#rhys was this close to having a stroke

[sirendeepity]

Azriel: Bryce woke up a long forgotten Daglan from their eternal nap

Rhys, sweating: there's a Daglan on Prythian?

Nesta: not anymore

Cassian, in the background: 😍

#pretty sure that's how it went down #az was pissed #rhys was this close to having a stroke #nesta was 'what like it's hard?' #and cassian was just like heart eyes motherfuckers #hofas spoilers #acotar #acotar incorrect quotes #nesta archeron #azriel #cassian #rhysand

[moonlightazriel]

What matters most /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: "i’m not sure if you taking requests but I was wondering if you could write something for Az where he has a whole mate and child/family and the IC doesn’t know bc he was to scared for people to know and therefore putting his little family in danger 😭 kinda just an angsty fluffy fic 🫶🏻"

Warnings: Mentions of injury, angst and fluff

Word Count: 2,4K

Notes: This request was so fun, i love this fic very much. Thanks again for the request anon ❤️❤️

Main Masterlist

Tired eyes roam around, wings almost touching the ground, Azriel’s focus on the other side of Velaris as Rhysand kept talking about the same problems in the Hewn City. He really tried, but the tugs in his chest urged him home. To her.

“We need to go there next week.” Rhysand looked around, his eyes landing on the clearly distracted Shadowsinger. “Everyone must go.” He emphasised, making Azriel internally groan in annoyance. 

He wanted to ask for some time off, take his mate and their daughter on a vacation, enjoy their presence and just be with them for as long as he could. Rhys dismissed the meeting and he immediately jumped out of his seat. He wanted to be with her, hold her in his arms and tell her how much he missed her. A month away from his mate and their family was always hard, crushing his spirit and draining his energy until he was by her side again. 

Without a proper goodbye and completely ignoring Feyre’s invitation to stay for dinner, Azriel fled, his wings carrying him with the wind. The house on the outskirts of Velaris irradiated life. The faelights surrounding the garden welcomed him home, he happily sighed, pushing the door open and sniffling the air, chicken and herbs filled his senses, a tint of strawberry mixed with chocolate chips. 

He smiled as the strawberry scent grew stronger, and a pair of arms wrapped itself on his left leg. He looked down, the toddler, 3 years older than Nyx, moved herself around, the tiny wings slowly whooshing in the air as he scooped her up. 

“Mommy! DADDY’S HOME.” Little Selene screamed, and he kissed her cheek.

“How are you, baby? Did you take care of mommy for me?” The little girl nodded excitedly. 

“I did, and mommy took good care of me too.” Her arms wrapped around his neck and she kissed his face, loudly smacking her lips against his skin. 

“I don’t deserve a kiss too?” His beautiful mate appeared in front of him, some hair strands falling from the bun she always wore while she cooked, a dirty apron covered her front and she held a wooden spoon, Azriel never saw a much more beautiful sight in his entire life.

Placing Selene on the floor, he pulled her by the waist, his lips delicately brushing against her warm ones. Bliss was the only word close enough to describe the feeling of being in her embrace, being near them, his two girls, the two people he loved the most in this world.  

“How was the mission?” She asked, grabbing his hand and leading the way towards their bedroom. Azriel could see the candles illuminating the bathroom, and the bathtub filled to the brim with water and foam, his favourite soap filled his nostrils. She always had a bath ready for him, a pair of fresh clothes and a warm meal whenever he got home from a mission, he could stay two days away or two years, he would always get home to that. 

“Incredibly annoying, I couldn't wait to be done and come home.” He discarded his clothes, her hungry gaze watched his every move, he could hear her swallowing hard at his naked figure. He submerged in the hot water, his muscles relaxing right away, she sat by the tub, a cloth in hand and started to rub his back.

“And I couldn't wait to have you back home.” She rubbed a particularly hard spot on his neck that had him moaning in relief. He rested his head against her thigh, her long fingers stroked in between his hair, massaging his scalp. “Lene has a surprise for you.” She warned and he looked at her.

“What is it?” His wife giggled, and raised an eyebrow, which always indicated that she would keep quiet. He smiled at her, stealing the cloth from her hands and rubbing himself. “Then I'd better hurry up.” She nodded, getting up and heading out of the room. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“As we trained, baby.” Y/N spoke, the late night breeze was a comfortable relief against the hot summer night. Azriel sat by the porch, Y/N held Lene’s hand and the little girl looked at her mother for reassurance. “You won’t fall, and if you do, daddy and I are here to catch you, always.”

With a confident gleam in her eyes, Selene’s wings moved, forcing her body upwards, little by little she started to float, her little hands slipping out of her mother’s reach. Azriel watched in complete awe as his daughter flew, her little body being carried towards the main gate and back to her mother. A month ago, Selene couldn’t go anywhere without holding their hands.

He got up, clapping and urging her for another lap towards the gate and back to him. Her dark hair moved around in the wind, her flushed cheeks and her proud expression crashed against his chest. She squealed in delight as he held her, spinning her around.

“That was so amazing. My girl is growing up so fast.” He kissed her cheek. “Soon you will be flying faster than your old daddy here.” Selene nodded in agreement.

“I’ll be the fastest Illyrian in the world.” Her mother came up to them, her fingers poking her belly, making Selene squirm and laugh. 

“You will, my love. But now it’s time to go to bed, okay?” The little girl looked at her father, her mothers eyes looking at him. She was the perfect mix of them both. 

“You heard your mother.” He leaned to whisper in her ear. “We can’t disobey her, or else she’ll ground both of us.” Selene nodded, and they took her inside. Azriel placed her in bed, kissing her forehead and wishing her a goodnight, once again telling her how proud he was of her flight.

“She wanted to train all month.” Y/N said, removing the hair tie and letting her hair fall loose, she removed her clothes and reached for one of his old shirts that reached the middle of her thighs. “I wish I could teach her more.” 

Despite being a full born Illyrian, Y/N was born without wings, no one understood how this even happened, but Azriel was glad that she was spared from the wings clipping cruelty that still happened on the camp she was born. 

“You do more than enough, tonight just proved it. She’ll carry you when you’re too old to even walk.” She laughed, her beautiful smile plastered across her face.

“So I only get to fly when I'm in diapers?” She rested her head against his chest. 

“Okay, okay. I’ll take you flying tomorrow.” He rolled his eyes and she playfully slapped his chest. “You have no idea how much I love you.” He blurted after a minute of silence. “I’ll ask Rhys for some time off.”

“You will?” Her big eyes turned towards him, hope sparked in them. He knew he worked a lot, and she was very patient with him missing important things, but someone could only be patient to a certain point, he knew she would snap soon and he didn’t blame her. 

“I will, I promise to you.” She kissed his chest.

“I love you, Az.” He could see the excitement covering her tone even if she tried to hide it, he was going to ask Rhys after the trip to the Court of Nightmares, he was sure that he would understand. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Azriel fixed his leathers, the new syphon in his chest was a shade darker than the others, he had used his main one to make a ring for Y/N and a necklace for Selene, so they would always have an important part of him with them. The remaining of the stone was well guarded in case he needed to make more jewellery for Lene’s future siblings. 

“Everyone ready to go?” Rhysand’s voice sounded from somewhere behind him, but  before he could muster a response, a piece of paper materialised itself in front of him. At the same time, his chest was flooded by a wave of pure distress and fear. He shifted anxiously, opening the paper.

“Selene got too excited flying and she fell, i think she broke her arm. I’m taking her to the healers hall, please meet me there.” The words sank in his chest, she was eager to fly a longer distance because he had said if she could fly until she reached the tree a few feet away from their house, he would take her flying for a whole day. It was his fault.

He didn’t register the voices calling his name, he just wanted to get to Selene as fast as he could. He was halfway into the threshold, hand on the cold doorknob, ready to leave, when his body suddenly went completely still. He couldn’t move.

“I told you to stay.” Rhysand’s High Lord voice commanded and he growled, turning to him slowly.

“Let me go.” Azriel demanded. Rhys raised an eyebrow, he never had to use his powers on Azriel because he never failed to do his duty.

“Whatever is wrong with you, it's not more important than this trip, i told you everyone must go.” Everyone in the room could see the rage simmering in the Shadowsinger’s gaze, his golden eyes burning holes in Rhysand’s skull.

“I don’t want to fight with you. LET. ME. GO.” His pure will of being with his family pushed Rhysand’s restrainings away, they silently watched as he started to move.

“I already told y..” Rhysand was cut short by the furious laughter of Azriel.

“Nothing is more important than my daughter.” The words left his lips, leaving the whole inner circle astonished, his what? “Let alone that maggot who thinks he’s better than you.” Azriel turned around. “So I'll see you later.” And with that he left.

Azriel kept his little family hidden from everyone, even from the people he trusted the most in the world, cuz he could never forgive himself if something ever happened to them. The thought of having them kidnapped and used as a way to get to him, their bruised bodies and broken spirit always flooded his mind whenever he thought of revealing them to the world. They were his most precious treasure and he would do anything in his power to keep them safe from the people who could harm them.

“We need to go after him.” Feyre said, the distressed expression on his face completely shattered her heart. “And you will apologise, he would never fail his duty if it wasn’t important for him, you should’ve let him go.” She scolded and guilt filled Rhys’s violet eyes. He nodded, the Hewn City could wait, his brother was more important, and apparently his niece’s wellbeing too.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

As the inner circle arrives at the Healers Hall, they spot Madja, she’s talking to a female. The female holds a little winged girl tightly against her chest, the little girl has a cast on her left arm, her little eyes are red with tears, a wet trail down her cheeks and the cutest pout ever. Without needing confirmation, they just know that it’s them.

They slowly approach, Azriel’s eyes meet Rhysand, he’s holding a glass of water and heading back to the female’s side. She’s too focused on Madja to notice the group coming behind them. The little girl notices tho, her eyes looking curiously at them, her features painfully familiar to the male standing by her side. Azriel whispered something to the female as Madja left.

She turned to them, her hand smoothing the girl’s hair. They looked beautiful together, and they wondered if she was his mate. By the way he pulled her close, they could only assume that yes, she was his mate. They could only guess what reason he had to hide them, the family he always wanted, how heavy this secret might’ve been to carry alone.

“What happened to this beautiful girl?” Feyre asked, stepping forward. Selene looked at her parents for reassurance, the two of them nodded slowly.

“Tell what you’ve been up to, Selene.” The female’s soft voice sounded. Feyre almost laughed with the coincidence, certainly Azriel noticed it. Selene the goddess of the Moon and Nyx the goddess of the Night. 

“I wanted to fly like daddy, but I fell.” She lifted the cast to them. “Do you want to sign it?” Feyre nodded, despite looking like Azriel, she wasn’t as shy as he was.

“Not now baby.” He said, his eyes locked up in a staring match with Rhys. “Maybe later, when they come over for dinner.” The High Lord nodded, they wouldn't miss this chance of learning about this secret part of his life. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

The house was cosy, in a quiet place, like they always pictured Azriel’s house as. Coloured markers were scattered around the living room table, everyone needed to pick one and sign Selene’s cast in order to access the rest of the house, as she happily demanded. Swirls of shadows, hearts, flowers and names marked her cast, she meticulously examined every single drawing, before happily dragging the three year old boy along with her, towards a pile of toys. 

Y/N, as she introduced herself, was moving around the kitchen, different aromas lingered in the air, Elain was immediately by her side, chopping vegetables. Feyre and Mor prepared the table, while Nesta watched over the kids. The females talked, getting to know all they could about Y/N and their family. She happily engaged in the conversation like they were long time friends.

Azriel, Cassian and Rhys sat by the living room, cups filled with liquor. Rhys wanted to apologise, so he cleared his throat, his violet eyes filled with regret. The two males stopped the chat, turning to him.

“I’m so sorry for how I acted. I should’ve assumed that you would never leave if it wasn’t important for you.” The Shadowsinger nodded. “I should’ve never stopped you.”

“And I should've told you, a long time ago.” He answered. 

“No, you didn’t have to.” Cassian intervenes. 

“He’s right, you had your reasons, I would've done the same for Feyre and Nyx.” Azriel smiled, knowing very well that he would, in fact, do the same if he ever needed to.

“I don’t want to hide them anymore.” He looked over to his mate, talking with his sisters in law, and his daughter, playing with her cousin. 

“Then we’ll be glad to be their protectors.” Rhysand spoke. Cassian reached for his and Azriel’s hand.

“As long as we live, they will be safe. All of them. That is a promise.” And their skins prickled, a tattoo forming to seal the bargain made between the three brothers. As long as they lived, their families would always be safe, no harm would ever get to them.

#acotar #azriel shadowsinger #sarahjmaas #moonlightazriel #azriel #shadowsinger #azriel x reader #night court #azriel x y/n #velaris #azriel acotar

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell (6)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Angst, PINING

a/n: Sorryyyy for the wait <3 As a lot of you know I have been going through it lately, but I really enjoyed writing this and hope to post more immediately 🤜. Let me know what you think :))

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ☆ Part 3 ✶ Part 4☼ Part 5 ☁ Part 7 ☆

Series Masterlist

~~

Day Court was immeasurably beautiful—with all of its pristine columns reflecting orange light. Marble flooring shone with distorted images of acrylic brush strokes that hung on granite walls. Fountains billowed at the mouth of every doorway, sculpted fixtures at their bases. Warm wind kissed your skin and glistening waters welcomed you and Day Court was so incredibly beautiful. 

You were sure, if given the chance, you would think the same of its residents. 

Unfortunately, you were not given the chance to come to that conclusion. 

“The High Lord is in a meeting. He sends his apologies for not meeting you upon your arrival—the merchants of Day can get a bit rowdy,” the servant laughed. “I can show you to your rooms in the meantime.”

“Rooms?” Rhysand posed. You attempted to look over Azriel’s wing to gauge the conversation, but Cassian took another step to the side, halting your movement. 

“Yes, Helion informed us that the four of you would be here, so we prepared four rooms. If that’s not—”

“Three rooms will suffice, thank you,” your High Lord drawled. 

The servant squeaked, and you were sure if you could see her, her nerves would be evident. “Of—of course, High Lord. I assume Lady Y/n will be with—”

“We will deal with the division of our rooms on our own. Thank you…” 

“Amira,” the servant offered. “My name is Amira. I will be attending to you, Lady Y/n, during your time here.” 

You knocked your head to the side, brushing Cassian’s bicep as he stood beside you. You barely caught Amira’s mousey brown hair before the membrane of a wing flushed out and pushed you back. 

“She doesn’t need an attendant,” Azriel bit out, misplaced malice creating tension in the hall.

“Oh, it’s okay, I—” 

Apparently, not even your voice was allowed to be heard. Rhysand cut you off. “No attendant,” he confirmed, after sending his spymaster a sidelong glance laced with reproach. “No servants in our rooms, either. We are rather private, you understand.”

A pause. 

You wished you could see anyone’s expression. 

From beside you, Cassian offered you a pity smile, nudging you with his elbow in an act of comfort. 

“Anything you require,” Amira shakily responded. “Shall I walk you back, then? Just to show you where you will be staying?” 

“Lead the way.” 

Azriel immediately stepped back, his shadows scrambling past him to enclose you in dim light. You felt his presence, firm and tall, looming at your back as you took the first few steps down the hall. 

This all felt entirely misplaced, with the bleakness of your group extinguishing some of the vibrance of the court you walked through. Cassian kept close to your side, some of Azriel’s shadows drifting off and cloaking the red glow on his hands and chest. Rhys, ever the High Lord, took up the front, footsteps light but purposeful. 

Everyone looked grim. 

Except for you. 

This court held no negative connotations for you, no malicious undertones that impacted the rest of your family. It was simply beautiful, and your family was simply cloistering you. 

But you agreed to this; anything to make them feel better. 

To make Azriel feel better. 

You turned your head to the side as you walked, catching the shadowsinger in your peripheral. Tense, on-guard, unyielding; Azriel’s jaw was set in a firm clench, but it was different from what you were used to. When he was tense at home, it was almost out of… anticipation? Trepidation? 

Here though… here his posture was derived from rage. From practiced, honed fury. 

You turned your head away before you attempted to fix it, to comfort him. He wanted to be angry, told you as much before he winnowed you to Day in a flurry of his shadows. 

I’m going to be different, he had told you, I need to be different. It can’t be like the last time. I can’t let you get hurt. 

The fear in his eyes had melted away in the Day Court sun; the second your feet landed on meticulously carved cobblestone, Azriel was no longer just your friend. 

Amira led you to three doors along a wall, mumbled a few parting words, and bowed away before anyone could send her a second glance. You attempted to offer her a reassuring smile amidst her flee, but Azriel’s shadows were too dense. A hand on your back led you into a room and Amira was gone. 

“That went well,” Cassian breathed, a long sigh punctuating his descent into a loveseat by the bed. “She didn’t look terrified at all.” 

The bedroom door clicked shut. Rhys raised his brows. “She’ll thank us later.” The High Lord’s eyes drifted to the shadowsinger sulking by your side. “This isn’t exactly a leisurely visit.” 

Your gaze shot around the room in the following lapse of silence, analyzing the tense nature of each male. The air felt stagnant and stiff, the light somehow dimmer even with the open windows, and you weren’t sure if your voice would make it worse or ease some of the pressing emotions. 

Rhys took a seat in a chair by the door, and you decided speaking was better than leaning into the uncomfortable silence. 

“It’s so beautiful here,” you began, playing with your fingers, second-guessing your decision to stand. Azriel remained motionless at your side. “The sun feels different somehow. Brighter, maybe?” 

“The skies have an affinity for their namesake in the solar courts,” Rhys offered kindly. 

You hummed, rolling onto your toes and then rocking back on your heels. “I suppose that makes sense. The nights are incredible back home.” 

The use of that word—home—did not go unnoticed by the group. Not by you and certainly not by the male standing guard at your side. The replacement of the word had been relatively common since you woke up. 

Here in Velaris, there is…. 

When you came back here all those years ago…

Let’s go back to the house…

Never home.

But being in Day—being away from Velaris—just solidified what you already assumed. Velaris was your home. You were sick of letting your family dance around that truth. 

~~

“Mother above, I was sure I would never see you again,” a strange voice tore your attention from Cassian’s vivid retelling of your first time flying with him, and although it was an interesting story, the man before you was even more enticing. 

With deep skin and an even deeper smile, white linen billowed around his confident figure. The man appeared to glisten as he walked toward your small group, golden sandals trailing up bronze calves. Even the air around him seemed to glow. 

Enticing didn’t seem to be the correct word. 

You’d been directed into a rather large study after a brief lunch and a “tour” of the grounds that only included the wing you were staying in. Rhys had chalked it up to Helion stalling for time. You’d tried to coax a more comprehensive tour out of the guard leading you around, but a sharp look from Azriel was enough to put that conversation to rest. 

“You look just as you did. Perhaps a bit gaunt but…” The man—Helion, you’d deduced—trailed off when the whisper of a shadow trailed at his neck. “I am Helion,” he smiled. “You have known me for many years. In love with me, as most are. But, alas, it is not fated.” 

Some of your awe shifted to shock. “I am—I’m sorry, I am in love with you?” 

In front of you, Cassian let out a long breath and fanned his wings out before letting them hang behind his chair. You sat straighter in your own seat, mortification creeping into your chest at the small laugh Rhys let slip across the room. What set your mouth into its flurry, however, was the raised brow you received from Helion. 

“I didn’t mean that to offend. I mean—what I meant was just that… Well, no one said I had a lover or even mentioned you in that way so it came as a shock. But I presume there is much about myself I have yet to learn so… you are a very beautiful man and I’m sure—” 

“Y/n, it’s alright,” came Azriel’s soothing voice from beside you, his scarred fingers pushing hair behind your ear halting your apologies. “He was only joking.” A pointed look in the High Lord’s direction. “He does that from time to time, unfortunately.” 

More mortification made an appearance. 

“Oh.” 

Helion’s raised brow had morphed into an unsure expression at some point amidst your rambling. “When they said you had no memory… You will have to excuse me, y/n. I assumed you’d have more… context. Especially with your abilities.” 

“We told you she remembered nothing and had no access to her magic,” Azriel defended, his fingers dropping to rest beside your thighs. 

“Well, yes, but often when magic tampers with the mind, the personality remains intact. Like a muscle memory.” 

“Oh, her personality is there,” Cassian retorted, a bittersweet smirk playing at his lips. “Just not when she’s met you five seconds ago and you’re revealing fake truths. Sarcasm doesn’t often work with strangers.” 

Helion nodded grimly, turning back to you. “I apologize.” 

“It’s really alright,” you comforted, attempting to calm some of the twisted guilt marring the High Lord’s face. “They worry too much. Right now everything I do is without context and I find myself embarrassed more often than not. It’s not your fault.” 

Helion did not look convinced or reassured. His eyes simply traveled to the corners of your face and tracked down to the patterns Azriel was drawing into the skirts of your dress. 

“Do you see now why we needed to come to you,” Rhys chimed in from above his crossed arms. 

Helion hummed. “Yes. Shall I get started then?” 

The room shuffled. You were informed that Helion had to be touching your head to assess the injury—unlike Rhys’s assessment—so you were sat atop a table to give him better access. Azriel followed by your side, his front pressed against the table, Cassian stood his ground behind Helion, and Rhys took up residence on your other side. 

“In Day, we have a type of healing that extends to magical wards and enchantments, was that explained to you?” Helion asked, kind eyes never leaving yours. Too kind—uncertain and full of reproach.

“Yes, they said maybe the witch put something in my mind. Like a blockage.” 

“Precisely. And I was informed about Rhysand’s unsuccessful attempt at entering your mind. That could be due to a spell, which is why I would be more useful.”

Rhys scoffed. 

You let a smile tug at your lips, but it was quickly extinguished when you considered the outcome of this process. “Will it feel the same? What you’re doing and what Rhys did?” 

You could almost hear the way Azriel ground his jaw. 

Helion glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “It will feel different. I am not in the business of thoughts or memories. I won’t be able to access anything other than any inflictions you may have.” 

“So it won’t hurt?” 

“I cannot promise anything.” 

The table beneath you shifted an inch, just to be caught by hands glowing with blue light.

I need to be different. It can’t be like the last time. I can’t let you get hurt.

“Still sure you can’t just beat the crap out of whatever’s going on in my head?” you posed to Cassian, tilting your head up to call over Helion’s shoulder. 

The general’s chuckle eased some of the tension in the room. “I would if I could.” 

“Promise?” 

“Always.” 

With a resigned breath, you nodded to Helion. The High Lord’s hands glowed a golden white, he lifted them to your head, and then there was nothing. 

~~

Azriel

If he hadn’t shot his hand out when he did, Azriel was sure your head would have fallen out of Helion’s grasp and plummeted to the floor. 

You were limp. 

Eyes closed, neck bent—completely and utterly limp. 

Azriel took the liberty of tugging on the bond just to make sure you were still alive. He hadn’t done so since you woke up in the forest, remembering the fear in your eyes, but you looked so incredibly lifeless. 

“Helion,” he barked, his worried expression never turning from your face. 

Icy panic gripped his stomach, twisting it with fervor. 

Cassian took a step forward. 

“Why is she unconscious?” his brother gritted out. His tone was an empty threat; he couldn’t hurt a High Lord, and neither could Azriel, but Azriel would do much more for much less. 

His life had become a nightmare. 

Literally. 

On his worst nights, he relived the time you went missing and the subsequent loss of your memories over and over until he woke up screaming. His heart would beat so rapidly it seemed impossible to slow and he would be inconsolable for several minutes, but he always had you there. He would wake up from that nightmare and you would be there. 

He had that dream every night now, and he woke up to the same. The guestroom he occupied didn’t smell like you, and even though you were just on the other side of the wall, he couldn’t make out the sound of your breath enough to let it lull him back to sleep. Nothing you owned was in that room. Everything he owned was still in a pile by the door after Feyre had rushed to clear the evidence of him from your space. But why did that matter? What were books and trinkets and clothes in a room that was otherwise devoid of everything he loved? 

Leaving his room was worse. 

Gods, all he wanted to do was hold you. To really, truly hold you and for you to hold him back. But you looked at him cordially, the same way you looked at Cassian and Rhysand and Mor. 

When he left the house he had to deal with Feyre and Nesta’s constant questioning. Even Amren had taken an interest in your well-being, and while he appreciated the care for his mate, he couldn’t take it. 

He couldn’t take echoing the words, “She’s fine. Healthy. Less pain today,” over and over when he could tell what they really wanted to know were things you wouldn’t share with him. He couldn’t take the fact that you didn’t tell him you loved him—that he would whisper it at your back every time you turned around and you never heard. You were skittish at his touch and shy when you spoke and you were never the first to voice your opinion and he just couldn’t take it. 

With your head in his broken hand, Azriel felt another piece of him crack. 

“I did it.” Rhys broke the silence, a concentration twisting his brow. “Helion and I agreed it was the best way to go about this. It had to be sudden though—unexpected. We needed a moment where her mind was completely unexpecting.”

Cassian cursed. “You couldn’t have told us that before you made it look like she died, Rhysand?” 

“If y/n were dead no one would be standing here right now and you know that.” 

“Still,” Cassian mumbled. “Warn a guy.” 

“I’ve felt this before,” Helion said, shaking his head. “But that’s impossible. Rhysand, you would have—” 

“I would have, yes, but not if it was created through other means. It was a witch, not a daemati.” 

“She could have been both.” 

“Extremely unlikely. Keep going.” 

Azriel watched the way your lashes fluttered, counted the beats of your heart and pretended you knew who he was. 

“What’s happening?” he asked. “You’re both in her head. Talk.” 

“I couldn’t get through the wall myself because it wasn’t her magic,” Rhys explained. “I assumed it was the witch’s, but this signature is too similar. It’s exactly like it was before, just muted.” 

“Like it was before?” Azriel repeated, finally turning his head up. 

Rhysand looked grim. “Almost identical.” 

“That isn’t possible,” the shadowsinger immediately refuted. “I killed that bastard myself. There is no way he could have done anything to her.” 

“Azriel, I think it’s possible that—” 

But Azriel did not let the High Lord of Day finish his thought. “You don’t speak to me about her,” he seethed. “Not when she came to your court and one of your people did this to her. I trusted you with her. I sent my mate here and she has been paying the price for that ever since. This is your fault, so you do not tell me what you think. You tell me what is certain.”

The room went silent, and Helion looked back at you, eyes glazing as he continued his work. 

A strong, steady hand clapped against Azriel’s shoulder. It took Cassian three tugs before Azriel reluctantly let your head go, but only after Rhysand placed his own hand at your back. 

“Look, I get it,” Cassian comforted, hands on his brother's arms. “If this was Nesta I’d probably be tearing this room apart right now. But he’s all we have here. And you know it wasn’t his fault last time. You remember how hard he worked to get her back.” 

Azriel ignored him.

Cassian roughly shook his frame. 

“Hey, you know that. And you know y/n’s going to be pissed at you when she gets her memories back and hears how much of an ass you’re being to Helion. She’s going to be severely pissed if you start a war trying to kill the guy.” 

“If.”

The small smile Cassian was sporting faltered. “What?” 

Azriel finally met his eyes. “If she gets her memories back. It was an if last time and it’s an if again.” 

The two High Lords discussed quietly in the back, their hands still on you. Azriel’s shadows refused to leave your side, weaving through your hair and your clothes and the fingers against your head. 

“Well last time she got them back, didn’t she?” 

“You truly believe that will happen twice? I was praying to the mother for luck the first time, Cassian. She won’t listen again. I guarantee she won’t.” 

“Az…” Cassian trailed off. There was no speech to formulate, not when defeat and resolution were so clear on his brother’s face. 

“She won’t love me a third time.” 

Your cough had Azriel bolting away from his brother’s concerned gaze in an instant. You were no longer in Helion’s grasp, instead leaning against Rhysand’s arm as the High Lord of Day scribbled something in a book.

“Ow.” You rubbed at your head with a pinched expression, squinting up at Azriel as he leaned down. “I think I passed out or something.” 

It was mostly out of hysterics, but a small laugh escaped the spymaster. “Or something.” 

Gods, you sent a spark of joy down the bond and it was all-consuming. You did that from time to time, unintentionally flooding Azriel with whatever emotion you felt the strongest. More than once he had to stop himself from opening his side completely just to relish in the reminisce you offered him. 

“What about this time? Did we figure it out?” you slurred, squeezing your eyes open just to have the drop closed once again. 

Azriel tucked his hand against the back of your head and looked expectantly at the two High Lords before him. 

When Helion spoke, Azriel let him, if only because he was still living on the high of his mate’s lingering amusement. “Whatever the witch did, it was a mimicry of the daemati that tore into her head all those years ago. I need to do more research, see if I am able to undo whatever it is she redid without irreparably damaging her mind. If I can’t, the only answer is the witch.” 

“Is that even possible? To mimic something like that?” Azriel asked, stepping forward so your drooping head would fall against his arm. 

“Witches draw power beyond their reserve and even beyond the cauldron. We know so little about them. Tamlin should not have been making deals with them,” Helion curtly replied. 

Any lightness in the room had very clearly disappeared. 

“Take your mate back to your room. We can discuss this when she no longer looks like she’s fighting to stay awake.” 

“I am awake,” you argued, trying and failing to haul yourself into an upright position. 

Rhysand huffed out a laugh. “I wouldn’t even be awake after having two high lords in my mind. Go rest. We will talk in the morning.” 

Azriel assisted as you stood on unsteady legs, but the attempt was futile. The shadowsinger gathered you into his arms as you sent an accusatory finger in Rhysand’s direction. “Liar.” 

It wasn’t until you were alone in the hallway, your head against Azriel’s shoulder, his arms beneath your body, that you spoke again.

“Azriel?” 

He hummed in response. 

“What’s a mate?”

Part 7 ☆

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel angst

[ellievickstar]

Pretty Lies

A/N: THIS THOUGHT STRUCK ME AS I THOUGHT OF THE MEME SO LIKE BEAR WITH ME FOR A MOMENT OKAY??? also i gave up valentine week, i want to write a lot does not mean i want to stick to a schedule.

Summary: Cassian has some questions about you and Azzy's relationship, and because you are both very private people you choose not to answer Cassian truthfully, but what will happen when he decides to test your answer out?

Request: Nope.

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Warnings: Fluff. I'm in my soft era okay??? shush. This is set before even Amarantha so somewhere between the first war and the curse.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Cassian glanced between you and Azriel, both of you had been speaking through the mating bond, thus it was mostly silent. Truth to be told, your bond was quite new and Cassian had not really heard you both interact with each other since you both confessed your love.

"Hey...I have a question," Cassian spoke up, raising his hand slightly. You cocked your head curiously, waving a hand to encourage him to continue.

"Do you guys use pet names?" Glancing at Azriel, he shrugged.

"No," You said simply.

Narrowing his eyes, Cassian internally scoffed. He did not buy it, not for one moment. Azriel may have been the most quiet among the three of them but he knew for a fact that Azriel was probably the most affectionate behind close doors. Azriel cared in a way that was quiet, a way that did not draw attention. The smallest details that hinted to the fact that the shadow singer cared more than he let on.

Cassian nodded to himself, he would reveal your lies and expose them for what they are, this was his true purpose in life.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

His plan commenced during dinner.

Waiting for the proper moment to strike, he suddenly piped up when you and Rhys were deep in conversation, Azriel was listening to Amren closely as she complained about how boring her life was now.

"Hey, Y/N, what do bees make?" Cassian asked slyly. Hesitating for a second, you gazed at him before answering, "Honey?" It was then that Azriel suddenly said, "Yes, Sweetheart?" Mor exploded into laughter, Amren hummed her amusement and Rhys grinned like a wild cat.

Blushing a deep red, you turned your head to hide your face in Azriel's arm, his hand coming up to stroke your hair while your body shook from trying not to laugh, his lips curling up into a smirk.

"I KNEW IT," Cassian screamed, "YOU LIARS TOLD ME YOU DIDN'T USE PET NAMES, HOW COULD YOU LIE TO ME," Wincing at how loud he was, Azriel shot Cassian a pointed glare in which Cassian quieted down, sulking slightly as he dramatically collapsed back in his chair, clutching his chest from 'heartbreak'.

"I'm sorry Cass, but you're not the most...subtle person," You tried. You were trying to not snicker and be kind about it but he gasped louder. "I can be subtle. I am soooo subtle," He rolled his eyes.

"So if I told you I found my mate would you be calm?" Rhys joked. However, Cass's eyes widened at Rhys, his eye balls seemingly almost popping out. "I'M THE LAST ONE LEFT WITHOUT A MATE????"

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Bonus:

"Never lie to my face every again," Cass whined, chuckling you nodded, Azriel's wing tucking you closer to his side, ready to scoop you up once you were done talking to Cass so you could retire home for the night.

"I promise I will tell you every detail, even how Az-"

"NEVER MIND!"

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

A/N: hope this was fun to read heheheh see y'all next time <3

Azriel taglist: @chessebookgirl (if you guys want to be tagged in any character fics please tell me and I will happily add you <3)

#acotar #acotar fandom #acosf #azriel shadowsinger #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel fluff

[azsazz]

Midnight Muse (Part 18)

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: 2,762

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17] [Masterlist]

Notes: I'm sobbing btw.

_________________________________________

The exhibition is in full swing.

There had been a speech from Thesan, gushing over how long he’s wanted to host a showing for Azriel, and then he had to give one himself. Azriel kept it punctual and short and so like himself that you couldn’t help but smile.

The conversation is loud and people seem to be enjoying themselves, couples admiring the strokes of charcoal streaked across canvas, the picturesque drawings he’s made come to life. They are so realistic that they look like black and white photographs. You can see the way that his art resonates with people, allowing your eyes to wander after you pass over a short greeting to someone that wants to speak with Azriel.

A few times has he looked at you and caught you staring at the centerpiece of his exhibition, your intense gaze watching with a predatory glint as if protective over the artwork. He can easily tell that it is your favorite, and he finds himself itching to know why you seem so drawn to it, watching the patrons at the party ogle and comment, watching their reactions.

He notices, too, how you haven’t left his side all night, as if you somehow know that he needs the familiarity around this many strangers, who he’s allowed to come to his exhibition, judging not only his art, but him, and his hands.

Azriel doesn’t have to ask you, the brush of the skirt of your dress against his leg or the whisper of your arm against his is more than enough, even if his fingers twitch to reach out to cling tightly to yours. He keeps a firm hold on his full glass of champagne, not a single drop gone. It’s the same one he hands to you when you’ve downed yours during your glaring contest with the guest currently standing a little too close to his art for your liking.

Azriel doesn’t like feeling so exposed like this. It’s another thing that he and his therapist have talked about often, his need to open up more, to allow the uncomfortable to become comfortable.

He can’t hide in his room forever.

The night is slowly winding down, which is perfect because he’s exhausted from playing host. Tired of fake-smiling and laughing at shitty jokes, tired of people staring at his hands, staring at you, all pretty in your dress. He wants to kick everyone out and then kick himself for missing your reaction to every picture he hung in this gallery, if the response he’d gleaned from you over his centerpiece was as exquisite as you.

He’s never shown off something so private before, and to strangers nonetheless. Technically, he could consider you a stranger, too, because he knows next to nothing about you, but you’re more of a comfort in this sea of people than not.

He feels like a circus animal here, so vulnerable with the spotlight on him. People see him as a strong, confident, brooding man most of the time, not to be fucked with, but it’s not who he used to be, not before the accident. There was a time where he smiled more, was more extroverted, when he and Cassian and Rhys would wreak havoc across the university grounds, spraypaint buildings and party to their hearts content, but ever since that fucking night when his world changed, he hasn’t been the same.

He hasn’t been that boy in a long time.

He peeks at you again, because the man before him is talking numbers for one of his pieces and it doesn’t sound remotely close to what it is worth to Azriel. His heart stutters in his chest at your beauty, those feline eyes watching the room as if daring someone to try something, say something.

He can’t look away from you and you can’t look away from the artwork, completely entranced by the two hands, the two sides of him, split and unsure he’ll ever really be whole again. This entire exhibition is about it, about new beginnings, letting go of the old and trying to accept the new. How hard he has had to work to build up to this point in his life again.

And maybe someday he’ll share it with his roommates, his best friends, but for now, Azriel is more than content to only share this moment with you.

The longer you look away from him the more nervous he becomes, because he wants to talk to you, wants to figure out the unknown draw that itches his body when you’re around. He wants to be able to see this through your eyes, hear your thoughts on each piece even if it takes all fucking night, he won’t sleep anyway.

“Sure,” he responds lamely to the man in front of him. Some sort of art connoisseur, he claimed. Said that he could see the next big thing before it happened, and that Azriel was going to shoot up the ladder fast, and that he had to have one of his pieces. Too bad he doesn’t know that Azriel doesn’t want charcoal to be first priority, tattooing is. “Let Thesan know I accept.”

He doesn’t shake the man's hand, doesn’t shake anyone’s hand, but he places it on your lower back and there are those stunning eyes, pinned on him as electricity zips up your exposed spine. Those eyes make him a weaker man, even more so when he hardly had any use of his hands at all. Those eyes can tear him down with one glance, break his walls too quickly, so quickly that his only defense against them is to pretend he doesn’t want anything to do with you at all. To piss you off and annoy you so you can’t see what he truly wants.

He answers your questioning look with a nod of his head. He needs to offer his thanks for those attending, even more so for the ones that purchased pieces, and after that, the gallery will close and the night will come to an end.

Neither you nor Azriel want it to, but neither of you will speak it. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“I’m sorry, you know,” he says after the gallery empties out and it’s just the two of you.

Even Thesan is gone now, allowing Azriel to lock up after he had requested a few final hours with the artwork he has created before it’s all packaged up and shipped out after the exhibition ends in four weeks.

You’re both sat against the wall opposite the centerpiece, staring at it, half a bottle of champagne in. You’d kicked your shoes off as soon as the last person had left the building, feet screaming in pleasure as you got off of them for a bit. 

You’ve let your hair down from its style too, complaining about the pins holding it tight to your head. You’re a few more glasses of champagne in than Azriel, having needed the liquid courage to both numb your feet and keep you from overthinking most of the night, but now, alone with Azriel, you feel more relaxed, slumping against the wall.

You blink up at him. His eyes are a little hazy from the drink but he’s staring down at you, gold eyes honest and raw. 

“You’re sorry?” you question in disbelief and he nods. You huff, nearly knocking over your glass of champagne sitting on the floor next to you when you throw your hands out, gesturing to the room. “I’m finally getting the apology that I deserve and there’s no one here to witness it?!”

A smile cracks his lips and your breath hitches slightly. You didn’t realize how close he was sitting to you, shoulders brushing with each breath. Your cheeks burn and you hope that for once the alcohol has done its job and they were already the color of an apple. You turn back to the picture before you, trying not to focus on the rapid beating of your heart, his gaze on your face and his breath dancing across your cheek.

“I was an asshole that night,” he sighs, tipping his head back against the wall. He drains his glass in long sips, throat bobbing with each swallow. If you look at it, you might take a bite.

“Yeah,” you giggle, because how can you not when you feel on top of the world. You’ve just gotten an apology out of the Azriel Teller. You could scream it from the rooftops. You would if your feet weren’t aching so badly. “You were.”

“Would you care to know why I was such a dick that night?” he asks so quietly you almost don’t hear it. The smile fades from your face and he’s already looking at you again, something like remorse and nervousness swimming in those gold pools. 

You swallow hard. 

Azriel wipes his suddenly sweaty hands on his pants.

“If you want to,” you answer, just as softly. You hadn’t been expecting this out of the night, especially not this, sitting in an art gallery with the one person who has made it their mission to annoy the fuck out of you from the start of the year.

You hadn’t been expecting to enjoy his company so much, either.

Azriel knows that he doesn’t need to do this. He doesn’t need to explain anything to you, but after tonight, he wants to. He wants to tell you everything, about the parking, his failed internships, the strained relationship he has with his father, his hands.

You look like you’re more than willing to listen to him, this time.

Azriel says fuck it, forgetting his empty glass in favor of bringing the champagne bottle to his lips for a deep swig. His tongue darts out to swipe a droplet from his pink lips and you lean forward without realizing it, nearly flinching back when he grimaces at the taste.

“You don’t really drink much, do you, Azriel?” you ask, and the sound of his name rolling off your tongue like that—all silky and smooth—has him shuddering. 

He wants to hear you say it again.

He shrugs instead, letting out a sad chuckle that makes your heart ache. He picks at the corner of the label with his nail, suddenly shy when moments ago he’d been ready to share this with you.

Azriel takes a deep breath, and answers. “I don’t drink that often anymore,” his voice sounds hoarse, like he’s been screaming for the past three hours straight. “It makes my hands shake more.”

He can feel the way you’re looking at them now, feel it as hot as the fires that had fried the nerve endings in them. 

Slowly, gently, but with all of the intention that you have, you pry his hand from the bottle, and intertwine your fingers with his.

He doesn’t flinch at the contact, but the action makes his heart stop. He can’t breathe as he stares down at your interlocked fingers. Your hand is soft against his, so dainty and perfectly sized against his that he doesn’t know what to do with himself, he no longer knows how to speak. 

“Then don’t drink,” you say, trying to take the bottle from his other hand with your free one. He refuses to let go, bringing it back up to his mouth for another sip.

“I need the confidence right now,” he mutters, still staring at your locked fingers. “But when I don’t,” he exhales harshly, throat tight. “It feels like my hands aren’t even connected to my fucking brain. Which is kind of why I was such an ass the day we met.” He sees the questioning look on your face and explains. “Not because I was drinking, but because of my hands. I was at an interview for an apprenticeship at a tattoo parlor and they said that my lines were too shaky. They turned me down, and it had been the third opportunity I didn’t get because of this fucking mess.”

Azriel’s chest heaves and he glares down at his marred fingers. Anger burns his chest. He shouldn’t even be touching you, not with the disgusting flesh stretched back over his muscle and bones.

He tries to untangle his fingers from yours but you hold firm, consoling him. “Hey, Azriel, stop it.”

“You don’t get it, (Y/N),” he’s frustrated, you know. “All I wanted to do is become a tattoo artist and now my dream is completely fucked because of my step-brothers,” he spits, and your shocked gasp and wide eyes have the story spilling from his lips. He holds so tightly to your hand that it almost hurts, but he needs this and you won’t let go. “That’s right, my own step-brothers poured gasoline all over my hands in my father’s garage because they found out I was lying about being a business student like he so desperately wanted me to be.” His voice is thick, wet, and tears well in your eyes. You bite your lip to hold in your sob, but Azriel can’t even look at you right now. “They fucking lit me up like the fucking fourth of july, and now i can hardly hold a tattoo gun for a long period of time, let alone draw a goddamn straight line.”

Oh my Gods. Tears spill over because this is the worst thing you think you’ve ever heard in your life. Your stomach roils, and the champagne might make a reappearance. How could anybody, let alone his family, do something like this? It’s utterly fucking evil, and vile and…and…you can’t even think of another word to describe what Azriel has gone through. 

The centerpiece of his exhibition suddenly makes sense. On the left, his hand before the accident, unmarked and perfect. On the right, how his hand is now, shaky and destroyed.

You don’t know what to do, what to say. Your tongue won’t form a single word because your brain can’t form any. You’re in complete and utter shock at his revelation. You can’t stop the ringing of his words in your head. Azriel is shaking like a leaf, his grip tight around your hand. His breathing is harsh, loud in the otherwise silence of the gallery, eyes squeezed tightly shut as if trying to block out the memories.

Azriel’s voice is tight, a low grind when he speaks again. “Those drawings,” he gestures vaguely towards the door. You try to blink your tears away, but each droplet that falls is replaced by two more. You don’t need to look, though, you remember his art perfectly. “I drew those ones as soon as I could pick up a piece of chalk after the incident. Hurt like fucking hell,” his chuckle is wet, false, “and even more so to clean the powder from my hands. It helped to wear gloves, but when they were still healing the tightness felt like I was being burned all over again.”

He doesn’t have any trouble with them now, often preferring to wear the latex to cover the devastating scars he will have to live with for the rest of his life.

“Azriel,” you croak, but he shakes his head and you go quiet. He’s not quite done yet.

“This exhibition is about new beginnings,” he explains, finally cracking those golden eyes open. They drag over every single piece of work that he’s created. The despair, anger, agony, slowly turning into something steadier, stronger, and happier. He’s not completely there yet, but he’s hoping that someday he can look down at his hands and be proud of what he’s accomplished.

He untangles his fingers from yours and pushes to his feet before helping you up. You stand, hand in hand once again, but instead of looking at the art on the walls, you’re looking at him. His life, on display for all to judge. Azriel might not be able to see it, but you think he’s the strongest person you know. He’s overcome these obstacles, and keeps working towards that goal daily. You are in awe of him.

Finally, his gaze slides to yours and the rawness in them is your undoing. It’s fitting, you think, that his exhibition is about new beginnings, and this feels so much like one. There isn’t anything to hold against him. He’s apologized, done much more than that. He’s let you in on something that not many people know about him. He’s trusted you with his past.

Which is what makes you breathe out a hasty, “I’m sorry too,” and pull Azriel in for a kiss.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

MM Taglist P.1: @going-through-shit @honeycriess @natashachelsea @thisisew @kennedy-brooke @cat-or-kitten @sourapplex @magical-mischief-makers @reiincarnatiion @ccucumbers @secret-ly-here @throneofsmut @cami26cami @torchbearerkyle @a-frog-with-a-laptop @sevikas-whore @endless-worldss @vellichor01 @bangtans-jagiya @kalulakunundrum @pinksmellslikelove @sakurafrost3-blog @imxnotxhere @bookishbroadwaybish @justdreamstars @i-am-infinite @whichwitchisthebitch @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @sia-r @homeslices @quinzzelx @carlandonorri-s @juniper-july19 @ssmay123 @blackthorngirl @haivenhoule @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @bloodicka @wilmalovegood @jw83

#acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #midnight muse #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #artist!azriel #art school au #tattoo artist!azriel

[azriels-shadowsinger]

hey! could i ask for number 7 from the prompt list with azriel? :)

“I broke the lock. You were screaming.”

Azriel x Reader

wc: 800

a/n: warning: descriptions of an attack

prompt list

You were running as fast as you could, passing the buildings of the Windhaven camp. No matter how fast you ran, your legs kept moving in slow motion. It wasn’t long before two males grabbed you and forced you to the ground.

You see your father step into view, his bitter face full of loathing.

“You can’t run from me this time. You may have delayed the clipping longer than most, but you can’t put it off forever. And I think with your ungrateful and entitled attitude, you don’t deserve those wings at all.”

You try to scream for help, but for some reason, you can’t make any sound. Tears stream down your face as you attempt over and over to call for Azriel, Rhys, or Cassian.

“I should’ve done this a long time ago, you self-righteous bitch.” Your father spits the words with hatred. He holds up a large serrated blade. You try again to scream, to fight, to do anything, but you are silenced by a quick slash on your cheek. You feel the warm blood trickle down your face.

“Shut the fuck up.” Your father growls. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to keep your cries in.

“y/n” Azriel’s voice echoes, very far away.

You squirm, trying once again to escape the grasp of the males holding you down, but their grip tightens as they shove your face into the dirt.

“y/n!” The distant voice seems louder, but it’s too late. He won’t be able to reach you in time to save you or your wings. Your father lifts the blade with a sick smile on his face. You feel the cool edge of the blade press against the base of your wing and cry out in pain.

“Y/N!”

———

You jolt up in bed, sweating. You feel someone holding your shoulders and you thrash violently, trying to break free.

“Y/N! Please wake up!” You hear Azriel’s voice again, but this time he isn’t far away, he’s right next to you. You open your eyes and scan the room in a panic, but all you see is Azriel above you, holding you by the shoulders and with an alarmed look in his eyes.

You stop resisting his touch and try to control your breathing, but you can’t seem to get enough air in your lungs.

“Deep breaths. You’re okay. You’re safe.” You let your head fall onto his chest, shaking as you sob. Azriel runs a gentle hand down your spine, between your wings, causing you to flinch. He immediately understands what your nightmare was, or rather a memory of what almost happened if he and his brothers hadn’t gotten there in time. His shadows caress your skin gently, cooling the sweat from your neck and forehead.

The two of you sit there for a while while your crying eventually calms to sniffles. Your bloodshot and tear-filled eyes meet Azriel’s.

“He tried to take my wings. Except this time, you weren’t there to stop him.” He nods in understanding.

“You are safe. You still have your wings. You’re not at Windhaven, you’re in Velaris, okay?“ You sniffle again and nod.

Finally, you look at the rest of your bedroom, hoping to remind yourself that you are in fact safe in Velaris, when you notice a pile of broken wood where your door should be. You give Azriel a confused look.

“I, uh… I broke down the door.” Azriel admits sheepishly. “You were screaming.” You look back at the broken door, then at Azriel, feeling your heart warm.

“Can you stay?” You ask quietly. He only nods, sliding into the bed beside you and pulling you close to him. Maybe some other day he will think about why this is making his heart race, or why he can feel yours racing too despite having calmed, but for now, he just holds you, stroking your hair gently and humming a soft tune.

“Thank you for saving me that day.” You mumble into his chest.

“I’ll always save you, sweetheart.” He plants a small kiss on your forehead.

After a few minutes, he notices your breathing has steadied and you seem to have fallen asleep again. He tries to gently remove himself from the bed, not sure if you would sleep well with him taking up so much space, but as soon as he tries to move away, you tighten your hold on him and pull him closer. A small smile crosses his lips as he scoots closer again and shuts his eyes.

Azriel got the best sleep of his life that night.

Thank yall for sending in requests! I’m working on them as fast as i can, i hope to have 2 more out today maybe

prompt list

#acotar #azriel #azriel acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #my writing

[readychilledwine]

Pieces of You pt 2

Summary - After losing Feyre to childbirth, Rhysand finds himself leaning on one of her friends much more than he'd ever expected.

Warnings - panic attack, a well-deserved breakdown, negative thoughts, death of partners, sickness

A/N - 👀

Series Masterlist

You hadn't gotten used to waking up with Rhysand beside you. The High Lord had shown up the day after visiting Nyx for the first time, pulling a few bags from his pocket world, and moved in. That was 2 weeks ago 

He had started in the guest room. Opting to move Nyx's bassinet in there, he slowly realized caring for Nyx was impossible without you. Nyx was not comforted by his scent the way he was yours yet. He enjoyed the warmth of Rhysand's skin, but that skin wasn't the skin that held him so close those first few critical days. Plus, and most importantly, Rhys could not feed him. The one time they tried the mixed powder substance Madja had made for them, Nyx had a look of betrayal gracing his small face before gagging. He cried until you couldn't emotionally take it anymorez glaring at his clueless father as you sat on the floor and fed him. You were too attached to the heir, and him you. He was your son, and you were the closest thing he knew to a mother.

Rhys had accidentally pulled you close to him during the short nap, arm tight around your waist, head buried in your hair. He had fallen into heavy sleep for the first time since welcoming himself in. It was so heavy that he couldn't hear the soft grunts coming from his son. You tried wiggling from his grasp, almost struggling for breath as his grip grew tighter. 

It shouldn't have affected you the way it was. Being held so tightly was like having a knife stabbed into your chest over and over. It felt like ripping and tearing fine hair from your arm. Sharp, dull, aching, soothing. You finally freed yourself and had to back away to breathe, to forcely remind yourself that wasn't your husband, your mate, holding you. He'd never get to do that again. You'd never feel his arms scarred from years at sea and in port wrapped around your waist. You'd never smell the salt air and sunshine that clung to him like second skin again. 

You'd never feel that tug again. That warmth spreading through you as he sent his love. Instead, you were empty. You were a shell of a female, walking on borrowed time, on borrowed life. 

You had always thought you would fade if he was gone. That you would leave this world when he did, dying of a broken heart, yet here you were, living, breathing, mourning. 

You shook your head, wrapping and clipping your hair before moving to Nyx and gently picking him up. You'd keep going for the babies. You would push for the babies. 

Feyre told you once the Suriel had asked her to leave the world a better place, and your mate had once told you the world would have been better if everyone loved the way you did. Ensuring Nyx and Morwenna lived, ensuring they were loved, it would fulfill both of those wishes. 

You could feel everything later. Lose your mind and heart when Rhys took the babies out for the day. You needed to be strong now, though. Be the anchor all three of them needed you to be.

You kissed his forehead softly, going to take him out of the room to eat when the soft scent of the sea hit you. 

And you didn't know, but Rhys had pulled your pillow closer, welcoming the soft scent of pear that lingered there despite your absence. 

-

Rhys kneeled before you, stroking your face as tears fell.

Wen was refusing to eat, sleeping heavily, and not herself. He had called for Madja, trying to calm you as you cradled her closely. He wanted to take her, to hold her the way you were. He had grown attached to his Little Mor ao quickly, welcoming her so warmly into his heart that it pained him to see you two like this. He saw Little Mor as his daughter. He loved her the same way he loved Nyx, his little ones. 

Relief flooded him as Azriel walked Madja in. Old hands coming to linger over the small girl. “You need to breathe, y/n,” the healer knew the breakdown you were having was about much more than your daughter. It was a matter of time before this happened. “Rhys, will you take y/n away while I look over our sweet Morwenna?” 

Azriel reached, holding eye contact with you as he took your daughter. Azriel knew a dangerous animal when he saw it. A mother panicking over the health of her baby as a male she had only recently met took said baby was dangerous, deadly even if provoked. 

He knew what was happening to you as the sobs became uncontrollable. Wrecking through your body as your mind played the worst-case scenario over and over again. 

The house seemed to creak and groan under the weight of your power flaring, making him grateful Cassian and Elain had taken Nyx for a walk when everyone realized Morwenna may have been sick. And making him wonder how the hell you had gone undetected for so long. He craddled Little Mor close to him, backing away before setting down for Madja to examine. 

“Take her to another room, Rhysand. I cannot focus with her magic choking everything out.” 

Rhys picked you up, carrying you back into your shared bedroom before setting you on the ground. “Breathe,” he whispered softly. His hands were resting on your upper arms, empathy lacing his features as he watched an all too similar moment of weakness.

“If she dies I don't know what I'll do. She's all I have left.”

“She will not die-”

“She's my everything. She's why I get up. Why I'm doing this. She's my world.”

“She will be fine-”

“I can't lose her. I can't. It'll be too much.”

Rhys watched as your mask cracked. As everything fell apart. He heard your mental shields crumbling as you were. He had this impression you had moved on quickly, that you were not as broken as he was, but he was clearly wrong. 

You kept going for Little Mor.

You kept going for Nyx.

You stayed for him. 

You fought the dying of that light inside you, one he had already allowed to extinguish for them. You were selflessly fighting darkness for them. 

He held your face in his eyes wide and searching as the panic attack began. 

He did the only thing he knew for moments like this. Something Feyre had done countless times for him when his mind took over, poisoning him and his thoughts.

Rhys crashed his lips onto yours, shocked at how well you two fit, at how you were like that last piece of stained glass being added into a tight spot due to miscalculation and poor design.

Rhys relaxed fully into the kiss, a hand going to your hair as the other stayed on your cheek.

And, as if the Fates were mocking him again, he felt a small kindling inside of him restart.

-

A content Rhys, the curtain gently blowing in the breeze, the texted soft grey wall behind the High lord, his black cotton shirt, your hands on his chest.

The feeling of soft lips pressed in yours, that buttery fabric as you gripped it, his muscles moving in his arms as he pulled you closer, his hands. His warm, gentle hands.

Birds chirping, soft muffled whispers from another room, your heartbeat, or maybe that was Rhysand's .

Citrus and sea salt.

Expensive whiskey.

Your eyes closed, mind completely shut off to anything but the first sign of affection you had in weeks, and you leaned into him, kissing him back until you were both breathless. 

He pulled away then, watching as your eyes mixed with emotion, looking up at him in shock, in adoration. 

“Feyre used to kiss me when I would begin to get lost in my thoughts they way you were,” his hands lingered in those positions, thumb stroking your cheek. “It always helped me shut my brain off.”

You nodded, still leaned into him closely, mind lost to everything but that odd feeling of warmth settling into your chest. “Can-”

“Yes,” he answered before you could even ask, and he kissed you again. 

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered

@cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @daughterofthemoons-stuff @tayswhp @eve175 @azrielsmate3 @aria-chikage

Rhys taglist:

@tothestarsandwhateverend @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @avajustreads

Pieces of You Taglist:

@dr4g0ngirl @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @blueeclipsepaperstudent @thisblogisaboutabook @mybestfriendmademe @novalovi @rachelnicolee @sleepylunarwolf @sidthedollface2 @acourtofbatboydreams @bunnyredgirl @fandomrejects @bookishbroadwaybish @littlestw01f @la-petite-lapin @juniperberriesaries @anuttellaa @luvmoo @mirandasidefics @soph1644 @hungryforbatboys @awkardnerd @bruxa0007 @eerievixen @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @ghostlyrose2 @amygdtjhddzvb @marvelouslovely-barnes

If your username is in bold, tumblr is not allowing me to tag you. Hopefully it will fix here soon, though!

#acotar #acotar x reader #rhys acotar #rhys x you #rhys x y/n #rhys x reader #rhys fic #rhysand acotar #rhysand x you #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x reader #widower!rhysxreader #rhys x widowed!reader

[theostrophywife]

Hii! Az fluff request here.

I was thinking of the inner circle being out having dinner somewhere and the reader is exhausted. Az notices it and moves his arm for her to lean on him and she falls asleep there, head in az’s arm. Az being all cute w her in front of the inner circle. Or something like that!

Love your writing!!

wake me up.

author’s note: wake up babes it’s time to yearn. this drabble is brought to you by this song.

the shadowsinger could tell that you’d had a long day, but he didn’t realize how exhausted you were until you almost placed the chocolate cake in the sink instead of the dirty dishes. azriel took the dessert tray from your hands and handed you the dishes instead in one smooth move.

you blinked in surprise. “oh, thanks az. soggy cake would’ve made a horrible dessert.”

azriel frowned in concern. “you look exhausted. when’s the last time you slept?”

you wiped your soapy hands on the front of your apron. “always great to hear that i look haggard and tired.”

az’s eyes widened. “i didn’t mean— you always look great — i just…”

the soft little chuckle that fell from your lips instantly relaxed the shadowsinger. “i’m just messing with you, az.” you smoothed down the worried frown lines on his forehead. “don’t worry about little old me. it’s just been a long day, that’s all.”

“if you want to head upstairs and rest, i can finish cleaning up here. the others won’t mind.”

you stubbornly shook your head. “are you kidding? i’m not missing game night. the last time we played poker cas got so mad he flipped a table and got put in time out. it’s worth losing sleep over.” sidestepping the shadowsinger, you finished washing the rest of the dishes. you could’ve easily used your powers, but cleaning always made you feel accomplished. besides, it gave you an excuse to be alone with azriel for a little while longer.

“are you sure? i just don’t want you missing any sleep.”

as you racked the plates, you couldn’t help but smile. this was so typically azriel. always looking out for his friends. “you’re sweet to worry, but really, i’m fine az. now let’s go kick some ass at poker.”

halfway through the game, the shadowsinger was convinced that he should’ve insisted on marching you straight to bed. you were barely keeping your eyes open, yawning every now and then while stubbornly stating that you weren’t even a tiny bit tired.

as expected, the poker game had turned heated fairly quickly. cas and rhys were arguing about some trivial rule, while their mates sighed exasperatedly. mor and amren had completely abandoned their cards all together, choosing to drink their weight in wine instead. despite his brothers argument, the only one close to winning was lucien who winked at elain from across the table. his mate blushed and smiled back before turning her attention to azriel.

she nodded in your direction, slumped form currently growing sleepier by the second. elain patted her shoulder, signaling to the shadowsinger. azriel got the hint and scooted closer to you.

“looks like this game isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.” the shadowsinger set his cards down and moved his arm over the back of the sofa. “you might wanna settle in, this might take a while.”

you watched through bleary eyes as cassian angrily waved his deck in rhysand’s face. the high lord looked affronted, which made you snort in amusement. those two were worse than children.

you yawned once again. “okay, but only for a little bit.” azriel nodded as you curled against him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“finally,” lucien mouthed.

azriel glared at him, which only caused the redhead to smirk. elain elbowed him, but there was a quirk to her mouth that told azriel that she obviously agreed. luckily, you were too sleepy to notice the exchange with the meddlesome couple.

“promise you’ll wake me up, az?” you asked as azriel stroked your hair.

“i promise.”

he’d wake you up eventually. he just didn’t specify when.

within minutes, you were fast asleep on his shoulder. azriel pulled the blanket over you, making sure that you were comfortable and undisturbed. the shadowsinger rubbed circles against your back, lulling you into deeper sleep. you looked so peaceful in his arms. he was so engrossed in you that he didn’t even notice that the whole room had gone quiet.

“well, aren’t you two adorable?” rhys said with a smirk. at some point, him and cassian had stopped arguing and focused their attention on the shadowsinger instead.

“you never hold me like that nes.” cassian teased with a pout.

“that’s because you snore loud enough to wake up the whole damn house,” scoffed nesta. “plus, you drool in your sleep.”

cassian gasped in feigned outrage. the shadowsinger shushed him. “not so loud, cas. you’ll wake y/n up.”

“rhys is right, you know.” feyre whispered. “you two are so cute together.”

“it’s about time you do something about it, shadowsinger.” amren said pointedly.

“it’s obvious that you two have chemistry together,” mor added. “you should ask her out on a date. not your little “just friends” picnics. i mean a real date, like dinner and a nice restaurant and candles and everything. oh my gods, i’ll have to help her pick out a dress!”

“that’s a great idea, mor.” feyre agreed excitedly. “we can all go shopping together.”

elain clapped. “i can put together a bouquet for you! y/n adores roses. especially the ones from my garden.”

“name the place and i’ll handle the reservations, brother.” rhysand offered.

“you’ll have to take her to that new gelato place, too.” lucien suggested. “she’s been raving about it for days.”

azriel rubbed his temples as his friends planned out this hypothetical date that he apparently got no say in. the shadowsinger knew they meant well, but if he was going to take you out, he’d do it on his own terms. plus, it’s not like he’d been thinking about your first date for months now. agonizing, was more like it. everything was planned right down to the last detail.

he just had to suck it up and actually ask.

“thank you for the unsolicited advice,” azriel said dryly. “but i think i’ve got it.”

the shadowsinger lifted you up with ease and walked out of the living room, leaving the rest of his friends to their own devices. he quietly made his way up the stairs, taking great care not to wake you. azriel paused on the top step as you stirred in his arms.

“az?” you murmured softly. it was so quiet he thought he’d imagined it.

“yeah?”

you cuddled against his chest, curling your arms around his neck. “promise you’ll ask when i wake up?”

azriel’s heart stopped for a second. then, sunlight filled his veins as you smiled sleepily up at him. he leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“i promise, y/n.”

#excuse me but what the fuck #i need to scream for a sec #azriel #azriel fic #azriel x you #azriel x reader #acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger

[thehighladywrites]

— “I got you, darling…”

pairing: rhysand x reader

summary: rhys taking care of his girl during her period

warnings: suggestiveness, sweet and perfect rhys

amara’s note: this is for you anon!! i saw your ask and had to make a comfort fic for you💗🫶🏼 i hope u enjoy babes, and feel better!! periods can be a bitch

Agony. Pure, fucking agony.

You felt nauseous and broke out in cold sweats. These fae cycles weren’t a joke at all. While it was nice that they only happened twice a year, it still meant enduring twice a year of writhing in pain.

Downstairs, Rhys was cooking up some simple, gentle food to ease your discomfort and provide nourishment.

He had planned ahead a few days ago, knowing your period was approaching, and made sure everything was set up to make it easier for you.

Rhys quietly climbed the stairs with a simple plate of food in hand. As he entered the bedroom, his heart sank at the sight of you curled up on the bed, tears glistening in your eyes.

Setting the tray down on the bedside table, he crossed the room in quick strides and sat down beside you, gathering you into his arms. “I'm here, love,” he murmured softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I've brought you something to eat. It's gentle on your stomach.”

Rhys gently wipes away your tears as you express your gratitude, but you protest that you're too tired to eat. With a soft smile, he reassures you, “I wasn't planning on making you eat it yourself. I'll feed you.”

He tenderly lifts your head and supports it with one hand, while using the other to scoop up a small bite of food. With all the care in the world, he brings the spoon to your lips, offering you nourishment and comfort in this moment of pain.

Rhys takes a cloth and gently pats your forehead, soothing away the sweat. He leans in to press a tender kiss to your cheek, murmuring, “Good girl,” in a soft, reassuring tone.

He handed you a small vial of pain medicine to lessen the intense cramps and stroke your hair.

With each gesture, he shows his love and support, offering comfort during your time of need.

You sheepishly admit about needing to change your underwear due to bleeding through. “I have to change, I’ve bleed through.” you murmur softly.

Without a word, Rhys lifts you up and carries you to the bathroom. There, he has magically prepared a heated bath, and as you sink into the warm water, you let out a groan of pleasure.

“Oh, thank you, baby. This feels amazing.” you whisper gratefully, the soothing heat easing your discomfort and bringing you a moment of relief.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Rhys kneels beside the tub, gently massaging your shoulders, arms, and hands with expert care. As he works, he tenderly washes your hair, his touch gentle and comforting.

After you've soaked in the tub for a while, letting the warm water ease your tense muscles, Rhys helps you stand up and dries your body. Then, he hands you a fresh product, some underwear and shorts and one of his comfortable shirts to wear. With a tender kiss on your cheek, he lays you down on the bed before heading out to grab some vials of almond oil.

When he returns, he sits on the edge of the bed and lifts your legs and thighs onto his lap. He pops open the vial and pours some oil into his palm, heating it up before massaging it into your skin with gentle, soothing movements. Rhys massages your legs, things, lower stomach, using magic to heat up his palms.

“Gods, that feels so good, what did I do to deserve you?”

Rhys chuckles softly before leaning in close. “You deserve every bit of it,” he murmurs, his gaze warm and affectionate. “You’re my everything, and taking care of you is the least I can do for you.”

After the incredible massage, Rhys cleans up and then slips under the sheets beside you. He pulls you close, his arms wrapping around you, and he starts massaging your lower back without even realizing it. It's a simple gesture, but you feel loved and cared for.

He looks down at you, showering your face with kisses until you're giggling.

“Darling, guess what I heard helps with cramps,” he teases.

You roll your eyes, knowing exactly what he's hinting at. “Thanks, savior, but I think I'd rather suffer. You can definitely 'help' me after my cycle is over.”

“I'm here if you change your mind, just saying,” he replies with a playful grin. “I'll have you feeling wickedly nice in no time.”

“I’m sure you would, handsome.”

He pulls you in closer, cheat rumbling with a chuckle and as you nestle against him, you feel yourself relaxing. The pain starts to ease, and with Rhys by your side, you drift off into a restful sleep, feeling better than before.

#talkswithamara #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x reader #acotar imagine #rhysand #rhys x you #high lord rhysand #daddy rhys #rhysand acotar #rhys acotar #rhysand a court of thorns and roses #rhys x reader #rhys #big dick daddy dilf rhysand #rhysand x reader #rhysand x fem reader #rhysand sjm #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x you #rhysand x female reader #anon💕

[fanwarriorfictions]

Not Again- Part Four

Summary: With the discovery of a special book, Y/n is one step closer to home. The inner court learns even more about her family back home. And Azriel needs a babysitter of his own

Series Masterlist

-Part Four-

Amren found them in the kitchen, food had been waiting for them on the counter before they’d even arrived, the house it seemed was sick of her not eating as well. She’d simply laughed at the nagging presence and started filling her plate. Azriel had entered moments later, a small scowl on his lips from being left in her dust. He’d huffed and quietly filled his plate, he wasn’t kidding when he said flying worked up his appetite.

“I have use of your stray, boy. Go find somewhere else to be.”

Azriel gives the small female an unimpressed look, “nice to see you too, Amren.”

Y/n pushes her half eaten plate away, waving off the wisps of shadows that angrily dance around her at the action, “Did you find something?”

“I had that insufferable songbird pull any books she could find with your Wyrd marks,” Amren says, snapping her fingers.

A pile of books fall onto the counter, old withered pages that look like they hadn’t been opened in many many years. A plume of dust flies off them and Y/n wisks it away with a small breeze.

“Can you read them?” Azriel asks, eyeing the pages one book that’d fallen open.

“I thought I told you to find somewhere else to be?” Amren snaps, though there’s no threat behind it.

“My babysitter here is vigilant in his task,” Y/n sighs ignoring the withering look Azriel gives her, she takes one of the books into her hands and flips through some of the pages, “My mother taught me what she knew of the marks. Protection, locking, unlocking, many things like that, but we never covered gates, it simply wasn’t possible, and she didn’t want me testing fate.”

“Well to bad, it would’ve been useful to know that now,” Amren sighs, picking a book out of the stack, shoving it towards her, “Gwyn said this one practically jumped off the shelf at her.”

Y/n eyes the title and almost drops the book in shock. Azriel takes a casual step closer to peer over her shoulder at the book, a shadow finds her arm and gently wraps around it, a comforting touch.

“You know it?” Amren asks, giving that wisp of shadow a curious look, “I couldn’t read it, what is it called?”

“The Walking Dead,” Y/n answers breathlessly, “in my native language.”

Azriel couldn’t read the book, but he still looks over her shoulder periodically as she flips through each page. She’d been at it for hours, taking notes on the scraps of paper littered over the dining room table. Amren had taken the remaining books to look over, most had been fae scholars from this world musing over the marks, nothing quite as useful as the book in Y/n’s hands it would seem. Amren would also look over the Book of Breathings, see if anything jumped out at her.

Y/n had barely spoken to him the whole time, quietly mumbling to herself once in a while as she wrote. Azriel noticed that her notes switched between his language and her own in sporadic patterns, sentences switching back and forth, one word in one language then the next in the other. Swirling letters that connected in long strokes of her pen. The words were close together, she hardly lifted the pen as she finished one to write the next, like her brain was moving faster than her hand could keep up.

She was so focused that she didn’t notice Azriel slip out the door, didn’t notice when Rhys had appeared and waved him towards the hall.

“How’s research going?” The High Lord asks, “Amren has yet to find anything useful.”

Azriel turns an eye through the door, at the female still engrossed in that book, “nothing yet, though it seems Y/n may put Amren to shame in relentless focus. I don’t think she’s looked away from that book for more than the few seconds it takes to write something down.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Amren she has the competition,” Rhys chuckles, “I hear you two went for a flight today. All over Velaris people are talking about the almighty Shadowsinger chasing after a bird all afternoon.”

He gives Azriel a shit eating grin and Az scowls back at him, “she was determined to leave her babysitter in the dust.”

His scowl deepens when Rhys just laughs, “what? Don’t like chasing after pretty females?”

“I’m sure his ego is just bruised cause he can’t keep up,” Y/n’s voice calls out from the room behind them, “Big strong males tend to dislike being shown up by us pretty females.”

Azriel glares over his shoulder at the female who hadn’t even looked up from her notes, “I can keep up just fine.”

“Sure you can,” she laughs, turning a page, “I won’t hold back next time if that’s what you wish.”

His shadows laugh in his ears and he turns his glare on them. Rhys next to him grins as he walks into the room, eyes taking in the mess of papers full of Y/n’s half put together thoughts. She finally looks up then, acknowledging the male with a small nod of her head.

Her eyes are tinged red, like she hadn’t even blinked in the time she’d been sitting there. She glances at him, grinning at the scowl still on his lips. He glares harder, shoving his shadows down as they continue to laugh at him.

Rhys looks between them, “found anything useful?”

It breaks their stare and her smile falls. Azriel gets the strangest sense that he wants it back.

“Yes and no,” she sighs, “I recognize a lot of it, this was the book my mother learned a lot of what she knows of the Wyrd marks. She used it to open a gate to the place souls rest once to talk to… a friend. I’m sure it’s in here somewhere, I just need to keep looking.”

He notes the pause, the shift of her tone, whoever Aelin had tired to talk to, it was a sore subject. Take a break, she’s sad again, sad, she needs to rest, working for hours, hours, break. Azriel is half tempted to hiss at the nosey little shadows. They’d been at it for the last hour, as soon as the sun started to dip below the horizon, it’s like they switched into nanny mode. He wasn’t sure why they were so concerned anyway, she was more than capable of taking care of her damn self.

“The gates are the tricky ones,” she continues, grabbing pages of notes, “I’m close to figuring it out, I could probably open a gate, but to get to the right place is the hard part is opening one to the right place. I could just as easily walk right into a hell realm as I could into my own. And as fun as that seems, I’d rather not test my luck.”

“How many realms are out there?” Azriel asks.

“Who knows,” she shrugs, “my mother remembers falling through many, she couldn’t even describe most of them because of how fast she was falling. Give me a day and I think I could figure this out-“

“You’ve been at it for hours,” Rhys cuts in, “surely you could take a break. Maybe join us for dinner? We’ve all stewed up more questions for you, Cassian has a list.”

Yes, yes, yes, dinner, she didn’t eat enough, yes. Mother above, he wished he could get the shadows to shut up.

Y/n hesitantly glances at the papers surrounding her on the dining room table, “I seem to have commandeered the space. I’d hate for it to get stained.”

Azriel could tell that what she really wanted to say was, I need to keep working so I can get home. It was written in the longing glances at the book, in the way she flew towards the horizon like home was on the other side, the way she looked at the sky expectantly, searching for something he couldn’t quite figure out.

“We’ll eat at my home,” Rhys shrugs, “your research will be here, exactly where you left it when you return.”

She looks ready to argue, to deny, to beg to stay, but instead she sighs, “Is dinner a casual affair, or does your lot like to preen?”

Rhys laughs, “It’s whatever you like, preen as much as you wish.”

She hums, “My babysitter and I will be there shortly then.”

Mother, give him strength. She pushes to her feet, giving him that saccharine smile as she walks past him towards her room. Her scent lingers as she leaves, that hint of embers stronger than usual. He can’t help the subtle intake of air, nor the shadow that grazes her wrist like it would wrap around and make her stay.

She’s barely out the door before Rhys is clapping him on the shoulder with a quiet chuckle, “do you need a babysitter? I’m sure Cassian would like to return the favor.”

Azriel snarls at him, “We’ll see you at the house brother.”

Rhys just laughs again, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he moves towards the door, “take your time. I wouldn’t blame you for being a little late.”

“Get out.”

Azriel waits for her in the living room, she’d still been in her room when he’d gotten dressed, which wasn’t surprising since it only took him a few minutes to change into a slightly nicer shirt, he didn’t bother with the preening, Rhys did that enough for all of them.

Heel clicks on the floor alert him to her approach, she turns the corner into the room and Azriel couldn’t stop the way his body goes absolutely still.

He thought night court black suited her but he was wrong, she looked good in it but it didn’t compare to the way she looked in this dress. Deep green of a forest, the silk fabric flows with her body like water, showcasing each of those curves like currents, with accents of silver thread and shining jewels that glow in the light like the stars above. She’d lined her eyes with kohl, giving them that sultry look that could drive a male wild. And her lips, Mother help him, her lips were painted a deep wine red, so dark it could’ve been black.

Gorgeous, she was absolutely gorgeous. He’d known she was pretty, he wasn’t blind, he’d noticed when he’d found her laying in the moonlight, even covered in blood she was beautiful, but it didn’t strike him till now exactly how attractive she was.

“You like what you see shadowsinger?” Her grin is feline and lethal, voice dripping with honey, “I told you I was your type.”

He doesn’t respond, simply continues to look her over. There’s a fire in her eyes that has his shadows whirling around him and when her head angles in that predator way, he’s almost willing to be the prey.

House wasn’t a good discriptor of the giant building that sits before her. Manor maybe, but Azriel had called it the River House. Rhys and Feyre’s personal residence that Feyre had apparently designed herself. The garden in the back had been where she’d fallen into this world, she’d been to frantic to really appreciate her surroundings. It was absolutely beautiful.

Azriel led her through the front door and the interior was just as magnificent as the outside, intricate and elegant, yet it still felt warm and lived in. A multitude of paintings lined the walls as they walked to the dining room. From their conversation earlier, she assumed they were done by Feyre herself. The High Lady had mentioned her art studio, she had a class this afternoon that she would be teaching. Y/n had leaned towards musical arts, but she always loved going to galleries with her aunt Lysandra. According to Rhys, there was a section of Velaris called the rainbow, the artist quarter of the city. She assumed she’d flown through it today with Azriel, the place had been alive, filled with music that she couldn’t help but be drawn to.

As they moved down the hall she could hear the sounds of the Inner Court, as they called themselves, growing closer and closer. Their laughter reminded her of home, of dinners with the cadre and her uncles visiting from Adarlan, or even Nesryn and Sartaq all the way from the southern continent. They were never quiet affairs, always full of laughter and teasing, usually from Fenrys and Dorian on the later.

The last dinner like that had been little over a month ago. She’d dressed up in a gown this exact color. Her aunt Elide had helped her do her makeup, she’d practically had to hold her down in her chair so she could finish, to excited to sit still. It was her favorite nights of the year, these dinners, seeing her family come together all in one place. Sometimes they’d even convince Manon to join them, never aunt Manon, though she’d gotten away with that once when she was a child. It was always magical seeing her and Dorian dance around each other as if they weren’t desperate for the other.

She would sit there and watch her family, watch the way everyone loved each other. How her parents would stare into each others eyes and grin like someone had told a joke. How her uncle Aedion would dance with her aunt Lysandra to music only the two of them could hear. How uncle Chaol and aunt Yrene would bicker together with smiles still on their lips, to the utter annoyance of her cousin, Josefin. She watched them all, and hoped one day she would have someone who would love her just as fiercely

“Where’d you go, princess?”

Her mind drifts back from that far away place across the stars, finding Azriel’s gaze on her. Stoic as always, but she could see the bit of concern behind those whiskey eyes. It warms something in her, just barely, just enough for her to give him a small but genuine smile.

“Home,” she says quietly, “I was home.”

“So you’re telling me, a demi fae is one of your strongest warriors,” Cassian says, throwing quotes around the words, “and the guys power is death, just pure death? And he’s how tall exactly?”

Y/n laughs, “My uncle Lorcan has described it to me as death, I’m not sure what that means exactly, it was a gift from the old God of Death, Hellas. It looks like Azriel’s shadows, though they’re not sentient little creatures more like whips of shadow that he controls. I don’t know how tall he is exactly but he’s taller then you, he’s taller than all three of you males, actually. You should see the height difference between him and Elide.”

Azriel couldn’t help the small grin on his lips as his brother continues to pester Y/n over the apparently giant uncle of hers. It’d started with him asking about her father, and then the rest of his cadre. She’d told them all about the mighty warriors. Fenrys, who she could only describe as very very pretty, he could shift into a giant white wolf, and winnow, though not quite as much as those here could. Lorcan, the giant shadow wielder, who’s name is apparently Lord Lorcan Lochan, to everyone’s utter amusement. And a mysterious figure named Vaughan, who she admits wasn’t around a lot when she grew up, usually away in Wendlyn, he could shift into a massive osprey.

“There’s no way, he’d have to be like seven feet tall,” Cassian argues, mouth opening to ask yet another question.

Nesta elbows him in the side, “I want to hear more about the shapeshifter.”

“Lysandra,” Y/n supplies the name with a warm smile, “Her favorite form is a snow leopard, lethal creatures, but the softest fur you’d ever felt in your life. When I was a child she’d let me cuddle up next to her by the fire to take naps.”

“You’d mentioned a sea battle earlier,” Mor chimes in, “what was the creature she shifted into.”

Y/n’s eyes light up, “One of my favorite stories, I would beg to hear it again and again. It’s called a sea dragon, the companions of the Mycenians of old Terrasen. When they were banished from their home centuries ago the sea dragons all died out and it became legend that once the dragons returned, so would the Mycenians.”

Azriel watches her, enraptured by her stories. It had been like that the whole night. She’d been stolen away by Feyre as soon as they’d arrived, more and more questions being thrown at her throughout dinner. He’d taken a seat across from her next to Cassian, who had by far asked her the most. But she met each one with a story, that look in her eye from out in the hall hidden but not gone. She’d seemed lost, far far away, and so sad. He’d almost turned around and brought them back to the house of wind just so she could keep looking for a way home, just to erase that look. But when she’d smiled at him, all he could do was stare.

“During the war my mother had traveled to Skulls bay.” She talked with her hands, Azriel noticed. “One of the missing Mycenians was there, she’d figured it out a long time before that when she was still an assassin, when she’d wrecked the whole port to free hundreds of slaves. Captain Rolfe, the pirate lord, was not happy to learn the assassin who’d ruined his island was actually the long lost Queen of Terrasen. He refused to send aid, so my mother did what she does best, she schemed. Her and my aunt devised the plan to bring the sea dragon back. The battle didn’t go quite as planned, the valg had sea wyverns, vicious and powerful. But that sea dragon form, huge and magnificent was stronger, smarter. She used them against the valg forces, sending those beasts straight into the hulls of their own ships. My mother tells me that she could barely keep up with Lysandra’s speed, if you blinked she was gone. It was close, she was badly wounded, but she won.”

“Wow,” Elain breathes, eyes sparkling, “That’s amazing.”

“My uncle Aedion tells it better,” Y/n shrugs, smiling at the memory, “He always told me that it was then that he decided he could not live without her. When he saw her bleeding on that beach still in that huge form, half wild from the fight, he wasn’t afraid of her even though she looked ready to bite his head off.”

Cassian laughs, hooking an arm over the back of Nesta’s chair, “I know the feeling.”

Nesta looked half tempted to bite him right then to prove his point. Cassian simply grins at his mate, that telltale look in his eyes that would usually have the pair leaving early at any moment.

Azriel rolls his eyes at the pair, looking towards the female across from him. To find Y/n already looking right back. She’s got that overly sweet smile on her painted lips that she knows gets under his skin. He gets the sense that she enjoys it, the way he glares at her, it’s like a game. See how much she could push before he finally pushed back.

Rhys leans forward, that knowing grin on his lips again, “How fast can you fly in that hawk form? You said you went easy on poor Az earlier.”

She laughs and somehow he doesn’t care that it’s at his expense, “Very very fast, I can shift the air under my wings to go even faster. I could make it to the house of wind in less than a minute if I wished.”

“Impressive,” Azriel says, rolling his eyes.

“Oh don’t be a sore loser, Az,” she taunts.

It’s the first time she’s called him that, he quite enjoys the sounds of it, “Is it really losing if your competitions got a boost?”

“Only using what’s in my arsenal,” she shrugs nonchalantly, taking a sip of her wine.

Azriel’s eyes zero in on the motion, appreciating the way her lips rest on the edge of the glass. He was right, that color stained.

Careful brother, Rhys whispers in his mind, Or I really will send Cassian to babysit you.

He glares at the high lord, I do not need a sitter.

That’s what Cassian said, Rhys shrugs, Now look at him.

And it’s like a timer goes off on his patients, Cassian stands from his chair, taking his mate’s hand in his own.

“Well I think it’s time for us to go,” Cassian declares, he’d lasted longer than Azriel thought he would.

Nesta turns her eye on Y/n, “We train at the house of wind every morning, 8 am sharp, be there.”

Y/n grins, baring those sharp canines, and Azriel has the good sense to be wary of letting those two near each other in a sparring ring.

Tag List- Anyone in white could not be tagged. Let me know if I got your tag wrong!!

@inloveallthetime , @microwaveallthedemons , @nayaniasworld , @thecraziestcrayon , @fightmedraco , @blackgirlmagicforever , @nikt-wazny-y , @fangirlloza010 @fussel9913

#there’s some tension here and it’s mostly coming from azzie #hot lady wears some lipstick and this man is on his knees #acotar #acotar x reader #azriel #azriel x reader #rowaelin daughter #rowaelin

[redbleedingrose]

Hey it’s the anon that had the nightmares. Headcanons about dealing with nightmares would be absolutely amazing if you’re up for it, thank you so much. You truly have no idea how much you’ve helped me 🥺

Of course dear!!! Here you go!!! (sorry this took so long sweetheart)

Edit: This ask has been sitting in my drafts for months and I am so sorry I didn't post it until now. Writers block and general insecurity does crazy things to me.

How the Bat Boys would help you with your nightmares!

Rhysand

Okay, the thing about Rhys is that I think he remains fully aware of your presence at all times, even in his sleep. He can feel you next to him, your body pressed against his, your heart beat thumping at his side, the weight of your head on his shoulder, he can feel it.

He also, is very in tune with your emotional state. Maybe it has to due with your mating bond, but tbh, I think his love for you has brought him a number of powers that allows for the deepest sort of connection to you. He can feel the emotions that you feel. It can go as far as Rhys feeling the roof of his mouth ache when you burn your mouth from drinking too hot tea, it can go as far as him feeling like someone has poked him hard when he is entirely alone in his office (when it is Cass who is poking at you, whining at you to share your summer imported mandarain oranges with him) and if Rhys really sits on it, he can also feel your mixed emotions of amusement and teasing towards Cass in that moment.

So I think that if you were having a nightmare, Rhysand would know. He would feel your heart racing from fear, it would make his own stutter. He would feel the panic pumping through your veins, and it would nearly send him into a frenzy.

Rhys would be awake, shushing your tired whines, and peppering the softest kisses all over your face to slowly ease your mind. The high lord of night would absolutely slip into your mind like butter, easing all the fired up neurons that have built up from your nightmare, slowly detangling the knots of emotion twisted inside your mind without waking you. He would pull you impossibly close, his heart beating against yours, his hands tangled in your hair, rubbing at your scalp, and naturally, you tuck your forehead into his neck, a quiet sigh leaving your once quivering lips.

Your nightmare would have dissolved without your knowledge, and you would be lulled into a dreamless sleep with your mate holding you close, his warm cheek resting on your head with one hand resting at the back of your neck and the other hand stroking up your spine, protecting you from anything and everything, even your own mind. You would wake up without any memories of the nightmare, and if I am being honest, Rhysand wouldn't want to remind you of it either, so he keeps this part of his duty towards you to himself.

Cassian

I am not gonna lie, this male is a heavy sleeper. He is dead to the world once his head hits the pillow. And he freaking snores too. Actually, he is famous for how loud he snores. Cassian can be heard snoring from across the house of wind. And initially, it was really hard for you to fall asleep to. In fact, you would force Cass to stay awake until you fell asleep because you just could not with his snoring.

And now?? Now this fucking male has you unable to fall asleep without his snoring. You need his heated, and I mean this male is a literal furnace, nearly naked body beneath you, with his burly arms wrapped tight around your waist, with your head pressed against his male tits, your legs tangled with his, in order to fall asleep. The snoring has become its own sort of white noise to you, and without it?? You will stay up the entire night and be extremely grumpy the next morning, often resulting in the back of Rhysand's head getting smacked for his taunting. (if Cass is out on a mission for longer than a day or two, Rhys actively avoids you for fear that you will end up choking him for sending his general away. Not that that has ever happened before.... nope... never................)

So. On good nights, you are usually snoozing it away with your hunk of a male, and you end up waking up to a lovely "surprise" poking at your tummy and a male who is too turned on by you to be ashamed in the slightest.

On bad nights though, on nights where you worry about Cassian, on nights where all of your fear of losing your loving mate culminates into nightmares, don't ever doubt that Cass wouldn't be there for you. Cassian is the general of the night court of a reason. He, like Rhys and Az, has been trained, for centuries, to be aware of his surroundings, even in his sleep. So while he might sleep heavy, his body are attuned to taking note of his environment, and that means, his body and his bond is focused on you throughout the night.

So he does wake up to you tensing, to your quickened breathing, to your restlessness, immediately too. His eyes would snap open, with his arm around your waist firm and tight, his other automatically reaching for the dagger he has hidden under his pillow, looking out for any signs of immediate danger to you. Not to himself. To you. His instinct does not edge towards self preservation. It hasn't since he met you. His instinct is to protect you at all costs.

Once he realizes that there isn't any physical threat that is causing your distress, his attention goes back to you, an ache burrowing itself in his chest as he notices your hand is clenching into a fist against him, as he notices your face is screwing up in fear, as he notices your body shaking. His mouth drys at the sight of you looking so scared, and he wouldn't be able to help himself.

Cass would murmur quiet reassurances, rubbing at the space between your shoulder blades and planting kisses onto your furrowed brows, "wake up sweetheart, s'jus a nightmare" and "shhh, I got you love, I'm here" and "s'okay baby, you're fine" and "c'mon, that's it, that's my girl, wake up f'me beauty"

When you wake with a start, he hushes your cries and pulls you in even closer. He would turn you both onto your sides, your front melding against his with his arm tucked under your head and around your hip with his leathery paper thin wings shield you both from the outside world. It's this warm cocoon that he forms around you where you spend the rest of the night and into the early morning.

At first, you would apologize for waking him up so early, knowing that he has training in the morning with Az and the others, but he dismisses that immediately, stressing to you that his only concern, at this time and forever, is you. He would stay awake with you, attentively listening to your ramblings about your nightmare, playing with the ends of your hair while you tell him all your secret fears. And he would kiss you and promise to protect you no matter what, and he would promise to keep you safe. Eventually, you would end up falling asleep, the closeness of your mate, his gentle breathing, and the warmth he brings relaxing you enough to a dreamless rest. And Cass, the ever diligent and loving male, would stay awake for the rest of the morning, skipping out on training to watch over the love of his life and make sure that you don't have any other nightmares.

In the morning, after you wake up feeling rested, Cass would finally let you go, a soft kiss to your lips and a wink in goodbye, only to come back within ten minutes, bringing you some warm, fresh chai that he made for you with some oatmeal that you both share in bed together. You spend the rest of the day cuddled up with your mate with slow and sweet love making, hushed oaths to each other to protect one another, and long naps in between.

Azriel

Azriel is a completely attuned to you. And so are his shadows. He has one that you have noticed that constantly follows you around, that learns every single thing about you to report back to its master. And then there are a couple that you haven't noticed. Ones that stay hidden in the darkness with full intent to take care of anything that puts you in harms way. And it stays that way always, regardless of the timing.

So at night, when your heart rate jumps, your blood pumping through your veins, your eyes furrowing shut too tightly, the slightest bit of sweat breaking out on your skin, they are the first to notice. And they are the quick to notify their master about it, hurridely slithering to his ears to wake Az so he can help you.

Azriel would initially try to soothe you in your sleep, his heart aching at the thought of you being afraid of something he can't control. A quick command to his shadows has the curtains to your balcony eased apart, the light from the moon and stars beaming in through the large glass doors. His scarred hands would stroke at your cheeks ever so gently, your mating bond humming at the barely there touch. Az wouldn't hesitate to place his lips in the space between your brows, moving from one soft edge of your face to the next with small pepperings of kisses.

He would thumb at your edge of your jaw, the calloused tip of his finger reminding you in your sleep that he is there. That he didn't leave sometime in the night. That he would never leave. That he would always be there to protect you. To care for you. To love you. He knows that you have your own traumas that you deal with, and he wants you to feel in control of your problems. Nightmares... they make you feel out of control. And he is there to give the power right back to you.

Most nights, Azriel's simple touch is enough to soothe you. I'm ngl, it does stroke his pride a little (a lot) that he is able to calm his mate with just the touch of his hands. With something that he used to keep hidden behind his back when he talked to others, something that he would cover up from the shame of his past, something that he feared would one day lead to a disgusted look on your face. And on those nights that his touch is enough, once you are settled, he pulls you closer to him, tucking his arm around your waist and wrapping one of his large wings around both of your figures, burying his face into your neck so he can fall back asleep to the feel of your pulse against his skin.

On the nights where the nightmares are just too much, where you are too deep in the dream that you can't feel anything but the fear, Azriel will wake you. He loathes the thought of disturbing your sleep, he hates that you will most likely not feel rested in the morning, but his heart shatters into the tinest pieces when he can feel the end of your mating bond crying out for him in your sleep. So he lays a firm hand on your forehead, his other hand rubbing at your shoulder, tenderly shaking you awake: "wake up my love, it's alright," and "you're fine my sweet girl, I'm here," and "I promise I'll always be here my dove, now be a good girl for me an wake up"

He would hush you as you startle awake, the jolt of your body causing him to wrap his arms tightly around you with mumbled, "that's it, there's my starshine" and "s'okay moon, it was just a bad dream" and after a good long while of him calming you down, he would whisper into your hair with a final kiss to the top of your head, "c'mon love, let's get you something to drink."

Azriel wouldn't let you lift a finger or a toe for that matter. Male would take your comforter and wrap you up like a burrito and then carry you all the way down to the kitchen where he settles you onto the counter, sending you the most beautiful, tired smile while he makes you some chamomile tea. He would be slow in each of his steps, the small smile on his pretty lips never leaving his face as he feels your gaze watching his every movement. He adores doing things like this for you. He craves doting on you. He thinks you are his treasure. A gift from the mother herself. And he plans to make sure you feel that way, all the time, forever, until you and him only exist as stars in the night sky.

A/N: 😫🫠🥲 Sorry this was a bit repetitive, but I hope you liked it ❤️❤️❤️

#rose rambles #rose answers #rhysand x reader #cassian x reader #azriel x reader #rhysand acotar #azriel acotar #cassian acotar #acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar headcanons #rhysand headcaons #cassian headcanons #azriel headcanons #acotar fluff

[daycourtofficial]

Hello. If you don't mind can I request a fic with cassian with a shy reader where she and Cassian have been trying to get pregnant for years, but reader starts doubting herself when seeing the rest of the inner circle females like feyre and elain getting pregnant, and thinking cassian will leave her because it is taking them ages to get pregnant...but Cassian reassures her and all...and weeks later reader finds out she is pregnant and surprises cassian with the news...

Ask and you shall receive! This is actually super super cute so thank you for this request!

A Teeny, Tiny Illyrian Warrior

Summary: after years of trying, you break down crying to Cassian over your inability to conceive, only to find out several months later that you are expecting

It was irrational. You should be happy for Elain, sweet Elain who you considered a great friend. Elain, who after several years of healing, figured out what she wanted, and moved to live with Lucien to help rebuild the spring court, just announced she was pregnant.

Making her the third Archeron to be pregnant, with Nesta and Eris having a baby a few years prior.

It was exhausting. Everyone around you was churning out babies, except for you and Cassian. You’ve both wanted kids for so long, but when Rhys was trapped under the mountain, the two of you decided to pause your dreams to help run and maintain Velaris in his absence. The fear of a child growing up in Amarantha’s reign was terrifying enough to keep the dreams at bay.

The tonic you took every day to keep you from getting pregnant had felt like sewage down your throat.

When Rhys had returned, you were so excited not just for your brother in law’s return, but for what it meant for you and Cassian. You could try. And try you did. You let Amarantha stop you from conceiving, but the war with Hybern would do no such thing.

So the two of you spent the first few years excited, constantly tearing at each other’s clothes. Until your cycles would come. And come. And come, each one a reminder of what isn’t to come.

Then Feyre got pregnant, and you were ecstatic, over the moon. Then Nesta got pregnant a few years later. You were still happy, but the jealousy was clawing your throat. Now Elain’s pregnant, and it is taking every ounce of strength not to ask why her.

The past year sex has almost felt more like a chore than pleasure, your empty womb keeping both of you wanting more.

You plaster on a smile, congratulate the two of them, and after dinner you go and slink away into the bathroom, hide your head in your hands, and sob.

Sob because it should be you announcing your pregnancy. Sob because everyone should be happy for you. Sob because what if Cassian decides you’re not enough?

He sees all these females getting pregnant - what if he decides you’re the problem? He could find loads of females willing to fill that role. Does he wonder how quickly he could impregnate them?

Your sobs are so out of control that you don’t hear the door open and close and a body sits next to you.

“Here,” he says, handing you a handkerchief. You pull your hands away to find Azriel, your other brother in law.

You and Azriel were incredibly close - both of you perfect foils to Cassian’s loud, swaggering personality. The two of you were more quiet and observant, Cass being enough personality for the three of you.

You accept the handkerchief, wiping your eyes and blowing your nose, creating the ugliest noise imaginable.

Azriel stretches out his long legs, resting his back against the cabinet. “I know it’s hard,” he says, reaching out to rub your back, “but it will be okay.”

You lean into him, and choke out, “what if he decides I’m not enough? That he could easily find someone who is able to get pregnant?”

Azriel’s hand halts its soothing strokes for a brief moment before continuing. “If you think for one moment he would ever be separated from you by his own choice, think again.”

You go to respond but he cuts you off, “Cassian would cut off his own hand before willingly letting go of yours.”

You two sit there, his words echoing through your mind, when he starts again.

“For what it’s worth,” he says, standing up, “if your child has his eyes and your smile, it’ll blow all the other babies out of the water with its cuteness.”

You smile, accepting the hand he reaches out for you, “I always knew you had a soft spot for Cass’s eyes.”

He laughs, tucking your hand into his elbow to lead you out, “they’re just so pitiful. He pouts and he looks like a kicked puppy.”

You laugh, allowing him to escort you back to the dining room, back to your family.

Later that night, as you and Cassian are taking a bath, you decide to broach the subject that’s been bouncing around your head since Azriel found you in the bathroom.

“What if we stop trying?”

Cassian’s hand reaches up from behind you to cup your face, tilting your chin back so you can look at him, “Stop trying what?”

“Stop trying for a baby.”

His grin is gone immediately, about to ask if you’ve changed your mind, and you spin in his laps to meet his eyes.

You grab his chin and tell him, “I don’t mean like we give up. I mean we stop trying. Sex has felt like a chore for a while, and I miss it being fun. Now it’s just a means to an end.

“I want fun sex, I want dirty sex, I want it all. But I want to stop our ‘only doing this to have a baby’ sex. I won’t take the tonic, but I’m tired of the heartbreak. If it happens, it happens.”

He looks at you, your wet hair making you look even more like a goddess to him, as he cups your chin and asks, “are you sure, love?”

You smile, “yes. Maybe we can go back to trying in a bit, but I want a break. I don’t like the feelings it’s causing, like I broke down in tears earlier that you would leave me for a more breedable woman.”

Cassian snorts, “did you actually call them breedable women?”

You smack his arm, “poor Azriel found me a blubbering mess. I’m pretty sure he should just burn the handkerchief he gave me because all of the snot and tears made it gain five pounds.”

He chuckles, but then he looks at you, conveying every emotion he feels for you, and you know you were a fool for ever thinking he’d consider leaving you.

“Sweetheart, I would never leave you for such a thing. I want a baby, yes, but I want you more, and I would be perfectly content spending the next thousand years with only you by my side.”

Your legs bracket around his thighs, and you rub your fingers up his arms as you tell him, “I can think of a few ways we could spend those thousand years.”

He throws his head back laughing, and crashes his lips to yours.

-

It had been six months since Elain’s announcement, and the babe was here. Feyre and Rhys traveled to spring to go visit, leaving you, Cassian, and Azriel alone.

Cassian was out shopping for Solstice gifts, an activity you were going to join him for until you woke up not feeling well. After much convincing and promising him if you need anything you’ll get Az to get it for you, he went ahead without you, needing to pick up gifts before shops closed.

After spending the first hour of his departure in the bathroom throwing up what felt like all of your internal organs, you wandered out into the hallway in search of your husband’s brother.

After a fifteen minute search, you found him in the library reading what appears to be a romance novel that Nesta left behind.

“Doing some studying?” You ask, peering over his shoulder at the particularly raunchy scene he was reading.

He jumps, having had no idea of your intrusion. He clears his throat, asking, “weren’t you supposed to go shopping today?”

You walk around the couch, sitting next to him and looking at the cover of the book he was reading.

“I was, but felt ill so I stayed behind and convinced Cassian to go without me.”

He snorts, “bad idea. You reign him in a lot when it comes to gift giving, otherwise he forgets how much he’s already bought for someone and just buys more.”

You were about to agree, your husband’s joy at buying gifts knowing no bounds, when his brother stills, slowly sniffing the air and turning towards you and asking, almost accusatorially, “are you pregnant?”

You look at him, half tempted to yell at him over his inclusion of the sore subject. You felt freer these past few months, less bogged down by the negative emotions your inability to conceive was creating.

Azriel had seen it all with you, acting as a source of comfort during all the uncertainty the past sixty years have shown.

His asking that question and your earlier illness is what led the two of you to see Madja very quickly, who confirmed the pregnancy.

“How am I going to tell him?” You ask Azriel, as you two walk around the Sidra. You already felt guilty that Azriel had been the one with you when you found out and not Cassian, however that guilt subsided when you realized if you weren’t pregnant the disappointment on Cassian’s face would have ruined you.

“Well anytime anyone ever asks Cass for advice, he always steers them towards nudity.”

You laugh at how true the starement was. Feyre asking Cassian advice on a gift for Rhys? Nudity. Rhys asking for advice on a gift for Azriel? Nudity. He was a simple man, he’d tell them in response.

You pass by a baby shop and find your eyes drawn to it, your feet pulling you back in front of the door. Azriel follows your line of sight, sweeping his arm in front of you motioning ‘after you’.

The two of you walk around, looking through baby clothes when a sales associate comes and speaks to you. “Ah are you two expecting?” she chirps, looking pleasantly between the two of you.

You laugh while Azriel blushes and reply, “he’s my husband’s brother.”

The sales associate gapes, her jaw going slack. “Oh um okay, well it’s none of my business-“

Before she can finish rambling, Azriel cuts her off. “I’m helping her pick something out to tell my brother he’s going to be a dad to a child that is not mine.”

She looks between you two and laughs at the mistake. “Did you have anything in mind?”

You tell her that you actually had an idea.

-

When Cassian got home, he was tired from lugging around at least two dozen shopping bags. He was exhausted, but incredibly proud of himself because he’s fairly certain he was able to get gifts for everyone, meaning most, if not all, the shopping was done.

The house was quiet, so he took the opportunity to hide the ruby red necklace and earrings he got for you in this old dried fruit container he kept on a top shelf, a place you’d never search for, much less be able to see.

After the gift was tucked away, he began walking through the house trying to find you, deciding you’d likely be in your shared bedroom. Making his way there he stopped in the hallway, finding a tiny little baby sock on the floor.

He looks around, not finding anything else strange he picks it up and continues his search. Passing through the kitchen he found another baby sock, in the dining room he found a little tiny hat, in another hallway he found a little tiny pair of pants that look just like his fighting leathers.

There must be a naked baby running around here somewhere, he thinks.

Right outside the door to your shared room is a little shirt that also looks just like his fighting leathers, with teeny tiny slats in the back for wings.

He grabs the door knob, twisting to enter the room as he begins asking, “is there a naked tiny Illyrian war-“

He stops dead in his tracks at the oh so subtle smell in the room, coating the room in florals he never thought he’d smell from you. He looks up from the shirt, finding you sitting on your bed with tears in your eyes.

“It’s me, I have a teeny tiny Illyrian warrior so I bought them teeny tiny Illyrian fighting leathers for all the teeny tiny threats they’ll have to fight.”

Your husband takes off running towards you, kissing you like his life depended on it. Then he picked you up off the ground, spun you around, and ran out of your bedroom with you. He’s running through the whole house shouting, “she’s having my baby!” Repeating it over and over, until he almost collides with Azriel. Before Azriel can say anything, Cassian picks him up too, spinning the both of you. All three of you laugh at the pure joy radiating off of Cassian after so many years of wanting.

#acotar writing #cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian fluff #request

[throneofsapphics]

yes or no

Rhyzriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel walks in to give Rhys a report. 

Warnings: this is actually PURE smut, soft!dom Rhys, kind of switch az, d/s dynamics, voyeurism, wingplay, minors dni!

A/N: apparently I was in a mood today, here’s some absolute (soft?) filth 

Rhys wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you back to rest against his chest. At first, it began sweet - gentle even. You relaxed back into his chest, closing your eyes and sighing. Strong legs caging you in, pinning you in place. His hand slipped under your top, thumb running back and forth over the soft skin of your stomach, idle and lazy strokes. 

“Have I told you how beautiful you are today?” 

You huffed a small laugh, “yes, you have.”

His knees slipped under your legs, casually hooking yours - spreading you open for him. 

“Rhys,” you murmured. 

He curved to place a kiss on your neck. “Yes?” The smooth voice echoed in your mind. 

“What are you doing?” You replied aloud.  

“Enjoying time with my mate, of course.” More like playing with you. His favorite pastime.

“It is.”

One arm tightened around your stomach, holding you closer. His hand trailed lower, fingering the band of your pants, popping one button open. 

“Rhys,” you sighed, even as your body began to relax in him, eager to feel his touch. 

“Something wrong?” He sounded amused. 

“No.” 

“Then be quiet.” 

Your mouth slammed shut at the order, at the underlying hint of dominance in it, especially as made his way further, back and forth strokes, slowly making his way down to where you wanted him. An involuntary moan left your lips as his fingers finally grazed your clit, hips jolting into his hand. 

“Do I need to gag you?” A rapid shake of your head, but really … you wouldn’t quite mind it. 

As always, keeping your mental walls lowered for him, he heard that particular thought and his hand withdrew. From the corner of your eyes, a small piece of cloth, black and smooth, appeared in his hand. Other hand withdrawing, he hooked a thumb between your lips, gently opening your jaw. 

The cloth doubled over, before slipping between your teeth, tied snugly behind your head. Immediately, your mouth began to water and you ran your tongue over the foreign material. Smooth against your tongue, thick enough for your teeth to bite into. 

Another thought from him, and your clothes disappeared. You had been wondering how long that would take. Dragging his nails up the inside of your thighs, your breath caught as you watched him get closer and closer, before pushing your legs further apart. Two fingers gathered your arousal, nearly dripping down your thighs now. 

“All this for me?” Another nod, mumbling something incoherent. “It better be,” he breathed. 

Hips rolling back, he hardened beneath you, a groan leaving his throat. Gentle but firm lips pressed kisses against your neck, sucking just enough to leave a faint bruise. You tilted your head, opening for him. Surrendering to him. His hands slid up, cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. 

You arched into him, embracing his touch, reaching your arm back to touch him - it froze mid air, a midnight swirl of magic catching it before lowering it down to your thigh. You whined in disappointment. It was only him who could get you into this state - the state where you’d whine for anything. Rhys loved this game, the control he had over you and your body. At least in this bedroom. 

“I do love it.” You rolled your eyes, a slap to your core cut that off. “We have a guest,” he warned and your breath caught. Hands tried to cover you, but he pried them back down with his own. A shadow creeping under the door was your warning, and it swung open without hesitation. 

Your body flushed, embarrassment at being caught in this situation. You were tempted to slide those mental shields back up, so he couldn’t hear your - “Don’t you dare.” 

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. 

A half smirk came over the shadowsinger’s face as he saw you, the position you’d been caught in. 

“A bit caught up?” His smooth and cool voice seemed to echo through the room.

“No,” Rhys answered. You couldn’t answer. 

Before you could frown, his hand swept back down, the other wrapping around your stomach and pinning your arms in place. Head falling back against his shoulder, your eyes rolled back, grinding your hips into him, a small snarl and nip against your neck stopped that. You didn’t care about the audience anymore, it felt like every part of you narrowed down to him, to the feeling of his fingers on you, the hard planes of his body behind you, legs spreading you wide. Teeth nipped at your neck, and the moan you let out wasn’t stifled by the gag. 

Rhys stilled, and you blinked your heavy eyes open. Azriel was still speaking, giving a report about something, but his eyes were on you. On where Rhys’s hand connected to your body, on the swell of your breasts. Slowly, you raised one hand up your body. Rhys let out an amused chuckle, and allowed it. 

Keeping your eyes on Azriel, you trailed your fingers up, running a knuckle along the curve of your breasts, pinching your nipple between your thumb and forefinger. 

“Do you want him to come over here, darling?” Hesitation. You didn’t want anything that would make Rhys uncomfortable. “It wouldn’t. I’ve had a long time to think about this.”

Fuck. 

“You have a dirty mouth.” 

“I didn’t say anything. I can’t say anything” 

“A dirty mind,” he corrected. “Yes or no?” 

“If you want to, if he wants to” 

“That’s not what I asked,” his tone changed, firmer - demanding an answer. 

“Yes,” even in your mind, you thought your voice sounded breathy. You turned your head to watch Rhys, his eyes glazed over, telling something to Azriel. You heard Azriel moving, and you tried to turn, but Rhys gripped the back of your head and held you in place. You were keenly aware your body was still exposed. 

“What’s your safeword?” 

You swallowed, “Spring.” 

Seconds later, your vision was obscured, another fabric tying tightly over your eyes. You couldn’t see anything, complete darkness. The rest of your senses heightened. The bed shifted, someone was moving - you were moving, kneeling, knees pressing into the soft sheets, hands rested on your thighs. 

“Are you ready?” Rhys wasn’t asking you. 

“Yes,” Azriel’s strained voice came. 

Then, hands were lifting you. Rhys gripped your hips - his hands were familiar, pushing you forwards, but Azriel’s hands, rougher, gripped each of your thighs, spreading your legs out. They worked your body easily, the two of them seeming to know exactly what to do. 

“Breathe,” was Rhys’s only warning, as Azriel - it had to be him, pressed against your entrance. Hands slammed you down, and you yelped - muffled by the gag, a painful stretch as you were fully seated. 

Too much. It was too much, you were too full. 

“You can take it,” Rhys encouraged - this time speaking out loud, he pressed against your upper back, and your hands naturally found their way to his shoulders. You’d never … never been on top of Rhys, at least. Well, not in a while. Rough hands found your hips, encouraging you to move. 

It took you a minute to get your balance, to find a rhythm, but the gentle rocking of your hips, the slight movements, made his heart rate increase, his breaths quickened. Soft, but effective apparently. Gently, his hands ran up and down your sides, brushing over each of your curves, stopping to sweep underneath your breasts. 

Rhys was still behind you, “that’s it,” he murmured into your ear, “you’re doing so well.” 

The little bit of encouragement was what you needed, what you needed to grow bolder. As you did, you were rewarded, and both the gag and blindfold disappeared. 

“Az wants to hear you,” Rhys said with a hint of amusement. 

Az, currently beneath you, watching you with glazed eyes. Faster, you moved faster, starting to push your hips up and down. He groaned as your nails dug into your shoulder, and you had an idea. Not something you could do without permission or asking, that was likely to get you killed at worst, maimed at best. Instead, you eyed the curve of his wing, knowing his shadows would track. You wanted him to invite you, for him to make that choice.

“You can touch them,” he seemed shy - maybe even hesitant. You could feel Rhys’s surprise behind you. “Just don’t stop moving,” he groaned. 

“Be gentle, love,” Rhys spoke to your mind this time. 

Carefully, avoiding any of your nails, you ran a finger over the curve of his left wing, gauging his reaction. He stiffened, eyes closing. Good. Repeating the motions, Rhys grabbed your hips, helping you keep a steady rhythm as Azriel’s eyes stayed closed. 

You liked this, liked that you were both working to bring him here, to give him this kind of pleasure. 

It didn’t take long before Azriel’s fingers were digging into your thighs, stopping you. Sensing it, Rhys pulled you off, just in time for Azriel to finish - all over your stomach.

Rhys disappeared, probably to grab a washcloth, and you moved, trying to give him some kind of space. It wasn’t hard to pick up that was his first time having someone touch his wings - in that way, and you realized the vulnerability in it. Instead, his arm darted out, wrapping around your waist to tug you closer. You let your head rest on his chest, running your hand up and down his arm, listening as his heart settled back to normal. 

This, you wanted to do again. 

“We will.” 

#azriel x y/n x rhys #azriel x reader x rhys #acotar drabble #rhys x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #acotar imagine #rhys x y/n #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x reader #rhys x azriel x reader #rhyzriel x reader #rhyzriel x y/n #acotar smut

[parkerslatte]

14 and 45 with azriel and it’s really fluffy! Thanks and congratulations 🎉🎉

A/N: tysm for your request! I hope you enjoy :)

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Drunken Kisses

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: none

Summary: It is Azriel’s birthday and Y/N originally wouldn’t be able to spend the day with him. The Inner Circle take him to Rita’s and he gets extremely drunk and Y/N surprises him.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

3000 Follower Celebration

•••

Azriel rarely got drunk, at least to the point of losing control of his body. He didn’t mind getting tipsy from time to time but he could simply have a good time being surrounded by his family. However as Cassian placed another drink in front of him, one that would surely tip him over that edge of being drunk to the point of memory loss, Azriel missed the one person who should have been sitting by his side. 

“Where is Y/N?” Azriel slurred as he sipped his drink. “It’s my birthday, she should be here.”

Amused looks were passed throughout the Inner Circle as Azriel pouted. Y/N had been away at the Summer Court for nearly two months now but Azriel felt like it had been a lot longer. From the moment Y/N went away, Azriel missed her. Ever since the two had gotten together nearly ten years ago, they hadn’t spent too much time apart. 

“I miss her so much,” he whined. “She has never been gone this long before.”

“She’s only been gone two months Az,” Cassian said. “I thought you were meant to be the patient one.”

“I am,” Azriel protested. “But I miss her.” Azriel finished his drink. There was a silent communication within the group to not give the shadowsinger another drink. 

Cassian clapped a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “It’s your birthday, put a smile on your face!”

Azriel shook his head. “I’ll only put a smile on my face if Y/N sits next to me right now.”

Azriel folded his arms across his chest. His heart hurt from being away from Y/N. When Rhys had sent her to the Summer Court, he begged him to go with her. Rhys refused, Azriel had his own work that he needed to focus on. The day Y/N left, Azriel was the one to bring her to the Summer Court. As soon as they arrived, Azriel refused to let go of her. His arms remained around her waist as he buried his head into the crook of her neck. 

“Please come back with me,” Azriel mumbled into her hair. 

Y/N hugged him tighter. “I can’t, my love. I have to do my job. I wish I could.”

“I will miss you,” Azriel said, resting his forehead against hers.

“I will miss you too,” Y/N said, pressing a kiss against his lips. 

Azriel was ripped out of his own memory as he felt someone sit next to him. He took no interest in who it was as he stared at the empty glass in front of him. Azriel never thought it was possible to miss someone this much. The constant pain in his chest from their separation was something he never wished to experience again. 

“Az, there’s someone who is trying to get your attention,” Feyre said, looking between the shadowsinger and the new presence that had joined their table. 

“I’m not interested,” Azriel grumbled. “If it’s not Y/N, then I don’t care.”

“Then maybe you should actually look for yourself, brother,” Cassian replied. 

As Azriel finally raised his gaze from the empty glass he looked at each face of his family who were simply staring at him in amusement. His gaze drifted around the circle until they landed on the one person he had been talking about all night. 

A goofy smile appeared on Azriel’s face as he looked at Y/N. “You’re here!”

Y/N smiled at her mate, as he reached out to her. She simply moved until she was close enough for him to pull her onto his lap. 

“I missed you so much, my love,” Y/N mumbled, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Happy birthday.”

Azriel’s head nuzzled into her neck as he breathed in her scent. “I love you. Don’t ever leave again.” His words were slurred and quiet. 

With one hand, Y/N ran her fingers through his hair and with her other hand she gently stroked his cheek. 

“When did you get back, Y/N?” Feyre asked, sipping her drink. 

“Only an hour ago,” Y/N responded. “I asked Rhys where all of you were.”

Azriel hugged Y/N closer to him and began to press small kisses against her neck. Y/N simply smiled. 

“Can we go home?” Azriel asked, his lips grazing her ear. “I wanna kiss you so badly. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Y/N replied, pressing a kiss against his forehead. 

Once she pulled away, Azriel pouted. “I wanted to kiss your lips.”

From beside Azriel and Y/N, Cassian laughed. “It’d be best to take him home, Y/N. He’s been like this all night.”

Azriel hand caresses Y/N’s thigh as he begins to pepper kisses across her jaw, completely ignoring Cassian. Y/N intertwined their fingers and squeezed his hand gently. 

“Let’s go home,” Azriel begged. 

Y/N turned back to him and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Azriel practically melted. His mind was solely focussed on Y/N. As her lips pulled away from his, Azriel whined. 

“Come on, let’s go,” Y/N said, slipping from his lap. 

Azriel jumped up from his seat, swaying on his feet as the room spun around him. 

“Good luck, Y/N,” Cassian commented. 

Y/N shoved him playfully as she walked past him. “I will see you all tomorrow.”

“Not likely,” Cassian said. “You’ve been gone two months, I’m sure Azriel will keep you within your bed all day tomorrow.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you all whenever then.”

Azriel gripped onto her hand and tugged her to him. Y/N waved back at her family before being pulled out into the night air. There weren’t many people on the streets, many being home or in the many different bars and pubs in Velaris. 

The couple hadn’t even made it far enough away for the music to be completely inaudible before Azriel pulled Y/N into his arms. Y/N let out a noise of surprise before wrapping her arms around him. 

“I missed you so much, Y/N,” Azriel muttered. His wings encased the two of them, giving them more privacy. “It- it hurts to be away from you.”

Y/N pulled away from the hug and cupped his cheeks. His hazel eyes bore into hers. “It hurt me too, Az. I thought about you every single day.”

“I felt it,” Azriel said, placing a hand over his heart. “I felt all the love you would send my way.”

Y/N rested her forehead against his. “Well I needed to remind you how loved you are.”

A large smile spread across his face before he was surging forward and captured her lips with his own. In his drunken state, he stumbled as he threw himself off balance. Pulling away with a laugh, Y/N rested her hands on his shoulders. “Let’s get back home. We can do all the kissing you want.”

Azriel’s face brightened. “Really? What about anything else?” Y/N rolled her eyes at her insatiable mate. “We can focus on that tomorrow and when you are sober.”

Azriel huffed. “Fine.”

Y/N giggled and wrapped him in one final hug. Azriel had never felt such love before and as soon as he met Y/N, he never wanted to live in a world without it. Every single touch sent his senses into overdrive. He was normally one who could control his emotions well but he could never control them around Y/N. She could always tell exactly what he was feeling at any point. To Azriel, Y/N was his home. Wherever she was, it was where he wanted to be. 

“Your hugs feel like home,” Azriel said. “You feel like home.”

Y/N only held onto him tighter, a feeling of warmth coursing down the bond and Azriel smiled. I deserve this, Azriel thought. I really deserve this. 

“I know you said that I feel like home,” Y/N began, “but can we go to our actual home? It is getting quite cold out and we can go and cosy up by the fire and you will get all of the kisses you want.”

Azriel pulled away and smiled. The smile only Y/N saw. “Then let’s go home, I only wish to be with you all night.”

Y/N pecked his lips. “Happy birthday, Az.”

“You are the greatest gift I have ever received,” Azriel responded, intertwining their fingers together.

#acotar x reader #acotar #azriel fluff #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #a court of thorns and roses

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 8

Pairing: Azriel x third-oldest-Archeron-sister!Reader

A/N: Writing Nesta post-acosf is so confusing so I apologise if she’s a little ooc!

Word Count: 5,552

-Part 7- -🌌🌠- -Part 9-

It’s been while since you last ate with all of them.

Even so, the atmosphere is familiar. Jovial. Pleasant enough you can allow yourself to slip into spectation, vanishing in your mind’s eyes, becoming an observer without presence. Shadows flicker at the corner of your vision, and you’re brought back down to reality.

The restaurant lights are warm and yellowy, a magic barrier constructed at the room’s border to keep the temperature pleasantly mild, inky darkness swirling just beyond the threshold. Candles flicker, almost in time with his shadows. It’s hard to tell when natural darkness ends and his begins. But he doesn’t really like it when people stare at them, so you avert your eyes. Scratch the backs of your hands beneath the table, softened a little by cream.

By what you can only assume was a stroke of bad luck—or good, depending how you want to feel for the rest of the night—everyone had already settled into the dinner by the time you arrived, leaving a single seat open. Yes, you could’ve pulled over a chair, or requested one to be magically summoned, but that would be drawing attention to the issue, which would undoubtedly make the ineffable off-ness of your relationship with him that much more blatant.

So there he is, a steady presence to your left, situated at one end of the table. Elain to your right. How unfortunate. Or lucky, depending on the angle.

Take a sip of your water, unsticking your tongue from the roof of your mouth. Lean slightly over to your sister. “Have I missed anything?” Cocoa flick to you, warm and soft in the mellow light, a little tired. Half-circles beneath her eyes. “Nothing much. I was planning on visiting Lucien again—hopefully within the week.” She answers mildly, a faint smile in her eyes. “There’s also a possibility of Nesta going over to have a look at the libraries in the Day Court.”

“Woah,” you mumble. “Looking for anything in particular, or simply for recreation?”

Elain shrugs, eyes flicking across the table. “Ask her,” she says simply.

Spine stiffens.

With fae hearing, plus the close proximity, there’s a high chance everyone heard that exchange. Refusing to do so will only draw more attention. You shoot Elain a reproachful look for putting you in this situation but she smiles encouragingly.

You find the elegant shape of your eldest sister a little further down the table—across and two over. Opposite Cassian who is beside Elain. Sharp eyes flit to your own a second after you’ve sought her out—she definitely heard. At least you didn’t vocalise any dismay over the forced interaction.

“Day Court?” You inquire, raising your brows in interest. She nods, lips parting in a smile, “quite the trip, isn’t it.” You laugh—trying to remember where the Day Court is in conjunction with Night. Come up short. “Already read through all the books here?” You reply, trying to keep the conversation fluid. Gaze absently flicks over the various plates and trays of food, picking out the things you’d like to try. A waft of something delicious floats down the table—a covered bowl sits between Rhys and Feyre. Soup, most likely. It has your mouth watering from the scent alone. Would be divine with some buttered bread.

“Nowhere near,” she responds, still smiling. “But there’s a particular author we’re after, and I’d like to see if I can find more of his books in those libraries.” You hum, nodding your head in acknowledgement. “Different from The Runaway?” She blinks, then nods, “you’ve read it already?”

“Yeah. Finished it last week,” you answer, peering at the dishes closer to you, wonder what you can pick. It’s mostly meat. Some roast potatoes, poultry next along covered in an orange-red sauce that smells spicy.

“What did you think?” She asks, carefully ladling gravy to the edge of her own plate. It’s your turn to blink, recalling the story to the forefront of your mind. Exhale heavily, leaning back into the chair. “I don’t know, really,” you admit honestly, “there was a lot in it, I suppose. I’m still digesting it, in a way. Do you know what I mean?” She nods, eyes softening at the edges—you’ve said the right thing. “I think there’s a lot in it; a lot happened to him, and I think it did a good job on highlighting how perspective can be manipulated. I also like how the creature was only alluded to in earlier chapters while the first part of the plot was unfolding so you end up overlooking it?”

She gracefully cuts through a potato, dipping it in the gravy before neatly depositing it in her mouth. Elegant and refined. “Yes, I thought that was an interesting way of telling his story. The complications between Yvette and Hans helped with the initial distraction, I think.” Lips twists into a slight frown. “The section—I think around chapter seventeen? Eighteen…?” You pause, picturing how far through the book it was, then shake your head. “Around there, anyway. The section about those lights in the sky?— I had to put the book down for a bit.” You admit, smiling as you recall the passage.

Nesta nods her head. “I couldn’t believe it, either. I think I actually had to stand up and get myself another cup of tea to calm down when he connected the dots.” A grin parts your lips wider, skin warming at the memory. “Anyway,” you say, redirecting the conversation, “a different author.”

She nods in confirmation, “a different author.”

“Romance?” You ask, remembering her appreciation for the genre.

Something passes through the room, hairs slowly raising at the back of your neck. Eyes slide to Elain, but she’s conversing with Cassian, attention shifted away from you. Gaze flicks back to Nesta who has a tight smile on her lips—it’s still odd to see her smiling so openly and frequently.

“No, actually,” she begins slowly, cutlery lowering to her plate. Her fingers remain pressed tight to the metal. “It’s a spell-book,” she says, silvery-blue eyes gleaming like moonlight despite the warm glow about the private space. Brow furrows a little as you peer at her across the table, “a spell-book?” You ask. “What do you need a spell-book for?” Her spine straightens, attention moving to her meal as she slices into some meat, mouth opening to continue.

“The baby warrior’s been having doubts about his wingspan, I’ll bet,” Amren croons from across the table, snatching your attention. Your brow dips further, eyes now shifting to find Cassian further down the table—the other side of Elain. He seems fine, laughing brightly. “Is there a problem with them?” You ask Nesta, remembering how torn up they’d been after the mess with Hybern and the cauldron.

She shakes her head, lips lifting into a grin as she meets Amren’s steel-coloured eyes. “She’s just jealous,” Nesta returns, “Varian not treating you well?” Sharp eyes flash with challenge. “Maybe they should compare notes. I’m sure your mate could learn a thing or two,” she taunts, effectively ending your conversation with Nesta. A part of you wants to learn more—your natural inclination—but Amren’s whisked her away into conversation, Mor stuck between them.

Attention again flits to Elain, but she’s still contained in conversation with Cassian, leaving only the keen pair of eyes on your left to entertain yourself with. Raise the glass to your lips, forcing down a mouthful of the alcohol, ignoring the light pulsing in the forefront of your head. Skin prickles beneath his attention, fingers shifting over your cutlery as you move to take food to your plate.

It seems rude to interrupt Elain’s conversation—you always go to her first. She speaks to people other than you, and probably enjoys doing so. You should leave her to enjoy the night. Take another drink of the clear liquid, shadows flickering in your peripherals as you set your sights on Nesta. Wait for an opening.

“What do you want the spell-book for?” You ask, feigning ignorance to their conversation. As if the question just appeared on your tongue, falling out before you could stop it. Two sets of sharp eyes cut to you, a single set of caramel flicking to steel warily. “A containment spell,” Nesta answers, slicing up some vegetables on her plate. “To bind.”

Amren’s lip curls into a distinctly predatory grin, almost warning. “Needing to spice things up so early in your relationship?” She croons. “I would have given it at least another few months before you two were in need of a bonding activity.” A fourth pair of eyes joins the discussion though he’s still wrapped in his own exchange. The hazel to your left has probably been observing for some time, too.

Nesta offers the petite female a tight smile, equally warning. Mor claps her hands, hastily breaking up the exchange. “Will you pass that down? Cass, be a dear and— no, next to it— the other side—yes! Thank you!” You watch slightly enviously as she ladles soup into a bowl, taking a slice of fluffy bread and slathering butter over its surface. Trace the soup as it’s returned to its place at the far end of the table, between Rhys and Feyre, one seat down from Nesta and Cassian.

And just like that, dialogue ebbs and flows around, leaving you with no way in. You’re quite glad for the reprieve. These dinners generally leave you in need of a weeks sleep to recover, by which point the next one is already scheduled. Exhausting. You don’t know how they manage it. Attention is still weighing on you as you raise your cutlery, poised to begin slicing into the meat upon your plate.

Elain is still preoccupied—to your steadily growing dismay. Nesta and Amren are locked in a verbal sparring match, while Mor chimes in here and there, occasionally attempting to rope Cassian in, too. Just to stir things up. Shadows flicker in the background.

His attention is becoming difficult to ignore. Clear your throat softly, focusing on cutting through the meat, slicing it into bitesized chunks. “Is something the matter, Azriel?” Shift the cutlery in your hands, easing up the pressure on your knuckles from the effort of cutting. He watches silently, his own plate clean and empty.

“Not at all,” he replies quietly, voice unliltling and void of inflection. Your brow twitches toward the centre, neatly spearing a chunk of flesh. Swallow in preparation. “Nothing?” You question, equally softly, biting down on the dead animal. It comes apart easily on your tongue, softened in a skillet somewhere, bathed in oils and rosemary, sprinkled with salts and spices. Force yourself to chew and swallow. “Nothing,” he repeats back, hazel eyes resting on your jaw, flicking to meet your gaze.

Finish your mouthful, move to the next sliver. Spike it on your fork. Half raise it from the plate then stop, lowering it quietly. “What are you watching?” You ask, eyes flicking down to your plate, skipping away from his. “Many things,” he answers vaguely. Shadows flicker at his back, wreathing his wings, tucking behind them. “I’d rather not be part of those things,” you murmur, finally biting down on the tender flesh. Chew enough so it’s digestible, then swallow. Think about nice things, like the books at the house, golden eyes, and dried flowers. “You’re in public,” he replies, tone still without inflection. “That’s an impossible request.”

Three pieces left, and it’ll be done.

“You can look elsewhere instead of staring a hole in my head,” you murmur. “Maybe,” you add hastily, softening the sharp suggestion. These situations always put you a little on edge. So many people.

He’s quiet for a bit, but his attention doesn’t shift, despite his gaze moving to be further down the table. You manage another chunk of meat, teeth dully masticating as you grind the flesh down, focusing on the herbs and spices in place of the ashen, earthy flavour of the animal carcass.

Azriel’s attention weighs into you, skin prickling, hairs raising at the back of your neck as you try to ignore it. It’s probably being exacerbated by your imagination. Raise the fifth and final piece to your mouth, thinking about rotating planets and cocoa, of whiskey and caramel as your teeth bite and chew absently. He’s still observing; you shift in your chair, swallowing the mouthful. Reach for your glass, gulp down the clear liquid.

Nearly choke, the alcohol burning your throat. Nose scrunches before you can help it, covering your mouth with the napkin while you cough as quietly as possible. Elain pats you on the back making you smile as you overcome the initial shock. “Something go down the wrong way?” She asks, lips curving in a grin she’s clearly attempting to suppress in favour of a more sympathetic expression. Puts those attempts to rest when you laugh quietly, nodding to the liquid. “Too eager,” you whisper, refolding the napkin. Elain covers her own mouth, shoulders shaking with muffled mirth; you shoot her a playful glare.

Mor, sitting opposite Elain; beside Nesta, breaks from her conversation with the two, attention flitting to you, as if she had been lying in wait for her chance. “So!” She says, golden hair shining resplendent beneath the glow, like a flame encased in honey. “When shall we go shopping?” Her hands clap together, red lips parting in a friendly smile.

Oh.

You’d blessedly forgotten that promise of hers.

Swallow uneasily. “It’s fine… The polish and lip tint were lovely,” you smile, hoping she’ll leave it be. “Nonsense,” she chirps, collecting a few more roast potatoes onto her plate, Amren gingerly taking a few after her, nose almost wrinkling with suspicion. “You love books, and I apparently need a reason to spend time with you, so a shopping trip is perfect!” You offer her what you hope is a steady smile, one that disguises the strain you’re feeling, “I don’t want to be a bother—it’s fine, really. There are plenty of books in the library, anyway, and I’ve barely made it through the first two levels.”

Brows shoot up to her hairline. “Every book? You’ve been reading all of them?” You blink at her surprise, then hesitantly dip your head. Anxiety bubbles in your stomach, hands gripping one another as tension slices through your shoulders. “Are they— Am I not supposed to?”

“Oh, no! Nothing like that. Read away!” She laughs, raising her hands in a calming gesture. “I hadn’t expected your interests to be so different, is all,” she smiles. “I tried to read a couple from the library when I was younger and nearly bored myself to tears.” You smile faintly, relaxing back into your chair. “I guess they’re not for everyone,” you reply, posture softening against the back of your seat.

Mor laughs, the sound like wind chimes caught on a stray breeze, golden hair glinting in the warm light. You have to look away. It feels wrong to even look at her—to try and place her individual beauties. Peer down at your empty plate, hunger gnawing at your stomach lining. You should have remembered to eat before coming along.

“So what about tomorrow?” She asks, dipping buttered bread into her bowl. Raise your head to look at her, confusion lining your brows. She smiles easily, “for a shopping trip, of course.”

“Not every creature enjoys being put through your endless chatter, Mor,” Amren snipes from her side. The blonde female pouts, throwing a glare to the petite Fae on her right.

Warm toffee eyes flick to cocoa, brightening with an idea, “Elain could come along too!” Spine goes rigid, every ounce of willpower straining to keep from glancing to your left, wondering what he’s thinking. Swallow heavily, stiffening as your older sister is brought into the discussion. Mor smiles eagerly, “what do you say, Elain? Fancy a shopping trip tomorrow?”

Nails slice into your palms, piercing small crescent shapes into your skin—you’ve been trying not to bite them. Press further back into your seat, muscles coiling with anxiety. Not both of them.

You can practically feel the moment steely silver eyes pick up on your reluctance, like she has a sixth sense for picking at scabs. But Elain sighs apologetically, “that would be lovely, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline this time.” Relief washes over your skin, bathed in a cool breeze. “I told you so,” Amren snickers to the blonde female.

Mor’s brows dip together, “oh, piss off Amren. I know you like picking out clothes to wear for Varian with me.” The cunning female raises her glass to her lips, taking a slow sip. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replies smoothly, Mor’s lips twitching at the obvious denial.

Turn to Elain, taking in the natural glow of her features. “Have plans?” You ask quietly, hand absently resting over your stomach. Involuntarily glance at the soup further up the table, tongue flicking out over your lips. She shakes her head, softly curled silky hair cascading over her slim shoulders. In your peripherals, you can make out how shadows stretch across the table, reaching. “I’ve been dreadfully tired lately,” she admits, equally hushed.

Brow furrows in concern, about to ask further, but Mor’s on you again. “Guess it’ll just be us tomorrow!” She smiles genuinely, excited for the plans. When you glance sidelong at your sister, she’s already settled back into conversation with Cassian, your youngest sister and her mate joining in. You nod in surrender, accepting it’s something that has to happen. It would be overtly rude to decline her invitation now.

“Great! We can squeeze in a lunch, too,” she grins, washing down the soup with a glassful of wine. “Maybe you can direct me to some of the more interesting library books,” she suggests, eyes sparking with excitement. You nod again, fatigue beginning to weigh on your shoulders. It’s nice watching them, but you frequently forget how draining it is to be involved.

Lean back into your chair, pulling your stomach in as you feel pressure grow—you’d die of embarrassment if it started growling. Hastily drink some more in attempts to fill it up. Hungrily eye the plates of food. Maybe the poultry wouldn’t be too bad with the sauce—chicken was hard to come by all those years ago.

A delicious scent catches your attention, shadows skittering away as he silently ladles soup into his bowl. Nobody asks about the shuffling round of plates. Stomach rumbles and you flush, hands clamping over your stomach as humiliation burns along your skin. Mouth almost watering, but you force yourself to wait; appear only mildly interested in the food. An appropriate amount of attention for a dinner.

His hand knocks into the bowl, pushing it aside to make room for another dish, so it’s to his right. Almost subtle enough to appear accidental.

Still, you finally help yourself to the soup, equal parts affection and shame weighing in your gut.

————

The night air is crisp and cool, soothing the warmth of your skin as you follow quietly a way behind the group.

Feyre and Rhys have already made their way home, not liking to spend too long away from Nyx, despite knowing he’s well cared for. There seems to be discussion ahead of taking things further for the night, perhaps more drinking.

After having left the restaurant, Nesta had sought you out. You’d been surprised to say the least—a little on edge—but it had been nothing to worry about. She’d merely extended an invitation for you to join her on their trip to the Day Court. Perhaps to seek out some books you’d been interested in, she’d suggested.

You’d politely declined.

Now you turn to Elain, the darkness bringing out the slight dip below her eyes. “You okay?” You ask, the chatter of the streets soothing background noise. Fading to a constant hum in the back of your mind, falling into the empty recesses. She nods, sighing heavily. “I’ve been having some trouble sleeping,” she replies quietly. “And, I’ve…” shakes her head. “Maybe I’m coming down with something,” she sighs again. “You always were more prone to sickness than the rest of us,” you reply, nudging her shoulder playfully.

She smiles gently, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Maybe I’ll come and cough on you so you get ill for once,” she grins.

Nose wrinkles as you smile, “gross.” She laughs at that, then the two of you fall quiet, walking together in companionable silence. Trudging your way back to the River House, keeping fairly close to the main group who are still deciding whether or not to turn in for the evening.

You know you’ll be heading back to the House of Wind for the night.

Curious to see if a response has been written.

————

The House is quiet. Halls empty and silent as you pad down the corridor to your room.

Maybe you should check with Nesta whether she wants you to move out of here—switch to the River House. Anxiety slices at your gut, fatigue weighing your eyelids at the thought. You’re sure she’ll say something if she wants you out. You aren’t keen to initiate conversation with her unless necessary.

When you enter your room, candles are already lit, courtesy of the House. A few clothes lay on the floor, but it’s mostly clear. Almost tidy.

Parchment rests across your desk, and you eagerly hurry over.

Nothing has been added.

Excitement dies away, scratching at the backs of your hands absently.

Wearily take a seat, playing with the pen between your fingers, chewing on your lower lip. Debating the merits of bothering him when he’s taken no interest in your last comment.

Toss the thoughts out your window, throwing all caution to the wind.

Long day?

Bite down on your tongue, pulling at the top most layer of skin until you bleed. Wait for the paper to disappear. Seconds tick by, counting as they drain away. Steadily turning into minutes. Lean your cheek on the table, slumping forward as boredom creeps in, the pendant clunking as it hits the wooden surface of the table.

Do you remember your twenty-first birthday?

You aren’t particularly sure where the question comes from. Maybe the still-boxed jigsaw puzzle sitting atop a dusty stack of books has something to do with it.

Paper vanishes, and you perk up, straightening in your chair, fingers flexing. Excitement stirring in your chest. Absently reach for a pot of cream, unscrewing the lid as you trace the desiccated skin of your knuckles. Slowly soothe it in, rub the dips between your fingers, pretending your hands are someone else’s.

Parchment reappears, having you eagerly lean forward.

No.

You scowl at the curt response, twiddling the pen in your hands.

Sour and miserable indeed. Were my earlier questions not interesting enough to deign a response?

Letter vanishes, your feet tapping against the floor, fidgeting with the writing instrument. Turn to the anthology as you usually end up doing while waiting for his reply. Flip to the page you’d bookmarked, removing the silver embossed fabric. Lips quirk when you spot the title: Explosions: Rapid Division.

Shift the book so it’s in the centre of your desk, reading the introductory passage, instinctively scanning the diagrams with intrigue. Paper reappears atop the pages.

You forget I am a high-ranking individual with a multitude of tasks to attend to. I don’t get to spend my days simply lying around to pester the only person who’ll give me a scrap of attention.

Cheeks heat with embarrassment, yet you find yourself smiling at the familiar sharpness of his tongue. Ease out a deep breath, relaxing into your chair, flicking the pen in your dry fingers before lowering it to the parchment.

I think if you truly felt pestered, you wouldn’t be responding at all. Feeling lonely over there, Eris?

The paper vanishes, and you treat yourself to an image of his brows narrowing, lip curling as ire blazes in caramel eyes. Mouth widens into a smile as your feet tip-tap on the floor-boards, absently dipping your finger tips into the pot of cream again, putting more over the roughness of your skin as you wait patiently.

Parchment reappears, heartbeat picking up with excitement.

And what about yourself? The hell-cat is leaving for quite a while, isn’t she?

Lips part on a sharp exhale, spine straightening as your eyes flick about the room anxiously. How does he know that? Should you tell someone? Brow narrows in concentration, mind scrambling to think up a response that won’t give anything away, without sounding so vague he knows you’re avoiding the question. Swallow heavily, rubbing in the last of the cream, reaching for your pen. Lower it to the desk, and falter. What do you say? Is feigning ignorance too obvious?

The letter vanishes before you’ve had a chance to even put a speck of ink upon it, and it dawns on you that the question was timed. Picture the way his lips part is a slow smile as he sees the blank paper.

Manipulative bastard.

I suppose she’ll be taking the brute with her, too?

Fingers tighten on the pen, teeth grinding. Is this why he warned you about Eris? Because of how quickly he can extract information through carefully assembling pieces? Jaw tenses, but more silence will be confirmation.

How do you know any of that?

Chew on your lower lip as you await his reply, heart pounding. Azriel would be furious. Swallow down the nausea, teeth sliding beneath your nails—toeing the line of biting down, but restraining yourself.

Really, how do you think Court politics works? Of course we keep tabs on one another. I’m sure your shadowsinger has plenty of spies littered throughout Prythian. Possibly further, too.

Blood ices, peering down at your necklace and the map contained within. Imagining how wide his net must be to thread throughout it all. How much work it must take to keep everything running. Ruthless discipline. How tiring it must be. The weight, the pressure to keep it all maintained.

Head beginnings swimming at the thought of it. Would you even be able to keep up with him?

Why are you telling me this?

The pen scratches over the parchment, struggling to keep lines clean through the slight tremor in your hands. You can’t even begin to comprehend how much work must regularly go into sustaining such a network.

It’s a little embarrassing that you don’t already know. What are they teaching you over there? How to be an emotional burden?

The words hit sharp in your chest, hooks latching into the soft, vascular muscle of your heart. Poised to shred in an instant. Awaiting for the split second of weakness to rip. Rupture the organ in a clean tear.

Fear spikes.

I understand why your brother wants nothing to do with you if that’s how you speak with people.

The words are stamped into the page before you have time to reason it out. Blood rushes round your ears, wincing as your fingertips burn with the faint embers of power that have begun sparking up every now and again. Preemptively reach for the hand cream, preparing to soothe the itch once it fully manifests.

He’ll read into that comment. You know he will. Read between the lines to figure out just how much that one stung.

Parchment reappears and you warily lean forward, eyes skimming the clean script.

I’d been wondering where you kept your lovely claws, cygnet.

I didn’t mean to write that.

Wipe hands on your skirts, anxiety kicking up in the pit of your stomach. Roiling with worry.

You knew perfectly well what you were doing. You simply despise the way you are.

Has anyone else commented on how similar you are to Nesta Archeron?

Heart sinks to your stomach, biting on your tongue until you taste copper. Dislike how deep he’s wormed his way already. How did things go from light-hearted sparring matches to full scale battle in so few conversations?

And what about you? You write, mimicking his earlier diversion. Do your brothers share your affinity for poisoned words?

The parchment vanishes for a while this time, though you don’t even try to distract yourself with the anthology. Leg taps anxiously, trying to rub cream into your hands, hoping if it’s done tonight, they won’t ache tomorrow. The last thing you need right now is another flare up. Try to focus on the scent—light and sweet. Like gardenias and sugar.

Your attempts to redirect are as graceful as the first steps of a freshly birthed hound. Perhaps once you settle into your skin you’ll become more skilled at deflecting uncomfortable topics.

Skin prickles, hairs standing on end as you again raise the pen in hand. Considering routes to return to earlier discussions that weren’t so intrusive.

Alternatively, you could choose lighter conversation starters. For example, why did you send the anthology?

Certainly not the most succinct switch in direction, but better than continuing down that path. Ease a breath into your lungs once the paper vanishes, reminding yourself you don’t have to reply to him. At any point, you’re free to leave. Lean back in your chair, stretching out your limbs, muscles spasming and aching in your shoulders, fingers trembling as bones click in your spine. Deflate into the seat, muscles relaxing all at once.

You haven’t noticed anything yet?

Brows furrow, peering at the volume. Close it and flip it over—nothing on the back. Reopen it to the contents page, peering at the compilation of titles, authors, and page numbers. Scan the introductory section again, searching for anything to give you a hint at what he’s talking about.

(Writing about.)

I’m mildly concerned to ask? You write, keeping the conversation light, steering away from the earlier topics. Hoping he’ll keep away from family-related chatter.

Then read away.

Heart spikes at the ominous reply. What the hell is he talking about?

Eris, are you serious?

Paper vanishes, reappearing moments later.

Nothing but.

Roll your eyes at the response, but again set pen to paper.

If you were a human, you’d be riddled in various worry-marks by now. Does that thought upset you?

Lips quirk faintly, hoping it irritates him sufficiently.

Is this how you cope with discomfort? Pretending it away? Making light of it?

Damn him.

Instead of…?

Instead of hiding like a coward. Your blithe little act is growing dreadfully monotonous.

Straighten in your chair, shifting uncomfortably. Are you boring? Is that it? Is that the whole reason he…

Do fae have milestone dates like humans do? You said you don’t remember your twenty-first.

Paper disappears, and you become aware of the tension coiling in your shoulders. Maybe you should turn in for the night. Writing to him is supposed to be fun, not make you feel so…

Squirm uncomfortably, slouching in the seat. Crick your neck, releasing built up pressure, stretching your toes. Move to blow out the candles, but the letter reappears.

You really are turning out to be quite dull.

Brows scrunch with hurt, then even out. It’s ridiculous to be upset over behaviour he’s made no effort to hide. You shouldn’t be surprised he’s not changing, yet you had hoped…

Swallow, then sigh, the pen feeling heavy in your hand.

And you’re unnecessarily barbed.

(Who taught you to be that way, Eris?)

(Am I going to grow up to be like you?)

Paper vanishes, but you find yourself awaiting a reply. Marinating in your room while your lids grow heavier, shoulders slumping with fatigue, the base of your spine beginning to ache.

Stand from your desk, eyes flicking unwillingly to your nightstand, a small, royal blue gift box sat neatly atop it. The tule bow as resplendent as ever—shifting between vivid purples, reds, and pinks. Azriel’s gift.

(Sometimes, when it gets particularly bad, I like to look at it before I go to sleep. Fantasise about being the female he likes, instead of the one I am.)

(Sometimes, when I want to indulge in misery, I like to imagine dressing up for him. Imagine him telling me how pretty I am, imagine him sliding the golden hooks into pointed ears.)

(Sometimes I imagine.)

(Sometimes I imagine, because it’s the closest to reality I’ll ever get.)

Hear the distinct sound of paper on the table, and you still. End up turning anyway. Move over to your desk, reading the message.

You can do better.

Write again when you’re ready to show your claws.

Slump into the seat, head tipping back, staring up at the ceiling. Arms fall dully to your sides, too tired to feel anything.

Sigh heavily, forcing yourself to stand in favour of pulling away your clothes. Rid yourself of every constraint, pendant clunking on the bedside table.

The same-old, off-white cotton night gown swallows you, falling to your ankles as you settle into the mattress.

And to think, you’d been considering asking what things were like in his court.

How nice it might have been to make a trip of your own.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks

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#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x yn #azriel angst #azriel acotar #CBMTHY #azriel x reader angst #CBMTHY Chapter 8

[azsazz]

Dead by Dawn (Part 15)

Azriel x Cassian x Reader

Summary: Zombie!AU: It’s been a while since the end of the world.

Warnings: Blood, gore, injury, graphic depictions of violence, poly!relationship, slow burn, undead, death, mentions of cannibalism, SMUTTT

Word Count: 2,421

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14)

Notes: okay, I’ve missed this one. It hits. (3/6 of 6 updates for 6k 💙)

_________________________________________

Day 195

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You’re beginning to really hate the decision to leave.

Not only because of the three walkers you’ve seen, all with missing jaws, but there’s a niggling in the back of your mind, screaming at you about Feyre and Rhys. You shouldn’t have left the house, no matter how harrowing the sight you, Cassian, and Azriel had stumbled upon was. 

Cassian and Azriel, the two men who have been taking care of you since. The former had stayed up all night smoking the deer meat over the fire until it was nothing but smolders and a carcass left. You had intended to stay up with him until he was finished but Azriel had pulled you between his legs and all but forced you to lean against him with your head on his chest.

“Sleep,” he’d demanded gruffly, but his fingers brushing the hem of your t-shirt to find your skin were soft, soothing as he traced patterns. His lips were warm against your forehead, his breaths even and strong against your back that had lulled you into sleep in a matter of moments.

You’d been woken up by gentle strokes, the moon high in the sky. Both men had decided that you’d need to move campsites in case any zombies or wild animals were attracted to the carcass. The three of you stumbled through the woods, sticking close to each other. You’d quieted at the soft sound of a creek trickling through the brush and you’d been able to fill your canteens before Cassian washed the blood from his hands and forearms.

By the time the sun had washed its yellow rays upon the sky, you had found your way back to the main strip of highway and have been following it since. The little sleep that Azriel forced you to get had helped a little, but the anxiety rushing through your body at the thought of Feyre and Rhysand out here alone keeps you wired and focused only on made up scenarios of what could have gone wrong.

Had they made it back to the van? Had they tried to come back to the house only to find the letter Azriel had left them? Had they taken the warning and found gas, drove up the road until they’d seen the Eryef signs her sisters had left her? 

“Stop overthinking, sweetheart,” Cassian breaks the silence. He wraps an arm around your shoulder swiping his thumb across the crease in your brows. “We’ll find them.”

“You don’t know that,” you huff, wringing your fingers together. Azriel peers over his shoulder from where he’s scouting ahead, stopping in his tracks until the both of you catch up. You can’t look at either man right now. If it weren’t for you, you’d probably all be back together as a group, or at least waiting safely back at the house of horrors. “We shouldn’t have left them.” 

Azriel pulls you straight into his arms and Cassian closes the pack by pressing his firm body against your back. You’re enveloped by arms and warmth, soaking in both of their confidence that both Feyre and Rhysand are safe and to keep moving is the correct decision for your group of three.

You’re still not quite used to this side of Azriel. How he’s more open to you than before, like it’s been just as much of a struggle to keep away from you as it has been for you. He’s no longer afraid to pull you into his side or chest or arms should he sense your overworking mind. You’re much like him in that way, always playing out every scenario before anything happens. It’s a hard habit to break, one that has gotten him this far, saved his ass more than once, and by the Mother he’ll do whatever he needs to to make sure you find them. 

“Feyre is safe with Rhys, and he is safe with her,” Azriel starts, planting his palms on either side of your cheeks. The marred skin is soft against your cheeks and he tilts your chin up so you’re forced to look in his eyes. The gold in them is stern, as are his following words. “We’re going to see what this Eryef is all about because that’s where they’ll go when they see the signs. We’re going to meet them there and all will be alright.”

“Well, as alright as things can be with the apocalypse and all,” Cassian adds, nuzzling his nose into the juncture of your jaw. The brush of his lips makes you want to laugh, but you’re frozen beneath Azriel’s stare.

“Okay?” he asks you, and he tries to ignore the way that Cassian’s kissing down your neck, running his hands from your hips up your sides. He tries to ignore the way your fingers clutch to the hem of his shirt in response, and the way that your lids flutter. He steps into you and you can feel their stiff cocks pressing into you from front and back. The air is shoved from your lungs the closer they lean. “We’re worrying about us first. We can’t help them if we can’t help ourselves, first. We need to stay level headed, right?”

His lips slanting against yours are all too convincing of that.

“Right?” he asks against your mouth, and you nod, gasping when Cassian’s fingers dip into the waistband of your pants. You grind your hips, drawing delicious moans from both men.

“Right,” you whine, fingers raking down Azriel’s chest. You need them, both of them right now, even in the middle of the fucking forest in the middle of nowhere. You don’t fucking care. “Need you both.”

“If we’re giving her what she needs,” Cassian says, leaning over you to caress Azriel’s jaw. He tucks his thumb and is tipping his chin back, gold eyes clashing with hazel. It makes Azriel’s throat bob and from your vantage point you want to crane your neck and lick over it. “Then we can’t deny her this, Azzy.”

He hums languidly but it chokes off when you press onto your toes to lap across the skin of his throat. It’s salty, musky, and his fingers on your hips tighten. It makes your legs clench together and your cunt drip with want.

“We shouldn’t,” Azriel groans because Gods does he want to. But he’s feeling too exposed out here like this, all tangled up with his lovers. It muddies his mind and if you’re all too preoccupied with the taste of each other, he worries you’ll attract walkers. “Not enough protection.”

“Don’t have any condoms,” Cassian mumbles against Azriel’s mouth.

“From walkers,” Azriel growls, biting at Cassian’s lips. It’s meant as a warning but all it does is make Azriel’s cock jump at the thought of your tight heat milking him dry. He wants to fill you up, watch Cassian fuck his way into you until you’re a moaning mess, leaking their seed. 

He’s right, though. You shouldn’t be doing what you’re doing even now. Anyone could be near hearing the three of you fooling around, dead or alive. It’s a dangerous situation that lust is trying to paint its way over, and no matter how badly you need to feel the press of their bodies against yours again, you need to be careful about it.

“I’m going to find you both a house,” Cassian says gruffly, disappointment lacing his heady tone. He brushes Azriel’s hair back with one hand, and with the other he’s holding you tightly. “One with a fence and room big enough for a garden. We’re going to find a place for Feyre and Rhys nearby, but not so close that they hear me fucking the both of you all day and all night.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head at his words. He says them like he means them, like this is going to happen, and you can admit that it sounds like heaven. Spending the rest of your days with the two of them, always together, never lonely.

“‘M gonna take care of you both,” he continues, tone going soft with promise. Both you and Azriel lean into him, cradling him close. Your stomach twists a little at the thought that passes through your mind like a shooting star. “We’re going to be okay.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Only a few more miles,” Azriel says sometime later, when you’re taking a break. You’re munching on some of the meat Cassian had stowed away last night. You’d all been very lucky with that kill. Animals lurking the woods are a lot less common as they were at the beginning of the apocalypse, with all of the roaming zombies hungry for flesh and blood. They’ll take a bite out of anything with a pulse.

The meat is chewy and bland, but it’s better than most things you’ve eaten since the world ended. There was once when you and Feyre had to force down handfuls of flowers to ease the hunger pains contorting your bodies, but they hadn’t tasted as good as they smelled, but they’d kept you alive. 

“We should be there by nightfall, I reckon.”

You nod, forcing yourself to swallow. You’re not complaining, but your throat protests around the chewed meat, dry as it scrapes down your windpipe. Coughing, you try to dislodge it, and Cassian hands you his canteen to wash it down with. You beam gratefully at him.

“Do you think anyone will be there?” You ask, examining the jerky. “What do you think we’ll find?”

Azriel sighs as he thinks, leaning back against the tree behind him. His gold eyes scour the woods surrounding you. When they pass over your body and they rove down, drinking you in, then does he answer. “Hopefully we can at least find shelter.” 

You clench your thighs together. Clearly, he hasn’t forgotten about earlier when the three of you had been pressed so tightly together you were nearly one. Cassian shifts too and you can see the slight tenting of his jeans. Goosebumps awaken on your flesh as his bare arm brushes yours.

You’re about to speak but a twig snapping draws all of your attention, freezing in your spots.

You shove the rest of the meat into your mouth because by the Mother you will not waste it. Your body is tight with anticipation, and you draw your blade silently from your belt, preparing for the worst.

You peek a glance at Cassian, who shrugs a little. His hazel eyes are sharp, but he can’t see anything any more than you can. He sends a questioning glance over to Azriel, who silently shakes his head. He can’t see anything either.

The unmistakable groan of a walker sounds in the distance and your spine goes straight. It’s about time you’ve seen one. It’s been much too quiet as of late, and you pray to any God that will listen that it’s not a horde.

Slowly, you follow Cassian’s lead to stand. He offers you a hand and you move as silently as you can. Azriel’s already on his feet and moved closer to you. You hadn’t noticed how quickly and quietly he can be when he wants to. 

You’re kind of envious.

Slinging your backpack over your shoulders, both men cover you while you work it into place until your knife is back up at the ready. 

“C’mon you filthy vermin,” a voice cuts through the woods, not caring how loud they are. It carries through the trees easily, like an open field, though you still can’t see anything. “Just a  few more steps.”

It’s a low voice, but unmistakably a woman’s. She sounds agitated as well, especially when the male voice that follows is nothing but a sweet, teasing trap. “Ease up, fawn. We have all day.”

“We don’t,” she disagrees. “Elain will wake soon and if something happens,” her voice pitches higher in distress and the male’s one turns soothing.

“Her condition hasn’t changed in months, Nes. She’ll hold on another day.”

You exchange glances with Cassian and Azriel but the confusion painting their faces is the same as that of yours. What the hell are they talking about?

The sound of a zombie groaning breaks them apart. The woman spits curses at it and her male counterpart chuckles. Cassian presses closer when the voices trail your way.

“All in good time, fawn,” the man says again and he’s back to calling her that nickname. 

“It’s not my fault that they’re so damn stupid. I swear, it’s like being at University all over again.”

You hold your breath as he laughs and she huffs.

There’s a loud snap, the sound of something crunching nearby. It’s a little too close for any of your liking, and when the two of them step around a large oak, finally in your line of vision, they halt.

You watch the smiles slip from their faces, their eyes going hard. Their hands are tangled together but they rip apart as they reach for their weapons. 

You, Azriel, and Cassian raise yours in defense, but no one moves.

The man’s auburn eyes blaze over the three of you, calculating. His features are sharper than the blade in your hand, eyes hard like he could light you on fire with a single look. His copper hair is finger rifled, tousled on the top of his head, but the unruly look works on him. You wonder if the smattering of freckles dusting his cheeks and the bridge of his nose are marks of all of his kills.

The woman beside him, however, somehow looks even more menacing. The hard lines around her mouth must be from frowning most of her life, much like she is now. Her dirty golden-brown hair is braided back from her face in two long plaits. There’s a bow strapped across her back, and you’re lucky that the three of you caught her whilst she was distracted.

She looks familiar, though, so familiar that it only takes you a moment to place her until you’re dropping your arm and stepping forward, ignoring how Azriel and Cassian grab for you.

The girl’s gray-blue eyes are sharp, deadly even. Her knife is curved and razor-edged, dark blood from her latest kill dripping off of the tip. She doesn’t look like she’s willing to extend any pleasantries in the slightest, but if the next three words out of your mouth don’t stop her from killing the three of you, then maybe you deserve it.

“You’re Feyre’s sister.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

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