“I can't give you a sure-fire formula for success, but I can give you a formula for failure: try to please everybody all the time.” ― Herbert Bayard Swope
You left 76 years ago without a word. You missed Amarantha's reign of terror. Missed the Archeron sister's turning fae, and even the birth of the newest addition to the Night Court. When you finally come back, will the Inner Court understand why you fled?
read this and remember it. read this and remember that she is going to use the profits of her fucking ego-stroking reboot to decimate trans rights. read this and remember that every time you pay into her IP, you are emboldening her to hurt us more.
our lives matter more than your fucking nostalgia.
trans lives matter more than your fucking nostalgia.
Carved from the Same Edge - Masterlist - Azriel x Reader
Summary: When the Night Court’s spymaster meets his match, the shadows themselves start to misbehave. You’re a lethal shadowsinger with feral, wild-hearted shadows and a mouth too sharp for your own good. Azriel’s shadows are calm, obedient… until you arrive in Velaris on a long-term assignment and his control starts to crack. Forced proximity. Relentless banter. A threat outside the borders. And one spymaster who can’t decide if he wants to throttle you or kiss you.
I have this idea in my head of this character coming from the world of Fourth Wing, being a dragon rider and in the middle of a battle for Basgaith. Azriel shows up through a portal and is looking for his mate, not expecting to be in a different world. His eyes find her, his shadows calling him to her and he just knows. He helps her in battle after convincing her through the chaos that he's not a bad guy (just a strange one with wings). I love them in my little daydreams
Word Count: 1493
Warnings: Nightmares, chaos, angsty angst angst
Part 6
The night feels colder than normal in Velaris, but maybe that’s because you forgot your jacket and shoes. At least it was still a bad habit to have a bag by the door, and it unfortunately came in handy. You run from the house, not slowing until you reach the heart of Velaris, only relenting when you were out of breath and bent at the waist, bag slung over one shoulder and carrying much more than just the weight of material belongings.
Azriel… his name is on a constant loop in your mind, guilt eating away at you. When someone nearby complains of an achy chest, you finally move, straightening and walking in a random direction.
Find an inn tonight, re-evaluate the situation tomorrow.
The sights and smells of Velaris settle something inside you, just a little. Stalls and vendors line the streets, shops with their doors propped open that beckons customers closer. Food drifts over you, magic filling your lungs and a strange peace descends in your chest. This had always been home, and you had missed it. You wander for a while, just breathing and taking it all in. You do stop by a clothing shop, plucking out a simple pair of boots because your toes had gone numb from the cold, even with the warming enchantments that most of Velaris uses.
Near the south road, closer to the seaports, you find an inn, looking like a newer built addition. Paying for a room, you immediately head up the stairs to the furthest door in the hallway. The inn wasn’t full in the slightest, but you asked if anybody else came by for lodgings if the kind lady could fill up the rooms closer to the stairs first. Just in case. Not that it would help the patrons just under your feet. You’d worry about that later.
With the practice of control from Rhysand and Feyre, you had a fighting chance to make it through the night. Maybe this meant you didn’t have to be alone anymore… the thought is ruined when you inevitably think of Azriel, how betrayed he looked. You unceremoniously fall into the window seat, a bowl of stew having been brought up by the owner but sitting untouched at the small table nearby.
Your chest ached, thoughts racing at the events of the night. Azriel’s lips, hands, body pressed against yours… it had been everything you wanted. And this- this curse ruined it. Something bitter lodges in your throat, forcing down the overwhelming emotions threatening to change the world once again. Just sleep, you think harshly, body rising and moving towards the bed in the center. Sleep until morning, maybe talk to Rhysand. If Azriel tells the rest of the Inner Circle, you’re not sure how they’ll react. Hopefully, they’ll settle for finding out what is happening to you instead of a witch hunt. You could hope anyway.
Sleep doesn’t come easy, tossing and turning, groaning when your emotions flare violently when someone outside laughs a little too loudly. Eventually, an uneasy darkness claims you, wrapping you in dreams of hazel eyes filled with hurt and reminders of kisses that burned.
It’s late when it happens, the sky dark and the streets nearly empty. A few stranglers are downstairs, drinking and gossiping in the way drunk travelers do. Your dreams turn into nightmares, of monsters and trees, of Azriel sneering at you for what you are becoming. The fear, anxiety, and despair poisons the air, spreading farther than ever. Terror grips the hearts in the inn, even a few people walking outside lurch with sudden panic, none sure of where it’s coming from. Someone screams below, chairs knocking over, chaos descending on innocent bystanders. And you? You’re utterly trapped, twisted in sheets while sweat clings to your skin.
It isn’t long until a shadow finds you, a lone tendril that had promised to never let you out of its sight. The shadow watches the inn, the havoc unfolding inside and spiraling out onto the street. Some people were running, putting distance between them and the air that shimmers with someone’s innate ability. It slinks through the inn discreetly, following the stairs up and bee-lining towards the room at the far end like it knows your habits.
As soon as it sees you, the air around you dark and heavy with something far too powerful to be in the heart of the City of Dreams, it darts back through the streets, off to wake a certain Shadowsinger.
Azriel was awake instantly, hazel eyes snapping wide open at the details his little shadow whispers to him. You’re still in Velaris, struggling in a dream that has people running for their lives. He’s never moved so fast before. He barely gets clothes on, hopping into boots and shouting for Rhysand in his mind, telling him what he can before he’s bolting from a balcony, racing through the night sky to get to you with a shirt half buttoned and his boot laces coming undone.
When he reaches the inn, it’s worse than what he had imagined. People are still tripping over themselves, some stuck in the doorway, others pushing and shoving with some residual anger and panic that wasn’t theirs. Rhysand isn’t far behind him, Cassian landing with him as they start to redirect the crowd away. They all feel it, the negative emotions that could be a natural disaster on their own, radiating from the inn. Azriel knows what room, following shadows to the second story and finding the window that leads him to you. It’s dark inside, the air a tangible veil that looks like it’s been holding time in its grip.
A hard push sends the window up and he is nearly knocked from the air at the stench of fear and pain. Your emotions are so strong, his heart racing from terror that is not his own. Gritting his teeth, he pushes inside carefully, half stumbling towards you in his rush. Calling your name doesn’t do anything to stir you, brows pinched and lips parted in a silent wail, head tossing and turning with rough breaths. Azriel is on his knees next to the bed, fighting against every instinct telling him he’s in danger, to not run away from this, from you.
Scarred hands grip your shoulders, grimacing when touch only seems to make it so much worse. “Wake up!” he begs, crying out your name when some unseen force ripples through them both. When your eyes do open, they’re not your own. Just like earlier, glowing white orbs stare up at him, panic reaching new heights at the sight of him leaning over you with that expression on his face. You scramble back, skin shimmering like the air, hands thrown out to keep him away with a choked cry of his name.
Outside, Rhysand and Cassian had managed to evacuate the affected people, but the bubble of emotion was continuing to grow. They couldn’t step any closer, unable to hold out against the sheer terror and heartbreak that radiates from their friend. It’s all on Azriel to calm you, and when he hears that from Rhysand, he grips your wrist tighter. “Stop! Just breathe,” he urges, trying so hard to get through to you.
You’re shaking your head, trying to follow instructions but hyperventilating comes instead. Azriel’s wings stretch wide and curl, wrapping around both of you, his shadows following suit. He doesn’t budge, doesn’t move when your panicked hands trying to push him away. “I-I’ll hurt you!” You cry, but he only looks at you with a forced calm. His heart is beating too fast, matching yours, hands trembling as he pulls you closer until you are off the bed entirely and in his lap. “I’m not leaving,” he murmurs, hand sliding into your hair, pulling your head to rest against his chest.
You fight him, or try to. His hold doesn’t waver, your pushing and pulling away doing nothing to stop the gentle way in how he presses you against him. Eventually, you deflate into him and break, sobs tearing free and scraping every nerve raw. His hands hold you steady, tracing soothing patterns along your back, the other tangled in strands, scratching softly against your scalp in a way he knows relaxes you.
It takes a while, but the power recedes, drawing back from the streets where Rhysand and Cassian keep herding people away. When the room lightens considerably, he still doesn’t let go. Your eyes no longer glow, but they remain closed, arms having slid around Azriel’s shoulders to hold onto, even as your breaths start to even out.
Rhysand appears in the doorway some time later, eyes concerned as they take in the sight of you curled against Azriel, holding onto him like a lifeline. Not that he was any better. Azriel’s eyes meet Rhysand’s, something unspoken passing between them.
Whatever you were becoming… No one was prepared for it.
I've had a hard time with updating but I've just started working on the chapters again. Chapter 7 should be up this week. I'm trying to make it to ten chapters so we'll see how that goes. I really love this story, but life has a way of taking it all out of me. Thank you guys who really liked it and commented. It really makes my day and it definitely gives me the energy to continue it. ❤️❤️❤️
Pairing: Baby Daddy!Azriel x Pregnant Illyrian!Reader
Summary: During a quiet morning with Azriel, the reality of your pregnancy meets the one person you've been avoiding.
Warnings: fluff !, slight angst from readers inner turmoil, az and reader communicating well, balthazar learning the plot twist of a century
Word Count: 4.6k
Universe Masterlist
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
"You need to tell him. At this rate, you'll be hiding for the rest of the year."
Your jaw clenches as you reach for another piece of fruit, turning it over in your palm to examine the unblemished skin. The morning market buzzes around you—vendors calling out their wares, the gentle splash of the Sidra nearby, the warm press of bodies moving through the narrow aisles between stalls.
Balthazar had only been back for around two days now. In normal circumstances, you would've been welcoming him within hours of his return. These were, however, not normal circumstances.
Against every instinct, and the deep desire to see him after so long, you couldn't bring yourself to face him. The mere idea gave you a pit in your stomach, and you didn't particularly like anything in your stomach besides the babe you now carried. The babe that Balthazar still didn't know about, and you had no idea how to tell him.
You exchange a quick glance with the vendor, offer them a tight smile, and then turn to Azriel, holding the fruit out for him.
"You know," you say as he takes it, gently placing it into the netted bag he carries for you, "when I let you come with me, I meant to help me as a bag carrier, not to give me unsolicited advice."
The morning sun catches the dark brown of his hair as he hums, his expression remaining frustratingly neutral. "You get both. Lucky you."
You scowl at him, turning back to continue browsing the colorful display. "Lucky isn't the word I'd use," you murmur under your breath.
"What was that?"
Feigning confusion, you glance back at him with raised brows. "What was what?"
His answering look is distinctly unimpressed, and his eyes dart to something near your head. You follow his gaze to the gap between your folded wings, where your little shadow companion hides from the bright sunshine like a shy child. A few moments pass in silent standoff, and then—quick as lightning—the tendril dashes across your neck, brushing against your skin before retreating to safety.
When you meet Azriel's gaze again, there's a small downturn to his lips, his eyes narrowed in what can only be described as defeat.
"It won't tell you, huh?"
You don't bother hiding the satisfaction in your voice or the smirk spreading across your lips.
Azriel runs his tongue along his teeth in obvious frustration. "No. It will not."
You're not sure what he expected, really. He'd promised, after all, that this shadow was your companion—loyal to you alone for the entirety of your pregnancy as an agreed-upon safety measure. Your little ink friend wouldn't spill your secrets, and if the mere premise of having a shadow companion wasn't entertaining enough, the irritation on Azriel's face when confronted with something beyond his control definitely made it worthwhile.
"Guess we'll never know," you say with a shrug, still grinning. "You're probably going crazy."
Azriel's brow quirks as you return your attention to the fruit display—a dazzling array of options, all ripe and perfect, that leaves you overwhelmed with choice. You've gotten better at managing the sheer abundance that Velaris offers, but small decisions like this still feel monumental. Too many years of scarcity have left their mark.
You hover your hands over the selection, glancing toward the vendor who's now deep in animated conversation with another customer. Their easy laughter and familiar banter makes something twist in your chest—that effortless belonging you're still learning to navigate.
You fold your wings closer to your back and study how the other customer moves through their selection, cataloging their preferences like intelligence to be filed away.
Movement to your left draws your attention. Azriel leans forward and plucks a piece of fruit from a different section entirely, turning to offer it to you.
The morning sun catches his siphon, making it gleam deep blue, and your eyes linger on the sight. Karasith didn't have many warriors who earned siphons—you could count them on one hand.
You'd grown up on whispered stories of the great warriors who bore them, tales of their ruthlessness and cunning that mothers used to frighten children into obedience. During your time there, rumors would drift in about the most powerful Illyrians in nearby and distant camps, legends that seemed too large for most Illyrian men.
You realize now the high likelihood that at least one of those stories traced back to the male standing before you. Windhaven was renowned for producing warriors, after all.
It's strange, comparing those childhood legends to this Azriel—the male who carries your shopping without complaint. You blink away from your thoughts and extend your palm.
The fruit he places there is unlike anything you've seen—rich orange bleeding to deep purple, skin smooth as polished stone. It's so perfectly beautiful you can imagine it immortalized in paintings adorning the wealthy households throughout Velaris and beyond.
Against your hands, marked with tiny scars and signs of sun damage, it seems almost too precious to touch.
Funny how you hadn't thought that when Azriel was holding it.
"It's a sunset plum," he says, tilting his head as you examine it. "They grow in the Dawn Court—supposed to taste like honey and healing storms."
"What the hell is a healing storm?"
"No idea. It’s nice, though." There's something almost wistful in his voice. "The Dawn Court traders bring them down the river twice a month. They don't keep well, so most people here have never tried them."
You glance toward the Sidra, imagining merchant barges and their colorful sails billowing. "Huh. Weird to think something can travel all that way just to end up here."
"Most good things do, eventually," he says quietly.
Something in his tone makes you look at him sharply, but his expression gives nothing away. You hand the plum back to him. "Okay. I'll try it."
You reach for another fruit—this one deep red and inviting—but Azriel's hand covers yours, stopping you mid-motion.
"You won't like it," he says.
You raise a brow. "How do you know?"
"Because I know." His voice carries that particular brand of stubborn confidence that should annoy you but somehow doesn't. "Trust me on this one."
You study his face for a moment, then nod. There's something to be said for trusting someone's judgment, especially when your own body has become such a mystery to you lately. "I think we're good to go, then."
You reach for your coin purse, but Azriel's already moving toward the vendor, coins appearing in his palm.
"I've got it," he says, not quite looking at you.
For once, you don't put up a fight. Between the morning sickness that still hits at random times and the exhaustion that seems to seep into your bones, you're grateful for any small kindness.
The bleeding gums don't help either—waking you from sleep with the metallic taste of blood in your mouth, disorienting you for those first few seconds as your mind flashes back to sparring sessions in Karasith, spitting red onto dirt after particularly brutal training with Balthazar. At least then the blood meant you were getting stronger.
Now, it makes you panic.
"Thanks," you murmur as he rejoins you, the bag of fruit now heavier in his grip.
You fall into step together, leaving the bustling market stall behind as you continue deeper into Velaris's morning rhythm.
"Anything else on your list?" Azriel asks, his gaze darting between the citizens walking past you with that subtle awareness that never fully switches off.
"Not that I can think of." You glance down at the bag in his hold with a quirked brow.
Azriel follows your gaze and quickly pulls out the sunset plum, offering it to you. You accept it with a smile and bring it toward your mouth, but his hand shoots out to stop you.
"What?" you ask, blinking at him.
"So many hands have touched that."
You stare at him incredulously. "I've eaten much worse things back home, you big baby—" You try to take another bite, but Azriel plucks it from your grasp entirely.
"Hey, what the fu—" Azriel raises a brow and glances pointedly at a small child standing nearby with their parents. You grimace, then narrow your eyes at him as you mouth the rest of the word silently.
"At least let me get it washed properly," he says, glancing meaningfully at your stomach. "You can't be too careful."
Something tight and warm squeezes in your chest at the gesture—protective without being patronizing. You purse your lips. "Fine."
You follow him to another vendor, watching as he gestures toward a glowing barrel behind the stall. The water inside shimmers with an opalescent sheen—charmed water, Azriel had explained earlier when you'd asked, spelled to clean fruit for immediate consumption and to stay perpetually pure.
While you wait, your eyes wander over the endless lines of vendors and their vibrant displays. More fruit than you've ever seen in one place—exotic colors that don't exist in nature, at least not in any nature you've known.
"Gods," you say, tracking it all. "How much fruit does this city have?"
Azriel glances at you, his lips quirking up. "A lot."
"I can see that." You turn to look over your shoulder, extending your wing slightly to expose the gap more, allowing your shadow friend to peek out. Your deep bronze membrane catches the sunlight, casting a warm glow onto your clothing. "There shouldn’t be this much, right?"
Your shadow preens at the attention, curling contentedly.
"That's a sign of agreement," Azriel's voice draws you back as the vendor—a graceful fae with iridescent skin and kind eyes—hands him the cleaned plum with a gentle smile.
“I know. I’m starting to understand it,” you say as Azriel thanks the vendor. "It's kinda fun."
You echo Azriel’s gentle thanks as he passes the fruit to you, meeting the vendor's gaze respectfully. She bows slightly in return.
"Next week, I will have moonberries," she says kindly, her voice carrying a musical quality. "Their properties can soothe the aches of pregnancy."
You blink at her words, barely processing them as you nod. A prickling sense of self awareness runs through you. You're starting to show, yes, but your clothes tend to hide it unless someone really looked.
And Rhysand's spell should be muting the scent of your pregnancy—it would weaken as time progressed, and generally be less effective around people who knew you, but this vendor definitely doesn't know you.
"Oh," you manage, casting a brief glance at Azriel. "Cool."
Azriel stifles what sounds suspiciously like laughter beside you. "We'll have to try them," he tells the vendor in a polite tone you've never heard him use before.
You furrow your brow, bringing your fingers unconsciously to your mouth. The bleeding gums have stopped, but could she have seen evidence of that? Or maybe there's tension in your posture, in the way you hold your wings.
Azriel beckons toward the main street, the ghost of his hand hovering over the small of your back as you follow.
"You don't have to herd me like a sheep," you say, though there's amusement in your tone.
"Please. Sheep are much more polite."
You turn to look up at him with mock offense. "Rude."
He laughs, but his expression quickly shifts to neutral as you rejoin the crowd of citizens.
You turn the plum over in your hands, running your thumb along its smooth surface, but your mind is elsewhere.
"What is it?" Azriel asks, reading your distraction easily.
You frown, resisting the urge to place your free hand on your stomach—a natural tendency you've fought to repress in public. Pregnancy was sacred in Karasith culture, surrounded by rituals and ceremonies you'd grown up watching. Presenting your own without any of those familiar frameworks feels wrong, like you're doing it backwards.
And considering the circumstances of your pregnancy, you’re not off to a good start with the whole backwards thing.
"Do I look..." You glance between him and the street ahead. "You know."
Azriel raises a brow. "Look…?"
"You know." You gesture vaguely with your hands.
The corners of his lips turn downward and he falters slightly, eyes searching your face. You sigh in irritation and glance around, spotting a small alcove between two shops where a café's patio provides some shade and privacy. You pull Azriel with you.
"Pregnant," you say sharply, your gaze bouncing between him and the crowd around you.
A crease forms between Azriel's brows, and his posture shifts — wings fluttering slightly as his shoulders drop.
"You are pregnant," he says carefully.
You roll your eyes, smacking him across the chest with your free hand. "Obviously we know that."
Azriel frowns, studying you. "Are you bothered by what the vendor said?"
"No. Not bothered."
His stare weighs heavy as he observes you, watching his shadows drift down to pool in the shade cast by his wings.
"Yes," he says finally. "You do look pregnant."
The confirmation hits you like something tangible, making your chest tight and your breath shallow. It's all becoming so real—too real, maybe. The abstract concept of carrying a child is transforming into something visible, something others can see and comment on. You feel suddenly exposed, like you've been walking around with your heart on the outside of your chest without realizing it.
Your small shadow companion seems to sense your distress, curling around your neck like a comforting whisper of cool air.
"Well, so much for lying to me."
"We don't lie to each other," Azriel says, dipping his head to catch your gaze as you look away. "And is that a bad thing? Looking pregnant?"
You scoff, turning back to him with a scowl. "No." When he raises a brow, you sigh and let your wings drop. "I don't know. Maybe."
"What's going on?" His expression is both stern and soft. "You're acting strange."
"You're strange."
He bites back a smile. "Good one. You learn that from Nyx?"
The flat delivery makes you fail at suppressing your own smile despite everything. "Shut up."
You bite your cheek and sigh, holding his gaze. "I don't know. That vendor knowing I was pregnant made me feel..." You gesture vaguely, the sunset plum now slightly squished in your grip. "Vulnerable, I think."
Azriel nods, his lips pursing. "Vulnerable," he repeats, listening intently.
"Yeah." Your hands start moving again, unable to stay still. "I didn't think I was showing that much, and I guess it just makes it feel a lot more real, and I don't know how to act like a pregnant female and—" The words tumble out in a rush before fizzling out entirely. You frown at him, defeated.
His eyes soften as he gently takes your wrist, prying your fingers open to rescue the abused fruit and place it back in the bag. You run your hands over your face with an exasperated breath, ignoring the slight fruit residue you're sure remains on your skin.
"And how do you suppose pregnant females act?"
You furrow your brows. "Nice. Sweet. Elegant bearers of life."
"Ah, right," Azriel hums, crossing his arms. "Because every single pregnant female in the history of Prythian becomes a Mother-blessed priestess, is that it?"
"You know what I mean. Don't make fun of me."
"I'm not making fun of you. I'm just repeating what you said back to you."
"That isn't what I said. You make it sound stupid."
"It is stupid."
You glare at him, jaw tightening, but Azriel meets your look with a quirked brow and mouth tugged by amusement.
"There isn't a correct way to act," he says when you stay silent. "Not normally, and certainly not while pregnant."
"You don't know that," you snap, but the fight deflates slightly as you chew your bottom lip, rocking on your heels. This anxiety is new too—you've been scared before, angry, reckless absolutely, but anxious? This constant flutter of nerves is foreign territory.
"Y/N," Azriel says softly. "I'd like to help, but I can't when I don't know what's really wrong."
You take a deep breath and look past him toward the lively city—the vendors, the river, the life continuing around you while you seem stuck in this moment of uncertainty.
The truth sits heavy in your chest. Your best friend doesn't even know you're pregnant, and you feel weirdly selfish for wanting to keep it secret just a little longer.
It's been so easy having it be yours—mostly yours, with limited knowledge shared. But once he knows, then everyone knows. Your whole world. The whole world.
They're going to look at you with that particular softness, and they won't see the hard, sharp-edged Illyrian warrior you're used to being. You don't know how to be this other version of yourself, and what if you're terrible at it? You'll be presenting a version of yourself that is a complete and utter lie.
"It's just..." You struggle for the right words. "It's a new image of me, I guess. People are going to see me differently now. Expect different things."
Azriel nods slowly. "I see."
"I've spent my whole life being one thing. Someone who takes care of herself and doesn't need protecting or coddling. And now..." You gesture helplessly at your stomach. "Now I'm going to be someone's mother, and I have no idea how to do that while still being me."
"Is this why you're avoiding Balthazar?"
You frown at him. "I'm not avoiding—"
"You're avoiding Balthazar," Azriel states, cutting you off.
"Okay, fine! I'm avoiding Balthazar." You raise your hands in exasperation, crossing your arms to mirror his stance. You scowl further when you see his lips twitch at finally getting confirmation. "Don't look so smug. We both know I was."
"Are you embarrassed?"
"Embarrassed isn't the word I'd use."
"What word would you use?"
As horrible as you feel admitting it, maybe embarrassed is exactly the right word. Balthazar left and found his perfect life, his perfect mate, his perfect place in this family.
You followed in his footsteps only to sleep with his mate's ex-lover on the night of his mating ceremony. Now you're pregnant and raising a child with Azriel—someone who, from what you understand, barely speaks to Balthazar.
For just a moment, you hate that you think you might have gotten the short end of the stick. You worry that seeing Balthazar with his mated glow will bring back all those feelings for him, and you'll lose this strange peace and happiness you've found in recent weeks.
What if it's all conditional? What if the spell wears away when everything becomes too real?
"I think..." You start, then stop, the words catching. "I never imagined being a mother. What if Balthazar never imagined it either? What if he looks at me and sees this pathetic thing having a child with—"
"With me," Azriel finishes for you.
You blink at him. "No. That isn't what I was going to say."
"It's not?"
His gaze is darker now, a tightening in his jaw. You're not sure what you meant, really, but it certainly wasn't whatever Azriel is currently thinking, whatever thought process has dimmed the gleam in his eye.
"A few months ago, you and I shared, what, a few sentences?"
Azriel doesn't say anything, but his brows raise slightly, impatiently waiting for your point to be made.
"He's going to know exactly what happened, and maybe even pity me for it."
It was messy, to an outsider perspective. Someone so overwhelmed by seeing your friend find happiness that you sought comfort wherever you could find it. A warrior who couldn't face her own complicated feelings.
"He's going to know that we had sex?"
The bluntness of it makes you wince. "He's going to know why I did it. That watching him be happy made me so..." You trail off, disgusted with yourself. "He's going to see right through it all. How much influence he has over me, how I can't even make decisions without him being the center of them somehow."
Something shifts in Azriel's expression then, the tension in his jaw easing slightly.
"Why does that matter?" His voice is quieter now. "Why does what he thinks matter so much?"
"Because Balthazar's opinion has always been the only one that matters. Him knowing makes it all real."
"It's already real."
He's right, and you hate that he's right. The baby is real, the situation is real, your feelings are real - all of it exists whether Balthazar knows or not.
But knowing that doesn't make it easier to accept.
You're quiet for a long moment, chewing on your bottom lip as you stare at the cobblestones beneath your feet. A part of you wants to snap at Azriel, to tell him he doesn't understand, but the fight has gone out of you.
Because he does understand, doesn't he? Better than most.
"I don't want you to think I'm ashamed or embarrassed, because I'm not." Your words slowly come out. "This is all about me. And Balthazar. It's not you, Azriel." You run a hand through your hair, frustrated with yourself. "I'm not used to being this vulnerable. Even with him. With anyone, really."
You deflate, and something shifts in Azriel's posture. Your shadow peeks out, and his shadows respond, reaching toward it curiously.
When Azriel remains silent, you groan. "Great. I offended you, didn't I?"
Azriel tilts his head, considering. "I certainly feel the way I'm sure mistresses must feel."
Your heart drops. "Shit—"
"I'm kidding." But there's truth in his voice too, and you both know it.
"Partly," he amends, and your lip starts to quiver as you look away, batting back sudden tears. These stupid hormonal feelings—
His hand settles gently on your bicep, calling you back. "I understand. This reality looks a lot different than what I imagined too. That's not always a bad thing. I assume Balthazar will be happy for you."
"You don't know Balthazar."
"Sure, I do."
"No. Balthazar said you've barely spoken. A handful of conversations at best."
"That's an exaggeration."
"Doubt it." You raise a brow. "What color are his eyes?"
Azriel scowls. "Why would I know that?"
"If you've spoken to someone surely you'd remember—"
"Fine. Maybe I don't." He pauses, then adds, "I do know Gwyn, however. I'd assume her mate is someone equally as...understanding."
You let out a breath, feeling some of the tension release.
"That's why you love him, isn't it?" You meet Azriel's gaze as his question hangs in the air between you.
It's...strange, hearing Azriel say it so plainly. You've danced around your own realities about loving people, even when it was always there, lurking beneath everything else. But there's no judgment in his tone, just a simple observation.
You think about what you love about Balthazar—his loyalty, his strength, the way he made you feel less alone in the world. All those reasons feel muddled now, harder to grasp than they used to be.
Still, you soften, holding Azriel's gaze. "Yeah."
Something passes across his face—a resigned understanding. Almost as if he's cataloging information he wishes he didn't need.
You straighten slightly, finding your footing again. "You're right. This is... this is good news. He'll understand."
Azriel stands straighter too, nodding. "That's more like it."
You look down at the pebbles beneath your feet, thinking. "Just rip the bandaid off, right?"
"Right."
"Maybe I'll tell him tonight. Or tomorrow." You're still looking down, planning, when you hear Azriel's voice change.
"Or sooner."
You frown and look up. "Sooner?"
His posture has shifted—alert, protective. He looks at you quickly, then behind you. "Like now, soon."
You freeze as you hear someone call your name, that deep, familiar voice threading through your ribs like a song of home, like everything you've been running from and toward all at once.
Annoyance crashes through you in a cold wave. He's always had impeccable timing.
Azriel's hand subtly finds your wrist, a small nod of encouragement passing between you, but then he's moving, sliding the bag of fruit off his shoulder. It takes you a moment to understand what he's offering—cover. You take the bag gratefully, bunching it against your stomach as you turn.
And there he is, jogging toward you with that familiar easy stride, his face lighting up with genuine joy. "I knew I recognized those wings," Balthazar calls out, slightly breathless. "I've been looking for you."
Heat creeps up your neck. He comes to a stop just in front of you, and for a moment you both just look at each other. He's even more golden than you remembered, that mated glow making him seem to radiate contentment. Your chest aches with a confusing tangle of longing and loss that you thought you'd buried.
"Yeah. I've been avoiding you," you say with a dry laugh.
Balthazar clearly thinks you're kidding, letting out his own laugh. Behind you, Azriel stifles what sounds suspiciously like amusement.
"Right," Balthazar says, that crooked smile still in place. His arms start to rise—an automatic gesture for one of those rare embraces you've both always treasured. Hugs were never casual between you two, reserved for homecomings and goodbyes and moments when words weren't enough. This reunion, after months apart, certainly warrants one.
But you step back, clutching the bag tighter, and his arms fall to his sides. Your wings brush against Azriel’s form, but he doesn’t step back. Confusion flickers across Balthazar’s face before his gaze shifts to Azriel.
His expression changes, then, and becomes more guarded. "Hi, Azriel. Good to see you."
The greeting is polite but cool, accompanied by a curt nod.
Balthazar's eyes move between you and the Shadowsinger, clearly trying to piece together why you're here together, why you're acting strange. You watch as understanding begins to dawn on his features, his gaze sharpening as he takes in your proximity to Azriel, your defensive posture.
Before you can stop him, he reaches out and gently pulls your hand away from your stomach—the one gripping the bag of fruit—drawing it toward him.
His eyes widen.
Realization crashes across his features like a wave—shock, understanding, something that might be hurt, and underneath it all, a complex mix of emotions you can't read.
Azriel clears his throat softly. You turn to meet his gaze, your eyes wide, and he gently takes the bag from your grip. "I'll take this back to your apartment," he murmurs. "Don't worry. Go talk."
You nod, then step closer to Balthazar. "What, no congratulations?"
The question seems to snap him out of his shock. Without hesitation, he steps forward and pulls you into an embrace. You melt into it immediately.
When he pulls back, his hands still on your shoulders, his voice is raw with disbelief. "What the fuck. You're pregnant."
"Yeah," you say, and suddenly you're grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. "I am."
The words feel different than you’d thought saying them to him—nothing like a confession or an apology. Azriel was right. Balthazar is happy for you.
But even with the person you've loved longest holding you, beaming at you with unrestrained joy, you find yourself tearing your gaze away from his face to look around, searching for a familiar hazel gaze. You don't find it, and something hollow settles in your chest before Balthazar calls your attention back.
"Tell me everything," he says, his eyes bright with excitement and a thousand questions.
And so you do. You begin to tell your best friend everything.
✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹
AUTHORS NOTE: something about their dynamic is sooo refreshing to write. i rly love what a genuine thing their friendship is growing into bc theres no expectations of anything besides being honest
as always, thank you for reading xx your comments are always my fav <3
IMPORTANT: i won't be doing any more taglists! please follow me on my library blog and turn on notifs to be alerted when a new fic is posted! taglists age me 1000 years babies im so sorry i cannot do em anymore
Azriel x Mermaid Reader | Azriel has no choice but to accept the consequences of his actions, starting with bringing you back home with him.
Warnings: reader is a bit delulu (but c'mon, this is Azriel), forced engagement
A/n: The amount of time I rewrote this 💀 This is approx 4,290 words.
Betrothed.
Azriel has dealt with many blows in his life but this one—this one was the harshest one he’s had to face yet. The word sliced through his chest like the sharpest blade. He felt it cleave through his composure that even the High Lord of Summer himself was shocked at the flash of raw emotion Azriel failed to contain.
He took a deep breath, gathering the shards of control and shoving them back into place. His gaze snapped between the High Lord and the female at his side, his throat tight. “No,” Azriel said evenly. “I believe you’re mistaken. We’re–I’m not engaged.”
“Yes, we are.”
Your voice was melodic, sweet and lulling, but the certainty in your tone made his stomach twist. His shadows had paused, assessing you quietly. It was the kind of pause they did when they recognized something, found a familiarity somewhere.
Azriel looked back to you only to find you smiling at him. So bright and unguarded and then, as though this was the most obvious truth in the world you said, “we’re destined to be.”
He blinked once. Twice. His chest suddenly felt too tight, as though the straps of his leathers had been cinched too far. He turned back to Tarquin, his jaw ticking. “This–this can’t be. I don’t know what is going on. I don’t even know her.”
“But you gave me this,” you countered, lifting your hand to show him the rose necklace. It glimmered faintly as your fingers curled over it protectively.
That damned necklace…How in the Mother’s name had it ended up here? On you?
And worse—far worse—were his shadows. The more you spoke, the more restless and elated they grew. It was as if they recognized something Azriel could not. They pressed forward, tugging at him and darting around you like wriggling, shameless puppies.
Azriel almost snapped aloud at them. Behave. His mental command was sharp but the tendrils only coiled tighter, whispering fragments he could not quite catch. His brows furrowed, heat flaring low in his chest. “I did not—”
“Azriel,” Tarquin cut in gently, voice low but firm. The warning beneath it was clear. His features softened when he turned to you, lips curving into a polite smile. It seemed that the High Lord of Summer also knew something Azriel did not. “Is it alright if I have a private word with him? ”
Please.
You tilted your head, confusion flickering in your eyes, but nodded. Tarquin gestured to a pair of guards hovering nearby, his tone calm but commanding. “Escort her to the nearest sitting room. Ensure she is comfortable and heed to her requests.”
They moved toward you at once, steadying you when your legs wobbled beneath your weight without Tarquin’s support. You thanked them, cheeks flushing as you took their arms. Azriel watched, shadows stirring curiously at his shoulders. Something was wrong—your unsteady steps, the way you carried herself. There was a subtle glimmer to your skin, his eyes barely able to make out faint markings along your arms.
You weren’t wholly fae. His mind was racing, drawing conclusions as to what you could be. But no, you couldn’t be—
His head lifted up. As the guards led you away, you glanced over your shoulder—eyes still bright and hopeful, fixed solely on him. His shadows twitched in response. He clenched his jaw.
This was all strange, very strange.
Once you were out of sight, Azriel turned back to Tarquin. “I do not know who that is,” he said, an urgency in his tone that was pleading almost. He needed Tarquin to believe him.
Tarquin’s turquoise eyes were unreadable. He regarded Azriel for a long moment, every second pressing like a heavy weight over him. He felt like he might just suffocate from the suspense.
There was a flicker—amusement or perhaps, sympathy—in those turquoise eyes. “You’ve done something… unusual, Shadowsinger.”
Azriel’s wings tightened at his back, panic crawling beneath them. Tarquin’s mouth curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Tell me, did you throw that necklace into the sea while you were here?”
Azriel frowned. “Yes.”
“And did you say anything before you cast it into the water?”
Azriel’s stomach plummeted, a cold weight dragging him under as though the sea itself had reached into his chest and pulled. His mind went back to earlier this morning, to the words he’d said out loud without thought.
An offering… for you and me.
He hadn’t thought—he could’ve never thought—those words would carry beyond himself. His mouth went dry and he felt the blood drain from his face as he reluctantly admitted, “I did.”
Tarquin inclined his head as though that confirmed everything and Azriel felt as if the world around him was closing in. He was spiraling, the panic that had been crawling beneath his wings not clawing its way up his throat.
“But I don’t understand what this has to do with her,” he managed to choke out.
“She’s a mermaid.”
Azriel’s heart stuttered violently in his chest. The markings on your arms. The shimmer to your skin. Your unsteady legs. All the signs he had noticed but shoved aside came crashing down like a tide. His shadows whispered with near-glee, as though they had known all along and reveled in him discovering it for himself.
It all snapped into place, his skin prickling.
“A mermaid,” he murmured more to himself.
“Among the merfolk,” Tarquin continued and Azriel hung onto every word, desperate to grasp some understanding. “Jewelry is sacred. To gift it is not a trifle—it is a proposal. A vow that the sea takes seriously. It’s how treaties are enforced and how males propose… marriage.”
“This is ridiculous,” Azriel snapped before he could stop himself. “I didn’t even know her name until moments ago.”
“Ridiculous or not, the sea has bound it,” Tarquin said in a voice too calm for Azriel’s liking.
His gaze flicked to Azriel’s hand, and Azriel followed it—his stomach hollowing when he saw the faint rose-shaped tattoo now etched along his ring finger, the same shape and color as the gem he had thrown away. Three tiny stars glimmered around it, the curve resembling the outline of a starfish.
”From my knowledge, the merfolk hold all their rituals and celebrations on full moons. It appears that you have three full moons before the final vow.”
Azriel’s throat closed. “No.”
“Yes,” Tarquin said simply.
Azriel glared down at his finger. This could not be happening. He could not marry another—not when his heart still yearned, painfully and stubbornly, for Elain.
“How do I undo this?”
“As far as I know, it cannot be undone. The sea’s magic is older than both our courts.”
Azriel’s head snapped up, desperation cutting through his usual control. “There must be a way—“
“I will not meddle,” Tarquin said, expression turning grave. “Lest I jeopardize my treaty with her mother, the Queen of the Sea. She is entirely your responsibility now.”
Azriel was going to be sick, his stomach churning like the storm that had raged days before. He could barely hear Tarquin. All he could hear was his own heartbeat, drumming loudly in his ears.
This was bad, very bad.
Your mother was the Queen of the sea. Queen.
Which meant you were a princess and he was royally fucked.
**
Azriel lingered in the doorway longer than necessary.
He’d faced missions and battlefields with more ease than this sitting room. You sat, awkwardly perched on the edge of a velvet settee. A wine goblet rested between your fingers—though by the way you studied it, brow slightly furrowed, it was as if you weren’t entirely sure what one was supposed to do with it.
When you finally set it down on the table beside you, your head turned and your gaze found him. Azriel’s heart leapt. Your eyes brightened when you saw him, lit with something unguarded and guileless. His body tensed.
So beautiful, his shadows whispered, brushing against his shoulders like a nudge. Their approval burned more than it soothed. He gave them a sharp glare before clearing his throat.
“So…” His voice came out rougher than intended. “You’re a mermaid.”
You didn’t flinch. You didn’t avert your gaze like many would. Most people did—whether out of discomfort, fear, or simple unease at the shadows that clung to him. Others gazes lingered out of fascination or fleeting attraction. But none of them—not a single soul—had ever looked at him quite like this. Smiled at him so open and warmly as though the darkness at his back was nothing at all.
“Yes,” you said. “But only when the sea calls me back. Right now, I’m trying these.”
Lifting the skirt of your dress, you showed off your legs to him. You wriggled your toes, nearly toppling sideways as you tried to cross your ankles.
Azriel blinked, caught somewhere between exasperation and disbelief. “Legs.”
“Legs,” you echoed proudly, though you were clearly still learning how to use them. Then, leaning forward you added, “Do you like them?”
Caught off guard, he could only stare. “They’re… functional.”
“You’re funny,” you said with a giggle.
“I wasn’t trying to be, ” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
His shadows betrayed him. They fluttered at your laugh, wings of darkness carrying them toward you before he could rein them back. Curious, you extended your hand. To his surprise, one of the shadows twined around your fingers, brushing against your skin like a cat nuzzling for affection.
Your eyes softened, smile turning tender as you stroked the shadow, testing the way it curled around your wrist. “They like me.”
Azriel’s brows pinched together. He couldn’t deny that. It didn’t mean he liked it, though.
”I must be special,” you murmured, your smile small but certain.
You tilted your head then, studying him with a strange intensity. It crawled across his skin, prickling at nerves usually numb to scrutiny. He shifted where he stood, fighting the ridiculous urge to retreat.
It was laughable. That you, a disturbingly cheerful mermaid, had managed to unnerve him, the Night Court’s spymaster, more than any enemy ever had. Even more so, knowing that you were no threat whatsoever on land.
“You do understand,” he said finally, pinning you with his coldest stare. If he remained cold and distant, maybe—just maybe— you would stop looking at him as if he were your answer to everything. “That I didn’t mean to… propose.”
Your expression softened. Fingers brushed the necklace at your throat, the rose pendant catching the fae light. The sight dragged his gaze there despite himself—to the curve of your throat and the way the jewel seemed to glow against your skin.
“The sea doesn’t make mistakes,” you said with unwavering certainty. “And neither did you. It is fate that has brought us together.”
“We don’t even know each other.”
“Then let’s start,” you replied simply as if it were the easiest solution in the world. “Hello, Azriel. I’m y/n. Your betrothed.”
Azriel stared, utterly at a loss. His shadows purred at the word. Traitorous things.
In your eyes, there was no hesitation or doubt. Only the deep, unshakable certainty of the tide returning to shore. That conviction unsettled him. It was the kind of look he had dreamed of for centuries—longing for someone to see him and choose him with that kind of unwavering devotion.
Why couldn’t Elain have chosen him this way? Why couldn’t her gaze have held the same unshakable surety that now pinned him in place?
His blood ran hot in his veins, frustration biting sharp in his chest. Because it wasn’t supposed to be you. You were beautiful—he’d admit that. There was an undeniable allure to you that needled under his ribs like a thorn. He even felt the dangerous pull of it like a siren-song that had his body wanting to react despite his mind’s protests.
But…
But what? His shadows whispered. Is this not what you wanted? A mate?
She’s not my mate, he hissed silently to them. The word mate was sacred. Something he had convinced himself could only ever belong to Elain. And yet, another voice, a smaller one, echoed his shadows’ sentiment. He exhaled sharply through his nose, eyes tipping skyward, silently begging the Mother for guidance.
“This is ridiculous. You’re—“
He stopped.
Delusional, is what he was going to say. But the way Tarquin regarded you carefully earlier…you weren’t just a female with sea foam in your head. You were a princess. Insulting you—upsetting you—could drag the Night Court into waters far rougher than any storm.
At his sudden silence, your head tilted, eyes still bright and unwavering. “This is fate,” you repeated.
“Fate,” he echoed flatly. “You have no idea what you’re walking into.”
You paused, as if turning the thought over, before replying, “I’ve never walked before so I believe you may be right there.”
He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, temper straining at its leash. When he opened them again, your necklace flashed against your throat in a mocking manner and the tattoo on his finger responded. The sea’s mark of a bond he hadn’t meant to create.
A bond that, according to Tarquin, was sealed and recognized by more than just your imagination.
**
Azriel liked to think he was the master of control. It was rare for him to lose control of situations. And this—well, this, was one of those rare and unfortunate times.
The two of you hadn’t exchanged many words after your first encounter. You had confirmed what Tarquin had said—that the two of you have three full months until the final vow. And then, Azriel had told you he was taking you back home, keeping the conversation short and small. He had realized the consequences of his careless words (and actions), choosing to keep his words to a minimum for the time being.
His mind had called to Rhysand and Feyre. As it was his time to return to the Night Court, Rhysand had responded promptly. An emergency meeting was called. He hoped it would just be Rhysand, Feyre and Cassian. Nesta could join if she wished—she would find out soon enough regardless. Mor was thankfully away. It was Amren he dreaded facing as she would no doubt laugh at the situation he’s gotten himself in.
But it was Elain he urged Rhysand to make sure not to include under any circumstance.
He couldn’t bear for her to see him like this—with another female in his arms. Even if Elain had been the one to end things. Even if she had already turned her heart toward her mate. He couldn’t stomach the thought of her believing he’d moved on so quickly, as though what they had meant nothing.
When he arrived at the townhouse, you still in his arms, Rhysand and Feyre’s reactions were almost comical. Both blinked at him, their matching expressions caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. It was easier to carry you than watch you stumble across cobblestones on legs you barely understood. Later, if there was truly no escaping this fate, he’d teach you.
“Azriel,” Rhysand said at last, his voice calm—far too calm. That cool, assessing calm Azriel knew all too well. “Who’s this?”
Azriel froze. His mouth opened only for it to close. Shadows hissed around him, restless with his silent panic. What was he supposed to say? This is my… betrothed?
Yes! They whispered.
He ignored them, heart pounding. To speak it aloud was absurd. It made it seem real—too real. As if the tattoo circling his finger and the necklace at your throat weren’t damning proof enough.
He was still scrambling for words when you shifted in his arms and smiled sweetly at them. “Lovely to meet you. I’m Y/n, daughter of the sea,” you said so warmly, still so unnervingly unbothered as if nothing about this was strange. You held your hand out for them to shake and then, adding more salt to his already wounded pride, you added, “His betrothed.”
Azriel could not understand how you were so nonchalant about this whole ordeal. He had to remind himself, it was you who had accepted the jewelry, despite him being a total and complete stranger to you. It was you who had been the one to seal the bond, unknowingly trapping him in an engagement.
Feyre’s brows rose delicately. They exchanged a look before turning back to Azriel and you. Rhysand’s mouth twitched, a little amused but also a little horrified. Azriel wished for the floor to open beneath him. Perhaps he should’ve asked you where the kraken lurked so he could throw himself to it.
Rhysand inclined his head in greeting and Feyre smiled back, the two shaking your hand in a gracious and courteous manner. Even though there was a look of caution in their eyes.
“Welcome to the Night Court,” Feyre said. “I’m Feyre, the High Lady and this is my husband, Rhysand. He is the High Lord.”
“Yes, welcome,” Rhysand agreed smoothly, eyes flicking to Azriel with a look that was almost threatening. Maybe he didn’t need you to guide him to the kraken. Maybe Rhysand would figure it out and drop him off himself. “We’ll just borrow Az for a moment, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” you chirped.
Azriel exhaled through his nose. He didn’t like others asking you for permission to speak to him privately, as if he were yours. He set you on the couch, ordering his shadows to stay with you to keep watch. The dark tendrils seemed a little too eager to stay behind with you.
**
“Let me get this straight,” Rhys drawled later, leaning against his desk, arms crossed. “We sent you to Summer Court for a much needed vacation… and you came back with a bride? And not just any bride—a mermaid bride?”
Azriel flinched. Actually flinched.
There wasn’t a lot to the story. Azriel had spoken to the sea, thrown a necklace and all of a sudden, you had appeared, claiming he was your fiance. He had told them everything he knew. Well, everything but the reason why Tarquin had practically shooed him away after he had asked for help…
“What?” Cassian asked, his eyes narrowing at the grimace on Azriel’s face.
“What more could there possibly be?” Nesta muttered dryly from her spot beside Cassian. “This is already strange enough.”
Rhysand’s gaze met Amren’s across the room. “She had legs,” he pointed out.
Amren nodded, confirming his suspicion. “That means she’s high merfolk.”
“She called herself the daughter of the sea…”
Everyone’s gaze burned onto Azriel then. His wings tucked in tight, as if they could shield him from this. He cast his gaze down, not able to look them in the eye. “She’s the daughter of the Sea Queen,” he grumbled.
Cassian’s jaw dropped. A mix of amusement and horror flickered across his face, but for once, he didn’t seem to know whether to laugh or curse. He was speechless. They all were for a moment. Azriel coming back with a bride was shocker enough but for him to return with a mermaid bride that was also a princess? That stuff only happened in fairy tales.
It was Feyre who broke the stunned silence. She sat at Rhysand’s desk, her brows drawing together in concern. “So you’re engaged to mermaid royalty,” she said softly.
”Accidentally engaged,” Azriel replied, putting emphasis on the first word. It didn’t make any difference as accident or not, he was still bound to you.
Nesta’s gaze softened, almost mirroring the look on Feyre’s face. Though Nesta had come to terms with her new life and new body, she understood what it felt like to have your fate stolen by someone else’s will.
“Well, this should be fun.” Amren said. She looked positively delighted, eyes glinting as if this was the most entertainment she’d had in centuries.
Azriel’s jaw flexed, his fists clenching. “It isn’t fun.” His voice was flat, but it carried the weight of all the panic storming beneath his ribs.
“You could’ve come back with worse.” Amren said with a shrug of her shoulders.
”Define worse.” Nesta shot back skeptically.
”Rubies,” Amren answered. “Too many of us in this room have all received one, myself included. Perhaps the Summer Court should be the last place we vacation from now on.”
Azriel’s wings twitched in irritation. He bit back the retort simmering at his tongue. Bold of her to say, given her lover was from Summer.
“Is she a threat?” Rhysand asked.
“No.” Azriel chuckled, a sound that held no humor. “Not on land, at least. She doesn’t even know what to do with her legs.”
“We don’t know her intentions,” Rhys said carefully.
“Oh, we know her intentions,” Cassian cut in, smirking as if he’d just solved some grand mystery. He pushed himself up from his chair, swaggering over to Azriel. His hand clapped onto his shoulder, a bit too tough. “She wants a piece of this ass.”
Cassian then motioned to Azriel’s backside. “Can’t fault her for it.”
Azriel had wanted guidance. Instead, he stood in the center of his family’s amusement and their disbelief. Even Feyre, who had shown concern and sympathy earlier, stifled a laugh. He turned his glare on Cassian, the shadows that remained with him darkening around him. “You think this is funny?”
“Yeah,” Cassian said shamelessly, his wings twitching as he met Azriel’s stare.
Azriel’s teeth ground together, fury a hot thread through his veins. His own wings flared in response but before he could snap, Rhysand’s voice cut through the tension. “She is not of our realm. We don’t know the customs of her people or how this bond works. We can’t easily dismiss the idea of it being a threat but…”
”But?”
“It could also be an opportunity to make alliances with the merfolk,” Rhysand finished and when he felt Azriel’s glare shift toward him he added, “engagement or not. We need to tread carefully here. We cannot afford conflict with another realm.”
Feyre, sensing the storm rolling through him, approached gently. Her voice was soft again, carrying the sympathy from earlier instead of Rhysand’s calculation. “We just need time to figure out this… predicament. I can reach out to Helion. He might know something.”
And so it was decided.
They would do their best to accommodate you, having you stay at the House of Wind while Azriel learned more about you. It would be the safest place. The house would be able to help attend to your needs and Azriel could help you adjust to being on land (much to his reluctance. He had almost begged Nesta to take over there.) But they did not want you to think you were trapped to the House of Wind —or worse, a prisoner—so once you were acclimated, you’d be able to explore Velaris.
Azriel could only hope he’d find a way out of this bond before he had to chaperone you around Velaris.
**
Outside the study, you sat on a bench, humming softly. Your legs—still unfamiliar—kicked idly at the air.
The door opened. Azriel emerged first, a stoic expression on his face as he regarded you. His throat clenched when you hopped to your feet—too quickly—and nearly toppled before catching yourself on the bench. You gripped it tightly, cheeks flushed, but still… you smiled at them.
At all of them.
You were on foreign land, surrounded by strangers and yet you seemed to be thrilled.
Rhysand inclined his head, Feyre at his arm. “Forgive us, Princess, for not regarding you properly earlier. Azriel informed us your mother is Queen of the Sea. The Night Court is honored to host you.
Azriel took note of the way your smile faltered at the mention of your mother. You inclined your head back at them in respect. “Oh! That’s alright. I’m honored to be here and appreciate the hospitality,” you said brightly. “Everything is so different here. Enchanting! I’m excited to learn more!”
Great, Azriel thought darkly. She already loves it here. Just what I needed.
Cassian strode forward next, grin wide and utterly unrepentant. “So this is the infamous bride,” he said. “Nice to meet you, Princess. I’m Cassian, Azriel’s and Rhysand’s brother.”
Your eyes widened in delight. “Then I’m very glad to meet you too!” You then leaned in close to whisper close to his ear (though everyone heard you with their fae hearing. It seemed your senses were dulled on land.) “Perhaps you can tell me how to make Azriel happy. He doesn’t seem to smile much.”
Cassian barked a laugh. “That’s because he’s usually the brooding type. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he treats you right. He listens to me.”
“Cassian,” Azriel growled, low and warning.
“Usually,” Cassian added.
Your lips curved, pleased. “Oh, we’re going to get along just fine.”
Azriel nearly groaned. Of course Cassian would take to you immediately. Cassian was no better than his shadows. A traitor. Nesta lingered just behind Cassian, arms folded, and with a sharp gaze. She introduced herself politely but kept her distance. At least one of them seemed vaguely sympathetic to Azriel’s situation.
And then there was Amren. Perched against the doorframe, silver eyes gleaming. She looked you over slowly and curiously like a cat toying with a bird. A look that would have others trembling with nerves but not you.
Three full moons, Azriel reminded himself grimly. Three full moons to undo this mistake.
What he didn’t know—what you had conveniently kept to yourself—was that the bond was breakable. At the third full moon, if both hearts did not beat in agreement, the bond would be no more. You, however, could break it any time as he had been the one to propose.
But why would you?
This was everything you had ever longed for. A chance to walk on land, to explore the world beyond the waves, to live the dreams you had only spoken to your father about. And already, you were falling for Azriel, enchanted by everything you knew and were learning about him. To you, Azriel was a gift from the gods of the sea.
This was no mistake. It was destiny.
And you had three full moons to make him see it too.
a/n: Hope y'all enjoyed this part too 🫶 I just wanted to give a little more context. Now, I can focus on writing cute little drabbles for these two!
Tag list: @breathingstarlight @my-venus @xxbelaa @bravo-delta-eccho
Azriel x Mermaid Reader | You tease Azriel with a kiss.
Warnings: none, just fluff (reader being a flirt and flustering Az)
A/n: Jumping ahead again bc I got this idea and just had to write it out ASAP. This is short, under 900 words.
Azriel brought you to where the Sidra's river mouth opened wide to the sea, where the fresh water kissed salt. It was a secluded and quiet area, safe for you to swim freely without having to worry about being seen. Wanting to keep your identity hidden wasn’t out of shame but out of protection.
Your kind liked to keep to themselves so it was rare to find a mermaid on Prythian land. Azriel worried over the dangers if word spread of you. If a child in Summer Court raved that a mermaid could grant wishes, what would the wrong kind of fae do if they discovered you?
Eager to dive into the ocean, you quickly slipped off your dress and undergarments, failing to notice the slightly flustered Azriel behind you. The sea claimed your legs and in an instant, they were gone. Your tail was restored in a flash of sapphire, scales glimmering under the moonlight.
Azriel perched on a rock at the shore, wings half-spread in a casual manner. He had rolled his pants up, dipping his legs into the water. His shadows curled lazily around him, floating just above the surface and rocking with the small waves. He watched as you swam, admiring the way the scales of your tail caught the moonlight, making them glitter in shades that matched the glow of his siphons.
”You’re not going to join me?” You called, floating on your back and flapping your tail at him. The splash reached him, the mischievous glint in your eyes letting him know it was intentional.
“Can’t swim,” he said.
His shadows scoffed at once and he silenced them with a glare, not wanting them to expose his lie.
“I can teach you,” you offered and then your lips curved. Those siren eyes of yours flashed in a sultry manner, voice dipping lower as you added, “I’d never let you drown.”
Az’s throat bobbed. Mother save him. The thought that slid unbidden into his mind made his chest tight. That he might like to drown. Just to feel your arms around him, to feel your body pressed against his--
He shoved the thought quickly aside before it rooted deeper. “I’ll think about it,” he replied, his lips curving into a small smirk that mirrored yours.
You only shrugged, flicked your tail once more, and disappeared beneath the water. Azriel tried to track every movement and his shadows did the same but you were a fast swimmer.
When you surfaced again, laughter in your eyes and hair slicked back from your face, something eased in his chest. You swam closer, pushing yourself up on the rock beside him. Water traced your throat, beading down your skin and toward the necklace you still proudly wore.
It glowed, tempting his gaze to follow the silver chain down. His jaw tightened and he forced his gaze to stay on your eyes, only your eyes.
“There’s a reef down there,” you coaxed softly, leaning in a little more. “It’s beautiful. You’d like it.”
“Wouldn’t be able to breathe long enough,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. “I’ll take your word for it.”
Sliding closer still, you braced your elbows on the rock, leaning up toward him. A few strands of hair slipped from your chest, trailing droplets of seawater and teasing at the soft, exposed flesh of your breasts.
His thoughts scattered. Don’t look down. Don’t you dare look down.
“You know…” your lashes swept low, your voice sweet and edged with mischief, “a mermaid’s kiss lets you breathe underwater for hours.”
Azriel blinked. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you almost purred.
Your smile was both innocent and dangerous and it nearly undid him. His shadows, traitorous beings, began to sing. “kiss, kiss, kiss," they echoed in his ears like children chanting in the dark. He prayed to the Mother only he could hear them.
Drawn helplessly toward you, he leaned down just a fraction. His body was taut, caught in the pull of your nearness, the salt on your lips he could almost taste. Your eyes gleamed and smile widened with the kind of look that promised trouble and has no doubt ruined sailors in the stories he has heard. He wondered if you had lulled other males into your trap just like this and immediately found himself not liking the thought.
It was baffling--the way you didn't even have to try. Every tilt of your head, every bat of your lashes carried an unstudied seduction. Even the way the droplets continued to slide from your hair, trailing over the hollow of your throat, felt designed to unravel him. It was as if the sea itself had built you to tempt.
Azriel forced himself to draw back. He truly didn't know where he found the strength to. "Nice,” was all he managed to choke out, his heart racing.
Your eyes narrowed, mouth twisting in mock offense. "Your loss," he heard your voice drawl out as you pushed back off the rock. His shadows hissed in collective disappointment, fluttering toward you.
His loss indeed.
It was when you sunk beneath the surface again, that he let out an exhale. His wings tucked tight against his back as he ran a hand across his chest, his heart still racing. It struck him then.
Just how much he wanted to kiss you, how he could no longer blame it entirely on your siren’s pull anymore.
But he couldn’t kiss you.
Because if he did, he didn't think he'd be able to stop.
a/n: in terms of timelime, this takes place 2-3 months after the accidental engagement. If I don't get distracted again, the next part should give more context.
Tag list: @breathingstarlight @my-venus @xxbelaa @bravo-delta-eccho
Summary: You start to worry maybe you and Azriel aren’t all that similar and maybe the Calderon has made a terrible mistake making you two mates. Or maybe you are more alike than you realize…
You sank further down into the hot water in the large bathtub, sighing contently. Steam rose in front of your face and you tilted your head back, eyes closed. The smell of vanilla and lavender filled the bathroom and you softly thanked the house. You stayed like this until the water turned colder and you forced yourself to stand up and wrap yourself in a fluffy towel the house had left for you.
You glanced at the neatly folded leathers you had brought into the bathroom with you.
Your picked them up and slowly slid them on. After a few moments of struggling with snaps and buttons, you moved to look at yourself in the full length mirror. You ran your hands down the soft leather that covered your body. The Illyrian leathers were brand new, a gift from your thoughtful mate at Solstice. They fit you quite well, surprisingly. They were pretty tight to get on, you had never worn anything like it, but they still felt moveable. You squatted down a bit to test them out then stood back up and checked out your butt. Now you understood the hype, these were pretty flattering.
You bit your lip and ran a hand through your hair. Too bad you wouldn’t be wearing these anytime soon. The inner circle had been inviting you to trainings in the mornings for months. Well really ever since you and Azriel discovered you were mates a year ago — it seemed like you were asked nonstop. You two had met during a book fair in downtown Velaris. You had set up a small stand selling rare books when the spymaster approached and pursued your small collection of scrolls on blades. The bond snapped and the rest was history. After a few proper dates to “court” you, you were mad about him and he you. You moved into Windhaven a few months later and ever since then you had been getting bombarded with requests to train with the Valkyrie. You loved all three women dearly, and you actually wanted to go train with them. Hell, you even squealed with pure excitement opening Azriel gift of your own pair of leathers. It was completely genuine. But you couldn’t get past your own insecurities.
Everytime you tried to convince yourself to go, you would think of how embarassing it would be for Azriel, the night court’s deadliest lethal weapon, to have mate who can’t even do a proper lunge. It wasn’t that you were unhealthy or unathletic per se, no you actually had quite strong arms and legs from heaving books around your store for so many years on your own. But you weren’t a fighter. Not like the rest of the inner circle. You had never dealt with confrontation or threats before, and now, because the Cauldron deemed it so, your future was surrounded by it. None of that bothered you in the slightest. But, you still worried one day Azriel would wake up and realize the Cauldron made a mistake. You weren’t intimidating or fierce. How could you be an equal half of your mate when the angriest you’ve gotten was at a rude customer who tried to scam you out of buying something full price?
A knock on the bedroom door snapped you out of your thoughts.
“My love? Are you in there?” You heard Azriel’s voice as he walked into your bedroom, the door clicking behind him. You cursed and began shimming out of the leathers as quick as you could.
“I’ll be out in a minute!” You yelled out. Cursing to yourself some more as your left arm was free of the leather but you couldn’t pull down the right side. You heard his soft footsteps, almost silent, approaching the door. Right arm free. Now to shimmy out of the pants.
Oh Gods, was it always so hot in here? Beads of sweat dripped down your forehead as you worked on shimming out of the pants. Left leg now free you began hopping on one leg as you worked to get the pants over your knee. The door swung open.
Shadows engulfed the room, excited to see you. You lost your balance, let out a yelp, and fell backwards toward the tub. Before you could hit anything a strong arm grabbed your waist and pulled you upright, against a familiar strong and warm chest.
“I’m sorry my love. I didn’t meant to scare you” Azriel apologized. His deep voice and the warmth of his hand gripping your waist made you shiver. He smirked at your reaction and squeezed you closer to him. The bond hummed between you two. You watched his eyes flickering over all of you to make sure you weren’t injured. Realizing you were now in just a bra and underwear with leather still on one of your legs, your cheeks burned bright crimson. You felt caught.
Azriel grinned down at you, “you tried them on! Well? Do you like them?”
His face was excited but you could see the nervousness behind his hazel eyes. You swallowed. Instead of telling him the whole truth, you told him a partial truth.
“They fit wonderfully and they are the nicest clothing I’ve ever owned” you smiled softly at your mate. You laughed a little, glancing down at your leg. “I guess I am still learning how to take them off.” Azriel laughed deeply, he stepped back and steadying you upright, before slowly kneeling down in front of you, keeping his gaze on your face silently asking for permission. You swallowed a bit nervously and nodded to give him permission. Even a year later and he gave you butterflies. You lifted your leather clad leg slightly. Azriel’s warm and textured hands gently grabbed your upper thigh and he slowly pulled the leather down your leg. He kissed your calf softly before standing back up, folding the leathers and kissing the top of your head.
“Dinner will be ready soon, I will let you get dressed and meet you down there.” He smiled softly at you, his eyes still seemed to hold a worry that you noticed most days when he stared at you. But he never pushed and never questioned you even if he didn’t fully believe you. You nodded and thanked him quietly as he walked out of the bathroom. You heard the door softly click shut and walked into the bedroom.
Your ran a hand through your long hair and walked to your closet to get dressed for dinner. You picked a soft pair of loose Night Court pants in the same color blue as Azriel’s siphons and a cropped matching top that came down just above your belly. You rarely exposed your stomach in public, you weren’t built like the rest of the inner circle, all toned and muscular. You were strong, yes, but you had softer features. Curves that ran down your body, slightly larger legs and a soft stomach. You had always been self conscious but even at your smallest in your youth this was the shape the Cauldren had given you. Azriel loved it. He loved to kiss down the curves of your sides, his strong hands gripping your hips to pull him closer to you. He often laid his head on your stomach after a long day and you would run your hands through his hair. He made you feel beautiful in a way you didn’t think was possible. You ran a piece of kohl over your eyelids swiftly, bringing out the swirls of color in your eyes and decided to let your hair air dry.
You made your way down the long hallway and found everyone standing around the table the house had provided for dinner. Everyone was having dinner here before going to Rita’s to celebrate the progress Azriel and Cassian had made with an Illyrian camp allowing females to train with the men. It was a big night for your mate and his brother and you were excited to be a part of the celebration. You glanced around the room, happy to be a wallflower to be able to see your new-family’s spirited conversations. Rhys and Feyre were staring at each other smiling, clearly have a mental conversation the rest of us weren’t privy to. Elaine had Nyx in her arms and was swinging him up into the air while he flapped his wings. Nesta and Cassian were in a heated debate with Mor and Emerie about who could dance the best at Rita’s later. And Gwen sat quietly next to Amren and admired her newest jewel gifted to her.
Your lips turned up into a soft smile, content watching the inner circle acting as they normally did together. Your eyes glanced around the room again searching for your missing mate. A cool whisper like shadow wrapped itself gently around your ankle and slithered up your leg until it reached your waist. It wrapped itself gently around you giving you a squeeze before it was replaced by warm large hands you knew so well. Azriel buried his face into your neck, breathing deeply. You giggled wriggling out of his grasp and turning to face him.
“Azriel!” You tsked jokingly at him, grabbing one of his hands and walking toward everyone. At the sound of Feyre clearing her throat the table was suddenly piled with delicious food and glasses full. Wine glasses filled for everyone (except Nes who got sparkling grape juice instead).
You plopped down next to Gwyn, greeting her quietly, as Azriel took the seat next to you. Everyone began to dig in, including yourself. You filled your plate with the delicious food the house prepared and ate slowly, listening to Nesta and Gwyn discuss their newest dirty novel. They offered to leave you a copy which you gladly accepted. Emerie joined in and the four of you giggled together discussing some other novels you should read as well. Azriel was quietly talking to Rhys about some movements in Autumn but you noticed the smirk on his face when your giggles erupted from your conversation.
“So when are you going to start training with us, y/n?” Emerie asked excitedly. Gwyn nodded enthusiastically next to you, her teal eyes wide with excitement. You bit your lip and picked up your wine glass, taking a deep sip. Nesta narrowed her eyes at you. “Come on, y/n, we see you coming to the ring and watching — well when you aren’t mind fucking your mate — we know you want to train with us. Why won’t you come already?”
You gulped down the wine and it burned your throat. Your cheeks were flushed, you suddenly regretted wearing such a revealing top because you knew the flush was going down your neck and now your chest was also bright red.
“I don’t think I am ready yet—“ you stuttered, looking down at your plate and moving the food around. You didn’t have an appetite anymore.
“We don’t mean to pressure you y/n” Gwyn’s voice was quiet, soothing. “We just can tell you are interested, I mean you get so excited watching the trainings and you seemed so happy about your leathers.” Emerie nodded in agreement. She leaned forward, keeping her voice down, “you could train exclusively with Azriel to start, if that would make you feel more comfortable—“
“No!” You screeched. Quickly covering your mouth with your hand. Your outburst had caught everyone’s attention, the table went silent. Azriel was still as death beside you. You weren’t even sure if he was breathing. You stood abruptly, your chair falling behind you. “Excuse me” you whispered. You didn’t even pick up the chair as your raced up the stairs toward your room.
You felt Azriel’s hurt down the bond and tears streamed down your face as you shut your shared door and leaned back against it You shut off your side of the bond, unable to stop the sobbing.
You pushed off the door and headed toward the balcony. Pushing open the glass doors you immediately felt the rush of cold air against your face and exposed skin. You breathed deeply, more tears running down your face. You had embarrassed yourself. You had hurt your mate. You were a coward. You were nothing like your mate. How could the Cauldren be so wrong? You weren’t his equal in any way. Where he was strong, you were soft. Where he was always balanced, you were a bit clumsy. He was serious and stoic, you were quite childish at times and playful.
He never made you feel less-than but it was clear to you. You weren’t the match he deserved.
A steaming cup of tea appeared on the railing in front of you. You nodding a thank you to the house as you picked up the warm mug. You hadn’t even realized you were shivering. Going back inside your room you immediately felt the warmth of the room. Thank goodness for magic. You kept the balcony doors open, now shielded by warmth, and took a seat on the cushioned bench and looked out as you nursed your tea.
You weren’t sure how long you sat there before a knock startled you from your pity-party of one. You forced yourself to turn your head. You knew who it was. You had felt the small tug on the bond, asking for permission to speak with you — permission to be with you.
The door slowly opened and Azriel ducked inside, his gaze nervously landing on you in your favorite spot to curl up when you were upset. He shut the door softly.
His wings were tucked in tight and his arms were stiff at his sides. He stared at you warily, not stepping any further than the door.
You sniffled. “Hi” you whispered.
“Hi” he softly replied. He took a few cautious steps toward you. He stopped about two Illyrian size steps away, giving you space.
“Azriel” you sighed. Placing the cup of tea on the ground and standing up. You wrapped your arms around your waist, staring at your mate who you hurt so deeply. Azriel lifted a hand and you let him speak first. It was the least you could do.
“I’m sorry if I haven’t made you comfortable here or —“ he cleared his throat, as if it was difficult to confine. “Or if I haven’t made you comfortable around me yet…I would never force you to train with me and if the leathers were too much of a push I understand —”
You shook your head, closing the space between you and grabbing his hands tightly in yours.
“No Azriel, I am the most comfortable I have ever been when I am with you. I know ruined your important dinner tonight. It’s so selfish of me to be so emotional and — gods I just ruin everything. It’s not you I’m uncomfortable with — It’s me. I mean Ive never trained for anything before, I’m so worried I’ll be an embarrassment as your mate if I try to train. I loved my leathers, they’re amazing I just wish you had a better suited mate who could actually be a natural at training like you all are.” You looked down at the ground ashamed and embarrassed at your confession. At the truth. You and Azriel were too different, this was doomed.
A scarred warm hand touched your chin gently. Your eyes met beautiful hazel with unshed tears. “A better suited mate?” He shook his head, “oh my love — for so much brain you really can be so daft.” He chucked, his expression one of love and shock. “My sweet sweet silly mate. Like calls to like. Forget about tonight’s dinner. It’s you that is important to me. You are my equal. You are my other half. I have waited centuries to meet you. And I would have waited a thousand more to meet you one day. To start our life together. To learn and grow together. To train together.” His thumb brushed a tear falling down my cheek.
“Don’t you remember how late I learned to fly? How difficult that was?” You nodded, of course you did. Your poor mate had to endure so much at such a young age, yet he still became an incredible male despite the odds. “How is that any different than training for the first time? You should have seen how bad Nesta was” he grinned at you. You couldn’t help but laugh, even though tears still fell down your cheeks. The warmth and love flowing through the bond was almost overwhelming, but it also made you feel whole again.
“You are my mate. And I am yours. We lift each other up when we are down. We help each other when we need it. And most of all my love — we are always honest with each other. Okay?” More tears fell down your cheeks and you noticed a couple on Azriel’s cheeks as well. You nodded in agreement, leaning into his hand that still gently held your face. Your hands gripped his leathers tightly, keeping him close and keeping you steady.
Eventually you both laid down on the bed, holding each other and softly chatting about your shared future together.
“So what time should we get up to head to training tomorrow morning?” You softly asked, running your hands through Azriel’s hair. You were leaning back against the headboard and his head was in your lap, his eyes closed, looking peaceful and serine. A look you only saw when you two were completely alone together. His eyes flickered open, partially dazed from the head massage. A slow grin spread across his face.
“How about sunrise? That way I can make you your favorite tea before we head up?”
You grinned back at him. Leaning down you pressed a kiss on his nose and continued your head massage, causing Azriel to groan in pleasure and close his eyes once again.
“Sunrise it is” you whispered softly, your body and soul feeling complete and whole with your equal. Your mate.
you forgot that 1% of moments where you write a bomb ass line, and everything feels right in the world. You feel like you can write 10 billion more words based on how cathartic it felt to write that one bomb ass line.
Written Heart @crimsonfrostx - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
