wrong. They were all wrong. Azriel wasn’t destroying anything. He was mending. 

It felt like a re-centering. The shifting of a leaning tower so it stood upright again. 

A blissful silence. 

Azriel cradled your hand in his, thumbs smoothing over your knuckles. He couldn’t help what he did next, couldn’t have stopped himself even if Helion stood at his back with murder in his eyes. 

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of your hand with such reverence, such tenderness, that you swore your heart was glowing in your chest.

“Why don’t you try a hug, Y/n?” Rhysand suggested when Azriel had straightened. “If you want.” 

You looked down at your feet where shadows swarmed, and then up at Azriel.

“What do you say, Y/n?” Azriel murmured softly. His words were for you and you only. “Where would you have me touch you?” His hazel eyes caught the light before scattering into a thousand brilliant colors. 

Wordlessly you ran your fingers down his arms, tracing the shape of the muscle beneath the leather. You held his hands and gently led them up to your waist, gasping when he made contact. His warm fingers brushed the exposed skin of your waist before sliding around to your back. 

You balanced on the tips of your toes, looping your arms around his neck before resting your face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. He smelled like leather and the mountains. Wind and rain and nightfall coalescing into something so uniquely him you could pick him out in a room of thousands with your eyes closed.

It started out as a loose, misshapen thing, your hands and his arms searching for the right grip to hold your bodies together. But once you found it, you were lost.

Azriel wrapped his arms around your back and waist, hands splayed out like he was absorbing you into him. And you were no better. You buried your face in his neck, lips pressed up against the curve of his throat so you could feel the rhythmic rush of blood through his veins. 

He refused to be the first to let go. The roof could cave in. The floor could drop out from beneath your feet. He would not let you go. 

Your tears started out slow, coupled by ragged, shallow breaths. 

“I’ve got you, Y/n,” Azriel whispered. “I’ve got you.”

How long had it been since you’d been held like this? A hundred years? Two hundred? You thought you’d learned to live without it, but now that it was yours you didn’t think you’d ever, ever be able to give it up. You were at the cliff’s edge now and without an ounce of hesitation you flung yourself over and into the abyss.

With Azriel, controlling your powers didn’t seem like such a difficult thing. Later that evening when you lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, you realized you hadn’t been thinking of control at all.

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Author's Note:

Y'all... THEY FINALLY TOUCHED EACH OTHER! And not only that, BUT HE KISSED HER HAND!!! And! They fucking HUGGED!!!!

#azriel x reader #azriel x reader slow burn #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #the shadowsinger and the inkbird

[feyreswaterybowels]

⭒The Silent One⭒

#1 Azriel x Fem!OC

⭒Part 1⭒Part 2⭒Part 3⭒Part 4⭒

Word Count: 4k

Summary: Velaris was home to many pleasure houses but when the high lord learns the owners of these houses aren’t abiding bu long reigning laws he and his inner circle steps in—in the process taking in an Illyrian female that had been abused and tormented.

Warnings/Tags: mute character. slow burn romance. trauma. sexual abuse. found family. building romance/trust after trauma. violence. strong female character. protective!azriel. protective!IC.

Authors Note: All likes, re blogs and comments are welcome, appreciated and highly encouraged! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for the next part! Bold italics are mental communication, regular italics are inner thoughts.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

The smell of smoke was thick in the air. The floor was wet, the air moist and chilled. The building Azriel and Cassian just entered was one of the many pleasure houses in Velaris. This was no ordinary visit for pleasure. No. They were on a mission per their High Lord’s command.

The Velvet Pearl was a pleasure house where those who entered could pay for sexual services. Men and women alike were welcome and the Pearl was known to have anything a person was looking for—whether that be a specific species, body type, hair color, skin color or a specific act. It could all be found here. The Mistresses made it their job to comb through the streets looking for those who would enjoy the work.

That’s what led their mission here tonight. Pleasure houses are no secret in Velaris. They are out in the open. There can be one found for many vices. Gambling, dancing, drinking and of course sex. There aren’t many rules for these houses by the High Lords command, but a big one had been broken recently.

Consent.

The law of consent in these pleasure houses is major, one of the most important to the High Lord, Rhysand, and the ones before him. One cannot force another to drink. One cannot force another to gamble. Once cannot force another into sexual acts. Any person visiting or working at these establishments must be there of their own free will.

With the pleasure houses specifically this rule had been broken when one of Azriel’s spies fled into Rhysand office, informing him of many pleasure houses buying fae citizens off of families who needed money. The high lord was shocked, they hadn’t had any issues like this in centuries. He immediately summoned his inner circle looking to them for advice.

That’s how Azriel and Cassian ended up here now. They, and a few other soldiers, were to patrol the pleasure houses for the next few night. Look and listen for any signs that confirm the information given to them.

The Velvet Pearl was a very niche business. A large luxurious building, mirrors lined the outside walls reflecting the beauty of Velaris on the outside. The inside however was lined and decorated in blacks, red, green and golds. The lights were low and colorful. A huge bar with various types of wines, liquors, spirits and beers. They always had heavy music playing. Poles and stages for the workers to dance on. On the upper most floors were doors lining the walls. Private rooms that could be paid for and used for the services.

However, the luxury ended when one entered the Dungeon as they called it. A fitting name for the place they had just entered. The place where one picked their partner for the night. Caged cells lined the room and sat atop one another zig-zagging around the room like a maze. Males and females, mostly lesser fae but some high fae as well, a few different species. All naked. All pressed against the bars of their enclosures. Heavy lidded eyes trained on the two massive Illyrian warriors before them. Reaching out to touch, but not actually touching, they all knew better than to touch anyone who doesn’t explicitly ask for it. Some of them, however, touched one another through the bars, enticing a buyer to take them both for the night.

“I’m really good at wing play, I’ll make you cum in less than a minute,” A pretty fae, purred. Lesser fae Azriel noted, long dark hair curled around her perky breasts, skin a dark blue with eyes to match. She was definitely attractive.

“Sorry, I prefer it to last a little longer than that,” Cassian winked at her, getting a giggle in return. Azriel rolled his eyes but a barely there grin that only his brother would notice played on his lips.

They continued on. Looking at every fae in the room. Analyzing them, reading their body language making sure they truly wanted to be here. These fae, as they should, all seem to love their job. That’s how it should be. It’s when they got to the end of the line, nearly out of the room that things took a turn.

A cell that was previously empty was now occupied by a female and a mistress—mistresses only accompanied new workers. A snap echoed through the space and the two warriors shared a look before walking over. Both hiding their shock at the sight in front of them.

There pressed against the back of the cage was a female, not just any female though. Her eyes were wide as she watched them approach. Eyes scanning their wings, siphons and weapons. Pushing herself into the corner and trying to cover her nakedness with her hands. Another snap echoed, her hands dropping to the side as she cried out when the mistress struck her thigh again.

“No need for that,” Azriel growled. His shadows raced around him, curling around his ear to whisper to him.

Glamor. The female is glamored. They hiss.

He gave Cassian a side eye before locking eyes with the mistress.

“Remove her glamor,” Azriel ordered. The mistress blanched, eyes wide in shock.

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Do we need to tell Thane you don’t know how to follow orders?” Cassian snarled. She gave a meek head shake.

“As you wish,” She said before waving her hand, the glamor shimmering away leaving both men there shocked at the sight in front of them.

Azriel heard Cassian's intake of breath. Hidden behind that glamor was a pair of Illyrian wings, bound behind her in a way that was obviously very uncomfortable with the way they twitched and shifted in their bindings.

“Remove her binding as well. Do you know what can happen to Illyrian wings if they stay bound like that?” Cassian said, arms crossing over his chest in an attempt to not rip the bars from the cage. The bound female looks between the two men, cautious and weary as the Mistress narrows her eyes.

“She’s unclipped and doesn’t know how to control them. We bound them so she doesn’t hurt herself or someone else,” the Mistress explained, but it wasn’t the right answer to give.

“Unbind her now,” Azriel ordered, his voice a booming echo in the room, it was not a question. The Mistress understood that tone, turning to the female, grabbing her roughly and turning her. She cut the rope and the wings instantly sagged, finding relief outside of the bindings.

“See, she can’t even hold them up,” the Mistress snapped, pushing the female back against the wall.

“She can’t hold them up because the muscles have been weakened due to lack of use caused by binding them,” Cassin snarled right back, satisfaction coiling in him at the way she flinched away. “How the hell did you acquire an Illyrian female without even knowing anything of their basic anatomy?”

The Mistress glared at him again. “She was sold to us unsullied by a third party. Half Illyrian, half high fae. Her father gambled away all of their money, he was in debt and sold his daughter off to pay his debts.”

“The purchasing of females to work in pleasure houses is illegal. You are in direct violation of breaking that law,” Azriel spoke, staring the woman down. “Open the cage. She’s coming with us.”

The cage opens and Cassian gestures for the mistress to exit the space. She looks at the female before reluctantly stepping out. Azriel steps but keeps his distance.

“I’m Azriel. What is your name?” He asked, catching her green eyes that almost seemed to glow in the dim lights.

“Don’t bother. She’s had her tongue removed,” the Mistress answered, mouth snapping shut when Cassian’s head snapped in her direction.

Azriel growls low in his throat, but stops himself when he catches the look on the female's face in front of him. Terrified. She was absolutely terrified.

“It’s okay,” he offered softly, stepping further into the cage “cover yourself.”

She looked at him skeptically. Weary. Cautious. She glances at the stick the mistress leaned against the wall then down at her red streaked, bruised thighs. She was scared he was going to hit her if she covered herself. He silently ordered one of his shadows to remove the stick from the room. Rhysand would definitely be hearing about that.

“No further harm will come to you, please, cover yourself,” Azriel soothed, shifting so she was out of view of the horrible Mistress behind him.

She watched him for a second before she dropped her head down and slowly folded her wings around herself, effectively covering her body.

“Have you ever winnowed before?” Azriel asked, watching her brows furrow. “Don’t be scared. I need to touch you but I’m only going to wrap my arm around you okay?”

The female was hesitant, but took a step forward. Those two men were terrifying, but they never looked away from her face unlike every other male who only stared at her body. Maybe wherever they were going to take her would be better than this place.

Azriel outstretched his hand, watched her eyes track the movement and take in his scars and siphons. Though she still seemed terrified she shifted in a way that he could easily wrap his arm around her back.

“You’re coming with us, too,” Cassian snarls to the Mistress, grabbing her before slapping his hand down onto Azriel’s shoulder.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

One minute they were standing in the pleasure house then the next there was nothing but swirling darkness. She clung to Azriel, somehow finding comfort in the arm wrapped securely around her.

When things came back into view the first thing she noticed were the stars in the sky. It had been so long since she saw the sky. Only she hadn’t been able to focus on it long, realizing they weren’t on a flat surface they were in the air and…falling.

A scream threatened to escape from her lips but that arm tightened around her and they were no longer falling but gliding lower and lower until they swooped through a window. She couldn’t really tell where she was at but as soon as her feet hit the ground she collapsed into herself. She pulled her knees to her chest inside of her winged cacoon, pushing her forehead against them and willing the sickness in her stomach to go away.

She didn’t look up at the sounds of a struggle, trying to ignore the grunting growls of a male who had just been slapped before the high pitched voice demanded, “Let me go! Take your hands off of me, you have no right!”

And she had been too scared to look up when she heard a booming voice that seemed to shake the very ground she was clinging to.

“He had every right,” is what that booming voice said, commanding silence from everyone in the room.

The silence was deafening.

She heard the sound of heels clicking, closer then further away then back in her direction again. She still didn’t look up. Not when she felt those heels next to her, or when the person wearing them wrapped something warm around her.

“My High Lord, please—”

“Take her to a cell,” That voice ordered again, not as loud but just as commanding and for a moment she thought they were talking about her.

She was about to beg. Don’t make me go. Please. Please, don’t take me to another cell!

It was only when she heard the other female, the Mistress, struggling again that she realized he wasn’t talking about her. He wasn’t locking her away…not yet anyway. When the struggling stopped and the shouts could no longer be heard. That’s when she looked up.

Her eyes instantly met dark violet. He looked similar to the other two males…golden tanned skin, dark hair, tall, but no wings. Unless they were hidden like hers had been.

“My name is Rhysand. What’s your name?” The voice asked, soothing almost, easing the tension from her shoulders.

“She can’t speak, Rhy,” the male from earlier, Azriel spoke. “They cut her tongue out.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath beside her and she remembers someone had been beside her. She looks up, taking in the heels, red silk top, blonde hair curled, and a pair of deep brown eyes on a beautiful face.

There is sadness in those eyes, etched in her flawless face and she has to look away. The anger flashing in those violet eyes isn’t much easier to look at.

“If I get you a pen and paper can you write?” He asked, again that voice soothing her in a way she didn’t quite understand. She shook her head.

Her father never taught them to read or write. They had no need for either being locked in that basement…that dark, cold, terrifying basement—

The male, Rhysand as he’d been called, frowns. Looking towards Azriel as if they were having a silent conversation before his eyes fall on her again and he takes a step forward, crouching down so they were eye level.

“I’m a daemati. Do you know what that is?” Rhysand asked. She shook her head again. “It means I can see and enter into people’s minds. Like this—hello, my name is Rhysand.”

Her eyes widen as that voice echoes in her head. What is happening right now? She meets Rhysand’s eyes, mouth falling open slightly. “You can hear me, too?”

“I can,” he responded out loud. “May we have the pleasure of knowing your name, sweetheart?”

She thought for a moment. No one had asked her for her name. They called her a lot of things…but never her name. She swallowed thickly, cleared her throat and nodded slowly.

“Cassandra. My name is Cassandra.” She answered, watching a warm smile come over his face as he stood and took the last few steps, offering his hand to her.

She doesn’t hesitate, placing her hand in his and allows him to gently pull her to her feet. She glances in the direction of Azriel and the pretty blonde just as the other male from before enters the room.

He shares that same look with Rhysand, like they’re communicating silently and now she knows that’s most likely the case. Rhysand dips his head in answer to whatever was said.

“Let me properly introduce you,” He says, gesturing to the three people in the room with them. “This is Azriel, Cassian and Morrigan. Everyone, this is Cassandra.”

Her heart skips in her chest. She hadn’t realized that it could feel so nice just to hear someone say her name. She gives Rhysand a small grateful look, hoping he understood what it means. He just gave her a single nod.

“Cassandra, you are officially under the protection of the night court,” Rhysand said, as she stood there staring at him. She felt something in her mind, like an opening and assumed it must be him waiting to see if she needed to say something.

“High Lord?” Cassandra asked and he nodded though he looked confused.

“Yes, I’m a high lord. Do you know what that is?” he asked. She shook her head, shrugging her shoulders meekly. The four of them share a look and it makes her want to drop back down into her cocoon and hide. “We can do a run down of titles and histories later. I am High Lord of Velaris, I rule this city and all of the people in it. Cassian is the commander of my armies. Azriel is my spy master. And Morrigan is my third in command as well as my cousin.”

Cassandra stands there. Everything coming from his mouth sounded foreign as if he was speaking another language. She nodded her head but it was more than obvious she didn’t really understand.

“Morrigan will escort you to your room—”

“Room? Not cell?” She asked surprised, not meaning to cut him off.

“You are not a prisoner, Cassandra. So, no, you won’t be sleeping in a cell. You will have your own room and you can do as you please,” Rhysand promised. “I have two amazing females, Nuala and Cerridwen that will tend to you. I would also like you to know I’ve placed a special ward on your room. No male will be allowed to enter your room, not even me unless you specifically invite them in. I want you to feel safe here. No one will lay a hand on you again without your permission. Not here. Not anywhere. Not ever again.”

Cassandra isn’t exactly sure what to say or what to do. No one, not even her own family has ever been this kind or considerate of her. She feels the tears in her eyes as she looks at him.

“Thank you.” Is all she can manage.

“There’s no need to thank me,” He shakes his head. Genuine. Sincere. There’s no trick behind his kindness. “Nuala and Cerridwen will take care of you, if you need anything ask them and they’ll get it for you. Once you feel comfortable and settled please come join us for dinner if you’re hungry. Do you need any special foods?”

“No…just soft foods. If there’s meat it just has to be small,” She answered, not wanting to show how special it felt that he asked that question silently.

“Not a problem at all,” Rhysand promised, giving her a small smile before waving Morrigan back over.

“Come, you’ll be right through here,” the beautiful female speaks, her voice smooth and warm. It reminded Cassandra of her mother.

Cassandra gave a small head nod before following Morrigan. The stone floors cold under her bare feet as she pulled the cover tighter around herself. The large, wooden double doors opened seemingly on their own accord. Cassandra looked back, locking eyes with Azriel, that male with the shadows, for a moment before they turned out of the room.

They walked down the hall in what Cassandra could only describe as comfortable silence. It gave her time to take in the beautiful home that seemed to be carved from…stone? Accented by wood and golden lights.

Cassandra slowed when they passed a particularly beautiful painting that caught her eye. The click of Morrigan’s heels slowed as well. The painting was of a large city, glow lights, and a bright river all at the base of a beautiful huge mountain. She scanned the painting. It felt so warm and inviting just like this home and the people in it.

“That’s Velaris,” Morrigan says from behind her. “Have you ever seen the city?”

Cassandra’s eyes stay on the painting and shakes her head. She hears the other female swallow thickly but still can’t tear her eyes from the beautiful painting.

“This is the city, it holds houses and businesses,” Morrigan begins pointing at the painting and tracing around the area she was talking about before moving to the brightest, most colorful part of the painting. “This is what we like to call the Rainbow. It’s where our artists of all kinds live. I like to go there to eat the music, it’s home to the best pastries, too! This here is the Sidra River, it’s sparkling blue in the daytime and winds all the way through Velaris. And this is where we are. We call it the House of Wind.”

Cassandra’s jaw drops a little when Morrigan points to the mountain, to the house carved in it. She looks around then back at the painting. Beautiful.

“One day, when you’re feeling up to it, you and I could have a girls day in the city. Just me and you. And I could show you all of the best shops, we could walk along the Sidra, you’ll love it. But only when you’re ready!” She clarified and Cassandra finally looked at her hearing the excitement in her voice.

“I don’t have many female friends and I can only have so much fun with those males,” She said, a smile stretching her red painted lips.

Cassandra tried to return the smile but she was sure it didn’t look genuine, she liked the idea of being…friends with Morrigan. But she didn’t know what all that entailed. Would Morrigan expect things of her if they became friends? Like those girls at the pleasure house?

“Come let’s get you to your room,” Morrigan cut through her thoughts and Cassandra offered a small nod before following once again.

Two more turns and a flight of stairs got them to where they were going. Two beautiful females stood outside an open door, dark skin with eyes and hair to match.

“Nuala and Cerridwen,” Morrigan motioned to each female, “this is Cassandra. Please, help her get cleaned up, changed and settled in. Cassandra, once you're settled, like Rhys said, please, consider coming to join us for dinner.”

Morrigan offers a smile before turning away. Cassandra’s hand shoots out to grab her wrist, to stop her, only to realize what she’d done and let go immediately, stumbling back a step.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Morrigan soothed, reaching out to steady her. “Would you like me to walk in with you?”

A jerky head nod was the answer she got.

“Alright, come,” She breathed softly, walking in the room first and waiting patiently for Cassandra.

When she entered the room her mouth fell open at how large it was. Situated in the middle of one wall was a huge bed—so huge she was sure she could lay on it, stretch her wigs out as far as they would go and still have room to spare. The covers were white and looked so fluffy. There were glowing lights all around the room. The opposite wall of the bed held a wall of glass less windows. Another wall held a table and chairs and a shelf with books. Then the other side opened into a large bathroom.

“Take a moment for yourself. Your life is about you now, Cassandra. You will never be used for someone else's pleasure or entertainment ever again. This is your room. This is your home now,” Morrigan speaks and Cassandra feels her eyes tear up but then Morrigan's heels are leaving the room and those two dark skinned beauties are leading her to the bathroom.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

As soon as she was out of the room Morrigan broke down. Hot tears slid down her cheeks as she made her way back to the room she left the other three male in. She had just calmed herself when she walked in and saw them standing together.

“Is everything okay, Mor?” Cassian asked, siphons gleaming atop his hands.

“I don’t think she’s ever been outside before, Rhys,” and just like that Morrigan’s eyes were brimming with tears once again. Rhys fixed her with a look urging her to explain, an ache in his own chest. She takes a breath, looking up and wiping the tears from her eyes. “We were passing that big painting of Velaris and she had no clue what she was looking at. She had no idea what her own home looked like. And on top of that she was terrified to even walk in the room alone, I had to walk her in. And—and she looked at the room like she didn’t believe it was real. Especially the bed and I keep thinking that maybe she never even had a bed!”

Cassian is the one to walk over and offer Morrigan the comfort of a hug. “It’s okay. We’re gonna take care of her now. Find all the people who did this, help her through it all and help her find herself. She’s gonna be okay.”

Rhys and Azriel look at one another. “There’s no telling how many other girls like Cassandra there are out there. I’m hoping she will join us for dinner so I’m able to ask her some questions without her feeling cornered. Azriel, Cassian, I want you two to go talk to that mistress, find out what you can without harming her…for now. Her and anyone else involved will be prosecuted accordingly. Go. now.”

#acotar #slow burn #acotar fanfiction #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader

[kayjayjwrites]

Like Bugs in a Rug: Chapter One

Summary: Azriel Shadowsinger, mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, was head over heels in love with you for years. Everyone in the room could see it, except for you of course. A series of connected one-shots.

Chapter Word Count: 6,350

Chapter Content Warnings: fluff, some cursing, one bed trope, awkward but wholesome communication, AFAB Reader, Reader (You), some details about Reader's appearance but overall vague, canon plot spoilers as this is canon compliant-ish, reader low key being thirsty for Azzie

Note: Hello! Welcome to my first fic in like 10 years! This idea came about when I was having a hard time falling back asleep. I sometimes draft fanfiction when i'm trying to sleep. I don't often remember the plots come morning, but the memory of this one remained intact enough for me to jot down. I’m thinking this update is gonna be the longest chapter because it's both prologue and the first chapter, but I have terrible self control with word count limits. So I guess we’ll see what the next chapters bring, but they may be shorter!

Enjoy me 2am fugue state musings, there are likely typos~

It was all worth it. The decades of patience and silent suffering. The centuries of loneliness paying off just as you lost hope of ever leaving The Court of Nightmares. You and your father, Kier, expected a typical visit from the Inner Circle. The High Lord would threaten your father to keep him in line, you’d go unnoticed in the back of the throne room monitoring the interaction. Just like every other time they visited.

Except, the High Lord and his Inner Circle asked about you like you were the reason behind their visit. You had clocked the visit as odd as soon as only Rhysand, Feyre, and Mor arrived. The absence of both The General & Shadowsinger at the same time a rarity. Despite being related to Rhysand and Mor, you didn’t think they knew your name, so when they asked Kier about you, by name, your heart damn near fell out of your ass.

They wanted you to leave Hewn City to work with them. A Courtier of the Night Court, working alongside Nesta, Lady Death herself, of all people. They wanted you to start immediately now that the war with Hybern was over. Relations between Courts were strained, and upon learning of your talent, the High Lord deemed it a waste for you to be hidden away down here. He and the Inner Circle believed you did not belong in The Court of Nightmares. To anyone else, having the High Lord speak so highly of your child would have been an honor.

It was the most furious you’d ever seen Kier. Which was saying something. His emotions grew volatile in a blink of an eye, outraged by the absolute gall of the High Lord. How dare he come to his city and tell him that you weren’t meeting your full potential down here? At some point Kier stood up, snarling at Rhysand and the others like a wild animal. Kier, so lost in his anger, let his mental shields falter. Just for a second, but it was more than enough time for your powers to draw his wayward thoughts to you, like a magnet, his unspoken intentions seeped into your own mind. You were always terrible at blocking him out when he got like that.

Power. Kier's thoughts whispered to you. A spy for him in the Inner Circle. It disgusted you how predictable your father was, his intentions were always about how he could best use you for his own gain. It was the driving force behind your excessive training habits, desperate to protect yourself from the toxicity of his intentions. The more you failed at keeping him out, the more you hated him, and by default hated yourself.

Rhysand was right, you were wasted down here, and it wasn’t that your father didn’t see that, he didn’t care. He wasn’t furious with the High Lord for taking another daughter away from him, he was mad about losing a tool.

Well, your father could rot down here alone for all you cared.

You felt a lot of things in that moment. Intimidated by the prospect of working with Nesta, unsure of Mor’s morals and the rumors surrounding her, apprehensive of Rhysand and Feyre’s power, and not to mention all the unknown dynamics between the rest of the Inner Circle. But, despite all that uncertainty, you did not feel nervous about leaving Hewn City with them.

The first task Kier ever appointed you was to report on Rhysand and his Inner Circle’s intentions every time they visited. Either they all had flawless control over their mental shields, or their icy behavior was an act from the beginning. You never dared to share your suspicions with Kier, your father only wanted ammo for his hate, and he never took kindly to evidence that didn’t support his biases against High Lord Rhysand.

It felt a little too much like blind faith and a hunch for you to be 100% comfortable with the decision, but you decided to put your trust in these strangers anyway.

You would take the job.

Not to be a spy for Kier.

Not out of some duty to your High Lord or older sister.

It was time to live your life for you. Consequences be damned.

But, the focus of this story was not about moving to Velaris with Mor and getting to know the Inner Circle. It wasn’t about how much you rock as a diplomat for the Night Court. It wasn’t about how good it felt the first time sunlight touched your skin upon leaving the underground city. It wasn’t even about how you and Nesta became best friends. However good those stories may be.

However, this story is about Azriel Shadowsinger, and how the mysterious pretty boy extraordinaire himself, fell head over heels for you without you ever picking up on it. Yeah, that’s right, the girl who struggled to control her talent for hearing unspoken intentions never puzzled the pieces together. For literal years everyone else in the godforsaken room could tell the Spymaster was in love with you, except for you.

It all started with an argument with Rhysand a few assignments into your career as the Night Court Courtier. You felt like you could handle traveling between Courts without needing an escort, especially if you’d be meeting up with Nesta at the destination anyway. Rhysand did not agree, basically threatening to ground you if you didn’t allow someone to accompany you.

That was how Azriel had become your full-time travel partner. Rhysand appointed Azriel as an additional escort in case Nesta was pulled away.

You’d take this to your grave before ever admitting it, but Rhysand wasn’t wrong to be worried. There had been a good number of times where just that had happened. Nesta would be working the other side of the room, and having Azriel lingering nearby eased your nerves. Prythian was a vast Realm, and Rhys had been right in worrying about your adjustment.

It didn’t take too long for you to adapt once you had visited all the different Courts a few times. Yet, Azriel continued to go out of his way to accompany you to events. The first obvious sign of his affections for you came a couple years into your career.

The event was in a small Day Court town on the border of the Night Court, just under a day’s travel from Velaris on foot. Home to one of the libraries hit hardest by Amarantha’s looting, the entire town was celebrating the return of a sizable chunk of the stolen volumes. The gala was advertised to be a quaint dinner and cocktail hour. You suspected that scholars and book enthusiasts would be the bulk of those present. Although interested in going, Rhysand had High Lord duties to attend to that involved Nesta and the other Archeron sisters in the Summer Court. With a promise to fill everyone in on anything of interest, you packed a small overnight bag and waited for Mor to arrive home. You never developed the ability to winnow, so you needed someone to bring you.

Fussing with your hair in one of the numerous mirrors decorating Mor’s walls, you couldn’t help but smile at your reflection. Your time in Velaris, just over two years, had already begun to sooth a deep sadness you hadn’t realized had settled under your skin. It was obvious in the gentle way you gazed at your reflection, the healthy flush of your cheeks, and the warmth of your thoughts. Velaris looked good on you, and as you smoothed a hand down the shimmery sapphire blue fabric of the dress that clung to your curves, you thought the new formalwear looked good on you too.

Giddiness bubbled up in you at the idea of modeling the new dress for Mor. The excitement felt foreign still, after spending centuries believing Mor didn’t care to know her own little sister. You never thought you’d ever get the chance to gush over dresses with her. Kier hated everything Mor represented, and was cruel to her in ways that made you feel lucky in a perverse way. Your father may have manipulated and alienated you, filling your head with lies about your older sister, but it was never public. Kier made sure everyone in the Court of Nightmares knew that Mor was a useless whore and a traitor.

When Mor became a core member of the Inner Circle, and Rhysand put her in charge of Hewn City, you would wait for her to acknowledge you during her visits. Decades turned into a century, but the same hope would always rise up when Mor was due for a visit, only to be crushed when she ignored you. She never paid you a second of her time, just a fleeting look in passing as if you were another spectator. Knowing that she wasn’t ignoring you out of ill intent stung more, because you couldn’t bring yourself to hate her.

Kier may be your father, but that didn’t mean you had to be a fan of his intentions. You never believe the rumors he spread about Mor.

And then, the big reveal came. It turned out that to Mor, you were just another spectator. Mor didn’t know she had a younger sister at all. Keir hid you so well that no one realized you were related to him. A detail that made you feel so small when it came to light. You were just the shy woman in the background, taught to be pleasant when spoken to, a pretty little wallflower the rest of the time.

Later, when you asked about who first realized your identity, you got mixed accounts from the Inner Circle. Rhysand insisted that it was he who put the pieces together first. Stating that it came to him suddenly after Azriel submitted a report from a surveillance mission detailing an overheard conversation between you and Kier about your talents. Rhysand claimed that your powers reminded him of a variation of Mor’s. The rest of the Inner Circle credited Feyre for noting the resemblance between you, Kier, and The Morrigan the first time she noticed you loitering at the back of a council meeting.

When the truth was confirmed, and you agreed to go with them, Mor wept. She vowed to never leave you alone in The Court of Nightmares ever again, even for a second. That promise was your first experience with making a deal in the Night Court. Your clear surprise at the intricate tattoo that branded itself over the center of your sternum clued Mor, Rhysand, and Feyre in on how out of touch you were with common lore from your own Court. Mor wasted no time in winnowing you out of there after that. The both of you had heard enough of Keir’s nasty sneers and low-blow comments to last a lifetime.

Now, Mor’s cozy little home was also your cozy little home, if not a bit tight for two people. If someone asked you a decade ago if you thought you’d ever have a relationship with Mor you would advise them to seek out a healer.

And yet there you were, vibrating with things to tell her, anticipating her arrival with an almost goofy grin when…Azriel of all people winnowed into the living room.

Perplexed, but not totally disappointed, “Oh!” you said, clearly taken aback. “I was expecting Mor.”

Azriel huffed a low chuckle, dimples bracketing his amused half-smile. “Sorry to disappoint.”

You looked him over, dark circles under his eyes, droopy eyelids, posture leaning forward in a slight slouch. “Az, didn’t you just return from a long mission? Why aren’t you resting?”

“Wanted to escort you to the Day Court Library Gala, of course.”

The tenderness in his voice had warmth bubbling up from your chest. “That is very kind,” you started, making sure to meet his gaze so he knew you meant it, “but you look so tired, Az. I’ve visited the Day Court a bunch of times now and only need someone to winnow me there. As much as I enjoy having you accompany me to these things, I don’t want you to stretch yourself thin on my account. I’ve got this.”

“I know you’ve got this,” came his immediate reply, “as you’ve pointed out I’ve been gone for a few weeks. What if I offered to escort you because I missed you, hm?”

Despite yourself you felt a flush of heat in your cheeks at his teasing. You refused to use your powers on anyone in the inner circle, unwilling to violate their privacy without explicit consent. But you didn’t need your powers to read Azriel’s sincerity. It made it hard to meet his gaze, you turned back to running your fingers through your hair in the mirror, taking a moment to compose yourself. “Well alright then, I don’t think I can do anything more to tame my hair, we should be off then.”

You felt Azriel at your back, a gloved hand coming up to gently grasp your elbow, guiding your arm down as his hand trailed down the bare skin of your forearm to hold yours, turning you to face him. “Stop fussing, you look stunning, this dress is new, right? I think the color suits you.”

You smiled. “Thank you, I suppose you would like this color, now that I’m thinking about it,” with your free hand you held up the skirt of the floor length dress to the siphon on his wrist, marveling at the color match, “it looks like I did it on purpose.”

He hummed in acknowledgement as he pulled you closer into an almost embrace. “We should go now. Wouldn’t want to miss the opening speeches.”

You suppressed a shudder. Definitely from the way his breath tickled your ear, and not from the way his voice sounded as he tucked you into his chest. “You hate opening speeches.” You pointed out, remembering all the times he complained about how boring they were.

“I do, but you like them.” You’d never said as much aloud, but you did enjoy listening to people talk about things they were passionate about, and opening speeches tended to be just that. Of course the Spymaster had noticed.

If Azriel saw your smile before you hid your face against his leather-clad pec he didn’t let on. You pulled your hands free and looped your arms around his middle, clasping your fingers together under the base of his wings.

“I’m ready then, thank you for coming with me.” Your voice was muffled, unwilling to tilt your head up to talk to him in case your maddening blush was there. It didn’t seem to matter how many times you winnowed with Az, your whole face would go cherry red. Something Cassian never failed to poke fun at whenever he witnessed it.

Azriel wrapped his arms tightly around you, your body now flush to his. You focused on the sound of his wings rustling as he tucked them in closer. Anything to distract from the way your pulse spiked when you felt his lips brush against the crown of your head, his hold on you gentle, yet firm and protective as darkness folded around the both of you.

XxXx

Neither you nor Azriel realized the issue with your room reservation until much too late. Upon arrival in The Day Court the both of you hurried to the event. The gala wrapped up around midnight, and like most of the other guests staying in town, you and Azriel retired back to the nearby Inn. With your strappy heels in hand and a pleasant buzz from the alcohol, you felt positively bubbly. Paused in front of your room, you let Azriel rummage through the small black purse at your side for the key. After almost leading them into the wrong room, Azriel took it upon himself to find the correct room and unlock the door.

Minutes later you were still trying to suppress a smile at how Azriel reacted with such mortification when he realized you’d led them to the wrong room. The mental image of the great Shadowsinger so frantic in his efforts to stop you from further jostling the doorknob, had you letting out a laugh before you could stop it.

“It’s not funny.” He grumbled as he swung the wooden door to your room open, leading you inside. You were on the verge of poking fun at him some more when you caught a glimpse of the interior layout. Right, you had RSVP’d expecting to attend the gala alone. The realization sobered you up real fast.

The room was small, burgundy curtains concealing a sizable window, antique desk with tourist flyers stacked in a neat pile on top. A queen sized, four post bed situated in the middle of the room.

“I’ll take the floor—” Azriel started saying.

But you interrupted him. “—you should have the bed.”

“Absolutely not, what kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lady sleep on the floor while I hogged the whole bed.” He nodded, as if the conversation was over, and you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes at him.

“There’s not even enough space on the floor for you to stretch out Az. The room is basically only bed. It’s fine, I can use my extra clothes—”

You inhaled sharply, tensing at the thought of your overnight bag, left forgotten back at Mor's apartment. Your eyes darted to Azriel, meeting his gaze out of the corner of your eye, and you knew you didn’t need to say anything about it as he scoffed under his breath.

“You forgot your bag.” He observed.

Sighing, you ran a hand through your hair, your tight dress feeling like it was constricting around your chest as you contemplated sleeping in it. “I did indeed forget my bag.”

“We could just go back, we don’t have to stay here for the night.” Azriel pointed out, but the thought of cutting the trip short caused a ripple of disappointment to drop in your stomach.

“Or,” he continued with a hint of amusement, “I have an undershirt beneath my leathers. I changed before I met you at Mor’s, so it’s relatively clean. I was going to sleep in it tonight, but I would sacrifice my shirt for you if it meant you’d stop frowning like that.”

If you thought you were anxious before, Azriel’s suggestion sent your anxiety through the roof. You had always found Azriel attractive, even when you were still living in Hewn City. Who wouldn’t? That attraction grew into a bit of a crush when you first arrived in Velaris. He treated you with such care as you adjusted to living above ground, quiet, patient, and thoughtful.

Once it was apparent that you would be working closely with him you shut that shit down. You and him had spent a lot of time traveling together the last few years, always with separate sleeping arrangements, and never sharing clothing. You went out of your way to respect his privacy, give him space, all in hopes of being someone he one day could trust, like how you trusted him.

You could handle one night, sharing a bed, borrowing his shirt. That wouldn’t totally backfire on you in any way, right? Nodding to yourself once, you tried for an air of confidence as you talked around the nerves that have bloomed in your chest.

“Okay,” you agreed, “but if I change into your shirt you definitely can’t take the floor. I won’t let you sleep shirtless on the ground while I’m all tucked in and cozy in bed. I’ll only take up a sliver of it by myself anyway.”

He opened his mouth to object, his intentions written in the way his brow furrowed at you. But you barreled on anyway, “So, we share the bed tonight. Are you comfortable with that?”

His mouth snapped shut, eyes studying you for a tense moment as if you may be tricking him. You clasped your hands together in front of you, the longer you waited for him to respond the clammier your palms felt. Each second felt like an eternity and in no time at all you found yourself scrambling for a way to play off your idea as a joke.

Of course he wouldn’t want to share a bed with you. What in the world had you been thinking?

Maybe you could blame it on that deliciously fizzy drink you downed before leaving the gala, say you weren’t in your right mind. Pretend to not remember in the morning, as if this wasn’t going to be a moment you cringe about decades later. Would you be able to just laugh it off? Would Azriel be chill enough to let you live this down? You were probably so screwed.

He was still a little tense, but just before your panic truly took root Azriel began to nod his head like he...agreed with you?

“Yes, I think that is the most logical solution. The bed can definitely fit two.” Azriel finally said, and you tried to keep yourself from gaping at his response. But your surprise must have been all over your face because he went on to say, “I didn’t suggest it myself because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Wiping your hands down the front of your dress did little to help with the sweat. The pit that had been taking form in your stomach churned, your dread morphing into jittery nerves.

Then, as if you weren’t having a nervous breakdown right in front of him, the handsome lunatic started striping his leathers off. Dept hands tossing his gloves to the desk, he unclasped the chest pieces of his leathers, they fell to the floor with a thud. Then, the promised black undershirt was up over his head, and you were drinking in all his tattoos and corded muscles like you were a tactless teenager instead of a 300+ year old female.

A flash of movement from him, and you flinched when his shirt hit you square in the face. It was so big it draped over your head. You made a disgruntled noise, ignoring how delicious the shirt smelled as you removed it from your face, “Hey—!”

“If you’re done gawking at me like you’ve never seen a shirtless male, you can get ready for bed first.” He headed further into the room, collecting his chest piece off the floor and approaching the desk to place it with his gloves. He turned to face you, his butt propped against the desk as he gestured to the door his wingspan had been blocking from view. He crossed his arms over his bare chest, flexing his biceps, and you almost swooned at the sight. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Your fist tightened around the shirt, fighting the urge to toss it back at him out of spite. Embarrassment felt like hot iron under your skin, so instead you snapped your attention to the door he had pointed out–the bathroom. You knew you’d averted your gaze much too fast to seem unaffected by him. He chuckled, and you glowered at him as his head tilted to the side, watching you with a bemused expression. He looked about ready to comment further, but you waved him off with faux-annoyance and an exaggerated roll of your eyes. Clutching his shirt close to your chest, you escaped into the bathroom.

Subtle.

Pressing your back to the door, it closed under your weight. You paused there for a moment to focus on your breathing, your frazzled mind going a mile a minute. This was all so far out of your comfort zone, it wasn’t even funny. You never had to deal with handsome males in The Court of Nightmares, Kier didn’t let you socialize long enough for it to even be on your radar. Dating hadn’t quite made your list of top priorities upon arriving in Velaris either.

What little experience you did have was with a male named Allistair. You’d met him at Rita’s within your first year above ground. It was a fling of sorts that lasted a few months before you decided casual dating wasn’t for you. He was a perfectly adequate lover. At least you think he was. He was also your only lover. A nice enough companion as you acclimated to your new life. The times you had been intimate with that male had left you feeling…bereft. Seeing Allistair shirtless had been nothing like seeing Azriel shirtless.

And Azriel calling you out for ogling him so blatantly? Mother have mercy.

So now you were just expected to fall asleep next to him wearing his shirt after that? The situation almost made you want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. The last thing you wanted was to draw his suspicion by loitering against the door for too much longer, so you moved to the sink. Maybe splashing lukewarm water on your face would reveal that this had all been a weird ass nightmare.

Cupping water into your face a couple more times, you took in the smeared makeup dripping down your face in the mirror. Definitely not a dream.

Azriel was going to think you were in love with him for fucksake.

Snatching the nearby hand towel from the rack on the wall you soaked it, and got to work on scrubbing your face clean. You had to have a little more faith in Azriel. He wouldn’t let a single weird moment ruin over two years of amicable teamwork. But your personal relationship with him felt fragile to you at best. You can't let some tattoos and abs mess up what you considered to be the most solid friendship you’d made among the Inner Circle.

So what if he was hot as hell? You could co-exist with attractive people, it was legit a part of your job. You could salvage the situation, just change out of the dress you accidentally matched to the colors of his siphons, put his shirt on that smelled so strongly of him it gave you a headrush, and face him like you hadn't just been drooling over him.

You know, simple.

The hem of his t-shirt landed just above your knees, and the comfort you found in it was criminal. The black fabric was very soft and so baggy that you worried the wing slits in the back would shift forward in your sleep. It could reveal a little more than what you’d considered 'tasteful side boob'.

Resisting the urge to fuss in the mirror (because it wasn't like you were trying to look cute for anyone, right?), you exited the bathroom clean faced and a bit more settled than when you had entered.

Your bravado, however, was short lived. Azriel faced away from you in only his underwear, the rest of his leathers added to the pile on the desk. He was organizing his various knives on the bedside table closest to the main door.

He looked over his shoulder at you. Totally not catching you checking out his butt in the tight underpants. Cauldron boil you. Would it be weird if you marched yourself back into the bathroom to try the whole “not affected by sexy, almost nude Illyrian warrior” thing again?

Azriel inhaled sharply, and you snuck a glance at him. His attention was back on his knives, but there was a tension to him, almost like he was brooding. There might have been a light blush over his cheeks, but you felt weird analyzing him anymore than you already had out of habit. You clocked the change in his body language for what it was the instant he saw you in his shirt. Clenched jaw, tense shoulders, spine ramrod straight, wide eyed before averting his gaze, elevated heart rate–classic signs of attraction. Reactions he clearly didn’t want you to notice.

"I'm taking this side." He informed almost absently, patting the mattress. Leaving you with the window side.

You wandered to the desk to avoid observing him further, wishing that you could turn off the part of you that always seemed to be prying for more information. And then you felt it, his thoughts getting louder, his emotions growing wilder, reaching out to you. You slammed your mental shields up hard, a gross feeling taking root when it was too late.

Protect. Azriel’s intentions conveyed to you. Protect. Comfort. Provide. Here you were invading his private thoughts without his knowledge, while he was concerned with your wellbeing. What was the point of all that effort Rhysand put into teaching you how to better control your mental shields? It never worked when you needed it most. The failure stung, and you had to busy yourself with folding your dress in a neat square so you had something to keep your hands from shaking.

It was quiet for too long, and you struggled with recalling what he had said to you before you’d lost control. Something about the bed. "Sounds good to me." You decide on saying, placing your dress next to his leathers.

Azriel didn’t seem to find your reply out of the ordinary. Small mercies.

"I'll be out in a few minutes, then." His voice was rougher than before, and it sent chills down your spine. As soon as you heard the bathroom door click shut you scurried into bed. You couldn’t get under the covers fast enough, pulling the blankets up to your neck with a hefty sigh of relief.

It felt awesome to be laying down after such a long evening on your feet. Too bad you couldn’t enjoy it more, instead drowning under waves of shame. Maybe you’d never get a full handle on your powers. Maybe the Mother was teaching you a lesson in this life? You couldn’t fathom what the moral could be. You wanted more than anything to be able to mind your business.

You wished you could turn your brain off. Alas, even your guilt couldn’t stop you from reflecting and organizing what you’d just observed. Not only had you heard his intentions, but you also felt them. Unlike the sweet warmth of his thoughts, his gaze had felt like desire and bad decisions.

He didn’t seem like he was actively seeking to bed you. You reasoned that you were also an available female wearing nothing but his shirt and a pair of panties. You could only imagine how all of that must have chafed against his Illyrian instincts. Rhysand had once mentioned that Illyrians were possessive and protective at best, controlling and jealous at their worst.

Surely those possessive instincts were what you were picking up on, then. You were covered in his scent after all. That was the only logical explanation for his reaction, his instincts were telling him to protect you because you were vulnerable and wearing his clothing. Even if it didn’t quite sound right to you, it was the only explanation you were willing to entertain. You were barely friends, there was no way Azriel wanted to court you. The thought sent a fleeting pang of disappointment through you that you refused to examine.

Whatever. There wasn’t anything you could do to make the situation less messy right now. You were exhausted, and stewing on scenarios that would never amount to anything real was unlike you.

Snuggling further into the sheets, you decided it was best to just pretend you hadn’t noticed shit. The damage was done, Azriel wasn’t dumb, he at least knew he had flustered you. You weren’t going to draw any more attention to that tonight. Or tomorrow. Or ever. Everything about this night was a fluke.

Azriel returned from the bathroom, and you kept your focus on fluffing your pillows. Sitting up you tossed an extra pillow onto the floor, and you could feel as soon as his eyes landed on you that some of his…instincts…were still acting up. You pulled the comforter back up to your neck as he got into bed next to you. Turning on your side to face him you were determined to be normal. No more awkward gawking allowed tonight.

He stretched his arms up above his head, his joints popping a million times as he groaned in relief. You couldn't help chuckling at him, the fearsome Shadowsinger of the Night Court, doing something so mundane.

Scooting further onto the bed, Azriel rolled over to meet your gaze, his wings tucked close to his back as he settled. Most of his wingspan spilled over the side of the bed anyway. He surveyed you, eyes lingering along your tired but genuine smile, and you saw the stern tenseness slowly leave his body. "You sure you're comfortable with this?" He asked.

Your smile turned a tad warmer. This male was just so kind, so different from what you knew in Hewn City. "I am, I trust you Azriel." It was the truth. You didn't have friends growing up, and although you may have a long way to go before Azriel truly called you his friend, you considered him a dear (sexy) friend.

Your words seem to settle something in him, and you could have sworn you saw something almost affectionate flash across his face. You blink, and it's gone, but the fuzzy feeling it left in your chest remains.

Like he sensed your mushy thoughts, he ruined the moment. "So I have to ask you something, it’s serious.”

Your brows raised in bemused interest, the scenario with him wishing to court you snapping to the forefront of your mind again. He’d always been very attentive to you, but in a worried protective way. You’d never picked up on any romantic intentions from him before, and he’s not the type to make a decision like that on a whim. The chance was small, but you couldn’t 100% rule out him wanting to ask you out. Could you say no to him? Would you even want to say no? You’d never considered this as an option before!

He held your gaze, as if for dramatic effect and then with the seriousness of a top notch spymaster he asked you, “You have seen a shirtless male before...right?"

Maybe it was a mistake to consider this male kind, he was a menace all along.

You had never rolled your eyes so hard at someone. Unbelievable.

Turning away from him with enough force to toss your hair in his face, you are rewarded with the sound of his indignant grunt.

"Can you turn the light off please?" You snap, unable to rein in your annoyance. Unsettled by how it tasted almost like rejection.

"You didn't answer my question." He goaded, and you fell right for it.

"Yeah, because it's a silly question." You fire back.

He hummed at your response, "Doesn't seem like you think it's a silly question."

You would rather swallow your own tongue than admit to Azriel that you’d seen shirtless males, but he had been the first you’d enjoyed seeing shirtless.

Done with the line of questioning, you blindly flung your arm back, swatting at him. He startled at the contact, and he exhaled a scoff when you didn't stop flopping your arm at him after the first blow.

He caught your wrist, stilling your flailing. "Fine, fine, I'll drop it," He let go of your wrist, “for now.”

You shifted to burrow further into your pillows, totally not dwelling on how his big hand wrapped around your wrist made you feel dainty. The texture of his scars hadn’t made your heart skip a beat either. Nope. Not at all.

"Could you shut the light off please." You asked again with more venom than you intended. It bothered you how easy this male could get under your skin. He wasn’t even trying.

You felt his weight shifting, the bed frame squeaking a bit as he moved. "Anything for you, Princess." He shuffled a little more, and then the light went off, casting the both of you in darkness.

The nickname made you grimace into your pillow. No one had ever called you that before, and you really didn’t want it to catch on.

You felt him return to the position on his side facing you. Some moments passed in loud silence, and although you were the one that let the conversation drop, the residual tension in the room was killing you. There was no way you would be able to fall asleep, and you would bet that Azriel was stewing in the tension too.

"Az?" You whispered. His response was quick like he’d been waiting on edge for you to speak, "Yes?"

"Goodnight." And you found yourself meaning it. You hoped he got some sleep tonight despite the turmoil he had so effortlessly sowed in your stomach with his teasing. The prick.

You could practically hear the mischief in his voice. "Sleep well, princess."

Ugh. Your stomach coiled, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. Very dangerous. It was an inappropriate reaction, and you wrote it off as stress. However as hard as you wished to forget it, you wouldn’t be forgetting how Azriel had made you feel that night anytime soon.

Even your racing thoughts couldn’t stop sleep from finding you, putting you out of your misery.

And if you woke up to the sounds of song birds that morning, your face pressed against Azriel's neck, your body sprawled atop him while he slept on his back, then that was your business. No one would know if you relished being in his arms a few minutes longer than necessary. You wouldn’t confirm nor deny if one of his hands had looped through a wing hole of his borrowed shirt, his fingers resting just under your breast.

And so what if it had been the best sleep you'd gotten since leaving Hewn City. And if Azriel seemed more well rested than usual on your return to the Night Court, you certainly didn't notice that either.

XxXx

Next Chapter

#azriel x reader #acotar #azriel x you #friends to lovers #slow burn #one bed trope #one shot #one shot series #azriel #my writing #kayjaywrites #like bugs in a rug

[rhenysz]

Your Dead Eyes - Chapter 1

Summary: Lifeless eyes were what haunted your all your life, many people say that death was lurking around your eyes, maybe it's true. Maybe you just see things that other people don't.

Pairing: Azriel x Archeron! reader fem.

A/n: This took longer than expected and isn't even half as long as I would have liked, but I've finally finished the first book and let's get to the real story! Thank you for the positive feedback 🙌🏻 This chapter was more about the sisters' bond, the next ones will be different. I think the Reader has an emotional dependence on Feyre 😥

*English is NOT my native language, this fanfic was translated with the help of an AI, any grammatical errors please let me know*

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Scars, family abandonment, mentioned death.

previous x next

"Do you not think you're exaggerating?" Elain asked you with forced gentleness. The sound of her sipping tea tickled your ears. Dropping your own teacup on the living room's coffee table – causing some splashes to stain the surface – you placed a hand on your chest in mock indignation, perhaps not entirely fake.

"I'd rather be thrown to the wolves than face the conjugal bed, and I must say I'm terrified of those animals." Your lips curled downward, "Men, in this case."

Elain's eyes crinkled at the corners, and the curve of her lips lifted even as she tried to dispel the amusement she felt.

"I understand. But maybe you should consider, I bet Feyre would return in time for your wedding." She spoke with her eyes lowered to the tea.

No, she wouldn't return. You wanted to shout out to Elain. Hardly would that beast willingly let your sister go, that is if she wasn't already in the belly of those faeries.

"I have no interest in getting married, sister. And who in their right mind would be interested in someone with my condition?" Your voice was soft, not a hint of resentment showing in your features.

Having a man in your life was not something you desired. They were rough, lazy, and smelled bad. Not even the twisted relationship Feyre had with that man could make you want one too.

"Maybe... you just haven't looked in the right place," Elain commented. Looked? Have holy patience. You were hardly going to look at anything, let alone a man. Realizing her bluntness, Elain widened her eyes towards you, "I didn't mean it that way, sister, it was just a figure of speech—"

Your laughter cut off Elain's awkward attempt to apologize. Your shoulders shook with the intensity of your laughter. Elain sighed in relief and awkwardly joined in.

Feyre didn't treat you as if you were about to burst into tears.

After that interesting conversation with Elain, Nesta barged into the room, interrupting – rather rudely – to announce that a luxurious carriage was approaching.

You could hear the rustle of Elain's skirts as she tried to beautify herself even more. Despite Nesta feigning an indifferent facade, she was also discreetly arranging her hair.

Laughing to yourself, you wondered how you must look in your supposed light blue dress. A hand grabbed your arm and gently lifted you from the sofa. Nesta, you could tell the difference. Elain had rougher hands from gardening, and Nesta's hands were colder.

"Let's go. Can you manage on your own?" Nesta asked. You appreciated that she allowed you to have your own autonomy. Nodding, you reached for the edge of the sofa where your cane rested and grabbed it.

When you heard the door opening, your head turned towards the sound and you went, dragging the golden tip of the cane across the floor, which hit the furniture warning you to dodge, and slowly going after your sisters – who were walking significantly slower to wait for you.

His cane hit the front door step. Carefully, you placed your foot in front to descend. The breeze made your hair flutter, and it felt so good; the wind kissed your skin like a longing lover.

"Welcome to our home... Lady." You heard Nesta as you finally caught up with your sisters. A brief moment of silence followed, soon to be cut by an extremely familiar laughter

.Your heart raced, and your free hand crumpled the dress you were wearing. Your lifeless eyes turned, trying to find the source of the voice.

"Nesta," she laughed, "doesn't recognize her own sister?" The air was expelled from your lungs, Feyre. A burning sensation started in your eyes, and without you realizing, fat tears streamed down your flushed cheeks. No matter how or where, you would always, always recognize your sister's voice.

The crunching of dried leaves alerted you that someone was approaching, a calm breath was blown on your face. Your trembling lips also parted as you tried to find the right words. Nothing came to mind; it was as if your brain had turned to jelly.

"My snowflake..." Feyre stepped forward, using her fingers to wipe away your tears. She missed you so much while she was with Tamlin. Her chest weighed every time she thought of you, her dearest sister.

Closing your eyes tightly, you let out a sob and threw yourself into Feyre's arms. Discarding the cane without care, your hands reached the back of your sister, pulling her into a tight and emotional embrace.

Feyre staggered under your weight and laughed. She laughed as she nestled in your arms and continued to laugh even as she felt Nesta's eyes drilling holes into her head.

You couldn't physically move away from Feyre while your sisters talked with her. Your hand clung to hers in the hope that if you held on tight enough, she wouldn't leave again.

But not even all the happiness you were feeling could make you ignore Feyre's excuse. Taking care of Aunt Ripleigh? You distinctly remembered that it wasn't Aunt Ripleigh who tore the door off the old cabin.

As expected, Nesta was cautious, hovering over you and Elain as if Feyre would reveal her true intentions at any moment. She declined Elain's invitation to go to the garden, seeing Feyre there made her physically sick, so she withdrew to avoid conflicts in front of her sisters.

You were focused on Feyre and Elain's conversation, desperately wanting her to talk about what happened.

Feyre tensed when Elain casually mentioned – distracted by the flowers – that Nesta visited her at Aunt Ripleigh's. Another lie.

You felt Feyre's breath near your face: "How have you been?"

Fine. You were fine, but not well enough to disguise the suspicion in your expression. Feyre quickly noticed and stepped back slightly.

"Why are you lying to us?" You were direct, no more beating around the bush. You needed answers, and not even Elain's presence would distract you from your goal.

Feyre widened her eyes toward Elain and was relieved to see that she was far enough away not to hear. Biting her lips, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward the exit, giving a brief goodbye to Elain, who was so fascinated by the new petunia seedlings that she didn't care.

You were guided through a few doors until you reached a room that Feyre considered safe from curious ears.

You crossed your arms over your chest and impatiently waited for Feyre, who ran her hand through her hair and sighed, not knowing where to start. Then she decided to start with the worst.

"I– I'm in love with the High Lord of Prythian."

If you weren't already blind, you could swear your vision blurred at that moment.

And then Feyre told you, told about how the other side of the wall was breathtaking, told about the peculiar creatures that existed there, told about her frenemy Lucien, and told about how she fell in love with the beast that turned out to be so loving to her.

And to your dismay, she detailed the night of passion she had before being – gently – sent home.

"I didn't need to know that. I have a vivid imagination, and I hate myself for it." You spoke with disgust; Feyre chuckled and approached you, taking your hand and bringing it to her face.

"I haven't told you everything," you murmured for her to continue. Your fingers traced the contours of her face. She looked so different but at the same time so familiar. Perhaps she had become healthy.

"There was a male who threatened Tamlin, he was handsome, maybe the most beautiful male I've ever seen," she commented absentmindedly, "he asked for my name... Clare Beddor."

Clare Beddor, the name weighed on your tongue. Clare, your former neighbor who was killed in such a horrendous way that no one could bear to look for too long, according to your gossip source – Elain.

Feyre had given a false name to the fairy assassin. And you could swear she didn't know what had happened to that poor girl. And perhaps you weren't the most suitable person to tell her about the event; Feyre seemed happy sharing her new experiences. And you? You would allow yourself to be selfish for a moment.

"I understand."

Your sisters and your father went to the seasonal ball, and despite Elain's insistence, that wasn't your place. Your place was anywhere as long as it was far from high society. You certainly didn't fit the standards imposed by them, even though those who looked at you were dazzled.

"A beauty never seen before."

"I would die for features as delicate as yours."

"It's truly a shame…"

Feyre promised to come back early, just like you; she didn't like crowds and pompous people. Feyre promised to come back early.

So you did the only thing that was possible – you waited. Waited while eating, waited while talking to some servants, waited while invading Elain's garden, and waited until you got tired and chose the living room sofa as a great place to rest.

Inevitably, your eyes began to weigh, and before you realized it, sleep completely took you, plunging you into a deep state of peace, unable to hear the hurried steps through the house and the slam of the door closing.

Feyre promised to come back early.

Feyre hated goodbyes.

Perhaps, just perhaps, you should have already imagined that this would happen. Feyre was in love with the beast, and people in love tend to do foolish things.

That didn't ease the chest pain you felt when the next morning you were informed that she had returned to the fae lands in search of her High Lord. The feelings of betrayal and sadness walked hand in hand.

At the same time, you couldn't find the strength to harbor resentment towards her. Why would you? For the first time in her life, your sister was dedicating herself to something that truly made her happy. It didn't matter if she was leaving her family behind, right? No, that mattered to you.

Nesta hated dealing with your whirlwind of emotions; she hated that you depended on someone to be happy, and she made it clear when you woke up.

"Feyre is not responsible for what you feel. You are allowing yourself to stay in this state. Stop depending on her to live."

Despite being harsh, Nesta was spot-on with her words. Feyre was finally living her dream life; it was time for you to start living yours too, without anyone dictating how you should feel.

And thinking about this led you to where you were now, with your hands covered in clay – and probably not just your hands – trying to give some shape to that earthy mass on the spinning table in the studio.

Your mind wandered through all the possibilities of sculpture. Sculpting things your fingers had memorized or even inventing new forms to call conceptual. It would be ironic if your sculptures became famous.

Humming to yourself, your fingers gently moved over the clay's edges, shaping a small sphere; you pulled five points out and rounded the edges.

"They look like fingers." Merina's voice made you jump on the stool; Merina was one of the maids you had become close to, she had such a calm and gentle voice that, if you let her, could lull you to sleep.

"Well, I hope so. I'd be very upset if they looked like something else." You laughed, still molding your supposed fingers. Merina dragged a stool to join you, after, of course, looking down the hall to make sure no one was approaching.

She looked amazed at your hands giving life to the clay. Inevitably, her mind wandered, how? How were you capable? Feeling where your mind wandered, you chuckled softly and tilted your head in a silent invitation. Merina cleared her throat and asked:

"Why a hand?"

You subtly widened your eyes; that certainly wasn't the question you were expecting. A hum came from your throat before you answered Merina.

"It's with my hands that I see; they are my eyes to the world," you replied, licking your lips as you pondered, "I don't know how I manage it; I fear there's no logical explanation for it."

Merina didn't say anything, just grunted in response. Extending your hand, you searched the table until you found a small knife; bringing it close to the sculpture, you began making small fillets with it all along the hand's length.

Merina turned to you curiously, not understanding why you were deforming the piece. She gently nudged you with a – painfully pointed – question.

"Hmm, I've been thinking about it lately, hands with scars," you made one final cut and dropped the knife. Merina reached for an old cloth to help you clean your hands, "thank you. What would it be like to see with these hands? Would the texture of things be different? Or would the sensitivity be greater?" You rambled to her.

There were so many questions to consider, and in your opinion, you could already be considered a hands expert. That made you laugh.

Merina took the cloth from your hands and brought it toward your face, cleaning some clay splatters that had strayed there.

"I hope you don't have the answers on your own. It must be a horrible pain to have your hands torn apart." She commented, lowering the cloth.

A horrible pain? Makes sense. Whoever has hands like that must have a melancholic story behind them.

"You're right."

As promised, you lived your life the best way possible, and sculptures paved the way to your heart. Over time, your clay skills became refined, even daring to sculpt the features of your sisters; Nesta was your biggest supporter, even if she didn't admit it, there wasn't a day she didn't pass by to make sure your stock was full.

Each sister had their own shelf containing everything you thought resembled them. Elain had sculpted flowers and cakes, Nesta had books and red jewels, and Feyre had an arrow – just a sculpture, but it was the one you dedicated the most time to, whether smoothing the edges or trying to paint in the right places.

Because even though Feyre was a million miles away, you would love her all the way, and even if she never came back, you would find your way to her through the heart.

You wouldn't wait for her, but you wouldn't forget everything you had been through together.

And you might not even believe she would come back, but that tingling you felt in your fingers when you heard a knock on the door made you doubt your mental state.

It may be that besides being blind, you're also becoming deaf because hearing your sister's name from Elain's lips after so long is not a sign of good auditory nostalgia.

"Feyre?"

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@applerubyy @saltedcoffeescotch

@esposadomd @justdreamstars

@microwaveallthedemons

#~rhenysz #azriel x reader #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #slow burn #eventual smut #eventual romance #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #elain archeron

[lanitalay]

One day : Chapter 6

Based on the Netflix series by the same name

a/n: I literally cried writing this. Ouchie. Im sorry for the angst, we'll get fluff soon enough. I'm actually working on a fluffy one shot rn. So expect that soon.

warnings: ansgt, drinking, swearing?,

Word Count: 1.8k

Masterlist

You sat next to Nesta at the bar. It was the first time in over fifty years that you had been on the boat for the Summer Solstice celebrations. That morning, you had done everything in your power to feel the excitement you usually do on this day but nothing worked. It did not help that you woke up on the floor, naked and next to a stranger. It also did not help that you’d be forced to see the two people you wanted to do nothing with. Most importantly, it didn’t help that the only way to keep the collective hangover from a months long bender at bay was to keep drinking. You were constantly nauseous and dizzy. Mind fuzzy so that no thought could stay long enough to hurt. 

“Want another?” Nesta asked you as she motioned for more liquor to be poured in her glass. You mumbled something that sounded like “yes” and then your own was full to the brim again. Had you eaten anything? 

“NestaImagogetsomefood” you informed her while tumbling out of your stool to find something. The world felt like it was tilted on an axis and you were trying with whatever coordination you had to stay upright. Until someone bumped into you and sent you falling backwards. 

You knew you hit your head pretty hard when you opened your eyes and saw double of everything. The male that had knocked you down was standing over you trying to get a response. “Imfinejusthelpmeup” he didn’t seem sure of what you were asking of him until you stretched out your hand and he grabbed it, hoisting you to your feet.  You clung to his chest because everything was spinning and nothing could ground you. “Ineedfood, takemetothefood.” 

You couldn’t see him, but the male who held you was absolutely terrified as a giant winged Ilyrian stalked towards you with a look that promised violence. “Don’t touch her” you felt more hands steady you then strong arms scoop you up and carry you somewhere else. 

“Hey stay with me, y/n, we’ll get you something to eat” you knew that voice, you knew his scent and you knew the “we” he was talking about. “PutmedownAzriel.” 

“You can’t stand straight.”

A few moments later you were on a plush couch on the first deck of the boat, barely anybody was down here, the party in full swing upstairs. “Here” Azriel gave you some buttered bread and water. Until you saw the clear liquid you had no idea how thirsty you were, chugging it down in one go. Which was a mistake, because next thing you know you are running towards the railings and spilling your guts into the Sidra. Azriel was holding back your hair and rubbing circles on your back. “It’s ok, I’ve got you” he said until you finished.

“Stop it” you said after a while, shrugging off his hand. “Y/n-”

“No, you can go now, I’m fine.”

“You’re not, it’s ok let me help-” 

“I don’t want your help.” 

“Let’s just go sit down-” 

He didn’t get it. To this day he does not understand. “Just leave me alone, I mean it, I'm fine.” Your head was resting on your folded arms against the railing. It was a way to find stillness and hide your tears. 

“I found some napkins that maybe-” Azriel took the napkins from Elain and dabbed away the cold sweat that gathered at the base of your neck. It was so tender, so gentle that you bit your lip to keep from screaming. 

“There she is.” You sighed as you heard Nesta’s voice. “I’ve got this, you two can go now.” Without looking up you knew she was staring down Azriel and sagged a little when his footsteps drifted away. “Come on, y/n.” She wrapped an arm around your waist and helped you sit on one of the couches. Head rested on her shoulder like you’d done a million times in the last year. “Amren called me pathetic.” 

“I think I vomited on a turtle.” 

“Safe to say we’ve seen better days.” She nudged you slightly and you chuckled. Better days certainly were behind you. 

After you ate the bread and could stand on your own you returned to the bar and drank the night away.

Mornings were always similar, you woke up in a state of undress. Sometimes alone, sometimes with someone else. Then you took a cold bath, the sticky residue of sweat and sex clinging to your skin from the night before. After that you would go to the cafe on your street and get a pastry and then eat it in your apartment with a cup of tea. 

It was the best part of your day, before memories you kept buried deep began to flash in your mind. Before the regret of what you had become bubbled to the surface. Before you really looked in the mirror and saw just how bad it had gotten. 

The morning after solstice you woke up with a male named Jax. You knew him well enough. He owned the club you and Nesta frequented and he had become a regular night time companion. “Wake up”, you poked him. 

“Good morning to you too” he rolls over and places open mouth kisses along your neck and shoulder. “You have go.”

“Let me make you pancakes” he says and bites your earlobe. “No thanks, I have plans to meet someone for breakfast.” 

He sighs and stops his ministrations, then gets off the bed and while he dresses asks “are you ever going to let me take you out properly?”

“Probably not,” you answer and walk towards the bathroom. 

You hear Jax finish dressing “I’ll see you around.”

“Bye!” You yell and dunk your head under the freezing water, washing away the night before. 

“Y/n there's someone here saying they know you” you roll your eyes, wanting him to leave already. “Who?”

“Its me Y/n.” You nearly choke when you heard Azriel’s voice boom through your apartment. Quickly you get out of the bath, put on a robe and go into the living room where Jax and Azriel are sizing each other up. “I know him, Jax, it's ok.” He gave you a look and you motioned for him to leave with your hands then closed the door as he finally left. 

“He seems... nice.” 

“What do you want, Azriel?” You asked, still standing by the door with your arms crossed at your chest. “I always bring you flowers on our anniversary” you noticed a brown bag and a delicate bouquet in his hands just then. “Oh.”

“And I wanted to talk to you.”

“About?” 

“Can we sit down for this?”

You rolled your eyes “is it going to take a while? I have somewhere to be.”

“I brought you breakfast.” You sigh and grab the brown bag from his hands “you can talk while I make tea.” 

“How are you?” He asked while scanning your apartment. There was a wet trail from where you walked, clothes strewn about the whole place, a broken frame hanging from the wall and the curtains you typically kept open to allow for sunshine were closed shut. 

“We can skip pleasantries. What do you want?” You were focused on your tea, pouring water into the kettle and waiting for it to boil. “I wanted to check on you. We haven’t spoken in months and yesterday you looked… like you were having a rough time.”

“I’m fine, just drank too much.”

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Y/n.”

You say nothing as you look for the leaves to make your favorite tea.

“Y/n.”

“What?”

“Let me help you, please I can’t stand to see you like this” 

You look at him now, curious to see what he’ll say next “like what?” 

“You’re drunk everyday, you come home with someone new every night, you stopped working with Madja. I know the war was difficult for you but this isn’t healthy”. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Yes I do. I’ve known you for the better part of a century and something changed for you after the war. You never really came back and I’ve given you space and time but- I can help you. Please, just let me help.” 

“I want you to go, Azriel.” You make to walk to the door but he steps in your way and places two gentle hands just below your shoulders. “Just talk to me-” You step back and push him away from you. 

“You almost died for her! I broke down in front of you and begged you not to die because I can’t survive it and you went into the middle of Hybern’s camp with only Feyre to save her! Then you come back mutilated and I fix you up again and you’re asking why I’m not the same? You go off, you play the hero and then expect me to still be here and I can’t-”

His mouth is slightly agape as he watches you break. 

“I can’t close my eyes without seeing you dead. Your blood has coated me from head to toe and I still feel it. If I’m not careful, I see it over and over and it never stops and then you look at me like everything is fine and it’s not. So I drink and I fuck and I get by as best I can and you don’t get to have a say. Leave” you’re holding the door open for him, fighting against the tears in your eyes. He looks like you just stabbed him. 

“Y/n-” you curse loudly and slam the door. Then walk into your room and change into the first thing you find “Y/n-” he’s pleading and you feel it pull at your heartstrings. “Stay, leave, I don’t care.” You’re out the door.

“I know it's rotten of me, Nes” you were lying on her mattress while she braided her hair.

“It isn’t.”

“It feels rotten.”

“You are entitled to your anger and hurt. Deal with what you’re feeling however you want, I’ll be here to clean you up if things get messy.” 

Your friendship with the oldest Archeron had bloomed unexpectedly after the war. After everything that happened everyone went back to business as usual, except you two.

She had seen Cassian be practically gutted, draped herself over him and was prepared to die. While you were elbow deep in Azriel’s torso trying to get the last piece of ash arrow out. You never spoke of it, the bond of shared trauma. Of insurmountable anger. 

How your souls were crumbling and the only thing keeping you alive was each other. She would clean you up, you would break her fall. 

Standing from the bed you walk to her and hug her tight, tears pouring down your cheeks “I love you Nesta, I love you so much.” She hugged you back without saying a word but from the way her heart beat stuttered you knew she felt the same. 

#acomaf #acowar #acotar #acofas #acosf #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel #acotar series #azriel acotar #az x reader #slow burn #angst #a court of silver flames #lucien vanserra #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #one day series

[courtofthrones]

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x reader

Summary:What happens when two people who are the opposite ends of a thread of fate try to get the other end of the thread to burn knowing they would burn too. Because he was the throne but she will see the throne burn.

A/N: This is a short chapter as I am posting the next one tomorrow.Sorry for the delay but i am mostly done with my papers so the next chapter will be coming soon and things are going to get interesting now that the setup for the story is done. Feedback of any kind is appreciated.

..................................................................................

Stage IV: TRAITORS OF AUTUMN.

Since the day he had mastered over his emotions, Eris Vanserra had never lost his composure .Never .But it seems like today is the fateful day he comes undone.

Allying himself with a "ruinous family" at the expense of his son and heir what was he thinking. His father had truly mastered the art of being a thorn in his son's side.

It has been hours since Beron put all Eris had worked himself to death for, into a precarious position with a single announcement of marriage.

As he snaked through the labyrinth of halls in the Forest house with long strides against the marble floors moonlight entering through the glass walls bounced off his auburn hair creating an image that would inspire the ire of the most talented artists of Pyrthian .Even with distress lining his face Eris Vanserra was truly a sight to behold. Unearthly even .

Betrothed.

Mother above he couldn't even bring himself to say it. No matter how much his body compelled him to just give in. To put an end to all these political scheming and take the beauty chosen by his father as his wife.

His bride to be .Y/n Tarsa. Truly temptation of the deadliest kind.

But Eris has stayed awake through far too many dark nights, working towards the throne just to let everything go to waste at the first sight of trouble. Nevermind the breathtaking packaging it came in. He could subject himself to endless whippings from his father if it would enlighten him about the intention behind this untimely betrothal.

As his father's study came into view he schooled his features into neutrality because even a glimpse of weakness can land him in the dungeons for days. When the heavily gilded doors are opened by the sentries letting him enter the room, Eris comes face to face with the monster in all his nightmares.

Beron Vanserra.The High Lord of Autumn Court. A man responsible for centuries of cruelty and bloodshed.

Eris bowed his head before his father as a greeting.

"My Lord. "

"Eris I did not expect to see you tonight .But then again you truly manage to surprise me with your every action." came Beron's reply without even looking up from his papers as Eris braced himself from any verbal lashing that he may receive.

"One would expect a male of your standing to spend the rest of his nights as a unmarried man drinking and fucking your way through the Crimson street. You know so that the rest of your days don't go to waste before you are shackled in the matters of marriage .But here you are bothering your father about some insignificant matter."

A vile male who didn't see women as anything other than wombs for breeding.But Eris ignored the vomit inducing statement .

"I do not believe the matter of me wanting to know the reason behind my engagement, to be an insignificant matter." Eris manages to reply with a steady voice.

But despite that, Beron's face hardened from his usual indifferent features at the mention of the engagement.

"What about it? Is your bride to be not to your liking?Is she not pretty enough for you to put a child in her?"

"Father you know very well that is not what I meant. What I don't understand is why her. Every single fae in our court knows you despise the Tarsas. And if my memory serves me correct you sentenced their son to death but now you want me to take their daughter as my wife? What would the other houses think about this? What would they think when the lowest of them are rewarded with the highest of honour?"

"They would think of their high lord being merciful and forgiving. But what about you son I thought that's what you wanted. To bind yourself with filth."

An unsettling feeling stirred in Eris' stomach. And he found himself praying to anyone who would listen.

"Do you truly think I am unaware about you dallying with The Night court ? You forget yourself my dear son. You forget I have lived through wars before you even took your first breath." Beron's words loud enough to rattle the glass windows as blood roared in Eris' ears. Did Beron know of all his plans? About his proposal to Rhysand for the eldest Archeon sister's hand so that he could secure himself an alliance? So that he could put himself on the throne.Was this truly the end of all his plans?

" If you are so eager to associate yourself with filth I thought it best for you to have the worst of it. And what could be better than a ruinous insolent woman with a traitor's blood pumping through her. So I called in a favour from an old acquaintance of mine who is desperate to climb the ranks again." continued to the furious high lord.

Eris could see that his father looked utterly satisfied at having outmaneuvered his son. Therefore he couldn't stop himself from blurting out.

"What if I do not wish to get married?"

"Then your wish must be buried this instant because you are to take Y/n Tarsa as your wife in a fortnight. And I will see it happen even if I have to drag your bloodied body to the altar."

Eris knew the sentence for what it was. A threat and a promise.

And he knew there was no arguing if he wanted to leave this room unharmed. Perhaps it was unfair of him but he couldn't help thinking that he would not be in this deep mess if it weren't for the Tarsas. And the one he blamed the most was Y/n Tarsa.

Though his father definitely got one thing wrong.

Traitors? The Tarsa's were no traitors. Because Elias Tarsa did not turn to ashes for treason.It was simply his father's cowardice that put Elias to fire. And brought doom upon the House Of Tarsa.

What a fucking irony.

Eris could laugh himself to the ground because Beron Vanserra had gone blind. Blind to the treason taking life right under his nose.

--

You and Myhir rode through the silence of the night, the clacking of hooves against the road ripping through the air.Having your arms around his stomach had you feeling the muscles in his abdomen underneath his shirt.His scent was as familiar as the back of your hand but it was the underlying scent of your union that tinted your cheeks scarlet.

How many times have you let yourself imagine a life with Myhir-far away from all your problems? If only you met as different people.

But there is no point in pondering upon the what if's because fate had never been on your side.

Especially when you both were trying to leave this world a better place than you found it. Not to coin yourself a poet, but there was something so tragic in overcoming a deadly destiny of trying to oppose a great dynasty.

"Y/n we are here." Myhir softly whispers.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn't noticed the horse stopping.

As Myhir helped you jump off the horse you let yourself drown in the warmth of his embrace. And it seemed you were not alone in that idea because he pulled you closer to him as if allowing himself a moment of happiness before facing the harsh truth of life. As if your time earlier made him a bit more vulnerable and in love.

You cradled his face in your hands as he leaned down for a searing kiss. Unfortunately for you, before it could get any further someone seemed to clear their throat behind you.

The sound caused you to let go of each other with haste and had you both whipping your heads in the direction of it.

"Long time no see lovebirds."

Part 5

#eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #rhysand #the autumn court #cassian #eris angst #eris fluff #eris smut #beron vanserra #enemies to lovers #arranged marriage #slow burn

[acourtofbooksandshadows]

Alliance Maker- Chapter 9

Summary: You and Lucien do some bonding while Nesta, Cassian and Azriel are gone.

Pairings: Slow burn!Azriel x Afab!Reader

Warnings: Nightmares, fire, swearing and tomfoolery.

Word count: 1856

Masterlist Series Masterlist

When you woke up you were surprised to see Lucien sat at the desk by the large window in your room. You sat up slowly and let out a deep groan as you did. Even though you knew you’d slept for a while your body was still exhausted. You went through nightmare after nightmare without being able to wake yourself. Lucien wrote down something on the paper in front of him before slowly turning your way. He sat looking at you waiting for you to speak before he said anything. 

“Good morning, or maybe afternoon, I’m not sure which one.” Your eyes gazed through the window trying to gauge when in the day it was. Lucien seemed to relax at your words, almost like he had been preparing to be yelled at. 

“Good afternoon.” His smile settled the nerves within your chest. The smell of pumpkin, a mix of different spices and something uniquely Lucien filled the air.

“How long has it been?” You looked under the covers and noticed you were in a clean pair of trousers and a clean tunic. Nesta must have changed you when you cooled down enough. You knew your clothes from before would have been burnt except for the fingerless gloves you had left in your room on your bedside table. Which you reached for and slipped onto your hands. 

“Day and a half.” He brought a hand up to his hair and moved the strand that had fallen in his face. You let out a relieved sigh at the answer, it was the expected time so you were happy for that. 

“Where is everyone?” You had expected for Nesta to be there when you woke up so the fact she wasn’t had you slightly worried.

“There was an issue that arose in Windhaven that she, Cassian and Azriel were sent to deal with.” You nodded your head understandably and stretched your arms out over your head, a deep satisfied groan leaving your lips as you did. 

“I’m starving, do you want to go to the kitchen with me?” You cocked your head at the male curiously. He nodded at you eagerly as though he just realized he was starving as well. 

“I’m sure the house will give us dinner if we go and wait at the dining room table.” The house answered by opening the door. 

“I kind of forgot about that.” You let out a nervous laugh as you both stood and walked out to the dining room. The house had already set the table with soup, bread, salad and tea. You both uttered a thank you as you sat and started to devour the meal in front of you. As dessert was laid out you both settled into comfortable conversation. 

“I’m surprised that Nesta left you here with me.” You took a sip of your tea as Lucien took a bite of his pie. You knew of her protective nature over those she cared for. You also knew that you were one of the few she did care about. 

“She threatened to cut me up into little bitty pieces if I let anything happen to you. Not that I would’ve let anything happen to you.” He cringed and you weren’t sure if it was from the memory of Nesta’s threat or if it was at the thought of letting harm befall you.

“How long are they expected to be gone for?” You took a bite of pie this time as he took a sip of tea, he gave you a shrug in response. Moments went by of comfortable silence before he spoke again. 

“How did you know who I was?” He asked you as you sipped on your tea. You knew he was referring to your first meeting in the kitchen just days ago. 

“Do you know many other fae with red hair and a golden eye?” The sarcasm was clear in your voice and he gave you a quiet laugh in response. 

“I guess that is kind of a dead giveaway isn’t it?” You nodded your head rapidly, a smile adorning your lips at his rhetorical question. You both talked in quiet voices until you retreated to bed. 

When you awoke due to a nightmare that night there wasn’t a shadow to keep you company so you had flicked your wrist out towards the end of the bed where the bodies of Brok and Zas formed. Brok curled up at your feet and Zas came clambering up to give you a rough lick on the face. You groaned lightly before pushing him away softly. He huffed as he laid down roughly on the bed beside you. Both boys' fire was just a crackle as they slept. But the warmth they radiated was enough to keep you company as you slept. 

Lucien was surprised to see the hounds sitting at your feet the next morning when he crawled out of bed for breakfast. You had looked up at him and down towards them in a silent question on if he was okay with them or not. He gave you a shrug that all but screamed “I don’t care” and sat down across from you. 

“Do you have any plans today?” He took a large bite of the apple the house placed in front of him, you let out an obnoxious snort at his question. 

“I know all of one person well enough to make plans with them and they are not here.” You waved your hand around the room, a playful look in your eyes. 

“Would you like to go into town with me?” You contemplated his question, cocking your head back and forth before giving him a nod. While you didn’t usually keep males as company you had a feeling you could trust him with your life. Plus the last day spent with him had made you comfortable and trusting. 

“Can Brok and Zas come with us?” The answer wouldn’t be a deal breaker but you had missed them and didn’t have the heart to send them back to the inbetween. 

“Of course they can.” He didn’t even hesitate to tell you they could and that had your heart warming. Not many people accepted the hounds so you were happy that he was. You both finished breakfast before getting ready to go. You sent Brok and Zas to the in between while you flew down and Lucien winnowed. Upon your feet hitting the ground you let them out again and a group of children just so happened to round the corner as you did. You paused for a moment afraid they would be afraid of you or the hounds but instead they squealed and chased the hounds through the streets gleefully. 

“You already seem to fit right in. That’s a good thing.” Lucien whispered to you as you watched the children play with the hounds. That was something you would cherish forever, the happy sounds of children playing gleefully in the street. 

“Do you have anywhere specific you’d like to go to, Lucien?” You turned to him slightly as you asked the question though you kept your eyes on the hounds as you both started slowly walking behind them. 

“I figured we could just walk around. I can give you the grand tour of Velaris. Maybe we can eat lunch down here.” You hummed in reply and that was exactly what you did. You slipped in and out of buildings, Brok and Zas would wait outside patiently as you did. You eventually found a place to eat lunch that had outdoor seating where the boys could lay at your feet. You had many eyes on you, for not only being someone new but for the hounds that accompanied you. But with Lucien giving you the occasional reassuring smile you eased the worry away. 

“I’ll race you back to the house.” Lucien gave you a bewildered look as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his pants. His eyes both gazing in the direction of the house of wind. You had just gotten done eating and were just walking away from the restaurant. 

“What do you mean by race?” You gave him a shit eating grin before replying.

“I bet I can beat you to the house of wind and all the way up the stairs. Without using my wings and you can’t winnow either.” He seemed to contemplate what you said before shrugging, deciding he didn’t have anything better to do. 

“What are we racing for?” You watched as Brok tackled Zas to the ground and rolled around with him for a moment. You were thankful that their fire wasn’t harmful unless they intended for it to be. Because if it was always harmful the grass around them would be burnt to ash. 

“Loser has to tell the winner a secret.” You looked at him in question on if the prize was enough and his only reply was taking off in the direction of the house of wind in a blur. You tore after him, the boys followed you instantly. You bobbed and weaved through the crowd making sure not to bump into anyone. Laughs filled the air as you chased after him. He stayed a good pace ahead of you for a while until you caught up. You went neck and neck all the way up the stairs. 

Until you skifully tripped him and he yelled after you and grabbed at your ankle. Your fingers were at the landing to the house and you kicked your foot in his general direction trying to push him farther down the stairs. You were finally able to stand up and had just opened the door when he tackled you and you both fell on the floor in a fit of breathless laughter. The boys bouncing up and licking your faces as you fell onto your backs. 

“I totally won.” You both said at the same time and then glared at the other. Zas huffed at your competitive nature. 

“You cheated.” You were pointing fingers at each other, jaws both falling open at the accusations flying from the other one. 

“Where have you two been?” Nesta’s voice had you both wide eyed, like kids caught with their hand in the cookie jar before dinner. Cassian was standing behind her with a small smile on his face. 

“I gave her a tour of Velaris. This house can be quite stuffy.” The house answered his complaint by smacking him with the door he was lying beside. You took that as your cue to stand up, then offered your hand to Lucien which he gracefully accepted. Nesta watched every movement and when Lucien was standing tall beside you she spoke again. 

“I am sorry for how I have treated you in the past Lucien.” Her eyes narrowed on him and his face showed his clear surprise. His eye was wide and his mouth was gaping open and closed. You nudged him with your elbow and he shook his head.

“I accept your apology.” With his words you could see it clear, that was the first of many alliances you’d help forge.

A/N: I am so sorry for taking so long to update this series. The last couple of weeks have been insanely busy! I already have the next part of this written so I should be able to update it on Thursday no problem! As always likes, comments, reblogs and follows are much apprectiated. Thank you for reading!

Tags(open): @wolfsbane44 @moonlwghts @maddietheshoe @hyemishii @fanboyluvr @kmc1989 @acourtofinkandpapyrus @luvmoo

#alliance maker #azriel imagine #azriel series #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acowar #a court of wings and ruin #acofas #a court of frost and starlight #acomaf #a court of mist and fury #acosf #a court of silver flames #acotar imagine #acotar series #acotar slow burn #slow burn #azriel slow burn

[kenziejones16789]

Drunk text

Okay so this story is based on a song I’m currently obsessed with called “drunk text” by Henry Moodie (hence the title :))anyway in theory it would work as a modern au but I don’t want to write to much modern and I have a story idea I would really love to do as modern so eventually that will come out. This ended up being chaotic but I like the idea so I’m just posting anyway. (Also I’m not including all the lyrics and I really request the song it’s great)

5th of November 

When I walked you home 

That’s when I nearly said it 

But then said “forget it” and froze

Do you remember?

You probably don’t 

‘Cause the sparks in the sky

Took a hold of your eyes when we spoke

“Y/N/N” 

I hummed in response to my name, I was to comfortable to move I was pressed up to a warm body, whoever it was smelled wonderful like cedar and night-chilled mist I curled closer, distantly I was aware of the hard wood bench below me and the buzz of conversation around, but it had been a long day and I felt safe where I was. “Y/N/N, darling want me to take you home?” A broad hand swept gently under my chin and lifted my face I reluctantly opened my eyes azriels’ hazel eyes glowed in the light like copper against honey or sunlight through amber I lifted my hands to his face “you have the prettiest eyes azzy” there was a shift behind his eyes but I didn’t have the energy to pick up what it was, I don’t know how I ended up agreeing to go to Rita’s in the first place I had barely slept for days training with Magda was incredible but we had a difficult case and I had spent many sleepless nights trying to figure out how to help.

“I’m going to take you home” he wasn’t asking this time but I was quite happy to go home and pass out in my bed, i swayed on my feet when I stood up but Azriels hand was on the small of my back steading me his shadows wrapped around me as if they could help hold me up, I leaned into him as we said a quick goodbye to our friends and left the busy bar. We didn’t talk much but the silence was comforting, velaris was so still it was a stark comparison to the bustle of Rita’s it was calm and combined with the cool night air it helped clear the fog on my mind. 

I lived in a little town house at the very outskirts of velaris, and I adored my home it had a white picket fence that held in the wild greenery because I liked to plant things but I wasn’t the best at controlling them and there was a tiny covered porch that azriel built me because he knew I loved to read outside and it had a big bay window out the front, i had a beautiful kitchen and I didn’t have room for a library so there was books on basically every surface, but my favourite part of my home was how close it was to the forest and the cliffs, so whenever I felt overwhelmed I could go to my favourite spots and everything would fall into place. Azriel slowed down the closer we got to my house, “Az?” He looked at me and stopped dead in his tracks when we where no more than four steps to my gate i turned to face him he ran his fingers through his hair hard, too hard “Az what’s wrong?” He was breathing hard i stepped towards him but then his breathing slowed “forget it, I’m fine don’t worry” he smiled softly and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, I cocked my head waiting for him to tell me the truth, he was my closet friend and we didn’t lie to each other, “I’m fine” he said again then he placed a kiss on top of my head and winnowed away leaving me alone.

——————————————————————————————————————————

Yesterday, drank way to much

And stayed up too late

Started to write what I wanna say

Deleted the message

But I still remember it said,

I wish I was who you drunk texted at midnight 

wish I was the reason you stayed up till 3

And you can’t fall asleep waiting for me to reply 

“Azriel!” Cassian roared across the bar waving me over with the biggest grin on his face, i rolled my eyes and left my spot at our table to join him at his spot at the bar “Nesta seems to think that you would be able to drink more than me for some reason so we need test that theory” that was the last think i wanted to do what I really wanted to do was find Y/N and talk because I was going to tell her how i felt last night then i chickened out and just left and I wanted her to know why but before I could refuse cassian, nesta and feyre stumbled over from the dance floor laughing at each other she was supposed to be with them “where’s Y/N” they both pulled themselves onto a bar stool before answering “wellll our little Y/N has found herself someone to go home with tonight” Nesta said then her and feyre burst into laughter again, a riot of emotions overwhelmed me but I settled on resignation I missed my chance, “pass me that drink cass let’s prove Nesta’s theory”.

I tried to fly home but after crashing in a fountain I decided that walking might be better, i drank cass under the table then i kept going, but no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get her out of my head. I fumbled with my keys for a few minutes i dropped them twice before getting my door opened then i walked through my dark living room pulling off soaked pieces of clothing and leaving them strewn across the floor wherever the fell, i dropped into a scalding hot bath and let my head fall back against the porcelain my shadows purred to me and tried to tell me things I didn’t want to know, i shut them out the best I could I wanted to be alone. 

An hour or so later I lay on my stomach in bed trying to sleep but I wasn’t tired so begrudgingly I rolled out of bed, what was the point of drinking that much if it wouldn’t even numb me enough to sleep, I shuffled to my little desk and lit a candle I picked up some reports and tried to get work down, my gaze shifted over the top of the paper to the blank wall over my desk, all of my walls where blank I never spent any time here this wasn’t home, the house of wind used to be nice, not necessarily mine but it was comfortable, actually if I thought about it the closest thing I had to home was the little townhouse that belonged to Y/N it was probably one of the only places since Rhys’ moms house in wind haven where I was completely relaxed and myself, I missed her, I wanted to go home, I wanted to go to my real home. I put down the report I wasn’t reading it anyway, and i pulled forward a blank piece of paper and i started writing to her.

—————————————————————————————————————————

April the 7th

And nothing has changed

It’s hard to get by

When you’re still on my mind everyday

Sometimes I question

If you feel the same

Do we make stupid jokes?

Trying to hide that we’re both too afraid to say.

I was sitting at the edge of a cliff my feet dangling over the edge I relaxed back on my hand and watched how the sunset painted the sky all different shades of pinks and oranges, it had been a hard day at the clinic we where to late to save our patient and I couldn’t help but think of what I could’ve done better maybe they would’ve lived, soft footsteps came from behind me I probably wouldn’t have noticed them at all if I didn’t know azriel so well, he knew where to find me after a bad day he sat down beside me giving me a the space I needed we sat in silence for a while “you know I heard a great joke today, want to hear it?” I didn’t reply I saw him smirk out of the side of my eye “did the ocean say to the beach?” He paused for a while then with a big toothy smile on his face he said “nothing it just waved” then he started laughing at his own joke enough that it got me to smile and then slowly I started chuckling until it turned into full on laughs I slapped his chest lightly “that was awful” but I laughed while I said it he wrapped an arm around my waist and he pulled us both to the ground so we where lying in the soft grass “I thought it was an excellent joke” he said with a adorable pout on his face I laughed at the look it was rare to see him so expressive but slowly I began to remember why I came to the cliff and the laughter faded away and his smile went away “what happened?” I could feel tears building “I lost a patient, and I just keep thinking that maybe if I had done something differently then they would have lived” he caressed my face “I’m sorry, but it’s not your fault, people die it’s part of life and it sucks but it happened Y/N/N” tears started falling “I know I just I—“ he pulled me close to him and somehow it made every thing feel a bit better “its not your fault, you can let it hurt, but don’t let it make you doubt yourself, you are incredible and you save so many lives” I sniffling into his chest and nodded half heartedly and rolled onto my back but moved as close into his side as I could his arm wrapped around me and together we lay and watched the sky turn dark and the stars blink into existence.

—————————————————————————————————————————

Oh, and here we go again

Destroy myself to keep a friend 

Hiding away ‘cause I was afraid you’d say no

It was family dinner night and all of us where sitting around the giant dinning table designed for our growing family Nyx was happily mashing his already mashed potatoes into the table and  Y/N who was beside him gently pulled his hands away from the mess and carefully cleaned each finger while making faces that had our nephew howling with laughter all of us where talking over each other and stuffing our faces, Rhys called over the table “oh Y/N I ran into Magda she told me about your internship congratulations” a chorus of congratulations filled and she smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes she seems uncomfortable with the attention “thanks Rhys, I’m not sure if I’m going to take it though” she had been thrilled about that internship when she applied getting in was a huge accomplishment “Y/N/N you have to go, you where so exited about it” she fidgeted with her napkin the table was quite “I don’t know, what if I come back and everything is different?” I forgot anyone was around us “it’s only six months” I said hating that I had to say always yes it was ‘only’ six months but that would feel like a lifetime without her, she looked at me she didn’t take her eyes away from mine “but what if it is az” she looked terrified “maybe some things will change but the way we feel about you, is never going to change when you get back we will be here awaiting your return” someone cleared their throat in the background and from the way nesta hit cassian it was probably him I could feel rhysands violet eyes boring into me Y/N nodded “okay I’ll go” the conversation began to pick up again I tried to convince myself I did the right thing by telling her to go.

Rhys, cassian, and i ended up in his study at some point after dinner with cups of whiskey, cassian was telling a story to try and fill the odd silence that had ensued when Rhys cut him off “you love her don’t you?” I smiled sadly “of course I love her” Rhys nodded his head slowly “then why did you push her to go” cassian looked between us quickly not expecting the conversation change “Because i would do anything to make her happy and the internship will make her happy, but i think you know that” he just nodded again and poured me some more whiskey, “don’t give up on her brother”.

—————————————————————————————————————————

I wonder if I cross your mind

Half as much as you do mine

If I tell you the truth 

What will I lose?

I don’t know

I had been back from dawn court for a few weeks and as much as I loved the experience i was happy to be home i missed my family but i especially missed azriel my very best friend, I knocked on his door, we where supposed to meet I was a bit early but he told me to let myself in if I showed up early so I pulled out my key and opened the door, his place was kind of a mess which is very uncharacteristic of him, i decided to kill time cleaning up his place I picked up the clothes on his floor and did his dishes which where piled up in his sink, he didn’t have a single clean cup or plate and then I moved to his desk and started tidying papers most of them where reports that should be filed away but there was a stack of messily written note some where written like letters some where just written on tore off scraps of paper or the margins of newspapers, i didn’t want to pry but just as I was going to abandon the desk I saw my name sprawled across one of the papers I pulled the piece of paper out of the pile delicately like it would crumble out of my hands and I started reading;

My dearest Y/N,

Today is a Thursday, and I love you,

 I’ll love you today and tomorrow, and the next day, and even next week, 

In four months I will love you just like I loved you yesterday.

 40 years from now I will run my hands through my hair and smile at the thought of how much I love you.

 I just hope that you’ll be with me through all that time I love you.

My knees gave out and I sunk into the desk chair my shaking hand came to my trembling lips I started routing through the letters looking for my name again, where they all meant for me or was it a fluke? There was another;

Y/N

I’ve fallen for your laugh, which is utterly contagious I’ve fallen for your smile, which makes me giddy for no reason at all. I’ve fallen for our late night talks when 1am arrives far too quickly. I’ve fallen for our jokes which I’ll remember days later and burst into laughter. I’ve fallen for how you make my day better, even if I wanted to cry a minute before. I’ve fallen for every second I get to spend with you, even if those seconds will always leave you wanting more.

Y/N

I knew I did from the first moment we met it was… not love at first sight exactly- but familiarity like oh hello it’s you it’s always going to be you, and I waited for you my entire life and you where worth every minute, so please for the sake of my shattered and exhausted heart don’t leave me I will take anything you offer but I need you in my life you make me better.

My love 

It’s you it’s fucking you. I cannot describe it anymore, it is you. You are the only one I will ever want I belong with you, you are my home, I look at you and somehow I can see 100 years from now on the porch of some old house in the middle of nowhere and we are together. I need you, you are the only thing that matters. You are my good. And I will love you recklessly without words or empty phrases, I will love you with blazing truths and hopeless defiance and unapologetic beauty. I will love you forever and even when forever runs out.

There where more dozens more and I those alone had me sobbing he loved me, azriel, loved, me? “Y/N?” 

——————————————————————————————————————————

I wish I had sent you that drunk text at midnight 

I was just scared it would ruin our friendship 

But I really meant it 

I wonder how you would reply 

she spun to face me so face when I said her name it took me a second to register the tear tracks and red rimmed eyes “Az what is this?” My stomach dropped she was standing beside my desk holding one of my letters “you weren't supposed to see those” we remained standing on our separate sides of the room “they’re addressed to me” I had no response all I could do was stand in my living room and let everything fall apart “is it true?” She asked so quietly I nearly missed it my head slumped so did my wings behind me I wouldn’t lie to her and I wasn’t ready to face the rejection I nodded, then I heard her move and I could feel my heart start to break as I waited for her to leave because I wasn’t good enough I didn’t deserve her and now because of my stupid letters I was going to lose her friendship too, but instead of the creak of the door her warm body collided with mine her arms wrapped around my waist and held me tight, my entire body relaxed into her I buried my face in her hair that smelled like rain and pine and fresh baked cookies, discreetly wiping away the tears that had been threatening to fall, we dropped to the ground still tangled in each other she pulled away slightly and pressed her forehead to mine “you love me?” I laughed and shook me head at her “yes, I love you Y/N, i love you so so fucking much” she smiled and it warmed me from the inside out “good because I love you too” and with that she kissed me and I felt a snap, we pulled away for a second staring at each other in shock and then she laughed and it was the most joyous sound I had ever heard it was light and bubbly and it had me tackling her onto the carpet so I could kiss her again. She was it my mate, my mate and the love of my life and I was going to spend the rest of my life with her. 

“Az?” I hummed my arms where wrapped around her waist and I was half splayed on top of her naked body my wings spread out over the bed, I had been practicing purring a moment before when she had been combing her fingers through my hair, “can I have the letters?” My head shot up from its very comfortable spot on her chest “what no! They are so embarrassing” she pouted “please” I huffed then kissed her deeply, “fine, but you can’t read them when I’m in the room” she laughed then pulled me down to her “thank you” she batted her lashes over those pretty Y/e/c eyes and I started peppering her face in kisses while she laughed and tried to get away I stopped and looked into her eyes “I love you” she smiled softly and brushed my cheek with her hand “I love you too”. 

(Note/disclaimer: some of azriels letters are based on quotes or things I’ve seen before)

#azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #reader x azriel #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #slow burn #friends to lovers #angst with a happy ending #acotar

[theeveninghour]

All My Dreaming

Summary: You came to the Night Court as a fugitive and quickly became a valued member of the Inner Circle. Azriel’s love for you has burned brightly in his chest for nearly two centuries now, but when an unknown force threatens to take you from him, he must fight to keep you at his side.

Pairing: Azriel x Winter Court!Reader

A/N: I don’t use Y/N here just out of personal preference, but the IC do call reader “Little One” because she’s younger than them by like a century or so. Also, slight timeline deviation? I kind of just made the ACOTAR timeline work for me a little bit but the important bits are there mostly. If it’s not totally accurate, please suspend your disbelief and go with it. I also took some serious liberties with Prythian geography and Azriel’s shadows in this. I had to force myself to stop because I could’ve written five more scenes, so let me know if you all want a part two. I got nasty Azriel thots to spare, baby! 

WC: 16.1k  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TW: 18+, Minors DNI, violence, death, descriptive gore, lots of time jumps, torture, smut, p in v, fingering, porn with plot, mating, slow burn, angst, friends to lovers, declarations of love, loving sexy times, miscommunications abound, Azriel being a big ole softie, Azriel being a big ole bitch to bad men, Azriel really going tf thru it emotionally, and Azriel being mouthy as fuck. Just girly things. 

Part 2

Azriel hadn’t seen you in four days. Nearly a week had passed since you’d left. Rhys mentioned a mission but no additional details, Cassian avoided the topic, knowing how frustrated his brother got when you were gone, and Feyre was decidedly unhelpful the few times he’d brought you up. His shadows searched aimlessly, they’d found nothing as far south as Winter Court, daring not venture into Autumn, and knowing damn well you’d never step foot into Spring. You were slowly driving him mad; the bond in his chest aching at the loss. Even if you hadn’t recognized the golden thread linking the two of you, he felt it. 

Gods, did he feel it. He’d often lay in his bed at night, eyes tracing the intricate foil patterns of the ceiling tiles. When sleep evaded him, as it frequently did, he’d grasp the thread tightly in his minds eye and tug it experimentally, begging you to see, to notice it was him that loved you with a ferocity that rivaled the sun. Try as he might, the responding tug never answered, his call into the void not returning an echo. 

The second it snapped for him, Azriel had resolved himself as unworthy, not of someone like you. You were powerful, breathtakingly beautiful, intimidatingly intelligent, and you regularly brought men to their knees, both in political circles and on the battlefield. Rhys relied on you as much he did Cassian and Az, you were a core member of his court, a valuable asset, and the love of Azriel’s life. Azriel avoided the latter subject entirely, choosing instead to silently stoke the ember in chest with unyielding affection; his own private paramour. 

When you’d joined the Night Court, you’d been on the run from both Winter and Autumn Courts. Your father was a high fae noble in Winter that had attempted to arrange a marriage to the second youngest Vanserra of Autumn. The family’s brutal reputation was legend and you were terrified. You were young then, barely a century old, and upon your introductory visit to the Autumn Court, Beron sought to make an impression by presenting a welcome gift. That gift? The public torture and execution of a servant he’d deemed traitorous. 

His gleaming eyes remained on yours with each cast of the fire whip he’d conjured using his cruel magic. He’d cracked it again and again until blood splattered and the servant was left flayed beyond recognition, flesh searing, and finger tips twitching from the remaining neurons firing in his brain. Only after his death did Beron announce his crimes. He’d stolen a parcel of food from the royal pantry to feed his wife and small child. Your stomach churned at the thought of the now widow and fatherless child waiting at home for the male that would never return. 

It had all been a test to see if you were worthy of the most violent and petulant of the broody sons, and you’d passed, holding Beron’s stare and keeping your back straight as you faced his wrath head on. You’d cried yourself dry in your room that night though, sobs wracking your form until your chest ached, grief for the male that was lost. Fear settled into your heart, terror of the family you were set to marry into. 

You’d ran at first light, leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back. Your Winter white blonde hair streaking across the red and orange forest as you bolted. Beron sent his dogs after you. You still had the scars lining your calves from where they’d gotten too close, brought you down into the dirt, jaws snapping and tearing at the muscly sinew there. But you’d fought. You’d kicked and clawed like a feral child of the woods, screaming with a sense of self preservation you’d never known you possessed. 

Rhysand had found you half dead, starving and a little savage in the mountainous border between the Day and Night Courts. He’d made a bargain with you then; he’d save you, if you worked for him. Word had already spread of the ousted Winter female and spurned Autumn princeling and Rhysand was impressed you’d lasted in the wilds undetected for so long. The small star flecked tattoo of the Velarian night sky that lived on your wrist since was the only evidence of his deal. 

You’d long moved past such a bargain. Rhys had offered to lift it half a dozen times in your first hundred years within his court, but you hadn’t minded. A reminder, you’d insisted, a mark of your loyalty to the family that didn’t lead you the wolves with such glee. 

You’d settled into a routine in Velaris, training with the Illyrian brothers and charming Amren with your intelligence and wit.  But you’d become the closest with Mor, who felt a kinship in your shared traumas. She’d soothed you in those first years, fiercely protecting her friend when Eris Vanserra had shown up in Hewn City as an emissary to inquire on your new position in the Night Court. It was that same night that Azriel realized how fucked he truly was.

Eris smirked at you and your back straightened, face growing cold. He spoke, “My brother was wondering where you’d scampered off to.” A laugh followed, “You couldn’t stomach our court, but found yourself bound to the Court of Nightmares? My my, what a wicked turn of events.” 

Rhysand had spoken then, wearing his High Lord mask well, “Watch yourself, Eris. You know not what our Little One can do.” Eris laughed, the sound laced with the dark spark of a threat. “Little One? Fugitive and Night Court whore, I must tell your father. I’m sure he’ll be proud to hear of his daughter’s fate.” Azriel’s wings pricked, then fluttered, he would’ve killed Eris right then for you. Your hand came to rest on Rhys’ arm as you stepped around the throne to level your accuser with a look that should’ve turned him to stone. 

“I am no male’s whore and I belong to no court except Night. Report what you wish to my father, to your father, your brother. May you all rot.” You’d spat at his feet then, and the room heated twenty degrees, Eris’ barely kept rage simmering under the surface, fire blooming on the fringes of his figure. 

He stepped forward and Cassian, Azriel, and Mor all shifted, prepared to take out the threat. Eris’ eyes tracked their figures, gauging the situation. He knew better. Any attack here would mean war on his court and his father have his hide for that. You stepped forward to meet him, knowing he could make no move without endangering his position. You kept your spine straight and narrowed your gaze at him with such contempt he would’ve been impressed at the show had you been anyone else. 

“I will say this once Eris Vanserra,” you held up one long manicured finger, and Azriel traced the action with thinly veiled obsession. “Leave my court or I will be the one to kill you. I’ll rip your spine from your body and I’ll do it with the same glee in which your father,” you’d spat that word, the hatred you held for Beron burning your throat as the words exited your mouth, “killed that male for feeding his family.” You took a step closer, summoning a dagger in your left hand, and rolling it your palm. “Trust that we have no tolerance for your family or your bullshit in these lands.” 

Eris had good enough sense to step back then, peering around your form to where Rhysand sat, legs spread, slouched in the throne, smirking at your display of dominance. Azriel to his right looked on in pure male satisfaction, you were a powerful little thing and he was rather fond of you in that moment. Eris spoke up, “Should I note that the Night Court threatens other Courts for sport?” Cassian and Azriel rolled their eyes in synchronous fashion, but it was Mor that spoke with the dark edge of a threat, “Only ones that deserve such brutality.” Her father, Kier, stood in the gathered crowd and sneered at the tone of her voice.

You’d done the unthinkable then, winnowing behind Eris, grasping the male by his red hair and dragging the dagger to his neck, digging in enough to cause the male’s heart to speed, a line of scarlet leaking from the press of your blade. You could feel the heat in his skin, the flame licked at your hand as you released him with a shove. 

You brandished your dagger as if it was an extension of your hand, the tip of the silver blade glinting with red from the now healing cut at Eris’ throat. “Come for me again and I’ll kill you.” It was then that Azriel noted the slight tremble in the hand at your right side and he wished on some distant star that he could reach out to you, soothe you, tell you that he was proud and you defended yourself and your court beautifully. 

As if his wish was granted, he felt his chest give way to a canyon of emotion, heart stuttering as the bond fluttered and snapped, thrumming with affection for the female standing at the center of the room. He had selfishly allowed himself to hope it would be you, in the dark of the night when he was alone and his shadows whispered to him of your whereabouts. Since he’d met you, he fostered that small romantic notion of soulmates. His most private desire. 

Eris whirled on you with a roar, grabbing your throat with hands of fire. Azriel felt the breath leave him, and he took two then three steps forward before he could think, hazel eyes alight with a fierceness you’d not yet witnessed. Your eyes found his and you held up your hand to halt his movements, the one that had trembled seconds earlier, now steady as a stone. You’d looked at Eris then, raising your chin defiantly, a slow smile overtaking your face as you once again spit at the Autumn male before winnowing back to your place in front of the dais. Rhysand raised to his feet then, taking steps down to meet you. His hand grazed your arm this time and his mind reached out, “Very good, Little One, very good.” 

“As the lady said, Eris, come to my court in search of her again, and she’ll be the one to kill you.” Rhys circled Eris, tracking like prey. “But not before I sanction it for laying your hands on a member of my house.” Rhysand spoke with such quiet cunning, it was no wonder he excelled as High Lord. Eris snarled then before winnowing out of the Hewn City and Azriel quickly set his shadows to following him, ensuring he was actually gone. 

You returned to Mor’s side and the shameless pride that set on your face the rest of the night made Azriel want to kiss you. Gods, he was fucked.. 

You’d flirted with him constantly in the first century you’d been in Velaris. You had laid it on thick too, dragging a long nail up his arm, your mouth sliding into a smirk after one too many drinks at Rita’s. Azriel had always feigned friendly indifference though, a mask he slipped on that was equal parts protection as it was self soothing. His only crack coming in the form of a slight tremble in his pinky as he tried to gather himself to avoid closing the space between you, touching, grasping, feeling.

He’d worn black leather gloves around you in your first few decades with them. His hands always held the most insecurity for him, the silver scars and warped skin a brutal reminder of his childhood. It was after training one day, as you all packed your small bags and threw towels into bins that you’d asked about it. 

“I don’t mean to pry, and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but why the gloves?” You asked quietly leaning against a wall less than ten feet from him. He’d stiffened and breathed tightly, “it helps with the work.” That had always been his excuse, wearing gloves when killing helped reduce the touch memories associated with the act, and it was partially true. But he wasn’t on a mission right now, and you called him on that, “are you spying right now?” Your lips quirked, “should I tell Rhys?” Your words were mirthful, but your eyes held nothing but empathy for the Shadowsinger, sometimes Azriel wondered if that was your Cauldron blessed gift. 

You’d reached down then, rolling up the left leg of your training leathers. You’d resumed your full height and rotated your calf outward for his eyes to survey the damage there. Ragged silver keloid scars marked the skin from your ankle to the soft back of your knee— a knee he’d admittedly fantasized about many nights in a row now. He’d selfishly thought about trailing kisses up your leg, pausing to nip playfully at the soft skin at your knee as he made his way north, up your thigh. He breathed deeply banishing those thoughts as he took in the site of your marred skin. Judging by the heavily keratinized markings, the injury had no doubt been painful when incurred originally. Azriel’s fingers twitched again, wanting to touch your face, hold you as he kissed away your grief. 

“From Beron’s dogs,” you breathed, rolling you shoulders, as if shaking the memory from your mind. “They wouldn’t heal when I was out there,” you clicked your tongue, “granted I was starving,” you sighed, “but that’s a story for another day.” You looked at him then, and he had to steady himself at the emotions pooling in your eyes. 

He’d already planned on killing Beron if the opportunity presented for what had happened with Mor, but for you, he’d make it hurt. He’d drag it out and make it slow. He’d torture him for days, flaying skin from bone, taking fingers then limbs and when at last he begged for death, Azriel would set the dogs on him and laugh as they tore him apart. He felt a long repressed need for vengeance creep up his spine, and he hated to acknowledge what its presence meant in regards to you.

“It’s okay, you know,” you’d said, head lolling to the side as you watched him, eyes swimming with a gentle affection, “I’ll never judge you for something like that.” Azriel squeezed his eyes shut as he turned his head from you and breathed in tightly. How did always manage to be so fucking disarming and vulnerable? That must’ve been a gift too.

He pinched the middle finger of the right glove and pulled it from his hand, grasping his now exposed fingers into a fist, knuckles cracking. He extended that arm out, palm up as he let you view his deepest insecurity, the thing he hated most in his appearance. 

You’d stepped forward, looking at his palm. Your hands went to reach but you’d paused, looking to his eyes as you silently asked permission to touch. He nodded stiffly, watching you with the same intensity of an animal being hunted, prey ready to bolt at any moment. 

Your fingers touched his hand, and he felt the connection race up his arm and to his chest, settling in his heart. Your eyes studied, and you rotated his hand, fingers gently tracing from his wrist, to knuckle, to fingernail in reverence. You covered his hand with your own, moving your eyes to his hazel ones. “Are they dead?” You’d asked seriously, and he stuttered a shocked laugh. “Yes, Little One, they are,” he answered, a small smile playing at his mouth. The two of you far too similar it seemed. “Good,” you’d said simply before kissing his knuckles and pulling the glove back on for him. The action was quietly intimate, and Azriel should’ve kissed you then. Mother knows he considered it, eyes watching you with rapt attention as his heart sped up and breathing shallowed. 

“If you two are done flirting, lunch is ready,” Cassian announced from the doorway, breaking the spell you were both under. You’d jumped and laughed freely at the large male smirking at the entrance. You grasped Azriel’s hand tightly in affection before releasing it to turn on your heel to exit the room, passing by Cass with an eye roll, thumping him square in the chest.

Cassian looked to his brother as he walked into the room and his face split into a shit eating grin. “Let’s go, loverboy,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Azriel glared, scoffing as he followed behind you, praying to whatever Gods were listening that he’d get you alone again soon. 

In your second century with the Night Court, you’d lessened the blatant flirting and settled into loving, easy friendship. You regularly attended balls and galas in Hewn City, fitting into such pomp with practiced ease, but always with a dagger strapped to your thigh, ready to cut a male down in seconds. Those events were almost routine at this point: Azriel would save you a dance, and you’d move together in a slow ritual that you’d both perfected over the years, he’d bow as the violinist played their final note and resume his place on dais at Rhys’ right. His eyes would follow you the rest of the night, as you spoke in an airy manner to various high fae, glaring at any male whose hands ventured too close to his mate. 

Nights when the Court held parties at the House of Wind were different though. You were far less rigid, finding it easy to exist without scrutiny. Those were the nights Azriel’s eyes rarely left your form as he watched obsessively from the corners of the room. 

“You’re staring,” Rhys chimed from his place next to Azriel, eyes not leaving the crowd as he spoke to the Shadowsinger, mouth smirking. Azriel was staring. You’d worn cobalt blue tonight, a lovely color on your skin. His color on your skin. Mother above, the male possessiveness that crawled up his spine was unreal. Mate, mate, mate, his shadows had sang in his ear. He wanted to pluck the eyes from every male in the room for even glancing in your direction. He wanted so much more than that too. Your breathy sighs as he marked you, your moan as he made you come undone, his name crying from your lips as he ate his come from your cunt after. Azriel had a million and one scenarios running through his head. He yearned to make each one of them come to fruition too.

He hadn’t answered Rhysand, so the High Lord tried again, “you really should tell her, but please,” Rhys closed his eyes with a grimace, “quiet your thoughts first, for Cauldron’s sake.” That got Azriel’s attention, his back straightening and mental shield slamming down. His eyes squeezed shut, almost as if he was in pain. “I cannot burden her with that now,” he said, “not with war at our doorstep.” Indeed, the second war with Hybern creeped ever closer, disappearances of other high fae occurring daily. Whatever they were planning across the sea, it was going to bring Prythian to its knees. 

Rhysand sighed then, feeling older than his 500 years. “Be that as it may, we should hold those we love tighter.” Rhysand looked to Feyre at that moment, his eyes meeting his mate’s, as he sent a strum of warm affection down the bond. She smiled and returned it cheerily. He turned back to Azriel, “if it all ends tomorrow, I know my love and she knows me. That’s all we can ask for in this immortal life.” Azriel looked back to you, and your eyes were already on him, tracing the shadows that wound around his chest. You met his eyes and winked, before turning back to Mor and laughing freely.  

“I thank the Cauldron daily it was you that found her in those mountains, Rhys.” Azriel spoke quietly, admitting a small secret he’d not told anyone. Rhysand softened, and clapped his friend on the shoulder, “As I am, brother.” Azriel nodded, letting the conversation die between himself and the High Lord as he drained the drink in his hand and moved down the steps in your direction. 

You’d been in conversation with Mor when he approached. She was telling you of the seamstress she’d been seeing, and how happy she was. Azriel cleared his throat from behind the two of you and you turned to meet him, taking in his appearance with wide eyes. “Ladies,” he started, bowing to you and Mor, who snorted at the silly formality. “And that note, I’ll be taking my leave. I’ve got a lady to see,” she said with a wink and a flourish of her red dress. You laughed and shook your head before turning back to the Shadowsinger. He’d caught you staring earlier and your heart had nearly jumped into your throat, before Mor mocked you lightly, diffusing the tension. 

“Hi Az,” you greeted softly, before dropping your empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and thanking them. Azriel watched you closely, noting the revealed skin that shifted with each movement, committing every angle and freckle to memory.

“You want to get out of here?” He dared ask, jerking his head toward the private balcony on the House of Wind. You raised a brow, Azriel? Asking you to leave? Together? You heart was back in your throat and you thanked the Mother that you’d taken your time getting ready that evening. Nodding, you grasped his arm as he offered it to you like a proper courtier. He walked the two of you up a round of stairs and away from the eyes he’d threatened earlier in the night. Voices dulled the more space you put between yourselves and them and you couldn’t help but start to sweat a bit at the thought of being alone with Azriel. 

You’d been friends for nearly two centuries, but you’d always felt a connection with the male. Your heart thrummed with a warm, golden affection when he got close. It made keeping a clear head during training hard. It made sitting next to him at dinner difficult. And when he’d looked at you like you hung the moon as you danced earlier in the night, it made you want to take him to bed and ride him until he moaned your name. You breathed deeply. ‘Focus,’ you chided yourself, ‘he is your friend, for Cauldron’s sake.’

He led you out onto to the balcony and stopped at the railing before looking up at the star flecked sky. “This is my favorite part of the House,” he said eyes scanning the sky before looking back to you as you watched him. A blush crept up his neck, before he cleared his throat again. 

“I’ve always wondered what it was like to be able to fly, you know,” you said quietly, removing your hand from his arm, rolling up onto your toes, leaning against the stone railing, and looking out on Velaris before scanning your eyes up to the three stars that shone brightly overhead. “When I was a child, I met a Peregryn from the Dawn Court and thought she had the most beautiful wings I’d ever seen.” You chanced a glance his way, “I’d not met an Illyrian yet.” You reminded with a smirk, bumping his arm with fondness. Gods, he was in trouble.

“I asked her what it was like and she said it was the purest sense of freedom possible.” You glanced down at your feet, “I spent the next year wishing for wings.”  He mulled on your words. He wanted to say something cheesy as Cassian would, like ‘I’ll be your wings’ but he couldn’t, so you continued on. 

“When I was a little older, I witnessed a blue skinned lesser fae’s wings ripped from his body as punishment and it was the most gruesome thing I’d seen at that point.” You took a shuddering breath, “I cried for him that night. The lost freedom. How maddening it must’ve been.” You looked at him then and he watched you with furrowed brows. “How does it feel for you?” You asked softly, eyes tracing the shine of his wing. ‘Magnificent things,’ you thought. You remembered seeing his wings for the first time and thinking the Peregryn had finally moved to second place in your mind. 

Azriel had to gather himself as he spoke, “It’s… everything.” He said quietly adjusting his body to extend a wing. “My ability to fly came in late,” he said, and your eyes widened, you hadn’t known that. “My childhood was… rough and I didn’t learn to fly until I was nearly grown.” He laughed, scuffing the toe of his boot, wings folding in behind him. “It was a lot of crash landings those first months.” You snorted, mental image of a younger Az, landing in a puddle of mud crossing your mind. 

“I was never a proud Illyrian, not like the others,” he continued, “it was hard for me to reconcile my heritage and our traditions.” He looked to the cityscape then, “but the stronger I got, the more I understood why flight was so crucial to my people.” He looked to you, eyes shining, “it’s the closest we can get to the stars.” 

You leaned over the railing again, staring wistfully at the night sky, the moon reflecting on your skin. “Will you take me someday? Flying, I mean.” Did you not know Azriel would give you the world? Of course he’d take you flying. He’d give you the moon, the stars, walk through fire and back, anything. He nodded, “you say the word, and I’ll fly you the the ocean and back.” The smile that broke across your face crippled him, his knees threatened to give way. 

“Yours are my favorite,” you murmured softly, eyes glancing from his wings to his face. Azriel blushed in full, pink speckling his neck and cheeks as he laughed. “Don’t let Cass hear you say that, he’s got an ego,” he said, a smile remaining at his lips. You liked him like this the most. Loose, smiling, free. You reached up then, cupping his reddened cheek, thumb stroking. “I don’t care,” you said smiling, “it’s the truth.” Azriel swallowed roughly, staring at your eyes swimming with an emotion he knew, but was much too stubborn and scared to name.

Just as your hand went to retreat, he grasped it between his own. “You can touch them,” he offered, knowing damn well the implications, “if you want,” he added. Your eyes widened. Mor had mentioned once that Illyrian’s wings were ‘sensitive,’ was the word she’d used. It was a sign of great intimacy and trust to allow another to touch them. You felt the air shift between you two then, as you nodded.

He extended a wing toward you. This felt so much like the first time he’d shown you his hands all those years ago. Your hand crept forward and gentle fingers met the red gold membrane that stretched between two metacarpals. Your fingers traced the membrane in smooth circles, then traced up to the crest. Azriel felt his breath gutter out of his mouth in a loud, choppy exhale, and he felt himself harden at the sensation of your fingers against the most sensitive portion of his wings. You gasped and jerked away at the sudden noise, before apologizing. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten carried away.” 

Azriel shook his head, “It’s not that, they’re sensitive.” There was that word again, only it made you think of how they’d been shredded before the King of Hybern, and you opened your mouth to apologize again, but he stopped you short. “I haven’t allowed another to touch them freely since my mother.” The admission floored you, your gut giving way with a breath.

You looked to his eyes then, the air between you had shifted again and you knew this was it. This was the moment you’d waited for, he was going to kiss you. Mother, it felt you’d waited a millennia, and he felt just the same. But that kiss never came. Instead, Azriel went stock still, his eyes now on the House behind you. 

“Azriel?” You questioned. “It’s Rhys,” he said tightly, “he’s summoning me.” You understood then. He looked to you desperately, eyes a little wild and apologetic. “I’m sorry, I have to go to him.” You nodded, you both worked for the High Lord, you’d never get in the way of Azriel’s allegiance to his Court. “Of course,” you said quietly, taking a step back and swallowing down your disappointment. 

Azriel took three steps towards the entrance then stopped. “I’ll take you,” he turned around, backing his way to the arched stone, but keeping his eyes on you for a moment longer. “When I get back, I’ll take you flying,” he offered. Another smile etched its way across your face and Azriel took a long moment to memorize it greedily. “It’s a date,” you said confidently. He beamed then, turning on a heel to pick up into a jog, Rhys no doubt shouting to hurry up. 

That date hadn’t happened though. The second war with Hybern broke out days later and you both barely made it out alive. 

When Feyre had come to Velaris after Amarantha’s defeat, you’d accepted her with easy friendship. You saw Rhysand, your longtime friend, overcome with love for his newly found mate, and you couldn’t help but love her as well. You’d shared your story with her and the two of you bonded deeply over her art. She’d offered to teach you to paint, and you began taking lessons in your off time. Rhys had been Cauldron blessed with her and you reminded him daily. 

Later, when Feyre’s sisters joined their little unit, you’d been the first one to break Nesta’s tough exterior. The female saw parts of herself in you and you’d gotten her to crack a smile when you mocked Rhys’ High Lord voice at dinner one night. Elain had been a tougher sell, but you’d tried, along with Azriel, to bring the female out of her shell. The day she joined you in the library to read, you knew progress had been made, even if you two had only sat in silence a few feet apart, a small smile gracing her features. 

You left her book recommendations with small notes and she began to do the same. Your friendship playing out in the margins of the library’s tomes. You won her over with silent conversation. Nesta noticed, of course, and she looked to you with gratitude as she saw her sister’s eyes brightened and skin began to return to its normal, healthy color. The night Azriel mentioned it as you walked down the hall toward the dining room for the family meal, you’d shrugged. “I met her where she needed me to,” you’d said quietly, glancing to your feet. Azriel smiled, a Cauldron blessed gift indeed. 

Dinners at the House of Wind were by far Azriel’s favorite version of you. You’d laugh with abandon, smile splitting your face, showing every tooth as Mor cracked a joke and leaned against you for support, one too many drinks in her system. The first time he’d seen that smile, it blinded him, and he’d gone a little dazed, staring at you in wonderment. Rhys had interrupted his train of thought with an invasive insertion of “How quickly she reduced you to a puddle, brother.” Azriel had scowled at Rhys then, mental shields firming up, but not before he heard the distinct sound of his High Lord laughing at the Spymaster’s defensiveness. 

Indeed Azriel was gone for you. When Cassian finally confronted him last year about the truth of his feelings, Azriel saw no point to avoid it any longer, not after his brothers had also found their mates. “Our souls are one in the same, she’s my mate,” he’d said pensively, as if he was letting his deepest secret breath in the light for the first time in centuries. Maybe he was. He’d made Cassian promise on his life not to tell anyone, and despite being the biggest gossip in the Inner Circle, he kept his promise. He was thrilled for his brother, knowing you were the perfect match.

Little did Azriel know, everyone else was already more than aware of his affections. Amren had figured it out a century prior when Azriel had tended your needs as you’d recovered from an injury sustained during a mission. He’d fretted around you like a mother hen, buying you flowers, sweets, and books while you were bedridden. The female had watched and hummed with a raised eyebrow as Azriel exited your room for the fifth time in one day, wringing his hands with worry despite Madja’s clean bill of health.

Feyre had figured it out the same year she’d returned from the Spring Court, just before the second war with Hybern. She’d seen the way his eyes had followed you in the war room Rhys had created to host strategy meetings. Saw him lean towards you when you spoke, saw his wings flutter when you finally cast your gaze to him, eager for your attention. More than anything, she’d seen his shadows, desperate little things, sneaking across the floor each night, sidling up your ankles and wrists, begging for your affection. You always laughed and nuzzled them as the wound their way to your hair and Azriel went a little soft at the sight. 

When she told Mor, the blonde had laughed, “They’ve been circling each for two hundred years now, eventually one of them will cave.” Mor leveled a sardonic look at Feyre then, “and when they do, we’ll all have to relocate to the River House for a year lest we be subject to the frenzy.”

This mission should’ve been simple. Rhys had asked you to check out reports of rogue soldiers spotted making their way towards the border of the Night Court from the Day coastline. The intel he’d received had mentioned three to four maximum, all of them drunken ex-Hybern loyalists. It should’ve been a matter of locating them, spying for a day or two, then winnowing in to neutralize any threat. Gods, this was far from simple. 

When you’d arrived in the region, the hairs on your neck rose, the air itself feeling off. As you tracked them, you’d noticed intentional attempts to throw you off course. A carelessly trashed map, crudely laid tracks in the opposite direction, Dawn Court wine bottles that had been emptied and tossed about. They knew you were there, and you quickly realized that a trap had been laid. You backed off them then, staying further than you’d have liked, but trying like hell to make them think you’d given up. 

On your fourth night following them, you’d drifted away to an inn two towns over, desperately seeking a place to bathe and rest, even for a few hours. As you bathed, you felt watched in a way that discomfited you to your core, and your dagger stayed within arms reach the rest of the night. Suddenly, the role you’d played for the last two hundred years had left you entirely ill equipped for whatever was happening here. 

You’d left out before dawn, refusing to lose an ounce of daylight, but as you hit the tree line, readying yourself to winnow out, you’d noticed it. Hanging from a tree, a hundred yards away was a piece of clothing, your clothing. Clothing that should’ve been in the pack at your back. Your breath shuttered out of you as you opened your mind to Rhys, asking for back up. You were in over your head and you knew when to admit it. There was no pride in getting yourself killed. 

As you turned to move back to the inn where you could wait out contact from Rhys in a public location, you were met with a pair of shining blue eyes. You stepped back, keeping your grounding, readying for a fight. “You’ve been following us,” the stranger said calmly, beginning to trek in a slow circle around you. You opened your mind to Rhys again, “Help,” you called. Rhys answered this time, “Where are you?!” It was a frantic response, you never asked for help, Rhys knew this. “Just off the coast, beneath the mountain range, Day court border, 400 hundred paces from the inn” you spoke to Rhys in choppy thoughts, trying to establish a location before all hell broke loose. 

“I have,” you finally answered the stranger, whose lips quirked at your voice. He stopped circling and resumed his stance in front of you, blocking passage to the inn. “Why?” He asked and you tried to keep your mind steady as you answered. “You’re trespassers in these lands” you stated simply, shrugging a shoulder up. He grinned then, “had your lot not gotten in the way of our King’s plans, these would be our lands. We were promised them. I was personally promised the Court of Nightmares.”

“Well,” you shrugged feigning indifference, “that’s not how the war played out, so I will have to ask you to leave,” you offered in your most bored political tone. The same tone you’d used with High Fae that ran off at the mouth in Hewn City. The stranger cocked his head the side then, eyes twinkling, “I don’t think I will.” At that moment, one by one, additional soldiers appeared from the forest line. One, then four, then ten, until near twenty stood around you, looking on with hatred. 

Shit. 

“We’d hoped for the Illyrians, but it seems your High Lord sent us a treat instead,” the stranger said with mirth. You steeled your spine, looking down your nose at the stranger, “They’re going to kill you, you know.” He’d laughed at your threat. “I think not,” he said as as arrow was released from your left, finding purchase in your shoulder. You folded over on yourself at the blow, and looked up baring your teeth, before drawing your dagger and rushing the stranger with a feral sound.

Five more arrows hit you before your blade could find its target. One into your hip, two in your back, a fourth piercing your in your upper thigh, until the last burrowed into the back of your knee, bringing you down in front of him — forcing you to bow to the stranger. The arrows were laced with faebane you realized as you’d begun to feel its effects in your blood. Your power waning quickly, thoughts becoming murky. 

You released another shattered thought to Rhys then, “Tell him, please,” you begged raggedly. Rhysand came back with a rushed and tight, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” You shook your head, there wasn’t time. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” He responded but it muddled out, sounding like words shouted through a pool of water, then your brain fell quiet. The line severed. 

The stranger lifted your head, hand wrapped around your throat, as he bent to meet your crouched form. “I’ll be sure to savor this,” he smiled and the hilt of his sword came in fierce contact with your forehead. 

It was the early morning on your fifth day away when Rhys heard you. “Help,” it had come through so clearly that it startled Rhys awake and set his heart to racing. You’d only asked for help once, during the war when you were overrun and near death. You were in danger.

He’d sat up straight in bed, Feyre still sleeping silently at his side, hand resting on her pregnant stomach. “Where are you?!” He’d asked down the line, a little frantic, remembering the state he and Azriel had found you in last time. Gods, you’d been run through on a Hybern soldier’s sword, the damage was astronomical. Azriel had nearly killed everyone within a mile radius at the sight of you.

You recited your location in short bursts and Rhys focused on the bond of your bargain, using it to locate you with more precision. He reached out to Azriel then, “Get Cassian and meet me downstairs. Be ready to fly.” Azriel responded an affirmative and Rhys rushed around his room, grabbing his dagger lined belt, and using his magic to dress in his leathers quickly. He winnowed to the base of the stairs and was glad to find Cassian and Azriel waiting. 

“Tell him, please” you begged into Rhys’ mind then, words growing ragged. Rhys’ eyes slammed shut with a wince and he attempted to reassure you, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” Rhys opened his eyes and looked to Azriel, who was watching him with anticipation. You responded again, words growing murkier, a little warbled. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” Rhysand felt sick. “We will find you and you will tell him yourself,” he spoke but the bond was dead, silent, foreboding. Rhys thought he might vomit. 

He looked to Azriel again, “It’s her. She’s in trouble. We have to go.” Azriel’s face darkened with a thunderous ferocity. Mother help the males who’d harmed you. “Where?” He asked, voice deep with the threat of murderous violence. “The wilds on the border, off the coast of Day. I’ll winnow us as close as possible.” Azriel nodded his acquiesce and lifted a trembling hand to his hair, running scarred fingers through the strands. Cassian spoke then, “we will get her back,” he’d said softly as Rhysand put his hands to the two of them, preparing for the jump. “And we will kill every last one of them,” Cassian added darkly as blue-black shadows encased them and they disappeared. 

You awoke with a start, gasping like you’d been underwater. Your shoulders ached from your position. You pulled on your hands only to realize you were shackled to a tree somewhere deep in the forest, the same forest you’d been on the outskirts of earlier. You looked up to the sky, trying to find the sun to gauge how much time had passed. The sun had long moved past midday and was sinking towards the evening horizon. Your throat tightened. Where was Rhysand? 

“Nice of you to join us,” a voice spoke. It was the stranger again, he emerged from the camp set two hundred paces to your left, hidden by shrubs and underbrush. You got a good look at him this time. He was tall, leanly muscular in a way that reminded you of Lucien Vanserra. His hair was a dishwater blonde and lacked any sheen, falling in choppy dry waves around his shoulders. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken, bruised with a lack of rest, and his cheekbones were sharp, giving his face an angle that made him look harsh and unforgiving. Though he carried himself with confidence, you noticed a slight, barely there limp in his right leg, an old wound perhaps, one that never healed correctly. You noted that for later, if you ever got out of these shackles. 

You leveled a glare at him that you hoped looked more fearsome than you felt. Mother, your bones ached and your wounds throbbed. “I left the arrows in, but broke off the shaft. Didn’t want to have you healing too quickly.” He spoke with nonchalance, while polishing a dagger, your dagger, you realized as your eyes focused. You pulled at the shackles above your head, and the stranger chuckled at your attempt. 

“What do you want?” Your voice croaked, mouth dry from disuse. The stranger laughed, pointing the blade at you, “I want my fucking court and you’re the key to getting it.” You shook your head then, “I am nothing.” The words sounded foreign on your tongue, a lie on some level, you knew this, but you would be damned before you gave up your family. The stranger clicked his tongue at your response, shaking his head. 

“Surely you don’t believe that? The High Lord doesn’t trust easily, you’ve been seen with his entourage. The Shadowsinger’s whore.” He squatted a few feet from you, eyes tracing from your tied hands down to your face, pausing at your breasts, before trekking down your stomach, thighs, and calves. He was sizing up how much fight you had left.

Your brain had short circuited though, the Shadowsinger’s whore. Mother above, you’d never even kissed. How long had this male watched you and your family? How had none of you seen it? A bitter laugh wretched from your lungs, “sorry to disappoint, but the Shadowsinger isn’t mine.” No matter how desperately I’ve wished it so, you added silently. 

The stranger grinned then, “if you are truly nothing, then I’ll make this a little sweeter.” He took steps towards you, raising the dagger to rest at your chin, the blade pressing to the underside painfully. “You’re far too pretty to be nothing.” He ran the blade along the column of your throat, resting it against your sternum, between your breasts. You pushed yourself further into the tree, back protesting as the arrows burrowed deeper with the movement. You didn’t like the new angle this interaction had taken and your fight or flight instincts were screaming. 

You attempted to reach out to Rhysand, but the bond was dead silent. Your breathing hitched at the realization that you were truly alone in this. The stranger chuckled, dragging the blade down your chest, slicing the leathers, letting the fabric fall open and reveal your undergarments to his greedy view. Your legs moved to kick, but you realized quickly they too were tied. The blade came to rest at your bare stomach, and the stranger dug it in below the navel, causing blood to pool there. You winced, but made no sound. 

“Ah, I was hoping you’d be louder than that,” the stranger smirked, “I’ll have to try harder.” He backed up then and pulled a whip from his back pocket, unfurling it with a crack. Your eyes widened and you brain went silent, fear overtaking your senses. “There it is,” his smile gleamed with violent delight, “there’s the reaction I was hoping for.” He reared an arm back before cracking the whip in your direction. The leather made contact with your torso, a stinging slice appearing along your rib cage. You jerked, but bit your tongue.

He cracked it again and again until you were bloody, slices in your leathers, festering wounds along your breasts, ribs, and stomach. You’d counted to 25 lashes before your brain gave out and your vision blurred from the pain. You looked up to the sky wearily. The sun was gone and the stars were slowly appearing. You smiled at them, remembering Azriel’s words from that night all those years ago. 

You hoped he’d forgive you for not telling him. You hoped he’d understand your fear in revealing that secret, that the bond had snapped for you during the war. When that Hybern soldier’s sword pierced your armor, running through your body to the hilt, and he’d let out a fearsome bellow from across the field at the sight. You felt it then, the golden strumming taking the form of a fated thread linking you two. You been near death when he and Rhys had found you and the only thing you could do was smile. Such an ironic thing it was to die in the arms of your mate. 

Your head lolled to the side as exhaustion threatened to overtake you. “Azriel,” your thoughts ventured, calling down the bond he didn’t even know existed, “I love you.” Darkness swam in the corners of your vision but you swore you felt his responding tug. The Mother was kind for granting that hallucinative mercy in your final hours. Your body gave out, slumping against the shackles and darkness overwhelmed you. 

Azriel was furious. No, furious wasn’t the word, he was a walking time bomb. You were gone. His mate was missing and he was going to explode. As he’d arrived with Rhys and Cassian to the location you’d given them, he could smell you. His eyes searched frantically around the scene before him until they zeroed in on an item hanging from a branch a few dozen paces out. Cloth of some sort? He approached and could detect your scent on it, realizing quickly it was your clothing. A ripped cotton blouse. His fists clenched and he vaguely heard Rhysand speaking to his left. “They must’ve captured her here.” Rhys crouched down to the ground, two fingers swiping the dirt there, before bringing them eye level to examine sample. “Blood,” he muttered, rubbing the hand on the leg of his pants, “she was injured.” Azriel’s heart thundered, he was going to fucking explode. 

He set his shadows work, surveying the forest with rapid precision. They’d cover more ground this way, an army of three operating like a whole infantry. By the time the sun rose to midday, Azriel was ready to begin screaming. They trekked further into the forest, following a line of smoke that was miles deep, originating at a camp somewhere far into the wilds. His shadows murmured to him of a small band of males there, of you, shackled to a fucking tree, arrows buried in your back. He’d nearly lost the contents of his stomach at the information and set to a run alongside Rhysand and Cassian. 

As the three approached the encampment, the sun was nearing dusk. Rhysand had commanded the halt and strategize. There were roughly twenty-five men, all armed. They couldn’t enter this blindly and infuriated, they would lose if they weren’t careful. Azriel hated admitting he was right, his instincts screaming otherwise. Mate, mate, mate, his heart pounded. 

They backed off to a thousand paces out, close enough that they could hear if the troop vacated the premises. As Rhysand and Cassian spoke quietly, Azriel felt his heart thrum. The golden thread there had pulled him closer to you and he could tell you were still alive. Though Rhys couldn’t reach out through your bargain, Azriel’s bond was still alight and warm, he stroked it with gentle affection. You might not feel it, but Gods he would try. 

As the trio retraced their steps to the camp, stars were just beginning to light overhead and Azriel grasped his daggers tightly, knuckles cracking around the hilt. He was going to kill them. Kill them all brutally for taking you, for touching what was his. When they were within a stones throw from the camp he heard it, heard you. “Azriel,” you whispered into his mind. He went stock still, spine ramrod straight, fingers trembling as they gripped his knives. The golden bond vibrated in his chest, and he felt you reaching out through murky waters, against all odds. “I love you,” you said with a soft exhaustion before your side went dark. Azriel’s breathing guttered and he felt high on mirthroot, sick from fae wine, and enraged to the point of explosion all at once. His blue siphons flared brightly from the surge of power. He closed his eyes and reached out to you through the bond, tugging on the thread connecting your souls. He was coming. He was going to save you. 

Rhysand looked to him then, curiosity swimming in his eyes as he took in the Shadowsinger’s sudden stop. Azriel opened eyes, irises alight with fire and shadow, voice grinding with dark threat, “Let’s go.” Rhys nodded and Cassian drew his knives. 

They moved with brutal efficiency, killing male after male until none remained alive. Some had begged, others shouted and scattered their belongings as they set into a run. His shadows had caught them, twisting around their ankles and dragging them back to meet their fate, daggers slicing throats from ear to ear until blood poured like a prized hunt being slaughtered, the Illryian’s hands grasping and snapping necks like twigs. It was a practiced routine for the three of them, who’d trained since they were teens. 

As they stepped through the shrubs to find you, Cassian gasped and Azriel felt his lungs threaten to collapse at the sight. You’d been shackled to a tree at the wrists and ankles and whipped within an inch your life. Wounds glistened with blood along your thighs, soft stomach, ribs, breasts. There had to be thirty lashes. A knife wound was visible at your exposed navel. Your head hung forward unconscious and Azriel’s heart pounded. He wanted to vomit and his hands shook. 

“She said you’d come,” a voice said, emerging from behind the tree you were bound to. The male held a dagger to your throat. This new stranger had to be the leader of this band of idiots. Azriel’s eyes followed the tip of the blade up his arm to the male’s eyes and a growl escaped him as he bared his teeth. The male laughed, “to think she said she was nothing and yet I have both the Shadowsinger and the Lord of Bloodshed before me to save her.”

Azriel’s mind latched on to that piece of information, turning it over in his head. You’d told this male you were nothing? Did you not know Azriel would do anything for you? You were everything. You were his love, light of his life, keeper of his soul, his mate. How alone you must’ve felt, how scared. Azriel’s eyes narrowed, he was going kill him. 

Rhysand spoke then, emerging from behind the two Illyrian brothers, “And may I ask why you’ve abducted a member of my court?” He was in High Lord mode, tone bored, fingers picking at his sleeve. The Hybern male’s smile gleamed at the introduction, “just who I was hoping to see!” 

“Hybern, the old fool, made a few promises in his last days as King,” the male spoke, digging the blade down to your chest, where it rested over your heart. Azriel stared at the blade, eyes tracing to the the hilt. That was your blade, the one he’d given you when you first arrived in Velaris, the one you wielded against Eris, the one you kept strapped to your thigh. Your own knife had been used against you.

“One of which was that I would inherit these lands after your lot were annihilated.” Azriel wanted to laugh at the male’s words, was he serious? “A dead king cannot honor empty promises,” he ground out eyes shifting to the male’s blue eyes. “A dead and headless king cannot gift you shit,” Azriel spat. The male smiled then, a feline grin growing on his lips. “Precisely Shadowsinger, a dead king cannot give me my due, but this little thing can help.” You’d made a noise then, something akin to a whimper as you came to. Eyes wincing then fluttering open as your irises found Azriel’s immediately, some preternatural magnetism existing between the two of you. Then you looked to Cassian and Rhysand, and your eyes swam with apology.

“She awakens!” The male sang, looking to you. Azriel jumped at the opportunity to send his shadows out while the male’s attention was elsewhere. They traced over the ground to you, circling the tree and working at your binds. He sent two others towards the distracted male. “Who knew the Night Court was so attached to a whore,” the male laughed, “I want my lands,” he fixed Rhysand with a glare, “you can have your plaything back in exchange for my seat, High Lord” he sneered. 

Rhysand looked from you to the stranger to the shadow now creeping ever closer to the male. “You must be mistaken,” Rhys said then and Azriel’s shadows wrapped around the male’s neck and wrist simultaneously, whispering violence for touching their mate, forcing the dagger from his grasp and air from his lungs. Azriel tightened them until they heard bones crack in the male’s arm and choked sounds exit his throat, face reddening as oxygen was cut off. “I do not make deals with dim witted cunts,” Rhysand said darkness beginning to surround him, High Lord voice encroaching, “I do not entertain terrorists and I do not take kindly to threats on my family.” 

‘Finish him,’ Rhysand said darkly into Azriel’s mind and the Shadowsinger moved with lightening precision, dagger find purchase as the male’s neck was sliced open and his right hand was removed from his body. The male’s body toddled forward with a choked gurgling, before falling to the ground, lifeless, blood pooling.

Azriel’s gaze fell to you and he softened. His shadows finished picking the lock of the shackles that held your arms and they clicked open, allowing your body to fall into his. “Azriel,” you breathed, voice weary with exhaustion, “I didn’t— I—“ you stuttered, pulling a shaking hand to his face. You swallowed, tracing his cheek with trembling fingers, “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you murmured, your watery eyes searching his face, memorizing the details of his visage.

Azriel picked you up in his arms and unfurled his wings protectively. “I will always come for you,” he said vehemently, eyes watching your face with intensity. You smiled, a weepy trembling smile as you nodded. Rhysand reached the Shadowsinger’s side then and your eyes moved to his violet ones, “Hi Little One, I’m so sorry we’re late.” You let out a single watery laugh before wincing as the sudden expansion of your chest burned the wounds littering your chest and back. 

“The arrows,” you gasped, “at my back,” you twisted in Azriel’s hold, “please get them out.” Rhysand leaned down to inspect the wounds. “Faebane,” he surmised, that’s why his connection to you had been severed. “We need to get her to Madja, now.” Azriel nodded, allowing Rhys and Cassian to move closer so the High Lord could winnow them home. 

Landing back at the House of Wind had been chaotic. Rhysand shouted immediately to get every healer available and the dining room table had been lined with a sheet, turning the warm family room into a medical ward. You were laid facedown on the table and Azriel took to your side, scarred hands touching your face, keeping you awake as Madja worked to remove the six arrows burrowed in your body. 

You’d screamed. The sound would haunt Azriel for centuries. You begged to make it stop and Madja had apologized softly as she worked faster to remove them while minimizing damage. “I’ve got you,” Azriel said softly, “eyes on me, alright?” He rubbed the hollow under your eye with a scarred thumb and you opened your eyes to lock on his. “No gloves,” you said, smiling tightly, before wincing as Madja applied local anesthetic to an arrow wound. Azriel smiled, eyes a little watery. “Not with you,” he whispered shaking his head, “never with you.” You smiled at him and the sight set Azriel’s heart to fluttering.

Later, after the arrows had been removed and wounds bandaged, you’d been given a strong herb tonic for pain that set your head swimming as exhaustion overtook you. Azriel carried you his room, laying you gently onto the mattress and covered you with the duvet. He leaned down then, breathing in your scent as he placed a kiss to your forehead, nuzzling his nose to the Winter white hair there. He would tell you. When you awoke, he would bare his soul to you. 

You woke with a groan. Fucking Gods, your body ached with the effort it took to roll over. “Easy,” a voice came from the corner of the room. Your breath gasped out of you as your eyes raced to the figure there. “Azriel,” you breathed. The male smiled warmly at you and stepped forward to rest at the edge of the mattress. You pushed up in the bed, the wound at your shoulder screaming from the exertion. Once in a sitting position, you rested your back on the headboard as you looked at him. “For taking out a small militia, you seemed to be decently uninjured,” you said smiling tightly, memories of the stranger and his whip haunting your mind. He snorted a small laugh, “Yes well,” he looked down then, thumbs fiddling with each other, chest heating, “I had something worth fighting for.” 

He looked back to you and your cheeks had grown pink, a small pleased smile at your lips. “I heard you, you know,” he said softly, turning enough to rest a hand on your thigh, thumb drawing small, soothing circles there. The heat generated in the touch sent a spark to your belly. Oh, you were fucked. “I heard you in my head, through the bond,” he said eyes watching his thumb as it traced on your bare skin hypnotically. 

“You know then?” You whispered, breath skittering out of you. You were scared to death of the trajectory the conversation was taking, your heart preparing for the best and the worst simultaneously. Azriel’s eyes dragged up your form to your face and a smile broke over his lips, one that caused your heart to ignite. Your Mother had once told you the heart was an organ of fire and you’d laughed, never having cause to believe such a statement. You understood now. 

“I—“ Azriel started, before clearing his throat, turning his body to face you in full, a knee pulled up on the mattress, touching yours. “In the whole time I have known you— two centuries, Little One,” he looked at you pointedly, “you have been my dearest friend, my greatest comfort, my confidant, and the person I admire most in this Gods forsaken world.” He breathed deeply, a whoosh exiting his lips as his hand tightened around your thigh. “The times when you were lost to me have been some of the most painful moments I’ve experienced.” 

Your eyes began to water, and you moved a hand to rest atop his own, thumb circling the scarred skin at his wrist. He took a breath then and the air shifted between you, his mouth opening and closing, as if he was gathering his confidence for what he was about to say next. “I have loved for you so long that I’d given up all hope of reciprocation.” The words shattered through you as all air escaped your lungs, guts swooping down as heat alighted there. “I felt the bond the night Eris came for you,” he continued, eyes watching your entwined hands. Your body went still and a startled laugh exited your mouth. Azriel’s eyes flew to yours questioningly. 

“Sorry,” you chuckled again, “I’m just realizing how fucking stupid we’ve been.” You lolled your to the side, watching him with loving eyes. “I’ve been in love with you for almost two centuries, Azriel,” you smiled, “I thought you wouldn’t want me.” Azriel’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing in disbelief, two then three times. You thought for a second to compare him to the guppy fish that swam in schools along the banks of the Sidra but refrained. 

He pushed forward then, hands coming to cup your face, pinky and ring fingers resting in the hollow below your ear, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “How could I not? You’re everything,” he whispered, searching your face, conviction showing in his eyes. You couldn’t stop the smile that overtook your mouth as you spoke, “and you’re my mate.” His eyes moved to your lips, glazing before they moved back to your eyes. “As you are mine,” he spoke confidently. 

Your eyes watched each other for a long second, “I really hope you’ll kiss me this time,” your hand trailed up his arm, fingers teasing. “Mother knows I’ve been dreaming of it for far too long.” He surged forward, lips meeting yours and you thought you might float away. You gasped and his tongue moved in, claiming your mouth, your taste with his own. 

He pulled away minutes later, a little breathless, “Sorry to have kept you waiting, my love,” he spoke, resting his forehead to yours with a smile, watching your dazed expression, pink cheeks, as your lips split into a grin. Your hand moved to the front of his button down, fisting in the material there, giving an experimental tug. “Kiss me like that again and I’ll consider forgiving you.” 

The laugh that came out of him was golden, and you pushed yourself to memorize it. Azriel, Lord of Shadows, Spymaster for the Night Court, Rhysand’s right hand and Illyrian warrior was soft for you. He loved you. He was your mate. You’d be giddy about it for the rest of your life. 

Your healing had been slower than you would’ve liked. The faebane had done serious damage but with Madja’s help, the scarring was minimized. The lashes at your front took two weeks to heal, the arrow wounds took three. Three fucking weeks. Meanwhile all you could think about was your mate. He hadn’t left your side in the interim. Helping you take steps, applying the wound creams that Madja had left in small glass pots, keeping you fed, making you laugh, telling you how much he loved you daily. Mother above, you were going to ruin this male. 

You walked into the kitchen at the end of week three, the only evidence of your wounds now in the slight limp of your right leg and twinge in your left shoulder. The marks at your stomach and chest had diminished into barely there, silver scores. Cassian was sitting at the small table in the corner as you entered. “Hi Cass,” you greeted, “seen my mate around this morning?” It was fun calling him that, a small part of your chest swelling with pride each time. 

Cassian smirked, “He’s been…… out.” Your eyes narrowed, he was being evasive. “Out where?” You asked, grabbing an apple and hopping up on the counter to watch the male. He shrugged, “No idea, Little One.” You smirked, “I know where you sleep Cassian,” you started, “is it really wise to lie to me?” Nesta strode into the kitchen, “What’s he done now?” She asked laughing. “Hey! I’ll have you know I’ve done nothing!” The male exclaimed, “She’s interrogating me on the whereabouts of her maaate.” He dragged out the vowel of the last word mockingly. Nesta took her seat next to Cassian and laughed, “Ah, him.” She looked to you then, “he’ll be around to collect you soon.” 

You looked between the two, suspicion dripping from your features as you took another bite from the apple in your palm. “You two are being weird,” you stated. Nesta shrugged, nudging Cassian who smiled at her. “Just wait,” she said softly, “maybe cook yourself a meal.” Cassian’s mouth quirked with a laugh he restrained. “Right, I’m leaving, cause whatever this is,” you waved a hand at them, “is deeply odd.” You hopped off the counter and strolled to the exit.  You heard them laughing softly once you were out of the room, making you roll your eyes at their antics.

You’d gone to the library after leaving the kitchen and found Elain already there. Her eyes moved to you upon your entrance and she closed her book, middle finger marking her spot. “How are you feeling?” She asked softly, eyes surveying your body for lingering damage. You sighed, falling into the sofa across from her. “I’m better,” you said quietly, “the pain is gone, scars are minimal.” You turned your eyes to her, she looked brighter than the last time you’d seen her. “How are you?” You asked in return. She smiled sweetly. “Better,” she echoed you and you wanted to laugh. “I’ve been exchanging letters with Lucien,” she added and your ears perked up.

“That’s great, Elain,” you rest your chin on a closed fist, watching her. She shifted and sat her book to the side, page forgotten. “I want to tell you something,” she said quietly, fingers twiddling with each other. She looked... nervous? “I’m all ears,” you said softly. 

“I had a vision while you were gone,” she started and took a deep breath. “It was so muddled at first, I couldn’t tell who it was, but then I saw you. Your hair was longer, you stood taller, and your belly was round.” The breath left your body in a powerful exhale. She looked to you again, eyes watching yours, “You were pregnant and happy and in love,” she said quietly, as if the words in themselves were fragile. Your hands trembled and you moved them under your thighs, her eyes didn’t miss the action. 

“I couldn’t understand why the Mother would send me a vision like that, I saw Feyre’s pregnancy, but we’re sisters, you know?” You nodded. “Then I realized I recognized the tattooed arm I’d seen wrap around you, knew it was Azriel.” Your eyes watered, and you hiccuped out a small laugh. “I’ve known for a while you two were fated, but the Mother was telling me for certain. I hope you know how happy we are for you.” She finished and moved to sit next you, small hand touching your knee. 

“When they brought you in that night, I thought the Mother had lied to me, that it was a vision of what could have been, that you wouldn’t make it.” You’d never heard Elain speak at length in this way, and you thought you might stop breathing. “I’ve never been happier to see you than when Azriel brought you in to read days later, my sweet friend.” You surged forward, throwing your arms around the female and she returned the gesture warmly. 

You sat back and looked at her then. “Thank you,” you said, voice small, a little watery. She nodded before turning to resume her original spot at the end of the sofa, picking up her book and opening it to the page she’d left off. 

In the hours that followed, you’d returned to the kitchen, grateful to find Cassian and Nesta had left. You took Nesta’s advice, gathering the ingredients to build a small berry tart. It had just gone in the oven when your mate appeared in the doorway.

“Hello love,” he said casually, leaning against the door jamb. You startled, turning on your heel to find him smiling at you. “Where have you been?” You asked walking towards him and running your hands around his midsection in a hug, head resting against his chest. His arm came around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your hair, breathing in your scent. “That, my dearest one, is a surprise.” 

You looked up chin resting against his chest, watching his face. “It’d better be good, I baked for you,” you said, smiling softly at the Spymaster. His eyes moved to the oven then and back to you, irises darkening, as his pupils blew a little wide. “You… baked?” He asked disbelieving, “didn’t know you knew how to bake,” he followed up playfully. You gasped and shoved him, “for that, you can starve, have fun finding another mate to bake for you.” He laughed heartily and caught your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, eyes swimming with warm affection as he pressed a kiss there. Gods, the action made lust swoop in your stomach, heat spreading. 

“The fool I’d be to turn away such a female,” he said, voice deepening, lips running across your knuckles with each word. “Azriel” you breathed. “Yes?” He offered in return, still smiling, moving your knuckles back and forth against his hot mouth. “Please tell me this surprise involves you bedding me.” A growl creeped out of his throat, the thought of you under him sending lust racing down his spine and to his groin. 

“It might,” he said quietly, lips resuming their exploration, tracking small kisses from your knuckles, to the joint of your thumb, the inside of your wrist where Rhys’ tattoo lingered, up the soft skin of your arm, to your elbow, until he reached the skin of your shoulder. His lips traced over the raised skin there, a small nip above the scar as he traced north to your collarbone. You’d gone to putty in his hands, head rolling to the side to bare your throat. He pressed soft kisses there, pausing at your pulse point to trace the area with his warm tongue, a whimper escaping your mouth. 

“If this is going to become a regular thing, I’ll need you two to relocate to the River House,” a voice came from behind you and you jumped in shock, but your mate, he let out a possessive growl before turning on the intruder. Rhysand laughed airily and folded his arms over his chest. “Easy, brother,” he smiled, causing Azriel to roll his eyes. You blinked a little dazed, and pulled away from the Shadowsinger. “You’re gonna make me burn my fucking tart,” you shoved him with an arm and laughed as you turned to resume your place at the oven. 

Azriel instructed you to dress comfortably and be ready in a hour as he kissed your knuckles one last time and exited the kitchen. Butterflies roamed freely in your stomach at the thought of what he had planned. You’d returned to your quarters after removing the tart from the oven and portioning it into a small travel sized container. You were going to accept the bond, and your nerves were alight with anxious excitement. After you dressed in a lightweight linen dress, you packed a small bag with your remaining creams, and the boxed tart you’d prepared earlier. 

You descended the stairs to find Azriel waiting at the base, his wings standing proudly behind him, shadows skittering around his feet. At the sight of you they raced to meet on the bottom step, running up your legs, around your waist and into your hair. A laugh escaped you as one nuzzled into the space behind your ear. Azriel watched fondly. “They love you,” he said smiling, taking a step to meet you, “ever since the bond snapped, I’ve had the hardest time reining them back from touching you.” 

You reached a hand out to meet his, interlacing your fingers. “They’re cute, but you’re cuter,” you said with gentle affection. A shadow pinched at your waist and Azriel’s cheeks went a little pink as he laughed. 

“Will you tell me what the surprise is?” You asked as he walked you toward the training balcony. “I’m afraid I’m very poorly dressed for training,” you joked. He snorted, “no, we’re not training.” He came to rest at the railing and then turned to you, running a hand up your arm, fingers moving to hold the back of your neck, warm palm heating the skin there, thumb grazing your jawline. “Amongst many things I’ve been terribly late for recently, I realize I owe you a date.” 

Your face went a little puzzled and you looked to his eyes. “A date?” You questioned. He nodded, “I was supposed to take you flying.” Realization dawned on your features and a smile overtook your lips, each tooth shining in the setting sun. “I wanted to kiss you that night too,” you admitted laughing, remembering how desperate you’d been for his touch and attention. He smiled softly, “you have no idea how angry I was with Rhys for calling me away.” Your eyes widened, still in disbelief that this male wanted you return. It seemed both a millennia in the making and still so new and fragile. 

Azriel snuck an arm around your waist and brought you up into the stretch of his firm body. His other hand tracing down your hip, then thigh, to curve under your knees as he picked you up. His wings unfurled and he shot into the air. A shaky laugh startled out of you and you gripped him tighter, your arms winding around his neck. His wings flapped in thunderous bursts, taking you higher, until you could see the entirety of Velaris spread below, the Sidra flowing like a snake through the winding city. Your breath left you in awe. “The Peregryn was right,” you said loud enough for him to hear and he smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The flight was short, but it took you to the rural banks of the Sidra on the outskirts of the city, just before it emptied into the sea. You could see ships sailing into the harbor, moonlight beginning to trickle across the water. This was undeniably special, you thought, no one would see you up here and you felt like this was the edge of the world itself. You turned to Azriel, finding his eyes already watching you. “Thank you,” you said softly, leaning into him, his chin meeting your forehead as you moved your body to rest alongside the length of his. His hand came to rest at the small of your back, pinky stretching to graze the curve of your bottom. Wherever this was going, you were very interested. 

He turned and grasped your hand, pulling you back up the hill and away from the view, towards a field of wildflowers and grasses. There, in the middle, a blanket had been laid out, small candles lit to illuminate the setting. A basket sat in one corner, a bottle of fae wine held within with an assortment of pastries, breads, and cheeses. You realized quickly that your mate, the male you’d loved for damn near two centuries, was courting you. The thought thrilled you. 

He led you to the blanket and motioned for you to sit next him. “I must confess, I never took you for a romantic,” you said looking from the candles, to the basket, and then to him. He was watching you again. He smiled, laughing a bit nervously, “I’m a lot of things,” he said and your eyebrow quirked. “Oh yeah? Like what?” You challenged him and he loved you for it. You made him feel easy to love, you made loving fun and freeing. Azriel had once only thought freedom could be found in fucking and flying, then he’d found you and he knew it was there too. In the smile of your lips, in the thrill of your touch, in the ease of your love. 

“Well,” he started, moving his wings to lean into you, pressing a kiss to your exposed shoulder. The action caused you to shiver. “I’m a spymaster.” You snorted, “no shit.” A laugh rumbled in his chest. “I’m a bit shy as you well know, I’m quite fond of dancing, I’m—” he hummed the last letter, pausing his thoughts and moving his lips up your neck. “I’m in love with you,” he said biting into the flesh at the juncture of your collarbone and throat, cock hardening at the sound that rolled out of your mouth. “I’m going to take you right here, on this blanket, under the stars.” 

You gasped, your hands moved find purchase in the hair at the back of his head, fingers winding through the strands, nails dragging at his scalp. His nose ran the length of your jawline before his lips found yours. He rumbled a small hum the instant his mouth touched your own. At first it was a gentle press, teasing you as he had done today in the kitchen at the House of Wind. The adrenaline racing up your spine made you feel like you might vibrate out of your skin. His hand reached up then, threading broad fingers into your hair as he took the kiss deeper. Tonguing the bottom of your lip until your mouth opened, his tongue stroking your own. Humming with contentment, he tilted your head, deepening the kiss at a new angle that had heat swooping down to your core. 

You brought your left hand to his shoulder, fisting your fingers in the fabric there and pulling him closer. He understood your intention and leaned you back into the blanket, pleasure alighting each nerve as his body pressed into your own. He eased up on your lips and began a slow trek south, pulling the strap of your dress down the curve of your shoulder, leaving a love bite there that had you gasping. He kissed down the bust line of the dress, laving his tongue at the swell of your breast. Your breath was coming in pants and you pressed yourself up on your elbows as he moved further south, fingertips tracing the hem of your dress that had risen to the middle of your thigh. 

He looked back to you and smiled, mischief playing in his eyes as he ran his hands up your thighs, the slow drag pulling the dress with it. “I’ve been thinking about your cunt for centuries,” he said, his lips on your knee, pressing insistently as they moved north. “I’ve been dreaming of making you come on my tongue since I met you.”

Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop as you feel his tongue at the juncture of your hip and thigh. His mouth was insistent at skin there, tonguing the lace of your panties before pulling them down your legs and off entirely. He picked up a foot, placing it to his chest as he traced the long line of your body with hungry eyes. You were panting already, dressed rucked up around your waist, straps fallen down your arms and breasts heaving. His gaze flowed south and landed on your pink cunt, glistening, begging for him. His eyes went back to your face then, and his titled his head to the side, “Will you let me eat your pretty little cunt?” He asked fingertips tracing the scars of your calf with reverence. He brought your foot up, kissing the inside of the ankle, then nosing his way over your scarred calf, suckling at the skin there. “Please,” he added, eyes moving back to yours as his mouth continued his ministrations. 

“Mother above, Azriel,” you breathed and a laughed startled out of you, “you are mouthy.” He chuckled darkly then, nipping at your knee, taking special care to press a gentle kiss at the new scar there. “Is that a no then?” He said softly and your head fell back with a groan, exposing your neck to his view. “As if,” you said, head pulling back up and lolling to the side to rest on your shoulder. “I’ve thought about it too, and if you back out now I will explode.” He laughed again, freely this time, forehead resting on your thigh. 

His eyes find yours again, and he kept them there as he traced his lips north. He nosed the juncture of your cunt and inner thigh, running a tongue along your mound. You gasped and eyes narrowed, watching him with rapt attention. He pressed a kiss to the top of your slit and his hands come up to open you to him, pulling the lips apart and tonguing the collected moisture there. Your head fell back as your elbows gave way, falling flat against the blanket. 

“You taste better than I imagined,” he said before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. The moan that left you had his hips pushing into the ground to find relief as his cock begged for release. His tongue flicked against your clit as he sucked and hummed. He thought this might become his favorite place in all of Prythian. He thought that every bad thing that had happened in his life seemed insignificant now that he was able to worship freely between your thighs. He traced fingers up and paused to wet them on his tongue, before pushing his middle and ring finger in to the second knuckle, pulling them out and scissoring them back in again. His tongue found your sweet little button for a second time that night and he laved at it, listening to your cries as he pushed you to the brink. Azriel’s life had been a nightmare, but between your thighs, mouth on your cunt, walls fluttering around his fingers, he thought he’d been blessed by the Mother herself. 

Your hips rocked up in time with his fingers and you cried as your gut twisted, the coil there tightening. “Az-“ you gasped. “Azriel,” you went a little whiny on the vowels of his name, and your hand reached down to thread your fingers into his hair, nails scratching and tugging the strands. He hummed, the vibration sending shocks up your spine. “Azriel, baby,” you gasped, coming up on an elbow again, rutting your hips into his face as he took you higher. He didn’t let up, suckling at your cunt, fingers finding the spongy spot on the backside of your clit that made the world go blank “Azriel!” you gasped again, hips stuttering out, “Fuck, fuck— oh.” In seconds you were reaching your peak, hips faltering, thighs twitching, toes curling into the hard planes of his back. 

He pulled his mouth off of you, pressing kisses to your pubic bone as he moved north up your stomach. He eyes were alight with desire, the male was pure want and you were his last meal. He pulled his fingers from your cunt and trailed them up to rest at your neck as he slotted his body between your thighs and kissed you. The hedonism of tasting yourself on his mouth made you wetter, cunt pressing into the hard line of his cock, still restricted in his trousers. He moaned at the contact, mouth leaving yours to rest his head against your chin and gather himself. The sound sent a pleasurable shock directly to your core. You grasped the hand at your throat and brought his fingers up and to your mouth, tongue laving at them before taking them to the knuckle, and pulling back slow, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking, keeping your eyes on his. He bared his teeth the sight and ground his hard cock into you, the friction on your clit making your thighs twitch. 

“My sweet little mate,” he cooed. “Love of my life,” he nosed your cheek, his fingers still in your mouth. “All my dreaming has been put to shame it would seem,” he pulled his fingers from your mouth and replaced them with his tongue, his hands flying to his belt. He growled in struggle and you ventured a laugh. His eyes found yours and his jaw ticked, “keep laughing, sweet girl, I’ll fuck your throat next and you won’t come.” Your eyes went a little wide and a feline grin appeared on your face. “Mouthy indeed,” you said with glee as he finally got the buckle undone and pushed the pants down and off. 

His shirt went next and your fingers traced up his exposed arms to his shoulders. “I’ve seen you shirtless a dozen times, and you still take my breath away,” you said softly, a hand resting on his pectoral. He laughed and went a little pink, before he pushed your dress up your body and over your head, leaving you bare. “I’ve always been impressed by your ability to so disarming,” he said, mouth finding the space above your breast as his hands came to cup them, fingers toying with the nipples. “It’s my favorite thing about you, you see me in a way I can’t even see myself,” he followed up. 

Your eyes watered at the admission and your hands found his face, bringing his mouth back to yours as you kissed him again, tongue entwining with his. Your hands grasped his shoulders, as your leg found his hip and you pushed him over, onto his back. Your hands came to rest on his chest as you settled your weight on his lower abdomen. You could feel his manhood standing to attention, insistent at the curve of your ass and you reached around to grasp it, pushing your chest out for his greedy eyes. Taking him in long strokes, you ran your hand up and down, circling your thumb around the head. His eyes screwed shut as his breathing shallowed. 

“Wanna know a secret, baby?” You offered, rocking your hips in time with your strokes. He whined then, the Lord of Shadows keened a little whine for you that had you ready to come right there. “Last time we hosted a gala, that night before Hybern,” you were panting, “all I could think about was taking you to bed.” His eyes opened and hazel was gone blacked out in pure desire. His hands found your hips and his own began to move in time with you. “I thought about riding you,” you said, twisting your hand in a way that had his breath guttering out of him. “I thought you might love me in the way you looked at me.” His eyes softened and he leaned up, hands tracing up your spine as he pressed kisses to your chest. 

“I loved you that night and every night since,” he said before tonguing a nipple and sucking it into his mouth. “That dress you wore, my color, had me hard for a week.” You laughed then removing your hand from his cock and bringing both to his face, so you could kiss him. His hands slipped to your ass then, palming the cheeks as his tongue moved in tandem with yours. When you moved back from him, a string of salvia still connected you two, you reached up to comb fingers through his hair gently.

“I brought you something,” you said quietly, looking to the corner of the quilt where your bag had dropped ages ago. His brow furrowed, confusion showing in his features. “You don’t have to, but I brought some of that tart. If you want,” you offered the statement nervously, as if there was still a chance for rejection. Azriel’s heart went soft and his brain turned to mush.

“You want to accept it?” He questioned, hands sliding up your back and to your waist. You smiled and looked at him incredulously, “Of course I want to accept it, it feels like I’ve waited a millennia for you.” You’d laughed a bit and that feeling of home raced through him again. Gods, he was fucked. 

You leaned off his lap, pulling the strap of your bag to you and unzipped it. There, packaged in a little glass container, lay a small slice of the berry tart you’d fretted over earlier in the day. “Nesta made some stupid comment about ‘cooking’ when I’d asked where you were,” you laughed in hindsight at the female’s leading words. “She knew because Cassian knew, he helped me with the food and candles,” Azriel murmured pushing your hair up and over your shoulder. 

He pulled the container from your grasp then and opened it before picking the pastry up with his fingers, the same fingers that had been inside you minutes ago. Eyes on yours he took the first bite, your heart thrumming as the golden thread of your bond lit up like the sunrise. His eyes never left yours as he consumed the pastry in four bites, swallowing and pulling his fingers into his mouth at the remaining sweetness there. 

The bond between you two was shining, strong and thrumming with love. ‘Hi,’ you tried, your thoughts reaching out to him. He smiled, laughing freely, and his voice came through clearly, ‘Hi, Little One.’ You choked out a laugh, eyes watering as you leaned forward to kiss him, tasting the berries on his tongue. ‘Can I make love to my mate now?’ He questioned down the bond and you laughed again. His hands were already tracing your hips as you leaned forward, hand reaching underneath to guide him into your cunt. Lowering yourself down, you rocked forward once then twice in order to take him to the hilt. 

Mother above, he was big. His cock was thick and filled you wholly, pushing against your cervix making your eyes flutter in pleasure. You thought of the comment Mor had made about wingspan once decades ago and you heard him laugh, “I’m flattered, truly,” he said playfully, reading your thoughts and nipping at your shoulder.

You rose up again and set to riding him slowly, hips moving in long strokes as his hands traced your ass, pulling at the flesh there in time with your movements. You gave a experimental squeeze of your walls, and he keened a loud moan that had you speeding up your flow. “You keep that up, Little One and I won’t last,” he panted at your throat. “That’s rather the point,” you laughed breathlessly, your own hand moving to cup your breast, the other sliding down to circle your clit. His eyes traced the view greedily, moving down to the point where you connected, watching your cunt take him in full, his cock glistening with your shared wetness. He bared his teeth at the sight, a rumble lighting in his chest. 

Just as your walls began to flutter with your impending orgasm, he grasped you and flipped you to your back, pulling your hands from your body and entwining your fingers with his own on each side of your head. He ground his pelvis in deep and your legs hitched higher around his waist. “Azriel, fucking Gods,” you called out at the switch in angle, the tip of his cock grinding into your cervix. He hummed at your throat, teeth marking you there as his hips pulled out and pushed in, grinding each time he bottomed out into you. His wings flared behind him and you thought you’d never seen a more beautiful sight. 

“You take me so well, my love,” he panted, “you were made for me.” You whined then, cunt fluttering around him as he bottomed out deep and held it there, grinding his pubic bone into your clitoris. The pleasure raced up your spine and you thought you’d never be able to leave this place, might have to keep him inside you forever. He growled, reading your thoughts. “You want me to fuck this cunt forever?” He asked aloud leaning up, pulling his hands from yours. 

You whined at the loss, but the sound died as he pulled your legs up his waist to his shoulders, kissing the scarred calf. He drew his cock out, only to slam back in. “Fuck,” you moaned out, voice going up two octaves. “You want me between your thighs for the rest of my days?” He said again, hips moving faster, your hands moving to your tits as they bounced from the impact. His eyes watched the movement and he bared his teeth again, turning his head to bite into the flesh of your calf. 

“Azriel!” You called out again, pleasure zipped up your spine and you felt your stomach tighten. “Az, baby, I’m so close.” He chuckled darkly. “Be a good girl and come on my cock,” he said as his fingers traced down your leg to find your clit, rubbing the bundle in quick, timed circles. “Az- I-,” you barely got the words out before your orgasm overtook you, a long moan exiting your mouth as your cunt tightened around him, he ground into you and worked you through it, before dropping your legs back to his hips and pistoning deeper.

“My sweet mate,” he gasped at the skin of your throat, mouth tracing up to find yours, hands finding purchase on your thighs as he pulled you open, allowing him dive deeper. “My darling love,” he moaned and his tongue moved with yours, your hips pushing up to meet his thrusts, walls fluttering against his velvet length with the remnants of your orgasm. 

You ventured your hand up his shoulder to the base of a wing and traced your fingers up the membrane to the bone. His eyes twisted shut, and he keened a low primal whine that had your cunt ready to come again. At the tightening of your walls, he groaned dark and deep, shadows seeping from him, as he pushed in, grinding against the innermost portion of you. His hips pulled out slightly and then pushed back in as his cock kicked, come spurting against your walls. He panted against your throat as his hands released their hold on your thighs and moved up your body before grasping your throat. He moved up to lean over you and his eyes found your own. He gave an experimental thrust of his hips and your eyes widened. Fucking Cauldron, he was still hard. 

He laughed then, nuzzling at your mouth as he nipped at your bottom lip. “I’m giving you five,” his voice was deeper than you’d ever heard it, “and then I’m eating my come from your cunt and fucking you until the sun comes up.” 

You gasped out a laugh as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. ‘They call it frenzy for a reason,’ you thought, kissing along his cheekbone and to his mouth. Gods, you were fucked. 

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[cosmic-whispers]

Control - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel attacks you after being mind controlled by an enemy with daemati powers and struggles to grapple with the guilt that follows. 

Warnings: angst, violence, reader being strangled and attacked, mind control 

Words: 6.0k

A/N: Hi everyone! It’s been a while since I’ve posted here, life has been crazy lately and writer’s block doesn’t help. I missed writing and was finally able to get this out. Hope you all enjoy!

Your breath came out in heavy pants and your legs burned as you ran through the thick foliage of the jungle. Eldric, the daemati high fae you and Azriel had been tracking for the last week, turned a sharp corner and you pushed your legs harder, ignoring the burning ache in your thighs. You groaned in frustration after his image disappeared around the corner. He had evaded you again. 

You slowed to a stop, knowing the pursuit was pointless. Your shoulders slumped and you ran a hand down your face. The sound of flapping wings filled your ears as Azriel broke through the branches hanging overhead and descended near you. A soft hand landed on your shoulder, the thumb rubbing soft, comforting circles in the fabric of your leathers. 

“Should we look for him again?” you asked, looking up at him. 

He shook his head, disappointment and frustration shining in his hazel eyes. 

“We’ll find him again,” Azriel said. 

“He’s good,” you said. And he was. He was cunning, fast, and endowed with the same, rare power as your High Lord. He could be standing right in front of you and you would be none the wiser if he was able to break through your mental shields. He was nearly unstoppable. After a failed assassination attempt on Rhysand—where the male had gotten entirely too close—Azriel and you had decided to hunt him down and eliminate the threat. 

“We’re better.” You looked at him. Despite his obvious annoyance, he was confident in his words. You smiled softly at him, admiring his unwavering determination. 

“Getting cocky?” He smiled at you, his features lightening up, and he winked at you. You laughed, nervous as your cheeks heated up and your heartbeat increased. You looked away, hoping he did not notice just how flustered he made you. 

“I enjoy the challenge. Things were getting too easy.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes at him. 

“I have a shadow tracking him. This is his home, we have him cornered. We’ll get him soon.”

Despite his comforting words, the brief thought that you were on Eldric’s playing field crossed your mind. That perhaps he was toying with the both of you. You didn’t dare speak that into existence. You nodded at Azriel and you turned, retreating together through the thick underbrush until Azriel was able to fly the both of you out. 

The small inn you were staying at was stationed near the jungle's edge. The flight there was short and you relished being in Azriel’s strong arms as long as possible. 

The room was small, the single bed pushed against a wall and a tiny restroom where Azriel’s wings barely fit in off to the side. 

“You can freshen up first,” he offered and you smiled, grateful to get the sweat and grime off your skin. 

You walk into the dingy, cramped room, grimacing at the tiny tub you had been forced to squeeze into for the past week. You closed the door behind you and your face heated at the lack of a lock. The only thing separating your body from his was one thin piece of wood without a lock. You prayed to the Mother that he could not scent the sudden arousal that flooded you in unrelenting waves, surprised at your own self-control for the past week. 

You forced yourself through the aimless bathing, preparing yourself for bed, and trying to distract yourself from the indulgent thoughts of him. You blushed as you slipped the silk nightgown Mor had packed for you over your head, wondering if Azriel had taken notice of the contour of your figure through the thin fabric. 

You stepped out of the restroom, eyes immediately finding Azriel’s. His gaze trailed down over your body and you felt every cell in your body ignite. He was silent for a few seconds, causing butterflies to erupt within you. 

His eyes met yours once more, intense and unreadable, and heat crept up your neck and face. 

“The restroom is free,” you said, needing to break the heavy silence. Your voice was quiet and you hoped he could not hear the quiver when you spoke. 

He nodded, gaze still unwavering from you. You stared back until he cleared his throat and made his way into the restroom. You let out a heaving breath, hoping to shake the tense nerves. You distracted your thoughts away from him as much as you could, getting ready and climbing into the bed. The bath water ran muffled through the door and your thoughts wandered. He was naked, with just a wooden door with no lock in between the two of you. You felt your body heating and hoped that sleep would overtake you soon. 

The water shut off after some time and he exited the bathroom. He was shirtless, tan skin glistening from the steam of the bath and the hot climate. Your breath caught at the sight of his defined, rippling muscles and the swirls of tattoos adorning his skin. No matter how many times your eyes were blessed by the sight, you found yourself struck dumb every time.  

“Are you alright?” he asked, looking at you with his brow furrowed. “You seem flushed.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you hoped he could not notice the bashfulness that filled you.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just tired and it’s warmer here than I’m used to. I’ve been away from home for too long”

You quickly faced away from him, laying on your side and moving as close to the edge of the bed as possible. You focused your thoughts on your breathing rather than the male, trying to calm yourself. There was shuffling behind you and you felt the bed dip as he laid down next to you. Your heart was racing and it nearly beat out of your chest as he shuffled closer to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer, pinning you against him. Your skin felt electric, set alight by the feel of his rough hands and the weight of his arms around you. 

“Good night, sweetheart,” he murmured, his gravelly voice close to your ear sending rippling shivers down your spine. He had to be doing it on purpose. He was the most observant person you knew. How could he not realize the effect he had on you?

You gulped and gently cleared your throat. “Good night, Az.”

Neither of you had ever spoken about it. You were the one that was able to pull him from the dark crevices of his mind. And he was the one who was able to comfort you when no one else could. He was your safe place when your walls crumbled around you. You trusted him more than anyone. The lingering tension was always heavy, but your friendship was sacred and you had formed an impenetrable bond you were unwilling to break. 

His arm tightened around your middle, pulling you tighter against his warm body. His shadows swirled around your hands, softly tickling your skin and you sighed, content and finally relaxed as his soft breaths lulled you to sleep. 

————-

The bright moon shined through the window, illuminating the dark room in a soft, silver light. His thoughts raced through his mind—barely forming before another took its place. Between the feel of you in his arms in that damn nightgown and the elusive daemati, he knew it would be another sleepless night. 

Despite the comfort of you safe in his arms, Azriel couldn’t sleep. The taunting, smug smile of the daemati male haunted his mind and he simmered in anger. It shouldn’t be so hard to catch him. It shouldn’t have taken him this long. The male should never have gotten that close to Rhysand in the first place. He should have never let it happen. 

He needed to prove himself—to redeem himself. After centuries of honing his skills, Azriel had an appreciation for his powers. He was confident in his ability to serve his court. He was a capable spy, his shadows giving him an edge over most adversaries. But the whispers in his mind would never be fully silent—he would always be that scared little boy, desperate to prove that he was good enough to deserve everything he had. 

And after a week of tracking Eldric, he was still nowhere closer to catching him. It felt like he was chasing smoke. It felt like he was failing. 

You sighed softly in your sleep, turning in his arms to face him and you snuggled your face into his chest. His eyes turned to you and softened at your peaceful expression. Your presence always calmed him, centered him. 

His heart beat wildly in his chest and soared at having you like this. He smiled softly, memorizing the feel of you and your soft breathing in his ears. The past week had been bliss—sleeping with you in his arms and having you so close to him. 

Your sweet scent drifted toward him and he reveled in the essence of you—his best friend. He trusted you like no one else; he was able to confide in you with secrets that not even his brothers knew. He found himself falling for you more each day. He knew that friends don’t look at each other like you did. Deep down, he had strong suspicions about who you were to him, but he never dared to think about it too much—too afraid to be wrong and disappointed. It was wishful thinking to believe that you were fated to him. 

He sighed, knowing he was too strung up to fall asleep. He gently moved you to your side of the bed, making sure you were comfortably tucked in. His scarred hand tenderly caressed the side of your face, your soft skin feeling delightful against his. He admired your features for a moment, wondering how someone could be so beautiful. He shook the thoughts away, making sure you were safe and snuggled before he stood, slipped into his leathers, and left the room. 

The darkened halls of the inn were eerily quiet, the patrons and staff asleep. His siphons cast a light blue light, guiding his way outside. He was too restless and needed to leave, to do something useful instead of lying down and being consumed by his thoughts. He could get some work done. 

He made his way through the dense undergrowth, footsteps silent and shadows shrowding him in darkness. They easily guided him closer to where he knew Eldric tended to camp, to where his gray shadow had followed him. He secured his mind shields, building them up, ensuring that the male would not sense him. The moon had shifted in the sky and Azriel estimated he had been walking for nearly an hour when he found the secluded campsite. It was almost impossible to see, his belongings nestled at the entrance of a tunnel in the ground, covered by leaves and branches. He hid in the darkness the massive trees provided, his shadows helping shield any part of him that light would reveal. 

It was dark, but Azriel could make out light smoke from a small campfire, and the scent of cooked meat permeated the air. He had been there recently. He watched the entrance to the tunnel intently, hoping to catch a glimpse of movement. Was there another entrance he could use to ambush Eldric? He sent a shadow to investigate and continued his surveillance. He stood silently and immobile for over an hour without even a hint of the damn daemati anywhere near. 

The shrouding silence of the night was interrupted by a shrill scream coming from somewhere behind him. His heart leaped into his throat, beating wildly as panic crept up in his chest. He knew that voice. 

It was you. 

His mind emptied of all thoughts as he took off in the direction he heard you from. Why were you here? He had left you peacefully sleeping in bed. He was panting hard, heart nearly beating out of his chest as pure fear spread through him. His body was sweating and he found it increasingly hard to take a deep breath in as if he was being suffocated. 

His legs wouldn’t carry him fast enough and his wings kept getting in his way. He screamed in frustration as he twisted in between a thick gathering of trees. Was he even heading in the right direction? His shadows had been dispersed to search for you, but it was taking too long for them to return to him. 

“(Y/N)!” he called out. He knew it was risky and that his position would be revealed if Eldric was anywhere near him. But he was desperate to find you. 

“Azriel!”

He bolted to his left, your voice guiding him to you. He reached a small meadow, the lush ground free of trees and sprinkled with vibrant flowers and rock formations. His eyes immediately found you, tied to a tree at the other end of the clearing. Your shoulders shook as tears ran down your face as you looked at him and smiled in relief. 

“You found me,” you said softly, teary-eyed and vulnerable. 

“Always,” he whispered and rushed to you. His shadows appeared, swarming around him, whispering frantically. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, voices becoming deafening and he ordered them away as he reached you. He kneeled and his hand lifted to where thick rope held your wrists together. As his skin was about to brush against yours, you vanished like mist in his hands. He choked on air, distressed, and confusion filled him as you disappeared from right in front of him. 

“It was really too easy.”

Azriel’s blood ran cold and his muscles clenched. He turned, finding himself face-to-face with Eldric. He reeled his shadows close to him, preparing for a fight against the male. Eldric was relaxed, his shoulders slumped slightly and he leaned casually against a tree.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

“Seems like I’ve found your weakness, Shadowsinger.”

Rage was a burning, eviscerating fire within him and he snarled at the daemati, like a wild animal. The male laughed, smug and taunting. 

“Where is she?” 

“I’m not quite sure. I assume asleep at the inn, right where you left her. Or perhaps she’s woken up and decided to follow you into the jungle. Would not be her best idea–but I suppose that’s why you like her so much. You’re both fools.”

“I will kill you if you hurt her. And I’ll make sure it’s slow.” His fists clenched at his side, his nails leaving deep imprints on the palm of his hand. He fought to stay in control and focused.

“Me? Hurt her?” Eldric laughed, acting offended at the accusation. “I think the one you should be worrying about is yourself.”

In a split second, Azriel had the terrorizing realization of what was about to happen. What he might be forced to do. And no training with Rhysand could prepare him against someone who had honed his abilities for centuries and was willing to destroy his mind. 

He tried to resist with every ounce of strength in him, but the talons shredded the shields protecting his mind like a knife through butter. A sharp pain exploded in the forefront of his mind and he screamed in agony as it spread across his entire skull. He was barely aware of falling to his knees and his hands clutched his head, pulling tight against the black strands. His mind was being invaded, the parasitic presence tainting his memories and thoughts and he sobbed. His last thought before the darkness set in was of you. 

—-------------

One Hour Earlier

You paced the length of the dark room for the hundredth time, it seemed. You were surprised the ground beneath your feet did not catch on fire. You had awoken almost an hour ago, a brief moment of panic and disappointment filling you as you found the space beside you empty. You cursed the innkeeper for not having a bigger room with another bed. Despite relishing in the feeling of being in Azriel’s arms, you had grown accustomed to his presence and comfort and now were having a difficult time sleeping without him. 

You realized pretty quickly that the Shadowsinger had probably gone looking for the daemati alone. He had tried numerous times throughout your stay to go out on his own, claiming he was protecting you or not wasting time. Stubborn Illyrian baby. He was going to get himself killed. 

You wished you had daemati powers at that moment. You needed to speak with Azriel, see him, and make sure that he was alright before lecturing him about being reckless. He meant well, you knew that. Yet, the frustration settled low in your chest and you wanted to rip your hair out in distress as your mind dwelled on all the negative possibilities. 

You knew him better than anyone. You knew he felt defeated and wanted to catch the damn fae. You knew he felt like he needed to redeem himself, like somehow everything that had happened was his fault for failing to protect Rhysand. He failed to realize that he did protect Rhysand. He stopped Eldric before he could get to the High Lord and has been chasing his tail ever since, getting closer and closer to catching him. Your exasperation with the Illyrian grew like a tightening noose, its relentless grip clutching at you. How could he not see how wonderful he was? Why did he feel like he needed to throw himself into these situations without any backup and risk his own life? 

You decided to go looking for him, dressing quickly and grabbing a lantern to light your way. You had to make sure that he was safe.

You hardly knew where to begin searching and figured retracing your steps from earlier in the day was a good place to start. You walked through the dense trees, hoping that a predator was not stalking you in the dark of the wilderness. The soft light from the lantern illuminated the space in front of you and you kept your eyes peeled for anything dangerous you might run into.

You traveled for over an hour, each step spiking your anxious heart and you prayed to find him soon. You find yourself in a clearing, dappled with the flickers of moonlight. Small wildflowers littered the ground, their bright summer colors illuminated by the shining moon above you. You took a moment to admire the scenery before your eyes caught on the soft blue shimmering light emanating from Azriel’s siphons. He faced away from you, but you knew that he was aware of your presence. His spine was straight, body tense and unnaturally still. 

“Azriel?” Your voice echoed lightly in the silence of the night, the answering chirps from the bugs and grasshoppers deafening. 

He turned to you, steps slow and deliberate. 

He glowered at you, a predator locking in on its prey, and you stalled. Fear lit up inside of you for a moment and you took a step back, away from him. You had grown accustomed to his gaze being filled with warmth and softness and the sight of his icy glare sent tremors down your back. He didn't seem to recognize you, his large frame completely still and not a wisp of his shadows anywhere near him. 

His gaze remained unwavering, pinning you to the spot for a few more moments until he snarled at you. 

“You,” he growled, like a feral animal, his voice dark and coarse. Your eyes widened as he began sprinting full speed towards you, thundering footfalls on the ground bringing you back to reality and you gasped as he reached you. You thought back to all the Valkyrie training and the practice sparring you and Azriel would often engage in, hoping against hope that it was enough to keep you alive. 

You swerved to the left as he reached you, using your smaller size to avoid the direct impact from Azriel’s body. While Azriel’s brute strength would easily overpower you, you were agile. He regained his footing, swinging at you and you barely managed to block his arm. Shooting pain radiated down your wrist, and you realized that he had never truly used his full strength against you in training. You would not be able to take him. You knew you couldn’t keep up the cat-and-mouse game for much longer. His Illyrian instincts were intact and he was quick on his feet as he charged at you again, and you were able to avert him once more. 

He was much closer to you now, and you took a tentative step away from him. From that distance, you could see his features twisted in rage and the dazed, cloudy look in his hazel eyes. The realization rushed over you like ice water. Eldric. He had broken into his mind. Pure ice filled your veins—his mind was being controlled to hurt you. Your heart clenched and you prayed to the Mother and any gods in the universe that his mind was not lost. That there was still hope of getting him back. 

His shadows suddenly appeared, and fear filled you for a brief moment until you noticed they swarmed around his face, momentarily blinding him. He wasn’t using them to attack you–they were attacking him. They were helping you. 

You took advantage of his momentary distraction, using the lantern you still had in your hand, and swung, the impact of the metal on his skull echoing in your ears and you smelled the hint of metallic blood. He was still standing upright, trying to fight off the blinding shadows. One wrapped around your wrist, trying to pull you away, but you stood your ground. You could not leave him like that. 

You swung the lantern again, hoping to knock him out with the impact, but his large, scarred hand flew out and wrapped around your wrist, the tight grip making you whimper in pain as he squeezed harder. You tried to shake him off, aiming a kick toward his groin, but he growled and blindly tackled you to the ground before you were able to get another hit in. 

You heard–rather than felt–your head smashing against the hard rock underneath you. Your ears began ringing, the deafening sound and painful pressure building in the back of your head making you delirious and your vision began to blur. You were going to pass out and that realization made you panic. 

You knew he was significantly stronger than you, his Illyrian genetics making him near indestructible. You had no hope. You yelled for Rhysand in your head, praying to the Mother that he could hear you from Velaris. Azriel’s large hands wrapped around your neck, squeezing. You looked up at his face–gorgeous, despite the frigid fury that lingered in his features. His empty eyes looked into yours, unseeing and frightening. 

The air was trapped inside you, your lungs burning as they begged for air. A stabbing pain spread across your neck as he squeezed harder and tears escaped your eyes. You wanted to beg him to come back to you. You felt your face heat up as the pressure began building further and further in your head. The pulsing pressure intensified and your vision narrowed, a rushing sound filling your ears like a crescendo as darkness greeted you. 

———————

Flickers of light danced across your vision. You felt yourself slowly awaken. There were soft, silk sheets beneath you, the air smelled like the cinnamon buns Elain was so fond of baking, and a soft voice drifted near you, reciting lines from a book you had recently read. You forced yourself to blink your eyes open, the light of the window causing them to ache. You groaned and shut your eyes tight in discomfort. 

“(Y/N)!” You squinted your eyes open, thankful for the curtains that had just been drawn. You looked up at Feyre as she approached you and grasped your hand. 

“We were so worried!”

“What happened? Where’s Azriel? What about Eldric? How long have I been out?” Your voice was raspy, and it felt like needles scraping against your throat when you spoke. You coughed, the burning intensifying, and a sharp headache began forming. Feyre’s hand supported your back as she helped you sit up on the bed and passed you a drink of water and a vial of medication you assumed Madja had left for you.

The cool liquid felt heavenly against your throat and you sighed in relief as the medication began coursing through you, helping clear your mind of the pain-infused fog. 

“Please drink it all,” Feyre said. “You’ve been out for two days.” She took the empty glass from your hand and placed it on the nightstand next to you. 

“Do you remember what happened?” she asked you carefully. She looked at you, eyes soft and brows creased. 

You nodded, Her hand tightened around yours and you swallowed the knot that rose in your throat. “Azriel?” you rasped out, your voice weak and thin. 

Tears filled Feyres eyes as she looked at you and your heart raced in your chest as dread filled you. 

“Rhys was able to get there in time. Eldric managed to break down Azriel’s mind shields and essentially took control of his mind. His goal was to infiltrate Velaris and go for Rhysand using Azriel. Rhys was able to break the control away from his mind and killed Eldric.”

You stared at her, eyes wide and the blood in your veins had gone cold. You knew damn well the damage that daemati powers could cause. His mind could be obliterated. You quickly shook the thought away, desperate for any indication that was not the case. 

“Is he alright?”

“He’s…as fine as he can be. He hasn’t left his room since we returned.” Your heart broke for him–for the selfless, kind male you knew who was being consumed by guilt. You rose from the bed, and Feyre startled, gently forcing you back onto the bed. 

“What are you doing? You need to rest,” Feyre said. 

“I’ve rested for days. I need to see him.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “It might not be safe.”

You looked at her incredulously. How could she ever think that Azriel would hurt you on purpose?

“How can you say that?! You know that if he was in control, he never would have hurt me. He’s not some rabid animal you need to keep away. He’s my best friend and I want to see him. It’s not his fault this happened.” You broke into a coughing fit again and she handed you another glass of water. 

“I know that; I do. I just worry about you. At least heal up first. And then we can go see him.” You didn’t miss the fact that she said we.

You sighed, your body exhausted and in pain, and decided to follow along for now. “Fine.”

Madja soon made her way into the room, happy to see you awake and you went through her examination without complaining once despite the haunting thought of Azriel in your mind. You fell asleep early in the afternoon, your body and mind fatigued.

—------------------

You heaved a sigh of relief as you found yourself alone for the first moment since you had awoken. Feyre had stayed by your side, perhaps thinking that you would try to sneak away to see the Azriel. The rest of the Inner Circle trickled in and out until Rhysand had to gently persuade his wife to join him in bed. 

As dusk settled and darkness started to take over, you gently rose from the bed. The rest you got during the day did you good, you felt stronger. You opened the door slowly, sneaking your head out to make sure that no one was keeping watch of your room. You quickly walked the length of the hallway, making your way to Azriel’s room.

You stared at the wooden door, feeling anxious and scared of the state in which you would find your friend. You took a deep breath and knocked softly on the door. Silence greeted you and you tried again. 

You slowly opened the door and looked inside after there was no answer. The room was pitch black, with no slivers of light making their way through the heavy, dark shadows that surrounded the space. Only a soft blue light emanated from the corner of the room–his siphons. You made your way to him, making your footsteps loud and deliberate, although he probably already knew you were there. He sat on the floor, his back resting against the wall. His shoulders were slumped and wings were pulled taut against his body. He had never looked so defeated. 

“Azriel.” You managed nothing more than a small whisper.

He turned his back to you and tears began to blur your vision. He didn’t want to face you. “Why are you here?”

His shoulders slumped and they shook as he took a quivering breath in. His shadows swarmed around him, trying to shield him from you. Or perhaps it was the other way around. 

“You shouldn’t be here. If you had any self-preservation, you would leave.”

You shook your head, taking a step closer to him. Your hands longed to reach out to him and comfort him, but you didn’t dare touch him, fearing that he would close himself off more. “I needed to see you. To make sure you’re alright.”

He let out a cynical laugh and you frowned. “I almost killed you, and you want to make sure I’m alright. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You knew he was upset and angry at himself over what happened. You did not doubt in your mind he was trying to push you away. And you’ll be damned if you ever let him do that. 

“Azriel, I know that wasn’t you. I’m so sorry for what he did to you.”

He shook his head, still refusing to meet your gaze. 

“I don’t want to see you, (Y/N).” The tears escaped your eyes, your heart breaking a million times over. 

“Well, too bad. Because I want to see you,” you insisted. 

His spine straightened and he turned to you, eyes full of rage and pain, and glistening with unshed tears. There were bags under his eyes, pronounced and dark. He had not been sleeping. “How can you stand to look at me?” he growled at you. “What I did to you–it’s unforgivable. I’m not good for you. I hurt you. Just leave.”

His eyes traveled down your face and stopped at your neck. You heard the breath catch in his throat, and his eyes widened, face growing ashen and he took a step back from you. Shit. You should have checked for bruises and tried to cover them up. Being so preoccupied with thoughts of the Illyrian before you, the thought had not occurred to you. 

“Oh, gods,” he whispered, his hands coming up to cover his face in shame. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He stepped away from you, silver lining his eyes. You took a tentative step towards him. 

“Az, you’re not going to drive me away. You’re my best friend, I’m never going to abandon you. I want to be here for you.”

His eyes blazed as he glared at you and you could almost feel him vibrating in unbridled rage. 

“I almost killed you! How can you not understand that?! I almost—“

You cut him off before he had the chance to continue. “You didn’t, though. I’m still here. I know that you weren’t in control. It’s not your fault, Azriel. I could never blame you for what happened.” 

He shook his head, dejected. “Why are you here?” His voice was quiet and small, and you had never heard him speak like that. 

“You already know,” you said slowly, your voice steady despite the tears flowing down your face. He stared at you, silent and stoic. He was waiting for you to take it back. To turn away and leave him. He knew why you were there despite what he had done. It was the same reason he had promised to always protect you. It was the same reason why you were always so comfortable with each other and why it was always so easy for him to let his walls down when he was around you. 

“No,” he whispered, eyes unwavering from yours. “I’m not good for you. And I certainly don’t deserve you. You shouldn’t want that.”

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat and slowly walked towards him, closing the distance between the two of you. He didn’t step away, but his eyes followed you, flickering down to the floor in shame when you got too close. Your hand raised, hovering over his face and you paused, giving him the time to pull away if he wanted to. He stayed still and you pressed your palm softly against his cheek and he sighed, closing his eyes. 

“You’re not a monster, Az. I know that. You’re a good male—the best kind there is.”

He shook his head and a tear escaped, trailing down his tan cheek and you gently brushed it away. 

“The things I’ve done…” He trailed off, unwilling to put his sins into words. 

“You’ve done difficult things for your court, but I know that you don’t take any pleasure in it. You do it because it’s what’s best for everyone. To protect the people you love. What happened was not your fault. Someone took control of you—please don’t blame yourself for that.”

Azriel nodded, his eyes slowly moving up and meeting yours. His gaze flickered back to the dark, hand-shaped bruises around your neck. Your fast healing was already starting to fade them. He raised his hand to touch you, but he pulled back quickly. Your other hand grabbed his, intertwining your fingers and you squeezed his hand in comfort. You brought his hand up to your face, pressing a soft kiss against the scarred skin of his knuckles. 

He let out a sob, grabbing you and pulling you tight against him, his arms wrapping around your smaller frame and enveloping you in the scent of mist and cedar. He dug his face into the crook of your neck and his arms tightened around your waist. 

“I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, and you hugged him tight, trying to comfort him as he cried. 

“There’s nothing to forgive,” you whispered, caressing the hair at the nape of his neck. 

He shook his head, weeping as he tried to calm his heaving breaths. “Yes, there is. Please.” His voice trembled as he pleaded for your forgiveness and you tightened your arms around him. There was nothing you had to forgive him for, but you knew that he had to hear it. You knew it would help him start to forgive himself.

“I forgive you. I know you would never hurt me.”

“I almost lost you,” he whispered, so low that you almost didn’t hear him. “You’re everything to me. I will never let anything like that happen again, I promise.”

There was something so astoundingly comforting about being held by Azriel, chests pressed together and arms wound around each other. The fact that he let you hold his hand, the feel of his flushed cheeks against your hand. He thought so little of himself and your heart clenched in sorrow for him. You wished he could see himself how you saw him. He brought you peace and relief. He meant more to you than you were ready to admit out loud. 

“I know. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be with you.” 

It would take so much for him to be able to forgive himself. There was so much you needed to talk about, but you knew the right moment would come along. Azriel needed your comfort and you needed him in that instant. 

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel

[azsazz]

Midnight Muse

Azriel x Reader [Art School AU]

Summary: You and your best friend Feyre have just moved into a new apartment for your sophomore year of college at art school. What you didn't know when you signed the lease is that you'd be living next to three rowdy boys.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1,804

Notes: This is going to be a good one you guys 💙 (yes I know I have a fic titled this already but it’s too good not to reuse, they’re not related btw)

_________________________________________

“I think that’s the last one,” you sigh, setting down a cardboard box labeled Living Room on the stack in the middle of the floor. It’s not heavy—filled with decorative pillows for the cheap futon couch shoved haphazardly against the wall—but the tower of boxes sways precariously and your roommate, Feyre, darts forward to reorganize them from before they all go tumbling down.

You and your roommate had been very organized at the start of your move, putting boxes into piles for which rooms they belonged to, but as the hot sun beamed down and the temperature outside rose, so did your tempers. The process ended with trying to get everything into your new fourth floor apartment as quickly as possible, which was a nearly impossible feat, due to the slow moving elevator.

Feyre sighs, hands on her hips as she surveys the mess of boxes. Neither of you packed lightly—a mistake you’d made the year previous too, and promised not to make again—the both of you refused to hire a moving service, intent on the fact that you could do all the heavy lifting yourselves. 

That definitely had been a mistake.

Panting a little, Feyre shoves the strands of gold-brown hairs clinging to her forehead away, sticky with sweat. The hairs at her nape curl away from her neck, and you’re so glad that she grew out those awful bangs over the summer. Now you don’t have to listen to her complain about how they’d be plastered to her head with sweat. The loose collar of her cropped shirt is damp, and she uses the hem to wipe at the perspiration beading at her hairline. “Fucking finally,” she moans, “I need a drink.”

“Alcoholic or energy?” you tease, but it’s not funny. You’re drained, and all you want to do is collapse on the navy futon that barely fits two, no matter how uncomfortable it is. But you’re hot, clothes irritating your skin from where they’re glued with sweat and your arms and legs burn with effort. A cold shower, tall glass of something icy, and a few hours napping will do you well. A grimace works its way onto your red face, “Tell me there’s air conditioning in this place.”

“Already on,” Feyre sighs, stalking into the kitchen. You follow after her, dodging boxes, and watch as she rips open the refrigerator door and shoves her head inside. It’s completely empty and you wince, knowing that it’s going to be a long weekend while you go shopping and unpack everything before the fall semester starts in a week.

You want to stop by the local art supply too, to gather the last of the material you need for your classes this year. It’s probably why you and Feyre have so many boxes; half of the ones adorning your apartment are stuffed with art supplies: brushes and paints of all varieties from oils to acrylics, graphite pencils and kneaded erasers, canvases both blank and filled. You swear there’s even an entire box dedicated to sketchbooks filled with random doodles and scribbled ideas for assignments that never turned into anything great. Feyre hadn’t been happy when she’d seen you’d left that box for her to carry up.

When Feyre’s had her fill of the crisp air, she hands you a bottle of water from the freezer. It’s nowhere near as cold as you’d like it yet. You’d run into the gas station to get a few bottles and candy bars while she filled up the tank of the U-Haul for your last stretch or the drive. It hadn’t occurred to either of you to grab something with more sustenance until this very moment.

“Ugh,” you groan, choking down the room-temperature water. It helps a little to soothe your parched throat, but nowhere near enough. “Do you have any money left in your account? We should Door Dash something for dinner, and call it an early night.”

“An early night?” Feyre retorts, making a face as she takes a sip of her own water. “We have a lot of unpacking to do. And our beds aren’t even set up yet.” 

“Fuck us,” you sigh, leaning against the marble. The stone is cool where it seeps through your thin shirt, and you ache to rip off your clothing and press your burning skin to it in an attempt to cool yourself off. “Let’s just find the boxes with the pillows and blankets and sleep in the living room, Fey. C’mon, it’ll be like when we were young again! Except now we’re old enough to buy alcohol.” You waggle your eyebrows at your roommate and she cracks a wry grin. “Well, almost old enough, but those fake ID’s Tarquin got us work like a charm anyway.”

“Fine,” Feyre relents, “Dibs on first shower, though.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

While Feyre uses all of the hot water, despite it being nearly ninety degrees outside—blasphemous for the end of August in the middle of Southern California—you take the chance to move the U-Haul from where you’d double-parked it outside of your new apartment building. Thankfully, you and Feyre had saved up enough money from working at an Art Camp for children this summer to have both of your cars shipped to school. It was cheaper to rent a truck and move all of your belongings yourselves than to drive down and let a moving company do it, plus, you and Feyre had wanted to road trip this summer but didn’t have the funds. You both had decided there was no better time for it—until you could properly afford one—than this.

You scroll aimlessly through your social media on the way down, the elevator so slow and creaky that you and Feyre opted to take the stairs for most of your journey. Bigger things like your beds, the futon, and the tv had been squashed into the tiny elevator and taken up with prayers it wouldn’t break down. You can’t help but glance up at the certificate that says the elevator is in running order until its next inspection in two years. 

“Is that forged, George Brown?” you mutter, squinting at the paper displayed in the corner. It’s frayed at the edges and yellowing, so you’re not all that sure this elevator has been inspected when it says it has.

It comes to a jerky halt that makes you sway when it hits the lobby. It’s as nice a building as you can afford on your budget, but the both of you will have to find part-time jobs as soon as school starts up, so that you have money to buy alcohol and food and supplies. Feyre’s older sister, Nesta, had lived here with her friends Gwyn and Emerie during their undergrad years, but they’ve moved on from shitty apartment buildings riddled with horny college students to renting a quaint house in town while working on their masters degrees.

When the doors to the elevator slide open you slip out as fast as possible, a shudder working its way up your spine. You wonder how many times it’s broken down, and you’d hate to be in there alone if something like that happened. Maybe you’ll take the stairs from now on unless you’re with someone.

The lobby of the building is small. There’s a front desk in which no one ever sits, as if the building used to be sophisticated once upon a time and a doorman used to occupy the space. Mailboxes pinned to the wall line the area behind the counter, and there sits a garbage can stuffed full with envelopes and more likely than not empty bottles of alcohol and take-away, maybe even a used condom or two.

It’s muggy down here, more so than your apartment that the landlord hadn’t turned on the air conditioning when he knew you’d be showing up today. Whatever, you hadn’t had to see the greasy man, he’d left the keys on the counter for you and Feyre to find when you’d arrived, and you were more than thankful for that.

You brush away some of the hairs that have come loose from your ponytail as you cross the lobby. The hazards of the U-Haul are blinking at a steady rate, the skies turning darker with the looming night. It had taken you and Feyre all day to unpack the truck, and you’re returning it tomorrow when your cars come in, so you need to move it to a normal spot for the night. 

Pushing open the door, your steps falter as someone brushes past you like a shadow, nearly hitting your shoulder with theirs. Your brows furrow and you turn to toss a comment about how rude they are but the words dry up in your throat. 

He’s tugging off a motorcycle helmet and you can’t help but watch the way his biceps bulge against his skin tight black t-shirt. The muscles of his broad back glide like butter beneath the fabric as he moves and you can’t help but let your gaze travel down his spine to his tight waist, dipping into dark jeans.

His thick soled boots thump loudly as he stalks through the door, stopping at the mailboxes to check if he has any letters. The tiny door opens with a squeak that has you snapping back into your body, stunned by his musculature. This man is a god of his own league. A masterpiece of perfectly crafted body parts and tones. He has an angular nose and long, dark lashes matching his disheveled hair. He runs his fingers through it and shoves the helmet under his armpit as he digs through his mailbox. Your fingers twitch to dig out your sketchbook and pencils from the box upstairs.

You force your gaze outside again, cheeks red hot with embarrassment. You were straight up ogling the man, and thankfully you’re not drooling, as you take notice while you wet your suddenly dry lips. 

You click the keys, unlocking the U-Haul, but stop short when you see that the truck is caged in, a big vintage Bronco parked behind, and a shiny motorcycle that looks like it moves faster than the speed of light wedged between the moving truck and the vehicle in front.

“Hey,” you call, ripping the door back open to the lobby. You have no doubt that the motorcycle is his, and the car behind had been there when you and Feyre had arrived this afternoon, so you don’t know whom it belongs to. “Is this your motorcycle?” 

The man is already on his way to the elevator, phone stable in his leather riding gloves as he swipes, envelopes tucked into his helmet. The elevator door screeches open and he doesn’t even bother to turn around and meet your gaze as he punches the button to his floor. “Nope.”

#azriel au #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #art school au #acowar #azsazz #acotar #acomaf #azriel #midnight muse #acotar series

[florencemtrash]

Chapter 11 of The shadow singer and the inkbird is so sweet 🥹

First of all, i think the gif was an hour long. Couldn’t stop staring at it. Second, Rhysand was so gentle and loving as was the whole IC - it took me back to Mist and Fury. Last and certainly not least, Azriel being the azriel we all imagine him to be. gah, love this chapter ❤️ hands down one of my favs now

Thank you so so so much. To be compared in any way at all to ACOMAF is just AHHHHHHHHHH!!! This writing project has been such a wonderful way for me to reconnect with these characters that I love so much and I’m glad I could do everyone (and especially Azriel) justice.

#azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x y/n #the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader slow burn

[feyreswaterybowels]

⭒The Silent One⭒

#3 Azriel x Fem!OC

⭒Part 1⭒Part 2⭒Part 3⭒Part 4⭒

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Azriel finds the guy that sold Cassandra. Lots of bonding happens with Cassandra, Azriel and other members of the IC. Slight cliffhanger.

Warnings/Tags: mentions/implied rape. Mention past sexual abuse. Mentions pregnancy from rape. Slow burn. Violence. Brief victim blaming. Found family. Protective!azriel. Protective!IC. GRAMMER ERRORS—I plan on going back to edit this please don’t judge me too hard I’m gonna have a busy week and just really wanted to get this posted for y’all🩵

Authors Note: all reblogs, likes and comments are welcome, appreciated and encouraged! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for the next chapter. Regular italics are inner thoughts and bold italics are mental communication.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

Azriel stands in the darkness of night watching. Waiting. Body thrumming with anger. Calm cold anger. The kind that got people killed if they didn’t give him what he was looking for.

Only moments after Cassandra’s departure had his shadow returned to him. Telling him where to find this Vale. This horrid male who was taking females away from their family and selling them off—profiting off of them like livestock.

He sees the male, recognizes him from the briefs flash of memory Cassandra let slip at dinner, the one where this mad had choked her, slammed her against the wall just for needing to use the restroom.

The male is loading something up in the back of a wagon, the building behind him dark and dingy. Azriel let his shadows take him closer. Closer. Until he was standing in the alley between this man's house and another. The smell was horrid, small creatures scurrying about looking for their meal for the evening.

The male retreats into the building and Azriel lets a shadow loose to follow him—to be his eyes inside of this building. Inside is just as dark and dingy and piled high to the roof with…stuff. The blue skinned male navigates the maze of boxes and bins and trash with ease. He seems to be the only one here but Azriel knew better so he waits following the man through the seemingly endless maze.

That’s when he hears it, his shoulders going tight, his jaw clenching. Crying—no sobbing. A girl begging to be left alone as the male grabs her and pins her down to the floor.

“Fuck,” he growls. He pounds his fist against the outside of the building, taking chucks of the stone out. It’s loud enough to distract the man, to get him away from that girl as he rushed from the room under the floor, locking the locks and coming out. Looking around wildly for the source of the sound.

Azriel winnows, leaning against the wagon the man had been loading before, whistling to get the man attention. He whirls around, black eyes narrowed in anger, freezing in place when they land on him.

“Shadowsinger?” He grunts, narrowing his eyes at Azriel. “What brings you to these parts?”

Azriel looks him over, the smell of shit, piss and rot was overwhelming even from this distance.

“Vale,” Azriel says, to let the male know he knows who he is, rightfully see the fear in his eyes. “I’m looking for something and I hear you’re the one to help me.”

“I ain’t got nothing you need, pretty boy,” Vale sneers, crossing his arms, looking Azriel over. Trying to come off as tough but it’s actually laugh-able.

“Are you sure?” Azriel asks, pushing off the wagon. Letting his wings spread wide, walking closer, towering over the male. “See, I’ve got this female telling me you bought her from her dad and sold her to a pleasure house. I mean, tell me I’m wrong, man. I’ve just gotta check on these things. It’s a pretty serious accusation and all.”

“That chick’s got the wrong guy. I would never do something like that. These bitches are always trying to get us males in trouble,” Vale said, seeming to relax. Big mistake.

“You think so? Just tell me if you know her man. About this tall, really pretty, tan skin, white hair. Wings.” Azriel growls the last word, the man’s eyes widening again, taking a step back.

“Look, man, it’s not like that. Her dad owed me money, so he gave me her instead cause he couldn’t afford to pay me back, okay? So I didn’t technically buy her,” He stammered out, trying to explain himself.

“Oh,” Azriel said, nodding his head. “Well, I mean, if you didn’t technically buy her then no law was broken.”

“That’s right!” The male nods, sighing in relief. “No law was broken, man. I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t do that—”

“Yeah. I get it,” Azriel nods, shifting. Looking towards the building, then back to the low life in front of him. “And that female inside? Did you buy her? Is she here of her own free will allowing you to rape her daily?”

“Fuck,” Vale whispers, turning and running down the cobble stone road. Azriel stands there watching, a grin stretching his lips as he lets the male think he’s getting away.

“Send Morrigan,” He calls out to Rhys as he watches the male.

“She’s coming.”

Then he's gone again, just as Vale looks over his shoulder to try and spot him, only to smack hard into a body that came out of nowhere. He looks at the shadowsinger towering over him, swallowing thickly.

“What do you want from me?” The male nearly cried out as Azriel grabbed him and pulled him up, slamming his face first into a stone wall. The resounding crunch of his nose breaking is ever satisfying.

“Her name is Cassandra,” Azriel snarls into the man's ear. “She told us what you did to her. What you did to that female you have locked in that disgusting building. We know there’s more girls. We will find them all and when we do, I’ll let each one take a turn with you. Their weapon of choice. And you’ll feel exactly what they felt.”

“Ple-please. Please, just kill me,” The man begged, fighting in Azriel’s grasp but he was no match for Azriel’s strength.

“And what kind of justice would that be? Did you stop when those girls begged you to? Did you give them death with they would have preferred that over you using their bodies?” Azriel asked, scenting the smell of urine as the man pissed himself. “You deserve everything you’ve got coming to you.”

Before the pathetic excuse of a male could beg or plead any more Azriel grabbed the back of his head, smashing it into the wall, letting him fall unconscious to the ground. He left him there binded and hidden by shadows, stalking back to the building where he spotted Morrigan easily.

“Don’t tell me this is where he’s been keeping those poor girl?” She asked when she spotted him approaching.

“Unfortunately, I think it is. She said under his house but he could live here. I’ll question him more. I know there’s at least one female inside,” Azriel explained, guiding Morrigan into the building. Be could get the female on his own but he knew it was safer to have a female companion—after all they’d been through the least he could do was make sure a female was the one to comfort them.

They get to that basement floor, unlocking the various locks and pulling the hatch open. It’s as dark and dingy down here as it was in the rest of the building. Morrigan enters first, taking Azriel’s hand to steady herself on the old wobbly stairs.

“Your wings won’t fit down here,” She said, hushed. He nods at her. “Send a shadow if I call for help.” It’s said jokingly but he knows she’s serious. He’d rip the floor from this building to help her if she needed it.

Mor squinted her eyes in the dimness of the sellar, resisting the urge to plug her nose from the horrid smell.

“Hello? Is anyone down here?” She calls out, looking up from at Azriel when there’s no reply. “Hello, my name is Morrigan. I work for the High Lord. The male keeping you here is—”

Morrigan’s cut off when I body slams into hers, knocking her to the ground. She cries out in surprise when a sharp sting slices across her cheek.

“Stop, hey, stop! I’m here to help!” Mor calls out, trying to catch the hands of the female fae on top of her.

“Mor!” Azriel’s deep voice calls.

“I’ve got it!” Mor calls back, grabbing the girls wrists. “Please, stop! Vale is gone! He can’t hurt you, please, stop!”

The girl stops fighting then still tense where she’s straddling Morrigan’s middle section.

“He’s gone?” She whispers and Mor nods.

“Yes, he’s gone. He can’t hurt you any more. I swear,” She promises. Eyes finally able to take in the sight before her.

A fragile, naked, malnourished body sits atop her. Eyes not only shut but scarred as if they’d been cut—maybe by the same person that took Cassandra’s tongue. But what really got Morrigan, what had her ready to lose the contents of her stomach was the rounded belly attached to that nearly skeleton body. Her eyes welled and she helped the female to shift off of her body.

“Are you pregnant?” Mor whispers, trying to keep her voice from breaking as the female nods.

“Please, don’t let him take this one too,” She cries, reaching out to find Morrigan’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “Promise me I get to keep my baby.”

“I promise, no one is going to take your baby away from you,” Morgan swears, a single tear falling down her cheek. “What’s your name, sweet girl?”

“Neema, my name is Neema,” She answers and Mors eyes widen. The girl Cassandra told them about.

“You and your baby are safe, Neema. We’re gonna take you away from here, okay?” Morrigan says, standing and helping the pregnant female stand as well.

“I have my friend Azriel here too, he will not touch you, he’s only here to make sure no further harm comes to you. He’s handing me a cloak for you to wear,” Morrigan explains so the female doesn’t feel uncomfortable. She nods, allowing Mor to wrap the cloak around her.

“Are there any other females here?” Azriel asks gently, wishing he hadn’t with the way she clenched at the deep mess of it.

“Not—not that I know of. The females come and go. There’s been no others for months…” Neema answers, grasping the fabric tighter around her body.

Azriel and Mor share a look the last females had to have been Cassandra and the other two she mentioned.

“I’ll stay and check the building before I head back,” Azriel informed, consciously softening his voice so as not to scare the female again.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

Morrigan winnows away with Neema and Azriel searches every inch of the building with his shadows. No signs of any other females. He leaves the building, needing to relieve himself of the horrible stench.

He retrieves the still bound and unconscious male, winnowing him to his dungeon. He strips him, places a gag in his mouth, dumps him into a chair and binds him to it. He would be dealt with later.

The sun would be rising soon and he wanted to be there when they informed Cassandra they found the male and the female—her friend?

He enters Rhys' study, Cassian and Mor there too.

“How is she?” He asks, glancing at Morrigan then his brother.

“Resting,” Rhys answers. “Madja looked her over. Thankfully the baby seems healthy, Madja’s main concern is getting Neema to gain some weight and begin healing herself.”

“We offered her to live amongst the priestesses in the library, she agreed,” Morrigan said, her brown eyes bloodshot and cheeks flushed.

“Good, that’s all good, they’ll help her heal,” Azriel nods his head crossing his arms. “I have the male in my dungeon.”

“Have you gotten any information out of him?” Rhys asks, standing from his desk.

“Not much. He admitted to knowing who Cassandra was, receiving her from her father and holding her. He never admitted to selling her but that information won’t be hard to get out of him,” Azriel explains and Rhys nods in agreement.

“You get whatever information you can out of him and then he’s dead,” Rhys orders, Azriel doesn’t need to confirm he already knew what Rhys decision would be.

“Are we telling Cassandra?” Cassian asks, the first words he’s said the whole time.

“We are. She needs to know he’s here, it may bring her some comfort knowing he’s locked away and Neema is safe. I think you should be the one to talk to her, Azriel,” Rhy says, turning his attention to the shadow singer.

“Me? Not Mor?” Azriel asked, a bit confused.

“Yes, you. She’s comfortable with you. You’re the one that apprehended him. I believe she would prefer to hear it from you,” Rhys nods.

“Okay, I can do that,” Azriel agreed.

“You handle that, I’ve got some business to attend to with the priestesses. We’ll all meet up in a few hours to discuss further action.” Rhys stepped around his desk, patting Azriel’s shoulder when he passed by him.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

An hour goes by before Azriel tracks Cassandra down. Finding her in the library, flipping through a book where she’s sat in the large window seat that overlooked the city below. A steaming cup of tea next to her.

“I thought you couldn’t read?” Azriel asks, leaning against the door frame, grinning when those green eyes meet his.

“I can’t. I’m looking at the pictures,” She said, holding up the book, some romance book from the looks of the two people in a colorful garden.

“Ah,” Azriel says, walking further into the room. Trying not to focus on the way her eyes track up and down his body the closer he gets. He holds his hand out for the book, flipping it over the read the title, snorting at it. “Secret Garden Romance, huh?”

She shrugs, taking the book back.

“I asked the house for a book with a lot of pictures, this is what I got,” She said, a small sweet breathy laugh escaped her lips and he couldn’t help his own smile.

“Did you end up getting some sleep?” He asks, watching her set the book down and grab the warm mug.

“I slept but not great,” She shrugs. “I can’t stop thinking about my sisters.”

“We’re gonna do everything we can to find them, I promise you that,” Azriel said, not even waiting for a beat. He would find her sisters and he’d beat the shit out of her father too.

“You know I took my older sister's place. It was supposed to be her he sold off but the way she had cried when he told her. I couldn’t let him do that to her so I told him to take me…I didn’t really know what he meant when he was selling me. I thought I’d be a servant like the ones we had when I was a kid or something. I never thought…” She trailed off, taking a deep breath.

“You’re not to blame for what happened to you. You were protecting your sister. You did a very selfless thing. You're safe now and your sisters will be, too,” Azriel said, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned towards her.

“Well, what about you?” Cassandra asked, gently changing the subject. “Did you ever get any sleep?”

Azriel sighed with a head shake. “No, actually. That’s kind of why I came to talk to you.”

Cassandra fixed him with a curious look, leaning forward as if to give him her full attention for whatever he needed to say. He looked into those glowing green eyes, filled with curious concern.

“We found that male. Vale. We found him,” Azriel said, watching the vast range of emotions flash through those emerald eyes.

“He’s here?” Is what she asks, fear tinging her voice. Azriel straightens his back.

“He will not touch you,” he declared, holding her gaze. “He won’t even come near you.”

I’ll fucking kill him if he does. He thinks but doesn’t add it out loud.

“He can’t get out of…wherever he is?” She asks, and he wants to reach out so badly to comfort her. The ache in his chest drawing him to her.

“No. He’s being held in a very secure place. I promise you’re safe here. You’re safe with us.” Azriel promises. You’re safe with me.

“Were there any females with him?” She asks and Azriel nods.

“The girl you told us about, Neema. She was the only one there—it had been only her for months.”

He watches as her eyes fill with tears, offering his hand for her to hold. She takes it, thumb tracing his scars unconsciously.

“Just her…alone with him for months. Gods, is she…I feel like okay isn’t the right word for what I want to ask,” She says, sadness written all over her face.

“She will be okay,” Azriel said. “She’s in bad shape. Pregnant, malnourished but we have an amazing healer and a library below the mountain. Many priestesses live there. Many of them have experienced similar traumas. They’ll help her heal.”

She looked thoughtful for a moment. He wasn’t sure what was going through her head as she sat there silently, grasping his hand and tracing his scars.

“I want him to die.” It’s fierce. Heated. Emotional. And it does something to Azriel’s heart, to his brain. He squeezes her hand. “I want him to feel everything we felt. To know the fear he put us through. I want him to suffer and then I want him to die.”

“He will die. I swear to the Mother. I’ll get every drop of information from him and when it’s time his death will be painful and slow,” Azriel swore, gently swiping a tear from her cheek.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

The next day is a day Cassandra would remember forever. She hadn't slept much the night before but Morrigan had practically begged her to have lunch.

Cassandra wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for a day out in the city but she felt safe with Morrigan. She nearly asked if Azriel could come too until she learned he would be spending the day collecting information from Kamari and Vale.

Morrigan picked out her outfit for the day and it was one of her favorites she’s worn since being here. A flowy silk top that tucked into a dark pair of slacks that raised high on my hips. They emphasized her longer legs in a way she had never noticed before. She had also pinned Cassandra’s hair up and out of her face.

She liked the way Azriel smiled at her when he saw her dressed this way. She blushed but was quickly rushed away by Morrigan, shouting something about wanting you to herself for the day for girl time.

Their first stop was a place she called the River House. A beautiful home that her mother would have loved. Morrigan had only had them stop here briefly to grab a few tote bags, wanting to shop while they were out but promised to bring her back and give her a proper tour of the house.

The city was even more beautiful when you were in it. The sun was shining bright in an endless blue sky. Better than any dreams she had ever had about it.

They went to bakeries, where Cassandra single handedly filled half a tote with various pastries.

Then a clothing shop where Morrigan helped her pick out some new clothes. A few everyday pieces. A gorgeous gown she wasn’t sure where she would wear it but Morrigan swore she would need it sooner or later. And then the softest, satin, dark blue nightgown—it had reminded her of the stones that glowed atop Azriel’s hands. Morrigan herself had picked out quite a few outfits and gowns of her own and a lace set that looked like something the girls in the pleasure houses would wear but she paid no mind to it—she was sure it would look gorgeous on Morrigan wherever she planned to wear it to.

Then they went to a place near the river for lunch, the glistening river was the perfect view while they ate.

“Do you feel like you’re settling in okay?” Morrigan asked, sipping on some kind of iced fruit tea while they waited for their food.

“I’m still…adjusting. I enjoy the company of everyone. I feel like I can trust you all. It’s just odd.” Cassandra says, taking a drink of her tea that was just slightly too sweet but she wasn’t complaining.

“What’s odd?” Morrigan asks gently.

“Trusting strangers more than I’ve ever trusted anyone else,” She says it like a confession, like she should be ashamed for feeling that way.

“I don’t think that’s odd,” Morrigan shrugged. “You’re around people like you, people you can relate to and get to know. It’s easy to feel safe with us in turn, causing your trust. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Cassandra smiles at Morrigan.

Their food comes soon after and they talk the whole time. Morrigan gives her the rundown of how Rhys, Azriel and Cassian all knew one another. She explained more about their titles and what each one of them did as a member of the inner circle. She told her about so much that Cassandra could believe she’d spent her whole live knowing practically none of it.

When they go to a bookstore Cassandra looks at a few before putting them back. Morrigan grabs them and tells her they’ll teach her to read—that she’ll love these books and so many more.

And when they finally get back to the House of a Wind it’s late. She's exhausted from carrying around nearly overflowing tote bags and eating more muffins then she can count.

A top the house where they have to land they’re greeted by the three males. Their solemn faces wiping the smile off your face. She caught Azriel’s eyes, sees the look of pure death there—a look that she just knows means he wants to kill someone.

And just like that, her perfect day with Morrigan took a turn straight down hill.

Tag List: @aelinwya @starlightandsouls @fullmoon-94 @aetherl0l @caticorn61 @lilah-asteria @blackgirlmagicforever @div94 @purple-writer8 @little-missbookyworm @saltedcoffeescotch @namelesssav @slytherintaco @whatsupb @little-missbookyworm

#azriel playing games with that male in the beginning lives rent free in my head #I just know he enjoys fucking with guys like that #thinking they could be all buddy buddy making them feel safe then bam he fucks them up #az and Cassandra got a bit of bonding in #as did Cassandra and Morrigan #besties for the resties #acotar #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #acotar fanfiction #slow burn

[illyrianbitch]

Words of Affirmation

Pairing: Reader x Cassian

Summary: Even the Lord of Bloodshed gets insecure sometimes. As his mate, you always know the right words to say.

Warnings: established relationship fluff :)

Word Count: 2.3k

just a quick sweet fluffy piece to make up for all my angst. dedicated to the one and only @sarawritestories

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Cassian would never admit it, but the assumptions of his intelligence bothered him. He was always a brute, a mindless warrior, a soldier— nothing more. He knew, deep down, that his brothers rivaled him in all matters of the mind. They were more collected, more capable with familial matters and court affairs. Simply put, they were smarter. 

And he had accepted that— at least, he told himself he had. After all, he was talented where it mattered. He was a good male, a good friend, a good brother, a good commander— and amazing in bed. So truly, it shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did when his meeting with Eris went sour. 

Cassian entered the room with heavy steps, a frown on his face as he began to peel off his coat, each movement slow and heavy with frustration. A part of him hoped that he could shed more than just the layer of clothing, hoped that coming home would rid him of the insecurity that had threaded itself through his ribs.

You observed him quietly, taking in the way his muscles tensed and released with each motion, the subtle clenching of his jaw, the deep exhale. He hadn’t looked at you yet, hadn’t made his classic entrance. On most days, Cass would return home with a huge grin, door thrown wide open as he bellowed out your name with a burning heart.

But he was quiet today. And you knew exactly why– you could feel it through the bond. Cassian was sad. 

Your footsteps were quiet against the wood floors as you slowly walked towards him. 

“Things didn’t go well?” 

Your voice was soft and gentle and the sound of it sent a ripple of relief through his body. Still, he felt heavy. Tired. He sighed, his shoulders slumping as he finally discarded his coat onto a nearby chair. “I don’t know how Rhysand does it.”

“Does what?” 

“This whole diplomacy thing, even Azriel. I just… I couldn’t. I'm too stupid for it. Just an idiot.”

Your heart clenched at his words, a heaviness settling on the glowing bond in your chest. You wanted to console him, to fight and kill whatever it was that was unsettling him so deeply. But the thing that was causing Cassian pain wasn’t anything you could fight yourself. It was his own mind, the insecurities he was too afraid to acknowledge. 

Before you could open your mouth to respond, he waved you off with a frustrated gesture.

“I know, I know,” he murmured, his tone heavy with defeat, “I’m just whining. I’ll get over it.”

You frowned, letting out a small breath. 

“No, don’t say that,” you said gently, taking a step closer to him. “You’re allowed to be frustrated. But you’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

Cassian’s brows furrowed.

“I’m not?” 

You took in the sight of your mate for a moment, took in his long hair and brown eyes, took in the stubble on his jaw and the way he let out a small breath. You extended your hand to him, voice low as you murmured, “C’mere, honey.”

He hesitated for a moment before he gently took your hand and closed the distance between you, large arms wrapping around your waist as he looked down at you. 

“You are a big ole’ dummy,” you teased lightly, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you put your hands around his neck. You felt Cassian melt into your touch ever so slightly, eyes shuttering closed as a small hum left his lips. “But you are brilliant. Like really fucking smart.”

Cassian’s eyes opened to meet yours, somewhat narrowed in skepticality. You rubbed the nape of his neck with your thumbs. 

“I mean, you’re a war general. You’ve commanded hundreds of soldiers, have won countless battles– wars, even. You couldn’t get away with those things as an idiot.”

Cassian grumbled, but you caught the hint of a smile dancing in his stormy eyes, felt the tension in his shoulders beginning to ease. A wry chuckle bubbled up from deep within him as he shook his head, his lips quirking up in a brief smile.

“Well, I don’t know about that one, we have Beron and Tam-”

You rolled your eyes. 

“Would you just let me compliment you?” You interrupted with a gentle shake of your head, eyebrows raised as you looked at him. 

A soft chuckle escaped him. “My bad.”

“You are so incredibly smart,” you repeated earnestly, slightly pulling him down and urging him to place his forehead against yours. 

He stayed quiet for a moment, his gaze heavy as he searched for something in your eyes. He seemed to find it as he gave you a small smile. “You really think so?”

You pulled yourself back gently, dropping your hands from his neck to take his in your own. Then, you gently guided one hand to your chest, letting him feel the steady rhythm of your heartbeat beneath his touch.

“Does it feel like I’m lying?” you asked softly.

Cassian’s expression softened as his gaze flickered to where your hand held his. You watched as a glow of warmth lit up his eyes. 

“No,” he said quietly, “It does not.”

And then he was bringing his hands to hold your face, leaning in to kiss you tenderly, his lips a gentle caress against yours.

He wasn’t sure if he believed it yet, if he was comfortable enough with considering himself to be smart, let alone brilliant. But you, his beautiful mate, the love of his life— you thought he was smart, you thought he was brilliant.

And truly, that's all that mattered to him. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It wasn’t that he was insecure about his looks, no, that wasn't it. 

Cassian knew he was attractive, knew that he was hot and ruggedly handsome. He knew from the looks that he got from females and males alike, from the scent changes that he caused, and the lovers he had bedded. 

But sometimes, when standing next to Rhysand and Azriel,  Cassian would catch himself wondering if he was rough around the edges in ways that his brothers were smoother, more appealing. After all, they were the two more classically pretty males, the more softly attractive and very often audibly complimented. 

And then there was him, the rough warrior. 

Attractive, yes, but pretty? Elegant? Those were never words used to describe him. 

There was a soft glow in your room tonight, gentle shadows casted across the bed from flickering fae light. Cassian let out a deep sigh as he prepared to climb into bed, his muscles aching and head heavy as he shed the remenands of his day. 

You watched him with a tender gaze as you lay on the bed. The faintest hint of a smile played at the corners of your lips as your eyes traced the lines of his face. Cass caught your gaze with his own, a warm hearty brown that made your heart flutter. 

A playful smirk tugged at his lips as he noticed your lingering stare. "You like what you see, sweetheart?" 

You grinned, bringing your bottom lip between your teeth as you tilted your head. "Always.”

With a grin of his own, Cassian began to crawl towards you. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he closed the distance between you, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Admiring how absolutely handsome I am?” he said, “How Incredibly sexy?" 

You let out a small laugh as he reached your face, his body hovering over yours. With a gentle hand, you pushed back his tousled hair, your touch feather-light against his skin. A soft sigh escaped him, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he savored the warmth of your touch. His lips wore a content smile. 

"So beautiful," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you traced the contours of his face with your fingertips.

He pulled back slightly, his eyebrows knitting together as his eyes scanned your face. You ran your finger along the crease that they created. "Beautiful?" 

You nodded, a soft smile gracing your lips. "Yes, beautiful. Maybe I don't tell you enough."

He chuckled softly as he leaned into your touch, heart swelling with warmth at your words. There was a new flutter in his chest that he didn’t recognize. For a moment, Cassian felt shy— he wasn’t quite sure why. But he laughed it off all the same. 

"That's a word reserved for you, sweetheart." 

You shook your head, your fingers trailing down his cheek to cup his face in your hands. "My beautiful mate,” you whispered, "My handsome, gorgeous, incredibly sexy, and beautiful mate." 

For the first time in a while, Cass was stunned, unable to respond as quickly as he was used to. Your words held a certain reverence to them, a sincerity that made him melt into your touch— made him melt into your voice itself. Before you, Cassian never knew himself as something gentle, as something capable of softness and sensitivity. But here he was before you, in all of his warrior glory, feeling like a child with a playground crush. And there you were, staring at him like he was the most exquisite thing you’d ever laid eyes on. So when words failed him, Cassian did the only thing he saw fit. 

He leaned in to kiss you tenderly, bringing his lips to yours softly. You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him in closer, feeling his warmth against you as he smiled into the kiss. From deep within your chest, you felt a glow— a deep, ethereal, and overwhelming glow. 

Beautiful, his mind echoed, beautiful. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You let out a soft sigh as you settled onto the couch with Cassian, pushing yourself further into his warm chest as he wrapped an arm around you. You’d spent the night at the River House, drinking more wine than you could handle and eating almost all of Elain's sweet desserts. There was a smile on your face as your eyes closed, your hearing quickly tuning into the heartbeat of your mate below you. 

You frowned when the sound began to quicken, echoing like a drum in your ears. You pushed yourself up, slightly turning your body and placing a hand on Cassian's chest. When you looked up at him, his face was scrunched, his gaze distant as if lost in contemplation.

Cassian wore a specific face when he was troubled, furrowed brows and a downturn of his lips. He wore it was he was sad or frustrated, when he had thoughts that plagued him at night. The face before you was a troubled one, indeed. But it was less rough than the others he bore, more vulnerable.

You slightly tapped against him with your palm. Cassian blinked at the sensation, then he slowly looked down to meet your eyes with his own. You let your chin fall gently on his chest. 

“What's wrong?”

Cassian managed a smile, shaking his head as he brought his hand to run over your hair. “Nothing.”

You frowned. “Tell me.”

For a moment, Cassian’s thoughts traveled again. Mor’s laugh echoed in his mind, wine glass in hand as she pointed at him. You have the subtlety of a war horn. You’re so loud I can hear you across Prythian. I don’t know how Y/n handles it all the time.

"Am I too loud?" 

His voice came out rushed, drenched in a tinge of what you could only describe as worry— even doubt.

A flicker of surprise passed through your features. “What?”

He let out a sigh. “I don’t know. Mor said something tonight, it just got me thinking.”

“Mor says a lot of things. Especially when she's drunk.”

“I know.” He nodded in agreement, tongue running across his teeth before he let out another sigh. “But she had a point tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Did she?”

He took a moment to take you in, to trace the features of your face with his eyes. Absentmindedly, he ran his hands through your hair. 

“Maybe I am too loud.”

Cassian's voice was defeated now, lips naturally falling into a frown. The crease between his eyebrows was still there as he peered down at you, hand still caressing your head.

You stared at him for a moment before you responded. "You're so loud." 

A flicker of disappointment crossed Cassian's face. But before the thought could spread through his mind, a soft smile graced your features. You gave his chest a small kiss. “But I love it. So very much.”

Cassian’s eyes lit up, a sense of release evident in his features as his lips curved into a smile. The crease between his eyebrows faded. "Really?"

"Absolutely," you affirmed, your voice filled with a sincerity that made his heart flutter. "My world would be too quiet without you."

Cassian’s eyes softened as he looked at you, his thumb gently swiping loose strands away from your forehead. “Yeah?” 

You nodded against him, chin still resting on his chest. “I hear everything I love in your voice.”

He smiled, the bond deep within him singing as he stared at you. He felt you tug at it, felt a roll of warmth run through his body— something gentle, something loving. And for a minute, Cassian could have cried at the sensation, could have cried at the way you looked at him, at how happy he felt. 

With his heart swelling, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I love you,” he murmured, voice filled with a depth of emotion that he couldn’t quite express in words. He hoped that you could sense it, that you would hear those words and know everything he was trying to say— that you would understand just how much you meant to him, how your love filled him with a sense of peace and belonging he never knew he needed.

With a contented sigh, you snuggled closer to him, feeling his now steady heartbeat beneath your cheek. “I know,” you said, “You practically scream it from the heavens.”

Cassian let out a deep laugh, the sound reverberating through his chest. You felt his body move from under you, felt as the sound caressed you like a pair of warm hands. 

As his laughter subsided, Cassian pulled you closer to him. “I’ll keep shouting it so you’ll always hear it,” he whispered.

A warmth spread through you at his words, a feeling of love so strong it was tangible through that sacred tie that connected you.

“And I’ll keep listening.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

me not writing angst?? (i’m about to write the most gut wrenching pieces ever) unheard of. but we love a sweet established relationship <3

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria

#cassian x reader #cassian x y/n #cassian #cassian/reader #cassian fluff #cassian acotar #cassian x reader fluff #cassian fanfic #cassian fic #cassian x you #cassian x y/n fluff #cassian x you fluff #cassian fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar fluff

[rhenysz]

Your Dead Eyes - Chapter 2

Summary: Lifeless eyes were what haunted your all life, manu people say that death was lurking around your eyes, Maybe it's true. Maybe you just see things that other people don't.

Pairing: Azriel x Archeron! reader fem.

A/n: Damn, I don't know what to think about this chapter but I didn't like it 100% I hope to improve next time. Cassian 🤝 Nesta: Azriel's biggest blockers

*English is NOT my native language, this fanfic was translated with a little help from a So, let me know if there are any grammatical errors*

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Fear of abandonment, distorted sense of humor and LOTS of tension.

previous x next

The sensation was as if you were in the middle of the ocean at night, the furious and icy sea pounding against your body, sending adrenaline shocks through it as your mind desperately pleaded for you to swim and stay above the waves.

It felt like you were sinking upon hearing her voice. As if water flooded your ears with the gentle melody that were Feyre's words, and at the same time, it was like the huge waves of despair were pulling your body down.

"Elain," she spoke with a husky voice. It was so different from the usual roughness, as if honey had been poured onto her vocal cords.

Your ears perked up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, firm and delicate steps. Nesta halted halfway down, looking towards the door. "Mrs. Laurent, prepare some tea and take it to the office," Nesta paused and glanced at you; her trembling figure with wide eyes made her heart skip a beat, and then her eyes returned to the housekeeper, "and take my sister to Merina."

You turned your head to where Nesta's voice came from and vaguely searched for her, silently thanking her for the act. You weren't ready to face Feyre now; your sister was the specter of a ghost that now haunted your mind.

Mrs. Laurent's wrinkled hands gently grabbed your shoulders, lifting you from the sofa and guiding you towards the hallway. "Come, dear, Merina is preparing your favorite."

"Wait!"

Your head lifted at Feyre's request, and your hands clutched the dress you were wearing, crumpling the fabric. Shaking your head, you continued walking with Mrs. Laurent. She didn't wait for you. You wouldn't wait for her.

While your heart held no resentment, it harbored resentment, heavy with hurt towards Feyre. You didn't mind that she went to look for the beast to live by his side, of course not; you minded the indifference she showed towards you. Feyre wasn't obliged to anything, and if you weren't worth a goodbye from her, she wasn't worth a bit of your time either.

The creaking of the door being opened drew your attention away from your thoughts, and undoubtedly, the sweet smell of melted sugar with a touch of cinnamon caught your attention even more. Molasses pie.

With your hand stretched, you leaned on the counter, and Mrs. Laurent let go of you to pull a stool for you; after sitting down, you mumbled a thank you, dismissing Mrs. Laurent for the task Nesta asked.

With a fist on your cheek, you let your eyes close; they weighed more than the pounds of clay you carried. The tinkling of a plate being placed in front of you made your eyebrow arch, and Merina's huff was heard right after.

"You're usually excited about this pie," Merina said, and as the pie was one of her specialties, she may or may not have been upset with your lack of interest, "now, care to tell me why you look like you've sucked a lemon?"

Chuffing a humorless laugh, you rolled your eyes and groped the counter to find the fork next to the plate. With unnecessary force, you stabbed the poor pie and brought a piece to your mouth. Merina, who watched that small act against dessert, tilted her head even more curious.

"Feyre is here." Your voice came out muffled by the sweet you were chewing; who cared about good manners in a situation like this? Judging by Merina's choking sound, she cared.

"Ah..." Merina sounded distant, analyzing your face for something more. With drooping shoulders, you sighed to her, "thought you'd be happy to see her again?"

Sucking the sweetness from the fork, you raised your lips in a playful smile, "hardly ever happy to see anyone, Merina."

The cook reached out to pat your head, "Enough of blind puns; they don't work with me anymore, and stop dodging the question."

Sticking out your tongue at her, you gave up and decided to really say what was going on inside your little head.

"I guess I'm afraid she'll leave again," you said, shrugging, the fork's tip was now deforming the poor pie, "once is fine, twice is hard, but three times? I don't think I can forgive on the third."

Merina hummed in agreement and discreetly took the pie and fork from you, grabbing a piece for herself.

"I'm not saying leaving without saying goodbye was right, or that she won't leave again, but maybe—" Mrs. Laurent passed by, giving her a penetrating look that made her drop the pie, "maybe you should listen, don't need to speak, just listen, and if the explanation doesn't please you, turn your back and leave."

Your eyes trembled, and a slight headache began to spread from your neck towards your temples. To listen, you could hear her, and maybe later, grab her by the hair to explain your point of view.

Your mouth opened to verbalize your response to Merina.

"Let's go to the office."

It wasn't you who spoke. Nesta stood in the doorframe, looking at you, then at the cook, and back at you. Merina jumped from where she was sitting and quickly took your arm to lead you to your sister. Nesta is terrifyingly terrifying.

Your hand fit into Nesta's arm, and she began walking towards the office. Her other hand rested on top of yours and gave a warm squeeze; a simple touch from her meant so much. This was her wordless way of saying she was there for you.

You felt her stopping, and you stopped with her. Nesta glanced at the door separating Feyre from you, and she was sure Feyre could sense both of you through the crack in the door. Looking at you, she blinked and parted her dry lips.

"She's different. Not the same person who left here that night." She said with a stern voice.

You nodded, not really understanding what she meant by that. Different? You were almost certain everyone becomes different after spending so much time in that place.

Nesta pushed the door and entered the office with you in tow. Feyre, who was facing away from the door, turned her head to you so quickly that, for a moment, she had flashbacks from under the mountain.

With teary eyes, she took a step towards you, but a warning look from Nesta froze her in place. She waited for you to come to her, but you didn't, even after leaving your sister's embrace, you didn't move a muscle anymore; perhaps Feyre was foolish to think you would.

Ignoring Nesta's watchful eyes, she approached you slowly, but she stepped heavily so that you could hear. Just like the other time, you felt her breath on your face, a breath so cold that it gave you shivers.

"Sister..." Feyre raised her fingers to your face but hesitated, her hands were no longer human, and you would undoubtedly feel how her fingers were thinner and longer than before.

Impatiently, you lifted your head to her and furrowed your brow, expecting something better than just a "sister." Taking a deep breath, Feyre looked into your lifeless eyes and began to speak.

"I was dead," even though Elain had already heard the story, she couldn't help but hold her breath, "I was dead, and then I was reborn, remade."

Feyre told everything, not omitting any details of what happened with Amarantha, with Tamlin, with Rhysand, the bat-winged men, and you listened; listened to every word attentively, feeling nauseous hearing that the damn beast ignored Feyre's suffering, turning pale when she recounted her death and rebirth experience, and dangerously trembling when she said she was no longer human. She was one of them now.

You didn't know what to say; your mouth was dry, and your hands trembled. What Feyre said wasn't an apology, but it was so much that you could barely assimilate it. She was a fairy—fae? What did that imply? She eat babies?

A hand grabbed yours, making you pull away frightened by the sudden contact. Feyre looked at you hurt by the reaction but continued firm, raising her hand to touch her cheek, and then she let you go. What you would do from now on was your choice; she knew there was much more to say, but time was pressing.

Hesitant, you ran your fingertips along her face, feeling the jaw sharper, your fingers traced the nose, the mouth, the forehead, and the eyes, and with each new change you felt, a sob broke from your chest, and tears overflowed from your eyes. Your hand opened on her face, and Feyre nestled her face in your caress, taking a deep breath, you brought your hand towards the place you were avoiding. The ears.

It was undeniably longer than a human ear, and at the end, there was a point. As you ran your finger along the edge, you felt the patterns of a fae ear; Feyre's ear twitched, and you quickly withdrew your hand.

With a choked voice, you finally found the strength to speak: "do you have bat friends now?"

Laughing, she squinted her eyes to push back the tears and grabbed your face in her hands.

"Would you like to meet them?"

Feyre went to fetch the fae after Elain managed to dismiss all the household staff, something that wasn't difficult with her charm.

While you waited in the living room, Nesta gave some blunt instructions on how to behave in front of those creatures.

"Don't smile; it shows weakness."

"No unnecessary kindness; they need us."

"Don't you dare take off the iron ring."

Three simple rules that, even if unintentionally, revealed the fear she felt of the unknown. Not that you were any braver; Feyre said they had bat wings for goodness sake, that scared anyone.

You sensed their presence before your sisters did; your heightened senses allowed you to hear three different types of footsteps. A delicate and precise one , Feyre; a lazy and imposing one, and another rough and arrogant. Funny, Feyre mentioned there were three of them.

Your steps halted, enveloping the room in an uneasy silence. Beside you, you could hear Elain gasping; could they be so grotesque as to cause such a reaction?

"My sisters, Nesta, Elain, and..." Feyre paused for a moment and with a more affectionate tone, she said your name, "S/n Archeron."

There were no greetings from them or you; Nesta's fingers tightly wrapped around your wrist discouraged politeness to the unexpected guests.

"Cassian," Feyre continued, introducing the bat- fairies, "Azriel," her shoes made a sound as she turned, "and Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court."

Again, a suffocating silence. Pulling your arm from Nesta, you raised your hand to twist a strand of your hair. What a stressful situation.

When an elegant voice cut through the silence, you jumped; it was as if he filled the entire room with his powerful timbre.

"Thank you for the hospitality... and the generosity." It was warm but seemed so fake.

Without hesitation, Nesta turned her back, announcing that dinner was on the table, and they should hurry. Elain mumbled a greeting and rushed after Nesta.

You stood awkwardly in the middle of the dining room until Feyre walked towards you with a smile on her face, "Want to get to know them better?"

"We promise not to bite," a deep voice said playfully. Feyre turned to the male and silenced him with a noise. She then turned back to you, taking your hand to encourage you to walk with her.

Nesta would be furious.

With hesitant steps, you went to them; the air around the bat-fairies was so warm and dominating, almost oppressive. Undoubtedly, they could see your hands trembling, and small beads of sweat ran down your collar and disappeared into the square neckline of your dress. Unbeknownst to you, a pair of sharp eyes followed the bold path of these drops.

"Rhysand," Feyre called, and he came to stand in front of you, extending his hand. Your sister brought the hand she held for him to take. Your hand tightened in his delicate grip. Without a doubt, this fae's hands were soft.

"You are more enchanting in person." He spoke playfully. Nodding in acknowledgment, you gave a faint smile. When pulling your hand away, you discreetly ran your fingers along the length of his palm, trying to memorize some feature. A callus on the middle finger.

Another bat took his place and shook your hand firmly. Oh, this hand was full of calluses and thick, "Cassian, General Cassian," your face paled; General? You were already starting to hyperventilate.

"Stop scaring her, bastard," a husky and seductive voice spoke, the silent fairy. Cassian laughed and stepped away from you, barely having time to breathe, the other bat took his place in front of you. 

If you thought the presence of the other two was oppressive, this male's was overwhelming. Much closer than his brothers, Azriel towered over you and let his eyes roam over your body, absorbing every detail you had to offer.

He started with your eyes, a blue so light it could be mistaken for white, your lashes covering his gaze, your lips red from the cruel bites you gave. A chill ran down his spine, and Azriel didn't allow himself to wander more. 

Why not? A sly shadow whispered to him.

Rhys cleared his throat, mocking Azriel. Frowning at his brother, Azriel snapped out of his stupor and took your hand in his, noticeably smaller.

Your nose twisted with the texture of his hand; did the bat have leather hands? No... as you ran your finger over his wrist, you felt the edge of what seemed – and you prayed it was – a glove. There was no way to memorize anything about this man.

"Azriel." He introduced himself, simple and with no need to add anything else. Azriel, the name weighed on your tongue. When pulling your hand away, you felt a final squeeze from him, causing your lips to stretch into a half-smile. Don't smile, the first rule of the night was broken.

A bell was rung with stress. Nesta was impatient.

Laughing softly, Feyre took your hand and led you towards the table, away from the three bats. What a peculiar situation this introduction was.

"What do you think?" She asked eagerly, seating you next to Elain, who nervously watched the males taking their seats at the table.

"Exciting, I suppose." You spoke in a tone so that only she could hear, hopefully. Feyre closed her eyes and laughed; the relief she felt at knowing that at least one of her sisters was willing to acknowledge those who were part of her new life was evident.

"Let's start this dinner quickly." Nesta cut you and Feyre off with a stern voice.

The dinner was unsettling; the silence was so profound that the buzzing of crickets became audible, and the lack of conversation made you think they might have left you alone and dined somewhere else. It would have been a good theory if the unpleasant noise of the anxious bat's chewing hadn't cut through the silence left by your sisters.

"Is there something wrong with our food?" Nesta asked plainly. But to whom the question was directed remained a mystery.

"No." Feyre. You rolled your eyes while swallowing another bite of roast. Of course, she would pick on Feyre. You slouched further under the table as if it were a barrier for the impending clash.

"So, can you not eat normal food anymore, or is it too good for you?"

With a start, you straightened your back, and like an eagle, your head turned to Nesta, grunting in disapproval. The clinking of cutlery was heard in the background. 

"I can eat, drink, fuck, and fight just as well as before. Even better," Feyre proudly replied.

What a dinner spectacle. With a choke, you returned to your plate while controlling your laughter. The fascination and astonishment for your sister's words struggled against each other to see which would prevail.

"Don't torture me like this, I still have a blessed imagination," you addressed Feyre, who hid a smile in her water glass. 

"I wonder why…" she teased, and a blush spread across your face like flames. It was a disastrous story, and just the mere memory made you want to open the window on the second floor to check if you really didn't fly and knowing you didn't have wings would be satisfactory.

But let's say that some people have no qualms about their intimacy in a private place; undoubtedly, any random alley in a market is not a private place. Someone should warn that couple.

"Hush," a embarrassed murmur escaped your lips. Gripping the fork, you brought a piece of meat to your mouth, desperately wanting to occupy yourself with something else; the other hand held a cloth under the table in case any food decided to change its destination and go away from your mouth.

Focused on the task, you dismissed Nesta grunting at someone. Just another normal day. Nevertheless, your shoulders tensed with Cassian's enraged speech about the living conditions Feyre endured. It was undeniable that he was right; you might not physically help, but it was your duty to fight for your sister, even being younger. Perhaps you could have persuaded your father to get up from that damn chair.

Elain argued some words of resentment, but you didn't listen. Frustration filled your body like an overflowing bucket, closing your hands into a fist on the table, you dropped the fork and let yourself be carried away by the guilt of not being enough to protect Feyre.

A chair scraped closer to the table. Your feet began to tingle, and a cold breeze passed through your legs in a gentle and tender caress. Relaxing your hands, you looked down in foolish hope of seeing something. All the windows were closed.

It tickled, chuckling to yourself, you kicked your feet, and the breeze followed you like a servant, tendrils wrapping around your calf and descending to your ankle with delicacy. A husky laugh was heard, and you quickly looked forward, not sure which of Feyre's friends was sitting in front of you.

"Can you really fly?" Elain beside you asked. The comforting breeze dissipated as if it had never been there. A fleeting pout crossed your lips but soon disappeared because your curiosity with Elain's question got the better of you.

"Yes. Cassian and I are from a fae race called Illyrians. We were born hearing the song of the wind," Azriel, the silent one, responded warmly.

Biting your lower lip, you intruded into the conversation:

"When Feyre said she was going to fetch the bat boys, I imagined claws and sharp teeth, not wings."

Azriel playfully smiled at you, startling Cassian; he didn't know his brother had enough teeth to smile. Cassian turned to you and looked at the side of your face since you were looking at Azriel's chest, who was he to judge. 

"Don't rule out that possibility, Y/n, we might look horrifying to the eyes," Cassian joked, making you open a wider smile and turn vaguely toward him. Well, you hoped he was joking.

"Speak for yourself, brother, I'm hardly seen as hideous," Rhys sneered at his brother's words and turned to Feyre, "right, darling?"

Your sister choked, and a muffled slap sound covered by a layer of fabric was heard.

You rolled your eyes and returned to your original position. Azriel cleared his throat to regain your attention, something that wasn't difficult since you were alert to any noise this man made.

"Maybe one day—"

Nesta dragged the chair rudely, cutting Azriel's sentence, and spoke with a sharp voice:

"If we're done eating, this meal is over."

Before leaving, Elain explained to her guests and her sister where the rooms they would be using were located.

With a pounding heart and a head full of thoughts, you couldn't sleep, and for restless nights, the calm of your studio was what soothed you.

That's why you were sitting in front of your spinning table with the sleeves of your nightgown rolled up to avoid getting clay on them. Your fingers skillfully opened the stretched mass to soon pull out a cone shape. Humming, you grabbed the wet sponge and gently ran it over the sculpture's edges.

"Can't sleep?"

You jumped at the sudden question and accidentally lost control of the clay, causing it to lose its shape; some splatters of clay flew onto your face and clothes. What a mess.

"I'm sorry, it wasn't my intention to startle you," Azriel said apologetically and walked quickly from the doorway to you. He picked up a clean cloth lying on a countertop and pressed it into your hands.

"It's nothing," you laughed embarrassed and stood up, taking the cloth from his hands and feeling the hindrance of the glove. Moving slightly to the other side of the room, you could breathe better.

Azriel followed you with his eyes, watching you lightly clean your face and discard the cloth on some surface. He lowered his gaze and saw your sculpture undone; if it was something before, it isn't anymore. Azriel frowned, frustrated with himself, it wasn't his intention to disturb you.

"I'm sorry about the piece," his voice resonated in the room, curious; he couldn't help but ask, "what was it?"

Sighing defeated, you let your shoulders slump, and you spoke timidly:

"Wings. Your wings." Just like that, it was like ripping a band-aid off a wound. A grotesque wound and a cloth band-aid.

Wings. Azriel thought somberly; you were sculpting his wings. Swallowing hard, Azriel took a small step toward you but stopped when he heard your soft and delightful voice:

"But I'm sure it doesn't do justice to the real thing; my hands are my eyes, and as I've never touched a wing before..." you stopped before finishing; your eyelashes trembled in the flickering light of the candles.

Azriel held his breath, suffocated by the warm air that lingered in the room. With heavy eyes, he imagined being your guinea pig, your delicate fingers brushing against each tip of his wings. Azriel partially opened his wings as if he could feel your touches passing through them.

The sculpture you were running your fingertips over captured his attention; a small bird resting on a branch. Simple but extraordinary. Not knowing how to behave in a situation like this, you did the first thing that came to your mind.

"You have skillful hands," your hoarse voice was just a whisper in the night's vastness. Azriel looked intensely at your nape; his amber eyes followed your body with devotion as you proudly showed – accidentally – your sculpture.

Your chest warmed with the compliment; at the same time, you felt your hands getting sticky. Your ears caught the heavy sound of his steps, so different from the silent walk before. The heat of his body behind yours sent a shiver up your spine; turning your face to the side, you felt his warm breath reach your cheek.

"Maybe–" he stopped and reorganized his thoughts, clearing his throat; he spoke in a lower voice, "maybe I can help you with the sculpture."

You perked up at the prospect of feeling him without any barrier, turning slightly to him, feeling the weight of his gaze on your face. You opened your lips to speak.

"Am I interrupting something?" Azriel closed his eyes tightly upon hearing Cassian's mocking voice, damn opportunistic bastard.

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#~rhenysz #azriel x reader #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #yde #eventual romance #eventual smut #feyre archeron #elain archeron #nesta archeron #rhysand #cassian #acotar #slow burn

[lanitalay]

Before I Say Goodnight

Chapter 7

a/n Hiiiii, new chapter yay. Last post I got a request for a tag list, let me know if you're interested in something like that! Also, I'm going to try to keep up the writing schedule I have now so you can expect new chapters every 2-3 days.

word count: 2.5k

Warnings: mentions of a knife and throw up

Other chapters

Hot, humid breath fans the back of your neck as someone or something holds you tight. You struggle against the restraint to no avail. Whatever is holding you has canines that nick and poke at the back of your head. You stiffen as you feel hot liquid rolling down your back, unsure if it's sweat or blood. You’re being pushed and dragged by this monster. It’s a familiar forest, a universe away. Claws press into your hips and you cry out as you feel them press through skin and scrape against bone. You wake mid gasp. Nightmare. That was just a nightmare. It had been a while since you thought of that forest. It was a trap. You had no proof but also no doubt. The lack of light seeping through the curtains let you know it is way too early to start your day. So you focus on breathing hoping sleep takes over soon. 

When you went to breakfast the next morning you were relieved to find the dining room empty. After last night you didn’t know how to interact with Azriel, having told him things that not even your closest friends from home know. So you eat in silence and try to forget about last night, the nightmare and the dread that threatened to spill over whenever you were undistracted for longer than fifteen minutes. 

When you walked into the library Gwyn approached you immediately “Y/n! I’m so glad you are back, yesterday we found something and waiting to tell you has been tortuous” blood drains from your face and you swear your heart stops for a few beats. “What do you mean?” She walks over to a table with at least twenty books sprawled across it. “There is this book that talks about opening portals with a series of symbols, they are extremely intricate and the portal working depends on making the symbols perfectly but it’s totally doable. Then in this book there is a description of different realms that have been accessed by these portals. So, in theory we would just need to figure out which symbols lead to your realm” she finishes and looks at you with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on a face. “I… that’s incredible Gwyn, thank you”. You are terrified to get excited about the news. If it doesn’t work… But if it does then that means a way home. “Don’t thank us yet, we still have to figure out the combinations for your realm but I think it should be done by the end of the week”. Jesus, that’s soon. You spend the rest of the day in a daze, fetching books, picturing your life back home and coming up with explanations for your absence. 

By the time dinner rolls around you are starved. “Oh, hi” Azriel half smiles at you “hello, y/n”. You sit in your usual seat across from him, “I’m starving”, fill your plate and begin eating. “How was your day?” You pause your chewing and look at his eyes for the first time since last night “oh, it was alright” you take a sip of water “Gwyn told me that they found something on portals, I could be going home in a few days”. Telling Azriel you’re leaving was hard, goodbye suddenly on the horizon. He takes a few beats to reply “are you happy to be going back?” Right now, you are regretting everything you told him last night. You take a bite and nod. He continues, trying to fill the silence “I’m not surprised Gwyn found a solution so fast. She’s one of the most talented researchers in the library” you nod again. It was true, Gwyn was brilliant, but you didn't appreciate the jealousy that flashed through your chest. That’s something to unpack later. “How was your day?” He looks a little surprised by the question, having accepted that you weren’t in the mood for conversation “it was… productive. Training was good and I got word from one of the spies on the Continent”. You never know what to say when Azriel talks about his position as Spymaster, he didn’t offer details and you didn’t want to pry. You had a feeling that asking too many questions would make you seem suspicious and since you depend on the mercy of the Night Court for food and shelter you thought minding your business was the prudent thing to do. “I haven’t seen Mor in a while, what’s she up to?” His shoulders relax a bit “she’s in the Court of Nightmares for a few days”. Right. The Court of Dreams and Court of Nightmares dichotomy. “And Cassian?” you try to hide the little smirk that will give away your plan to annoy him. “He’s in Windhaven until tomorrow”. He’s so serious. “And Elain?” “Probably at the River House” “And Lucien?” “Somewhere in the human lands, maybe the Spring Court” “and Amren?” “I actually haven’t seen her since last week”. “What about Eris?” He stills. “How do you know Eris?”. His face hardened at the mention of the heir of Autumn. “He came to talk to Lucien at the Manor, I thought I had mentioned it” “you didn’t”. Pivoting, you ask “Nesta?” He runs his hand through his hair “uhm, tonight is girls night so she’s with Gwyn and Emerie getting drunk and gossiping”. That sounds fun. “You know, I meant what I said about teaching you how to use a knife. I could teach you a few self defense techniques before you go” your mind goes to the knife you’re still keeping in your boot “I’d really appreciate that, Azriel. I’m so tired of being easy prey, I wanna be able to put up a fight”. “Great, meet me here at dawn” he gets up “sleep well” and walks away. Dawn? 

You’re tired, but there's too much on your mind. So after dinner you find yourself  at the library where Nesta keeps all of her romances. “I swear Cassian steals my novels and uses the smut as inspiration” their three distinct laughters fill the room. You chuckle as Emerie goes to pour herself wine but Nesta snatches the bottle before and pours a glass for herself. “Do you mind if I crash your girls night?” the Valkyries look at you, not having noticed your presence and you hear an excited “eeek” as Gwyn tackles you. “Beautiful y/n of course you can join us! Here, have some wine” she hands you a glass that’s full to the brim and you take a few healthy sips “we were gossiping about the boys”. Nesta raises her eyebrows “y/n, be careful with that wine, it’s not meant for humans” you gulp. “Oh god, what’s gonna happen to me?” Nesta laughs “nothing, it’s just really strong. Anyway, he thinks I don't notice but last night he basically played out the bath scene from that novel we read last week” all of you giggle “lucky girl” Emerie teases. “What about you, y/n? Any good gossip to share with the group?” You sip the wine, already feeling light headed “not really”. Nesta’s eyes glitter with something you can’t quite place as she says “has anything happened with Azriel?” she wiggles her brows and you choke. Seeing her this playful is unusual and the idea about you and Azriel is so absurd “no, he’s just been a friend” “I’m sure he wants to be more than that…” you shake your head, sipping more wine. “Not even one kiss?” Emerie asks “not even a hug” she frowns “bummer”. You feel pressured to tell them something interesting so you say “you didn’t hear it from me, but I think there’s something going on with Vassa and Jurian”. The hours fly by between the wine, the stories and the speculating. It is almost dawn when you knock on Azriel’s door. 

“Y/n?” his sleep laced voice echoes in the hallway.  You hiccup “Azriel there is no way I can train with you”. “You joined girls night” he states “you spied on us?” He crosses his arms across his chest “it’s my job”. “You are just nosy,” he yawns, “can I help you with something?” “I’ve been keeping a secret,” you whisper. The dim hallway conceals the way his face pales at your confession “what do you mean?” You look around, double checking nobody else is here and step closer to him. He’s tall, much taller than you so you grab his shirt and he leans forward to meet you at eye level. He’s pale and stiff as a board as you move your face closer to his, until your lips are just about to touch his ears and in the softest voice he’s ever heard say “I think it was a trap”. He pulls away slightly to look at your face, maybe you’re messing with him. But the worry pouring from your eyes lets him know you are not joking. “I think whoever opened the portal used me to test it out”. He’s wide awake now and your eyes are droopy. “Why do you think that?” You yawn and rub your eyes. “I need to get to bed” he grabs your forearm and asks again “y/n, why do you think that?” Your eyes are basically closing themselves and you mumble “cause, there were no sounds and-” another yawn cuts you off. Azriel straightens up and leads you to your room, he’ll ask more questions tomorrow. He pulls the covers from your bed and you collapse on top of all the decorative pillows. Azriel places the covers over you and lets you sleep. 

You feel the pounding in your head before you even open your eyes. After a few minutes you open your eyes and close them again. A couple of more minutes you open them again. It takes a moment to build up the courage to move to a sitting position. Once you do, your gut flips and you bolt to the bathing room, emptying the contents of your stomach. Cold sweat coats your forehead and your back. You sigh, defeated. Slowly, you splash your face with cold water and return to your bed but stop when you see something on your bedside table.  A note, a smokey looking beverage, bread and butter. You pick up the note and admire the precise calligraphy “Drink this tonic for your hangover. The lesson has been moved to after lunch. Meet me on the terrace. Bring the knife. Azriel”. You don’t really remember your conversation from last night but you guess you were drunk enough that Azriel figured you would not be getting up for the lesson. You take a few bites of the bread and sip the concoction and gag at the foul taste. Then, you collapse on the bed, having a few more hours to sleep before your lesson.  

You feel much better when you wake up the second time, managing to tie your hair with a ribbon and putting on your old leggings, a fleece tunic and your boots. When you walk onto the terrace you shiver. The wind lets you know that Autumn has fully set in. “Good morning” the shadow singer greets with a teasing smirk. “Thank you for the provisions” you approach him, rubbing your arms for warmth “maybe we could have the lesson in an ice box, it would be less windy”. “You have to be prepared for the elements, y/n. Where’s the knife?” You pull it from your boot “right here” and wave it around, pretending to attack him. “So, the first thing to know is to not wave it around like that” he’s serious now. I hate when he gets all monotone. “Let’s start by seeing what you would do if you were immobilized”. Fast as lightning he lunges towards you and grabs you, pinning both arms to your sides. You shriek, not expecting that “Azriel this is ridiculous” he doesn’t let up “didn't Lucien drag you across an entire forest while you tried to get away?” You huff “that’s not fair, I would have gotten free but he knocked me against a tree”. “You were too slow, you have to learn to react on instinct. Now, try to get away” you swear he gripped you even tighter. You begin to thrash, trying to headbutt him, biting, scratching, pinching, screaming, but nothing works. Until you begin to kick your legs wildly and knee his groin. He groans and his hold on you falters for a second. You bring your hands to his chest and push him away while ducking. It’s messy but you get away. Until a calloused hand grabs your shoulder and your back meets his chest again only this time there's a blade pressed to your neck. “And then you’re dead” you roll your eyes “I think I did a great job” he lets you go and you immediately miss his warmth “I think we have a lot of work to do”. You stay on the terrace until nightfall and by the end of the lesson you are able to use the knife, more or less.  

You’re walking towards the dining room when Azriel asks “do you remember what you told me last night?” Oh god what did I say? “No, things got hazy half way through Gwyn’s story about some ribbon cutting ceremony… or something to that effect”. He stops walking and lowers his voice “you told me you think the portal was a trap, is that true?” Your throat goes dry and you nod. “I’m sorry I woke you up for that, it’s just a thought I had” he insists “why?” You let out a breath and explain your reasoning. The dead air, the lack of life around the circle, the mist that caged you in and the feeling of being watched. He nods, taking all of it in. You feel embarrassed. He probably thinks I’m crazy. “I’ll contact my spies to see if they’ve seen anything recently” you appreciate it, you really do but you can’t go down this spiral again “can we talk about this tomorrow? I’m starving”. You reach the dining room and are greeted by the smell of food and Nesta and Cassians conversation. “Y/n! Glad to see you on two feet, Nesta was worried you died after last night” you roll your eyes and sit down. “How did you feel today?” Nesta asked “I threw up when I woke up but Azriel left me a drink that helped with the hangover” you pretend you don’t notice Nesta’s raised brows. 

The following morning you return to the library and see Gwyn writing notes in a notebook. “Hi Gwyn”. “Oh, hi y/n.” she doesn’t look up “I’m copying the symbols we think might lead to your realm. If you’d like we can try it out right now, we just need to find an open space and some paint”  A few minutes later she finishes and frowns when she sees your expression “what’s wrong?” “Do you think this could actually work?” She looks unsure “maybe”.

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