Mrs.Blackbeak

20’s|Bi|Ace|She/Her Neurospicy 18 + MINORS DNI {Requests are open}

[acourtofbooksandshadows]

Hello all you beautiful and handsome people! My name is M and this is my court! Feel free to wander about and enjoy! My asks and messages are always open. Please don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything.

All follows and likes will come from @xcastawayherosx

My other writing account is @foreverrandomwritings

My court is 18+ only. So I will ask nicely that any minors do not interact. If I stumble upon a blank, ageless or minor blog they will be promptly exiled!

Bookshelf

Rules

Taglist

Do not repost my work elsewhere or steal it in any way shape or form as I do not give my permission or consent.

I wish you all a splendid day,

M

[sncrlynwtms]

fandom etiquette as a whole died when people who didn’t grow up on fandoms became stans during lockdown, yes, but why am i seeing people openly mocking fics on twitter. why am i seeing screenshots of fics with captions like “bro what is this 😭.” why am i seeing people mock fic writers for not knowing how sports or theater or college or any other organization operates in the real world.

“college is absolutely nothing like this” “why are we writing four people on the team scoring a hat trick in one game” “so tech work is nothing like this, hope that helps!”

if you don’t like a fic, and if you can’t suspend your belief enough to enjoy a fic that exaggerates or ignores real-world orgs, you don’t have to read it. you don’t have to screenshot it and put it on blast for twitter. you don’t have to post a link to it in the replies. the back button is literally there on your phone. it’s not giving baby’s first fandom anymore, it’s giving entitled asshole and it isn’t as cute as you think it is.

[daz4i]

[nus4yy]

Eris finding out his top is Cassians bottom

[honeyrambles]

Eris definitely held back a moan when Azriel was choking him out during the HL meeting. He probably had to physically restrain himself from thanking him afterward.

[inpotatoeswetrust]

There are so many issues with ACOTAR and the author but honestly i find myself rereading this fanfic every year or so because that book series along with TOG were fundamental in my teenage getting into reading arc and. The fic is lowkey Better than the books but..not the point. The only satisfying way forward for acotar 6 I THINK is Azris. MAKE IT GAY!!! MAKE IT SO GAY it textually makes sense. It can solve political issues. Various angst possibilities. SJM won't do it because she's a coward but. Gay is the only way forward.

[wlfb0ygrl]

saying “i want him” about the character but not in a romantic or sexual way . i just Require him i need to Obtain him

[whispy-witch]

i want this man in my inventory

[luna-azzurra]

Tips for Writing Injuries

✧ Broken ribs suck. You don’t just “walk it off.” Breathing hurts. Laughing hurts. Existing hurts. Characters with rib injuries won’t be doing heroic sprints.

✧ Concussions aren’t instant naps. Dazed vision, nausea, dizziness, maybe even personality changes, but they’re not going to collapse neatly like in the movies.

✧ Blood loss is sneaky. It’s not just about dramatic pools of blood. It’s dizziness, confusion, and the body getting cold as circulation tanks.

✧ Adrenaline lies. Someone can take a serious injury and not feel it until the fight’s over. That “I didn’t realize I was bleeding until later” trope? Very real.

✧ Twisted ankles are brutal. One bad step and suddenly running is off the table. Even walking hurts like hell. Perfect way to ground a chase scene.

✧ Burns linger. Even small burns hurt more than most people expect. Blisters, infection risk, constant pain, it’s not just a cool scar later.

✧ Dislocated shoulders = useless arm. Characters can’t keep swinging a sword or firing a gun. They’re basically fighting one-armed until it’s fixed.

✧ Shock is a thing. Pale skin, trembling, rapid heartbeat, and eventually disorientation. A character might not even realize how bad their wound is.

✧ Stitches aren’t magic. Getting sewn up is painful and recovery takes time. They’re not instantly battle-ready after a needle and thread.

✧ Scars tell stories. Some fade, some don’t. Some stay sensitive forever. Don’t forget the aftermath when the wound becomes part of the character.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

if I say “I’m gonna update my fic and post the new chapter soon,” please know that “soon” could either mean today or 2035

[tyrianluda]

edit: *female* character. this isnt about your favorite male character, you can write about them somewhere else. thank you.

[holy-minseok]

... FOR THE WRITERS <3

Not all of the people reading your x reader fics have white skin

Just a gentle reminder before you write characteristics that assume whiteness and exclude your black/indigenous/poc supporters-specifically in 'x reader' works.

I love and appreciate writers, but this is a recurring avoidable issue (going on for decades now).

“Your face flushed” "your dusky pink nipples" "your face turned just as red as his" "he could see the blush on your face" “your cheeks furiously blushed” “your ears burn bright red” “The look in your reddened face” “your knuckles white with effort” “bruised purple against your light skin” *Peacemaker fandom: reader walking around in Earth 2 without any issue from the public...like I’m scared*

Describing the physical feeling instead of the visual change helps include your readers while also elevating your writing IMO.

Anyone can say "Your cheeks turned red with embarrassment" or "Your face flushed" but wouldn't you rather say "A burning heat rushed across your face, from your neck to the tip of your nose, prickling right underneath the surface. You look anywhere but him, hoping your newfound interest in the buildings ceiling tiles will ease the fire tightening beneath your skin" And instead of the other character pointing out that the readers face is red, they can point out the obvious flustered facial expression/body language.

If you want your reader insert to have white/fairskin, then just label them white!reader or put the mention in the warnings/summary.

↪I have reached out to writers I favored/supported before and sometimes I have been met with severe hostility and defensiveness. I often wonder if people are doing this purposefully or for some reason think only white people read their fanfics (?)-if that's the case then be upfront and label your reader inserts as white!reader or something PLEASE. It’s gotten to the point where I feel like black women and other POC aren’t wanted or considered in these fandoms because it comes off like that in your writing. If you need a different motivation, just know you're missing out on more interactions, reblogs, and a bigger reader base. I don’t know why white is the default for so many writers in unspecified x reader/reader insert fics-the people on your blog following, reading, and supporting you aren’t all white and fair-skinned.

I am not talking about OC fics or fics where race/skintone is x specified in summary or warnings. This is specifically about unspecified "x reader" where whiteness is assumed as the default

Put in the comments good replacements for writers to use!

[ioverthought]

hi, i get your point and what you’re trying to say, but this is such an entitled, condescending, and false post.

Not all of the people reading your x reader fics have white skin.

you don’t think we know this? did you ever maybe think that some writers write for themselves? maybe they imagine themselves as reader? maybe they don’t want vague ass descriptions? maybe they want words that fit them? why does everyone who blushes have to be white? you do realize lightskin people who aren’t white do exist? you’re screaming about how you want representation, while also erasing the existence of people like myself when you try to claim those traits only belong to one group. and reader-insert culture was never meant to be universally perfect for everyone. it’s not possible. you cannot erase all descriptors, all cultural markers, all body-related things, and still have it feel immersive or personal.

you guys act like any descriptor automatically = white. but that’s not true. petite doesn’t = white, skinny doesn’t = white, blue eyes doesn’t = white, and blushing doesn’t = white. and we all know there is already all these creators who write tailored content for their audience. many poc-centered blogs, mlm-centered blogs, wlw-centered blogs, body-diverse blogs, disability-centered blogs, so it’s not like those stories don’t exist, but making someone feel bad for their writing style is ridiculous because no one is asking you to read what’s not for you, everyone’s writing isn’t gonna be for everyone and that doesn’t mean they’re white or writing for one race, this is ignorance.

fanfiction isn’t a customer service line or a drive thru. it was self indulgent and self serving first. and there isn’t anything wrong with advocating for more variety but you can’t demand it from every single creator, especially when entire niches of what you want already exist.

Describing the physical feeling instead of the visual change helps include your readers while also elevating your writing IMO.

If you want your reader insert to have white/fairskin, then just label them white!reader or put the mention in the warnings/summary.

this is the worst line in your entire statement. you’re equating a normal human reaction to ‘whiteness’ that’s biologically inaccurate and racially reductive. you’re basically saying, “only white people have visible color changes,” which is false and lowkey anti mixed / antipoc. you’re completely ignoring the fact people can blush differently depending on undertones, lighting, melanin distribution, etc. not only is this blatant ignorance, it’s colorism and erasure. acting like every fic must come with racial disclaimers is not inclusivity — it’s bureaucracy.

i blush and i am a women of color, but according to you? those traits = white. you’re boxing all woc into one body type, one skin tone, one reaction pattern. it’s the same essentializing you’re claiming to hate.

you choosing to interpret “flushed cheeks” as “white default” says more about you than the author. stop projecting racial bias onto neutral words.

↪I have reached out to writers I favored/supported before and sometimes I have been met with severe hostility and defensiveness. I often wonder if people are doing this purposefully or for some reason think only white people read their fanfics (?)-if that's the case then be upfront and label your reader inserts as white!reader or something PLEASE. It’s gotten to the point where I feel like black women and other POC aren’t wanted or considered in these fandoms because it comes off like that in your writing. If you need a different motivation, just know you're missing out on more interactions, reblogs, and a bigger reader base. I don’t know why white is the default for so many writers in unspecified x reader/reader insert fics-the people on your blog following, reading, and supporting you aren’t all white and fair-skinned.

i wonder why they responded that way… maybe because this post is NOT a ‘gentle reminder <3’ it’s aveiled accusations. you’re making writers feel scared to write anything visual, scared to self-indulge, scared to describe THEMSELVES. it’s creative policing wrapped in fake allyship. most fanwriters aren’t trying to exclude anyone — they’re just writing for them, DMing strangers about how their language is racially insensitive, of course they’ll feel cornered??? fanfiction is personal. it’s not activism work. this is emotional manipulation disguised as “confusion” you can’t erase authors’ identities for the sake of “inclusivity” thats just disguised censorship.

no one owes you fics, edits, labels, or a rewrite to match your preferences. that’s not hostility — that’s boundaries. you can give feedback, but once you start dictating how others should express themselves, it’s control, not community.

If you need a different motivation, just know you're missing out on more interactions, reblogs, and a bigger reader base. I don’t know why white is the default for so many writers in unspecified x reader/reader insert fics-the people on your blog following, reading, and supporting you aren’t all white and fair-skinned.

so now inclusivity is a marketing tactic? 💀 this is exactly why people stop writing — because everything turns into performative PR instead of passion. i’m not gonna dilute my writing to chase reblogs. i write for me. not for analytics. not for demographics.

diversity of creators creates diversity of content. inclusion shouldn’t mean that every single fic has to include every single identity — it should mean everyone feels welcome to create their own. because when you guilt one person into “being inclusive,” what you really do is shame their self-expression. but when you empower someone new to pick up the pen and share their experience, that’s representation and growth.

and like… it’s wild that people don’t see that. “we need more inclusive fics” always translates to “we need existing writers to cater to us” but “we need more diverse writers” means “we need more seats at the table, not to take someone else’s plate”

[holy-minseok]

You’ve added a lot of meanings and hostility to my words that just weren’t there. You’re free to disagree, but you don’t have to strawman and twist my words to make it easier for you justify your view.

[liliacsdelight]

The op's post is a really thoughtful and necessary reminder about inclusivity in fanfiction and reader-insert writing. It’s addressing an issue that’s been around for a long time: the default assumption of whiteness in "x reader" fics, which can unintentionally alienate Black, Indigenous, and other readers of color.

But let's get into the reply. This kind of response is a common defensive reaction when conversations about inclusivity in fan spaces come up. It’s long and emotionally charged, but if you step back from the tone, what’s really happening here is a collision of two valid but differently contextualized truths—one about impact and one about intent. Let’s unpack it clearly.

The Original Post’s Point

The first post wasn’t trying to attack writers; it was talking about patterns in fanfic culture that reflect broader social defaults (like assuming whiteness as the norm). It asked writers to be mindful of language when their goal is to write “reader inserts” meant to include everyone.

It said:

“If you’re writing unspecified reader fics, and you use descriptors that only visually make sense on light skin, you’re unintentionally excluding a big part of your audience.”

That’s not censorship—that’s a call for awareness and clarity of intent.

The Reply’s Reaction

The second person seems to be hearing something different. They might have read it as, “You’re racist for describing a blush,” or “You’re not allowed to write your own experience.”

So they get defensive, framing the reminder as “entitled,” “controlling,” or “censorship.”

This kind of defensiveness often happens because:

1. They’re mixing critique of a systemic pattern with personal accusation.

2. They feel like their personal expression is being policed, when the original post is actually about collective awareness.

3. They interpret “describe sensations instead of color” as “erase all detail,” which isn’t what was said.

Where They Missed the Point

❌ “You’re saying only white people blush.”

No.

The original post didn’t claim that only white people blush — it said that visibly red descriptions (“your cheeks flushed pink,” “your skin turned crimson”) are visually coded as white in a reader-insert fic because those color changes aren’t universally visible across all skin tones.

That’s not a biology debate—it’s about reader perception and cultural language defaults.

❌ “Writers should get to write for themselves.”

Totally true!

No one said they couldn’t. The post literally says: if your reader-insert is written for a specific kind of reader (e.g., white!reader), label it so others don’t feel blindsided.

That’s transparency, not restriction.

❌ “You’re policing creativity.”

Critique ≠ censorship.

Saying “this wording unintentionally excludes people” isn’t the same as saying “you’re not allowed to write this.”

The whole point of the first post was: If you want your writing to feel inclusive, here’s how. If you don’t—fine, just say so clearly.

That’s not “creative policing,” it’s honest framing.

❌ “You’re calling neutral words white-coded.”

The pushback misunderstands that “neutral” isn’t always actually neutral.

In Western media and literature, “default” physical descriptions are often written through a white cultural lens—so “neutral” language can still center whiteness without realizing it.

That’s what “default whiteness” means: not that the writer is racist, but that language norms have been historically shaped by white standards of visibility and beauty.

The Core of the Miscommunication

Both posts want something similar—for everyone to feel like they can see themselves in fanfiction.

But they’re coming from opposite ends:

The Reminder Post

“Let’s use more inclusive language so everyone feels seen.”

The Rebuttal

“Stop telling me how to write. Fanfiction is personal expression.”

Both are valid in different contexts.

The key distinction is intent vs. audience:

If a fic is personal/self-insert → it’s fine to describe yourself.

If a fic is a “reader insert” claiming to be universal → inclusive phrasing helps ensure that’s actually true.

Why the Defensive Tone Happens

This type of backlash often isn’t about disagreement with the point—it’s about tone and emotional framing. People hear: “You’re doing something wrong,” when the post is really saying: “Here’s how we can do better.”

Unfortunately, that reaction can derail what was an important and thoughtful conversation about representation.

No one’s saying writers can’t describe themselves or their own experiences. The post isn’t calling anyone racist or saying only white people blush. It’s just pointing out how certain visual phrases, when used in unspecified reader fics, can unintentionally assume light skin and exclude readers who don’t see themselves in those descriptions.

It’s not about censorship. It’s about clarity and care. If a fic is self-indulgent, that’s valid! If it’s meant to be for everyone, then making the language inclusive helps achieve that goal. Both types of writing have space in fandom. That’s my take on it—I’ve said my piece. I’m not interested in arguing in bad faith or going in circles. Harassment, tone-policing, or nitpicking won’t get a reply from me. If you disagree, that’s fine, but keep it respectful.

[eatsbooks]

eris sleeper build vanserra. you agree. reblog

[soft-butch-cassidy]

depression tips™

shower. not a bath, a shower. use water as hot or cold as u like. u dont even need to wash. just get in under the water and let it run over you for a while. sit on the floor if you gotta.

moisturize everything. use whatever lotion u like. unscented? dollar store lotion? fancy ass 48 hour lotion that makes u smell like a field of wildflowers? use whatever you want, and use it all over. 

put on clean, comfortable clothes. 

put on ur favorite underwear. cute black lacy panties? those ridiculous boxers u bought last christmas with candy cane hearts on the butt? put em on.

drink cold water. use ice. if u want, add some mint or lemon for an extra boost.

clean something. doesn’t have to be anything big. organize one drawer of ur desk. wash five dirty dishes. do a load of laundry. scrub the bathroom sink. 

blast music. listen to something upbeat and dancey and loud, something that’s got lots of energy. sing to it, dance to it, even if you suck at both.

make food. don’t just grab a granola bar to munch. take the time and make food. even if it’s ramen. add something special to it, like a hard boiled egg or some veggies. prepare food, it tastes way better, and you’ll feel like you accomplished something. 

make something. write a short story or a poem, draw a picture, color a picture, fold origami, crochet or knit, sculpt something out of clay, anything artistic. even if you don’t think you’re good at it.

go outside. take a walk. sit in the grass. look at the clouds. smell flowers. put your hands in the dirt and feel the soil against your skin.

call someone. call a loved one, a friend, a family member, call a chat service if you have no one else to call. talk to a stranger on the street. have a conversation and listen to someone’s voice. if you can’t, text or email or whatever, just have some social interaction with another person. even if you don’t say much, listen to them.

cuddle your pets if you have them/can cuddle them. take pictures of them. talk to them. tell them how u feel, about your favorite movie, a new game coming out.

[yournudemom]

Circulating. Seasonal depression is creeping around now.

[pleadingly]

Reblog if it's okay to invade your ask box.

[moonhowldance-deactivated201902]

Always

[prythianpages]

WHERE IS MY MIND?

Azriel x Mermaid Reader | You are upset, feeling a little discouraged and Azriel realizes that the true mistake, was not believing you in the beginning.

Warnings: some angst | WC: a little over 6,200K (longest part of this au!)

A/n: This chapter is the one that has taken me the longest to write! So happy it is done so I can move on lol.

Something felt off this morning.

Azriel could not brush the feeling of unease away—it was too embedded into his chest. He sat at the table, fingers wrapped loosely around a cup of tea gone cold while Cassian and Nesta talked. It was not uncommon for you to show up late for breakfast, either with a book in your hand or a shy, sweet smile on your face from being caught up in a book.

But Azriel highly doubted the reason for your tardiness this morning was from being engrossed in a book. His shadows took to swirling around the empty seat beside him as if he needed the reminder of where his focus already lingered.

“She sleeping in?” Cassian asked finally, eyeing him over a plate of fruit. “Or did you two—”

Azriel shot him a look sharp enough to cut him off. “She’s fine,” he said too quickly.

Cassian hummed, clearly unconvinced. “If you say so.”

“I can go check on her,” Nesta offered.

“No,” he replied, the scrape of his chair louder than it should be. “I’ll go.”

His heart thudded unevenly as he climbed the stairs, wings tensed up behind him. Every step toward you felt heavier like an anchor pulling at him. However, he stopped right at your door, his shadows hissing in protest. 

He knocked once. Nothing. Twice. Still nothing.

Knocking again, he called out your name. There was still no answer. He hesitated. He shouldn’t barge in. He wanted to respect your privacy and he also feared upsetting you. He’s upset you enough already. 

But his shadows began to whisper their worries, insisting he let them go to you. It only fueled his worry. He took a deep breath and then nodded, letting them go. His shadows wasted no time, slipping beneath the gap in the door. He waited, pulse ticking faster, until they returned, and brought with them the faint echo of running water.

But their unease crawled through his veins, dark and urgent. 

Panic spiked through him before he could think. He twisted the handle and burst inside, promising to make it up to you if you got upset over it. His shadows guided him to your bathroom.

The scent of salt and lavender hit him first, fogging the air. His gaze snapped to the bathtub where water was dripping over the edge of the tub, spilling across the tile in slow rivulets. Why had the house not stopped it?

“Y/N!” He called, already moving, his chest constricting. The tub was overflowing, a froth of bubbles concealing everything beneath. You were not in sight but he knew you were in there. The shadows darted to turn the faucet off.

He rushed to the tub, plunging his arms into the water and feeling an immense relief when he found you, your skin still warm. He hauled you up into his arms, water cascading from your hair, his heart slamming against his ribs. He quickly lifted you from the tub and then knelt beside it. His shadows fetched towels, wrapping one around you as he pulled you close.

You gasped from the quick movement, blinking water from your lashes. Startled but alive.

“Mother above,” Azriel breathed. His arms tightened without thought, just wanting to feel your warmth and steady beating of your heart against him. He cupped the back of your neck, tilting your face toward him.

“Azriel, what—”

“Are you alright?”

Your lips parted, expression dazed as droplets glistened along your cheeks. Then— “No,” you said flatly, meeting his worried gaze with a frown. “That’s why I was in here.”

His brow furrowed. “You—what—”

You pushed at his chest weakly, gaze shifting into something softer when you met his again. “I was not feeling well this morning,” and then as if it were the most obvious thing you added: “The water helps.”

“But you were fully submerged—”

“I got curious to see how long I could hold my breath in this form.”

His wings drooped slightly, shadows curling tighter around his boots. “I thought—” He swallowed. “I thought you were drowning.”

Because after he’d answered your questions about Elain, he’d seen the flicker of sadness behind your smile last night. Forced smile. You hadn’t asked everything. He could sense you’d held back, torn between wanting to know and not wanting to hear. He’d seen that hesitation in your eyes, the way it dimmed your usual light. 

And he’d tried, clumsily, to ease it. Offering you his serving of roasted potatoes like that could fill the void he’d created. He made it a point to emphasize that Elain was only a part of his past any chance he could. Because she was.

Your frown deepened as you looked up at him. It felt like you could read where his thoughts had headed, like you could see through him—through that tangle of guilt and worry. He found himself unable to move, unable to breath when your hand lifted to touch his face.

 “My sweet shadowsinger,” you murmured. His heart lurched, moving him to lean into your touch. And then the guilt seeped through, rising again like a towering wave and threatening to flood him with selfishness for finding comfort in it. “I would not drown for your attention.”

“Nor will I beg for your love,” you added softly, your thump sweeping across his jaw before dropping your hand. The moment your warmth left him, you seemed to have taken his breath with it, the cold rushing in too quickly. “I, alone, should be enough.” 

“Princess…” his voice trailed off, struggling to find the right words as he drowned in his guilt. 

“You’re more than enough and I am sorry for making you feel less.”

You didn’t respond as he rose to his feet, gently bringing you up with him. The shock that had flashed across your face—so briefly he thought he imagined it—sent a shock through him. One that sparked a sharp pain in his chest. Because it meant that somewhere along the way, you had stopped believing it. Believing in him.

And though Azriel didn’t understand the full extent of his feelings, he knew one thing. That what he felt for you had crept in quietly, filling spaces he hadn’t realized needed to be filled. It wasn’t quite love but held the promise of it. And the thought of losing you—well, that idea was unbearable now. Ironic, considering that only weeks ago, he might’ve met it with indifference.

“Can we–”

His words fell short when he caught your shiver, his gaze instantly falling to your arms. There were faint blotches marring your damp skin. His chest constricted, his train of thought slipping away as worry took its place. 

“I think you’re allergic to something,” he murmured with a frown.

His eyes lingered, tracing the pattern of the marks until goosebumps began to rise along your exposed skin. The sight jolted him—reminding him that you were still wrapped in only a towel. He tore his gaze away, tension gathering in his shoulders before he forced it down.

 “How about you get dressed first? And then we can talk?”

 Normally, that would’ve earned him an amused response. A grin, a teasing remark, a playful glance or rolling of your eyes. Something. You liked to poke fun at him whenever it came to clothes.

But you only nodded. The absence of it felt loud. 

Because if you weren’t teasing him, something was wrong.

**

Azriel waited for you in your bedroom while you dressed in the bathroom. 

There was already enough distance between you two for him to wait for you downstairs. He was still worried over those rashes on your arms, wondering what you could’ve eaten that could’ve caused it or if an illness was befalling you. He would write a letter to Madja, requesting for her to come whenever she could to check up on you.

While he waited, he let his gaze wander around your room. 

You’d only been here a short while yet it already felt so lived in. More than his room. Small trinkets dotted the shelves — shells with pearly insides and tiny coral fragments that shimmered faintly when the light hit. Your curtains, originally a cream color, were now a pale blue. The house must have helped you, he thought. It had a habit of molding itself to its inhabitants. 

And here, it has woven the sea into your space. 

A few books sat stacked by the window seat, a dark green blanket messily strewn over the cushion. He walked over to them, his shadows brushing against their spines and reading the titles to him. Some of them were about fae culture and others were Sellyn Drake’s novels. He could picture you here, curled up and engrossed in your reading, your brows slightly drawn in.

His shadows drifted toward your nightstand next, where a single candle still burned, carrying the scent of the sea. The small clam-shaped nightlight he’d given you sat beside it, the memory that came along with it bringing a small smile to his face. (The first time you hugged him.)

And then he saw the sketches.

Sheets of parchment scattered across the surface. They were drawings of sea creatures, coral reefs, the faint outline of a palace. Notes in your elegant hand: Jasper written beside an octopus and guppies with tiny hearts near a cluster of fish.

His fingers curled, regret tightening them into a fist. You’d been so eager to learn the ways of this land, to smile and adapt. But here, on your nightstand, was the truth. You missed home. Maybe more than you’d let on.

The door behind him opened.

Azriel turned as you stepped out, dressed in a pretty baby blue dress, his shadows fussing over you and your damp hair. He lifted one of your sketches, fingers brushing over the faint lines of an underwater garden. “Do you miss home?”

Slowly closing the distance between you two, you gently took the sketches from him. You looked at them, biting the inside of your cheek in hesitation. Bringing the drawings to your chest, holding those memories close, you sighed. “Yes,” you admitted, the wistfulness in your tone tugging at something deep in him. “But home does not miss me.”

“I highly doubt that,” Azriel said and he genuinely meant it. For many reasons. You were impossible not to miss. He looked for you in every shared space now. Last night, when he couldn’t find you and thought he lost you, it nearly hollowed him out. “You are a princess.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, gaze dropping to set your drawings back on the nightstand. Your fingers swept across the outline of a palace.  “That’s all I am…”

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his throat tightening. It felt like he was saying all the wrong things. “I didn’t mean to—”

You shook your head, brushing off his apology. “It’s alright. It’s just… complicated.”

“Tell me,” he murmured, taking a seat on your bed. When you hesitated, his shadows reached forward, brushing the space beside him. “Please.”

You tilted your head, studying him for a long, quiet moment. “Don’t you have training at this hour?”

“I’d rather talk to you.”

That earned him the faintest curve of your lips.

And then, finally, you joined him.

You told him about your mother. A queen who, since losing her greatest love, loved like the tide.  Close and warm one day, distant and cold the next. How her advisor, Jasper, had shown you more care than your own blood. How you’d stopped waiting for your mother’s affection years ago.

“She loves me,” you said. “But she loves me the way she was taught to, as if it were her duty. My father was the one who showed her how to love, and when he died…” Your voice caught, faint but unmissable. “When he died, I think she forgot how.”

“Merfolk bond for life,” you added quietly, almost to yourself. “A part of her died with him.”

Something inside him twisted with more than just sympathy. Because you had bound yourself to him—accepted that necklace knowing it was him, chosen him—and he didn’t know if he deserved it.

Then, you spoke of your father. Of diving through shipwrecks together, of his promise to one day sail the surface beside you, “to see the world the way land crawlers did.” Your lips curved faintly at the memory but your eyes were far away.

“After my sisters left for other seas, he was the only one I had left,” your voice had dropped to a whisper. “Home stopped feeling like home after he was gone and that’s how I ended up here. I didn’t tell anyone. If I did, they would’ve stopped me—at least Jasper would’ve. It’s not like I talk to my mother, anyway...”

It all made sense to him now. He suspected you had come alone but you’d never explicitly said it. Not until now. He understood why you winced whenever Rhysand brought up your mother, why you’d quickly change the subject. He would put a stop to it. Anything to lessen the burdens you carried in your heart.

“I left home to find a place where I could belong. Funny how now—now I no longer know where home is.”

Azriel swallowed hard, his throat tight. He knew that feeling too well. Home was not a place at all. It was a feeling. Something he learned over the years as it was when he was home, that he felt it the most. That emptiness, that sense of bone deep loneliness. It had gotten worse when his brothers found their mates. 

He was genuinely happy for them… 

But beneath that joy festered something small and cruel — the ache of being left behind. 

Everyone he loved had found someone they loved even more, bringing forth a dreadful realization. He was nobody’s first choice at all. Even Amren had found someone, for Cauldron sake. 

It’s why he’d clung to Elain. Three sisters, three brothers. He had cared for her, yes. But underneath that care was desperation. A need to belong to something—to someone—even if it wasn’t truly his. He fed on the illusion because it was easier than facing the emptiness.

It was wrong and he’d known it. He was defying fate and who was he to do that? Perhaps, deep down, he had wanted to be proven right. That fate, itself, had no one waiting for him. That he was meant to live and die alone.

When that illusion finally crumbled, it didn’t shatter him. It hollowed him out instead, leaving behind only what had always been there. That familiar, unrelenting emptiness. He had come to terms in accepting it.

And then you showed up.

Bright and full of untamed affection, carrying warmth he didn’t know how to accept. You’d seen him long before he saw you…

“This is your home now,” he found himself saying, though the words “with me” burned unspoken at the back of his throat.

There it was again—that flicker of surprise as your eyes widened. But it was the way they glistened that nearly undid him this time, his shadows seeming to hold their breath. 

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” you murmured, lips curving into a smile that held no warmth as you cast your gaze down. “You don’t truly mean it.”

“But I do,” he said, his hand reaching out to coax your gaze back to his. If you couldn’t feel the truth, he hoped you could at least see it. “I mean it.”

Since you’d come into his life, though he foolishly tried to fight it, everything had begun to shift. The house of wind didn’t feel so big, so cold. He found himself looking forward to your laughter, your reaction to new foods, your endless curiosity about his world.

He no longer felt lonely because he had you.

Something unreadable passed across your face and anguish flooded through him. You no longer trusted him like you once did. He had done that. Dimmed the brightness he had taken for granted. His wings drooped slightly, the shadows falling low around his boots, mirroring the weight in his chest.

The movement of his wings seemed to have caught your eye. Your hand reached for his, gently taking it from your face and dropping it between you both. Your touch lingered over his before you pulled it away.

“When I last went to visit my father’s altar, one of the pearls I laid out for him fell. I chased it before it could get lost into the abyss. It landed on top of a statue. It was not one of merfolk nor human, it was—it actually looked like you…”

His brows lifted, heart stuttering. There was relief that your eyes no longer held the threat of tears but confusion over your words.  “Like me?”

You nodded, eyes lingering on his wings.  “The wing, mainly—the other had broken off. But it had talons and a similar outline like yours. It felt like a sign. That I should go. I thought it was my father’s way of telling me to keep our promise, even if he cannot be there with me. So I did. I left home and then a strange storm swept me into Prythian’s waters.”

Azriel didn’t know what to say, too stunned to speak. Now he understood why you thought it was fate. You were right. Your story was too strange, too out of the ordinary to consider it coincidental. His shadows lifted from the ground, drawn toward you, silently recognizing and empathizing with your story.

“Before you threw that necklace into the sea, I was on the verge of giving up. I didn’t want to keep looking for anything…,” your breath trembled. “I don’t know why but I thought of you at that moment—the beautiful male that watched others as though waiting for something himself. I wondered what it would be like to go on land, to talk to you. And then I heard your voice…”

Azriel froze. Every muscle locked, his heart clinging to your every word as if they were the only thing keeping it beating.

“‘After every storm, there’s a calm. After every night, there’s a morning. And after every ending, there’s a–”

“A new beginning for you and me,” Azriel finished with you, voice barely above a whisper. The tattoo along his finger flared, a searing reminder of his vow and his shadows shivered as the pendant at your throat flashed in answer.

“I want to know,” You began, your voice steady as you looked at him. Looked into him. “What you were thinking before you threw the necklace.”

“I wanted to let go of my past. I wanted all the heartache and loneliness to end…,” Azriel replied, casting his gaze down before bringing it back to yours. “And deep down, a part of me wanted… to believe that I was wrong. That there was still something, someone for me…”

“Yet you call it a mistake.”

And there it was. The word that had wounded you, the one he’d tossed out too carelessly. The seed of doubt had been planted and now threatened to take root. 

Azriel’s throat constricted, words clawing to get out, desperate to fix what he’d broken. “I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t think that throwing a necklace would mean anything.”

Your brows furrowed as you shrunk back from him. His shadows shifted, crying out quietly. “So you were… littering?”

“No–”

“Then why did you throw that necklace into the sea?”

Azriel’s eyes closed for a moment, the warmth draining from him. He’d thrown that necklace into the water to let go, to say goodbye to what could never be.  “I was trying to get rid of it,” he said at last as he opened his eyes.

Your hand rose to your throat, fingers clutching the rose pendant as though it were your anchor and the sight only tore through him more. “Why?”

His gaze lingered on the necklace, on the way it gleamed softly against your skin. His past and present colliding in one cruel, perfect moment. He dreaded the truth, knowing how deeply it would cut. But his shadows whispered around him, urging softly, “she deserves to know.”

“Because I originally gifted it to Elain.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

You stilled, lashes lowering as though to shield your expression. He saw it anyway. The tremor in your breath, the way your jaw tightened to hold back the hurt.

“Oh,” you whispered, your fingers no longer clutching the rose necklace.

Just one word. Small and fragile.

But it gutted him all the same.

He reached for you on instinct—to explain, to take the pain from your eyes—but froze when you flinched back. The distance between you had never felt wider.

“Are you upset with me?”

“No,” you said after a heartbeat, and he could hear the truth in it, even as it split him open. “Not with you… I’m just feeling a bit discouraged. Could you—could you please give me a moment?”

You had once looked at him like he was something certain, something destined.

Now… now there was doubt brewing in your eyes.

And it was all his doing.

**

A moment turned into minutes. Then hours. And then, it was night.

You had asked to be alone and though every instinct in him screamed to stay, Azriel respected your wish.

By sunfall, his chest felt overbearingly tight.

So he trained.

Sweat slicked his skin, dark hair damp and clinging to his temples as he drew another breath. Every swing and strike of his blade was an outlet of the stress and worry brewing inside him.  His muscles burned but still, he couldn’t stop. 

He told himself this would help. That if he just pushed harder—until his arms trembled and his lungs burned—he would easily find sleep after washing up. Because if his body stilled, his mind would wander back to you. To your eyes, your voice, your smile. 

And more recently, the frown he had caused.

“By the Mother, Az,” a familiar voice drawled. Cassian stepped into the ring, arms crossed, eyes scanning Azriel’s form. “You’re swinging like you’re trying to swat flies instead of cutting through your enemies…or problems, I should say.”

Azriel didn’t respond. He only tightened his grip and pivoted for another strike.

Cassian chuckled, shaking his head. “Drop the blade and you can take it out on me. Guaranteed to leave you more exhausted, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

Azriel let out a long, tired sigh, finally lowering his blade. “No,” he replied.  “I… don’t want to take it out on anyone.”

He’d hurt enough people already.

For a moment, Cassian studied him—really looked at him. Then his expression softened. “Something happened.”

“So what if something did happen? Are you here to say ‘I told you so’?” Azriel said, his jaw tightening as he remembered a conversation of theirs awhile back.

**

“I don’t know. Everything about her is... strange.”

Rhys swirled his wine with one hand. The other cradled a sleeping Nyx to his chest.  “It’s so strange it has to be fate.”

“Fate,” Azriel murmured, almost to himself, his shadows pulsing faintly at the word.

“Feyre thought I was her enemy once and yet here we are,” Rhysand said softly, gently brushing a hand over his son’s dark hair. “I first met her when she was human and I felt something I couldn’t fully explain. Like a pull, almost.  Our story is…unusual. Strange to most. Ridiculous, even. But the kind that makes you realize it was fate all along.”

Cassian nodded.  “When I met Nesta, she looked at me like she wanted to rip my head off. I fell hard anyway.”

“You sure it wasn’t something else that got hard?” Rhys teased.

Cassian chuckled—quietly so as not to stir Nyx. “Two things can be true at once.”

Even Azriel laughed quietly at that. But when the humor died down, the silence pressed in again. Rhys looked up from his son, eyes soft but steady. “You’re afraid,” he said simply.

Azriel’s spine straightened. “I’m not.”

Cassian leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest. “You are. You’re terrified of being seen.”

“I’ve been seen,” Azriel said flatly.

Rhys shook his head. “Not like this. She sees you differently.”

Azriel looked away. “She doesn’t know me well enough to feel anything real.”

“But you’re afraid she will.” Cassian said and then held his hands up defensively at the glare sent his way. “Listen, Az. Maybe this whole thing is strange, something weird that has happened. Maybe it’s fate. Maybe it’s something in between. I don’t know. But I do know what it’s like to be pushed away.” His expression sobered. “And that hurts. So whatever this is with her… don’t do that. You think you’re protecting yourself and her but in the end, both of you will be hurt instead.”

**

“No,” Cassian said, bringing Azriel back to the present. There was a small rueful smile on his face. “I’m here to remind you that you can talk to me—or anyone, for that matter. Sometimes just saying it out loud makes it a little lighter.”

Azriel’s shadows flickered and wrapped around him like restless thoughts. But he did not say anything.

“For what it’s worth, I think she’s lucky to have found you… just as much as you were lucky to find her. Even if you don’t see it, the rest of us do. She’s a bright soul, always happy, especially when at your side. You seem happier too. Fate must’ve brought you together for a reason.”

Cassian’s words hit deeper than Azriel wanted to admit. His chest tightened, warmth threading through the ache until it almost hurt. “I made her doubt that,” he admitted quietly.

“Then make her believe it again.”

**

The nearly full moon hung proudly in the night sky, shining brightly down on him as he made his way back to the room. He rolled his shoulders, muscles tight from a day that had felt too heavy. His steps slowed when he reached your hallway. His shadows had drifted ahead, seeking you instinctively. His brow furrowed when he didn’t see the usual soft blue light glowing from beneath your door. You never slept without your night light since he got it for you. 

You must not be in your room and it only puzzled him further. Because if you weren’t in your room, then where were you? The thought gnawed at him, only soothed by the reminder that the House wouldn’t let you wander too far alone. Still, that same unease from the morning pricked at him all the way to his bath.

As he bathed, his shadows suddenly became uncharacteristically jittery. They darted in and out of sight, tugging at his awareness and urging him to wash himself quicker. Even going as far as helping him shampoo and condition his hair for him.

“What is wrong with you?” He huffed at them when they splashed him in the face with a bucket full of water. He brushed his wet hair back, blinking his vision clear to glare at them.

”Master must hurry!” They hissed, pushing and shoving him to get him to rise from the tub. “There is something you must listen to!”

When he stepped out of his bathroom, hair damp and droplets of water still clinging to his bare chest, he didn’t understand why his shadows continued to flip and dart across the room like crazed acrobats. He ignored them once again, slipping into some comfortable grey sweatpants. They had just settled low on his hips when he paused, frowning.

He heard it then, his shadows carrying the sound to him to amplify it. 

It was you. You were singing.  

“This again?” He murmured to his shadows.

”Yes! Do you not recognize it?”

“Of course I do,” he said softly. He heard you singing the other morning, how could he not recognize your singing voice now?

Still, he was curious as to why you were up so late. He quickly slipped on a shirt and was then following the sound of your voice, his shadows slightly ahead. 

His feet were silent on the stone as he made his way to the terrace. The closer he came, the stronger the pull in him grew, as if your voice wove around his rubs, tugging on something buried deep. 

“I want you to know. Deep in the cell of my heart, I will…”

Your singing broke off.

He froze in the doorway. Azriel rarely got caught. As a shadowsinger, going undetected was his craft. Yet you’d sensed him again…

Because his shadows, traitorous things, had already fluttered and reached for you in greeting.

You stood by the railing, the moonlight kissing over your skin and hair. You looked like something between a dream and a memory. Your gaze found him immediately—eyes dark and endless as the ocean. Yet they drew him in all the same and like the tide obeying the pull of the moon, he moved toward you. Even though he was sure your eyes could drown him without a single touch.

“Hi,” he said and then grimaced at how awkward he sounded.

“Hi,” you replied in a similar tone.

You weren’t frowning, but the absence of your smile made his chest tighten. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to depend on it. Without it, the world felt colder. Duller.

“You have a pretty voice,” he managed.

His shadows snickered, curling teasingly around his legs. He could feel the heat rising to his ears and they did nothing to soothe him, wanting Azriel to succumb to this feeling.

At last, that earned a small laugh from you, a flicker of brightness within the darkness that had taken over. “What kind of mermaid would I be if I didn’t?”

The corner of his mouth lifted before he could stop it.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, stepping closer. 

“It seems neither could you,” you said, eyes glinting faintly.

Azriel joined you by the railing, wings folding tight against his back. He welcomed the night breeze as it cooled his flushed skin. He drew a breath, letting the silence settle for a moment.

He noticed the way your fingers kept brushing at your arms, scratching lightly. His shadows moved before he could stop them, curling gently around your wrists and then slithering up to soothe over the irritated spots.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, concern seeping into his tone. “I sent for one of our healers—she should be here in two days. But I can ask her to come sooner.”

“No,” you said immediately. “It’s just... itchy. Like my skin doesn’t know where it belongs.”

“How–how are you feeling?”

Azriel grimaced again the moment the words left his mouth. Since when did he stumble over himself? And worse, it was a foolish question—he could see the answer written on your skin. What he’d meant to ask was something else entirely. Were you feeling any better? Were you still upset? And had that somehow manifested into anger toward him?

“So-so,” you replied with a shrug of your shoulders. You then turned your head, eyes assessing him quietly. “I am not mad with you. I just needed time alone to process my thoughts.”

He started to protest because if you were mad at him, it was understandable. He had left you to go after Elain, almost lost you as a consequence.The look you gave him stopped him cold. He exhaled instead, the tension leaving his shoulders. “What can I do to make you feel more at home?”

You tilted your head and he felt a sense of relief as he saw the faintest spark of mischief touch your features. “You can sing to me.”

His brows rose. “Sing?”

“Merfolk sing to one another all the time. It’s a way we comfort each other.”

“Do you siren one another?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing under your breath. “No. I mean, we do have our siren songs for luring but we also have different songs for different occasions. Celebratory, mourning, for joyful times and then our soul songs. Those we sing to ourselves to soothe our hearts…”

At his silence, you added: “Don’t you have a soul song? You are a shadowsinger.”

He hesitated. “I’m not sure I do.”

You gave him that look again—expectant but also amused. “You just don’t want to sing in front of me.”

“Sing to her,” his shadows hissed at him. They began to hum a familiar tune, a haunting but beautiful melody.  Azriel flushed, glaring at them.

“I thought you wanted to make me feel at home…” 

That did it.

Even if it felt silly, even if the idea of singing made heat creep up his neck, he couldn’t deny you this. He drew a slow breath, earning a giddy smile from you, before his voice joined the rhythm of his shadows.

“With your feet in the air and your head on the ground,” he sang, low and rough, voice catching slightly. “Try this trick and spin it, yeah. Your head will collapse, if there’s nothing in it, and you’ll ask yourself…”

You leaned in closer, the distance between you decreasing with each note and lyric.

“Where is my mind…where is…” His voice broke off then, faltering under your gaze. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting away as if the stars themselves might spare him from the heat crawling up his skin.

Your laughter rang, bright and alive. It filled the space between you and warmth spread though his chest, alleviating the worry and guilt that had taken space earlier. “I did not think you would actually do it,” you confessed.

”I did it just for you.” He said softly.

“You have a pretty voice,” you told him.

Azriel broke out into a smile, a genuine one. It widened when it seemed to startle you. “What kind of Shadowsinger would I be if I didn’t?”

“You have a pretty smile too.” You said, smiling back at him, your eyes shining anew.

He blinked, caught off guard. Compliments, even though you threw many at him, were still not things he knew what to do with. He gave a quiet, disbelieving chuckle. “You’re—”

“Pretty too? Lovely? A catch?” You teased, your grin returning in full and he was happy over it. You seemed to be getting your light back.

“All of the above.”

Even his shadows cooed at that, fluttering between you both in a pleased way.

“Your turn.”

Your eyes widened at his request but you nodded your head. “Hmm, what should I sing?”

A single tendril brushed against his ear, murmuring a suggestion to Azriel. “The song you were singing earlier,” he voiced outloud.

“My soul song,” you murmured, tilting your head in contemplation. “Are you sure? It is a little sad.”

The shadows rippled in agreement anyway, dark waves pulsing with anticipation. But your gaze lingered on Azriel, waiting for his answer. He nodded once. “I’d like to hear it.”

“Alright,” you said softly. “I’ll start from the middle as it is repetitive. It’s what I sing when I can’t sleep.”

You hummed softly then, slowly building yourself up to the rhythm of your song. And then finally:

“Sing me to sleep.”

Azriel stilled. His heart gave a sudden, uneven beat. His shadows shuddered, whispering furiously, “this is why we told you to listen!”

“I don’t want to wake up on my own anymore.”

He knew that song.

The memory came rushing back as you continued with your song. The salt air, the hush of the sea, the restless weight that had kept him awake every night. And then that voice. Distant, ethereal, carrying across the water. A voice that had quieted the storm inside him and lulled him to sleep for the first time in days.

“Deep in the cell of my heart, I really want to go…”

His breath hitched, his shadows trembling with it. His gaze locked on you like the world had just tilted into place as your song slowly came to an end, your voice almost whispering now.

“There is another world.”

“There is a better world,” Azriel finished with you.

You froze as though you had been splashed with cold water. He heard the stutter of your heartbeat. “How did you…?”

“I’ve heard it before.” Azriel said.

“That is not possible,” you whispered, brows furrowing as you shook your head slightly. “I made it up.”

“No,” Azriel said, stepping closer, eyes searching yours. “I heard you singing it—in Summer. I thought I had dreamt it—I was going a bit mad from lack of sleep. But it was real.” His voice dropped, soft but sure. “It was you.”

Your lips parted in disbelief, breath catching. “You heard me?”

He nodded once. “I think… I was meant to.”

A light breeze stirred, his shadows dancing along with it. It was just enough to lift a few strands of your hair and carry the scent of ocean mist and warm amber straight to him. Even the echo of the sea far below responded, crashing and sighing against the jagged rocks that lined the base of the mountain.

You stared at him for a long moment, the wind and his shadows still curling around you. The moon seemed to brighten above, spilling soft light over your features that caught in your eyes, making them gleam. The sight was breathtaking.

You were beautiful. Achingly, impossibly beautiful.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, you asked, “Do you still think this was all a mistake?”

The world seemed to still around you--the sea, the wind, even the moonlight holding its breath. He looked into your eyes, where the stars themselves seemed to tremble.

“No.”

a/n: we're close to the end y'all <3 I hope this part was okay. I struggled on how to fit that flashback with Rhys, Cas & Az bc I did not think it was enough to post as a drabble on it's own. So sorry if it's a little awkwardly placed I did stray from my original plans. Like mermaid was not going to find out about the necklace until later and same with Az finding out it was her singing he had fallen asleep to in Summar but as I wrote this, I thought it would be better if they happened here. I also had written a flower scene, where he gifts her flowers (her first flowers) as a "forgive me" but preferred ending it like this (so that may become a drabble!)

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[prythianpages]

BE THE OCEAN, WHERE I UNRAVEL

Azriel x Mermaid Reader | Azriel has a wet dream about you.

Warnings: suggestive content (nothing explicit, just Az being hot & bothered & mentions of humping)

A/n: I named this after Lykke Li's I Follow Rivers. I feel like it screams mermaid & Az. This came out longer than I thought it would, it's approx 950 words. (and if you saw the poll, this was the ‘ 🌊 ‘ Drabble)

Azriel was about to lose his mind. He knew this would come back to haunt him. He, however, could not bring himself to regret it.

Not when you stood at the edge of his bed, dressed in that baby blue lingerie set. 

Seeing you in it…it wrecked him like a storm.

Desire surged low in his stomach, his heart fluttering like frantic wings against his ribcage. The sheer delicate lace was absolutely sinful, translucent enough to reveal every rise and curve. It covered very little, if anything at all. The cups offered only the faintest semblance of modesty, the ribbon at your sternum all but begging to be undone.

His gaze drank you in, unable to stop. Every inch of bare skin was a tempting revelation. His gaze roamed lower to the lines of your arms glowing in the low moonlight before drifting lower to your stomach, the curve of your hips, your thighs, the endless stretch of your legs. 

You were a vision designed to torment him.

Then, you were moving.

You crawled toward him slowly and his eyes tracked every sway of your hips. “Give me your babies,” you purred.

Azriel’s pulse thundered. What??

Every instinct screamed at him to run, to pull away before this spun too far out of control. His body betrayed him, aching and throbbing, reflecting the hunger in your eyes. He wasn’t even sure he actually wanted to say no.

He sat up, muscles taut, shadows slithering away into the corners of the room. You swung a leg over his hips and straddled his lap, settling against him with a heat that made his breath catch. The scent of you enveloped him, dizzying and intoxicating.  He could hardly breathe and he didn’t mind it, happy to drown in you.

You took his hands in yours, pressing them to your thighs first. The flesh there was soft and inviting beneath his scarred palms. You guided them higher, inch by agonizing inch. 

“Give me everything.”

Azriel’s throat bobbed. 

And then your hands stopped, right over the swell of your breasts. His fingers trembled against the curve of lace. You urged him silently and who was he to disobey? He squeezed the soft flesh and he could feel your nipples hardening beneath his thumbs. 

“Why not always?” 

He couldn’t make sense of your words, his mind too busy unraveling at the welcome weight of your body on top of his. And he didn’t care to make sense of them, especially when you rolled your hips over his. His hard cock pressed against the thin barrier between you and a moan slipped from him. He could feel you, dripping and warm with arousal.

You leaned in, lips barely brushing his. His grip tightened on your breasts, desperate and hungry for more as you rolled your hips again.

 “Be the ocean,” you whispered, breath hot against his mouth, “where I unravel.”

You weren’t quite kissing. Tormenting more like it. Just enough to give him a taste of you and Cauldron, it left him ravenous.

“Yes,” he rasped, bucking helplessly into your rhythm. He gave himself over at last, leaning forward to press his lips against yours—

**

Azriel jerked upright, chest heaving. You were no longer straddling him, the image of you dissolving like smoke. You weren’t even in the room, he realized as he blinked his vision clear.

It was all a dream.

Yet his cock strained painfully against his underwear all the same. The ache in his gut was unbearable, heat pooled there. His body yearned for the weight of you over him, the sensation of your body against his. He was tempted to close his eyes to call for sleep and chase the feel of you again.

But something had woken him. His shadows. They darted around his room, zooming and restless, whispering in their indistinguishable chorus. 

Then he heard it.

Singing.

Your singing. 

Though slightly muffled, your voice still reached him from across the hall. His shadows helped amplify the sound, carrying it straight to him. It was the first time he’d heard you sing. Your voice was beautiful—a sultry and powerful force. Unsurprising and dangerous all at once. He understood why sailors followed such a voice to their deaths.

“Be my only…” 

Your singing sent the shadows into a small frenzy. He shot them a glare, his voice still rough from sleep as he asked, “you woke me up for this?”

“Yes! Listen, listen!” they sang back, flitting and buzzing, recognizing something he could not. 

“I am listening,” he muttered, scrubbing his hands over his face. 

”I—I follow. I follow you, deep sea baby.”

The shadows pulsed in rhythm to your song and Azriel, still shaken from the dream, was unable to stitch the pieces together. His chest was still tight, his cock still throbbing. He felt as though he was decades old at this moment, not centuries. He could only think of you. Of the way you looked in that babydoll set, the way you had guided his hands over your body, of the—

His shadows paused suddenly. They circled back toward the bed and took immediate note of the bulge straining there. “Better take care of that,” they chorused slyly, pointing toward his obvious arousal.

Azriel threw his pillow in their general direction before groaning and falling back into his sheets. “Bastards,” he muttered.

His body was restless, his mind even worse. This dream had given him a dangerous glimpse of you, plunging him into wild waters. Every sound, every breath of yours swept through him, wrapping around his ribs and squeezing tight.

And your voice—your beautiful and perfect voice—continued to thread through the early morning, stitching itself into his soul.

”Dark doom honey, I follow you.”

a/n: Hope you enjoyed this <3 after the baby talk and lingerie scenes in Staring at the Sun, I thought it’d be funny to incorporate them into a dream. And died at the idea of mermaid saying “give me your babies.” That’s how this drabble came to be. Az was too horny to recognize your voice lol.

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