Hi!! I was scrolling threads and I saw a cute post and immediately said “now I have an idea for a request!” 🤣 How about Az being clingy and cuddly because he missed his mate, but he just kind of puts his whole weight on top of her. Then she’s like “get off! You’re squishing me!” But he refuses to move so then she has to resort to desperate measures i.e. tickling him
You’re squishing me (Azriel x Reader)
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(Photos courtesy of Pinterest)
Summary: Two different scenarios where you and Azriel say to each other, “You’re squishing me.”
Authors Note: Love this request! I hope you enjoy. No major warnings below, just our fluffy Az.
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You’d barely made it through the bedroom door before strong arms wrapped around your waist and hauled you backwards.
“Az-“ you laughed, startled, the sound dissolving as the mattress hits the back of your knees and you were suddenly down, Azriel’s weight following you like gravity itself.
He buried his face into your neck, wings, arms and legs curling tight around you, shadows sighing in unmistakable relief.
“You’re home,” he murmured, voice rough with exhaustion.
“I am,” you said fondly, fingers slipping into his hair. “But I need to go and see Rhys, let him know the Summer Court meeting didn’t explode-“
“No.”
You tried to wiggle free.
His grip tightened in response.
“Azriel,” you warned, half laughing. “I’m serious.”
He shifted, his limbs still wrapped possessively around you, but now effectively pinning you to the bed with some of his weight now also pinning you down.
“I’m tired, I didn’t sleep,” he said quietly.
That made you still.
“Not properly,” he added. “Not without you here.”
Your chest softened. You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing delicately under the bags under his eye. “You could’ve come to me.”
He shook his head. “You were working.”
You sighed. “That didn’t stop you when I was in the Day Court that one tim-“ Your words whooshed from you as Azriel adjusted. “You’re crushing my ribs.”
He ignored you, nuzzling closer.
You squirmed again, this time more dramatically. “Az - get off, you’re squishing me!”
He huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh, but didn’t move an inch. Instead, he shifted just enough to press his forehead to your temple.
“No,” he said simply. “I go on a mission and when I come back you weren’t here.”
“Rhys needed an urgent message taken to Helion. You know he tries to make sure we’re both here for each other when we return.”
“I don’t care. You’re not allowed to leave for at least ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes?” You scoffed. “Did you miss me that much?”
“Yes,” he immediately responded without hesitation, pressing a kiss to your temple.
“And I missed you,” you assured him. That earned you another squeeze - gentler this time - his arms loosening just enough so you could breathe. “But you and I both know how Rhys gets when he doesn’t get his reports on time.”
Azriel merely whined into your neck, knowing you were right but refusing to acknowledge it.
You sighed, almost resigned to your fate before an idea struck you. You managed to manoeuvre your arm enough so you could poke Azriel’s side, earning a flinch from the Shadowsinger.
“Az,” you cooed. “If you don’t get off me, they’ll be trouble.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” he muttered into your neck.
Azriel barked out a pained laugh as you proceeded to tickle and poke his sides - a secret spot that only you, and for some reason Cassian, knew was ticklish. Your brave effort only lasted seconds before he managed to pin your arms tighter together.
“Okay, you win. Five minutes,” you bargained.
He considered it, shadows brushing your ankles like smug accomplices.
“…Seven,” he said.
You laughed, surrendering, arms wrapping around him as he settled more comfortably against you.
Rhys could wait that long.
Azriel needed you more right now.
———————
Azriel should have known better.
The moment you’d come home giggling, cheeks flushed from too much faerie wine and looking far too pleased with yourself, he should have braced for impact. He was hunched over his desk, decrypting a message one of his spies in deep cover had sent him - it was important and time sensitive.
But you didn’t care about that.
Instead, you climbed straight into his lap as he sat at his desk.
“There you are,” you said happily, cupping his face in both hands.
The scent of wine hit his nose instantly. “Did you have a nice time with Feyre and Mor?”
You immediately began fawning over him, ignoring his question, brushing his curls back from his forehead, rubbing your thumbs over the slight stubble on his cheeks. “You’re drunk,” he commented.
“No,” you said solemnly. “I’m just so in love.”
You squished his cheeks together.
Hard.
His lips pursed against his will.
“What are you doing? My love, I have to get this done, it’s important,” he muttered, voice muffled. You ignored him once again. “…Get off, you’re squishing me.”
You gasped like he’d just said something outrageous. “Azriel. Do you have any idea how cute your face is?”
He attempted to pull your hands away. Failed. You were shockingly strong when you were tipsy.
“You are violating my personal space right now,” he said, deadpan.
“You didn’t seem to mind last night,” you purred into his ear.
He couldn’t help the faint blush that rose on his cheeks at your words, his mind flashing back to the almost identical position you were both in last night that you were sat in right now.
You pulled back, now squinting at him like you were inspecting priceless art. “Your nose does this thing when you frown.”
“I’m frowning because you’re crushing my face.”
You smiled. “It’s so cute.”
His shadows flickered affectionately down your arms.
“You’re going to regret drinking this much in the morning,” he teasingly warned.
You kissed his pursed lips - sloppy, warm, affectionate - before releasing his face at last and resting your forehead against his.
“Maybe,” you whispered. “But you’ll still be cute.”
He sighed, resigned, arms tightening around you anyway, pulling you close so you couldn’t fall off his lap.
“…Next time,” Azriel murmured, “I’m locking myself in here when you girls drink.”
You laughed, already halfway asleep against his chest. “I’ll just break the door down.”
Azriel the Shadowsinger fics recommedation | @peotego
Azriel the Shadowsinger fics recommedation part 2 | @/peotego
Azriel Fic Rec Library pt. 2 | @mischiefmanagers
Fic Recs | @amandamariee
Ceilings | @helionpegasus
Reader and Azriel announce they're FINALLY mated | @/helionpegasus
My angel | @starlightandsouls
Azriel and reader are in a relationship, reader already has a daughter who adores Az, maybe one night the little girl ask him to read her a bedtime story and she says something like "I love you daddy, goodnight" and that was the first time she said those to him and he goes tell reader
Exile Pt.II | @bookish-whore
Sunlight, Shadows, and Secrets | @acotarobsessed
Puppy Love | @acotrash
City of Nightmares | @heart-defendor
Azriel longed for a mate, a love like that of his brothers. Soft and sweet and gentle. Too bad he got a citizen of Hewn City instead.
City of Nightmares Pt. 3 | @/heart-defendor
lemon tart | @azrielslostshadow
I see you | @/azrielslostshadow
lemon meltaways | @/azrielslostshadow
All Those Years Ago | @maddithefangirl
“I’m thinking it would be very easy to love you.” & “Love can be a poison.”
headcanons about azriel’s wings | @azpizazz
Never Yours | @ladylokilaufeyson5
You’ve known Azriel was your mate for a long time, but you never enlightened him to the fact. When you find him kissing someone else you decide to take a trip to the Illyrian war camps to take your mind off of the shadowsinger. But the thing about shadows – they always follow.
Female!Illyrian!Reader
Grossly Dependent | @starcrossedreaders
tough love training | @finelinevogue
you attend defence training with the most attractive shadowsinger
family of crazy bedheads | @/finelinevogue
you and azriel spend a morning with your happy daughter
attention, please | @/finelinevogue
az wants attention and you just want to read
Ethereal | @/finelinevogue
azriel is lucky you are his
safe with me | @/finelinevogue
you say 'yes' to being intimate with azriel when you really mean ‘no', because your past relationship taught you that saying 'yes' is the only answer
bigger than all of them | @/finelinevogue
you and the girls have an extremely spicy wine evening
Reverence | @historiaxvanserra
Azriel’s love had always been rough-edged but in the soft light of morning his love is reverent, devout, almost holy.
Buttons | @luvmoo
you and azriel have gotten closer as the seasons changed, though never finding the time to talk about where your relationship stood. During a late night encounter, he finds himself trying to buy as much time with you as possible.
Heart of Ice Part 02 | @paigeswrld
Priorities | @angelshadowsinger
Azriel leaves for yet another mission, even when you beg him to stay. Little does he know, you won't be waiting for him when he returns.
Supposed to Be Together {part 2} | @/angelshadowsinger
Dressed to Kill (Part Two) (Part Three) | @claireswritingcorner
You’ve been hired to kill the Shadowsinger at a party but things don’t go according to plan.
Domestic | @azrielhours
Az watches you get ready for an event. He’s never seen the process before and is extremely taken by it. It feels so personal to him and he can’t explain it.
I want you to rest | @/azrielhours
Reader has a nightmare while on a mission w the boys. Azriel comes to the rescue, brings her to his room to comfort her. She doesn’t want to sleep so he stays with her through the night.
Experiment | @ravencoloredroses
Az is gone on a mission and two people from the past decide to pay the reader a visit to do some experiments…..
A lick of Flame | @tadpolesonalgae
reader is from Autumn, gifted with flame. You get into an argument and have to blow off steam, only to witness the shadows crack.
washing his wings - part 1 | @/tadpolesonalgae
As the oldest of the Archeron siblings, you’re used to taking care of them, particularly when they were younger. Upon taking a trip to the ground floor in the House of Wind, you bump into the Shadowsinger, just back from a week long mission away. He’s tired and the dark circles beneath his eyes are more prominent than usual.
Heartfelt reunion | @/tadpolesonalgae
reader is pregnant but is kidnapped along with Cassian. Azriel saves them and discovers reader is pregnant.
I really don’t think now’s the best time | @lalacliffthorne
battlefields are really not the right place for important revelations.
because it does have it’s perks that Azriel is running cool sometimes | @/lalacliffthorne
May I have this dance? | @florence-end
Azriel’s new mate is painfully shy, despite his efforts to get closer to her. Something shifts between them when Mor needs help with Cassian’s dance lessons.
Hurts Like Hell Part Two | @iamqueenpotato
Y/N and Azriel are mates, but when Azriel begins changing, it doesn't seem that love between them exists anymore.
Shadow and Song | @glittergelpensblog
As the second youngest Archeron sister, it always felt like it was you and Feyre against the world. You felt like you lost a part of yourself the day she left, and then came back to leave again. When she shows up at your door with three winged fae, you refuse to do anything but help her this time.
Archeron sister
Date Night | @itsphoenix0724
Gardenia | @/itsphoenix0724
winter’s frost | @svearehnn
As Kallias’ sister, you’re expected to help maintain good relations with allied courts. Your newest ally leads you to the Starfall celebration, and it ends up changing your life much more drastically than you expected.
Kallias’ sister
This Love | @littlestarlightseverywhere
Azriel would set the world on fire if it that’s what it took for his mate believe she deserves his love
domestic bliss | @bat-boys
a series of scenes that give an insight into the domestic bliss you had built with your mate
Besotted | @/bat-boys
Rhys and Feyre have asked you to babysit Nyx for the day, meaning you get to spend the whole time enjoying one of your favourite weaknesses: your mate cuddling cute babies.
Comfort of Family | @court-of-starss
Your cycle leaves you pining for your mate.
And I wouldn’t marry me, either. Part 02 | @bluetimeombre
You were Azriel's mate, but it took losing you three times for him to realise.
Notice me! | @heartless-tate
Azriel courting an oblivious reader.
Happy Ending | @milswrites
Azriel's brothers remind him that he deserves happiness too.
Masterlist | @kymawrites
Pure Love | @/kymawrites
A series of moments that show your blooming love for Azriel, who was too busy cultivating his own love for you to notice.
Home | @/kymawrites
Leaving your family, leaving Azriel, for two whole months following Amarantha's reign of terror was harder than you anticipated. Azriel and you cling to each other upon your return.
Blush | @/kymawrites
You really like making Azriel blush.
My Heart Has Wings - Masterlist | @/kymawrites
You and Azriel long for the love your family members have found. That longing can easily turn into an isolating loneliness, so what if you rely on each other to numb that sickly feeling? What if your chance at love has been by your side for nearly a century?
Thorns and Toxins | @/kymawrites
Azriel knew something was off the moment you walked into the training room. You brushed him off, and ended up sending the poor male into a tailspin after you collapsed while sparring.
Snap into place | @soulofapatrick
You meet Azriel and the mate bond snaps into place
like calls to like | @/sodapopwrites
you and azriel have been dancing around the mating bond for years. hiding the secret of your shadowsinger powers from your friends for years. before leaving for hybern to destroy the cauldron some secrets must come out and some remain unsaid. both you and azriel must deal with outcome.
A New Place | @acoazlove
Your birthday felt ruined until you met someone new.
Archeron!Reader
Cauldron-born | @itsswritten
When an unexplainable energy pulls the Inner Circle to barge into the Day court, they're all shocked at what they find. But it's Azriel who can't help wonder if his dreams have finally been answered.
Earth’s Song | @/itsswritten
Fairies are made for the wind & sun
Eye of the Storm (Masterlist) | @thesunloveschips
In the wake of Rhysand’s ascension as High Lord, the Bone Carver gifts a prophecy. More than five hundred years later, Azriel continues to wait for the one who is finally reborn as his High Lady’s sister. All it takes a dip in the Cauldron for things to start falling into place.
Next To My Wife | @randomgurl2326
The one time Azriel let his two worlds collide…ALSO…Based off of this quote from EPIC The Musical: After everything you’ve done, how will you sleep at night/Next to my wife
Maps | @berryz-writes
Azriels daughter finds his scars far more interesting than the map you're trying to show her, indirectly healing a part of Azriel he had left in the dark
Blue | @/berryz-writes
There's a large contrast between the warm and gentle Az you get to enjoy versus the cold and quiet demeanour he reserves for others
A Helping Hand | @inkedinshadows
The bond snapped for Azriel the moment he saw her, thrown into the Cauldron with Elain and Nesta. Now, he wants to help her as she struggles to cope with what happened.
Echoes of the Bond | @/inkedinshadows
When mates are reunited, Y/N grows curious about what the mating bond is, causing Azriel's brain to short-circuit.
Bound by Secrets | @/inkedinshadows
When you get caught sneaking around the Hewn City, you end up in one of the dungeon cells to be interrogated by the infamous Spymaster. But things don't go exactly the way the General and the High Lord thought.
Azriel x Beron’s daughter!reader
Pretty Boy | @sapphicmsmarvel
Azriel overhears y/n tell people her type is a pretty boy and az doesn’t believe he fits that.
mr grumpy and his miss sunshine | @/sapphicmsmarvel
Unspoken fights | @azrielstaylorsversion
Feyre wonders why Azriel and his mate aren't speaking to each other. Rhys explains about there unusual communication habits and she feels the need to fix it.
Child Curiosity | @bookwormjust
Carry by shadows | @/bookwormjust
In Your Presence : Azriel’s Quiet Sanctuary | @/bookwormjust
summary: You and Azriel were just friends. Then came the dancing. The kiss. The night you stopped pretending.
word count: 11.1k
content: [ explicit sexual content (piv), oral sex (f receiving), grinding in da club (do i need to warn abt that??), explicit language, alcohol, VERY irresponsible consumption of alcohol, vomiting from drinking, FUI (flying under the influence) ]
author's note: FUI arent i so funny lmfao as per usual with these, i know prythian doesnt have speakers/subwoofers , and prob also doesnt have strobe lights, but i write what i want so its ok yall can deal
✦ . 1k Celebration Apothecary . ✦
shadowed elixir
infused with a dash of blaze
enhanced with lover’s knot
stirred
thank you @wildfloweroutlaw for the request!! i've never written a fic specifically having friends to lovers in mind so my mental block gave me a bit of trouble with this but i had a lot of fun writing it! <3
Velaris hums with life around you, the midday sun painting golden ribbons across cobblestone streets. The air is thick with the scent of spiced cider and honeyed pastries, threaded through with the briny whisper of the Sidra. Laughter swells and fades between vendors calling out their wares—bolts of silk that shimmer like liquid light, books with gilded spines that promise adventures, trinkets that glint like they’ve been kissed by starlight.
“It’s the pacing that makes it brilliant,” you say, sidestepping a wobbly cart stacked with jars of something dark and suspiciously jiggly. “You’d love it if you gave it a chance.”
Azriel walks beside you, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark-wash jeans, his only accompanying shadow slinking along sun-warmed stones like it’s sulking. He’s a strange silhouette in the golden light—too dark for a day like this, like the night followed you out of habit. But he listens, quiet and steady, nodding at the right moments as you ramble about the last book you read. You’ve learned to hear the shape of his silences—how they stretch or shorten, the weight of them, what they hold back.
“I’m telling you,” you press, dodging a knot of children weaving through the crowd, “if you actually gave it a shot, you’d love it.”
Azriel huffs a soft laugh. “You say that every time.”
“Because it’s true every time. You’re just too stubborn to admit I have impeccable taste.”
The corner of his mouth lifts—barely. “You bought a book last month because the cover had a dragon making out with a sword.”
You gasp, scandalized. “That’s called intuition.”
“No. That’s called a gamble.”
You bump your elbow against his arm, grinning when he exhales through his nose. That small, hard-won sound. This—this is easy. Has always been.
As the crowd thickens, your attention snags on a jewelry stall to your left—slim chains catching the sun, gemstones winking in their delicate settings. At the same moment, Azriel’s gaze strays to a weapons vendor on the right, where a gleaming dagger is being turned over in calloused hands.
You both hesitate. Then look back at each other at the same time.
Azriel raises a brow.
You smile. “Meet you in a minute?”
He dips his chin in a slight nod, already angling toward the stall, fingers twitching like they’re itching for the weight of the blade. You drift toward the jewelry, drawn in by instinct more than intent. Your fingers trail over thin rings and polished charms, the glint of metal catching the light just right.
A pair of dangling earrings stops you—stones that shift hue in the sun, subtle and soft. Pretty. Eye-catching without being too much. The kind of thing that might go with the dress you picked up earlier while wandering the boutiques, half-killing time before the market. The one you hadn’t planned on trying, but slipped into just for fun. A little more daring than your usual. Soft in all the right ways, with a neckline you kept pretending not to think about.
You’d stared at yourself longer than you meant to.
And walked out with your first shopping bag of the day.
You curl your fingers around the earrings, already halfway through justifying the purchase in your head.
It doesn’t take long to browse. After paying and a few lingering looks, you glance across the street to find Azriel still at the weapons stall, turning the dagger over in his hands. His expression is unreadable—calm, analytical, like he’s weighing something only he understands. The single shadow drifts across his back, restless beneath the unrelenting sun.
Your gaze finds him without thought. A habit carved over time. Familiar, even after everything, in that quiet, unconscious way habits become part of you.
You blink and turn away just as he looks up. He’s already moving, steps unhurried, wings tucked in close, hands slipping into his pockets again as he falls into stride beside you.
“Anything good?” you ask lightly.
Azriel shrugs. “Steel’s folded differently—strong but light. Good balance. Sharp edge.” He huffs at himself. “It’s a good blade.”
You roll your eyes. “Careful—Truthteller’s going to get jealous.”
His mouth twitches. “There’s no one like her,” he murmurs, and his hand brushes the small of your back as he steers you out of the path of two shrieking children.
He nods toward the bag in your hand. “Let’s see it.”
You fish out the black velvet box and flip it open with a grin. “For the dress!”
Azriel snorts. “You mean that napkin you bought earlier?”
You snap the box shut a little too forcefully. “It’s a nice dress.”
“It’s barely a scarf.”
“Azriel.”
The full name earns you another twitch of a smile. His voice lowers, amused. “I still don’t know where you plan on wearing it. I’ve seen you more hesitant to leave the House in sweaters.”
Your cheeks warm. “Well, I didn’t feel as confident in those.”
His brow rises slightly, like he hadn’t expected that answer. Your voice is lighter when you add, “Maybe you’re just nervous you won’t be able to handle seeing me in it.”
You bump his shoulder again, and this time he lets the smile break free. The two of you fall into easy conversation—Cassian’s most recent baking disaster (“explosive,” Azriel says without inflection), café gossip, a gentle debate about whether Velaris even needed the twelfth coffee shop to begin with.
At the townhouse, Azriel steps ahead to hold the door open, shadow trailing in behind him. The antechamber hums with warmth—laughter echoing from the next room, spices lingering in the air.
“I’m telling you, I found it just sitting there,” Cassian insists as you enter. He’s pacing like he’s testifying in court, hands gesturing wildly. “Brand new bottle of amber whiskey. Uncorked. Untouched. In a bush.”
“In a bush?” Mor deadpans from the couch.
Cassian gestures wildly. “In a bush! Behind the stables! What are the odds?”
Mor narrows her eyes. “Any chance you’re feeling lucky enough to gamble?”
They lock eyes, Cassian’s grin curling at the edges.
Feyre perks up from her place on the sofa. “If gambling means Rita’s, I’m in. I haven’t gone out in weeks, and I plan to be very irresponsible tonight.”
All three turn to you with matching looks—expectant and conspiratorial, like they’ve already know your answer but want to hear you say it. Feyre’s smile is the worst of them—sweet and smug and knowing.
You glance at Azriel. He’s already sighing, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose like he can feel the impending headache.
“Guess we know when—”
“Yeah, alright,” Azriel mutters.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
You lean in toward the mirror, smoothing a final sweep of gloss over your lips. Then you take a step back, letting your eyes rake over your reflection. Hair styled just how you like it—precise where it matters, undone where it doesn’t—and your makeup? Soft, glowing, and just sharp enough to slice. The kind that shines when the light catches your cheekbones and mouth.
Behind you, Feyre whistles low. “He’s going to eat his words.”
Mor, sprawled on the bed in a pose that screams practiced indifference, smirks. “And probably choke on them.”
You snort, reaching for the earrings you bought earlier. “It’s not for him.”
Feyre slides up beside you, linking her arm through yours as she catches your eye in the mirror. “Maybe not. But you wouldn’t mind if he looked.”
She’s not wrong.
Mor rises in a stretch, her plum dress catching every sliver of light as it hugs her curves like a secret. The hem’s scandalous, the neckline worse—and with her golden hair cascading over one bare shoulder, she looks like she could topple empires with a single breath. Feyre’s in a slate blue that borders on silver, cool-toned and backless, the color making her blue eyes even more piercing beneath artfully smudged liner. And with her soft waves pinned just so, she looks like smoke made woman.
You fasten your earrings with a quiet click and smile at your reflection. You feel good. Confident. Not just in the dress, but in your skin.
There was a time when what you felt for him lived quietly in your chest—soft, persistent, and patient. Over time, it faded into something else. Something easier. You let it go long before anyone knew you were holding on.
But it never disappeared completely. Not really. Not in a way that matters. Not in a way that would stop you, if he ever hinted at wanting something more.
Downstairs, the low murmur of male voices curls up the staircase from the sitting room. That deep, familiar hum threaded with laughter. It’s comfortable and easy. The kind of sound born from long nights, drinks shared, and old stories retold—brothers teasing one another into comfort.
Cassian’s laugh is unmistakable—loud and unrestrained over the clink of glass. Rhysand’s is more of a drawl, lazy and pleased with itself. And then there’s Azriel. Low, steady. A quiet current that runs beneath them all, silk wrapped around steel.
The sound of heels on the stairs draws their attention—Cassian’s first. He whistles, low and appreciative, as Mor appears at the top step, her dress catching the light with every step. Rhysand gives an exaggerated bow from where he’s perched on the arm of the couch. Even Azriel lets his gaze linger, just a touch longer than polite, before returning it to his drink.
Then comes Feyre, laughing at whatever wicked comment Mor whispered over her shoulder. Rhysand is off the couch and moving before she’s even halfway down, reaching for her hand like gravity’s got nothing on the pull she has on him. He murmurs something low against her ear as he takes her hand, earning an eye roll and a muttered warning that sounds suspiciously like a threat. He grins like a male entirely too pleased with himself.
And then—
You.
The last to appear. Not intentionally, of course. But you’d be lying if you said the timing didn’t work in your favor.
There’s a pause—just a breath—but enough. Enough to feel it.
Cassian is the first to recover. “Damn,” he says, voice a little rougher than before.
Mor beams, smug and delighted, as if she’s taking personal credit. Rhys gives a low hum of approval, already spinning something cocky to say—but whatever it is goes unheard.
Because Azriel’s gaze is already there, fixed on the landing, like he’d been watching the space just waiting for you to step into it. And when you do, he doesn’t look away.
His stare lands heavy—enough to steal the air from your lungs.
You wait for the usual—some sharp, clipped remark, maybe a too-smooth deflection. But instead—
“...Huh.”
That’s it.
A single, unimpressed syllable that cuts through the air like a blade dipped in ice.
You blink. Huh?
He doesn’t elaborate. Just turns back toward Cassian, nodding at his shirt—half unbuttoned, chest on shameless display as if confidence could count as tailoring. “Bold of you to challenge her like that. One of you’s going to end up hypothermic.”
Cassian grins like he’s been handed a gift. “At least I’m not stuffed into those jeans you’re trying to pass off as comfortable. One wrong move and we’ll be calling a healer.”
Azriel’s lips twitch, barely. He doesn’t rise to the bait. Just takes a slow sip of his drink.
Your eyes drop of their own accord. Those jeans are unforgivable. So is the way they fit him.
You force your gaze away, descending the final step with all the poise you can muster.
Cassian, with a mischievous grin, offers his arm like it’s second nature. “Guess we’ll be whores together tonight.”
You loop your arm through his with a grin that could make the Mother herself blush. “Fine. But I’m the classier whore. More expensive.”
He barks a laugh, delighted. “High-class whore. Got it.”
“That’s the spirit,” Mor teases, stealing the rest of Rhys’ drink without a shred of remorse (he mutters a tight ‘Hey’ through clenched teeth, swatting at his cousin as she ducks away).
Feyre checks the time with mock exasperation. “Stay any longer and we’ll miss half the night.”
“Then let’s go,” Mor cheers, grabbing you and Cassian like a female on a mission.
And then—chaos. Magic coils, wind rushes, the floor disappears beneath your feet.
A heartbeat later, you’re outside, blinking against the lights and noise of Rita’s.
Your stomach flips—like it always does. It never gets easier.
Music pulses from the open doors, thick in the night air, and faelights paint the pavement in deep gold and violet. Mor’s fingers slip from your wrist; she’s already halfway to the entrance, weaving through the crowd like it’s parting for her.
The cool night clings to your skin, but the heat radiating from the club ahead makes it all feel alive, electric with possibility. The air is saturated with cologne, alcohol, and the faintest hint of smoke as you approach the bouncers. The low hum of the waiting crowd blends with the deeper thrum of bass that threatens to crack open the night.
The moment you step inside, the atmosphere hits—thick and heavy with energy. The music is deafening, the bass a living thing that thrums through your chest, infecting your limbs with a restless kind of excitement. Faelights strobe in wild streaks—purple, blue, red—and for a second, it feels as though you’re in some kind of dream.
Feyre pulls you into the crowd first, her grin wide and wicked as she leads the way toward the bar. Mor follows close behind, laughing, already calling out to familiar faces. The guys trail after—quieter, maybe, but impossible to miss in the way they cut through the crowd.
Drinks are ordered. Jokes fly. Within minutes, your group claims a half-circle booth just off the dance floor. It doesn’t take long for the music to pull you all in. Cassian downs half his drink and drags Mor out first, the two of them already moving like they’ve danced together a thousand times—and they probably have. Feyre loops her arm around your waist, eyes glinting beneath the lights. “Come on,” she yells over the music.
You don’t need convincing.
Rhys just waves you off with a smirk, already settling into the booth like he plans to stay there all night.
The next stretch of time blurs—song bleeding into song, breathless laughter and clinking glasses, the bass settling into your chest like a second heartbeat. The lights cast everything in hues of violet and electric blue, cutting shadows across flushed skin and gleaming teeth. You’re dancing with Feyre, the two of you falling into easy rhythm. Mor and Cassian egg each other on nearby, reckless and unbothered, like children left unsupervised.
At one point, Mor grabs your hand and twirls you fast enough to make your head spin. You stumble into her, both of you breathless with laughter, alcohol making everything weightless.
Feyre slips between you and Mor, twirling with abandon, her hair catching the light like strands of liquid gold. Off to the side, you spot Cassian mid-charm offensive, working a pair of females with that lethal grin—the kind that guarantees more than they can handle. Judging by their reaction, it’s going well. Rhys lounges nearby, nursing his drink and watching Feyre with a crooked grin, content to let her shine.
But a few beats later Feyre drifts away from you both, drawn by something only she and Rhys can hear. Across the floor, Azriel leans against a column in the shadows, arms crossed, the picture of cool disinterest. You throw him an exaggerated beckoning gesture—all wide eyes and mouthed dramatics. Mor mirrors you, adding a pout for effect.
He doesn’t move, just shakes his head, unimpressed.
You and Mor exchange a look—then stick your tongues out at him, childish and triumphant.
You think you catch the ghost of a smile.
Then Cassian appears beside him, clapping a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, mischief written all over his face. “Her friend’s cute,” he shouts over the music. “Be a good wingman.”
To your surprise, Az lets it happen.
As he moves past, his arm brushes against yours—barely a touch, but enough to feel. He angles toward the other female—tall, elegant, with dark eyes and a laugh that rings above the music. She’s beautiful in a way that turns heads.
Still, some stubborn part of you insists she’s not that pretty. Not compared to you.
The thought surfaces unbidden—and you shut it down just as fast. Jealousy doesn’t suit you. And this? This isn’t that.
To anyone watching, Azriel looks engaged. His smile is easy, even bordering on smug, and he leans in like he means it. But you know better. That’s your best friend. You see the signs: the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes skim past her, too fast and too often.
Which is probably why you keep catching him glancing your way.
Or maybe you’re reading too much into it. Maybe it’s the alcohol, the lighting, the way this dress hugs your curves like a second skin. Still… you’d swear his gaze lingered. And not just on your face.
The music shifts—louder, dirtier, the kind that grabs your spine and doesn’t let go. Mor’s gone to get drinks, and for the first time tonight, you’re alone. But with the alcohol warm in your veins, you don’t mind. You let the beat carry you, movements fluid and loose, like your body already knows the song by heart. The crowd thickens, lights blur, and everything becomes a haze of motion and heat. The tempo rises. You drift closer to the center, caught in the music, untethered.
Then, during a rare lull between songs, you glance back toward the booth—
And spot Feyre in Rhys’ lap, flushed and breathless. Her hair sticks to her forehead as she lifts a tiny glass with exaggerated flair. Rhysand just raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, as she tries to coax him into a shot.
He refuses. She pouts. Then she steals his beer instead, chugging it right there in his lap. He fumbles for the glass, shouting something you can’t hear. But she just twists away, triumphant, dodging him until the glass is empty. With a dramatic gasp, she slams it on the table and struts off—slightly wobbly—leaving Rhys with nothing but the small shot of dark liquor.
You laugh—can’t help it.
But the sight of Azriel freezes your grin halfway between amusement and something more. Because he’s still talking to the female—who, from what you can tell, is more than happy to let him steer the conversation. But even as his words flow smoothly to her, his eyes are locked on you—piercing and intense, like he can’t look away, even if he’s supposed to be.
And that gaze… it cuts straight through you.
Warmth blooms low in your belly. Not from the alcohol. Not entirely. You hold his gaze, and the rest of the room fades. The music, the lights, the crowd—they’re distant noise now. Because though the space between you is still wide, it feels like a wire pulled taut, vibrating with something that isn’t the music.
Maybe it’s the buzz. Maybe it’s the bass still pounding in your chest. Maybe it’s the fact that his gaze is still on you.
The music shifts again, and your body follows without a thought. You let the music guide you, every slow roll of your hips deliberate, every look daring him to match you. You aren’t sure why you’re dancing for him (because it is for him, isn’t it?), or why your eyes haven’t left his once, but the rush is intoxicating.
His expression doesn’t change. Not at first. But then something flickers in his eyes—brief and unreadable.
For a heartbeat, you wonder if maybe you’ve imagined it all.
But then he claps a hand on Cassian’s shoulder, leans in to say something. He nods once at the female—goodbyes, maybe? You can’t be sure.
And then Azriel steps through the crowd. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t smile. He just starts toward you, weaving through the crowd with that unhurried, measured stride you know by heart.
He doesn’t say a word.
He doesn’t have to.
When he stops in front of you, the music swells again—and this time, it feels like it’s for you. Drunk enough not to overthink it, you don’t hesitate—you just reach for him, pulling him into your orbit.
And just like that, you fall into step with him.
Effortless. Unspoken. Like your bodies had been waiting for this moment—like they remembered each other from another lifetime. There’s no need for words, not when the music does all the talking. Not when the bass pulses through your spine and Azriel’s warmth curls in your blood like smoke.
His hands settle low on your hips—too low, maybe—and the contact short-circuits something in you. Through the thin fabric of your dress, his palms burn. You swear his grip tightens as you move, subtle but unmistakable, like he’s testing how far he can go. Like he’s memorizing the shape of you.
You move in tandem, one body split in two. Every step aligned. Every breath shared. The sway of your hips becomes a silent conversation, and even as the crowd surges around you, none of it touches you. All you feel is the slow drag of his hand, the brush of his chest when he leans in too close. All you hear is the rasp of his breath in your ear.
Somewhere in the haze, you wonder where Mor is with your drink. You hope—fervently—she’s seen you like this and decided to give you space. You don’t want to be saved.
Then Azriel catches your hand. Twines his fingers through yours. Wordless, he spins you out, guiding you around him with a kind of reverence that feels like worship. The fabric of your dress strains, hugging every curve as you spin. His palm stays anchored to your waist, steady and possessive. And when you slip behind him, your gaze catches—hungry—on the curve of his ass in those sinfully tight jeans. The stretch of cotton over his back. The muscles shifting under his shirt like a promise.
By the time you return to face him, breathless and hot-faced, he’s already watching you. And he knows. Cauldron, he knows.
His hair sticks to his forehead, dark strands damp from the press of bodies, the heat. His collar’s still loose, open just enough to hint at skin, at the strong line of his throat. A silver chain catches the light where it rests against his collarbone, the cobalt glint of his siphon nestled low—one of the simpler siphon pieces you’ve seen him wear, reserved for nights like this when the full set would only get in the way.
And then there are his eyes.
Not friendly. Not protective. Nothing safe. They’re molten—dark and slow and unapologetic as they trace the length of you. They leave scorch marks in their wake. And when you meet that gaze, something primal shifts inside you. Something ancient and aching.
He pulls you in, flush against him, his hands spanning your back, scarred fingers grazing bare skin. The contact is searing. Your breath falters.
Still, you manage to play it cool—or try to. “What’s wrong, Az? You’re staring.” It’s meant to be teasing. Light. But it comes out quieter than you intended. Softer. As if even your voice can’t help giving you away.
His breath stutters. Just enough. “Don’t tease me right now.” His voice is low and rough, his eyes now dark enough to drown in. “It’s not the dress.”
And then—then—his thigh slots between yours and he drags you close enough to steal your balance. The dance shifts—slower now, hungrier. There’s something dangerous uncoiling between you.
The pressure of his thigh is subtle, maddening. The friction sets a slow-burning ache deep inside you, and without thinking, you move. Just enough to chase it. Just enough to make yourself feel something. He notices. Of course he does. His fingers press firmer at your back, holding you there, and you wonder—ache to know—if he feels it too. This tension. This current humming under your skin, magnetic and irrevocable.
Your hips move in time with his, a rhythm that no longer has anything to do with the music. You brush against him, again and again, and each pass stokes the fire curling low in your belly. His hand steadies at the small of your back—firm, coaxing, guiding the rhythm of your hips until you’re moving in time with him. Until you’re grinding slow and sure against the solid line of his thigh. He watches every flicker of reaction like it’s a secret he’s been aching to unearth.
His shadows brush your skin—light as breath, bold as fingertips. They slip under the hem of your dress, past the dip of your neckline, exploring, learning, teasing. It’s not enough to satisfy, but it’s enough to tempt. To make you dizzy.
Your breath stutters, and for a moment, his gaze dips to your mouth.
You barely manage a smile. “Still not about the dress?” you murmur, your voice low, throat dry.
Azriel’s eyes flicker—then settle on you like a storm about to break. “Not even a little.”
And when his nose grazes yours, it isn’t a kiss. But it could be. It’s the moment right before—the breath, the space, the choice. A thread pulled taut, ready to snap.
You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s you. But the song changes, the spell snaps, and suddenly the room exists again. Someone bumps into Azriel from behind, and his hand drops to your ass to steady you. A reflex. But it brands.
You both laugh, too breathless, too wired, too aware of what just almost happened. And his hand is still on your ass.
You need a second—a buffer, a breath of air before you do something you can’t undo.
“I need a drink,” you murmur, voice hoarse.
His hands linger but eventually fall away. Slow. Reluctant.
You glance up at him, give him a look you hope says this isn’t over, and slip through the crowd toward the bar.
The bartender slides a drink your way before you can even remember ordering one. You catch it on instinct, fingers curling around the chilled glass just as the condensation begins to bead. It slicks your grip slightly, grounding you in the present—the weight of the glass, the sting of alcohol, the echo of Azriel’s touch still humming beneath your skin.
You barely have time to take a sip before an arm braces beside yours on the counter—long, inked, and annoyingly familiar. Then the rest of Rhysand follows—tall, rakish, and far too smug for someone clearly on the brink of losing his balance.
“Well, well, well,” he drawls, voice syrupy and just loose enough at the edges to toe the line between charming and concerning. “If it isn’t our little heartbreaker.”
You blink at him over the rim of your glass, your mouth still parted mid-sip. “How drunk are you?”
“Moderate,” he says, with the blind confidence of a man absolutely not moderate. Then, solemnly: “I think I just tried to winnow to the moon. Cass said no.”
A laugh bursts out of you, sharp and surprised, catching you off guard. “You were supposed to be the responsible one tonight.”
Rhys makes a sweeping gesture with one hand that nearly sends a nearby cocktail crashing to the floor. “Fuck responsible. Do you know how hard it is to stay sober when everyone around you is glowing and half-delirious? Mor and Feyre have been spinning like drunk ballerinas for the last twenty minutes. Cassian challenged a table of strangers to an arm-wrestle for ‘honor and glory.’ And Azriel—”
He cuts off, lips twitching. That grin, slow and sly, curls like smoke.
You narrow your eyes. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he sing-songs, turning away to steal a sip from someone else’s drink before grimacing and abandoning it.
Gods, you’ve never seen him like this. Loose. Unfiltered. Unbothered by image or control. You make a mental note to corner Cassian and Azriel as soon as possible, if only to demand every humiliating story they’ve ever collected on him.
“You were going to say something,” you groan, watching him closely.
Rhys gives you a beatific smile that practically screams I’m lying. “Me? Never.”
You take another slow sip of your drink, trying—failing—to will the heat from your cheeks. But Rhys, of course, is infuriatingly perceptive. Even through a haze of liquor, he clocks you immediately.
“Oh no,” he breathes, voice gone delighted and a little too loud. “Oh no, it’s happening.”
You arch a brow. “What is?”
“You’re falling in love with my shadowsinger.”
The words land like a match dropped in dry grass.
You choke, spluttering into your drink. “I’m not—”
“Sure, sure,” he says, cutting you off with a patronizing pat to your arm. “And neither is he. You two are just dry-humping in the dark, panting like—like you’re seconds away from devouring each other. All very normal friend behavior, I’m sure.”
You groan and let your head fall forward, forehead thunking against the bar top. The cool wood offers no relief from the mortification burning behind your eyes.
“Go away.”
Rhys props his chin on his palm, utterly content. “Can’t. Too drunk to move.”
You turn your head just enough to peer at him, face still pressed to the bar. “Do I need to find Feyre?”
His expression shifts to something like panic. “Please… do not.”
“Right.” You sigh, dragging a hand down your face and letting it rest there. “You’re impossible.”
Rhys smiles lazily, lashes low and smug. “And you’re glowing. All flushed and starry-eyed. It’s disgusting.”
You flip him off without looking.
That’s when the night starts to blur.
At some point, you find yourself curled under Cassian’s arm, both of you howling over a story he refuses to finish because he keeps laughing too hard. He smells like sweat and cologne and a bad idea—not that you haven’t entertained the thought once or twice. When you reach for your drink, he snatches it just out of reach with a devilish grin.
“You’ve had enough,” he slurs—then immediately downs his own.
You wait until he’s distracted, then snatch your drink back and down it in one go.
Across the room, Mor is spinning Azriel in a slow, ridiculous waltz to music that’s far too fast. Her head is thrown back in laughter, one heel discarded, and Azriel’s grinning wide and unrestrained as she twirls herself dramatically beneath his arm. One of his shadows retrieves her fallen shoe and dutifully returns it. He pretends not to notice.
Rhys, for some reason, decides the whole place needs another round—again. He’s at the bar holding up fingers in rapid succession—four, five, seven—gesturing to absolutely no one. When the bartender ignores him, he levitates a bottle of amber liquor off the shelf with a flourish and begins personally pouring shots into the mouths of nearby patrons like some deranged, drunken Father Solstice.
Cassian finds Azriel in the crowd and immediately throws an arm around his neck, dragging him close with a sloppy grin. “My brother,” he declares, far too loud, smacking a kiss to Azriel’s temple before pulling him into a one-armed hug that rattles both of them. “Do you know—do you know—how much I love you?”
Azriel just blinks. “Unfortunately.”
“Shut up,” Cassian slurs, already halfway into his next declaration. “You’re the best of us. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Except me. Sometimes. But even then—”
“I’m going to kill you,” Azriel says—quiet and deadly. But he doesn’t move to escape. If anything, he leans into it.
Later, you, Feyre, and Mor vanish into the bathroom, which starts as a mission of necessity and ends in chaos. The line’s too long. The floor’s sticky. You all start yelling about how no one cleans the stalls in this place. And somehow, ten minutes later, Mor’s knees are on the tile while you and Feyre crouch beside her, holding her hair back and cackling as she curses Rhysand’s name for “making” her take that last glowing green shot.
“You’ll live,” Feyre says, patting her back with the resigned affection of someone who’s done this before.
“Probably,” you add.
Eventually, the three of you stagger back to the booth—giggling, disheveled, makeup slightly smeared but still beautiful. Because drunk girls in packs always are.
You collapse into the cushions, and for a moment, everything just is—a tangle of warm limbs, laughter, glitter. Cassian’s still trying to tell a story no one can follow. Azriel is methodically peeling an orange he must’ve stolen from the bar. Mor keeps interrupting to dramatically rehash her brush with death on the bathroom floor.
Somewhere between the fourth retelling and a new round of drinks, Feyre bumps into your side, giggling as she climbs— climbs—into Rhysand’s lap.
“Oh my gods,” she breathes, burying her face into his neck. “You smell like night and sin and trouble.”
Rhys hums, stroking a hand up her thigh. “And you, darling, are my favorite sort of trouble.”
You try to ignore it. You really do. And, for a few minutes, you’re fine. But then Feyre whispers, “I swear to the Cauldron, if you keep touching me like that I will drag you into the shadows and make you beg to—”
“No,” you say sharply, holding up a hand. “Absolutely not. You cannot do this in the communal booth.”
Rhysand and Feyre both blink at you. Slowly. Like they’re just now realizing the rest of you exist.
“Oh,” Feyre says, blinking again. “I said that… out loud?”
Cassian groans and drops his head to the table. “Yes. You did.”
“We all heard it,” Mor says, looking personally offended.
Rhys looks vaguely affronted. “We were talking through the bond—”
“You weren’t,” you, Cassian, and Mor all say at once.
Azriel only sighs and catches your eye, mouthing, Every damn time.
And then—
Too much light. Too much warmth. Music in your bones. Glitter on your cheeks. Someone grabs your hand and drags you back to the dance floor. You don’t know who. Doesn’t matter. You let the rhythm carry you, laughter bubbling up like it’s been trapped for months.
Azriel finds you in the chaos. Quiet. Solid. He takes your hand, spins you once—lazy, sweet—then pulls you close with that look. Like the world is loud but you are not.
And then—
The night slips.
You and Mor, arms around each other, cheeks dusted with shimmer.
Cassian balances a shotglass between the clawed tips of his wings—a feat that’s nothing short of impressive—while Azriel leans in to drink from it for the fourth time and misses. Again.
Rhys stumbling through a dance with Feyre, refusing to let go of her hand even as he trips.
Azriel laughing, loud and bright, shirt drenched in spilled liquor and clinging to him like a second skin.
It’s beautiful, in the messy, ephemeral way nights like this always are.
And when it ends—when the cold air bites and your heels dangle from your fingers—you’re walking beside him.
Azriel. Silent and steady.
Side by side. Arms brushing.
Still friends.
Still not in love.
Definitely not.
Probably.
… Maybe.
The others are a few paces ahead, their laughter echoing down the cobbled street, mingling with the night’s quiet. You’d all chosen to walk back to the townhouse instead of winnowing—mostly to spare Mor another tragic bathroom incident.
You glance at Azriel, his profile softened by the pale glow of distant streetlights, the sharp edges of him mellowed by the dim light. He’s quieter now, more anchored, like the buzz is finally starting to bleed out of him too.
For a fleeting moment, your eyes meet, and something shifts, an unspoken weight hanging in the air between you. It’s not just the silence—it’s everything that comes with it. He looks away first, but the tension doesn’t dissipate. It lingers, thick and undeniable.
“So,” you say, your voice light, but there’s a brittleness beneath it, a crack in the calm. “You get this fucked up before?”
He lets out a low chuckle, the sound familiar and warm, but with something in it that feels like the night itself. “Should’ve seen us three while we were training. You wouldn’t have recognized us.”
“Did you have fun tonight?”
Azriel smirks, eyes gleaming with something you can’t quite place, a mystery veiled beneath his calm. “I’ll answer that when I’m sober enough to remember half of it.”
A teasing grin tugs at your lips, unspoken but understood.
His gaze shifts toward you then, and the playful edge in his expression softens, ever so briefly. It’s a shift so subtle, it feels as though the air around you changes. His steps slow, just enough to bring him closer—his presence, steady and grounding, a quiet comfort against the coolness of the night.
And then, before you can fully comprehend it, his hand is at your back again—a subtle, possessive touch, just above your waist. It’s not new, this gesture. He’s done it before, but tonight, it feels different.
“You okay?” His voice is soft, low—barely above the city’s hum, but it cuts through everything else.
You swallow, suddenly aware of the weight behind the question, the way it settles in your chest. You nod, forcing a smile, though it feels less like a smile and more like a fragile shield. You meet his gaze through your lashes.
“I’m drunk,” you admit, a small giggle escaping, but the sound feels a little too light for the heaviness in the air.
Azriel huffs a soft laugh, warm breath brushing against your skin. “Yeah, I figured.”
The silence that follows is comfortable, in a way—a strange sort of peace between the two of you. The laughter and raucous chatter of your group fades further ahead, their voices lost in the night, leaving only the faint echo of their noise behind. Here, between you and Azriel, there’s nothing but quiet. His hand still rests at your back, the lightest touch, but you can feel it—every brush of his fingers against the fabric of your dress, like an unspoken promise.
You glance over at him, a playful glint dancing in your eyes. “Answer my question though. Did you have fun tonight? I know you don’t like coming out much.”
Azriel doesn’t look at you. His gaze remains fixed on the path ahead, his lips curving into the faintest smile. “Fun?” he mutters, his voice light but carrying an edge. “If I’d known the night would end with me trying to drink out of Cassian’s wings, I might’ve stayed in.”
You laugh softly, the sound laced with warmth. “Oh, but you looked like you were having a blast.”
“I was,” he admits, voice lower now, quieter.
His words hang in the air, settling between you, filling the space with something deeper, something more. You glance at him again, and this time, his gaze finds yours. Dark, steady, unwavering.
And in that moment, everything feels charged, like the next move is inevitable.
You stop walking.
Azriel doesn’t pull his hand from your waist. Instead he swings around, turning to face you with an abruptness that feels almost instinctive, like the idea of letting go wasn’t even an option. Like keeping his hand on you mattered more than keeping his feet on the ground. Now, he stands before you, close enough that the heat of his body bleeds into yours, the cool night air thick with the warmth of his breath mingling with yours.
For a moment, there’s nothing—just the two of you, suspended in the quiet, the distance between you and your family growing with each passing second.
It’s like a pulse, something deep within both of you that knows this is the moment, one that’s been silently building, lingering, biding its time.
You feel it in the way his eyes lock onto yours, how his body shifts ever so slightly—so close now you could reach up, could touch him, but you don’t move.
Then, as if it was always meant to happen, his hand slides from your back, cupping the side of your face gently. His thumb brushes across your cheek, soft and tender, a quiet, unspoken question hanging between you.
Before you can stop yourself, you lean in first. Your lips find his—soft, uncertain at first, like you’re both holding your breath. But the second they meet, it’s like something clicks into place. Like every unsaid thing between you is finally, finally speaking.
But then it deepens, the kiss turning more urgent, the gentle press of lips becoming something more, something full of warmth and heat. The taste of alcohol lingers, but underneath that is the familiar, the comforting—years of friendship tangled into something new, something wild. The world shifts, or maybe it’s just the two of you, with everything else fading away.
Azriel’s hands slip into your hair, finding the nape of your neck, the curve of your shoulder, pulling you closer. And the kiss is no longer just soft; it’s a quiet intensity, like something between you both has been building for far longer than either of you realized.
When you part, it’s only just enough to breathe, just enough to meet his gaze. Your lips feel swollen, your heart racing in your chest. But all you can think about is how desperately you want more. Not just his mouth, but all of him—his body, his touch. The press of him, hot and solid against you. The drag of his hand down your spine, the way his fingers splayed across your waist like he never wanted to let go. You want him closer. You want him everywhere. His hand between your legs. You want—
You blink, the haze slowly clearing.
As you lean past him, you finally take in the world around you again. The rest of the group is a fair distance ahead now, moving in a disjointed knot—Cassian with his arm slung lazily around Mor, Feyre pulling Rhys by the wrist as he slurs something half-laughing.
“Guys,” you call, breathless, voice a little hoarse, “we’re going to the… to the House of—” But you realize, mid-sentence, that no one is listening.
“Forget it,” Azriel mutters, and without warning, he grabs your hand.
He tugs you right, pulling you away from the main walkway and down a narrow side street, dimly lit by the soft glow of faelights overhead. You follow without hesitation, heart racing, your legs moving before your mind can fully catch up. The sounds of the city—music drifting from an open window, the distant clang of something dropped—feel muffled now, like they belong to someone else.
All you know is the heat of his hand in yours, the excitement blooming in your chest as a grin spreads across your face. And then, you’re running.
Laughing, breathless, borderline euphoric as your feet hit the cobblestone in time with his. His fingers are laced with yours, and he doesn’t let go—not once—not even when you nearly trip on a loose stone and bark out a curse through your grin. He just squeezes your hand tighter and keeps going.
The wind rushes past, sweeping your hair into your face, and still you run, streetlights flickering overhead like stars caught in motion. You glance at him once, just once, and gods, it knocks the breath clean out of you.
He looks good. Stupidly good. His wings are tucked in tight behind him, shadows trailing in his wake like they can't quite keep up. There’s a flush high on his cheeks from the alcohol or the running—or maybe the kiss—and his smile. His smile is rare and wild and real, splitting his face in a way that makes something in your chest twist. His eyes find yours, dark and bright all at once, and the way he looks at you feels like falling without ever hitting the ground.
You’ve known him for years. Fought beside him, argued with him, trusted him more than you’ve trusted most. You’ve always thought he was beautiful in that silent, devastating kind of way. The kind of beautiful that hurts if you look too long. But this is new. Or maybe not new at all—maybe it’s just undeniable now.
He slows only once the path narrows again, steps easing to a walk, his hand still firm in yours. You're panting, your heart racing in your chest like it’s trying to tell you something urgent, something important.
Azriel glances at you, still grinning. “Want a shortcut?”
You eye him, arching a brow. “A shortcut, or are you about to throw me over your shoulder?”
He shrugs, unbothered. “I could throw you over my shoulder.”
You snort. “You’re drunk.”
His smile deepens. “Tipsy.”
You tilt your head. “Drunk, and you think you’re in any shape to fly us home?”
He smirks, swaying slightly. “I could.”
You blink at him. “Could you even land us properly?”
He pauses—just for a beat—then looks at you with a glint in his eye that’s half mischief, half something far more dangerous. “I’m so fucking glad you didn’t know me growing up.”
Before you can ask what the hell that means, he sweeps forward. One arm wraps around your waist, the other slides behind your knees, and suddenly you’re airborne—held tight against his chest like it’s the easiest thing in the world. You gasp, grabbing onto his shoulders without a second thought.
“Azriel—”
But he’s already launching into the air, wings snapping wide, the wind catching beneath them as the city drops away below.
You press your face into the side of his neck, your laughter half-dazed, half-horrified. “You’re actually insane.”
He hums, voice a little smug. “Maybe. But you’re the one who kissed me.”
And gods help you, you’re already wondering when you can do it again.
Maybe he feels it—senses it—because before you can even finish the thought, he adjusts his grip just enough to shift you higher against him. Your arms loop instinctively around his neck, noses brushing, breath mingling. The wind whips past, cold and biting, but you don’t feel it.
You only feel him.
Then his mouth is on yours.
It’s nothing like that first kiss—nothing tentative or hesitant about it. It’s needy, open-mouthed, all tongue and teeth and breathless hunger.
You moan into him—can’t help it. The sound is swallowed by the sky, lost to the night. But he hears it. You know he does. His grip tightens like he needs you closer, like there’s not a single inch of air he’s willing to spare between you. His shadows are stirring again, curling around you like they want in on the taste.
Your fingers tangle in his hair as your teeth graze his bottom lip, and he growls—deep and low and barely restrained.
“Azriel—” you gasp against his mouth. He huffs a laugh, sharp and wicked.
“Careful,” he murmurs, lips trailing hot over your jaw. “I might miss the landing on purpose.”
You barely manage a breath. “We need to land,” you murmur, though it sounds more like a curse than a request. “Now.”
He lets out a sound that’s half-groan, half-laugh, and the next moment, he angles downward.
The house appears below in a blur, the lights from the windows streaking past as he descends fast and sharp. The landing is rougher than usual—feet hitting the balcony hard, wings flaring wide to catch the worst of it—but neither of you care. Not when his mouth crashes back onto yours the second you touch solid ground.
He walks you backward through the open doors, his hands already skimming beneath your dress—rough and hungry, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you first. The fabric slips higher with every step, until it's bunched around your waist and you’re moaning into his mouth, your fingers gripping the front of his shirt like you might tear it clean off.
Instead, you reach behind him, fumbling at the slats that hold it together around his wings. The second you get the first one undone, he groans into your mouth, kissing you harder. His hands slip down your back, eager and sure, grasping for the zipper of your dress.
You undo the next, and the next—moving fast, clumsy with urgency. By the time the last one comes loose, he’s all but panting against your jaw.
“Off,” you whisper, and he shrugs out of the shirt with a sound that’s damn near a growl.
He lifts you again like you weigh nothing, kissing you through the hall like he’s starving—stumbling a little, both of you half-drunk on each other and the leftover buzz of the night. His shirt falls somewhere by the wall, your heels were long since discarded on the veranda, and your dress slips off your shoulders as you reach the stairs, falling in a silky heap at your feet. You barely register the path, only the heat of his mouth on your throat, the scrape of his teeth at your collarbone, the low, broken noises he keeps making like he needs this—needs you.
The bedroom door slams shut behind you, and then you’re falling back onto the bed, and he’s following you down.
The mattress gives beneath your weight, cool sheets against your back—his body a furnace as it presses to yours, bracing on his forearms.
His lips find yours again, slower now, but no less desperate. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, the way you taste, the way you sigh into every kiss like it’s the only one you’ll ever need.
His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking gently over your cheekbone as he leans in deeper, tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that feels far too practiced for two people who’ve never done this before. But you have, haven’t you? In glances. In moments stolen in shadows. In the soft touches that used to mean nothing—until they meant everything.
You arch into him when his hand skims down your side, across your ribs, ghosting the curve of your waist like he’s still not sure you’re real. Like he can’t believe this is happening.
“Fuck,” he mutters into your mouth, breath catching. “You’re so—”
He doesn’t finish. Doesn’t need to.
You feel it in the way he lowers his head and wraps his lips around your nipple, warm and wet and slow. Your back arches off the bed, a gasp escaping you as he laps his tongue over the sensitive bud, sucking just hard enough to make your thighs clench around his hips.
You dig your fingers into his hair, letting your head fall back, eyes fluttering shut as his hands roam—one cupping your other breast, the other smoothing down the length of your thigh. He shifts, nudging your legs apart with his knee, sliding between them like he belongs there.
And gods, he does.
You open your eyes just enough to look at him—his dark hair falling into his face, his mouth wet and red from kissing you. He’s never looked more beautiful. Or more wrecked.
“Az,” you whisper, breathless, stroking your thumb across his cheekbone.
He lifts his head. Meets your gaze.
The look in his eyes nearly undoes you—like he’s never seen you before, not like this. Like something old has cracked open between you and there’s no going back.
“I’ve wanted this,” he says, voice low and raw. “Longer than I ever let myself admit.”
You don’t reply. Because his hands shake as they trail down your body, slipping under the waistband of your underwear. You barely have time to catch your breath before his fingers tug at the fabric, dragging it down your hips and past your thighs.
“Cauldron, you’re so beautiful,” he breathes, the words thick with desire, as he works your underwear off your legs. His eyes trace the path of his hands like he’s memorizing every inch of you. “It took everything in me not to stare when you came down those stairs,” he says, voice rough. “You looked like you’d strung up the fucking stars just to watch them burn.”
Your heart gives a traitorous flutter. He was looking. He did care. And knowing that makes something inside you ache.
You spread your legs for him, a silent invitation. His gaze flicks back up to yours, hungry and wide, a dark promise in his eyes. But it’s not just hunger in those eyes—there’s something deeper, more tender, that makes your heart stutter in your chest.
He shifts, dropping to his stomach, his wings spread out behind him like a dark, protective shield. You gasp as his lips brush the inside of your thigh, the heat of his breath against your skin making you shiver. He’s barely touched you, but your body is already aching, already craving more.
Azriel hums as he presses his mouth against the soft skin of your inner thigh, the sound a low vibration that runs straight through you. “You smell so fucking good,” he murmurs, his hands gripping your thighs as he settles between them.
He can’t wait any longer.
His lips finally brush your folds, and you can’t help the needy whimper that escapes you. His mouth is hot—so hot, and as soon as his tongue flicks against you, your back arches off the bed, hands flying to his hair. He groans, low and satisfied, and the sound makes your chest tighten with need.
Azriel loves this—loves the taste of you, the way you tremble under his touch. It’s like he’s starving, and your pussy is the only thing that will ever fill him. He’s quick to bury his face deeper, his tongue lapping at your clit with the precision of someone who’s done this a thousand times, each movement a studied perfection. You feel him groan into you, his entire body trembling, like he can’t get enough.
And then, he starts grinding.
You feel the slow, desperate rut of his hips against the mattress—like he needs the friction, like it hurts not to be inside you. His cock throbs against the fabric of his underwear, and still, he doesn’t stop. He moans into your cunt, a low, broken whine of a sound, his mouth locked to you like you’re the only thing tethering him to reality.
You reach for his hair, tugging him closer, hips moving of their own accord as you grind up into his face. He moans louder this time, his hands pressing down on your hips to hold you still just long enough for him to really feel you.
“Fuck,” he gasps, pulling away just long enough to breathe, “you’re so fucking sweet. Can’t get enough.”
“Then don’t stop,” you manage to say, your voice barely a whisper. “Please, Az—just—”
You don’t need to finish. He’s already back, his mouth pressing against you again like a man starved, devouring you with everything he’s got. Every flick of his tongue against your clit, every deep stroke, sends shockwaves of pleasure through you, building you up higher and higher until you can’t think of anything else but him—his tongue, his mouth, his need.
He’s lost in you, his hips still grinding desperately into the mattress as he eats you out like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have. You grip his hair tighter, pulling him even closer, rocking your hips against his face, each thrust of his tongue like a promise.
And when you finally let go—when you shatter, your body arching against his mouth and your vision going white—he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, keeps licking and sucking until you’re trembling, until you’ve been pushed past every point of endurance.
He pulls away slowly, his face glistening with you, and his dark eyes are glowing—feral, hungry. His lips curl into a satisfied grin, like he just won the most important battle of his life.
“Fucking perfect,” he mutters, voice thick, and then he crawls back up your body, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
You can feel his chest press against yours, his heartbeat racing as fast as yours. He pulls away, and for a moment, you just look at each other—eyes locked, the world outside forgotten.
He brushes his nose against yours, a soft, lingering touch, and then lowers his forehead to yours. “You okay?” His voice is rough, still full of desire, but there’s a softness to it now, a care that makes your chest tighten.
You nod, breathless, a shaky laugh escaping your lips. “More than okay.”
His lips curl into a smile, and he presses a soft kiss to your lips, the kind of kiss that feels like a promise. You reach for him, your hands shaking just a little as you trail your fingers over the muscles of his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat under your fingertips. His eyes close as your hands move lower, tracing the defined lines of his stomach. You want to memorize him—want to feel him, every part of him.
As your fingers brush against the waistband of his underwear, your breath catches in your throat. The tension in the air thickens, and for a moment, you hesitate, fingers trembling just above the fabric. His body is taut beneath your touch, but his eyes remain locked on yours—expectant, but still tender.
You pull them down slowly, the fabric sliding off his hips, revealing him fully for the first time. Your gaze flicks downward.
And gods, he's big.
You blink, your heart racing as you take in the sight. The soft glow of the room highlights the sharp, defined lines of his body, but it's him, his cock, that makes your breath hitch. Thick and hard, standing at attention, the tip flushed with need, and for a moment, all you can do is stare, wide-eyed and speechless.
Your stomach does this strange flip, a mix of awe and anticipation. You’ve seen his body before—shirtless, after sparring, sweaty from training—but this... this is something else.
It’s nothing like you imagined. It’s bigger than you thought, intimidating in a way that makes your cheeks flush.
The heat between your legs flares, but it's not just lust—it’s the overwhelming realization of how much he desires you. The connection. The intimacy. This is your best friend, exposed in a way you’ve never seen before. It’s more than you expected. Bigger, thicker than you thought—intimidating and... a little overwhelming.
A warmth starts to bloom in your chest, spreading down to the pit of your stomach. It’s not just lust, though there’s plenty of that. It’s a sort of quiet shock that makes your whole body feel electrified, like you’re standing on the edge of something you weren’t sure you’d ever have the courage to leap into.
You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest as you finally look up at him. He looks nervous—his gaze flicking down, then back up again, like he’s unsure how you’ll react. “I can handle it, Az.”
He doesn’t answer at first, just watches you with those dark, stormy eyes, searching for something in yours. His breath is shallow, his chest rising and falling beneath you.
“Are you sure?” His voice is thick, strained. The weight of his hesitation settles between you. You nod, pressing your hands to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.
“I’m sure,” you breathe out. “I want this. I want you. Please.”
A shudder runs through him at your words, but he doesn’t move to rush it. Instead, he leans down, placing a soft kiss to your lips, his hand gently cradling your face as he deepens the kiss, his tongue coaxing and tender. He pulls back, his eyes searching yours again.
“I’ll never rush you, okay? Anything—you let me know,” he says, his voice low and filled with such sincerity that it makes your chest tighten. He slowly begins to ease himself between your legs, the tip of his cock nudging against you.
It’s everything you imagined and more—every inch of him solid and warm, the weight of him just right as he finally pushes into you. The stretch is slow, controlled, and you wince slightly at the initial burn, but it fades quickly as he inches in deeper, his hands gentle on your hips. He pauses once he's fully seated inside, both of you panting, your body adjusting to the sensation.
Azriel’s breath is ragged as he pulls back slightly, then presses in again—slow, deliberate, giving you time to adjust. “Fuck, you feel so good, (y/n),” he groans, his voice thick with desire.
You feel him everywhere, his every movement slow and deliberate, the depth of his tenderness filling you in ways you never expected. But as the heat builds in your belly, a need rises in you too—a need for him to give in, to let go, to stop holding back.
“I need more, Az,” you whisper. “Please.”
His eyes lock onto yours, a mixture of conflict and desire flickering across his features. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, his voice rough, but you can see the way his hands grip the bed, his muscles straining as he tries to hold back.
You reach up, hands sliding to the back of his neck, pulling him closer to kiss him again, more urgently this time. “I said I’m sure,” you whisper against his lips, fingers brushing the edge of his wing.
And that’s all it takes. He straightens suddenly, hands sliding down to grip your waist as he begins to move, his thrusts steady and sure. He’s still gentle, his rhythm slow but building in intensity with every movement. His eyes never leave yours, and in them, you see the same fierce desire mirrored back at you, mixed with something deeper—something softer.
Each stroke is powerful as he drives into you with growing urgency. You moan, fingers digging into his biceps, your body arching to meet every snap of his hips.
“Azriel,” you gasp, your nails scraping down his back as the pleasure begins to build inside you.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a breathless growl as he thrusts harder, the force of him filling you completely. “Always got you.”
The heat builds fast, that deep, aching tension curling tighter with every thrust, stoking the fire within you. His hands find your hips, fingers curling hard into the flesh—gripping you like he’s claiming you, like he can’t bear to let go—as he pulls you onto him again and again. He angles his movements just right, drinking in every sound you make and relishing each one more than the last.
His movements are still slow, deliberate, but there's a hunger there now—something primal in the way he grips you, the way he pulls you closer, urging you to take more of him.
“Please,” you whisper, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, desperate for more, for him to push you over the edge.
Azriel responds with a low, hungry groan, his thrusts becoming a little quicker, a little harder. He can feel the way your body trembles beneath him, the way you react to him. He loves it, loves knowing that he’s the one who’s breaking through all the walls, all the restraint you both held before.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he growls, his voice rough with need, words spilling out in a rush as he braces himself over you. His forearms cage you in, hands on either side of your face, cradling your jaw, holding you there like you’re the only thing in the world worth seeing. He thrusts deeper, pushing you further into the mattress, and the room seems to spin. Your world narrows to just the two of you, your bodies moving in perfect sync.
Your breath hitches as you feel yourself tightening around him, your body winding up with a force that threatens to snap. You can’t stop the moan that escapes you, the pleasure building inside you, getting closer, almost overwhelming.
“Az, I’m—” you choke out, unable to finish the sentence as the pressure inside you becomes almost unbearable.
“Let go, baby,” he says, low and raspy, urging you on. “Let me feel you.”
You never thought you’d hear him like this, hoarse and hungry and just a little wrecked, and fuck, it’s the hottest thing you’ve heard in your life.
And then, it happens—the release hits you like a wave, washing over you, taking over every part of you. You cry out his name, your body trembling as your nails scrape down his back once more.
Azriel groans your name, the sound raw and desperate, and as your body contracts around him, his thrusts falter for a moment before he loses himself too, the intensity of the moment taking him to the edge.
He buries himself deep with a guttural moan—low and wrecked, like the sound’s been punched out of him—his breath hitching, hips stuttering as he spills into you, body trembling with the force of it. “Fuck,” he gasps. “Fuck, fuck—”
You’re both still breathing hard when he suddenly stills, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are wide.
“Shit,” he pants. “I didn’t even ask—are you on the tonic? I’m so sorry, I just—fuck I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t mean to—”
You laugh, breathless. “Az, I am. It’s okay. You’re okay.”
He exhales shakily. “Okay. Good. Fuck, good… Just—yeah. Okay.”
For a moment, all there is is the sound of your breathing, the feel of him against you, and the pulse of your hearts racing together. You both just stare at each other for a moment, trying to catch your breath, the weight of everything hanging between you in the most beautiful, unspoken way.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly, still hovering over you, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession.
You nod, your fingers gently tracing his jawline. “More than okay,” you whisper, your voice still breathless, a contented smile tugging at your lips.
Azriel presses a kiss to your forehead and slips out, easing onto the bed and tugging you with him until your head rests on his chest, your body draped over his. One arm wraps around your waist, and his wings wrap around you both like a blanket.
You lie there in silence, skin sticky with sweat, limbs tangled, breath slowly evening out. You’d deal with everything in the morning—whatever this was now, whatever it meant. You’d figure out what to say to Mor, to Cassian, to Feyre and Rhysand. But for now, you just press your face into Azriel’s chest and let yourself rest, wrapped in him, wrapped in this.
─────── · · STATUS: ON-GOING. VARIOUS ONE SHOTS! ♡
Pairing: Baby Daddy!Azriel x Fem! Illyrian! Reader
Summary: Watching your best friend mate with someone else was devastating enough. But when a night of seeking solace with an-equally bitter Azriel results in an unplanned pregnancy, you're forced to figure out how to co-parent with a male you barely know. Yet as your unlikely partnership unfolds, you begin to discover that sometimes the most beautiful things grow from the most unexpected circumstances.
Overview: SMUT/ EXPLICIT CONTENT, one night stand to co-parents to friends to lovers, pregnancy, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, mutual pining/unrequited love, slow burn, found family, healing trauma together, illyrian generational trauma, soft!Azriel, soft!Reader, bestie elain archeron, HEA! please check specific part warnings for more!
୨ৎ An Honest Mistake┃4.4k 18+
Lonely and bitter following Gwyn and Balthazar's mating ceremony, you and Azriel sleep together. As it turns out, one night is all it takes to change everything.
୨ৎ Sweet and Strange┃4.5k
Weeks after a one-night stand with Azriel left you pregnant, Elain Archeron becomes an unlikely friend. When Azriel discovers your secret, you both must confront an uncertain future.
୨ৎ Topics of Conversation┃6.6k
A dinner with the Inner Circle triggers unexpected resentment. Back at your apartment, you and Azriel have a heartfelt talk.
୨ৎ Something to Lose┃2.6k
Azriel struggles with the weight of impending fatherhood after a political meeting turns personal.
୨ৎ Brave New Beginnings┃8k
Azriel's reluctance to be honest about his protective surveillance clashes with your confusion over his mixed messages, finally forcing both of you toward genuine communication.
୨ৎ Out in the Open ┃4.6k
During a quiet morning with Azriel, the reality of your pregnancy meets the one person you've been avoiding.
୨ৎ Partners in Crime┃2.5k
Pregnancy hormones, unrequited feelings, and family dinners don't mix well. Luckily, Azriel understands the art of a strategic exit.
୨ৎ A Mother's Home┃4.1k FAV!
You take a trip to Rosehall to meet Azriel's mother. The visit unearths more than you expected.
୨ৎ Learning Curve┃3.8k
On his mother's porch, you and Azriel find yourselves talking about forgiveness
୨ৎ Soft Spots┃2.3k
Ice cream nights and sweet confessions.
୨ৎ Growing Pains┃7.9k
Azriel grapples with his possessive instincts when you find comfort with a new healer, forcing him to confront what friendship actually requires.
୨ৎ Measurements of Progress┃3.9k
A bad day prompts you to call Azriel over. The afternoon leads to conversations about your romantic histories.
Current Word Count: 55.2k
BONUS CONTENT
ONE SHOTS:
୨ৎ Sweet Treats┃1.7k HALLOWEEN AU
Six months pregnant, you and Azriel celebrate your first Halloween together.
CHAPTER MEMES:
The Plot of 'Growing Pains' Summarized Through Memes
Moments from 'Measurements of Progress' in Meme Format
ASKS, DISCUSSIONS, AND THOUGHTS:
#Honestverse tag or #baby daddy!az
RE: TAGLISTS: i no longer do taglists! please follow me on my library blog and turn on notifs to be alerted when a new fic is posted! ♡
While on a mission in the Illyrian Mountains, Azriel must face his worst fear to save you.
Kisses (The Building Bonds) (Fearful Hearts) (Golden) (New Beginnings) - 19k+ total words
A series of one-shots highlighting significant kisses throughout your relationship with Azriel.
In the Shadows 🔥💙 - 8.3k words
When Rhysand forces you and Azriel on a mission in Hewn City, you find yourselves in a pleasure hall with lowered inhibitions and rising tension. (Featuring a special guest)
Find Out 🔥💙 - 6.7k words
Azriel overhears you admit your feelings for him. When he decides to confront you, he finds you in a rather compromising position.
Control 💙 - 6k words
Azriel attacks you after being mind-controlled by an enemy with daemati powers and struggles to grapple with the guilt that follows.
synopsis: Your first solo mission goes terribly wrong after you failed to heed Azriel's warnings. That doesn't stop him from saving you, and it certainly doesn't stop him from caring for you in the aftermath. You're convinced you don't deserve him, but that doesn't stop you from wanting him.
my masterlist
~ ~ ~
“Tell me you aren’t actually going.”
You closed your eyes, taking in a breath before replying, “It’s not your decision, Azriel.”
He grabbed your wrist, yanking you to a halt. The faelights in the hall flickered around you, casting his face in shadow. His irritatingly beautiful face, that normally had warm hazel eyes and soft smiles directed at you. Now, his eyes were icy, and his face was pulled into a hard scowl, and you found yourself wanting to be anywhere but there. You pulled your wrist away, anger flaring in your chest. “I have to pack,” you huffed, turning back around to continue toward your room.
“You cannot be that stupid.”
The audacity of this male. A sarcastic laugh fell from your lips. “Well, you were the one who trained me.”
“Y/N,” Azriel growled.
You stared at him for a moment, taking in the twitching of his wings and his fists clenched tight at his sides. He was always so composed, so calm, that it was jarring to see him like this. He was brimming with tension and anger. Half of you wanted to comfort him, to calm him down, but the other half of you couldn’t fathom why he was the one who was angry right now. “I’m not letting you take this from me,” you told him quietly.
“You aren’t ready.”
“Like I wasn’t ready for reconnaissance in Autumn?” You threw back, your voice echoing down the hall. “Or in Spring? Or a trip to Hewn City?” Your own anger was quickly bubbling to the surface, blurring out your feelings for the male and solidifying your decision to go on this mission.
Azriel’s mouth fell shut, a flicker of surprise, and then guilt, crossing his face.
“Yeah,” you breathed out, “I know about those. I know you are the one that told Rhys I couldn’t handle it. But this time, Rhys came to me, and I said yes. You don’t get to decide this time.” It wasn’t entirely truthful, but you wanted your words to stick. You wanted him to feel guilty, to regret keeping you from the field.
You had been training for a year, and while you had started later than the others, you would like to think you had proved yourself. You had proved yourself. Azriel wouldn’t have agreed to train you as a spy if you hadn’t, but now he wanted to be difficult, to delay your transition into the field without any real explanation, and you were tired of it.
“It’s too dangerous,” he tried again, voice quieter but still hard with anger.
“Everything we do is dangerous,” you said, exasperation making your voice heavy. “It’s our job. It’s what I signed up for. You made sure I knew that on day one.”
“It’s an Illyrian rebel camp, and you are going in alone—”
“I’m not going inside the camp,” you cut him off. “I’m spying. The whole point is to stay undetected, like you trained me.”
“You are just a priestess.”
His words made your heart drop, a buried insecurity once again unearthed. “Right,” you whispered, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Because that’s all I’ll ever be to you, isn’t it? The broken and bloody priestess you carried out of Cesere.”
The regret was clear on his face as he said softly, “I didn’t mean that.”
An ache spread from your core to your bones as his words rang through your head. The two of you had grown undeniably close over the last year. You knew that your feelings were morphing into much more complicated ones for the shadowsinger, and you had convinced yourself that he might see you in the same way—or, at the very least, he respected you as a friend and as a spy.
Everytime he touched you, or even spoke to you, a swarm of butterflies erupted inside you. Now, those butterflies were dead, and lying heavy in your stomach.
Something akin to desperation pulled taught in your chest, making your breath falter, but you ignored the strange feeling and you swallowed your hurt. “You did,” you said quietly. It had been a long time since you worried that Azriel still saw you as the pitiful priestess in distress, but now those worries were back ten-fold, they were confirmed, and you felt sick.
“It doesn’t matter what you think,” you bit out. “I’m going on this mission.”
~ ~ ~
You lost track of how many drops of water had dripped against the stone beneath you. You were fighting to stay awake, but you couldn’t remember when you stopped counting. The steady dripping was like a sword against stone at this point, after spending endless hours tied up in this cave, with the drops and the skittering of rodents the only sounds to keep you company.
You tried to refocus on the dripping again, but the light echoing of every drop was like an anvil against your head. The rhythm of the drops seemed to be off too, as if they were competing with one another to fall. You dragged your gaze up to your wrist hung over your head, rough rope rubbing the skin raw, and a trail of blood trickling down your arm, onto your shoulder, and likely onto the stone below. The competing drops, most likely.
Azriel was right. You were just a priestess, who decided she wanted to play spy, and ran headfirst into danger to impress her High Lord. Rhys had tried to dissuade you from the mission, too, which you failed to share with Azriel. Rhys had asked you a research question, and when you probed him for more information, you pushed him to send you on this mission until he acquiesced. Convinced him that your knowledge of Illyrian culture and folklore (an embarrassing and inexplicable research obsession you garnered after Azriel rescued you) made you the best person to go on this mission, next to an actual Illyrian. You were tiny, and would be able to slip in and out of places with ease, and you would be able to recognize any abnormal practices in the camp. You would know where to hide, when to move, how to stay hidden and collect the intel Rhys needed.
You weren’t sure how they found you. You had barely stepped a foot inside their territory, only just finding your first scouting position, when a male plowed into you from your perch in a pine tree, knocking you flat on your back into the snow. Two more males had materialized from the shadows, and dragged you through the bitter cold snow until you reached this cave, deep in the Illyrian Steppes.
You were freezing by the time you reached the cave, and your body was shivering relentlessly from the damp and cold clothes plastered to your body. What you would do for those clothes now, as you hung from your arms, your chest and legs bare, save for the scrap of underwear they had left intact. You hoped you died before they removed it.
You were certain your leg was broken—shattered, most likely. You had lost feeling in it awhile ago, but you had no way of truly knowing how much time had passed. Your head was pounding, and it felt like sand was sloshing around inside it with every movement you made. Your body was painted with dried and fresh blood, thanks to the fresh cuts they added every so often.
This was the longest they had left you alone. Every second that passed by filled you with more trepidation. You kept waiting for them to cross another line, to finally finish you off, to realize you weren’t going to tell them anything and to just get rid of you.
Your body was so heavy. You had long ago given up on holding yourself up, to try to alleviate the pressure of the ropes on your wrists. Your ankles were bound too, and your toes barely grazed the stone beneath you as you slowly swayed back and forth.
You flinched as something brushed against your ankle, a chill instantly going up your spine. Mother only knew what was in these caves, what was waiting to feast on your carcass.
Your vision started to swim again, the rocks before you tilting as consciousness finally abandoned you.
~ ~ ~
You awoke in a panic, your body all too aware that someone was there, and they were touching you. Adrenaline took over your body as you thrashed and screamed, refusing to just lie there and make it easy for them.
Hands cupped your cheeks, and your eyes snapped shut as their fingers slipped through the mixture of tears and blood on your skin. “Sweetheart,” the male said, and the breath whooshed from your lungs. You knew that voice.
“Y/N, it’s me. It’s Azriel.”
“No,” you sobbed, refusing to give into whatever cruel hallucination your mind had cooked up. They must have drugged you while you were unconscious, pumped you full of Mother only knew what.
He brushed the hair from your face, and your mind was screaming at you to give in, to let yourself have this final moment of peace, with the male you loved and would never get to see again. Your fear was too powerful, though, your last shred of hope that you could survive this too potent.
Another set of hands were at your wrist, their touch like acid in your wounds. You screamed as they pulled at you, the rope rubbing against your raw wrists. You were so desperate, desperate to do anything to make them leave you alone. Your screams turned to sobs, and suddenly your body was falling forward, and your arm fell to your side. The male caught you before you could hit the ground, your body going limp against his. He smelled like cedar, and salt, and for a moment you found yourself relaxing in the comforting scent.
Your other arm soon fell to your side too, and your hands burned as the blood rushed back into your fingers. “Y/N,” he murmured, brushing your hair back gently. “Open your eyes. Please.”
A comforting warmth flooded your chest, and your eyes slowly fluttered open. A blurry Azriel was holding you up, his face mere inches from yours. A heavy fabric was draped over your shoulders, making you flinch away from whoever stood behind you, but that only pushed you further into the other male’s arms.
“It’s okay,” he cooed. “It's just Cassian. You’re freezing, love.”
You hadn’t noticed the shivers racking your body until then. Black wisps brushed your face and neck, and their familiar touch made you crumple.
“Azriel?” you sobbed, body limp in his arms as you looked up at him.
“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes. It’s me. You’re safe now, I promise.”
He pulled the cape Cassian had draped over you around your shoulders, effectively covering your bare body.
A million things were rushing through your head, a million things you wanted to tell him, but all that you could get out was a sobbed, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“This wasn’t your fault,” he said, voice firm.
“I should have listened—”
Azriel shushed you, his finger gently stroking your face. “Stop. This wasn’t your fault,” he repeated softly.
Panic seized you as you realized you were just sitting here, waiting for those males to come back. “Those males—”
“Rhys has them,” Cassian answered, his voice dangerously low. “We’ll take care of them.”
Azriel’s grip on you tightened. “Take her home,” he told Cassian, voice dipped in lethal rage. You immediately tensed. “Madja is waiting.”
“No,” Cassian said, and relief flooded you. As much you trusted Cassian, you couldn’t fathom another male touching you, carrying you all the way back to Velaris. Azriel was…He was the exception. His touch made you feel whole, and safe. He was your anchor. But the thought of anyone else made bile rise in your throat.
“Excuse me?” Azriel growled, his chest rumbling beneath where your head had lolled.
“No,” Cassian repeated. His voice was a little warped, and your head was growing heavy. “You take her home. Rhys and I will handle those males.”
“They deserve—“
“I know,” Cassian placated. “I know they do.” His voice was so far away now. Adrenaline had abandoned you, and you were in Azriel’s warm arms, and your exhaustion was slowly stealing you away.
“You need to take her home,” you thought he said, but it was so difficult to focus, to be certain that your reality was not meshing with your dreams. “Go home, and take care of your mate.” A dream, then.
~ ~ ~
You were certain your skin was melting from your bones when you awoke. Your scream that filled the room sent a chill through your core, a direct contrast with the scalding of your skin. You couldn’t understand where you were, who was touching you. Everything was mush, and pain, and terror. Your brain had tricked you, fooled you into a false sense of relief by showing you Azriel, and then yanked him away. You were still in that cave, still a captive to those sadistic males.
Except the hand on your forehead was far too small and delicate to belong to one of those brutes. Their skin was soft and cool against your own, and gently forced your head to lay back, cold porcelain meeting your neck. “You’re in Velaris. In the House of Wind,” a delicate voice murmured. Female. The voice was female. “You are safe,” she cooed, and your terror slowly abated, dulling into a sickening anxiety that left you trembling.
You slowly realized you were in a bath, the water a murky green color that continuously flooded the wounds littered across your body.o Every movement you made sent the water sloshing against your skin, and you forced yourself to stay still as you met the female’s eyes. Madja.
Your eyes stung as you stared at the familiar healer, whose ministrations and focus did not falter. “Madja?” you croaked, your throat raw and sore.
“Yes, dear,” she affirmed gently, lifting your arm from the water to probe at your inflamed and oozing wrist.
“Where is Azriel?” you practically whimpered.
“He’s just outside.”
“I need him.”
She glanced at you. “You are not dressed, love. He did not want—”
“Please,” you begged. “I need him. Please get Azriel.” Your volume rose steadily as you yelled desperately, another flare of pain searing through you, “I want Azriel!”
“I’m right here.”
Your eyes darted behind Madja, Azriel standing there in the doorway. His eyes were pained as he took you in, and your body went limp as soon as you saw him. A sob broke free from your mouth, your body shuddering uncontrollably.
He immediately rounded to the other side of the tub, crouching down next to you.
“Shadowsinger,” Madja warned.
“Can I touch her?” he asked, voice cracking. You whimpered through your sobs as she pressed a balm against the wounds circling your wrist.
“Just her face,” she relented.
Azriel’s hand immediately cupped your cheek, and you leaned heavily against him. “It hurts,” you whimpered, eyes falling shut.
“I know,” he murmured. “It will be better soon.”
You sniffed, hesitantly meeting his eyes again. His normally bright hazel eyes seemed muted, exhaustion and worry dulling them. “Is this real?” you whispered, voice so small and vulnerable. You wanted to curl up in a ball, and hide away forever. You wanted to erase these last few days from your memory, or however long you were strung up in that cave. You wanted to go back and listen to Azriel, to not let your pride and anger push you into something so rash.
“Yes,” he assured, his voice soft and gentle. He brushed some hair behind your ear, the strands damp and clinging to your face. He glanced at Madja, then picked up a cloth hanging over the side of the tub. He dunked it in the water then ringed it out, before gently bringing it up to your face. “This will sting a bit,” he warned softly, then dragged the cloth across your forehead.
It did sting, but the discomfort was drowned out by the excruciating burns that consumed the rest of your body fully submerged in the water. You sucked in a breath as he brushed over a tender part of your forehead, and he murmured soft apologies as he continued cleaning it. You could only imagine how you looked at that moment, how disheveled and broken you must have been. Just like that horrid night in Cesere.
“I’m sorry you had to save me again.”
Azriel froze, his eyes wide as they met yours. “Why–” he spluttered, then shook his head. “I will always come for you,” he promised, his voice a bit desperate. “Why would you think—”
“I should have listened to you,” you rasped, chest heavy with guilt and shame.
“Shadowsinger,” Madja cut in, preventing Azriel from answering you. “Keep her calm,” she scolded. “And hold her hand now. This is going to be painful.”
Your stomach lurched, and you looked at Azriel in panic. He dropped the cloth in the water, then gently picked up your hand, wrapping it in both of his. “It’s going to be fine,” he murmured, squeezing lightly. “I’m right here, okay?”
Madja coaxed you to sit forward, the water falling from around you as your shoulders broke through the surface. She held you up with one hand on your collarbone, and Azriel went rigid as he stared at your bare back.
“What is it?” you asked quietly, fear running through you. His eyes snapped toward yours, immediately softening.
“It’s nothing,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the top of your hand, careful to avoid your injured wrist. “Madja is going to take care of you. Don’t worry.”
Madja held a purple vial in her free hand, and she gave no warning before pouring its contents over your back. Your body fell into Azriel as you screamed, the liquid like lava as it seeped into your wounds. Madja dropped the vial, and she let Azriel hold you up as her hands fell over your back, the heat of her magic exacerbating the scalding across your skin.
You were sobbing into Azriel, and one of his hands moved to cradle your head against his chest. “Make it stop,” you begged.
“I can’t,” Azriel choked out. “She has to do this, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
“Just another minute,” Madja murmured, her voice apologetic.
You were shaking by the time she was finished, and you felt near delirious from the agony still flaring across your back, every throb agitating the wounds that must have gone farther than you realized. Azriel was pale as he watched you, his face stricken.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped, and you couldn’t understand why he was apologizing. You couldn’t think about much beyond the pain you were drowning in.
Madja gently coaxed your head from Azriel’s chest, pressing another vial to your lips. “This one won’t hurt,” she promised, slowly pouring the fruity liquid in your mouth. You swallowed hard, watching her in a haze.
You glanced at Azriel again, who looked a bit blurry, his face becoming distorted. “What—”
He shushed you gently, brushing your cheek. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “Just get some rest. I won’t leave you.”
You didn’t want to sleep. You didn’t want to leave him again, to be left vulnerable, but before your panic could sink its claws in too deep, darkness blanketed over you. It was soft, and cool, and comforting, and you thought maybe you could stay there, just for a little while.
~ ~ ~
“It’s my fault.”
“Az–”
“It is. You didn’t see her back, Rhys.”
A beat of silence, then, “Can I—”
“No,” Azriel growled. You felt guilty for listening to their conversation, but you couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes yet, lethargy still weighing them down. “There are two gashes down her back, right where wings would be. You know what that means. It was intentional. They knew she was important to me.”
“Or,” Cassian said gently, “They knew she belonged to Rhys’s circle.”
“They could smell me on her, Cassian! I should have known better—”
“Az,” Rhys cut him off quietly. You held your breath as the room went silent, your heart rate picking up.
The bed dipped at the edge, and the touch of familiar scarred knuckles lightly brushed across your cheek. “Hey,” Azriel murmured, his voice far more gentle than it was seconds ago. You guiltily fluttered your eyes open, the light of the room making you squint. “You’re awake?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you rasped, your voice a mere whisper.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, his hand settling on your hip that was covered by the duvet. A black duvet, that was definitely not your purple one. You slowly took in the room you were in, lavishly big with books and weapons adorning the walls. The bed you were in was far too large for your frame, but it smelled like cedar, and you knew exactly who this room belonged to, even if you had only ever caught glimpses of it before.
Your eyes fell back on Azriel, and he looked more than worse for wear. He looked like he was hanging on by a thread, his eyes limned with exhaustion and his face taught with anxiety. You slowly pulled a shaky hand out from the covers, reaching for his hand beside you. You weakly squeezed his hand, smiling faintly. “It hurts,” you admitted, voice still a weak rasp, “but it’s better.”
Azriel didn’t smile, but he squeezed your hand back, and it made your heart clench.
“Y/N,” Rhys said from the foot of your bed, startling you from your bubble with Azriel. Embarrassment and shame flooded you as you met the eyes of your High Lord, and your eyes quickly started to sting. An apology was about to spill from your mouth, but before you could, Rhys said, “I’m so sorry.” He sounded anguished, and guilty, and you couldn’t fathom why.
You shook your head lightly, a frown pulling at your lips. “Why?”
“I never should have sent you on that mission. It was too dangerous, with too many unknowns, clearly, and I’m sorry.”
“But, I’m the one—”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Azriel cut you off, voice hard. “They had an aerial patrol unit we didn’t know about. So while you were focused on avoiding anyone on the ground, they likely spotted you from above within minutes of stepping foot in their forest.”
Your face burned with even more shame. “I didn’t even think about—”
“Neither did we,” Cassian said, stepping up beside Rhys. “We should have, but we underestimated the camp’s efforts, their numbers.” He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “There’s a lot more of them than we anticipated, but they were anticipating us. They knew Rhys was suspicious of them. It wasn’t your fault, it was ours.”
You took in his words, struggling to accept them. You looked at Azriel, fighting back the tears still threatening to break free. “But you warned me, and I didn’t listen.”
“I was just being selfish,” he murmured softly. “I didn’t want you anywhere near Illyria, but had I known, had I received tangible intel that this was waiting for you, I would have warned you. I would have gone with you.”
He brushed away a tear that fell down your cheek, murmuring softly, “It wasn’t your fault, love.”
Then why did it feel like it was your fault? No one ever knew what you would find on a mission, what you would run into. It wasn’t anyone’s responsibility but your own to anticipate an attack, to map your enemies’ moves, and you failed.
The door creaked open, and Madja’s kind and gentle face appeared in the doorway. She smiled at you, granting you a reprieve you were quickly growing desperate for. “We should change your dressings,” she said, moving toward your bedside, completely unfazed by the three males hovering over you. You, however, only just realized that you were laying there bare, aside from the gauzy white fabric bound around your chest and torso. You wished this bed would just swallow you whole.
“We’ll give you some privacy,” Rhys said softly, then guided Cassian out the door.
Azriel lingered though, hesitating to leave your side. He glanced at Madja, and your face went hot as you thought about your bath earlier, about how you screamed and cried for him to help you. “I’ll be fine, Az,” you said quietly. His eyes darted back to yours, clearly not believing you.
“When was the last time you ate, Shadowsinger?” Madja hummed as she aligned vials and balms on your bedside.
Azriel didn’t say anything, and alarm flitted through you. “You haven’t eaten?” you asked him, shuffling a bit. “Azriel—”
“I’m fine,” he assured, glaring at Madja.
She scoffed. “You haven’t left her side since you brought her to me last night.”
“Az,” you chided softly, guilt flooding you. “Please, go eat something. I’ll be fine with Madja.”
His shadows pulsed haphazardly around him, his eyes clearly conflicted. Eventually he sighed, and stood up from your bed. “I’ll be nearby if you need anything,” he promised softly. Madja gently shooed him out of the room, and you felt empty and conflicted once he disappeared.
Your mind was swimming. You could barely piece together a general timeline of the last few days, let alone come to terms with whatever complicated feelings you had toward Azriel. It didn’t matter, though. None of it mattered. You were just a broken priestess that would never be worthy of an Illyrian warrior.
As if your heart wasn’t bruised and battered enough, Madja rubbed salt in your wounds by humming, “That boy loves you.”
Her words hurt. They were meant to comfort, to soothe, to tease—to distract you from whatever pain you were in as she slowly sat you up in bed—but instead, they only prodded at your already tender heart. She stuck another knife in your chest as she said, “I shooed him out because you seemed a bit suffocated, but you need to lean on him.”
“Respectfully,” you said quietly, voice lacking any true bite, “it’s not your place.”
She started to gently undo your bandages, the cool air on your raw and mangled skin making you hiss. She didn’t seem the least bit offended by your words, and simply hummed with a far too knowing voice, “Love heals.”
~ ~ ~
A few days passed, and you had effectively isolated yourself from everyone. At least, as much as you could. Your friends still brought you food, checking in every so often, and reluctantly leaving after you promised you were fine and you just wanted to rest. Azriel never returned, though. He was never one who brought you meals. You couldn’t deny the ache in your soul that throbbed everytime one of your other friends’ faces appeared in your doorway. If you weren’t surrounded by the scent of him from being bundled in his bed, the ache would likely be unbearable. You didn’t know where he was staying while you took over his room.
An oily anxiety was slowly accumulating in your stomach, trickling into your veins to spread throughout your body. Madja took you off the sleep tonics yesterday, and sleep had evaded you the entire night. Every time you closed your eyes, you were back in that cave. Every little sound made you flinch, made you grit your teeth and brace yourself for those males to return, to finish what they started.
“You look like shit,” Nesta drawled as she shut your bedroom door behind her, making you jump. You sat up slowly, resting your back on the mountain of pillows that had accumulated along the headboard. Rhys continued to ply you with gifts, flowers and blankets and pillows now littering Azriel’s room. You could probably move to your own room now, but you selfishly didn’t want to leave.
“Thanks,” you grumbled.
She sat your food tray on the bedside table, a bowl of steaming soup and buttered bread sitting neatly on the wood. She assessed you with cool and calculating eyes, her brow furrowed into a hard line. “Before you kick me out,” she began, “Madja said your bandages need changed, but she can’t come by tonight.” She started pulling gauzes and balms out of the drawer. “So you’re stuck with me.”
“No,” you said quickly. Nesta stilled, side-eyeing you. “That’s not—I can do it myself.”
You didn’t want her to see. You didn’t want anyone to see. It was bad enough Azriel had seen you thrashing and screaming in that bath, had seen the wounds across your back—you couldn’t handle anyone else seeing the remnants of your failure.
“Y/N—” she started to say, voice unusually gentle, and it made you recoil.
“I’m fine, Nesta,” you said. You were fairly certain you would never be returning to training with the Valkyries, that you would be resigning to your life as a researcher in the library, but showing her your wounds, your weakness—it felt like the final nail in your coffin. You weren’t ready for that.
Her eyes narrowed, and she shut the bedside drawer with more force than necessary. “Fine,” she said, voice clipped. “That’s utter bullshit, but fine. As you wish.” She turned her back to you, heading toward the door. “Tell the House if you change your mind.”
The harsh slam of the door made you jump. Guilt mixed with the anxiety in your veins, a muddy mixture that would likely cement inside your heart.
~ ~ ~
Searing pain jolted you from sleep, lava running down your back. A sudden hand on your shoulder made you scream, undiluted terror mixing with your pain, and defeat took over you as you were yanked back to that cave. You had never left. None of it was real. You were still there, they still had you tied up, and were—
“Y/N,” Azriel’s voice pulled you from your spiral, splashing ice cold water on your terror, blurring the memory you were trapped inside. “You’re safe,” he cooed. “You’re with me.”
Your eyes slowly focused on his figure, his wings flared out a bit and shadows pulsing with tension. His eyes were wild and frantic, and he slowly sank down on the bed beside you as he realized you finally recognized him.
Relief overwhelmed you, and you couldn’t control the sobs that broke free. Azriel shifted closer, his hands shakily cupping your face to wipe away your tears. “It’s okay,” he whispered. He brushed a hand over your hair as you cried, his shadows nuzzling against your neck.
The ache in your soul dulled under his touch, and more tears fell down your cheeks as you leaned into him, desperate to cling to the male you had been longing for the last few days. Despite the shame and mortification you felt every time you thought about him having to save you again, him having to hold you together while Madja treated you, you couldn’t stop wanting him. You couldn’t cut the tether you felt binding you to him.
“You’re bleeding,” he murmured gently, concern evident in his eyes.
“What?” you rasped. You sucked in sharp breath as another bout of pain washed over your back, and you remembered why you awoke in the first place.
Azriel’s hand shifted to your shoulder, gently pushing you to lay on your side. His breath faltered at whatever he saw, making your heart race. “Sweetheart,” he choked out. “Your bandages are falling down.”
You face heated in embarrassment, and you wished your stupid pride had just let Nesta help you earlier, and Azriel didn’t have to see you as a fucking mess again. “Why didn’t Nesta make them tighter?” he said, voice growing angry. “And there’s no balm—”
“I did them,” you cut him off, avoiding his gaze.
“What?” he asked, voice going soft.
“I told her I could do them,” you said. “How did you even know she—”
“Why wouldn’t you let her help you?” he asked.
You bit your lip, your eyes burning with fresh tears. “I didn’t want her to see,” you whispered.
Azriel paused. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said quietly.
Your hackles instantly raised, and you sat up to meet his gaze, the covers falling around your waist and your back barking in protest. “Really?” you asked, voice incredulous. “I was captured within an hour on my first field mission alone. Rhys didn’t even want to send me on that mission, but I convinced him. I should have known that they would have an aerial patrol—me. That was on me. I should have anticipated—”
“Stop,” he ground out. His eyes were pained and angry as he met your gaze, making you swallow whatever words you had left. “It was not your fault. Maybe there were things that could have been done better, maybe you did make some mistakes, but ultimately, I failed you by keeping you from the field, and by failing to realize—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. He muttered something under his breath, and then said, “No one blames you. Missions go wrong, and sometimes it will be your fault. It’s inevitable that you will make mistakes, but this one is not on you.”
You wished you could believe him. You wished that his words could erase your fears and insecurities, but you would be a fool to ignore the mound of evidence staring you in the face, that littered your skin.
Azriel sighed, as if he realized he wouldn’t be changing your mind tonight. “Let’s get you some clean sheets and clean clothes,” he said. “I’ll get Nesta or Feyre to help with your bandages.”
“No,” you rushed out, making Azriel freeze. “Please, don’t get them. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re not fine,” he argued. “Your wounds aren’t covered which is why you woke up in pain.”
That made you falter. “How did you know that?”
Azriel blinked, hesitation flickering in his eyes before they shuttered again. “My shadows.”
Your chest went tight. “They’ve been watching me?” you squeaked out.
Azriel looked slightly guilty when he answered, “I just left a few with you, in case you needed something. That’s all, I promise.”
Well, you certainly hoped they didn’t tell him about the tears you shed throughout the day, or the sleepless night you had beforehand, or the pitiful attempt you made at putting the damned bandages around your torso. “Okay,” you sighed.
“Come on,” he coaxed, helping you up from the bed by your arms. You were immensely grateful Madja had helped you bathe yesterday. He helped you into the bathroom, letting you sit gently on the stool beside the bath. He crouched down in front you, making himself eye level with you. “Your back needs to be cleaned and properly bandaged,” he said quietly.
Your lip trembled as you thought about anyone else touching you, seeing you so vulnerable. It made you nauseous. “Can’t you do it?” you asked, voice embarrassingly small.
His eyes widened a bit, and his hand fell to your knee. “Of course, I can,” he said softly. “But do you want me to?”
“Please,” you begged. “I can’t—I don’t want anyone else to—”
His thumb brushed your knee, making your words die off. “Okay,” he murmured. “That’s fine, love. I have no problem helping you.”
“Then why did you disappear?” you asked, immediately regretting the words.
His eyes snapped to yours. “I didn’t—” he fumbled, shaking his head softly. “I didn’t think you wanted to see anyone.”
“That didn’t stop everyone else,” you grumbled.
“You had to eat.”
“Then why didn’t you bring me meals?”
Azriel stared at you, his throat bobbing. “I didn’t know how to face you—but I’ve always been here. I haven’t left the House.”
“Face me?” you asked.
Azriel ran a hand through his hair, his wings rustling slightly as he stood up. He moved toward the sink, wetting a cloth before returning to you. “Those gashes on your back have meaning,” he said softly, eyes swimming with guilt. “They are exactly where wings would be, exactly the kind of wound that would be left behind if wings were removed. They obviously knew you were…” He hesitated, and you couldn’t fathom why. “You were important to an Illyrian.”
You didn’t know what to make of that. You didn’t understand why he felt he was personally responsible for those wounds, why he would be the reason for them. You also didn’t know how they would have known that, unless they guessed you were a part of Rhys’s court. You still found yourself saying, “I don’t blame you.”
He averted his eyes, squeezing the cloth tighter. “And I don’t blame you.”
You bit the inside of your cheek, realizing neither of you would believe the other. He moved behind you, then tugged at the hem of your camisole. “Can I take this off?” he asked gently.
Your heart started racing, and your mind was yanked back to that cave, where you were strung up with your chest bare to those wicked males, and—
“Hey,” Azriel murmured, his face in front of yours again. His hand cupped your cheek, his touch featherlight. Your hands were trembling in your lap, and embarrassment made your throat tight.
“I’m sorry,” you rasped.
“No,” Azriel said. “Do not apologize.”
You sniffed. “Just take it off and get this over with please.”
“Y/N,” he said softly. “That’s not how this works.”
“It’s nothing you haven’t already seen.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to let me see it again.”
A tear escaped from your eye, and you felt so defeated as you looked at him. “I don’t want anyone but you to touch me right now.”
Azriel’s face was a mixture of pain and reverence, and you didn’t know where to go from here. “You know I would never hurt you,” he finally said, voice quiet.
You nodded quickly. “Yes,” you whispered. “I do. I trust you, Azriel. That’s why I want your help. I just, I don’t know why—”
“Let’s try this,” he murmured. “You take off your shirt, and my shadows will cover you, and I can clean your back.”
Relief flooded you. “Okay,” you agreed.
“Yeah?” he hummed. He moved behind you again, and you worried your lip between your teeth. “I won’t look until you tell me to.”
You sucked in a breath, toying with the silk hem. You removed the fabric from your body with a little difficulty, your shoulders and back screaming at you as you stretched the raw wounds across your skin, but you managed to get the material over your head and toss it on the floor. As promised, his shadows clouded over your chest, effectively covering your skin. “You can look,” you mumbled.
You heard him shuffle behind you, and goosebumps skittered across your skin when he brushed your hair over your shoulder. “Ready?” he asked softly.
You nodded, and the warm cloth pressed to your skin. Azriel didn’t linger in any one area, cleaning your bloodied skin quickly and expertly. He then reached for a tin on the counter, and you heard him unscrew the lid. “This is the healing balm,” he told you quietly. His fingers gently lathered the balm along the edges of your wounds, his touch as light as possible to avoid inflicting any pain. His touch was soothing, and the balm quickly eased the pain radiating up and down your back. Your chest was flooded with the most comforting warmth, and you caught yourself leaning into him as the tension eased away.
He swapped the tin for the roll of gauze. He handed you the end of the roll, the cotton material soft between your fingers. “Hold this in place for me,” he murmured.
You did as he asked, pressing the gauze firmly against your chest. Azriel wound the gauze around your chest and torso with quick precision, never touching anywhere he shouldn’t. The material was snug against your skin, and you knew it wasn’t going anywhere. He smoothed the end of it out, securing it in place, before gently squeezing your hip. “Done,” he murmured.
“Thank you,” you whispered, heart near bursting.
He pulled a clean shirt over your head, it smelling like cedar and salt. It was clearly one of his, and you didn’t know when he had time to grab one for you, but you practically melted into the soft fabric.
His shadows dissipated, and he smiled at you softly as he rounded the stool. He offered you his hand to help you up, then shifted to brace your lower back as you walked back to your bed. The sheets were swapped for fresh and clean silk ones, and you were sure you had the House to thank for the courtesy. Azriel pulled the covers up and over your shoulders once you laid down, his hands lingering briefly over your shoulders before he pulled them back to his sides.
The moonlight filtered in through the drapes, streaks illuminating the bed and bits of his skin that weren’t covered by his sweats and tee, a reminder of how late it was. “I’m sorry for waking you,” you mumbled, sleep quickly creeping back in.
“Don’t be,” he hummed. “Get some sleep.”
He took a step back, a small smile briefly pulling at his lips before he turned around. Panic sunk claws into your chest, and you blurted out, “Azriel.”
He immediately froze, and turned back to look at you. “Please stay with me,” you begged, voice wobbling.
“Of course,” he agreed easily, moving toward the sofa under the window.
“Lay with me?” you blurted, face burning from your request but something inside of you just needed him close. You needed to feel him next to you. You couldn’t explain it, couldn’t comprehend why you so desperately wanted to cling to him, but you were too exhausted to fight it.
He looked almost boyish as he stared at you with wide eyes. “Are—are you sure?” he stumbled out.
“If—if you don’t mind.”
Azriel’s response was to quickly slip under the covers next to you, turning so that he faced you and his wings draped over the edge of the bed. His warm arm brushed against yours as he shifted around, and you realized this bed was barely big enough to share with an Illyrian warrior. He didn’t complain, though, and you selfishly didn’t want to risk him leaving you, so you kept your mouth shut.
You were facing each other, heads resting on separate pillows but only inches separated you. He was so warm, and he smelled so good. You had caught yourself indulging in his scent far too many times at training, your friends had even caught you once or twice, but this time it brought you a comfort you had never felt before. It made you feel safe. You felt like you were home when you were wrapped in his scent. It’s why you were still holed up in his room after days of him avoiding you.
“Can you tell me a secret?” you asked, voice low.
Azriel hummed softly. “A secret?”
You bit your lip, focusing on the collar of his shirt where his tattoos poked out. “Yeah,” you whispered. “You’ve seen me at my worst, twice. It’s mortifying, actually.” A sad huff of a laugh escaped you. “You’re too perfect in comparison.”
Azriel let out a surprised, self-deprecating laugh. “I’m not perfect. Not in the slightest.” He glanced at his hands, whether it was intentional or subconscious, you didn’t know. It killed you that he saw the evidence of him surviving the cruelty of others as his flaw.
“You don’t need to be self-conscious, though,” he continued, his breath lightly fanning your face as you shifted closer. “I know what I said the night you left, and I am so sorry.” His voice was low and thick as he continued, “I’ve never doubted you. I only said that, because I was desperate to keep you here. I’m sorry.”
Before you could reply, before you could question him or accept or reject his apology, he shifted back to your question. “I’ll tell you a secret, though,” he hummed. “I’m scared that one day, the mating bond will snap, and my mate won’t want me.”
It was like a red-hot knife was stuck in the center of your chest, hearing him talk about his future mate. You swallowed your jealousy, your pain and longing, and rasped, “I don’t think that’s possible.”
Azriel studied you for a moment, and you fought back the acid burning at your throat. You wished you could go back and never have asked him the stupid question. “What if I’ve kept it from them?” he asked, voice sounding fragile.
His question only twisted the knife. This was an entirely new form of agony. “You’ve met them?”
Azriel’s eyes were soft as he said, “Yes, love.”
Your stomach churned. You pushed yourself back, sitting up frantically. “I shouldn’t be making you share a bed with me then. Gods, Azriel—”
His fingers wrapped around your wrist, tugging you gently to lay back down. “Please,” he murmured, “Just listen.”
You closed your eyes a moment, swallowing the lump in your throat before returning your gaze to him, hoping he didn’t keep ripping at your bleeding heart. This was not how you saw the rest of this night going. “What if me keeping this bond from her, nearly got her killed?” he asked, voice weak. “What if the scent of her bond to me, painted a target on her back, that she was completely unaware of as she walked into enemy territory?”
Your breath caught in your throat as you pieced together the meaning of his words, as you pieced together fragments of your rescue and healing that you had dismissed as hallucinations. “No,” you gasped, shaking your head. “This isn’t funny. This is not funny, Azriel!”
You pulled your wrist from his grip, mind swimming and heart racing. His eyes flashed with hurt, and you realized you were reacting exactly how he feared. You were playing out his worst fear he had just confided in you with—but it’s not that you didn’t want him. You didn’t deserve him.
“It’s not possible,” you choked out, voice thick with your tears. “I cannot be your mate. This is a cruel trick. I am just a broken and battered priestess, and you—”
Realization dawned on Azriel’s face, and your words died in your throat as he pulled you to his chest. “You are so much more,” he murmured into your hair. “I have known for a while, been suspicious even longer—since we met really.” Someone had stolen the breath from your lungs. “And while I have doubted that I was worthy of you, I have never doubted you. I’ve spent this year of our training questioning the Mother, asking why she would stick you with me as your mate, but I’ve never considered myself anything less than blessed.”
You pulled back from him, and you took in this male who—who was apparently your mate. The male you had longed for and had stifled away your feelings for as some silly crush, when in reality, they were anything but. His hazel eyes were bright in the darkness of your room, shining with vulnerability and a hesitant hope. One of his hands still rested gently on your hip, and the touch felt like a stream of electricity connecting the two of you together.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
His eyes fell away from yours, a shaky breath leaving his lips. “I didn’t want to scare you. I didn’t—I wasn’t even certain until a few months ago. At that point, you trusted me. I couldn’t—” Azriel was stumbling over his words, and it made your heart clench when you noticed his cheeks were dusted with pink as he shifted into a beam of moonlight.
“I couldn’t take advantage of that trust. I didn’t want to ruin it, but I still did. I—I was too overprotective. I kept denying missions that Rhys offered, because I was scared, and he told me I couldn’t let the bond control me—control you—but I was terrified of something happening to you. It made me ill to think of someone hurting you, or worse, and then that’s exactly what happened anyway. If I had kept myself in check—”
“Azriel,” you interrupted him gently, and his mouth fell shut. “I understand.”
His thumb brushed your cheek gently, and your eyes fluttered shut. “This was probably the worst time to tell you,” he murmured guiltily.
You caught his wrist, fingers gently wrapping around the scarred skin. “It’s not,” you whispered. “It actually makes me feel a little less insane for how much I want to cling to you.”
He chuckled lightly, brushing some hair out of your face. “You have no idea. I’ve been sitting in the hall for days, just in case you needed me.”
You shuffled closer, your heart practically glowing. “Really?”
“Yes,” he murmured.
Your breath caught in your throat as your eyes fell to his lips, and you didn’t really think before you pressed your own against his. He kissed you back immediately, his soft lips melding gently with yours. You arched closer to him, desperate to be closer to him, but the movement pulled at your back, aggravating the healing muscles, and you sucked in a sharp breath that made you break away.
“Are you okay?” Azriel asked frantically.
You nodded, embarrassed. “I’m fine. I’m sorry.” You moved to keep kissing him, but he gently held you back.
“We can wait, love,” he said softly.
You sighed, leaning your forehead against his chest. “We probably should.”
He smoothed a hand over the back of your head. “Madja is already angry with me for leaving your bedside. I don’t need to make it worse by tearing open your wounds.”
You smiled softly, then said, “She told me love heals.” You looked up at him. “Did she know?”
“Probably,” he hummed. “I was a mess when I brought you to her. It wouldn’t have been hard to guess.”
Your smile widened, and you burrowed against his chest, your cheek pressed against the soft fabric covering his heart. “I think she was right,” you said into him. “Having you here—it’s the best I’ve felt since before everything happened.”
That familiar warmth bloomed in your chest, and you reached inside to sink your fingers in it, letting the love and adoration weave through your fingertips. Now that you finally could recognize it for what it was, now that you knew the source of that warmth, you sent your own love back down the glowing thread that reached from you to the male next to you.
Azriel sucked in a sharp breath, his body going rigid before relaxing again. “Was that you?” he asked breathlessly.
You nodded shyly, your face still buried against his chest. “You’ve been making me feel that for a while—I just didn’t know it was you.”
His arm squeezed you to him, his hold firm and comforting. “I love you,” he breathed.
You sank further into him, any lingering tension abandoning you as you fully relaxed into your mate’s arms. You closed your eyes, breathing him in, before whispering back, “I love you.”
Fae menstrual cycles are notoriously terrible to endure, but yours seem to be especially torturous. Mor normally helps you through your cycles, but when yours comes early and Mor is away, a certain Shadowsinger steps in to help.
never doubt
You thought the worst part of your week would be trekking through the grotesque bogs of the Dawn Court alongside a Shadowsinger that had royally pissed you off. If only. At least the worst situations can sometimes bring about the best revelations.
you're safe
After enduring weeks of torture in the Illyrian Steppes, you are left staring at the pieces of who you were before. You should be healing, but instead your anxiety and fear sink further in with every day that passes. You tell no one of your struggles, of your sleepless nights and lingering scars, until Azriel finds you alone in the library at an ungodly hour of night, and everything comes pouring out.
was it really a mistake?
Drinks at Cassian's birthday party land you in Azriel's arms, which then lands you in his bed. Your poor heart doesn't know what to think.
pure love
You were in love with Azriel. It was inevitable, really. Who could blame you for falling for the kind and gentle male? OR A series of moments that show your blooming love for Azriel, who was too busy cultivating his own love for you to notice.
thorns and toxins
Azriel knew something was off the moment you walked into the training room. You brushed him off, and ended up sending the poor male into a tailspin after you collapsed while sparring.
you make it better ~ part 2
Life as Nesta Archeron's friend had never been smooth-sailing, but you never would have thought it would land you in the fae lands, in a fae body, surrounded by unfamiliar...everything. You're struggling to adapt to your new life while dealing with the loss of your human one, but there is one fae male that makes it all just a little bit easier.
smothered flames ~ part 2
You were the Vanserras' best kept secret. That is, until you followed Eris to the Night Court, and you ended up finding more than you bargained for.
home
Leaving your family, leaving Azriel, for two whole months following Amarantha's reign of terror was harder than you anticipated. Azriel and you cling to each other upon your return.
lay your hand in mine
You never wanted to be a spy. You never wanted to work for the High Lord of Night. You never wanted to be trained by the male that faeries whispered horror stories about. Then again, those were just stories, and that very male might be your salvation.
thawed hearts
You had been a member of Rhys's court for decades, but no one knew where you really came from, or what your true heritage was. A trip to Illyria brings long-kept secrets to the light, and Azriel is there to help you in the aftermath.
love heals
Your first solo mission goes terribly wrong after you failed to heed Azriel's warnings. That doesn't stop him from saving you, and it certainly doesn't stop him from caring for you in the aftermath. You're convinced you don't deserve him, but that doesn't stop you from wanting him.
blush
You really like making Azriel blush.
lacy revelations
When Azriel visits your home for the first time, he stumbles across something you did not intend for him to find—though he certainly holds no complaints.
only love can hurt like this
You fell in love. That was a mistake.
because I care
Desperate to prove your worth to your overprotective friends, you turn to the one male who never seemed to care whether you soared or plummeted after your first mission goes terribly wrong. As it turns out, he cares very much.
find me in the afterglow
Cassian convinces Azriel to woo a Day Court princess.
downfall
You walked away after Azriel refused to accept your mating bond. When you finally return, you're left spinning after overhearing his cries to his brothers.
in my dreams
Azriel takes matters into his own hands when the leering males of Hewn City put you on edge. You never expected the night would lead to the two of you sharing a bed.
my infamy loves company ~ part 2
A creature like you was destined for solitude. A creature like you was destined to live out your long and wretched life alone. A creature like you could never have a mate.
Series
my heart has wings (complete)
You and Azriel long for the love your family members have found. That longing can easily turn into an isolating loneliness, so what if you rely on each other to numb that sickly feeling? What if your chance at love has been by your side for nearly a century?
bound by fear (complete)
You spent three decades suffering under the cruel thumb of your father. When you finally escaped, finally started to build your own life, the last thing you ever wanted was to find a mate.
Blurbs
put this on
It's miserably hot out, and you made the mistake of trying to train. Your attempt to cool off leads to a bit of an awkward encounter with your friends, and a very jealous mate.
Attention - Azriel hasn't been giving you the attention he used to.
Broken Home - Azriel is convinced you're pregnant with someone else's baby.
Consent -An important conversation about consent.
Crushed - Azriel ruins your exciting news.
I Didn't Know - Azriel didn't know why you stood him up.
My Everything - You want to be Azriel's everything, but does he?
Nothing More - Azriel made it clear what you are to him.
Overworked - Azriel's the only one to notice how you're wasting away.
Silence - Azriel hears your voice for the first time.
Wrongfully Imprisoned - You're arrested by mistake.
Fluff
Chocolate Chip Cookies - Your daughter wants to surprise Azriel with cookies.
Comfort - Azriel comforts you after you fall apart from a bad day.
Comforting Presence - Seeking Azriel's comfort after a nightmare.
Creeper - Azriel saves you from a creeper at Rita's.
Family Time - Spending the day with your family.
Hard Day - Azriel comforts you during a hard day with depression.
He Notices - Azriel notices the little things about you.
Headache Relief - Azriel takes care of you during a headache.
Let Me Take Care of You - You take care of Azriel after he's had a rough day.
Migraine Pain - Azriel helps with your migraine.
Moments - AU Gamer Azriel and small moments with him.
Nightmare Comfort - Azriel admires you as you comfort Nyx.
Quit - You come home drained as Azriel offers a solution.
Scars - Azriel's worries about his scarred hands and your baby.
Stormy Nights - Azriel comforts you during a storm.
Wishing On A Star - Wishing on a falling star with Azriel.
-AZRIEL “THE SHADOWSINGER” FIC RECS- | @outoftheseine
- AZRIEL “THE SHADOWSINGER” FIC RECS 2 - | @/outoftheseine
Azriel Fic Recs | @imxnotxhere
Masterlist | @/prythianpages
Dandelions | Masterlist | @/prythianpages
A series of imagines/drabbles inspired by Ruth B’s Dandelions, in which Azriel’s mate is a Green Witch
A Court of Shadows & Moonlight | @/prythianpages ݁
Daughter of the Night Court’s High Lord. Half Illyrian. Half High Fae. Rhysand’s little sister. A Dreamer. Only few know her as Valeria and only one knows her truth. She is the moon, a lonely girl cratered by imperfections, and he is her night, the one who helps her shine bright.
Azriel x Rhysand!Sister Reader
I’ve Been Waiting For You | @/prythianpages
Azriel finally meets the one he’s been longing for. His mate.
In My Eyes | @/prythianpages
Azriel has lost you once and when unseen circumstances bring you back to life, he will not lose you again. Even if it means going against his family.
Beautiful Stranger | @/prythianpages
Azriel gets injured while on a mission and meets someone he never thought he would. aka you finding an injured Az and the mating bond snapping.
Lightning in a Bottle - Masterlist | @cressidagrey
Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody’s first choice for once in her life.
Also known as: Azriel’s shadows decide that if he doesn’t treat his mate right… they’ll just do it for him.
Masterlist | @illyrianbitch
Body Count | @/illyrianbitch
Anxious about how your lack of experience compares to Azriel’s, you ask him about his body count. Unfortunately for him, he misunderstands the question gravely.
Winner | @/illyrianbitch
You and Azriel are both sore losers. But when you cheat in a game of cards, winning takes on a whole new meaning.
In Every Universe | @/illyrianbitch
Elain catches you asking Azriel if you’re destined to be together in every universe.
What We Make of What We’re Made | illyrianbitch
When Azriel overhears Feyre’s concern about your transition to fae life, he agrees to check on you.
Acheron!Reader x Azriel
Masterlist | @writingsbychlo
When you hold me | @/writingsbychlo
azriel doesn’t realise quite how touch-starved he is until he finally gets a little bit of affection, and he loves it.
By Moonlight | @/writingsbychlo
you come home after a long few days away.
under violet skies | @/writingsbychlo
the dusk court has been hidden for many millennia. with a new ruler who no longer wants to hide, threats break out. azriel was tasked with protecting the high lady, the queen, of dusk court, from an assassination attempt.
be yours | @/writingsbychlo
you ask azriel how it’s possible he’s still single.
Avoidance | @/writingsbychlo
things are getting real between you and azriel, and a slight panic ensues.
Focus | @/writingsbychlo
you’ve had a bad day, and you’re just trying to work out some of the stress before bed.
Gossip | @/writingsbychlo
feyre has her first visit to the night court and cassian just has to tell his best friends all of the gossip, even if it means interrupting their morning plans…
Cupcake | @/writingsbychlo
azriel loves starfall, but you? not so much.
𝑨𝒛𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒍 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | @bubbles-for-all-of-us
Pretty like the wind master list | bubbles-for-all-of-us
• Golden hour masterlist • | bubbles-for-all-of-us
But do you love me? | bubbles-for-all-of-us
In the middle of the night | bubbles-for-all-of-us
Hellfire | bubbles-for-all-of-us
Buried underneath | bubbles-for-all-of-us
Everything’s gonna be okay | @arizona2004
And so, the stars aligned. | @busybeewriting
After the Cauldron had transformed you and your sisters into High Fae, it takes some adjusting. But as life settles down, your left with searing normalcy and dealing with your sisters being grossly in love.
Azriel x Archeron!Sister.
And so the stars aligned. Pt 3 | @/busybeewriting
After a few weeks of Azriel teaching you to read, your sisters confront you about how much time you’re spending with him.
Archeron!Sister reader.
And so, the stars aligned pt. 4 | @/busybeewriting
After realizing you are his mate. Azriel races back downstairs to tell the rest of the Inner Circle. Spoiler alert- they already knew.
Azriel x Archeron!Sister reader
single mom reader | @pellucid-constellations
Set in Stone | @/pellucid-constellations
Only in Dreams | @/pellucid-constellations
If It All Fell | @/pellucid-constellations
Fable | @/pellucid-constellations
I Have A Feeling You Got Everything You Wanted | @/pellucid-constellations
Liminality | @/pellucid-constellations
Azriel x Rhysand’s Sister!Reader
I Love You More Than I Love You | @riddlesb1tch
a morning being Azriel’s mate
Call It What You Want. | @siriuslystyle1989
After a long mission away, the only thing Azriel wants is his mate.
dad Azriel | @bookishdreamer28
Starlight | @arrantsnowdrop
“(Y/N) is the youngest Archeron sister and Azriel knows that she’s his mate when he first meets her in the human lands (but obviously she doesn’t feel it bc she’s only human at that point) and then maybe continue to when she’s kidnapped/turned into fae in Hybern/she realizes he’s her mate as well??”
Winnow Away | @/arrantsnowdrop
Request: “(Y/N) is Rhys’ sister/Azriel’s mate and she barely survives the attack from Tamlin’s family and her wings have been taken from her and it’s just Azriel’s reaction to it and him helping her”
Tender Mornings | @mooncleaver
you know it’s a good day when the first sight you’re greeted with is azriel sprawled out so beautifully on your bed.
Different | @parkerslatte
Ever since Feyre arrived at Velaris, they have only ever known Azriel a stoic and mostly serious. But once his wife comes home, she sees a different side to him.
Right Where He Belongs | @/parkerslatte
Y/N and Azriel were in love, and they still were even when Azriel was bound to Velaris for fifty years. When he goes to visit Y/N after so many years, he runs into a male who looks an awful lot like him.
You Are Mine, I Am Yours | @/parkerslatte
Azriel comes back from a long mission and Y/N is waiting with open arms.
Drawn To You | @/parkerslatte
When Y/N met Azriel, she felt the mating bond snap into place. The only issue is that he seems happy with Elain so Y/N tries her best to stay out of his way no matter how much it hurts her.
Hands To Myself by @/parkerslatte
At a family dinner, Y/N and Azriel can’t seem to keep their hands to themselves.
Weak At The Knees | @/parkerslatte
You Are Not Alone | @fortheloveofallthingsgreen
Azriel x Rhys!sister reader
shadowed hearts | @illyrianhaze
How azriel’s shadows led him right to you.
Masterlist | @starsxblazing
Yours Truly | @/starsxblazing
Chaotic Love | @/starsxblazing
This Little Life | @redheadspark
You are settling into your new life as a new mother to Alec, and Azriel helps you along the way
Vow | @/redheadspark
Azriel does not take threats lightly, especially when it comes to his family.
Try It | @/redheadspark
It’s never wise to cross The Shadowsinger of Velaris, espcially when it comes to his mate
They’re Mates OC | @everythingacotarbxm1012
Feyre meets Rhys's Inner Circle and witnesses the strength of the mating bond.
The Shadowsinger and the Emissary | @/everythingacotarbxm1012
Rest Now, Darling | @blueariel3-blog
Mated | @writingcroissant
Azriel loves every part of having a mate.
Daughter of Autumn | @/writingcroissant
She is the only daughter of the Autumn Court and has been mistreated for most of her life. A love affair with the Night Court’s low-born spymaster has never been part of the life her father and brothers intended for her.
Claim | @/writingcroissant
She’s the least jealous faerie in Prythian, but there are things even she can’t ignore.
As a Trophy | @/writingcroissant
Azriel's mate reveals a heart-breaking part of her past.
Intruder | @/writingcroissant
As Y/N returns home from a long mission excited to reunite with Azriel, she is met with her own personal nightmare.
More Than You Know | @/writingcroissant
Azriel has some pre-ceremony jitters
Overnight Guest | @/writingcroissant
Cassian barges into Azriel's room.
Throwing Hands | @/writingcroissant
Azriel's mate must know how to fight. And who better to teach her than the Shadowsinger, the General, and the High Lord?
Wings of Desire | @shadowdaddies
meeting your mate’s family for the first time doesn’t go as you hoped
Wings of Desire | @/shadowdaddies
Evening Admissions | @/shadowdaddies
In Every Lifetime | @/shadowdaddies
Masterlist | @thisblogisaboutabook
Mad at Azriel headcanons | @/thisblogisaboutabook
Baby, Mine | @/thisblogisaboutabook
Rhys returns from under the mountain and Azriel’s life is changed forever as a bond snaps with the female his brother brings back with him. After an unexpected pregnancy is revealed, Azriel strives to show his mate just how much she and their child mean to him.
Baby Mine - Part 2 | @/thisblogisaboutabook
Arrows and Ashes | @assassinsblade
You and Cassian are ambushed when trying to meet with Eris in the Autumn Court. When an interrogation ensues that leaves you permanently scarred, how will Azriel react?
Arrows and Ashes | 2 | @/assassinsblade
Azriel must balance his need for vengeance and his need to take care of you.
Take my Hand | @fever-fluff
Azriel really wants to hold your hand, but he's afraid that he'll hold it too tight.
Cat’s Out of the Bag, Claws and All | @/fever-fluff
You’re sick of Cassian and Rhysand sticking their noses where it doesn’t belong. And Azriel’s tendency to let things slide when it comes to himself isn’t helping.
Cat’s Out of the Bag, Claws and All Pt II | @/fever-fluff
The fallout of Azriel finding out about the bond is bigger than anyone though it would be
Cold Hearts | @azrielsdove
Cold Hearts Pt. 2 | @?azrielsdove
Baby, My Baby | @/azrielsdove
The Other Woman: | @/azrielsdove
Little Thing | @utterlyotterlyx
Azriel loves finding any reason to hold you, his height restricted mate, in his arms, and isn't ashamed to admit it.
Written In The Stars | @/utterlyotterlyx
As Azriel prepares himself for your wedding day, he recounts the moments where all of his dreams came true.
You Are My Shelter | @/utterlyotterlyx
No one can comfort you like Azriel can, and after a mission goes wrong, you need him wrapped around you more than ever before.
In This Shirt | @/utterlyotterlyx
It had been a distant dream, to reunite with your mate, but you never believed you'd live long enough to experience it.
-AZRIEL “THE SHADOWSINGER” FIC RECS- | @outoftheseine
- AZRIEL “THE SHADOWSINGER” FIC RECS 2 - | @/outoftheseine
Azriel Fic Recs | @imxnotxhere
Masterlist | @/prythianpages
Dandelions | Masterlist | @/prythianpages
A series of imagines/drabbles inspired by Ruth B’s Dandelions, in which Azriel’s mate is a Green Witch
A Court of Shadows & Moonlight | @/prythianpages ݁
Daughter of the Night Court’s High Lord. Half Illyrian. Half High Fae. Rhysand’s little sister. A Dreamer. Only few know her as Valeria and only one knows her truth. She is the moon, a lonely girl cratered by imperfections, and he is her night, the one who helps her shine bright.
Azriel x Rhysand!Sister Reader
I’ve Been Waiting For You | @/prythianpages
Azriel finally meets the one he’s been longing for. His mate.
In My Eyes | @/prythianpages
Azriel has lost you once and when unseen circumstances bring you back to life, he will not lose you again. Even if it means going against his family.
Beautiful Stranger | @/prythianpages
Azriel gets injured while on a mission and meets someone he never thought he would. aka you finding an injured Az and the mating bond snapping.
Lightning in a Bottle - Masterlist | @cressidagrey
Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was actually pretty much useless. The only thing she wanted was to be somebody’s first choice for once in her life.
Also known as: Azriel’s shadows decide that if he doesn’t treat his mate right… they’ll just do it for him.
Masterlist | @illyrianbitch
Body Count | @/illyrianbitch
Anxious about how your lack of experience compares to Azriel’s, you ask him about his body count. Unfortunately for him, he misunderstands the question gravely.
Winner | @/illyrianbitch
You and Azriel are both sore losers. But when you cheat in a game of cards, winning takes on a whole new meaning.
In Every Universe | @/illyrianbitch
Elain catches you asking Azriel if you’re destined to be together in every universe.
What We Make of What We’re Made | illyrianbitch
When Azriel overhears Feyre’s concern about your transition to fae life, he agrees to check on you.
Acheron!Reader x Azriel
Masterlist | @writingsbychlo
When you hold me | @/writingsbychlo
azriel doesn’t realise quite how touch-starved he is until he finally gets a little bit of affection, and he loves it.
By Moonlight | @/writingsbychlo
you come home after a long few days away.
under violet skies | @/writingsbychlo
the dusk court has been hidden for many millennia. with a new ruler who no longer wants to hide, threats break out. azriel was tasked with protecting the high lady, the queen, of dusk court, from an assassination attempt.
be yours | @/writingsbychlo
you ask azriel how it’s possible he’s still single.
Avoidance | @/writingsbychlo
things are getting real between you and azriel, and a slight panic ensues.
Focus | @/writingsbychlo
you’ve had a bad day, and you’re just trying to work out some of the stress before bed.
Gossip | @/writingsbychlo
feyre has her first visit to the night court and cassian just has to tell his best friends all of the gossip, even if it means interrupting their morning plans…
Cupcake | @/writingsbychlo
azriel loves starfall, but you? not so much.
𝑨𝒛𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒍 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | @bubbles-for-all-of-us
Pretty like the wind master list | bubbles-for-all-of-us
• Golden hour masterlist • | bubbles-for-all-of-us
But do you love me? | bubbles-for-all-of-us
In the middle of the night | bubbles-for-all-of-us
Hellfire | bubbles-for-all-of-us
Buried underneath | bubbles-for-all-of-us
Everything’s gonna be okay | @arizona2004
And so, the stars aligned. | @busybeewriting
After the Cauldron had transformed you and your sisters into High Fae, it takes some adjusting. But as life settles down, your left with searing normalcy and dealing with your sisters being grossly in love.
Azriel x Archeron!Sister.
And so the stars aligned. Pt 3 | @/busybeewriting
After a few weeks of Azriel teaching you to read, your sisters confront you about how much time you’re spending with him.
Archeron!Sister reader.
And so, the stars aligned pt. 4 | @/busybeewriting
After realizing you are his mate. Azriel races back downstairs to tell the rest of the Inner Circle. Spoiler alert- they already knew.
Azriel x Archeron!Sister reader
single mom reader | @pellucid-constellations
Set in Stone | @/pellucid-constellations
Only in Dreams | @/pellucid-constellations
If It All Fell | @/pellucid-constellations
Fable | @/pellucid-constellations
I Have A Feeling You Got Everything You Wanted | @/pellucid-constellations
Liminality | @/pellucid-constellations
Azriel x Rhysand’s Sister!Reader
I Love You More Than I Love You | @riddlesb1tch
a morning being Azriel’s mate
Call It What You Want. | @siriuslystyle1989
After a long mission away, the only thing Azriel wants is his mate.
dad Azriel | @bookishdreamer28
Starlight | @arrantsnowdrop
“(Y/N) is the youngest Archeron sister and Azriel knows that she’s his mate when he first meets her in the human lands (but obviously she doesn’t feel it bc she’s only human at that point) and then maybe continue to when she’s kidnapped/turned into fae in Hybern/she realizes he’s her mate as well??”
Winnow Away | @/arrantsnowdrop
Request: “(Y/N) is Rhys’ sister/Azriel’s mate and she barely survives the attack from Tamlin’s family and her wings have been taken from her and it’s just Azriel’s reaction to it and him helping her”
Tender Mornings | @mooncleaver
you know it’s a good day when the first sight you’re greeted with is azriel sprawled out so beautifully on your bed.
Different | @parkerslatte
Ever since Feyre arrived at Velaris, they have only ever known Azriel a stoic and mostly serious. But once his wife comes home, she sees a different side to him.
Right Where He Belongs | @/parkerslatte
Y/N and Azriel were in love, and they still were even when Azriel was bound to Velaris for fifty years. When he goes to visit Y/N after so many years, he runs into a male who looks an awful lot like him.
You Are Mine, I Am Yours | @/parkerslatte
Azriel comes back from a long mission and Y/N is waiting with open arms.
Drawn To You | @/parkerslatte
When Y/N met Azriel, she felt the mating bond snap into place. The only issue is that he seems happy with Elain so Y/N tries her best to stay out of his way no matter how much it hurts her.
Hands To Myself by @/parkerslatte
At a family dinner, Y/N and Azriel can’t seem to keep their hands to themselves.
Weak At The Knees | @/parkerslatte
You Are Not Alone | @fortheloveofallthingsgreen
Azriel x Rhys!sister reader
shadowed hearts | @illyrianhaze
How azriel’s shadows led him right to you.
Masterlist | @starsxblazing
Yours Truly | @/starsxblazing
Chaotic Love | @/starsxblazing
This Little Life | @redheadspark
You are settling into your new life as a new mother to Alec, and Azriel helps you along the way
Vow | @/redheadspark
Azriel does not take threats lightly, especially when it comes to his family.
Try It | @/redheadspark
It’s never wise to cross The Shadowsinger of Velaris, espcially when it comes to his mate
They’re Mates OC | @everythingacotarbxm1012
Feyre meets Rhys's Inner Circle and witnesses the strength of the mating bond.
The Shadowsinger and the Emissary | @/everythingacotarbxm1012
Rest Now, Darling | @blueariel3-blog
Mated | @writingcroissant
Azriel loves every part of having a mate.
Daughter of Autumn | @/writingcroissant
She is the only daughter of the Autumn Court and has been mistreated for most of her life. A love affair with the Night Court’s low-born spymaster has never been part of the life her father and brothers intended for her.
Claim | @/writingcroissant
She’s the least jealous faerie in Prythian, but there are things even she can’t ignore.
As a Trophy | @/writingcroissant
Azriel's mate reveals a heart-breaking part of her past.
Intruder | @/writingcroissant
As Y/N returns home from a long mission excited to reunite with Azriel, she is met with her own personal nightmare.
More Than You Know | @/writingcroissant
Azriel has some pre-ceremony jitters
Overnight Guest | @/writingcroissant
Cassian barges into Azriel's room.
Throwing Hands | @/writingcroissant
Azriel's mate must know how to fight. And who better to teach her than the Shadowsinger, the General, and the High Lord?
Wings of Desire | @shadowdaddies
meeting your mate’s family for the first time doesn’t go as you hoped
Wings of Desire | @/shadowdaddies
Evening Admissions | @/shadowdaddies
In Every Lifetime | @/shadowdaddies
Masterlist | @thisblogisaboutabook
Mad at Azriel headcanons | @/thisblogisaboutabook
Baby, Mine | @/thisblogisaboutabook
Rhys returns from under the mountain and Azriel’s life is changed forever as a bond snaps with the female his brother brings back with him. After an unexpected pregnancy is revealed, Azriel strives to show his mate just how much she and their child mean to him.
Baby Mine - Part 2 | @/thisblogisaboutabook
Arrows and Ashes | @assassinsblade
You and Cassian are ambushed when trying to meet with Eris in the Autumn Court. When an interrogation ensues that leaves you permanently scarred, how will Azriel react?
Arrows and Ashes | 2 | @/assassinsblade
Azriel must balance his need for vengeance and his need to take care of you.
Take my Hand | @fever-fluff
Azriel really wants to hold your hand, but he's afraid that he'll hold it too tight.
Cat’s Out of the Bag, Claws and All | @/fever-fluff
You’re sick of Cassian and Rhysand sticking their noses where it doesn’t belong. And Azriel’s tendency to let things slide when it comes to himself isn’t helping.
Cat’s Out of the Bag, Claws and All Pt II | @/fever-fluff
The fallout of Azriel finding out about the bond is bigger than anyone though it would be
Cold Hearts | @azrielsdove
Cold Hearts Pt. 2 | @?azrielsdove
Baby, My Baby | @/azrielsdove
The Other Woman: | @/azrielsdove
Little Thing | @utterlyotterlyx
Azriel loves finding any reason to hold you, his height restricted mate, in his arms, and isn't ashamed to admit it.
Written In The Stars | @/utterlyotterlyx
As Azriel prepares himself for your wedding day, he recounts the moments where all of his dreams came true.
You Are My Shelter | @/utterlyotterlyx
No one can comfort you like Azriel can, and after a mission goes wrong, you need him wrapped around you more than ever before.
In This Shirt | @/utterlyotterlyx
It had been a distant dream, to reunite with your mate, but you never believed you'd live long enough to experience it.
✧ Avoidance
✧ Be Yours
✧ Gossip
✧ Head in The Stars
FICS
✧ Lazy Sundays
✧ False Confessions
✧ When You Hold Me
✦ How We Survive
✧ By Moonlight
✦ Under Violet Skies
✦ Focus | Unwind
✧ Midnight
✧ Cupcake
✧ What Happens In Velaris
SERIES
✤ Under The Mistletoe
✤ Make You Stronger
✤ Love and Other Weapons (coming soon!!) - Modern!AU
✤ Sweet Like Sugar
Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of pregnancy & potential miscarriage
A quiet, intimate journey unfolds as the Reader and Azriel navigate unexpected news, fear, and hope. Through tender moments and whispered dreams, they learn to balance the fragility of new life with the joy of shared love.
✩✩✩✩✩
I lay curled on the plush black couch in front of our living room fireplace, a thick woolen blanket wrapped snug around my frame and tucked under my chin. The flames crackled low and steady, painting the walls in amber light. Beyond the tall windows, the city of Velaris glittered faintly, its twinkling lights like scattered stars. A cup of chamomile tea sat half-drunk on the carved mahogany side table, likely gone cold hours ago.
I’d been in this position since dusk. My stomach had roiled painfully all day, and it had been an effort to keep down even a small piece of bread this morning. Today had been my day off – a day I usually reserved for household chores or a stroll into the city with Feyre or Mor. But I’d barely made it through tending to the vegetable garden out back before a wave of faintness had driven me inside.
I’d tried reading for a while, my book resting against my knees, but the words had swum together in a hazy blur. Eventually, I’d given up and simply lay still, eyes closed, focusing on slow, deep breaths to keep the small amount of tea I’d managed to sip from coming back up.
The soft click of the front door opening and closing reached my ears, followed by the faintest rustle of fabric. The familiar scent of my mate—cedarwood and night-chilled wind—drifted toward me, curling warm and grounding in my chest. My body seemed to recognize it before my mind did, loosening some invisible knot inside me. His steps were nearly soundless, shadows unfurling into the living room ahead of him like they’d come to investigate me first.
They whispered over my shoulders and hair before retreating, just as his footsteps paused. I cracked my eyes open. Azriel stood in the doorway, eyes faintly wide and nostrils flaring once – a subtle tell I’d learned to catch over the years. But in the space of a blink, the look was gone, replaced by the calm, stoic composure he wore so easily.
He crossed the room without a word. The couch dipped as he sat, and then his arms were gathering me up, blanket and all, pulling me gently into his lap. I melted against him, letting the familiar solidity of him surround me. His shadows curled close around our waists, drifting higher to comb through my hair with the same careful tenderness as his fingers.
“Hello, my heart,” he murmured, voice soft and low as the embers. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“I wasn’t feeling well,” I mumbled into the leather of his chest, breathing in the crisp night air clinging to him.
“No?” His hand brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, fingertips grazing my cheek. “How so?”
“My stomach,” I admitted, my voice muffled. “It’s been off all day. I’ve hardly been able to keep anything down. I think it might have been that dinner I had with Mor last night.”
He hummed – low and thoughtful – though the shadows at his back shifted with subtle unease. “And you’ve been here all day?”
“Mhm.” I shifted slightly to look up at him. “Sorry I wasn’t much of a welcome home.”
His brow softened, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “There’s nothing to apologize for.” He adjusted the blanket around me, tucking it beneath my chin as if sealing me inside it.
We stayed like that for a long while, the fire crackling and the shadows weaving lazy circles above us. His thumb brushed slow, absent-minded strokes over my arm, the motion soothing enough to make my eyelids grow heavy. Eventually, he coaxed me to lie down with him on the couch, my head pillowed over his heartbeat.
The last thing I remember before drifting off was the deep rumble of his voice, quiet in the dark, promising, “Rest, my heart. I’ll keep watch.”
✩✩✩✩✩
I woke up in bed the next day, still wrapped in Azriel’s arms. Hands trailed soft, absent lines up and down the plane of my back, the warmth of his palm seeping through the thin fabric of my sleep shirt. Shadows whispered lazily across the sheets, twining near my hip as if checking to make sure I was still there.
“Morning,” I murmured, my voice still hoarse with sleep.
He dipped his head to press a kiss into my hair. “Morning, my heart.”
It wasn’t unusual for him to be up before me, but the way he lay there now — quiet, unhurried — felt deliberate. His gaze swept over me when I shifted, not in the indulgent way of a lover admiring their mate, but in that focused, assessing way I’d seen him study a target.
When I moved to sit up, his arm tightened briefly, as though to steady me. “Easy.”
“I’m fine,” I said, but my stomach gave a slow, uncomfortable twist that made me swallow hard.
Azriel slid out of bed with me and was already pulling on a shirt by the time I padded toward the kitchen. I expected him to go about his usual morning routine — a quick stretch of his wings at the open balcony doors, brewing his first cup of bitter black coffee while scanning the morning reports, and then vanishing into the training ring before the sun had fully risen.
But instead, he was suddenly behind the counter, sleeves pushed to his elbows, setting a pan on the stove.
“You sit,” he ordered softly. “I’ll make breakfast.”
I blinked at him, settling into an island chair more out of surprise than obedience. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
He moved with his usual precision, but I noticed his eyes flick to me every few seconds. I tried not to squirm under the attention. When he slid a plate of softly scrambled eggs in front of me, I lifted the fork, determined to eat if only to ease that crease in his brow.
But the scent hit me first — buttery, rich — and my stomach churned in warning. I took two bites before setting the fork down.
“Not hungry?” he asked, though it sounded more like a quiet test.
“Just… still a little off.” I pushed the plate toward him.
His shadows brushed over my wrist and down my arm, cool and feather-light, like they were taking my pulse. They lingered there a moment before slipping back toward him.
The nausea returned again later, this time stronger. I couldn’t even walk past the kitchen without the scent of steeping tea making my throat tighten. By midday, the sharp tang of ink from Azriel’s reports in the study made me grimace, and I thought I saw him pause in the middle of writing, watching me from the corner of his eye.
By evening, I’d taken to curling up in one of the armchairs in the sitting room, a blanket over my lap. My hand drifted absently to my stomach as I leaned back, trying to find a position that didn’t make me feel so strange. When I glanced up, Az was leaning against the doorway, gaze fixed on me with a weight I couldn’t quite read.
That night, I woke in the dark, queasy and lightheaded. The room tilted as I sat up, and I groped the sheets to steady myself. Azriel stirred instantly, a hand bracing my back, his other catching my wrist before I could push to my feet.
“This isn’t just a stomach bug,” he said quietly, voice steady but probing.
In the end, I managed to convince him to go back to sleep with me rather than drag me to Madja’s in the middle of the night.
“She needs her rest, too,” I murmured, curling my fingers around his wrist and giving a gentle tug toward the bed. “And so do you.”
He didn’t look entirely convinced, shadows still shifting in restless patterns at his back, but he allowed me to guide him. The moment we slid beneath the blankets, he pulled me against his chest, one arm wrapped firmly around my waist as if I might slip away in the dark.
His breath was warm at my temple when he finally murmured, “You’ll tell me if it gets worse?”
“I promise,” I whispered, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull me.
The shadows eased gradually, settling like a second blanket over us, and his grip stayed constant until sleep claimed us both.
✩✩✩✩✩
I woke up before Azriel the following morning, a sense of restlessness chasing me up. My stomach was still unsettled, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been the past couple of days. Taking that as a sign that maybe things were getting better, I slipped out of the bed and padded my way into the kitchen.
I got to work on Azriel’s morning coffee and my first cup of tea, setting a kettle of hot water on the stove and measuring the coffee grinds into the filter. It was a matter of minutes before I heard the soft rustling of my mate entering the room.
“Morning,” I called over my shoulder, smiling faintly.
But instead of answering right away, I felt his presence at my back – the quiet heat of him, the scent of cedar and cold wind curling into the space between us. His shadows ghosted over my hips, brushing lightly as if testing my balance.
“You should have woken me,” he said, voice low.
“I’m fine.” I waved a hand, reaching for the tin of tea leaves on the counter. “It’s not nearly as bad as–”
The words broke off as the room tilted sharply. My vision narrowed, sounds muffling around me. The tin slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor.
Strong arms caught me before I could hit the tiles, his shadows snapping tight around us like a net.
“Easy, I’ve got you,” Azriel murmured, but there was no mistaking the hard edge beneath the words.
He didn’t set me down right away – instead, he gathered me against his chest and carried me out of the kitchen, his long strides eating up the distance to the living room. The steady thud of his heart under my ear was the only thing keeping the dizziness from pulling me under completely.
Only when we reached the couch did he lower himself, easing me down onto the cushions as if I were made of spun glass. He stayed in front of me, crouched low, his hands braced on either side of my thighs.
“Your scent…” His gaze locked on mine, unflinching, intense. “It’s different. I know what it means. Tell me I’m not wrong.”
My throat went dry. “I—I haven’t confirmed it yet. I thought maybe it was something else. Just the stomach bug going around—”
He shook his head once, sharply. “It’s not that.”
Before I could protest, he was scooping me back into his arms. Shadows coiled around my shoulders, a protective shroud. “We’re going to Madja.”
I didn’t bother arguing this time.
The wind bit at my cheeks as he took off from the balcony, wings snapping wide against the morning chill. His hold was firm, his body angled to shield me from the cold. The shadows pressed close to block the wind, whispering against my skin in a way that made me feel both swaddled and scrutinized.
We landed at the healer’s cottage, the door swinging open before Azriel could even knock. Madja’s sharp eyes flicked from him to me, reading the situation instantly.
A short while later, her verdict came. “Congratulations,” she said softly. “You’re pregnant.” Her tone gentled, but the words that followed stole the warmth from my chest. “There may be… complications. You know just how much Illyrian anatomy and magic can make the process more taxing. We’ll have to keep a close watch.”
The words sank in slowly, as if my mind needed time to understand them. Pregnant. The healer’s voice was still speaking, something else about complications, Illyrian anatomy, and past injuries, but the syllables blurred into a muffled hum. My fingers curled against the edge of the cot, trying to ground myself, to keep the room from tilting.
A dozen memories crashed through me – Feyre pale and trembling, Rhys’ haunted stare, the way the Inner Circle had held their breath for months. That same quiet terror coiled low in my stomach, tangled with something else I couldn’t name – awe, disbelief, the faintest spark of joy.
Only then did I turn to Azriel. For a heartbeat, joy flickered in his eyes — raw and bright, stealing my breath.
Then it was gone, swallowed by something far heavier. His shadows pulled in tight, shivering with tension. His jaw flexed once before he murmured, “We’ll do whatever it takes.”
He didn’t look at me again right away — his attention snapped to Madja, voice low but sharp as a blade. “What kind of complications? What risks to her heart? Her magic? Could her body reject the pregnancy because of the Illyrian traits? What signs do I watch for if something goes wrong? What do we need to change now?”
Each question landed like a strike, rapid and unyielding, his shadows curling tighter with every answer she began to give.
Madja didn’t flinch at the onslaught. She simply folded her hands in front of her and met his stare head-on, answering each in turn.
“The complications could range from mild strain to severe — your mate’s heart will be under more pressure as the child grows, so I’ll monitor it closely.” Her gaze flicked to me, then back to him. “Her magic will not harm the babe, but overexertion could harm her. She’ll need to pace herself, rest more than she’s accustomed to.”
She moved closer, adjusting the blanket over my lap as she continued. “Illyrian anatomy differences are a factor — wings, bone structure, and the shape of the pelvis. Because she is not Illyrian herself, her body may struggle more as the pregnancy progresses. This is similar to what Feyre experienced. It’s too early to tell if the child will have wings, and that uncertainty can add additional strain.”
“The greater concern,” Madja added gently, “is her history of injuries. Scar tissue can sometimes complicate delivery, and her body may need extra support to adjust.”
Azriel’s jaw tightened, his shadows twitching nervously, but she pressed on. “Signs of trouble include dizziness that worsens, persistent bleeding, pain in the lower back that doesn’t ease with rest, or shortness of breath beyond normal strain. You’ll need to keep her warm, well-fed, and away from unnecessary stress.”
Her voice softened as she gave her final guidance. “What needs to change now? Everything and nothing. She will still live her life, but with care. No long flights unless necessary. No unnecessary battles or training. And constant communication with me. You will not do this alone. Either of you.”
✩✩✩✩✩
I woke to the soft golden light of morning spilling across the room, the faint scent of tea drifting from the small pot I’d set to steep before I dozed off again last night. My head rested against the pillow where Azriel had curled around me, one arm slung over my waist, fingers tracing lazy patterns that had me half-asleep and fully comforted. The fire from the night before still glowed faintly in the hearth, embers casting a gentle warmth over the blankets.
Azriel stirred beside me, stretching his wings just enough to catch the sunlight at the tips, then settling back against the pillows with a quiet sigh. Shadows danced lazily over the walls, brushing over my arms and legs like an invisible caress. I blinked slowly, savoring the safety and warmth of him, letting the slow rhythm of his heartbeat sync with my own.
I rolled to sit up, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face, and smiled when he opened his eyes to me, just a flicker of that soft, half-smile he reserved for these quiet mornings.
“Morning,” I murmured, voice still husky from sleep.
“Morning,” he replied, shadows curling closer around us instinctively. But there was a weight to his tone, a carefulness I didn’t yet understand.
It wasn’t until I swung my legs off the bed and stretched that the first edge of tension crept in.
“No training today.”
I froze mid-stretch, blinking at him. “Az… it’s just a light session. I’ve been careful—”
“Not today,” he interrupted, firm and unyielding. The shadows behind him shifted like sentinels, tightening around us in silent warning.
By mid-morning, it became clear what he meant. Every step I took was followed — not just by him, but by his shadows, curling along my ankles, brushing my arms, hovering near my shoulders as if to make sure I didn’t overexert myself.
When I reached for a mug of tea, a warm hand closed over my wrist before I could lift it. “Here,” he said, setting a tray with my tea and breakfast neatly before me. “Sit. Don’t move around too much.”
I tried to protest, to grab the tray and carry it myself, but his gaze held me in place. Shadows swirled protectively around the edges of the tray, an invisible fence keeping me from doing anything he deemed unsafe.
By midday, the sense of being watched was suffocating. Every noise I made, every movement, felt measured and scrutinized. Even the small joys of the morning — stretching, sipping tea, adjusting my hair — were muted under the weight of his vigilance.
I felt fragile, a version of myself I barely recognized. My arms felt lighter, my legs weaker, and even my voice seemed softer when I spoke. I had always been strong, independent, but now every instinct I’d relied on felt foreign, tethered by the constant worry radiating from Azriel.
By late afternoon, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I shoved the tray of tea and biscuits aside, the clatter louder than I intended, and whirled to face him.
“Azriel!” My voice cracked with frustration, but I didn’t care. “I get it! I’m pregnant. I’m scared too, okay? But you can’t just let fear run your life – run our life. This… this isn’t just about danger. It’s about joy. And you’re stealing it from me!”
His shadows froze mid-sway, then curled tighter around him, coiling with tension. He crouched low in front of me, eyes dark and unreadable, but the raw weight behind them was unmistakable.
“I’m terrified,” he admitted quietly, voice rough and low. “Terrified because I’ve seen too much… too much happen to those I care about. Feyre… she nearly didn’t survive her pregnancy. If it hadn’t been for Nesta, I—I don’t even want to imagine.”
His shadows quivered at his sides, tightening as if to anchor him. “I’ve seen mothers and their children lost, even when everything should have been fine. And I can’t… I can’t lose you too.”
He swallowed hard, voice dropping almost to a whisper. “Feyre… I keep seeing her lying there, pale and barely breathing, and I remember that fear like it’s mine. Every pregnancy, every life… it’s a risk I can’t pretend isn’t real.”
His shadows trembled subtly, almost human in their unease, and I felt my anger falter a fraction, replaced by the ache of knowing how deeply this fear ran.
I softened, reaching for his hands even as my chest heaved. “I know, Az. I know you’re scared. But I’m still me. I’m still here. And I need you to be here with me — not just hovering, not just guarding me. I need to feel joy too.”
He exhaled slowly, letting the tension in his shoulders ease just a little, shadows loosening fractionally. “I’ll try,” he murmured. “I’ll try not to let the fear consume everything.”
I leaned into him, resting my head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear. His arms tightened around me, protective but no longer suffocating. The room felt warmer somehow, the weight of his fear tempered by the strength of his love.
For the first time that day, I believed he might actually mean it.
I found him in his office later that evening. The soft glow of lanterns cast long shadows across the room, but they couldn’t mask the way his wings twitched with barely contained anxiety. He paced back and forth, boots silent on the polished floor, hands flexing and unclenching at his sides. Shadows clung tightly to him, coiling and uncurling like restless serpents, echoing the restlessness I knew to be present in his mind.
When he finally noticed me standing in the doorway, he froze mid-step, one wing flicking as if it had a life of its own. His eyes were dark, wary, but the faintest flicker of relief passed through them when he saw me.
I stepped further into the room, closing the door softly behind me. Shadows relaxed slightly at my presence, curling around me like a protective halo.
“Azriel…” My voice was gentle but firm, carrying across the office. He turned fully toward me, wings drooping just a fraction, eyes scanning my face as if searching for reassurance.
“I know we need to be careful,” I continued, taking a cautious step closer. “I want that too. But I also… I want to live this with you. To feel it, enjoy it, even with all the risks. We can be cautious, but I don’t want fear to steal the joy of this pregnancy from us.”
His wings twitched again, the tension coiling in him like a spring ready to snap. Shadows stirred, more tightly now, and I reached out, letting my hand brush lightly against his arm.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as if trying to shake the tension from his shoulders. “I… I don’t know how to balance it,” he admitted, voice low, almost breaking. “I’ve never been good at holding joy and fear in the same space. And right now, it feels like one might swallow the other whole.”
I stepped closer, lifting my hand to rest over his. “We’ll figure it out together,” I whispered. “Madja said it yesterday. You don’t have to do this alone.”
His wings drooped fully now, and the tight coil of shadows around him softened, drifting toward me in gentle, protective loops. Slowly, deliberately, he sank to one knee in front of me. His hands found my stomach, warm and steady, settling there as if anchoring both of us.
“I promise I’ll try,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the back of my hand. “To be present. To feel the joy with you, even while I’m scared.”
The shadows curled in gentle arcs around us, wrapping us in a quiet cocoon. For a moment, nothing existed beyond the warmth of his hands and the slow, steady rise and fall of my breath against his chest.
After a few moments of quiet, I felt his hands shift slightly, fingers brushing in gentle circles over my stomach. I couldn’t help but smile, the tension of the day loosening just enough for laughter to sneak in.
“So,” I said softly, leaning down closer to him, “have you thought about names yet?”
He lifted his gaze to me, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “A few,” he admitted. “Though I keep imagining tiny hands and… maybe wings. And I can’t tell if I’m more terrified or excited.”
I laughed softly. “We don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl yet.”
“Exactly,” he said, mock exasperation in his voice. “So all my imagining is pointless. But I can’t help picturing it anyway—tiny, fierce little hands gripping mine, wings tucked against its back, staring up at me like it already knows everything.”
I smiled, leaning down to brush a strand of hair from his face. “Whatever it is, I think it’s going to have your stubborn streak.”
“And your temper,” he teased, the corners of his mouth tilting in a rare, full grin. “Looks like we’re in for double trouble.”
The conversation drifted naturally from baby features to names we liked, the quirks we imagined the little one having, and the mischief we hoped they’d inherit from their parents. Then came the quieter, conspiratorial thoughts: how we hadn’t told anyone yet, how the news would go over, and what our family’s reactions might be.
“I think Mor will faint,” I whispered, smiling at the thought.
“Cassian will immediately start planning some elaborate training for the baby,” he added, grinning at the thought. Trying to make it stronger than anyone else before it can even walk. Feyre… she’ll hover in her usual worried way, fussing over every little thing, making sure we don’t accidentally hurt it.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And Rhys?”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Rhys will just sit back, smirk, and say something like, ‘Well, this is going to be interesting,’ while secretly worrying himself to death. He’s going to keep track of everything, probably make us promise to call him after every doctor’s visit.”
He shook his head again, eyes twinkling, shadows softening further around us.
“This… this is strange,” he admitted quietly. “I’m terrified, but… I think I can get used to being happy with it too.”
I cupped his face, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “We’ll get used to it together,” I murmured.
The shadows curled tightly around us, warm and protective, echoing the quiet, steady joy that finally had room to exist alongside the fear.
We stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other and the soft embrace of the shadows. I could feel the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my fingers, grounding me, reminding me that we were in this together.
Azriel shifted slightly, resting his forehead against mine, wings folding softly behind him. “I never imagined I could feel this… protective and hopeful at the same time,” he murmured.
I smiled, pressing my lips to his in a gentle, lingering kiss. “That’s what it means to love,” I whispered. “To be scared and joyful all at once, and still choose each other anyway.”
He chuckled softly against my lips, shadows curling tighter around us like a blanket. “Then we’ll face it all together,” he promised.
And for the first time since the news, I let myself breathe fully, feeling the tentative, fragile bloom of happiness grow between us, quiet but unshakable.
Your writing is so beyond beautiful it’s so amazing! Literally every story I read I am hooked! If you are interested could you pleaseeee write an Azriel x reader enemies to lovers angsty masterpiece! Like I imagine the reader escapes abuse in autumn and makes her way to night court and befriends the inner circle. She’s badass and sarcastic but is also very blunt and strong cause her past. But azriel is all enthralled with elain, broody and silent and doesn't trust her but they slowly start to fall for one another and bond then BAM mating bond and azriel realizes she's the one for him and smutty perfection ensues 😝💋🥵
Mine to Hate, Mine to Love- Azriel x fem!reader (1/2)
Summary: An Autumn survivor. A Night Court spymaster. One unwanted bond. What could go wrong?
Warnings: angst, mentions of violence/abuse (not from az), no smut in this part, not proofread
A/N: THANK YOU FOR THIS AMAZING REQUEST!! I loved it so much but the original draft was too long(my fault, lol) so I decided to split this oneshot into a 2 parter. A lot is happening and a lot more will go down in part 2! enjoy💕
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"What were you doing in the Autumn Court? Are you from there?"
The question sliced through the quiet like blade through silk. Y/N didn't flinch. She just blinked once, slowly, where she sat curled on the far end of the velvet settee, arms crossed tight against her chest.
It hadn't come from the brooding one with the shadows--not him. He hadn't said a word since she arrived hours ago.
It was Feyre who asked, her voice soft, kind even, but edged with something careful. Measured.
Y/N let her gaze drift around the room, taking in the finely carved bookshelves, the glinting decanter on the table, the fire flickering low in the hearth. The Inner Circle, as they apparently called themselves, were all here. Rhysand, their High Lord. Feyre, his mate. Cassian, the warrior. Mor, the beautiful blonde who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. Nesta, icy and unreadable. Elain, all anxious glances. And Amren, whose ancient silver eyes unnerved her the most.
And then there was him--Azriel, shadows curling around his shoulders like they belonged to him more than his skin did. He hadn't looked at her once.
Good.
Y/N exhaled slowly through her nose. "Define what."
Cassian, standing at the fireplace, huffed a dry laugh. "You could try answering a question without dodging it."
"Try asking a better one."
Rhysands violet eyes narrowed. Not unkindly, but...like he was studying her, dissecting her. "You were found deep in Autumn territory. Alone. Bloodied. No weapons. No backup. No signs of being tracked. Forgive us if we'd like a little context."
"She didn't ask to be found," Cassian cut in, jaw tight. "I did. I was flying a patrol along the border and spotted her limping through the edge of the forest. She wasn't exactly hiding."
"I wasn't running either," Y/N muttered.
Cassian glanced her way. "No. You looked like someone who'd stopped caring if she made it out at all."
Silence stretched. Even the fire seemed to quiet.
"Why bring her here?" Amren's voice was razor-sharp and blunt. "You don't usually collect strays."
Y/N's lips curled. "Charming."
Cassian didn't rise to it. "Because I saw what she came from. You didn't. You didn't see the brand on her shoulder. Or the blood still dripping from her wrists."
Elain let out a tiny sound. Feyre's eyes softened. Nesta's mouth hardened into a flat line.
But Mor...Mor looked like she already knew.
"She's Autumn," Rhysand said flatly. "That alone- "
"Do I look like I am with them?" Y/N snapped before she could stop herself, sitting forward. Her voice cracked with something sharp and cold. "Do you think I'd come here covered in my own blood and wearing their damn crest if I had a choice?"
"Then why didn't you say that from the start?" Feyre asked gently.
Y/N leaned back again, arms crossing tighter. "Because it's not your business. I didn't ask to come here. I didn't ask for your sympathy or your dinner table or your High Lord's suspicious little looks." Her gaze snapped to Rhysand's. "I would've kept going if your general hadn't decided to play rescue."
Cassian shook his head. "You wouldn't have made it to the border."
"She would've tried," Mor said quietly, finally speaking. "And that says enough."
Everyone turned to her.
Mor met Y/N's eyes, and something passed between them. Pain. Recognition. A shared hell.
"What's your name?" Feyre asked.
Y/N looked at her like she was stupid. "You don't need it. Call me what you want. Stray seems to be popular."
Azriel shifted slightly in his chair. Still silent. Still unreadable.
"Well," Amren said, lounging back, "she's got bite. I like her more already."
"Cassian," Rhysand said, dragging a hand down his face, "just tell us what you know."
Cassian crossed his arms. “She didn’t say much. Still hasn’t. But it’s obvious she was being held. I saw signs of restraint injuries, old scars, and newer ones that look… recent. She didn’t ask for help, didn’t beg, didn’t cry. She just stood there like she had nothing left to give. Like she’d already buried herself.”
"And yet she's still standing," Mor said. "That counts for something."
Y/N didn't thank her. But her eyes flicked to Mor's for a heartbeat longer.
"Let her stay," Feyre said after a beat. "Just until she decides where to go."
"And if she's a spy?" Rhysand asked coolly.
"Then let her try something," Mor said. "I'd like to see her take down Azriel."
Azriel finally lifted his eyes. Looked at Y/N.
Y/N met his stare head-on. "Don't flatter yourself."
The silence that followed stretched too long, too taut.
Y/N pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the protest of her bruised ribs. "Look, if this is some big debate about whether I'm allowed to breathe in this Court, don't bother." She swept her eyes across them all, tired and unimpressed. "I'll find a tavern. Or a cave. Somewhere out of the way. You can go back to saving the world or whatever it is you do."
Mor let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. "A tavern? Are you serious?"
Y/N arched a brow. "You think I can't handle myself?"
"I think you forgot that you were unconscious when Cassian brought you in this morning," Mor snapped. "Or did you conveniently block that out."
Y/N's jaw clenched.
"You have a fractured collarbone, two injured fingers, bruised ribs, a black eye and so much blood loss we weren't sure you'd make it through the night," Mor continued, her voice rising, raw and honest. "You didn't even wake up until an hour ago."
Y/N glanced away. That wasn't something she liked being reminded of--weakness. Vulnurability. But it wasn't a lie.
"You don't owe any of us your story," Mor said, turning to face the rest of the room now, voice ironclad. "She doesn't owe us a gods-damned thing."
"Actually- " Rhysand began, voice cool and smooth.
"No," Mor cut him off, sharply enough to turn heads. "Not this time, Rhysand."
A rare flicker o surprise passed through the high lord's face.
Mor looked back at Y/N then, her voice softening into something that sounded like a promise. "You don't have to tell us anything. Not now. Not ever, if you will. You will be safe here. No matter what's been done to you. No matter what you've done to survive it."
Y/N blinked in surprise. No one had ever said that to her before. Not without wanting something in return, at least.
"You can take your time," Mor continued. "Heal. Train, if you wish. Breath. Build a life here or wherever else if that's what you want. Or don't. The choice is yours."
Y/N looked at her for a long moment. The steel wall in her chest cracked, just barely. She didn't say thank you. She wouldn't. But something in her gaze shifted, softened.
Across the room, Feyre exhaled and leaned forward. "It's settled then. You'll stay in the House of Wind for the time being."
Y/N's eyes narrowed. "With who?"
"With me, my mate Cassian, Elain, and Azriel," Nesta said at last.
"We'll check in regularly," Feyre added gently. "Make sure you have what you need. Velaris is the safest place we can offer, and the wards will keep anyone from Autumn from finding you...that is, if you are running from anyone."
Cassian tilted his head at her. "You'll have your own room, I swear. The House likes its guests. It'll probably feed you more than you want."
"I don't eat much," Y/N murmured.
"You'll need to," Mor said simply. "You've lost too much weight. Your bones are literally sticking out."
Azril didn't speak. Didn't even twitch.
Y/N looked at him once more, saw the quiet calculation behind his eyes, the way he hadn't stopped watching her even when he wasn't looking.
"Great," she muttered. "I'm moving in with broody, broodier and broodiest."
Cassian snorted. "You'll fit right in."
The House of Wind was too quiet. Too clean. Too kind. It unsettled her.
Y/N sat curled in a large velvet armchair, her legs tucked up beneath her and a steaming mug of tea she hadn't asked for cradled in between her hands. It had appeared the moment she'd mentioned to herself in an empty room I would really like something warm.
Across from her, Nesta Archeron sat with the same stiff posture she wore when breathing, a book in one hand and an untouched mug of something cinnamon-scented by her side.
"So...this place really does listen?" Y/N asked eventually, her voice breaking the thick silence between them.
Nesta looked up slowly, eyes cool and unreadable. "It does. The House knows what you need before you do. If it likes you."
"If?"
A faint twitch pulled at Nesta's mouth--maybe amusement, maybe warning. "Don't insult it. It gets petty."
Y/N raised a brow. "So a house with feelings. Great. Add that to the list of things I don't understand."
"You get used to it."
They sat in silence for another moment. The fire crackling softly in the hearth nearby, and a tray of honey cakes appeared on the table between them. Y/N stared at thme suspiciously.
"When I got here," she said at last, "Cassian brought me up the stairs and dumped me in a room before I could argue. Said the House chose it. It's nice. Nicer than anything I've had anyway."
Nesta gave a small nod. "It gives everyone what they need. Eventually."
Y/N sipped her tea. "You mean I'll wake up with a sword under my pillow or something?"
Nesta tilted her head. "Depends on the kind of healing the House thinks you need."
Y/N snorted softly. "I don't need healing. I need silence. Control."
"You're in the wrong house, then." Nesta closed her book with a soft snap and set it aside. "This place will give you the chance to breathe, but it won't let you stay hidden forever."
That earned a look from Y/N. "And what if I want to stay hidden?"
"You wouldn't have survived this long if that's what you really wanted."
There was no softness in Nesta's voice, no gentleness. Just the kind of sharp, brutal honesty that Y/N could respect.
Nesta leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. "I'm rebuilding a group here. Training. We call ourselves the Valkyries. Women who fight. Who learn to reclaim their skills, to protect themselves. Reclaim their power."
Y/N arched a brow. "That some poetic name for your little army?"
"It's a choice," Nesta said. "A path. No one's forced. But it works. Saved a lot of us...me included."
Y/N didn't respond right away. She glanced toward the window instead, where the clouds rolled low over the mountains like smoke. "I'll think about it."
"Well you couldn't join it now even if you wanted to. You are still in a bad state and need to be checked by healers."
The room quieted again. The fire popped.
After a moment, she asked. "Is...is your shadowy man okay?"
Nesta didn't look surprised by the question. "Azriel? yes."
Y/N continued before she could regret it. “He hasn’t said a word since I arrived. Just stands there, looking like he wants to pin me to a wall for breathing. It’s not like I care what he thinks, but…” she paused, frowning, “…his stares make me uncomfortable. Like I’ve already been weighed and found lacking.”
Nesta let out a quiet, humorless breath. “That’s just Azriel. He’s a good male, but he doesn’t trust easily. Especially not anyone from Autumn. Especially not someone new. He sees too much.”
"I've noticed," Y/N muttered.
"But he doesn't judge as much as you think," Nesta added. "His silence isn't disdain. It's control. He doesn't waste words."
Y/N glanced down into her mug. "I don't trust him either. I don't trust any of you, as a matter of fact."
“Good,” Nesta said, standing smoothly. “Trust takes time. If you ever want to train with the Valkyries, the ring is two floors down. The House will take you there if you ask. If not--just don’t piss it off.”
"I'll try not to insult the furniture." Y/N deadpanned.
Nesta cracked a smirk, just barely. "You'll be fine."
And with that, she walked out, her long braid swaying behind her, leaving Y/N alone with the fire, the tea, and a house that somehow knew too much.
"You've survived, girl. But now you must learn to live."
The healer's hands were warm and steady as they hovered over Y/N's side, light pulsing softly from her palms.
Magic flowed into her with a strange, humming warmth--like hot honey under the skin. Not unpleasant, but unfamiliar. Everything here was unfamiliar.
"Your ribs have knitted back together," Made murmured, her tone the kind of calm that could silence an army. "But there may still be soreness. Bruising. Some swelling."
Y/N nodded mutely, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
"You'll be able to walk freely, even train lightly in a day or so," Madja continued. "But no sparring. And certainly no lifting anything heavy."
Y/N's mouth twitched. "You say that like it's a challenge."
Madja gave her a sharp look, but there was dry amusement in her eyes. "I've patched up enough of the Night Courts warriors to know when someone has a death wish masked as sarcasm."
Y/N exhaled through her nose. "It's not a death wish. It's...just trying to stay afloat."
The older fae woman didn’t reply right away. Instead, she moved her hand up to Y/N’s collarbone, where a deep purple bruise still lingered beneath the skin. Y/N winced, just slightly, and Madja’s touch gentled.
"You're healing well," Madja said at last. "For someone who should've bled out in a forest."
Y/N swallowed hard. "Well, I didn't."
"No. You didn't." Madja's eyes rested on her for a long beat. "You're strong. But strength can only take you so far without direction."
Y/N shifted under the blankets. The bed was sinfully soft, but it felt too big, too generous, too soft.
Madja leaned back and folded her hands neatly. "You may feel fine by tomorrow physically. But the soul heals slower. Be kind to yourself. And don't be reckless."
Y/N nodded once. "I won't go hard mode."
"Hard mode?"
"It's...a phrase. Never mind."
A small pause stretched between them before Y/N felt Madja's gaze sharpen again. She didn't look up.
"What?" she asked.
"You are very distrusting of the high lord and his family."
Y/N finally turned her head. "Should I not be?"
“No,” Madja said, simply. “You should be whatever you are, girl. They understand more than they let on. But caution is never foolish.”
Y/N sighed. “I was… taken from the sky. Literally. Cassian swept me out of Autumn like I was some precious cargo about to explode.” She paused, eyes darkening. “Which, to be fair, I probably was. I’m grateful. He saved me from something I don’t want to explain. But now I’m here and I don’t know what comes next.”
Madja didn't speak. Just let the words settle like dust.
Y/N continued, quieter now. "I'm sorry but this whole situation of me ending up in Velaris is absurd. I don't know what they expect of me. I don't know what I expect. I haven't thought this far ahead in a long time."
Madja’s voice came softer now, almost a murmur. “You don’t need to decide anything yet. There is no timeline on survival.”
Y/N looked away. Her voice cracked despite herself. “I just… don’t want to feel like I’m in another cage. Even if the bars are made of gold.”
Madja nodded once, firmly. "You're not. But I understand why it feels that way."
Y/N blinked hard. Bit down the emotion threatening to rise.
Madja stood then, gathering her things with practiced efficiency. "Sleep. Let the House take care of you tonight. Tomorrow, you decide your own pace."
Y/N didn't answer. Just closed her eyes.
As Madja left, the door clicked softly behind her. But Y/N could still hear her faint voice, muffled but distinct, speaking with someone outside in the hallway.
“She’s wary,” Madja said. “But there’s fire in her. She will not break.”
The reply was too low to make out. But something about the tone--deep, smooth, shadowed--made Y/N suspect exactly who it was.
Azriel.
She sighed and buried her face deeper into the pillows. The House dimmed the lights for her automatically. The warmth of the blankets pulled her under.
And for the first time in weeks, no blood. No screaming.
Just darkness. And sleep.
The scream tore from her throat before she could stop it. She jolted upright in bed, chest heaving, sweat sickening her skin like a second layer.
The dream had been too real again, Autumn leaves soaked in blood, wrists bound in burning chains, the scent of smoke and rot and-
Y/N clutched the blanket with white-knuckled fingers. Her ribs ached from the motion, the pull of old wounds not quite closed. Breathing was hard in these situations. Breathing was the nightmare.
The House, bless its unnerving awareness, tried to help--dim lights flickered on, a warm mug of something soothing appeared beside the bed. But she couldn't sit there. Not after that.
She slid her legs over the edge, hissing as pain flared through her thighs. Slowly, she stood. The long, thin nightgown clung to her skin, cool from sweat. She reached for the robe--midnight blue, soft as clouds--and wrapped it tightly around her.
Step by step, she padded through the hallway, her bare feet silent against the warm wood floors. The House seemed to hum around her, guiding her path even as it said nothing.
Velaris at night was quiet. Peaceful. It unsettled her.
She didn't know where she was going. She didn't need to. She passed high arched windows, moonlight pouring in through glass like milk. The hall curved gently, revealing rooms she hadn't seen yet. Everything in the house felt too perfect. Like a dream she wasn't meant to be in.
One minute, I was bleeding out in the forest, she thought, fingers brushing the smooth stone of the wall. And the next I'm being watched by a High Lord and his family like I'm some broken pet.
They were kind. Sure.
They fed her. Healed her. Gave her silk sheets and fire-warmed rooms. But that didn't mean she trusted them.
Nesta seemed to understand--maybe.
Mor had seen something in her. Cassian...he was too good. Too much heart. Feyre, the painter-queen, was all compassion and calm.
And Azriel...well she didn't know because he had said nothing. At least not in her presence. But his stares--his quiet, constant stares--made her skin itch. As if he were waiting for her to break.
Maybe they all are.
She turned a corner, drawn by the faint glow of light and the soft clink of glass. The House had led her somewhere near the kitchen, maybe the common room. But then-
She paused...and froze.
As quick as her injured body allowed, she slipped into the shadows of a nearby column, holding her breath. Voices. Quiet, low.
And then the unmistakable sound of a soft moan.
Y/N's eyes widened as she peeked past the archway. Azriel stood in the kitchen, his body pressed between Elain's thighs as she sat on the counter, her arms looped loosely around his neck.
His shadows flickered across the tile behind him, but none dared intrude on this moment.
He was kissing her. Slow and deep, like it wasn't their first time. Like it was familiar.
Elain let out a soft sound, fingers curling in his hair, and Azriel's hand slid up her thigh, steadying her.
Y/N's mouth went dry. She didn't move. Couldn't. Something inside her recoiled. Not jealousy. Not really. Something more...raw. Confusing. Disoriented.
She didn't care. Of course she didn't. She didn't even know him. And yet for some reason, watching this felt like a slap.
She stepped back, slow and silent, slipping further into the shadows. Her hand trembled as it brushed the wall behind her, using it for support. Her body protested, but the ache didn't register compared to the tight coil that had formed low in her stomach.
She didn't belong here. Not with them. Not in this place where people kissed in kitchens and touched each other like nothing had ever broken them.
As soon as she is fully healed, she is leaving.
By the time Y/N made it back to her room, her breath was ragged. The mug of tea was still warm. She ignored it.
The House dimmed the lights again. This time, she didn't thank it. Y/N curled under the blankets, muscles tight, eyes wide open. Azriel's face burned behind her eyelids.
She turned over and faced the wall.
So Azriel and Elain were seeing each other in secret. Well, then they better not cross her or else...
A small smirk formed on her lips as Y/N slowly closed her eyes.
The smell of spiced bread and sizzling bacon reached her before she even opened her eyes. Y/N blinked into the morning light filtering through the sheer curtains of her room, her body still aching and sore. On the nightstand beside her sat a perfectly arranged silver tray.
A full breakfast.
Scrambled eggs, warm toast, fresh fruit, and--of course--tea, still steaming.
How thoughtful.
She sat up slowly, eyeing the tray with narrowed eyes. How considerate, she thought, voice dripping with sarcasm. What a kind way to remind me I'm a walking injure.
Despite the tempting scent, she pushed the blanket aside and swung her legs over the bed.
No. She wasn't going to be the pitiful stray they fed behind closed doors. Not when she'd spent the night listening to the sounds of stolen kisses and lies in the kitchen.
She needed to see them. All of them.
Y/N made her way to the dining room slowly but steadily, her robe replaced by a simple tunic and soft pants the House had kindly delivered earlier. Her steps were quiet, but not uncertain.
The moment she stepped into the dining room, four pairs of eyes turned to her.
Cassian, already halfway through a stack of pancakes. Nesta, sipping her coffee. Elain, all warm and sunshine and floral pastels, blinking in surprise. And Azriel, seated stiffly across from her, shadows trailing lazily around his shoulders like smoke.
Y/N swept her gaze across the table. The only empty seat? Right beside Azriel.
Of course.
"Oh, Y/N," Elain said, her voice chirpy and too sweet. "I thought you'd prefer to eat alone, so I brought your tray to your room. You know...considering all the injuries and all."
Y/N's lips curled into a slow, lazy smirk.
She took another step forward, meeting Elain’s eyes, then Azriel’s, watching as he shifted almost imperceptibly in his seat. She noted the distance between them, the lack of interaction, the stiffness in Azriel’s jaw.
They were pretending. Interesting.
"Well," she said smoothly, voice light but biting, "you were wrong, honey." She dragged out the word honey, letting it sting.
"I'm a social female. I very much hate solitude."
Elain blinked, her smile faltering. A beat of awkward silence followed, broken only by the clink of Cassian’s fork dropping to his plate as he let out a laugh.
Nesta didn’t laugh. But her lips twitched in satisfaction.
Y/N made her way to the last chair and dropped into it with a sigh--right beside Azriel, who didn't look at her.
Perfect.
She turned toward him, chin resting lightly on her hand as she studied him. "You must be Azriel," she said sweetly. "Nice to meet you. I'm Y/N. You know, since you didn't bother saying a single word to me yesterday like a normal, functioning male with basic communication skills and a character that isn't just...stone."
Cassian practically choked on his juice. "Damn," he said, laughing. "If all the fae in Autumn had your mouth, I'd actually enjoy visiting."
"I wouldn't," Nesta muttered, raising her cup again. "Too many sharp tongues in one place. The males wouldn't survive."
"I'm not here to impress the males," Y/N replied, stealing a piece of toast from the central platter. "Just here to make sure your kitchen doesn't poison me."
"You wound me," Cassian said, clutching his chest. "The kitchen's got impeccable taste."
"I don't know about that," Y/N said with a fake-sweet smile. "After all, they let me sit next to Azriel, didn't they?"
That earned her a low grunt from the shadowsinger himself. His gaze flicked toward her for a second--flat, unreadable.
"You're not funny," he muttered under his breath, reaching for the honey.
She smirked. "Never said I was. Just observant."
Their fingers brushed briefly as they both reached for the honey pot. Neither moved right away. A small shock of something--heat, tension, warning--crackled in the air between them. Not enough to mean anything.
But enough to notice.
Y/N pulled her hand back slowly, keeping her smirk in place even as something twisted in her gut. Elain was quiet. Too quiet.
Y/N could feel her watching from across the table.
She bit into the toast deliberately, eyes on Azriel the whole time.
“So, Shadowsinger,” she said once she’d chewed and swallowed. “Do you always skulk in corners and pretend not to care, or is that just for me?”
He looked at her finally. Really looked.
Flat, unreadable hazel eyes. A face carved from shadows and quiet rage. And the barest twitch at the corner of his mouth--something between amusement and annoyance.
“Just for you,” he said quietly. “You make it easy.”
“Good,” she said. “I hate being ignored.”
Cassian snorted. “Mother’s tits, this is gonna be fun.”
Nesta raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying herself more than she let on.
Elain just smiled faintly. But her hands were clenched in her lap.
Y/N leaned back in her chair, stealing a grape from the fruit bowl and popping it into her mouth with a wink.
Let them wonder what she knew.
Let them pretend nothing happened.
But Y/N had seen enough last night to know exactly where to start picking apart the cracks in this little perfect picture.
The tension at the table hadn't dissolved--it just simmered under the clatter of cutlery and Cassian's chewing.
Y/N pushed around a few slices of pear on her plate, no longer hungry but far too proud to excuse herself. Across the table, Elain was politely dabbing at her lips with a napkin as though her world hadn’t been caught between someone else’s thighs last night.
Stars above, do they think I'm blind?
Cassian was the first to move. He stood, stretching his arms over his head until his spine cracked audibly. "Well," he said, slapping his hands together, "time to get moving."
Azriel's head lifted slightly at that. Cassian glanced at him.
"You ready?"
Azriel didn't speak. He simply rose from his seat in a smooth, silent motion, his shadows curling tighter like they knew he'd been summoned to war.
"Where are you going?" Nesta asked, raising an eyebrow at Cassian.
Cassian leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. "Some missions that need to be completed. We will be back before sunset."
"Don't be late," she said, half a warning, half a reminder. "We've got an obstcle course today and I need both you and Azriel here for demonstrations."
Azriel glanced briefly at Elain as he passed behind her chair. It was subtle--barely a flick of his eyes, but Y/N caught it. And Elain...she noticed too.
A soft pink tinged her cheeks as she looked down, lips twitching into a tiny, bashful smile. She didn’t say anything, but the moment pulsed thick with implication.
Azriel didn't look at Y/N as he passed. But she looked at him. Full on. Deliberate.
He noticed. Of course he did. His shoulder tensed slightly, but he kept walking.
"Gentlemen," Y/N called out casually, raising her tea as they reached the archway. "Try not to trip over yourselves saving the realm."
Cassian turned with a grin. "No promises."
Azriel didn't turn.
And then they were gone.
The silence that followed their departure wasn't awkward--but it wasn't exactly comfortable either.
Y/N leaned back in her chair and exhaled slowly.
Nesta, sitting calmly with a mug in hand, tapped her finger once against the ceramic before speaking.
“Do you want to come with me?”
Y/N raised a brow. “To…?”
“The library,” Nesta said, already rising from her seat. Her long braid swayed down her back like a challenge.
Y/N blinked. "What library? Isn't the nearest one in the center of the city?"
Nesta smirked. "No. Not that one."
"Then what? You want me to start reading dusty poetry down in some hidden cellar?"
"No," Nesta said, walking past her and pausing at the doorway. "But I'd like to introduce you to some friends of mine."
That...surprised her.
Y/N frowned. "Friends? You have those?"
"Shocking, I know." Nesta said dryly.
"I was just starting to think this place wuld kill me with boredom."
"You're lucky I'm feeling generous."
Y/N rolled her eyes. "And what if I say no?"
Nesta tilted her head. “Then you miss out on meeting the only females here who won’t try to poison you with smiles.”
That earned a short, amused huff from Y/N. “Well, it’s not like I have anything better to do.”
She moved to stand-
“Not so fast,” Nesta interrupted. “Madja’s checking on you first.”
Y/N groaned dramatically and flopped back into her chair. “Is there a limit to how many times a healer can scold me in one week?”
Nesta ignored her.
From the hallway, light footsteps approached.
Speak of the Cauldron.
Madja’s voice rang out before she even entered. “I swear, if you tried lifting anything heavier than a teacup- ”
“I barely insulted anyone today,” Y/N called back. “That counts as rest, doesn’t it?”
Madja appeared in the doorway, brow arched like she was debating whether to sedate her on principle.
Elain chose that moment to finally speak again, her voice like a bell after the silence.
"If you're going down to the library," she said softly, "you'll need thicker sleeves. It gets cold underground."
Y/N turned slowly to look at her.
A polite smile. Friendly. Almost concerned.
Almost.
"Thanks for the tip," Y/N said, and the sweetness in her voice was so sharp it might as well have been poisoned.
Madja cleared her throat. “Try not to trip over sarcasm on your way out.”
Nesta smirked again and motioned for Y/N to follow.
Y/N rolled her eyes but stood anyway, following after the High Lady’s sister as the healer trailed behind.
She didn’t glance back at Elain.
Didn’t need to.
She could feel those golden eyes on her like they were trying to understand her.
Good luck with that, sweetheart.
Azriel wasn't listening.
Not really.
Rhysands voice echoed through the room--firm, measured, steady as ever--but it blurred into background noise. A dull hum against the sharp edge of Azriel's own thoughts.
He stood at the long obsidian table, arms crossed over his chest, shoulders rigid, his jaw clenched tight enough to ache.
He wasn't thinking about the mission.
He was thinking about her.
The girl from Autumn.
The girl Cassian had burst burst into the townhouse carrying like a broken doll--limp, bleeding, unconscious. Her skin bruised, her breathing shallow. Her scent drenched in pain and smoke and something else he hadn’t named yet. Something wrong.
His fists curled at the memory, though he didn't know why.
It shouldn't matter. She shouldn't matter. She was from Autumn. She was a stranger. An enemy, maybe.
And yet...yet he remembered the way Cassian's voice had cracked when he shouted for Madja. He remembered the blood on her torn dress, the jagged bruises down her neck.
He remembered how small she looked in that bed. Azriel blinked hard.
Across the room, Rhysand was still talking, gesturing toward some parchment maps on the table, tracing enemy movement along the Illyrian borders. Cassian stood beside him, one hand resting lazily on his sword hilt, nodding along.
Azriel should've been focused.
Instead, his mind wandered back to this morning.
The moment she walked into the dining room, in spite of her injuries, in spite of that tray Elain had oh-so-considerately placed beside her bed.
The way she smirked, unbothered. The way she looked him directly in the eyes when she sat next to him, defiant and sharp.
The way her voice dripped with venom when she said, “Well, you were wrong, honey. I am a social female. I very much hate solitude.”
Azriel had said nothing. He hadn't trusted himself to. And gods, when she turned to him and said that entire line about him not saying anything to her...
Cassian had choked on his damn food.
Azriel had side-eyed her, biting his tounge so hard it nearly bled.
He hates her.
She was from Autumn--and everyone from Autumn was twisted in the worst of ways. He’d seen what Eris had done to Mor. He knew what their court allowed. What they taught.
But-
But.
She hadn't looked like a threat when Cassian carried her in.
She looked like someone who'd been broken.
She was from Autumn--and everyone from Autumn was twisted in the worst of ways. He’d seen what Eris had done to Mor. He knew what their court allowed. What they taught.
Even now, it sat there. Twisting.
Even now, his eyes flickered to the open balcony, wondering if she was walking around again. If she’d say something sharp the next time they crossed paths. If she’d keep looking at him with that glare like she saw straight through him.
Azriel blinked.
"Azriel."
The voice cut through him.
Rhys.
Az turned his head slowly.
Rhysand stood at the head of the table, arms crossed. Not irritated--yet--but clearly noticing his distraction.
“You with us?” Rhys asked.
Cassian snorted quietly beside him.
Azriel exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. I’m here.”
Rhys just arched a brow.
There was a pause.
Then Az muttered, “Do we really have to keep that girl with us until she heals?”
Cassian turned his head slowly.
Az kept going, voice flat. “Why did you even bring her here in the first place?”
Cassian’s wings flared slightly.
“I’m sorry,” he said dryly, “did you forget how we literally saved hundreds of females over the years, Az? How we brought them to Velaris, gave them shelter, gave them safety, gave them a life?”
“She’s from Autumn,” Azriel snapped. “We don’t know anything about her. For all we know, this could be a trick.”
Cassian crossed his arms. “Yeah? And for all she knows, we’re just another group of males holding power over her.”
“She has no reason to trust us,” Rhys added quietly.
Azriel glanced at him.
Rhys met his stare head-on, violet eyes calm but serious. “But Cassian’s right. We gave safety to others who had nothing. We owe her the same chance. Until she chooses what to do next.”
Azriel's jaw tightened.
He didn't respond.
He couldn't.
Because as much as his instincts screamed distrust, his gut twisted with something far worse every time he remembered how frail she looked. How angry he felt at the thought of whoever had left her in that forest to die.
“I’m not saying we hand her secrets,” Rhys went on. “I’m not saying we let our guard down. But she deserves the same choice the others had.”
Cassian gave him a firm nod.
Azriel looked away.
He didn’t like this. He didn’t like her.
But…
There was something about her that unsettled him more than any enemy ever had.
Something that made his shadows restless.
Something that made him look--even when he didn’t want to.
Even now, his mind strayed back to the dining table. To her sitting beside him, shoulders straight, chin high, matching every glare with a smirk.
He scowled.
Elain. Think of Elain.
Of her soft hands. Her soft voice.
Of how she whispered, “We’re real mates, Azriel. We just need to wait… until the bond breaks.”
Azriel closed his eyes for half a second.
But all he saw was Y/N’s face instead.
"Your eyes," Gwyn said with a curious smile, tilting her head slightly. "They don't look afraid. Most of the ones who survive Autumn's cruelty...they usually have hollow eyes."
Y/N blinked.
That was the first thing Gwyneth said to her--after Nesta had led her down, down and down again into the House of Wind's belly. And to her surprise, it hadn't felt like an insult.
Somehow, it almost sounded like...respect.
After that one of a kind breakfast and another session with Madja, Nesta took Y/N with herself and didn't explain much on the way. Just handed her a shawl for the cold winding stairs and muttered something about how the library had a mind of it's own, and it was better not to question how far it went or how time behaved once you were inside.
Y/N hadn't asked.
Not because she wasn't curious.
But because the silence in her own head felt unusually loud, and filling it with useless questions would've only made her skin itch more.
So she followed Nesta.
And when the air started shifting into something cooler, quieter--cleaner--she realized she was walking into something sacred. Something old. She hadn't expected the library to be...this.
Certainly not by this--by females dressed in soft, flowing robes. Females who bowed their heads gently in greeting. Whose smiles were warm but never invasive.
She'd tensed immediately. Expecting suspicion. Or fear. Or at the very least, caution.
But what she recieved was nothing but kindness.
Unusual, startling kindness.
On the walk there, Nesta had explained curtly--but not unkindly--that these priestesses were survivors. Females who once stood where Y/N stood now: bloodied, afraid, alone.
She said Rhys, Cassian and Azriel had brought them here. One by one. Quietly. Without fanfare. That some had come of their own will, others with the help of friends. That the library had become their sanctuary.
Y/N didn't know what to do with that. So she'd just nodded at the priestesses.
Said nothing.
But when Gwyn appeared--red hair gleaming like firelight, posture straight, eyes curious--Y/N couldn't help but stare. She didn't look like a priestess. Didn't sound like one, either.
She looked...ready.
Like she was waiting for a fight.
And then she'd said that thing. About her eyes not being hollow. And when Y/N didn't reply right away, Gwyn just laughed, shaking her head.
“I meant that as a compliment,” she said. “Surviving Autumn is a feat in itself. Surviving it while keeping your spine intact? That’s something else entirely.”
Y/N felt her mouth twitch. Just slightly.
Nesta had introduced them then--though it hadn’t felt like a formal thing. Just a quiet, this is Y/N and a dry this is Gwyneth Berdara in return, to which Gwyn had groaned and said, Don’t call me that.
They sat for a while in one of the reading nooks, Nesta sipping something dark from a steaming mug while Y/N tried not to fidget.
She didn’t know what she was doing here.
Didn’t know how to exist in a place like this.
But Gwyn, to her credit, didn’t seem to mind. She filled the space with just enough chatter--stories about books she was reading, complaints about Cassian’s latest training drills, a brief mention of “Valkyrie week” and how many of the females were prepping for it.
Eventually, Nesta set down her mug.
“We should go,” she said to Gwyn.
Gwyn tilted her head. “Emery’s not here yet, but she said she’d be around by early afternoon. Half of the females are already at the ring.”
Y/N glanced up. “The ring?”
Nesta gave her a sidelong look. “You’ll see.”
Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Are we reading books down there?”
Nesta snorted. “No. But I’d like to introduce you to a few friends of mine.”
Y/N arched a brow. “That sounds suspiciously friendly.”
Nesta shrugged. “I’m not known for my kindness. Just ask Cassian.”
Gwyn laughed.
And… well.
Y/N didn’t have anything better to do.
So she stood.
Shoulders aching, ribs still sore beneath her clothes, but stronger than she’d felt that morning.
“Fine,” she said. “But if this turns into some secret training cult, I’m out.”
“Oh,” Gwyn said with a grin, “you’re definitely not ready for what’s coming.”
The stairs spiraled up and up, and by the time Y/N stepped through the wide archway leading to the rooftop, a gust of wind tousled her hair. But it wasn’t the view of Velaris in the distance that held her attention. It was the open training space laid out before her.
A large ring marked the sparring area in the center, its edges traced with vibrant colours. A rack of gleaming weapons stood to the side, all neatly organized. Several padded obstacle props were arranged along the walls, and rope-climbing stations hung high above. The floor was worn in places, used, lived in.
Gwyn stepped beside her with a knowing grin. “This place didn’t look like this two years ago. It was just… empty stone. Cold and unused.” She gestured toward the training equipment and the arena. “All of this? The ring, the weapons, the routines? Nesta created it. She rebuilt this place.”
Y/N blinked, genuinely surprised. "Nesta did?"
Nesta, walking ahead, stiffened slightly. "I didn't do it alone."
"Oh, please," Gwyn said, swatting the air dramatically. "Don't listen to her.
She was the first. The one who decided we were worth fighting for.” She turned to Y/N. “You wouldn’t believe it now, but Nesta herself was…” Gwyn hesitated, then her voice softened. “She was as broken as the rest of us. Maybe even more.”
“Gwyn,” Nesta muttered, clearly uncomfortable.
But Gwyn only smiled brighter. "Now, dozens of us come up here. Every day. Because of her."
Y/N's lips quirked upward in reluctant admiration, her arms folding. "So this is where the Valkyrie magic happens, huh?"
"You could say that," Nesta replied, arching a brow. "Today's Valkyrie day, actually."
"Valkyrie day?"
Gwyn perked up. “It’s when all the girls get tested. The usual training for a few hours, then a course. Obstacles. Endurance trials. Mental and physical stamina. The winner--or winners--are crowned as Valkyries.”
Nesta added, “And Cassian and Azriel help run it. Monitor everything. They know how to push the girls without breaking them.”
At the mention of Azriel, Y/N’s mind flickered with the memory of his brooding silence, those piercing hazel eyes, and the way he looked at Elain like she was something fragile to hold, not someone burning in his hands. She shoved the thought aside.
"Really?" she said instead, tilting her head. "That sounds like fun. I'm quite the fighter myself."
Both Gwyn and Nesta turned toward her with raised brows.
"I mean it," Y/N said with a light shrug. "A past like mine does that to you. I know how to fight hand-to-hand. Disarm. Grapple. A bit of dagger work. I can also hold my own with a sword."
Nesta’s smirk said she liked what she was hearing, though she tried to hide it. Gwyn just grinned in amazement. “Damn. You sure you don’t want to join now?”
“I would,” Y/N said quickly, but Nesta cut in with a firm voice.
“Not yet. Not so soon after your injuries. Give it a few more days, we’ll see how you’re healing.”
Y/N was just about to protest again when a gust of wind swept across the rooftop. She turned as a figure descended from the sky--graceful, sure-footed, powerful.
The female landed in a crouch, her wings folding behind her in one smooth motion. Bronze-brown skin, black hair, a sharp jawline, and piercing eyes. She wore fighting leathers like they were second skin, and her presence radiated calm strength.
Everyone froze for a split second.
Then Gwyn shrieked and ran toward her. “Emerie!”
Nesta was just a heartbeat behind her, a rare, genuine smile stretching across her face. They wrapped their arms around the new female like they hadn’t seen her in years, not just a day or two.
Emerie laughed softly, hugging them back before her eyes settled curiously on Y/N.
Gwyn stepped aside. “This is Y/N, the one we told you about.”
Y/N straightened her spine, offering a hand. “You must be Emerie”
Emerie shook it firmly. “And you must be tougher than you look, if you’re already standing.”
Y/N smirked. “I like to keep people guessing.”
Emerie grinned in approval. “You’ll fit in just fine.”
Before Y/N could reply, the sound of footsteps behind her drew her attention. A group of young females, in leathers or simple tunics, entered the rooftop space with quiet excitement.
Nesta turned to look at them, then back at the group she stood with. Her expression shifted into that commanding, steel-backed confidence Y/N was beginning to associate with her. A slow, wicked smile crept onto her lips.
“Time for training to begin.”
Y/N sat near the edge of the rooftop, tucked against the low stone ledge where the sun warmed her back and the mountain breeze teased at the loose ends of her hair.
Below, the Valkyrie training had been in full swing for over two hours. Sweat gleamed on foreheads, braids bounced with every dodge, every swing of the wooden swords echoed sharp against the padded floor. Nesta barked orders like a general, Gwyn was laughing breathlessly as she sparred with another female, and Emerie had launched into the obstacle course like she’d built it herself.
Y/N watched with quiet fascination, arms folded, her body still not quite ready to move like that, but her muscles twitching anyway--itching with the familiar urge to join in.
This was...different. A place for strength, for healing, but without pity. It wasn't just about surviving here--it was about becoming. Becoming more.
She would've never guessed the rooftop of a house held this kind of power.
She was so lost in watching one of the younger girls finally make it across the balancing beam after falling six times, that the voice beside her made her flicnh slightly.
"I hope you're enjoying this."
Y/N turned, finding Elain standing there in a soft green dress, her hair let loose with tiny wildflowers woven through. Her smile was warm, perhaps too warm. "I was in the garden."
Y/N raised a brow. "You have a garden?"
Elain's eyes lit up like she'd been waiting for that quetsion. "Yes. Just down behind the house. I like flowers. Plants. Growing things." Her voice softened, dreamy. "It's peaceful. You'd like it."
Y/N tilted her head, offering a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "No, thanks. I've never been much of a flower lover."
Elain clasped her hands in front of her. “I suppose not everyone is. But I like to think flowers are resilient. Even the delicate ones can grow in harsh places.”
A beat passed.
Y/N hummed. "True. Weeds, too."
Elain blinked at that, her smile twitching ever so slightly. Y/N returned her gaze to the training below, amused.
“I’ve never seen so many females train like this before,” Elain said, stepping closer. “Nesta’s made something very special here. They all adore her.”
There was a lull in the conversation, but then Elain spoke again, voice light as air.
“So… has anyone told you more about everyone in the Inner Circle? ”
Y/N kept her eyes on the sparring ring. “Bits and pieces.”
“They’re all very close,” Elain continued. “A family, really. They protect each other, support one another… it’s a very strong bond. Especially between the males. Very loyal. Very devoted.”
There it was, that tone. Sweet on the surface. But it slid under Y/N’s skin like a whisper with teeth.
She glanced sideways, catching the faintest hint of something territorial behind Elain’s gentle smile.
“And what about Azriel?” Y/N asked, careful to keep her tone neutral. “What’s he like?”
Elain’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes flickered. “He’s… complicated. But kind. He doesn’t let people in easily. It takes a long time to truly know him. And once you do, he’s… hard to let go of.”
Y/N raised a brow, letting the words hang. Hard to let go of. Right.
She leaned back slightly, tapping a finger on her thigh. “Sounds intense.”
“He is,” Elain murmured, eyes dreamy again. “But some bonds are like that. Meant to be… private.”
Y/N gave her a slow, amused smile. “Don’t worry. I’m not in the habit of sticking my nose where it’s not wanted.”
Elain blinked at her, mouth parting like she wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or insulted. But before she could say anything-
A gust of wind whipped across the rooftop.
The sound of leathery wings beating the air pulled both of their gazes skyward.
Cassian landed with a heavy thud, already grinning as Nesta stalked toward him. His arms opened wide, and she rolled her eyes before letting him scoop her into a quick kiss and a long hug that drew cheers from the females watching.
Azriel landed a second later, silent as a shadow.
Y/N felt Elain shift beside her.
Her eyes instinctively flicked to the Shadowsinger. He stood tall, wings folding behind him, black leathers glinting in the sun. His shadows coiled faintly at his boots, and those hazel eyes swept across the rooftop like he was counting every heartbeat.
They landed on Elain first.
Y/N watched Elain’s entire body respond, eyes widening, lips parting, a soft pink blooming across her cheeks.
Azriel’s gaze lingered.
Then it moved.
To her.
And it changed.
The soft gleam turned cold. Sharp. Almost distant, like he’d thrown up an entire wall in a breath. But it was too late. She’d seen it.
He had looked at Elain like a secret.
He had looked at her like a threat.
Y/N leaned back, just slightly. Smirked to herself. And said nothing.
The rooftop had transformed.
With the late afternoon sun pouring golden light across the training ring, a line of eager females stood at the ready, shoulders squared, weapons gleaming. Nesta stood beside Cassian on the elevated platform near the far end, arms crossed, her expression sharp and proud. Gwyn jogged to the center, a mischievous glint in her teal eyes as she raised a faded red flag.
“Alright!” she called. “You all know the drill. You’ve got ten obstacles, four before your break, six after. First to make it through them all wins. And remember, strength isn’t everything.”
Cheers erupted from the crowd.
A sharp snap of fabric, and the flag came down.
They were off.
Y/N stood near the sidelines with Elain again, watching the swarm of determined females leap into motion. The first obstacle--a run across narrow balance beams--saw three girls fall into the nets below within seconds.
“She’s incredible,” Y/N murmured, nodding toward Emery as she flipped over one of the climbing walls.
Elain hummed beside her, clasping her hands together. “They all are. Nesta really did something amazing here.”
Y/N’s chest tightened in a way she couldn’t explain. This place… it didn’t feel like the Night Court she’d imagined. It felt...safe. Like it belonged to the girls. Like maybe, just maybe, she could belong, too.
Four obstacles down. Five-minute break.
As the girls grabbed water and stretched, Y/N found herself folding her arms and leaning against the rooftop’s stone railing. She was so focused on the glow of pride on Nesta’s face, she barely heard the footsteps behind her.
Until a voice, smooth and cold, broke the air.
She glanced sideways.
Azriel.
He walked toward them with that same silent, coiled grace he always carried, shadows trailing faintly behind him like smoke tethered to his boots. His expression was unreadable as he stopped a few feet away.
“Az,” Elain greeted, her smile going soft and bright in a way Y/N couldn’t help but notice.
“Training looks good,” he said, voice low.
“You look tired,” Elain said gently, touching his arm. “Hold on- I’ll go get you some water. Just wait here.”
“That’s not necessary.”
But she was already walking away, skirt fluttering, a woman on a mission.
Y/N sighed and turned back toward the rooftop view, trying not to care that he was now standing directly beside her.
The silence dragged for a few seconds.
Then: “Once you’re healed,” Azriel said coolly, “I hope you leave this place.”
Y/N blinked, a sharp laugh escaping her before she turned to face him fully. “Wow. You’re really into the warm welcomes, huh?”
He didn’t smile. Of course he didn’t.
“I don’t care if the others are fooled. I see through you.”
“Oh, is that right?” she asked dryly. “Did your shadows whisper something in your ear about me being dangerous?”
His jaw tightened.
“You’re from Autumn,” he said simply, like that alone was proof enough. “That court doesn’t breed survivors. It breeds liars.”
She arched a brow, anger flickering deep in her chest, but masked it with a mocking smile. “Well, I’m flattered. But tell me, do you say the same thing to all the females in the library? Or is your prejudice reserved just for me?”
“The priestesses aren’t from Autumn,” he said flatly.
She stilled for half a breath, genuinely confused by the venom in his voice. “What is it about Autumn that bothers you so much?”
He didn’t answer.
So she shrugged. “Either way, don’t worry. I never intended to stay long. But I must say, Velaris is quite lovely. I may change my mind.”
Azriel’s eyes narrowed. “I hope not.”
Her smirk sharpened. “Too bad.”
He stepped a little closer, his shadows curling tighter. “I know what you are. Maybe the others can’t see it, but I can. You’re a spy. And I don’t know what your goal is, but I’ll find out. And when I do- ”
She let out a full, bright laugh, genuine this time, sharp and surprised. “Oh, gods. You actually believe that. That I’m some cunning little agent from Autumn.”
She wiped at a nonexistent tear. “Do let me know when you find evidence. I’m dying to know what I’m supposed to be spying on. Nesta’s bedtime routine?”
He glared at her, about to respond, but something dropped out of the sky.
A loud thud, a flash of silver, and a round training weight--like a padded ball used for dodging practice--bounced and rolled straight toward them.
It happened too fast to track.
Both Y/N and Azriel lunged to stop it, reacting on instinct.
But in their haste, they collided.
Y/N stumbled, tripped on the uneven stone, and tumbled forward, straight into his chest. Azriel caught her, but too late to remain standing.
They crashed to the ground.
She landed on top of him.
Chest to chest. Legs tangled. Her hands braced on his chest, his arms around her waist, like they were locked in some twisted dance.
Her heart thundered.
His eyes--startled and wild--locked on hers.
And for the briefest second, neither of them moved.
The wind was knocked from her lungs--not just from the fall. But from him. From the feel of him.
Solid. Warm. Caged beneath her. Staring up at her like he couldn’t understand what the hell just happened.
Then-
A pointed throat-clearing sound cut the moment like a blade.
They both snapped their heads to the side.
Elain stood there, holding a glass of water. Her eyes wide. Her posture uncertain.
“Everything alright?”
Y/N pushed off of him quickly, brushing imaginary dust from her arms as she stood.
Azriel stood slower, more controlled, but his eyes flicked once to Y/N, still unreadable--but now clearly unsettled.
She smirked again.
“Perfectly fine,” she said brightly. “Just… testing Velaris gravity. It works.”
The dining room was warm with laughter and canlelight, the long mahogany table cluttered with wine goblets, steaming plates of roast meat and vegetables, and a loaf of Elain's rosemary bread no one had touched yet.
Y/N sat between Mor and Elain--not by choice, of course. The House had simply nudged her chair there with one of its breezy, invisible whims. Across from her, directly so, was Azriel.
Typical.
Rhysand and Feyre had arrived not long ago, with Amren gliding in behind them like a shadow in moonlight. Conversation buzzed now, loud and easy.
"So Nesta says you know how to fight?" Feyre asked suddenly, turning to Y/N with a bright grin. "That's fantastic!"
Y/N blinked, mid-sip of her wine. She shot Nesta a sharp look, who only raised a brow and shrugged like what, did you want me to lie?
“Yes,” Y/N replied, setting down her goblet. “I’ve trained. I’m no Valkyrie, but I can hold my own.”
“That’s impressive,” Rhysand said from the head of the table, his violet eyes calm, curious. “Not many make it out of the Autumn Court with their strength intact, let alone their skills. You should be proud.”
Amren gave Y/N a once-over, like she was inspecting a very rare, very curious gemstone. "I like this one."
Y/N blinked. "Thanks?"
"Don't let it get to your head." Amren said, picking at her wine-soaked bread.
The conversation continued--Nesta mentioning the rooftop training earlier, Gwyn’s win in a timed obstacle, Emerie’s aerial maneuver. Cassian, of course, exaggerated everything and got eye-rolls from literally everyone, including Rhys.
At one point, Mor leaned in toward Y/N with a casual smile.
"Hey," she said softly, "how about tomorrow we get you out of the house for a bit?"
Y/N looked at her. "Out?"
“Nothing too much,” Mor assured her. “Just a small walk in Velaris. We’ll stay close, not push it, I know your injuries still need time. But cooping you up in here all day isn’t doing your mind any favors. We’ll turn back the second you feel uncomfortable.”
Y/N felt her face soften, a real smile tugging at her lips. “I’d love that, actually.”
But even as she said the words, heat burned along the side of her cheek--that unmistakable sensation of being watched. Not just watched--devoured, dissected, judged.
She didn't need to look to know where it was coming from. But she looked anyway.
Azriel.
He was watching her with that same unreadable expression he’d worn earlier on the rooftop--sharp, furious, almost disgusted. But there was something else, too. Something darker. Something that shimmered like hunger in his gaze before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.
Beside her, Mor leaned in again, her voice barely a whisper. “What’s gotten into him?”
Y/N didn’t take her eyes off him. “If only I knew.”
Azriel must have noticed their exchange--noticed the way Mor was looking at him now, assessing. His jaw clenched. He cleared his throat, stood up abruptly, and muttered, “Excuse me.”
All heads turned to him.
"Everything alright?" Feyre asked gently.
"I'm fine," Azriel said stiffly. "Just need some air."
And just like that, he left. The sound of his boots echoing down the hallway before the silence that filled in behind him like a vacuum.
Cassian arched a brow. "Well. That wasn't ominous at all."
Y/N gave a wry smile into her goblet. Mor stifled a snort.
And then, less than five minutes later, Elain rose from beside Y/N. "Oh! I forgot- there's another bread. I left a loaf in the oven. It'll burn."
She left without waiting for a response, her footsteps light and swift down the hall--and not, Y/N noticed, in the direction of the kitchen.
Right. Bread in the oven.
A silence settled over Y/N, thick as the velvet skies outside the windows. Mor noticed it, too. Her golden eyes flicked sideways, narrowing just a touch.
Y/N didn't say a word.
Because she already knew exactly where Elain had gone.
And who she'd gone after.
The balcony door clicked shut behind him, muting the warm hum of laughter and clinking silverware from the dinner still ongoing in the other room.
Azriel braced his hands on the cold stone railing and took a breath--or tried to. The night air was sharp with mountain wind and the distant perfume of wildflowers drifting up from the Sidra below, but it didn’t help. Not enough. Not when the taste of her laughter was still in his mouth.
Her.
The image came unbidden--her body sprawled across his just hours ago, that accidental fall as the ball struck, the press of her chest against his, her breath stalling when she realized the position they’d landed in. The glint in her eyes before it vanished into tension. Or maybe something else.
Something had changed in that moment. Something Azriel refused to name.
It hadn't meant anything. It shouldn't have meant anything.
And yet-
Mother above, the way his body had betrayed him, that split second where instincts had surged. Temptation. That dangerous awareness of her warmth. Her scent.
His hands clenched the railing.
He hated her.
Hated the way she looked at him, like she saw through him--not in the way others tried to read him, but through him. Past him. Like he was a book she’d already flipped through and found wanting.
He hated the way she laughed, like she wasn’t dragging pain behind her like chains. Like she wasn’t recovering from injuries that would’ve broken lesser warriors.
He hated how easily she wielded sarcasm like a blade. How she sparred with words as easily as steel. How she never once tried to gain his favor--never looked at him the way others did. Not with reverence. Not with fear. Nothing.
But what he hated most was how drawn to her he felt. That pull--quiet but constant. Like a thread being slowly, slowly reeled in.
No. No.
He couldn't let it grow.
He didn't want it.
Because he knew what she was.
A liar. A spy. A threat hiding beneath a clever smirk and Autumn fire. She was too poised, too in control. She hadn’t flinched when confronted. Hadn’t cracked even under his most pointed barbs. No one could pretend so easily--unless they’d trained for it.
She was not what she seemed.
And he would prove it.
Even if everyone else had been fooled--Nesta, Mor, even Rhys--he wouldn't be.
He was the Spymaster of the Night Court. It was his job to see through the masks.
And still...
His throat tightened, and the shame clawed at him as his thoughts slid, unwillingly, to Elain.
Elain.
Sweet, gentle Elain, with her soft voice and eyes full of sun-drenched fields. The only light in his shadowed world. The only softness he’d ever allowed himself.
He owed her his loyalty. His restraint. His love.
Even if it didn’t quite feel the same anymore. Even if, tonight, when she smiled across the table, it felt… distant. Dull.
A voice stirred behind him.
“Az?”
Speak of her…
He turned to find her standing there in the archway, her silhouette glowing faintly in the moonlight. Concern shaped her delicate features.
“You alright?”
He straightened. “Yeah.”
Elain stepped closer, her steps soft, careful--like he might shatter if she came too fast. Her hands rose, small and warm, and pressed against his chest.
"You seemed...off. Distant." Her voice lowered. "Is it her?"
He didn't answer.
Elain tipped her chin up, urging him to look at her. And when she did, she wrapped her arms around him, burying herself against his chest.
He let her.
Held her.
Tried to find the calm in her presence that used to come so easily.
"I'm with you," she whispered. "No matter what happens. I love you, Az."
His throat bobbed. "I know."
Say it. Say it back.
"I love you too," he murmured.
But it didn’t taste the same. The words hung in the air between them like something worn out and overused.
Still, he hugged her tighter.
Still, he kissed the crown of her head.
Still, he stared out over the railing at the glowing, sleeping lights of Velaris beyond.
But his mind was already elsewhere. Already scheming.
If she won’t leave willingly… I’ll make her.
If she was here to cause harm, to deceive and manipulate and shatter what peace they’d built--then he would be the weapon that rooted her out. He’d unravel her until she had no mask left to hide behind. Until she had no choice but to run.
And if she didn’t?
He would make her.
He was done waiting for proof.
It was time to find it.
A few of his shadows slithered silently away into the night, veiled and swift, vanishing over the rooftops of Velaris.
They would find out everything about her. Her history. Her contacts. Her movements before arriving in the Night Court. Every whisper, every trace.
And once he had what he needed…
She would regret ever stepping foot in this city.
The streets of Velaris bustled with life--glowing storefronts, laughter spilling from alleys, scents of baked bread and citrus floating through the air like they had nowhere else to be.
N kept pace beside Mor, who strolled as if she owned the city. Maybe she did. The confidence in her stride was effortless, her long golden hair catching the light like a banner in the wind.
“Velaris really is something, huh?” Mor said, voice light but proud. “City of Starlight. You can’t really grasp it until you see it for yourself. It’s not just the beauty--it’s the peace.”
Y/N gave a small nod, eyes flicking to the buildings. Art studios. Bookshops. Painted benches. Laughter. Life.
Peace.
She didn’t trust it.
“It’s nice,” she offered, keeping her voice neutral. “Very…clean.”
Mor chuckled. “We do take some pride in not being overrun by filth and screaming.”
“Well, I suppose that does put you ahead of most other courts.”
They rounded a curve overlooking the river, the cobbled path glittering with sunlight.
“Feyre has an artist friend down that street,” Mor said, nodding toward a narrow lane of galleries. “And that café on the corner? Best honey pastries I’ve ever had. I’ll drag you there sometime.”
“I’m not much of a sweet tooth.”
“Oh, stars, that’s tragic,” Mor gasped, mock-offended. “How do you survive?”
“With spice. Salt. And stubbornness.”
That earned a laugh, but the movement pulled at Y/N’s leg. A sharp hiss escaped her, and she immediately regretted it.
Mor halted, brows furrowing. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Y/N said quickly, straightening. “Just a scratch.”
Mor didn’t even dignify that with a response. She grabbed Y/N by the elbow and steered her, without discussion, toward a nearby café.
"I'm fine- "
"No, you're not. Shut up."
Y/N blinked. "Is that a standard Night Court greeting?"
"Only when you're being stupid."
They slid into a small booth near the window. Sunlight bathed the table in gold, and the scent of strong, dark coffee warmed the air.
Mor flagged down a server and ordered two cups without even asking. "You drink coffee, right?"
"I do enjoy it."
"Good. I'd have to disown you otherwise."
Y/N let out a soft laugh despite herself. Her thigh throbbed beneath the table, but the tension eased now that she wasn’t walking on it.
Mor’s gaze flicked to her leg, and for once, her smile faded.
“You know Rhys isn’t going to let you leave until you’re fully healed, right?”
“I’m aware,” Y/N said. “So I’ll heal fast. It’s not that hard.”
“I wasn’t talking about just your body.” Mor leaned back slightly, studying her. “I’m talking about the rest of it.”
Y/N frowned. "The rest of what?"
"You," Mor said plainly. "The way you walk like nothing happened. Like you weren't found half-broken by Cassian. Like this is just another Tuesday."
Y/N said nothing.
"You can bottle it up all you want," Mor continued, softer now. "But it doesn't stay buried forever. That kind of pain- it follows you. Unless you deal with it."
"I am dealing with it," Y/N snapped. "I've handled worse."
"That's exactly what I'm talking about," Mor said, voice rising. "You've handled worse--you think that's what normal is. That it's fine."
Silence hung between them.
Mor sighed and rubbed her temples. “Look. I hate it when anyone--doesn’t matter the gender or sex--is made to feel like their pain isn’t valid. Like they should just carry it and move on. I don’t know what happened to you, and I won’t assume. But I’ll always be on your side. Because I know what it feels like.”
Y/N’s brows lifted slightly. “What… are you saying you...?”
“Maybe that’s a story for another time.” Mor smiled, a little too tightly. “Maybe I’ll tell you mine someday--when you tell me yours.”
Y/N’s lips curled into something between a smirk and a sneer. “I’m grateful to Cassian for saving me. I am. But I’m only staying until my physical injuries heal. You don’t have to worry about the rest.”
“Well, I do worry about the rest,” Mor said gently. “Because trauma isn’t just bruises and blood. And you’re not going to be fine--not really--if you keep locking it away like this. What’s been done to you that you’ve become so numb to it all?”
Y/N opened her mouth-
But just then, the waiter arrived, setting down two cups of steaming coffee between them.
Y/N took hers in her hands, inhaled the scent. Strong. Bitter. Warm.
She didn’t look up as she murmured, “That’s not something I’d say to someone I’ve only known for two days.”
Mor didn’t push. She nodded, taking a sip from her own cup.
“Fair enough,” she said. “But can I ask you one thing?”
Y/N’s eyes narrowed.
Mor’s tone was cautious now. “All this--your injuries, the state Cassian found you in--was any of it caused by Prince Eris? Or… anyone from the royal circle?”
Y/N looked at her sharply. “What? Are you kidding me? Where would I have ever met prince Vanserra?”
“So… no?”
"No. You don't have to worry about that." Her gaze narrowed. "Why him specifically?"
Mor hesitated--then gave a dismissive wave. “Nothing. Forget it. Let’s not ruin the mood.”
She leaned forward, smiling again with that effortless ease. “By the way--this coffee? Absolute masterpiece. I’d murder for a cup like this every morning.”
Y/N snorted. “You would.”
Mor winked. “Damn right I would. So don’t let it go cold. If you do, I’ll be forced to dump it on your lap as punishment.”
And somehow, despite everything pressing inside her, Y/N smiled.
Maybe it was the warmth of the drink. Or the sunlight. Or the fact that, even if she didn’t say it, Mor saw her.
And that, for once, didn’t feel like a threat.
f only she would’ve known how short this happiness would last. Because apparently, Azriel had gone mad.
Whatever restraint he’d shown before--all the clipped silences, the passive glares, the tension in his jaw--had all but vanished in the days that followed.
It was like something in him had snapped.
One moment she was sipping coffee with Mor under the morning sun. The next? Shadows curled down the alleyway beside them like tendrils of smoke--too dark, too aware, too watching. When she turned her head, nothing was there.
But she knew better. She knew they were his.
The first time she caught them, she’d hoped it was coincidence. The second, she’d cursed under her breath. By the fourth time, she was ready to drag Azriel to the curb and throw his precious shadows into the Sidra herself.
But it didn’t stop there.
Whenever she walked down the stairs of the House of Wind, Azriel was suddenly there. Silent. Looming. Always just exiting the corridor she was about to enter. Always glancing her way like she had something clutched in her teeth that didn’t belong to her.
One evening, she tried slipping out with Nesta to visit a little bookstore near the palace--just a simple outing. But before they could even reach the front steps, Azriel appeared on the balcony above them, leaning against the rail like a statue carved in smoke.
“Going somewhere?” he asked, voice like frostbite.
Nesta had rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath about brooding bats, but Y/N felt his stare on her back the entire walk down the mountain. When they got to the bookstore, she found herself scanning every shadowed corner, half-waiting for his bloody boots to appear from the darkness.
Another day, she was in Feyre’s art studio, a quiet afternoon where Feyre had gently coaxed her to try painting--nothing serious, just colors on canvas, something to make her feel. And for a moment, Y/N had felt… calm.
Until Azriel arrived.
He didn’t speak. Just stood in the doorway for a long moment, arms crossed, shadows whispering around his shoulders like angry ghosts.
Feyre had looked up, surprised. “Do you need something?”
“Just checking the wards,” he said, eyes flicking to Y/N. “Wouldn’t want anyone getting too comfortable. Especially strangers.”
Y/N had set down her brush and left without a word.
It kept escalating.
He’d bump into her deliberately in the hallways--not gently, not the sort of polite oops-sorry contact, but shoulder-checks, like he was trying to remind her who had the power here. Once, in the backyard, she passed him while walking toward Mor, and his elbow clipped her hard enough to make her stumble.
“Watch it,” he muttered.
“Funny,” she snapped. “I was about to say the same to you.”
When Madja later examined her collarbone and gently commented on how well it was healing, Azriel--who wasn’t even supposed to be there--snorted from across the living room.
“Don’t be fooled,” he said, voice carrying. “People like her are good at pretending.”
Y/N had stared at him then, her hands clenched so tightly her nails dug crescents into her palms. But Madja had simply raised a brow and said, “I’ve been healing people since before you were born, boy. Don’t insult my intelligence.”
That had shut him up. For a minute.
The worst part wasn’t even what he said. It was the way he looked at her--like he was trying to dissect her with his eyes, peel her open until her secrets spilled out. Like he was just waiting for her to slip, to give him
Sometimes she caught his gaze following her during dinner. Sometimes he didn’t even bother looking away when she met it.
Sometimes, she thought there was something else behind it. Something sharp and hungry and utterly confusing--a flicker of heat that flashed like lightning before it vanished into cold, calculating shadows again.
But maybe that was just her own madness speaking.
Maybe it was her sleep-deprived brain, worn thin from constantly looking over her shoulder, from always wondering when he’d pop up next. Maybe it was her own instincts misfiring--reading danger as desire because that’s what she’d been taught, that one could bleed into the other, could look the same from the right distance.
Or maybe Azriel really had lost his mind.
Because his war wasn’t subtle anymore. It wasn’t a quiet disapproval or the silent way he’d always glared. No- this was active.
When she lingered too long near a window, he’d appear on the roof across from it, arms crossed, shadows slithering down the stone like vines. When she laughed at something Cassian said, Azriel’s jaw would tighten so harshly she swore she could hear his teeth grinding. One morning, she and Mor had been planning to visit the market--just the two of them--only for Azriel to conveniently declare he had business in that exact district.
He’d followed them the whole way.
“You know,” Y/N had whispered to Mor as they passed another alley where his shadows shifted, “I think your friend has developed a hobby.”
Mor had just raised a brow. “He’s usually not this obvious. You must really piss him off.”
“I barely speak to him.”
“Exactly.”
But it wasn’t just tension anymore. It was hostility.
The kind that came to a head two days later, when she passed him in the hallway and muttered, “Are you going to follow me to the toilet next?”
He didn’t laugh. He didn’t smile.
He stopped in front of her, stepping in close. Too close.
His voice was a low rasp, meant for her ears only. “If I did, maybe I’d finally find what you’re hiding.”
Her nostrils flared. “You’re insane.”
His eyes dragged down her face, her body, slow and methodical, like he was searching for some invisible clue she didn’t even know she carried. “No. I’m careful.”
And then he stepped past her, shoulder grazing hers just hard enough to make her stumble back a step.
She stood there in the hallway long after he disappeared, heart hammering like war drums in her chest.
What the hell was wrong with him?
What the hell was happening?
And why--despite every insult, every snide remark, every invasive look--did she feel like beneath it all, something else was clawing its way between them? Something she didn’t want. Something she absolutely refused to name.
But whatever this was, whatever twisted game Azriel had decided to play…
She would not be the one to lose.
Not to him.
Not again
This was it.
Y/N had enough of his bullshit.
The shadows. The constant glaring. The passive-aggressive comments laced with suspicion. The maddening, oppressive presence of him lurking in every damn corner of the House.
She sat up in bed, sheets twisting around her legs, her jaw tight and eyes blazing. To hell with recovery. To hell with rest. She couldn’t spend one more hour laying still while Azriel walked around acting like she was some kind of monster in disguise.
Let him see.
Let him see that even broken, she was still a warrior. Still capable. Still dangerous.
Without thinking, she threw on a simple black training set--leggings, sports top, boots--ignoring the faint pull of her still-healing body. She wrapped the bandages tight. If it reopened, so be it. She needed to move. Needed to release this pressure that had been building like a storm beneath her skin since the moment she arrived.
The rooftop was cloaked in shadows, quiet and high above the sleeping city. A perfect place to train.
But she stilled the moment her foot touched the stone.
He was already there.
Azriel.
Half-naked. Back turned to her. His inked skin shimmered with sweat under the moonlight, muscles flexing as he slammed his fists into the hanging punching bag with brutal, vicious strikes. Again. And again. And again. Shadows danced across his spine like they belonged there.
She hated the way her breath caught. Hated the flicker of something that tightened in her stomach.
As if sensing her, he paused.
His head turned slightly over his shoulder, hazel eyes meeting hers. Cold. Sharp. Already annoyed.
Y/N held her chin high and walked further onto the rooftop like she hadn’t just seen him try to obliterate leather with his bare fists. Like he wasn’t standing there, looking like the gods had carved him from vengeance and violence.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was gravel, low and biting. “Weren’t you supposed to be injured? Or did I just uncover your little plan of acting hurt by day and training by night?”
She let out a hollow, deadpan laugh. “Ha. Ha. So funny. You got me there, Mr. Spymaster.”
He didn’t smile.
Neither did she.
She turned to the weapons rack by the wall, reaching for a throwing knife--only to freeze when she felt heat at her back.
A very real, very hard chest pressed behind her.
She inhaled sharply.
Azriel leaned in, voice brushing against her ear like smoke. “Maybe I just don’t like the idea of a liar in my Court.”
Goosebumps rose along her arms despite herself.
But her voice was steady. “Is that why your little shadows have been stalking me every time I so much as breathe? Why you’ve been acting like an asshole since the minute I got here?”
His voice was just as cold in reply. “I trust instinct. And mine’s telling me something’s wrong with you.”
Frustration flared like fire beneath her skin. Without hesitation, she whirled around to face him, eyes burning. “Oh? I wonder what everyone would think if they found out about your little fling with Elain?”
Shock rippled across his face.
Quickly replaced by fury.
His hand shot out, gripping her arm roughly. “How the hell do you know that?” he growled. “Who told you?”
She ripped her arm free, eyes narrowed to slits. “Touch me again, Spymaster, and I’ll show you just how ruthless we Autumn Fae can be.”
They stood there, chest to chest, breathing hard--both furious, both unrelenting.
Then she pushed past him.
Marched straight to the rack, grabbed two knives, and started training like he didn’t exist.
Behind her, she heard a long exhale. A rustle of wings.
And then--he was gone.
She didn’t stop moving. Didn’t stop throwing. Didn’t stop bleeding out all the fury he left in his wake.
Because she knew this wasn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
The morning was quiet.
A rare thing in the House of Wind.
Y/N sat curled on the wooden bench nestled within Elain’s garden, still relatively new, but already thriving. Ivy climbed the surrounding stone walls. Lavender and rosemary grew in wild patches at her feet, while soft-petaled moonflowers bobbed gently in the wind. The air was cool, sun just beginning to stretch across the sky, and for once, her mind was quiet too.
Until she heard him.
“You won’t tell anyone though, will you?”
The voice came from behind her: smooth, low, unmistakable.
Azriel.
She didn’t turn. Just kept staring forward, lips twitching with something dangerously close to amusement.
“Oh, you mean your very well-hidden affair with Elain?” she replied. “The one I figured out in less than two days? The one you’ve been trying so hard to pretend doesn’t exist?”
Silence followed.
She smirked. “Well… considering how you’ve been treating me, I think I do have a right to cause you some pain too, don’t you think?”
The quiet that came next stretched longer than she expected. So long, in fact, that she almost thought he’d left.
Until the bench dipped beside her.
She looked over, startled, as Azriel sat next to her.
His shadows curled low around his boots, unusually still.
“My apologies,” he said, voice low, eyes cast forward toward the garden. “Now… will you not tell them?”
Y/N blinked. Then scoffed softly. “Oh wow, you do know how to apologize. I’m shocked.”
Despite himself, Azriel’s lips curled--barely. But it was there. A flicker of a smile.
She didn’t comment on it. Just returned her gaze to the flowers.
They sat like that for a while, neither speaking. The kind of silence that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. She could feel him watching the lavender sway, feel the weight of his thoughts pressing behind his ribs.
Eventually, she sighed. “I will leave. Once I get the green light from Madja. I’m not planning on staying here any longer than I have to.”
He didn’t respond, but she went on.
“Until then… could you maybe stop terrorizing me?” she asked, glancing at him sideways. “And in return, I won’t tell anyone about your little secret.”
Azriel looked at her. Really looked at her.
Something unreadable passed through his hazel eyes.
Then, he nodded. “Seems like we’ve got ourselves a deal.”
Y/N gave a small smile.
Tentative. Cautious.
But a start nonetheless.
The library was quieter than usual.
Not silent--never truly silent with the House murmuring its secrets through the stone--but the low, steady hush was a balm Y/N hadn’t realized she needed.
She’d spent the last half hour browsing the older shelves, her fingers trailing over cracked leather bindings and gilded spines. It wasn’t intentional, but her body ached less when she moved, so she took that as permission enough to keep herself occupied. Even Nesta hadn’t joined her today--off with Cassian--and Mor was out on an errand, so she’d finally found a moment to herself.
Well, almost.
She sensed him before she saw him.
The faintest shift in air pressure. A cold thread of shadow whispering near her ankle.
She didn’t bother turning around. “You’re getting worse at sneaking up on me.”
Azriel’s voice came from behind her, steady and unreadable. “I wasn’t trying to sneak.”
Y/N hummed in response, plucking a slim book off the shelf and flipping it open. “Could’ve fooled me. Your little spies are quieter than usual.”
“I called most of them back,” he said.
That made her pause. She turned her head slowly. He stood two shelves away, arms crossed, wings tucked tight behind him, his expression as neutral as ever.
Her brows rose. “Really?”
Azriel nodded once. “You haven’t done anything suspicious in the last two days. I figured I could risk the temporary blindness.”
She let out a soft, surprised huff of amusement. “How generous.”
He didn’t smile, but she saw something flicker in his eyes. Something that wasn’t ice. A glance down the row of bookshelves, and then-
“You like history?” he asked, nodding toward the tome in her hand.
She blinked down at the title. Legends of the First War.
“I like stories that don’t try to lie about what they are,” she said. “Even if they’re brutal. At least they’re honest.”
Azriel was quiet a moment. Then, a low murmur: “Fair enough.”
A pause.
And then, to her surprise, he stepped closer--just a few feet--and gestured toward the shelf above her. “If you’re reading that, you might like this one too. Third row, green spine.”
Y/N stared at him for a second. Then reached up, retrieved the book he meant, and raised a brow.
“No poison, no hidden blade?” she asked.
Azriel gave her a flat look. “Not this time.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
And then he turned and walked away.
Not a word more.
But she watched him go, thumb absently running over the cover of the book in her hands. The tension that had curled in her chest for weeks didn’t vanish, not entirely, but it loosened.
Just a little.
Later that afternoon, when she crossed paths with him in the hallway leading to the dining room, he simply stepped aside to let her pass--no sharp comment, no suspicious glance.
And when they sat at the same dinner table that evening, he didn’t avoid looking at her.
But he didn’t scowl either.
The next morning, she came down into the training ring later than usual, intending just to walk a few slow laps while Nesta and Cassian sparred.
Azriel was there, leaning against a column, arms crossed, wings half-flared behind him.
She hesitated--but he only said, quietly, “You’re limping more today.”
Y/N straightened. “It’s nothing.”
He raised a brow, skeptical. “Madja would say otherwise.”
A beat passed. Then she sighed. “You watching me again, Shadowsinger?”
His mouth twitched. “Just passing observation.”
She eyed him warily. “You always pass through the training ring before breakfast?”
“No. But you always lie when something hurts.”
That shut her up.
She turned and walked the opposite way, heart slightly unsettled--not from fear.
From the fact that he noticed.
And didn’t seem so eager to hate as much anymore.
The hallway was filled with soft afternoon light streaming through the stained-glass windows, painting golden pools on the marble floor. Y/N walked quietly, hands tucked into the sleeves of her light sweater, her boots barely making a sound.
She hadn’t expected anyone to be outside the library this time of day--not with most of the household off doing whatever important tasks they did.
But as she rounded the corner, she almost walked straight into someone.
Him.
Azriel.
He stepped back just in time, his shadows fluttering like startled birds, and she blinked up at him, her breath catching--more from surprise than anything else. Or so she told herself.
“Spymaster,” she said flatly.
He glanced her over. “You walk like a ghost.”
“Better than stomping through the halls like a brute.”
A flicker of amusement passed through his eyes, but he didn’t respond.
They stood there, a moment too long, before she shifted to the side to pass him--only to hear a quiet voice from behind him.
“Elain’s waiting for you in the garden.”
Y/N’s spine straightened.
Azriel turned his head slightly, barely acknowledging the shadow that had whispered in his ear.
He looked back at Y/N.
She didn’t move. Just raised a brow. “Don’t let me keep you.”
There was no edge in her tone, but no warmth either.
Azriel studied her a second longer than necessary, as if trying to decipher something buried beneath her mask.
Then he nodded once and turned away.
She didn’t look back, but she felt his shadows retreat with him.
That evening, when she walked into the sitting room, Elain was there already, her legs tucked beneath her on the couch, a tray of tea in her lap. She was smiling--soft, pretty, exactly what people thought of when they thought of spring. Azriel was sitting beside her, quiet but attentive, his arm draped behind her on the couch.
He didn’t see Y/N at first.
But Elain did.
“Y/N,” she said warmly. “Join us?”
Y/N hesitated.
Azriel’s eyes lifted to her. No emotion. No reaction.
Just… blank.
“I was just about to leave,” Y/N said, voice smooth. “Enjoy your evening.”
She turned and left before either could respond.
The next morning, she found herself at the edge of the cliffs behind the House--no real reason for being there except that she’d needed space. Silence. A place without shadows or smiles that felt too sweet.
But, of course, she wasn’t alone for long.
The sound of wings behind her made her sigh before he even landed.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” she called, not turning around.
Azriel landed softly beside her, arms crossed. “Didn’t say you did.”
Y/N glanced at him. “Then why are you here?”
He shrugged. “Maybe I like the view.”
She gave him a sideways glance. “You’ve lived here for five centuries. Pretty sure you’ve memorized the cliffs by now.”
Azriel smirked faintly. “And yet they’re still quieter than most places.”
She hummed. “You mean quieter than me?”
“No,” he said. “You’re surprisingly tolerable when you’re not trying to pick a fight.”
She looked out at the ocean. “I thought fighting was your favorite pastime.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then, softly: “Not anymore.”
She turned to him.
He wasn’t looking at her. He was watching the waves, jaw tight, shadows curled at his boots like lazy cats. His face was unreadable, but there was something tired in the way his shoulders rested. Worn down, maybe. Like he hadn’t been sleeping well.
She didn’t ask.
And he didn’t offer.
But when she began to walk back toward the House, she noticed he matched her steps--just a little behind, but close enough that his presence followed her.
Not suffocating.
Just… there.
This peace between them…
It wasn’t friendship. It wasn’t trust. It wasn’t even a truce. It was a pause.
A fragile silence between storms.
And even if she knew it wouldn’t last…
Even if she still told herself she hated him…
She couldn’t deny that something had shifted.
Not just in him. But in her, too.
The fire in the sitting room had long since died, but a few embers still glowed in the hearth.
Y/N sat curled on one of the couches, arms wrapped around her knees, head tipped back against the cushion. Her eyes were open, but distant. Sleepless. Hollow.
Another nightmare.
She hadn’t screamed. Not this time.
But waking up with her heart racing, with the scent of ash and blood still thick in her nostrils--real or imagined--was enough to drive her out of her bed, out of her room, and into the shadows of the night.
Which was why she wasn’t even startled when she felt him behind her.
He didn’t announce himself. Didn’t need to.
Azriel moved like a ghost, all silent steps and still air, until he was sitting beside her on the opposite side of the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his head bowed slightly.
She didn’t even look at him.
“I swear,” she murmured, her voice rough with sleep and worn-out nerves, “you have an obsession with tracking me. Should I be flattered or concerned?”
He didn’t reply.
Instead, after a long pause, he asked softly, “Why are you awake?”
Y/N snorted lightly and looked away. “Isn’t that obvious?”
He didn’t press her for an answer. Didn’t need to. Her silence told him enough.
And still, he said, “Next time you wake up from a nightmare… come find me.”
She turned to him slowly, brows raised. “Oh? What for?” she asked, voice steeped in sarcasm. “So you can dig into my psyche and extract ‘information’ to file into your little mental report?”
His shadows curled lazily around her ankles, like they’d done so many times before, testing her calm. Testing her.
But Azriel only said, low and quiet, “So you can have someone who understands.”
Y/N blinked.
He didn’t look at her.
“We have a deal,” he continued, “so as long as you stay silent and fulfill your end of it… I’ll do the same. That includes not being a pain in the ass.”
She smirked faintly, watching the flames flicker in the hearth.
“Oh?” she murmured. “You used to nightmares, then?”
Finally, he glanced sideways at her, eyes unreadable in the dim light. “Have you seen me?” he said dryly. “Have you seen my shadows?”
Then, with the barest curl of his lips-
“I am the nightmare.”
Y/N let out a surprised huff of laughter. Not forced. Not mocking.
Summary: The reader has been having a hard time adjusting to her new Fae life. Mor convinces the Inner Circle to go to Rita’s, where she gets drunk. Azriel has to deal with the aftermath. Easy enough, right? Except for the fact that the reader doesn’t know about the stubborn mating bond between them.
Word count: 6.7K
This was a bad idea, he thought as he walked by your side. Mor had convinced everyone to spend the evening at Rita’s, even you.
He knew you didn’t like to go out much based on the fact that you always made an excuse whenever anyone invited you somewhere. You’d say that you had to run an errand or do some other important-sounding task.
They all knew that wasn’t true, but Feyre had made each of them promise not to pressure you. He didn’t blame you for not wanting to go out.
He considered himself a fellow homebody as well, preferring to nurse a cup of tea in the quiet of the living room rather than drink himself sick on a night out. But he knew that it wasn’t just a preference for the indoors that kept you from accepting the invitations you’ve been extended. He’d been observing you ever since you’d arrived at the House of Wind.
You’ve been handling your Fae transformation differently than your sisters. You hadn’t completely shut down like Elain, but you weren’t lashing out like Nesta either. You were much more subtle about the demons that haunted you. You didn’t just decline to go out with the others, you hardly left the house period, which is why the notion that you had errands to run sounded ridiculous to everyone else.
He had thought it was due to you trying to adjust to your new life here in Velaris, but it didn’t seem like you were doing much adjusting in the six months that you had been here. Not only did you decline to go out, but you often refused to participate in any of the group hangouts either.
For instance, sometimes the Inner Circle would play cards in the living room, shouting over each other as the game got heated. You would just sit in the armchair in the corner, never joining in, but always watching. Here and there, Cassian would try to convince you to join, and when you dutifully murmured a soft “No thanks,” Cassian would play it off like you were just scared of losing against him. You’d give a small smile in response, but you never changed your mind.
At dinner, you’d be almost totally silent, only responding when spoken to. He would occasionally catch you leaning toward him during dinner time, almost like you wanted his shadows to cloak you too. He never said anything about it, just let his shadows ease away from him the tiniest bit.
Your behavior had started to worry him and he could tell Feyre was worried too. He’d occasionally catch her and Rhysand discussing you when he’d walk past their bedroom door, and it was happening more often than not lately. Feyre would voice how concerned she was and Rhysand would always soothe her, saying that you’d snap out of it eventually. That day still hasn’t come.
The only time you seemed truly at home was at night. He’d often hear your footsteps leaving your room long after the others were asleep. He didn’t want to spy on you, but he’d sometimes send his shadows after you just to make sure you were okay.
You usually curled up on the couch for a couple of hours with a book before trailing back up to your room. He didn’t know why you couldn’t just do that in the daytime, but he was never one to pry. He knew more than most how important alone time was.
What concerned him most was, well…he was your mate. You didn’t know of course and he didn’t plan on telling you.
It happened on the night you were Made. His eyes had met yours after you had emerged from the Cauldron and he knew from then on that he was done for.
It was a struggle not to crowd you and ask if you were okay everyday. It took effort not to join you at night just to keep you company. He had promised himself he wouldn’t be overbearing. If something happened naturally, he wouldn’t be against it, but he wasn’t going to be the one to initiate something.
On and on this cycle went until today.
This morning, Mor had plopped down on the couch beside you with a big grin. He knew that grin. It meant that Mor had a plan up her sleeve, a plan that the person on the receiving end of the grin usually didn’t like.
”I was thinking…” she started in a light and airy tone. “It’s been so long since all of us had a night out on the town.”
Cassian smirked, picking up on the fact that Mor was feeling mischievous today. “What did you have in my mind?”
She smiled. “I was thinking that we should all go to Rita’s tonight.” She looked around the room to gauge everyone’s reactions.
Rhysand smiled back knowingly. “I think you just want an excuse to get drunk tonight.”
She shrugged casually. “What’s wrong with that? I think we all need a distraction. It’s been so boring here lately.”
Feyre sat down on the opposite side of her. “That’s a good thing. It means that nothing is going wrong.”
Mor rolled her eyes. “Sure, but it also means no one is having fun. Who’s in?”
Cassian rubbed his hands together. “I’m in. I could use a drink…or ten.”
Azriel chuckled lowly. “Of course you could, you alcoholic.”
Cassian put his hands up in defense. “Hey, I only get drunk on the nights that we go out.”
He scoffed. “Yeah, and then we have to carry your sorry ass back home.”
Mor interrupted the back and forth he and Cassian had going to speak to Rhysand. “What about you? You in.”
Rhysand turned to Feyre and after a moment she nodded. “We’re in.”
”Good. Amren?”
”It beats sitting at home,” Amren called back from the kitchen.
Mor smiled giddily and then turned toward him expectantly. He contemplated his answer. It was true that the last group hangout was a while ago and he didn’t mind the idea of having a small drink to take off the edge. “I’ll go…only if I don’t have to drag Cass home at the end of the night.”
Cassian flicked him off and he just shook his head in mock disappointment.
Mor shifted her body towards you. “What about our little party pooper over here?”
His jaw clenched as he watched you frown at the accusation, and he had to force himself to not scold Mor for her insensitivity.
”I have things to do,” you murmured.
Mor clicked her tongue. “Bullshit.”
”Mor!” Feyre reprimanded her before he got the chance to.
”What?” Mor asked like she hadn’t just rudely called you out. “We all know she has nothing better to do. She never goes out with us.”
He stepped forward from his spot in the corner, arms crossed over his chest. “Not everyone wants to spend time with a bunch of loud drunks, Mor.”
Mor ignored him and continued speaking to you. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Dancing, drinks, good food. What’s not to like?”
You started to shake your head, but Feyre moved from her spot on the couch and crouched down in front of you.
”Y/N…” she said quietly. “It could be good for you. You might end up liking it.” She squeezed your knee softly.
You looked away from her, your jaw clenching in the process. He knew you were gearing up to decline again
”Hey, look at me,” Feyre pleaded softly.
He watched attentively as you slowly turned your head back to her. The room was silent, giving you and Feyre a moment to speak.
“Just try it. One night. A couple hours, that’s all I ask.”
You looked like you’d rather be anywhere else than having this conversation right now. Mor was on the edge of her seat at the thought that you might finally agree to go somewhere.
You chewed on your lip nervously before breaking eye contact. “Fine,” you mumbled quietly.
His eyebrows raised, not sure if he had heard you correctly.
Mor let out a squeal of excitement. “I promise you won’t regret this, Y/N. You can borrow one of my dresses to wear tonight! I have plenty.”
He saw your face twist up uncomfortably at the prospect and again he felt the urge to give Mor a good talking to.
”I have my own—“
Mor cut you off. “Nonsense, those won’t do. You need something sexy.”
Mother, help him.
—
That was how you had ended up next to him in one of Mor’s many dresses and a pair of Feyre’s heels as the group approached Rita’s.
His eyes ran subtly over your form. You were wearing a black dress that was tight and short, and he couldn’t help but notice how you had to keep tugging the bottom of it down. He averted his gaze, not wanting you to notice his blatant staring. You were uncomfortable enough as it is.
Any normal person would feel bad for you, but Mor just looked delighted as she stared at her handiwork. “Looking tempting, Y/N.” She shot a flirtatious wink at you.
Cassian let out a low whistle. “I have to say, you look delicious right now.”
He fought back the urge to growl at the two of them. You were already uneasy, and they were only making things worse.
You gave a tight smile in response, still trying to tug your dress down.
”Alright, alright, you’re going to make her change her mind,” Feyre scolded.
Cassian gave his signature smile, showing all of his teeth. “I was just complimenting her.”
Rhysand flashed his own pearly white smile at the bouncer, who let them skip the line without question—perks of being the High Lord.
Azriel nudged your arm as they entered Rita’s. “If you get tired of their bullshit, just say the word and I’ll fly you back home.” He didn’t want you to feel pressured to stay here.
You nodded subtly, keeping close to him as Rhysand escorted the group to a private booth in the back. He observed all the sweaty bodies on the dance floor moving to the beat of the loud music in the background.
Everyone piled into the booth, squishing together like sardines. He was the last one in, his clothed thigh pressing against your bare one as he scooted in. He flexed one of his hands. Composure was key in this situation.
You leaned toward Feyre, trying to make room for him and he let out a breath of relief.
Mor clapped her hands together. “So, what does everybody want?”
Rhysand spoke up. “Drinks are on me tonight. Just don’t go overboard.” He shot a pointed look at Cassian.
Cassian cupped a hand around his ear like he hadn’t heard him. “What was that? You said drink until your coffers are empty?”
Rhysand rolled his eyes. “I mean it. We’re not here to black out,” he said in a warning tone, but everyone knew that Cassian couldn’t be stopped once he got started.
Mor leaned forward. “I’m going to order you a fruity drink, Y/N. You’ll hardly be able to taste the alcohol.”
Your head shot up quickly. “I don’t drink.”
It was true, he had never seen you drink the whole time he’d known you.
”You can’t come to Rita’s and not drink,” Mor stated like it was a concrete fact.
”Mor, let her be. If she doesn’t want to drink, then she doesn't have to,” Rhysand warned.
He saw you give Rhysand a grateful smile, looking relieved that the High Lord was defending your choice.
Mor’s pout strengthened and he knew she wasn’t going to let this go.
”But she’s never tried one. She doesn’t even know if she’ll like it or not.”
He shook his head. Mor was really starting to get on his nerves. “If she doesn’t want to, she doesn’t want to,” he said firmly. Besides, you looked like one strong drink would have you under the table, and Fae alcohol was not to be messed with.
Mor just turned to Feyre. “Feyre, a little help here?”
Feyre looked a little annoyed herself, but she angled toward you with a soft smile. “You don’t have to drink if you really don’t want to, but you might like it. You’ll never know if you don’t try it. Who knows, it may even help you relax a bit.”
His eyes traced your lips as you chewed on your bottom one, a habit he noticed you did often. He’s learned that it meant you were thinking, or you were nervous, or both.
As his eyes moved lower, he saw that your hands were balled up into fists on your lap. He felt the need to take your hands in his and soothe you, but he only forced his eyes back up. You could fight your own battles. He had promised himself he wasn’t going to be some territorial overprotective mate.
You took a deep breath and lifted your head up to face Mor. “I guess I’ll try one—“
Mor was out of her seat before you could finish your sentence. “Great! I’ll order drinks for everyone.”
Your gaze trailed after her helplessly. Azriel nudged you once more, and his breath caught in his throat as your eyes met his. You were close. Really close.
He cleared his throat. “You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to. I won’t tell if you won’t,” he said quietly so that the others couldn't overhear.
You shook your head. “One won’t break me. As long as it gets Mor off my case.”
He chuckled quietly. “She’s persistent, I’ll give her that. But if you start to feel uncomfortable, let me know and I’ll tell her to knock it off. She’s not exactly the best with boundaries.”
”So, I’ve learned,” you murmured back.
He smirked at your response and was about to reply when Mor came back carrying a tray of drinks for everyone.
She set down two orange-colored drinks in front of you. “I got you two in case you like the first one.”
You sighed under your breath as you slid one of them closer to you.
He watched as Mor pressed a drink into his own hands—vodka by the looks of it. Was she trying to get him drunk?
”Drink up everyone!” She exclaimed cheerfully, already gulping down her own drink.
He observed you out of the corner of his eye as you took a tentative sip of your drink and grimaced.
”That bad?” Cassian teased as he watched you.
"Alcohol's not my thing. Even when it’s watered down by whatever sugary syrup they put in here.”
”You say that now. Just wait a while and you might change your mind,” Cassian responded, smiling mischievously.
You just took another sip, trying not to make a face at the taste.
—
Rhysand and Feyre had both gone to the dance floor, now locked together as they swayed back and forth sensually. Cassian was at the bar chatting up a pretty Fae who seemed interested enough. Amren was off Cauldron knows where doing Cauldron knows what.
He was still beside you in the booth, as was Mor, unfortunately.
Mor rested her head in her hands, staring intensely at you as you finished off the second drink. She had all but refused to leave you alone until you had drunk both glasses of alcohol.
Every time he had tried to make a comment about it, Mor had shushed him, stating that you were a big girl and that you could handle it.
He reserved himself to watching in distaste, but you had seemed eager to get it over with, if only so she would leave you alone.
When you finally finished, Mor smiled proudly. “I’ll leave you two to it.” She quickly slipped out of the booth and over to the dance floor.
You looked flushed as you played with the hem of your dress—another nervous habit of yours. He had had one drink himself, but he still felt fine.
He leaned down so that you could hear him over the blasting music. “You okay?”
You turned toward him and he noticed the glazed over look in your eyes. You bit your lip and looked back down at your lap, an action that made him clench his fists again. “I’m fine,” you said quietly.
He tried to catch your eye. “You sure?”
You nodded and he couldn’t help but feel worried when you still wouldn't look up at him. It went on like that for a while, you silently staring at your lap and him trying not to make it obvious that he was staring at you.
He cleared his throat, the sound making you tilt your head up. “How are you enjoying the House of Wind?” he asked lamely, attempting to make conversation.
You blew a piece of hair out of your face. “It’s fine,” you said flatly.
”Just fine?” he pushed.
”It’s not home,” you declared solemnly.
His eyes softened. “Do you…miss home?” He didn’t want to stir up old feelings, but he had been so curious as to how you were feeling.
You shifted in your seat, making your dress ride up even more than it already was. He tried not to look at your upper thighs. He felt like a perv.
“Not exactly.”
He swallowed, trying to figure out how to respond. “But you don’t like it here?” he asked hesitantly.
You were suddenly on your knees, crawling over his lap sloppily, and he tried not to let out a grunt at the feel of your body sliding against his.
Clumsily, you slipped out of the booth and started to walk away from him. He grabbed your wrist gently before you could get too far. “Where are you going?”
You pulled your wrist away quickly. “The dance floor.” You twirled around again, not bothering to tug your dress down this time as you walked away.
He quickly followed after you. Cauldron forbid you face plant on the dance floor. He stepped onto the dance floor after you.
You just stood there. He stood slightly behind you awkwardly, waiting for you to do something. You turned around to face him. Your face looked more flushed than it had under the booth lighting, and he could see that your pupils were now blown wide. It seemed like the alcohol was finally catching up to you.
”Do you dance?” you blurted out over the music.
He hesitated, caught off guard. “Not often.”
A frown tugged at the corner of your lips and he quickly added “—but I know the basics.”
You looked up at him expectantly. He shook off his nerves and gathered the courage to hold out his hand out to you.
You placed your hand in his palm gently. Your skin was warm. The contact made tingles run up his arm. He sucked in a breath as he tentatively put a hand on your waist. You stiffened and he almost pulled back, but then you took a small step forward.
”I want another drink,” you whispered.
“I—are you sure that’s a good idea?” He didn’t want to baby you, but you were already feeling a little unsteady in his arms.
You pull away hurriedly, already headed to the bar. “I’ll go get one. You stay here,” you say over your shoulder.
He stood awkwardly among the sea of bodies as you approached the bar and waited for a bartender to notice you.
A male sitting at the bar eyed you up and down, making him uneasy. He looked like a prick. You were under the influence of alcohol, and he didn’t want any males taking advantage of you in your unguarded state.
The bartender slid you a drink—another orange one—and he saw the male lean in to whisper something in your ear.
He couldn’t hear what was said over the music, but his eyes narrowed when you leaned away and tugged your dress down. He saw you take a step away, but the male placed a hand on your waist, keeping you in place.
He was across the room in seconds. He placed a hand on your back and felt you tense. He rubbed his thumb up and down in apology. “Ready to head back?” he asked you loudly, glaring at the male. The male immediately removed his hand from your waist at the first glimpse of him. He tended to have that effect on people.
You nodded quickly, leaning toward him. He tapped your back, signaling for you to move with him as he guided you back onto the dance floor.
Your breath was a little heavier now. He shouldn’t have let Mor bring you here. He leaned down to speak to you gently. “Are you alright?”
You stared back at the male who was now staring at the wall ahead of him, avoiding your gaze. He squeezed your side gently, trying to bring your attention back to him.
You turned your head back to him and stepped closer, absentmindedly taking a long sip of your drink. “Huh?”
He kept rubbing your back. How inebriated were you? “I asked if you were alright.”
You let the straw slide out of your mouth. “Oh.”
The glazed over look on your face had gotten worse and he grew concerned. “Did that guy say something to you?”
He saw your jaw clench and he wanted to rub his thumb against it. He hated seeing you in distress.
You got up on your tippy toes to whisper in his ear like it was some secret. “He said I had nice legs.”
His grip tightened on you slightly as he looked back at the male who was still avoiding both of your gazes.
You continued. “Then he asked me if I wanted to come home with him.”
So he was a prick. If you weren’t here right now, he would seriously consider punching that guy in the face. He looked back down. “I think we should all go home.”
You shook your head vigorously and took another sip of your drink.
His eyebrows furrowed. “Why not?”
You sighed in frustration. “Because—because I’m not a party pooper!”
He bit the inside of his cheek as he heard your words. “Is this about what Mor said this morning?”
You stubbornly shook your head again. “No.”
He stared at you in disbelief. “Then why don’t you want to go home?”
You groaned and took another sip of your drink, refusing to answer him.
He put a finger under your chin and felt your breath catch. He ignored that little tick, wanting an answer from you.
”Look, everyone else is having a good time. I’m not going to ruin their night,” you responded. “Like always,” you added under your breath, but he heard it anyway.
He tugged on your wrist. “Then come back to the booth at least.” He heard you let out a protest, but he was already pulling you along with him.
You stumbled slightly over your heels and he slowed down. He had to remember that you were on the verge of being drunk. He reached the booth and pushed on your back gently, gesturing for you to get in before him.
Once you were in, he slid in after you, pressing close. You still had that fruity drink in your grasp. He watched you take another sip.
”I think that’s enough,” he said as he slid the drink out of your reach.
”Hey!” You reach over him to try to retrieve it, but he just pushes your arm down. “I was drinking that!” you exclaimed.
He took a deep breath through his nose. He was the shadowsinger. He had held in his emotions plenty of times before and he wasn’t going to let them get the best of them now.
“You’ve had a lot tonight. You’re not used to drinking. You need to stop now or you're going to be face down over the toilet tonight.”
”You’re not the boss of me!” You whine as you suddenly swing your leg over his lap to try to reach for your drink.
His hands found purchase on your waist, trying to keep you still. “Stop it,” he grits out through his teeth. He had never seen you throw a temper tantrum like this.
You keep trying to reach for the drink, but he feels you freeze as you both hear a low whistle from behind you. He looks up to see Cassian standing at the edge of the booth, a shit-eating grin on his face. He looked much less sober than when he arrived.
”Well, well, well. What do we have here?”
You glance over your shoulder at him. “He took my drink.”
Cassian chuckles. “Looks like you’ve had a bit too much to drink.”
Azriel sits up straighter, hands still on your waist. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her. A little help here?”
Cassian smiles knowingly and scoops you up like you weigh nothing, steadying you on your feet.
He immediately gets up after you and grabs your wrist. “Let’s go.”
You ignore him and speak to Cassian instead. “Tell him I’m not going back yet.”
Cassian pats your shoulder like you’re a small child. “Normally I’d be all for you drinking, but you need to go home. You’re starting to slur your words.”
You glare at Cassian. Azriel senses you’re about to argue with Cassian as well, so he just drags you by the wrist.
He feels you trail behind him helplessly, but not before you yell over your shoulder at Cassian to tell Mor you’re not a party pooper.
He can’t help but chuckle lowly as he gets you outside and into the cool night air. You tap your foot angrily. You were cute when you were angry, but he would never admit that out loud.
He scoops you up bridal style.
You yelp and cling onto him. “What are you doing?!”
”Flying you home,” he states like it’s obvious.
”Oh,” you murmur, simmering down.
He makes sure you’re secure in his arms before he starts to flap his wings. The feel of you against him isn’t lost on him.
“Hold on tight.”
—
Getting you home was surprisingly easier than he thought. You were practically limp in his arms due to the alcohol making you sleepy. By the time he carried you through the balcony doors of the House of Wind, you were mumbling incoherently against his shoulder.
He carried you up the stairs and finally set you down on the edge of your bed. You rubbed your eyes tiredly. You looked like a toddler who had stayed up way past your bedtime. It was adorable.
He put his hand on your shoulder and crouched down in front of you. “You okay?”
”I’m tired,” you slurred.
He sighed and started undoing the straps of your heels. “I know. You need to sleep. You’re going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow.”
You kept your face buried in your hands as he stood up, moving you up near the headboard of the bed. He pulled your covers back, making sure you were tucked in comfortably before he leaned back up. He was readying himself to leave until your hand grasped the collar of his shirt.
He froze over you. “What are you doing?”
You didn’t answer, continuing to stare up at him like a lost doe.
He pulled your hand from his collar gently, but you just grabbed onto the sleeve of his shirt instead. Oh no, were you a clingy drunk?
“What’s wrong?” He whispered.
Your fingers twisted around his sleeve as you avoided eye contact with him.
“Y/N, what is it?”
You tugged on his sleeve. “Stay here.”
He tensed. That wasn’t a good idea. In fact, that was a horrible idea. “Just go to sleep,” he pleaded, pulling his sleeve away. He stood up, taking a couple steps away.
”Wait,” you called out to him in a whiny voice.
He gritted his teeth, stopping in his tracks. Why did you have to say it like that? He couldn’t deny you when you were practically begging for him to stay. Besides, he was worrying you’d choke on your own vomit in your sleep.
He stiffly walked back until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”
”Lay down,” you demanded.
His eyes widened at your tone, but he stayed where he was. “Please just close your eyes,” he begged.
”Lay down,” you repeated louder.
He took a deep breath. He could deal with staying in here with you, but lying down next to you? In close proximity, no less? He shook his head. “No, Y/N.”
”Please?” you pleaded with those puppy dog eyes of yours.
He stifled a shaky breath. You were going to be the death of him. Resigning himself to his fate, he slowly laid down next to you. “Happy now?”
You nodded and he cursed under his breath as you suddenly climbed onto his lap, now straddling him. He could feel the heat of your thighs on either side of him as your dress rode up a little too high. It’s official—you were trying to kill him.
He looked up at you in disbelief, his hands automatically moving to your waist so that you didn’t fall over. We’re you out of your mind?!
”What the hell are you doing?” he asked. The alcohol had definitely gotten to you now, as you just giggled on top of him in response. Something inside of him lit up at the sound of it, even though he was having a hard time controlling himself right now.
You played with the buttons of his shirt absentmindedly.
He pinched your side, and you let out a petulant sound that he had to fight the urge to smile at.
”I asked you a question, Y/N.”
You finally shrugged casually. “Sitting.”
He scoffed. “Sitting. In my lap. Drunk as a skunk.”
You rolled your eyes dramatically. “I’m not that drunk. I only had like one or two.”
”You had three, Y/N. And you are that drunk considering you're climbing all over me like a monkey.”
You sighed loudly and brought your hands to his hair, starting to run your fingers through it.
His eyes fluttered shut for a second before he remembered the position you were in, and he squeezed your waist. “Get off. You need to go to bed.”
You huffed. “I am in bed.”
Gods, you had to stop acting so casual about all of this or he was going to combust. “You’re not sleeping, though.”
You shrugged again. “It’s not that late. I have plenty of time to sleep.”
He started to slide you off of him, and you immediately grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and clenched your legs around his sides like a vice. For Cauldron’s sake. He was done for.
“Stop it!” you protested.
He tried to rein in his instincts to just pull you down and let you sleep on top of him. ”Y/N, you can’t stay on top of me like this. You need sleep.”
”Why can’t I?” you countered.
He looked at you like you were insane. “Because—because it’s inappropriate.”
You leaned down a bit, and he held his breath.
“Is it?” you asked. “We’re friends, aren't we?”
Friends. Right. Except for the fact that a stubborn bond tied you two together and he was starting to lose all manner of sense and decorum around you. “It’s still inappropriate.”
You ignored his words and leaned down even more. “You’re the only one that gets me,” you whisper.
His hold on you lessened. Why did you have to say things like that? “What do you mean?”
You avoided his gaze, continuing to play with his shirt.
He let you have a moment to gather your thoughts.
Finally, you spoke. “The others expect things from me.”
His thumb ran absentmindedly over your hip. “What things do they expect from you?”
Your eyes met his and he could see the turmoil in them. “Lots of things.”
”Like?” He prodded, trying to get you to open up to him.
“You’re my favorite,” you said abruptly, changing the subject.
He swallowed. “Yeah?”
You nodded. “Yeah.”
You paused for a moment and it looked like you were contemplating your next words carefully. “Am I your favorite?”
The way you were looking at him right now, like you would be crushed if his answer was no—he couldn’t disagree.
He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, of course you’re my favorite.”
You beamed and it made him wish he had Feyre here right now to capture it in one of those paintings of hers.
Your eyes spotted a rogue shadow curling around your leg, and before he could call it back, you reached down to touch it.
He watched in amazement as the shadow wrapped around your wrist like a bracelet.
He forced the shadow to come back to him. ”Sorry, they don’t usually act like this.”
You shook your head. “I like them.”
You liked them? No one had ever said that they liked his shadows before. Most looked at them like they were going to attack at any moment.
“They’re cool,” you said as another rebellious shadow trailed up your arm.
His brows furrowed. “Cool?”
You nodded and finally looked back at him. “I think you’re cool,” you stated firmly.
The corners of his mouth tugged up. Now you were just messing with him. “You’re full of compliments tonight, aren’t you? Trying to butter me up?”
“It’s the truth.”
Yeah, you were definitely under the influence. ”Whatever you say.”
Your hands tightened on his shirt. ”I’m not lying.”
He let the subject go. “Ready for bed now?”
”No.”
He sighed. “When will you be ready for bed, then?”
”Whenever I feel like it.”
His fingers tapped your side. You were stubborn when you were drunk. “You can’t just stay up all night.”
You ignored his statement and looked down at his hands on your waist, like you had just realized they were there.
He started pulling his hands back, not wanting you to get uncomfortable, but you immediately stopped him. He froze as you brought one of his hands up to eye level.
”See? Even your scars are cool.”
He swallowed uncomfortably and pulled his hand back. “They’re just scars.”
You frowned. “I’m sorry, Azriel. I didn’t mean to—“
He cut you off. “It’s fine.”
You shook your head. “It’s not.” You suddenly laid down on him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Forgive me?”
He tensed up at the feel of your chest touching his and the sensation of your breath on his neck. ”There’s nothing to forgive,” he said tightly.
”I was insensitive.”
”It’s no big deal—“
”You know they're beautiful, right?” You whispered in his ear.
He was quiet for a moment. “They’re just scars.”
”Yeah, beautiful ones.”
He wasn’t used to you talking to him like this. It made him feel nervous. He was the shadowsinger, the spymaster of the Night Court, and yet here he was getting nervous because his mate was giving him too many compliments. “Y/N, please go to bed.”
You leaned back up, putting a finger under his chin and tilting his head up toward you.
”Are you mad at me?” you asked, sounding worried.
”No, Y/N—“
”Please don’t be mad at me,” you pleaded in a soft voice.
He reached for your hand, tugging it back down to your side.
”I’m not mad. Stop working yourself up.” He wanted to tell you that he could never be mad at you, but he kept that thought to himself.
Your grip on his shirt lessened. “I should—I should go home,” you said out of the blue.
He froze. “What?”
”I’m just a burden here. I can’t live like this. I can’t keep pretending everything is normal when it’s not and I can’t deal with the pressure and the—“
Where was all this coming from? He cupped your cheeks, making you look down at him. “You are not a burden. Understand?”
“I am. I can’t adjust. Not like Feyre.”
He shook his head. ”Feyre was a different case. We can help you adjust. And it’s expected that you’re struggling. We don’t expect you to just snap back to your old self after what’s happened. You’ve got to stop putting yourself down.”
Tears started prickling the corners of your eyes, and his stomach dropped at the sight.
He sat up with you still in his lap. “Hey, hey, come here.”
He pulled you into his arms quickly, hoping he could stop the tears before they were shed. He could feel your form trembling as you tried to hold them back.
“Hey, it’s okay, don’t cry please. I know this all must be so overwhelming for you.”
He felt you wipe tears on his shirt, but he didn’t mind. He just kept rubbing your back lightly.
“I miss feeling normal. The stability. The routine,” he heard you say against his shoulder.
Of course you did. Your life was practically ripped away from you. How could you not? ”That’s understandable. You can always create a new routine here.”
You sniffled and finally raised your head back up to look at him. “How?”
”Well, you can start training with Cass and I. We can get you strong, get you used to this new body. I can take you places. Show you around Velaris, you know? And Feyre can answer any questions you have about being Fae. She’d know best what you’re going through.”
”You’d train me?” you asked like you were in doubt.
That was all you’d gotten out of that? That’d he train you? He smiled. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”
He saw you smile a little in return, and he was grateful that he could cheer you up.
“I’m pretty weak, you know.”
He chuckled. ”That’s the point of training. It’ll build up your endurance.”
You nodded weakly and he softened, bringing a hand to your cheek.
”It’ll be okay,” he said as he ran his thumb over your cheek.
He felt you leaning into his touch, and he couldn’t help but look at your lips. They looked so soft and you looked so pitiful. He longed to kiss you just to wipe the doubt and worry off your face.
He blinked, remembering the situation. You were inebriated and you still didn’t know about the bond. Now was not the time for desire to sink its claws into him.
He pinched your cheek playfully. “Ready for bed now?”
You shooed his hand away. After a long moment of silence where you looked like you were thinking long and hard, you finally responded.
“Only if you stay.”
”I already said I would.”
You nodded and carefully slid off of him. He was surprised to miss the feeling of your body against his, the warmth your body left behind already leeching out of him.
He helped you settle into a comfortable position before leaning up to turn off the lamp on your bedside table. You were already staring at him when he looked back. You were beautiful.
He risked tucking a strand of hair behind your ears. His hand stopped where it was. Pointed ears. Even though he was Fae, he was also half Illyrian, which meant that his ears weren’t pointed. He still wasn’t used to the sight of them on you.
“What are you doing?” You asked.
He pulled his hand away quickly. “Just…observing.”
”Observing.” You paused. “Like what you see?” You wiggled your eyebrows teasingly.
He snorted. “Yeah, you’re definitely drunk.”
You giggled loudly, like you had no care in the world right now. He wished he could bottle that sound and replay it on loop. He longed for you to be this carefree all the time.
He ran his hand down your cheek. “Okay, giggles. Time for bed.”
You finally relented and snuggled up against him.
He pulled back. “Y/N—“
”Shush,” you said, pulling him back by the collar of his shirt.
He sighed and let you snuggle up to him. You were warm. He couldn’t help but admit that it felt nice to have you against him like this.
He closed his eyes, the bond satiated for now. He wasn’t going to think about how inappropriate this felt or how you’d probably freak out in the morning when you remember how you behaved tonight. He’d worry about that later.
He pulled his mate closer. For the first time in a long time, he felt like things were going to be okay.
