Most children's media I watched back then was primarily directed at young boys, and atla was no different. Aang is the main character, and the center of the main romance (although this was very much not the focus of the show), which is mostly shown from his perspective. The writers also talk about it from his POV. Katara is the cute older girl who sees Aang like a little kid she needs to take care of. She loves him "like a babysitter, like a little brother". But there's the wish fulfillment; even though you’re a goofy kid, the pretty older girl likes you back. I had seen that dynamic, that perspective, in kids media over and over and over again. It was always the girl who changed her mind. And as a girl who couldn't relate, it always felt like watching her get worn down. (disclaimer: these were my feelings, I'm aware they don't reflect the writers' intentions)
K/taang, from its inception, right from the mouths of the writers, was always about what Aang wanted, his wish fulfillment. What little boys would want to see.
The difference in zutara is that it’s not a male-centered fantasy. It’s not that the girl will come around eventually, it’s that the guy has to work and change to be her friend. It's female-centric. Even k/taang fans seem to recognize this, although they view it pejoratively. “You like Zuko cause he’s hot and you project onto Katara” Look, I’m gay so no I don’t want to date Zuko, but yeah womanhood is central to Katara's arc and so I relate to her more than I do Zuko or Aang. Of course the idea that someone would change to gain your respect is more appealing than being worn down into liking someone you just previously treated like your child. And hey! Romance is wish fulfillment! I’m sorry, is that supposed to be shameful?
K/taang fans have this constant misunderstanding that zutara is shallow and so are its fans. It's all about the aesthetic appeal of Zuko over Aang. Honestly the way they talk about it sometimes smacks of misogyny. No you can’t find this relationship deep or meaningful, you just think Zuko is hot. You don’t like their dynamic or development, you just project onto Katara because you think Zuko is hot. You dont like zutara over k/taang because they’re completely different kinds of ships that appeal to different tastes, you just think Zuko is hot and Aang isn't.
Because women can’t possibly think deeply about these things, they’re shallow and insipid, obviously. Do you hear yourselves?
I like Katara and Zuko together more because k/taang reminds me of every other male fantasy I had to see women be accessories to. Katara may be her own character in the show, with an arc and development and independence, but in her romance with Aang, she's just his girl.
Azriel and Zuko are like this 🤞🤞 in my brain… and with the leaks of the new ATLA movie showing older Zuko… he is so sexyyyy. Like to me- Az is Zuko and Zuko is Az. My emo boyssss
Not loud—not at first. It greets you with silence so dense it presses against your skin, against your ribs, against the carefully layered shields you snap into place the instant your feet touch stone. The arches loom overhead, swallowing light, swallowing sound, swallowing the air itself until everything feels heavier. Older. Sharper. Like the mountain is watching, waiting to see how much you can carry before it decides you are worth breaking.
Azriel’s hand closes around your wrist immediately.
Not gentle.
Not rough.
Possessive.
You feel it all the way up your arm, the pressure of his fingers just beneath your pulse, his thumb anchoring there like he needs proof that you’re still upright, still breathing, still his responsibility tonight. You tell yourself it’s part of the act. You tell yourself that as his grip subtly tightens when you take your first step forward.
“Eyes forward,” he murmurs near your ear, voice smooth, almost bored. “And breathe.”
You nod, forcing your attention onto the slow rhythm he sets with his thumb. Slow. Steady. Unyielding. He guides you through the hall not as a partner, but as a possession—close, controlled, as if resistance isn’t just expected, but inevitable.
Your dress clings to you like it was designed to be noticed—dark fabric hugging your waist, slit cut high along your thigh so bare skin flashes with every step. Mor had called it appropriate. Rhys had called it a distraction. Standing here, under the weight of this place, you call it exposed.
Azriel calls it nothing at all.
He doesn’t look at you—but his grip tightens when you step fully into the chamber, when the weight of the Court of Nightmares presses in from every direction at once, a suffocating tide of cruelty, hunger, and old, practiced malice.
You pull your shields higher.
They shudder.
The emotions here aren’t like the camps. They’re curated. Polished. Cruelty worn like jewelry, hunger sharpened into ritual, lies layered so carefully over truth that the truth itself feels bruised beneath them.
You breathe.
Four in.
Two hold.
Four out.
Azriel’s thumb shifts.
He feels the tremor you can’t stop, the way your body tenses even as you fight to stay loose.
“Easy,” he murmurs, close enough that his breath warms your ear. “Don’t stir now.”
You don’t know if the warning is for the Court—or for you.
Keir waits at the center of the chamber, shadowed and smug, his smile sharp enough to cut. His gaze slides over Rhys and Feyre with careful deference before landing on you.
It lingers.
“High Lord,” Keir says smoothly, bowing just deep enough. “What an honor.”
Lie.
It’s thin and brittle, resentment pressed beneath politeness like a blade hidden in velvet. You taste it immediately—stale, sour, like old wine left open too long.
Rhys smiles, sharp and indulgent. “You’ve been busy.”
Keir laughs lightly. “Only tending to my people.”
Lie again.
Keir’s eyes flick back to you, assessing now, calculating, and something cold curls in your gut.
Azriel reacts instantly.
His arm slides around your waist and pulls you flush against his side, fingers splaying over bare skin with unmistakable ownership. You stiffen for half a heartbeat—then force yourself to soften, to lean into him, to let the illusion settle fully into place.
You know he’s playing a game.
So you play it too.
“Shadowsinger,” Keir drawls. “You’ve brought a new… ornament.”
Azriel doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear with deliberate slowness, his knuckles brushing your cheek. One of his shadows curls along your bare leg, cool and curious, lingering where it absolutely should not.
“My latest gift to my Spymaster,” Rhys says coolly.
The word lands like a brand.
Gift.
You hate it—and Azriel feels the way your breath hitches at the same time his grip tightens, grounding you before the emotion can spiral.
The conversation resumes, a careful dance of veiled threats and honeyed words you barely hear. You narrow your focus to what matters—tone, cadence, the subtle dissonance that rings when truth fractures.
Lie.
You tap Azriel’s arm lightly.
His fingers tighten in response, immediate and reassuring.
Truth.
Another lie follows—heavier this time, weighted with ambition and something coiled beneath it, hungry and patient.
Tap.
Your breathing shortens without permission.
Azriel feels it instantly. His hand slides higher on your waist, thumb pressing into the hollow of your hip as he leans in, mouth grazing the shell of your ear.
“Relax,” he murmurs. “You’re doing fine.”
You tap his forearm again.
Controlled. Subtle.
Keir steps closer.
His presence feels like rot.
You taste the lie before he finishes speaking—cold and hollow, layered with hunger and something darker beneath it.
Tap.
The pressure hits all at once. Your vision blurs at the edges, the room tilting slightly as everything presses in—this court, the lies, the weight of Azriel’s presence anchoring and overwhelming you all at once.
Azriel swears under his breath.
Enough.
His hand clamps around your wrist and he pulls—not hurried, not frantic, but deliberate and theatrical, like a male who has decided he wants something now and does not intend to wait.
Keir laughs softly as you’re dragged away.
The corridor is narrow and dim, stone cold against your back when Azriel cages you there, his body blocking the passage entirely. His wings flare just enough to sell the image, shadows thickening around you both.
For anyone watching, it looks explicit.
For you—
It’s dizzying.
Azriel leans in, mouth brushing your neck, breath hot against your skin. His fingers trail slowly along your throat, then lower, mapping reactions with frightening precision.
“Act,” he murmurs. “Just for a second.”
You don’t know where the act ends.
“You’re going to breathe,” he says quietly, dangerously. “Right now.”
His hand slides down your thigh, fingers curling possessively, and your knees buckle without warning.
Azriel catches you instantly.
His arms lock around you, his forehead pressing briefly to yours, breath uneven now, control cracking just enough to be human.
“Fuck,” he mutters as warmth slides from your nose. He wipes the blood away with his thumb, careful, precise, nothing like the role he’s playing.
“I’m fine,” you whisper.
“Don’t lie to me,” he snaps softly.
Someone passes behind him.
Azriel presses closer, voice dropping. “Hold on. We’re leaving soon. Just—stay with me.”
Then he straightens, mask snapping back into place.
Back in the hall, Rhys closes the conversation swiftly—lies exposed without ever being named. Keir smiles like he’s won something anyway.
Azriel takes a seat.
Then, without hesitation, he hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you down onto his lap.
You go willingly.
The shock is sharp and immediate, a spark that flares hot before melting into something darker. You settle against his chest like you’ve done this a thousand times, one arm draping around his neck, fingers idly brushing the nape of it. Your legs shift deliberately, the slit of your dress parting to reveal warm skin.
Keir’s gaze snaps to it.
Azriel feels that attention like a provocation.
His hand slides there at once—broad, confident, spanning your thigh as if he’s claiming territory. Not rushed. Not careful. Just… there. His thumb presses lightly into your skin, grounding and possessive all at once.
Mindless.
Dangerously convincing.
You lean back into him, head tipping just enough that your lips brush his ear. “I’m bored,” you murmur, voice lazy, playful—too soft to be anything but intimate.
Azriel exhales through his nose, the sound almost a growl.
“Behave,” he murmurs back.
His thumb tips your chin up, firm and unmistakable, forcing your gaze to meet his. The look in his eyes is dark—predatory, intent, stripped of softness. Like he’s daring anyone in the room to challenge this. Like he’s daring you to push further.
For one dangerous second, the world narrows to the space between you.
You smile sweetly. Too sweet. “I have much more enjoyable activities planned later,” you say softly, eyes never leaving his. “With you.”
Something breaks—just a fracture—in the way his jaw tightens.
Azriel leans in, mouth brushing the sensitive skin beneath your ear. His breath ghosts over your neck, slow and deliberate, as if he’s savoring the moment. As if he’s reminding himself—and you—that this is still an act.
“Careful,” he murmurs so quietly only you can hear it. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
His nose drags lightly along your throat. Not a kiss. Worse than one.
His shadows coil tighter around you both. You can feel them brushing your calves, your back—curious, possessive, mirroring him.
Keir is still watching.
Good.
Azriel’s hand tightens on your thigh, fingers flexing once, then settling again like a warning he hasn’t decided to enforce. His smile turns slow and wicked, the kind that belongs to something sharp and ancient.
When Rhys finally stands and announces their departure, relief crashes through you so hard your vision spots.
Azriel rises with you still in his arms, not releasing you immediately—like he’s forgotten he should.
When you winnow, he keeps you pressed close, arm locked around your waist, fingers digging in just enough to leave a promise behind.
Possessive.
Protective.
And far too real.
At the House, he sets you down.
You don’t land on your feet.
Your knees give, the world tilting violently, and you stumble straight into his chest. The impact knocks the breath from you—his body solid, unyielding, already there before you can even register the fall.
His hands come up instantly.
Not careful.
Not hesitant.
Certain.
One arm bands around your back, the other bracing your hip, pulling you flush against him as if the ground itself can’t be trusted with you anymore.
“Are you okay?” he asks quietly.
The question is steady. His grip is not.
You laugh, breathless and a little wild, your forehead resting against his collarbone. “I feel… drunk,” you murmur. “On emotions.”
His chest rises beneath your cheek. You feel it. Feel the way he stills, like something in him has locked into place.
His hand slides up—slow now—and cups your face.
The touch is devastating.
His thumb brushes your cheek with a tenderness that has no place in a lie, no place in an act. It lingers, like he’s grounding himself through you, like he needs to feel you there to be sure you didn’t disappear somewhere between the Hewn City and now.
“You pushed too far,” he murmurs—not angry. Not accusing. Just… strained.
Before you can answer, he lifts you.
No warning. No question.
Your body fits against his instinctively, arms curling around his neck as if you’ve done this before. He carries you through the House like he’s afraid to put you down again, like if he does, something will splinter for good.
Your room blurs past.
The door closes softly.
You barely remember asking him to stay.
You just remember the way the word please slips out of you without thought, fragile and quiet and entirely unguarded.
He kneels beside your bed anyway.
Your fingers curl around his hand before you even realize you’ve reached for him. You cling—not desperately, but instinctively, like your body has decided he is the only solid thing left in the room.
He doesn’t pull away.
His thumb strokes yours, slow and absent, a repetitive motion that feels like a promise he hasn’t agreed to make.
You start babbling.
Soft, unfocused words tumbling out—about the night, about how loud everything was, about how tired you are. You tell him he smells like darkness and something warm underneath, like night air after a storm. You don’t even know why you say it.
His breath stutters.
His shadows drift closer, gathering at the edges of the bed, watching you with quiet fascination as if they, too, don’t quite understand what’s happening.
Your eyes flutter.
You fight it.
You lose.
Sleep takes you with his hand still in yours.
Azriel stays.
Long after he should leave.
Long after the shadows have settled.
Long after the House goes quiet again.
He watches you breathe.
Watches the way your grip never loosens.
He exhales slowly, shoulders sagging for the first time all night.
His shadows curl inward, restless, confused.
“What have you done to me?” he whispers into the quiet.
And for the first time—
There is no answer.
Only you.
Only this.
Only the terrifying certainty that whatever just crossed between you cannot be undone.
---
A/n : i was THIS close to make them kiss for show, but oh well...🤭
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
Part 2
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.
so confused about what tumblr designates as mature content. some of my posts are getting flagged but have no explicit content?? now the posts won’t show up in the azriel x reader tags… so frustrating
Summary: After returning from the mission, you try to figure out how to eat as a new vampire. After a few failed attempts, you and Azriel make an enlightening discovery.
Warnings: somewhat provocative scenes
Part 2 of Bleed me dry
Upon returning to Velaris, Azriel immediately took you to the House of Wind. He instructed you to stay in your room until his return, stating that he would be the one to discuss the mission with Rhysand. All you could do was nod and do as told. You closed all the curtains in your room, the rays of the sun too strong for your liking. You climbed into bed with a book, and despite the darkness of the room, you were able to read the words perfectly.
~
Azriel was not looking forward to debriefing Rhys on the mission, and he was convinced that this was going to result in a long winded moral debate. He slowly approached Rhys’s office, bracing himself for what was about to go down.
“Come in Azriel, I can feel your restlessness through the door” Rhys called from inside. Az just groaned and opened the door, seeing Rhy sitting at his desk, a curious look on his face. No doubt from the nervous scattering of the shadows across the room.
“What happened?” Rhys already knew something was wrong, the state of his Shadowsinger was enough to tell him that. Azriel tensed and slowly began to tell him everything that had happened on the mission, from you getting attacked to you drinking his blood. He looked down in shame when he finished, knuckles white as he clenched his fists as his sides.
“I don’t know what to say, but Azriel, I can feel your guilt coming off of you in waves. There’s nothing you could have done, this is not your fault” Rhys stood from his chair and approached Azriel, ready to comfort his brother. Azriel stepped back, snapping at him, “I’m the one that sent her into that house on her own. I scanned the perimeter, but I shouldn’t have told her to go in without me.”
Sympathy flashed across Rhysands face, placing his hand on Azriel’s shoulder.
“You didn’t know what this thing would be like. We have no idea what this creature even is. We may need to consult Amren or Helion, anyone who could have seen something like this or read about it. For now, take me to Y/n.” Rhysand patted Azriel’s back and stepped out of his office, waiting for Azriel to follow.
~
You heard two pairs of footsteps approaching your door, causing you to jump up out of your bed. You ran to the door and swung it open. Azriel and Rhysand stood there, braced to knock. As your eyes met Rhys’s, you couldn’t help the well of tears that were fighting to pour out. You took in a shaky breath, looking down at your feet to avoid his stare.
“Hey, it’s okay. Look at me.” Rhys reached out and took your face in his hands. He examined your eyes, your cheeks, your mouth. He finally tugged at your top lip, exposing your sharpened canines. His eyes softened at the sight of your new weapons.
“I heard you fed on Azriel” he said as he let go of you, walking into the room. He looked around the dark space, noting the drawn curtains and the book in the bed. All you could do was nod, casting a shy glance at Azriel. His eyes were already trained on you, tracking each one of your movements.
“We’re going to start doing some research. For now, go about as you usually would. When you get hungry or…. thirsty (?), come to me. We will figure this out, Y/n” Rhysand approached you again, pulling you into a hug. He just sighed and let go of you, a sadness filling him that you hated to have any part in. With that, he walked out of the space, Azriel trailing behind him likely to discuss next steps.
~
You did exactly as Rhys asked, going about as you usually would. You attended family dinner, trained, and researched. You felt more sensitive to the light, but that wouldn’t stop you from trying to go back to normal. You were just hoping your body would adjust to your routine. After about week or so, you felt that gnawing hunger in your belly, and a thirst in your throat that made you feel parched.
You nervously approached Rhysand in the living room, hating to bother him when he was relaxing with the inner circle. You informed him about your hunger, but he just smiled softly, “I was wondering when you would finally eat. Let’s go to my office.” You followed him to the office, Feyre and Azriel deciding to follow you both from the living room as well.
Rhys grabbed a crystal whisky glass from a side table, as well as a dagger. Feyre and Azriel both stood at the door, watching whatever was about to unfold. Placing the glass on his desk, Rhys then used the blade to quickly slice down his palm. Using his fingers, he pushed the flesh around the cut to pour blood into the cup until it was halfway full.
He summoned a handkerchief, wiping his hand, then handed the cup to you. You looked down at it, and quickly brought it to your nose. It smelled good, but not nearly as good as Azriel’s. Tilting the cup back, you drank Rhys’s blood. When the blood touched your lips, Azriel let out a quiet sigh, something akin to jealousy flaring in his belly.
You felt your hunger fade a little bit, but that feeling was shortlived when you felt sick to your stomach. You dropped the cup, the glass shattering across the floor, and turned to run out the door. Azriel and Feyre quickly jumped out of the way as you made your way to the closest bathroom. You threw yourself onto the toilet and the blood quickly left your body, covering the porcelain in crimson. Azriel ran up behind you and pulled your hair from your face, rubbing your back.
“It’s okay, it’s okay” he whispered, helping you up. You washed up at the sink, and Azriel helped you return to Rhys’s office.
“I don’t know if I should be offended” Rhys laughed, but he did seem a little embarrassed. Azriel just shook his head and sighed.
“Maybe it has to be from the person. She drank from my neck” Azriel shrugged, trying to be helpful. Feyre then stepped further in the room “let me try, just in case it is your blood.”
Rhys did look offended at that, but Feyre added “your blood may be too powerful for her. Your blood is that of a high lord.”
She approached you slowly, just nodding to you that it was okay. You placed your hand on the side of her head, the other at her waist, pulling her in closer. She tilted her head, giving you access to her neck. She smelled good too, but still not the same as Az. You wondered if it was because he was your first feed.
You slowly bit her, trying to be as soft as possible. She tensed slightly before forcing herself to relax. You took a few drinks, happy that this was working, but you suddenly felt your stomach cramping and turning again. You tried to pull away gently, before shaking your head. You covered your mouth with your hand and ran out again, Azriel following you just as he did before.
~
Cleaned up, again, you returned to Rhysands office. Feyre and him were just holding one another, waiting for you both to come back.
“After that happening twice, I’m honestly not hungry anymore” you held onto your stomach, as Azriel held you up by your waist.
“We will figure this out, for now get some rest.” Rhys instructed and nodded at Azriel to take you to your room. He quickly lifted you in his arms and carried you down the hall. Your head felt so heavy and your body ached, you had to lean into Azriel’s chest. You barely felt him open the door, you were so tired. He quickly left you alone so you could change into your nightgown and sleep.
~
You awoke with a scream, images of cold hands, sharp nails, and even sharper teeth plaguing your dreams. You reached up to feel your neck, calming a little when you felt that the skin wasn’t punctured.
Azriel burst through the doors, his shadows quickly scattering, some swarming you and checking for injuries, the others pulling the curtains open so Azriel could see you in the moon and starlight. You could tell he got up in a hurry, his sleep pants were a little askew and his shirt was nowhere to be found. He slowly approached as you pushed yourself to sit up. Sitting next to you on the edge of the bed, his hands turned your face from side to side, checking for himself if you were okay.
“Nightmares” you simply stated, to which his eyes softened. He brought you into his space, hugging you and rubbing your back. With your face in his neck, you couldn’t help but inhale his scent. He just smelled so…. Yummy. Azriel could smell a shift in your scent, and pulled away from you so he could scan you again. He saw your dilated pupils, and immediately knew that you were hungry.
“Y/n, you need to eat.” He whispered, trying not to startle you out of whatever daze you were in.
“You saw what happened today. I’m scared, that felt so awful.” Your lip trembled as you looked at him. Your hands twisted in the sheets covering your legs, anxiety was now overtaking your hunger.
“Hey hey,” he comforted, “you were fine when we did it. Why don’t you try again?” You looked at his eyes, and he just shrugged. He rubbed his hands up and down your arms, trying to soothe and encourage you.
“Y/n, please, I want you to” he pushed.
“You want me to?” Your eyebrows shot up, surprise lighting your face. Maybe he did enjoy it in the woods, just like you initially thought.
“I mean… I hate to see you like this” a blush covered his cheeks and was making its way up his neck. You had an inkling that he was lying, especially if his heartbeat was anything to go by. He looked hopeful, his eyes glancing between your own. “Please” he added.
That was your breaking point, you leaned forward into him. He immediately turned his head, exposing himself to you, and you couldn’t help the excitement that filled you as you put your hands on his chest. You ran your nose along the curve of his neck, the scent of his blood making your mouth water. He took in a light breath as you smelled him.
You licked a spot on his neck before pushing your teeth in, to which he quietly moaned. You felt your eyes roll back into your head at the taste and at the sensation of his heart beating beneath your palms. You tried to drink very slow, savoring the flavor and the feeling of him trembling beneath you. You felt like you were shaking yourself as light pleasured sighs left your mouth every few drinks.
Azriel latched on your waist, trying to bring you even closer. You untangled yoursellf from your sheets and quickly straddled him as his arms wrapped around your torso, holding you to him as he groaned.
When Azriel began to feel lightheaded, he gripped your arms and lightly pulled you. You disconnected yourself from his neck, looking into his eyes. You both looked and smelled like you had done a lot more than what had just occurred. You smiled shyly at him, tucking your hair behind your ear. He smiled softly at your bashfulness.
“Well, now we know how you need to feed. Only my blood for now” he whispered. You looked at his eyes, seeing his eyes tracking a drop of blood on the corner of your mouth.
“Only yours” you sighed back, still a little dazed.
Summary: You and Azriel are hunting a creature that is killing Illyrians. When you find the estate of said creature, you get attacked. Azriel saves you, but the what happens when you begin to change and Azriel is the only one who is there to help you through your new hunger.
Warnings: somewhat provocative scenes.
The air was windy and frigid, every pass against your skin felt like it was biting your flesh and bones. Nightfall was coming, the sky darkening just a little bit more with each minute that passed. Azriel and you had been sent on a mission through the woods, looking for a creature that was killing Illyrians. The information had been so odd, the people were turning up completely drained of their blood.
Azriel’s steps were silent as you followed behind him. There was snow covering the forest floor, however his shadows masked the sound of any snow-crunching noises. The two of you were quiet, besides your shivering. You were surprised that the sound of your chattering teeth hadn’t made Azriel stop yet. You guys had been walking since dawn, your feet were wet and tired, and your skin was ice cold.
You nearly bumped into Azriel as he stopped, his head tilting back as his nose lifted up. He sniffed the air once… twice.
His head slowly turned left, whispering over his shoulder “it smells like blood.” You immediately scented the air. He was right, that sickly metallic scent was faint, but it was present. His shadows went ahead, almost as if they were smelling the air too. The rushed back to Azriel, whispering in his ear.
“We need to head north.” He directed, and started off that way. The sun was now dipping below the horizon, and when you thought you couldn’t go anymore, you saw a looming manor in the distance. The sight alone was eerie, it was dark and almost overtaken by dead vines. No light came from any part of the house, maybe it was abandoned.
“Is that where we’re going?” You questioned, even though you knew the answer. You were literally following Azriel in that direction.
“Yes, the smell is pungent. We need to check it out.” Azriel responded, leaving absolutely no room for argument. You just followed and pulled your twin blades from your back holsters, trying to prepare for whatever might be in the forgotten castle.
As you approached, Azriel pointed at you then pointed inside the house. He nodded his head to left side of the house and walked that way to scan the exterior. You weren’t particularly fond of the idea of splitting up in a dark place that reeked of blood, but you were not about to argue in an otherwise silent place.
You walked inside the house and held your blades up in front of you. Your heart was surely pounding nearly out of your chest, as every step had wood squealing under your feet. You heard the curtains rustle and spun on your toes, blades slicing in front of you. No one was there.
You continued on, walking further in the house. You found the stairs and started moving up, constantly looking back down over your shoulder. Fae vision was something to be thankful for, as your eyes had somewhat adjusted to the darkness of the space.
A bedroom door was cracked open, so you decided to start there. You pushed it open as silently as you could. As the door unblocked your sight of the room and you stepped inside, you were horrified of what you saw. In the center of the room there was a large coffin. There was blood patches stained on the wood floors, but what frightened you was that the coffin was open.
You took another step to try and get a glimpse inside the coffin when the door behind you slammed shut. The loud noise caused you to scream and spin around all at the same time, your blades once again slicing the air in front of you. There was no one at the door when you looked, but you suddenly felt rough, cold hands grabbing your throat with a strength you had never felt. Your head was roughly pulled to side as you brought your blades behind you. You felt two needle like teeth dig into the side of your neck, your blood being siphoned out, right as your blades cut into the sides of your assailant.
Your stabbing didn’t stop them, you were slashing them back and forth, but were quickly growing weak and lightheaded. As your vision began to fade, the window behind you shattered when shadows and wings drove through it.
~
The pain in your head was throbbing and the darkness surrounding your mind was dizzying. You opened your eyes, only to feel like your retinas were on fire. The only light in the room came from a fairy light in the corner, but it felt like the surface of the sun. You let your eyes adjust before taking in your surroundings. Azriel must have brought you to a safe house, as you were in a cabin in the Illyrian mountains. You were stationed in a bed, and Azriel was sitting in a chair across from you. Upon seeing your eyes flickering over the space, he quickly stood up and came to the side of the bed.
“Thank the Mother, I’m so glad you’re okay” he grabbed your hand in his right hand, pushing your hair back with his left. His hand somewhat stilled upon feeling your skin.
“What’s wrong?” You bit down on your lip nervously, but it shot a bit of pain. Azriel looked down at your mouth and his own fell somewhat open. His hand quickly came up, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. You looked down to see a smudge of blood.
“Your skin is just so cold, and Y/N…. Your teeth…” he brought his thumb to your top lip, pushing it up slowly. He took in the slightest inhale of breath, which was enough to tell you something was wrong.
“Azriel what’s wrong?” You questioned again, your head pounding more as you grew more nervous.
“That creature that bit you.. I killed it. But, it’s bite has turned you.” He held onto your cheeks, brushing your cheekbones back and forth.
You felt so dizzy, and you didn’t know how to take in this information. Your mind was all over the place, your senses felt even more heightened, as did your emotions. You felt nauseous and thirsty, your throat aching from dehydration.
“Az can you bring me some water?” You desperately clawed at your throat, feeling as if you had swallowed sand. He quickly left the room and came back with water. You grabbed it from him, chugging it. The liquid drizzled down your chin as you drank sloppily, but when you reached the end of the cup your stomach turned.
You jumped out of bed and ran to the connecting bathroom, hurling the water into the toilet. Azriel stepped into the bathroom, helping you up so you could wash your mouth.
“Az what’s happening to me?” Tears were making their way down your cheeks, not understanding why you felt so sick and so hungry.
“Y/n… I think you need blood.” He whispered, his eyes sadly dragging to your cut lip. Your mouth fell open as you shook your head.
“Absolutely not, I’d rather starve. We should just start walking home. Maybe Madja can help fix this” you gestured over yourself. Azriel just nodded solemnly and gave you a change of clothes from the cabin bedroom. With that, you were on your way.
-
The trek seemed harder today than when you had made your way over here in the first place. Your limbs felt weak and your head felt weaker. Azriel was walking ahead of you, but five hours into the walk had you seeing double.
“Can we take a break” you huffed, already stopping to lean your back against a tree. You quickly slipped down, your butt landing hard on the floor. Azriel ran over to your side.
“Please Y/n, you need to eat.” He begged as his knee landed beside you. He gripped your chin, lifting your eyes to him. Your ears felt like they were pounding, and you could only smell the delicious scent of Azriel.
“Az I can’t. I’m not going to kill anyone so I can live.” Your hands came up to grab onto his arms, trying to ground yourself from the spinning in your head. Upon touching his bare arms, you could feel his heartbeat and his blood flow. You realized that the pounding in your ears was the sound of his heart. You quickly pulled your hands away.
“Y/n, please feed on me. I can’t stand to see you like this. I’ll tap you on your neck to let you know to stop.” He pleaded, turning his head and exposing his neck to you. Your heart felt so convicted, this was your best friend. What if you couldn’t control yourself? What if you ended up hurting him or draining too much? You were about to tell him no, when he pushed his hand into your hair and pulled your face toward his neck. The smell of him and his blood made you lose any ounce of self control.
You opened your mouth and slowly pushed your newly sharpened teeth into his neck. He let out a light groan as you began sucking. The first taste of his blood sent waves of pleasure through your body unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. One of your hands held the side of his head while the other held onto his bicep. You squeezed his arm as you drank, quietly moaning with each sip. Your body felt renewed already, but you never wanted this feeling to end. Azriel slightly tapped the back of your neck, but you ignored him. You began drinking slower, trying to make yourself stop by your self control was not developed yet. Azriel slightly tugged the hair at the nape of your neck, tilting your head back away from him.
Azriel’s eyes darted between your own. His pupils were wide as he searched you. The color had returned to your skin and your eyes were black with desire. He had to force himself to pull away before doing something stupid. He stood up and lent his hand down to you, to which you gladly took as he helped you up.
“Let’s get going.” He ordered gruffly, turning around and heading home.
After tasting his blood, how were you supposed to move on? That felt so intimate, him allowing you to bite into his exposed neck and drink his life source. You had never felt that good before, and if you weren’t mistaken, he seemed to like it too.
Azriel was also in his head, thinking about you. He felt so stupid letting that happen, but he had to make sure you were okay. This was a slippery slope though, because if every time felt like that, he would let you run him dry.
Summary: You and Azriel are asked to work together on some spy work at one of Rhys’ parties. Azriel is trying to keep you both undercover, which involves a huge lack of personal boundaries. This is technically part 2 of Dancing with a Stranger, but can definitely be read alone:)
Warnings: BANTER
Rhy was having a huge party to celebrate one year since defeating the King of Hybern. At least, that’s what he wanted everyone to believe. He had invited all of the High Lords and their respective parties to gauge what was going on in their courts. Things had been too quiet in Prythian, so it was only responsible of him to go looking for answers.
Your job this evening was to enchant the coats of the guests. It was simple really, you would charm their clothing so that you could hear everything they said as they left the party. It lasted as long as they wore the coat afterward, which you hoped was long enough to get some intel.
Unfortunately for you and your current attitude toward the Shadowsinger, you were paired with Azriel. He was supposed to be keeping you in the shadows as you worked on the coats, which meant he was being very annoying and very close.
“Could you give me a little space to operate?” You sneered over you soldier, trying as hard as possible not to bend over and accidentally bump your behind into Azriel.
“Unless you want to lose your literal cover, no I cannot” you couldn’t see him, but you knew he had a smug smirk on his face.
“Okay well just shut up so I can do what I need to do. I want to go as quick as possible so we can get out of here” you went back to taking a long, purple, wool coat in your right hand. With your left hand hovering over the coat, your fingers danced as you enchanted it.
“You and I aren’t getting out of here any time soon. The guests are arriving sporadically and Rhys wants every guest to be charmed” Azriels eyes were trained on you as he grabbed the next coat. He ran his own hands over it, the soft white fur bleeding between his fingers. You couldn’t help but watch his gentle stroking of the coat, completely distracted from what he just said.
“You’re staring” he chuckled, which promptly shook you out of your trance.
“So are you” you quipped, “let me charm that one. I’m only staying in here another hour at most. I want to enjoy the fun too.”
Azriel handed you the coat and you got back to work, using small bits of your magic to fulfill Rhys’ desires to spy on his guests. You were getting really in the zone when you felt Azriel’s breath at your ear as he leaned over your shoulder to watch you work.
“Are you serious? Could you back off” you whisper yelled, still trying not to draw attention to the coat room.
“Well then stop leaning in” he whispered back, right in your ear. You realized you had slightly leaned back, right into him. You just groaned and moved on.
“You know you look beautiful tonight, is that a new dress” Azriel asked, and you had to credit that he sounded genuine, but you wouldn’t give into him so easily. Not after his back and forth with being flirty then being a snarky asshole.
“It is, I didn’t think anyone would notice” you looked down at your feet, trying to act bashful, when in reality you were frustrated with his pendulum act.
“Of course I noticed” he ran his knuckles along the curve of your dress, touching the silky fabric that draped across your figure. You fully turned around then and bared your teeth at him. He threw his hands up in defense.
“Im getting mixed signals here.” Azriel stated, a look of confusion crossing his face.
“Would it help if I tied you up and threatened you with a knife?” You growled at him, obviously not in the mood to play games with him at the moment. Azriel cleared his throat.
“That would… not help” he blushed profusely, and you could smell his desire for that exact situation.
“I think we’ve done enough coats for now. I’ll come back in an hour after I’ve had some more well behaved company.” And with that you walked out of the coat area, not exactly caring if anyone saw you leave.
~
You had joined the rest of the guests, finally, and had some wine. You would need it if you had to go back to work with Azriel soon. You were enjoying the chatter of the guests, when Helion approached you.
“It’s lovely to see such a beautiful face, although I wish I saw it more often in more fun circumstances” He took your hand and kissed the top of it. You were sure there was a faint blush on your cheeks, even though you had no interest in ‘more fun circumstances.’
“I could say the same, I wish I could gaze upon your handsomeness day and night, but alas, here we are, separated by politics and borders” you sighed sadly, sarcasm dripping from your tone.
Helion tilted his head back and laughed, his very white teeth and enchanting smile on display. You were always taken aback by his charisma, he was just so easy going. You leaned closer to him when you felt wisps tighten around your waist, pulling you away. You then saw Azriel approaching Helion, to which you rolled your eyes.
“Helion, it’s nice to see you” Azriel smiled, which was even more dazzling than Helions smile, because the Shadowsinger didn’t do it often .
“Azriel, you never smile at me. Have you finally decided to take me up on my offer?” Helions eyebrows rose in what could only be described as excitement.
“Unfortunately no, I’m just enjoying myself” Azriel’s eyes quickly darted to you and back to Helion, “but Rhys would like a moment with you.”
“His wish is my command” he shrugged before facing his body toward you. He leaned in and kissed your cheek. “Until next time” he winked before strolling away. You watched him make his way to Rhysand, then turned on Azriel.
“Is there a reason you keep showing up where I am?” You were positive your cheeks were red, steam nearly coming out of your ears.
Azriel just smiled, “maybe I’m following you” he teased with a shrug.
“And why would you do that?” You leaned closer to him, jabbing your finger into his (very muscular) chest.
“That’s the question isn’t it” he said, almost sadly. He looked at your eyes for a few seconds, and let them trail over the details of your face. His gaze lingered on your lips, before he looked back up at you and turned around. You just watched him walk off, unsure of what to do next.
Plot: Reader wants to remove Az from her mind and what better way to do that than Rita’s. Based on the song. Maybe more parts if you guys like.
You weren’t planning on going out tonight. Mor had asked three times every day this week to come to Rita’s with her and Nesta on Saturday, but you just hadn’t been feeling it. Every time you told her no, it just made her ask more. But you still weren’t going to give in.
That was until you ran into him on your way to work in the library. You could hardly call it running into him, as you were 20 feet away, but that was enough to notice the big brooding Shadowsinger. You tried not to think about him anymore, but seeing him was an entirely different story. Once you saw him, he wouldn’t leave your mind for days, which is how you found yourself at Rita’s. You just needed him off your mind, and what better way to do that than get drunk and dance.
You and the girls had worn some sparkly, short, dresses, each one complimenting the other. After three drinks, your head was feeling delightfully loose, almost loose enough not to be thinking of Azriel. You didn’t think having another drink would solve your issue, so you knew exactly what you needed to do. Find someone new.
“Mor, I need you to help me find a boy toy” you shouted over the music, your eyes quickly scanning around the room for potential suitors.
“You don’t beat around the bush” Mor laughed as she joined you in scanning the crowd. Nesta also joined in the lookout, and she found someone almost immediately.
“How about that one?” She nodded toward a male at a nearby table. His hair was dark brown, eyes to match. He had a strong jaw and prominent cheekbones. He was very handsome, and the tattoos on his arms didn’t hurt much either.
“Perfect” you said as you marched over to him, confidence swelling in your chest. You stopped just before the stranger, to which he stopped the conversation he was having with his (hopefully) friend.
“Dance with me?” You batted your lashes and smiled at him as you offered your hand. You were never rejected, especially in these instances. And regardless if you had been, there was only one males opinion you cared about. So these club guys didn’t matter in the slightest.
“Yes please” the male stood immediately, following you the dance floor. You had started dancing, facing one another. The music called for some fast paced moving, but it was still pretty intimate. There was only one person you wished to dance with like this, but that couldn’t be. So here you were, dancing with a stranger and trying to forget.
As you danced, you couldn’t help but get frustrated that your tactics weren’t working. You wanted to rid your mind of the Shadowsinger, and you couldn’t. You were scolding Azriel in your mind, blaming him for what he was making you do in his name. But it was your own antics that got you here, driven by your desire to wipe him from your mind.
As the song ended, you told the stranger “thanks” and moved off the floor. You told the girls you wanted some fresh air, leaving the bar to stand outside for awhile. As you leaned against the brick wall, you weren’t expecting some shadows to trace up your legs, their coolness giving you goosebumps.
“Come out Az.” You demanded, looking around the dark surroundings of Velaris. Azriel walked out of some dark corner, typical, to which you scoffed.
“What are you doing here?” You leaned off of the wall to stand at your full stature, not anywhere as tall as him but you wanted to feel more intimidating.
“I could ask you the same. I saw you in there dancing with some male” he rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.
“Oh yeah because dancing at a bar with a stranger is so weird, as opposed to lingering outside a bar waiting for… what exactly?” You argued back, leaning more into his space as you poked his (very strong) chest.
“Im here because of a safety and security issue” he shot back, to which it was your turn to roll your eyes.
“Are the girls having too much fun for your liking” you smirked, knowing you were pushing his buttons.
“I don’t think you were having much fun, it didn’t look like you were enjoying yourself with that stranger. Seemed to me like you were frustrated, maybe like you were thinking of someone else” he shrugged, his arrogance bleeding into the tone of his voice.
“Fuck off” you sneered as you pushed him to side and began to walk away. Why couldn’t he just…. You didn’t know what you wanted from him. He was so difficult, but you couldn’t help but still want him. All he seemed to do was act like a pendulum. He would argue with you, or be sweet with you, or infuriate you, or draw you in with his magnetic nature. You didn’t know what you wanted, and neither did he apparently, as he just let you walk off, sending his shadows to be with you because he knew he couldn’t.
A/N: I found this vague note in my notes app and I think I meant to write a fic based on Dancing w a stranger by Sam smith, so here it is lmao.
content warnings: pure fluff with a sprinkle of smut (wingplay, 18+)
a/n: seriously this is pure sap i'm sorry
word count: 9.6k
synopsis: Azriel had spent his entire life wishing for this—for you.
my masterlist
~ ~ ~
When Azriel found his mate, he was terrified.
You were everything he wasn’t.
Sweet. Gentle. Soft.
You wore your heart on your sleeve, and Azriel had never been good at handling delicate things. If he held on too tight, squeezed just a little too hard, he was liable to shatter anything precious in his vicinity. He was still racked with nerves any time he visited his mother, still sick with anxiety every time he held Nyx.
Now there was you, who looked at him with so much hope and unfiltered adoration that he could hardly breathe. He probably should have left you alone, but not even he was strong enough to ignore the way your soul was threaded through his. He still remembered the first time you touched him, the way you were the first to break from the stupor of a fresh mating bond, and gently curled your fingers around his wrist.
Azriel knew then that he was a goner.
Now he was standing next to you on the front porch of his brother’s home, listening to your heart beat erratically in your chest. You were nervous—you had said as much—and he couldn’t blame you. He was nervous.
He watched you for a moment. The way your eyelashes brushed the tops of your cheeks as you closed your eyes, the way your breath curled in the air as you let out a little puff. The flecks of snow that clung to your hair, melting slowly in your warmth.
Azriel felt like one of those snowflakes.
He wished he knew how to comfort you. He seemed to have the annoying tendency to freeze up around you. Any ability to form a coherent sentence seemed to flee his mind when he got too close to you, when he thought about you. He was fortunate enough that you didn’t seem to notice, or, if you did, you never mentioned it.
Azriel was flustered around you.
You were everything he ever wanted, and he was so worried about losing you, about messing this up in some way, that he overthought everything he said and did. He was so used to moving with absolute confidence—not necessarily in himself, but in what he was meant to say and do. He knew what was expected of him, but now, with you? Now he was desperate and infatuated and—
Your hand slid into his, your cold fingers entwining with his scarred ones, and Azriel’s spiral grinded to a halt. Your eyes met his, wide and nervous and eager. Your lips pulled into a small smile, your hand squeezing his as if his touch, his presence, was enough to ground you.
“This is fine,” you said, nodding to yourself as you glanced at the wooden double doors. Your gaze flicked back to him, the warm faelights surrounding the door making your eyes twinkle, and Azriel had to remind himself to breathe. “You’ll stay with me, right?”
Azriel blinked, his mind lagging as he processed your words. One of his shadows bumped into the back of his head, before spiraling down to wrap around your entwined hands, and Azriel felt his entire body turn warm. He squeezed your hand, his heart skipping when your smile widened into a grin. “Of course I will,” he answered softly.
You bit your bottom lip briefly, a nervous habit of yours, Azriel had noticed. He was entirely certain you had no idea how endearing, how alluring, the tiny motion was—how the darkened skin of your lips when you released the delicate skin tormented him. He wanted to kiss you. Every fiber of his being wanted to tug you close and press his lips to yours, but then doubt crept in and darkened the momentary haze that engulfed his senses.
He wanted to go at your pace. He needed to go slow. Azriel had taken plenty of lovers, but he had never had a partner, and he was quickly learning that this came with an entirely new facet of intimacy he was a stranger to. A form of intimacy so vulnerable it left him rattled—gentle smiles and grazing of hands, chipping away emotional walls he had built centuries ago.
Azriel shifted just a little closer, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. Everything about you was intoxicating. Your scent was sweet, like brown sugar and vanilla. Azriel thought at first it was because of the long hours you spent in your bakery, but he had decided that it was just you. Your eyes crinkled at the edges, some of your nerves dulling as the two of you stared into each other's eyes, and Azriel couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his own lips.
Then the door flew open, the hinges creaking slightly with the abrupt motion, causing the two of you to flinch. You curled into Azriel’s side, your hand still clutching his as your arm pressed flush against his, and he had never felt so much pride as he did then, knowing your instincts were to lean on him.
He glared at Nesta, who stood in the doorway with cool and narrowed eyes. Her lips pursed as she took the two of you in, and he felt you go rigid underneath her gaze. “Nesta,” he snapped, his spine prickling with irritation.
Her eyes dragged to his, her lips pulling up into the smallest smirk, and he knew then that this was her version of teasing. “Be glad it was me,” she drawled, stepping back to hold the door open further. She raised her brows expectantly, and Azriel sighed as he glanced at you. Your nerves were back in full force, and yet it was you who smiled hesitantly, and took the first step through the threshold.
Nesta shut the door behind the two of you, the heavy wood shutting with a soft click. Azriel helped you out of your coat, his skin buzzing as your smile turned bashful when his fingers curled around the lapels.
“Cassian is practically chomping at the bit,” Nesta warned, her gaze tracking Azriel as he put your coat and scarf in the closet.
“Wonderful,” Azriel murmured.
When he turned back around, you were still standing there in the foyer, your hands fidgeting at your sides as you took in Nesta. “Hi,” you said, a wide smile breaking out on your face as you gave a small, adorable wave that you promptly dropped. He watched your throat bob, your heart once again pounding in your chest. “I’m Y/N.”
Nesta, thank the Mother, smiled back. “Nesta,” she returned, her icy tone thawing a bit. “We’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N.”
Azriel’s face went hot as you glanced at him. “Oh,” you said, uncertainty lacing your words, “All good things, I hope?”
Nesta scoffed, waving away your worry. “The way Az talks about you—you would think you hung the moon and stars.”
Azriel’s face was molten now, but his embarrassment was entirely worth it to see your shoulders relax and your grin brighten into one unmarred by nerves. It was worth it to feel your joy radiate down the bond, a pulse of euphoria that made his mind fuzzy.
He expected you to follow after Nesta, and he sent you an encouraging smile as you watched her walk down the hall. Instead, you turned toward him, grabbing his hand in both of yours, and you pulled him with you after Nesta.
Azriel felt like he was floating.
~ ~ ~
That night, after bidding his family goodbye and freeing you from their incessant questions, and himself from their relentless teasing, the two of you walked side by side along the Sidra. Azriel had offered to winnow you home—or fly you—but you refused. You always refused those offers, and Azriel never pushed, but part of him wished you would let him, just once.
It was admittedly nice to slow down with you, though. The water trickling along the Sidra was louder in the quiet of the night, at least on this side of the city. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his wings were nestled tight against his back, and he was begging his shadows not to swarm you. You were close enough beside him that your arm brushed his every so often, every accidental graze making his heart leap and his shadows buzz.
Then you stopped, the gentle click of your footsteps abruptly halting. You grabbed Azriel’s arm before he could really even react, dragging him back a couple of steps so he stood in front of you. “Are you okay?” he asked, his heart rate immediately picking up.
You smiled softly, a smile unlike any of the others you had passed around to his family tonight, and he liked the thought of you having a smile just for him. “I’m fine—Az.” His cheeks reddened at the familial nickname you clearly picked up on. “I didn’t know you liked to be called that,” you added softly, a question hidden in your words.
Azriel shrugged. “Rhys and Cas have called me that since I was a boy.”
You nodded, looking out at the water behind him. “Your family is really nice—close.”
Azriel felt like there was something you weren’t saying, something you were holding back, and suddenly all of his earlier anxiety came rushing back. “They are,” he agreed slowly. “They can be a little much at times—I know that. I’m sorry if—”
“Azriel,” you interrupted gently, your hand squeezing his arm. “They did nothing wrong.” Then with a smaller smile, “I had a good night.”
He could feel the ache in his chest radiating through him, and he was fairly certain that at least some of that was coming from you. “Tell me what else you’re thinking,” he urged gently.
You took a deep breath, pulling your hand away to stick both of them in your coat pockets. Azriel hated it.
“I just—” you started, then shook your head. “I know we’ve only known each other for a month.” Another smile stretched your lips, but this time it didn’t reach your eyes, and it quickly fell. “And I know I just sort of dropped into your lap—and that I’m probably nothing like what you expected as you mate—”
“That’s not true,” Azriel hurried out, the words desperate. He was the one to reach for you this time, his hands curling around your arms, and he saw the way you watched him, the way your eyes widened at his touch. “You’re—you—” Azriel hated that he was fumbling this, that he was struggling to give you these words. “You’re beautiful,” he finally said. “I don’t have a better word for it. Inside and out—you leave me in awe. And I’m so grateful I found you.”
Your eyes glistened in the moonlight, laughing half-heartedly as you wiped away a tear. “I’m sorry,” you said, “This is silly.”
“It’s not,” he assured.
You shrugged, your hands still stuffed in your pockets and Azriel’s hands still gripping your arms. “I guess it just rattled me, being around so many people that know you so well. It—well, it didn’t feel great. I know that’s unfair, I know it’s only been a month, but—”
Azriel’s hands cupped your cheeks, startling you. Your eyes stared into his, wide and unblinking, and when you watched his gaze fall to your lips, he felt you relax into his touch. “Azriel,” you whispered, your breath warm against his cool skin. “You don’t have to.”
His thumb brushed your cheek, and you leaned a little more into his hand. You never balked from his scarred skin, and you never pushed for answers either. Azriel appreciated it, more than you likely knew, but maybe it was time he started peeling away some of his layers for you. You shouldn’t have to ask.
His eyes met yours again, and he thought he might like to fall into your irises, let the way they sparkled under the Velaris sky consume him. “I want to,” he murmured.
Your breath hitched, and your hands now clutched his waist, your hands curled tight in the fabric of his coat. “What are you waiting for then?”
That was a very good question.
Azriel pressed his lips against yours, and his entire world tilted on its axis. His blood rushed a little faster, his skin turning warm in the cold, early winter air. The thread twining the two of you together glowed when you pressed up on your toes to get closer, one of your hands reaching up to thread through the hair at the back of his head. You tasted like the glass of wine you had sipped on all night, mixed with a hint of sugar that made him smile against your lips.
The kiss was sweet—tender. It was unlike anything Azriel had ever experienced in his five centuries of life and he never wanted it to end. When your hand slid around to cup his face, when your fingers brushed his cheek, he felt himself melt a little, drops of his heart falling into yours.
You were the one to break away first, falling back onto your feet and wobbling a bit, Azriel quickly steadying you by a hand on your waist. You giggled, sniffing a bit as a cold breeze washed over the two of you, and Azriel was certain he looked like a lovesick fool as a grin spread across his face. Gods, you were perfect.
Azriel couldn’t help but press one more kiss to your lips, your face now flushed with warmth when he cupped your jaw. “You’ve brought out parts of me even I didn’t know existed,” he murmured, eyes stuck to yours again. Your lips parted, awe washing over your face. “This is just the beginning, Y/N.”
You smiled, that soft and special smile again, and Azriel was floating amongst the moonlit clouds. “I like the sound of that,” you murmured.
~ ~ ~
Azriel was in love.
His heart was irrevocably yours, and there was no other life on this planet he would trust to handle it with as much effortless care as you.
You were joy incarnate, and maybe there was some sick and twisted humor behind the Mother’s choice to link his dark and dreary heart to yours—but he was selfishly so grateful that he belonged to you now.
You were fluttering between booths in the market, your hair a little tangled and errant from the wind today, and a smile so soft it immediately disarmed anyone you approached. Azriel was trying to stay back, to let you shop and chatter to your heart’s desire without his intimidating presence dampening your glee.
It was freezing today, a light dusting of snow laid across the cobblestone streets—but you had insisted on visiting the winter markets, saying that today would be the best day for finding bargains, now that Winter Solstice had passed.
His heart was warm as he watched the silver pendant he gifted you glint in the morning sun, a diamond encrusted starburst that sat against the center of your chest. You had worn it every day since Solstice, and Azriel couldn’t deny the pride he felt when he saw the necklace around your neck.
Your head snapped to him, your eyes locking on him from across the street, as if you had known where he had wandered off to this entire time. Your eyes were bright as you hurried through the crowd, your steps light and airy as you ran toward him.
“Azriel,” you said excitedly. You looped your arm through his without a second thought, tugging him close against your side before you dragged him into the throng of faeries. “You have to see this booth. She has peppermint chocolates left over from Solstice, and I was so sad I didn’t find any this year. Oh! She has these chocolate covered cherries too, and I know you don’t love sweets, but you do like cherries—”
Azriel could listen to you talk for days on end. Your voice was like a balm for his soul, and your touch—your touch was enchanting. No matter how much time you spent together, Azriel was unraveled by every one of your touches. It was these casual displays of affection that really did him in. The way you pressed your side against his and held onto him as you pointed out sweet after sweet to him.
The way you didn’t mind the stares his presence garnered sometimes. The way you held on just a little bit tighter when you caught the interested gaze of a female across the table. Azriel loved it.
He loved you.
~ ~ ~
Azriel had done his best to shield you from the gory and unsavory details that came with his job. He hated that you knew he had hurt people, that he was feared. He was terrified you might one day wake up and see the blood on his hands, and finally decide to leave him.
That was why, despite every instinct inside him screaming to go to you, he plummeted on the balcony of the House of Wind, and not on the cobblestone street leading toward your house. He groaned as he pushed himself to his feet, cursing the Autumn Court bastards that had ambushed him at the border. He ought to wring Eris’s neck for letting his father’s minions slip through his fingers.
He should have probably found Madja, but he hated the idea of waking her in the middle of the night, when he knew he would heal—eventually. He just needed to shut himself in his room and lick his wounds for a bit, and he would be fine.
Fine enough to finally see you, after weeks apart.
Azriel didn’t know how he didn’t immediately notice you sitting on his bed, but he nearly fell over when he heard your horrified voice murmur, “Oh gods.”
The door shut behind Azriel with a harsh thud, his body falling against it as soon as it closed. He winced when your hands cradled his face, your skin soft and warm against his clammy and dirty cheeks. “Az,” you breathed, your mounting panic making your hands tremble. “What happened?”
One of his hands came up to wrap around yours, gently pulling it away from his face. “I’m okay,” he told you, voice rough with the obvious lie. He would be okay, though, and that’s what mattered. “Just a little bruised.”
“You’re bleeding,” you argued, sliding his arm over your shoulder. His sweet mate, who didn’t hesitate to shoulder the weight of his body that was twice the size of yours. He did his best not to lean too much on you, but his mind was addled with pain and exhaustion and confusion, and he just wanted to melt into your touch.
You guided him into the bathroom, setting him down on the toilet as the bathing pool behind him started to fill. You brushed the hair from his eyes, one of your hands gliding down to cup his jaw, and Azriel couldn’t help but let his head fall into your hand.
“Sweetheart,” you murmured, and Azriel was practically a puddle on the floor. No one had ever called him something so lovely, so soft. No one had ever handled him with so much care.
“I promise,” he said, meeting your eyes. “I’ll be okay.”
“Well, you’re not right now,” you grumbled. Azriel shouldn’t find it as endearing as he did. He knew it probably hurt you to see him hurt—he didn’t want to even imagine if the roles were reversed.
Azriel flinched when your fingers started working at the buckles of his leathers, making your eyes fly back to his. “Did I hurt you?” you asked, fingers hovering over his abdomen.
“No.” He shook his head. “What are you doing?”
You huffed, going right back to work on his leathers. “We need to get these off of you.”
Azriel’s hand grabbed yours, his eyes wide when he met your exasperated ones. “I am more than capable of—”
“Azriel—” you snapped, fingers tightening around his leathers, making him hiss. You immediately loosened your grip, and a flash of guilt passed through your eyes, making you deflate. “Just let me take care of you?” you pleaded.
Azriel wasn’t going to tell you no. Even if his heart had stopped beating and his shadows had stilled behind him.
So he nodded, and you started undoing his buckles and laces one by one, peeling away the blood soaked fabric until his skin was bare. It was unfair that this was how you were undressing him for the first time.
You tossed his leathers to the side, picking up a cloth and soap then dunking it in the tub. As you wrung the rag out, you glanced at him out of the corner of your eyes, catching him watching you. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
He tracked your movements, his shadows finally breaking from their stupor to circle around you slowly. A drop of water fell to his knee as you let the cloth hover between you, your brows raising expectantly.
Azriel knew he should. He should tell you about his mission—he should be transparent with his mate of all people about the atrocities he faces, and sometimes causes, if you were ever going to accept the bond between your souls.
He knew that, and yet the words wouldn’t form.
Instead, he swallowed hard, his mouth gone dry, and shook his head slowly. “Not tonight.”
He saw the disappointment in your eyes, no matter how carefully you tried to veil it. He felt the twinge of hurt that pushed through the bond, and Azriel hated himself for it.
“I’m not naive, you know,” you said as you pressed the cloth to his abdomen. Azriel flinched, and this time you didn’t pull away. “I know what you do is dangerous. I know the sacrifices you must make are unimaginable. You don’t have to hide it from me.”
Azriel’s brain was short-circuiting as he listened to your soft voice, as you gently cleaned the blood from his skin. It wasn’t until you pulled away that he realized he should really answer you, but he didn’t have a good response.
He supposed if he wasn’t ready to give you one truth, he could give you another though.
You dunked the cloth in the water, ripples of blood curling away from your hands—his blood, and undoubtedly others. You stood up, moving back to him, this time using the pads of your fingers to gently tilt his chin up. You held his face like that as you wiped the dirt and grime and caked on blood from around his eyes, your finger gently brushing his jaw anytime you went over a cut.
You were so beautiful. There were truly not enough words to describe how perfect you were, and Azriel was appalled when he felt his eyes burn and his nose tingle as he watched you take care of him. He was mortified when your eyes met his and your ministrations stopped.
“Azriel,” you said softly.
“I’m scared,” he admitted, voice rougher than he would have liked. “I’m scared you will look at me differently, if you know the things I’ve done—the things I’m capable of.”
Your face twisted, and Azriel immediately wanted to take his words back and shove them down deep inside. You tossed the cloth into the bath, cupping his face with both of your hands, and Azriel felt a tremble go through him. He had never felt so exposed as he did then, sitting on a toilet with bare and tattered skin, his head—and his heart—in his mate’s soft and gentle hands.
You kissed him.
It was just a chaste kiss, a slow and drawn out press of your lips to his, but it dragged the breath from Azriel’s lungs and left him dazed and blinking as soon as you pulled away.
Your eyes were locked on his when you said, “I know you don’t remember this, but you saved my life once—before we met.”
Every whirring and buzzing worry circling Azriel’s head ground to a halt. “What?” he rasped. How could he ever forget—
You smiled, the first one you had given him all night, and your thumb brushed against his cheek. “When Velaris was attacked,” you said, voice so soft in the quiet of the night, “I was cornered in the alley behind my bakery. One of Hybern’s monsters had found me—I’ll never forget its face.” Azriel’s hand came up to circle your wrist, his heart aching as your voice trembled. “I thought I was going to die, Azriel. Blood was raining from the sky and screams were piercing the air, and I was staring in the face of what I thought was my end—and then his head fell to the pavement.”
Azriel shook his head, his chest tight. “I don’t remember—how can I not—”
“Sweetheart,” you interrupted gently, “You didn’t even see me—I mean, you obviously knew someone was there, but you came and went like a breeze. You were a little busy defending your city.” That smile again. “But a shadow stayed behind, curling against my neck like a worried pet—and I knew who saved me. I’ve never been scared of you Azriel, but after that day, knowing I lived in a city under your protection made me feel safe.”
Azriel was crying now. His cheeks were damp from the tears that ran down his face and onto your hands. “I don’t want the darkness that taints my soul to ever seep into yours.”
You hummed softly, brushing away the hair that had fallen into his eyes again. “I quite like the dark,” you said, “It’s gentle in its own way. It knows things that would never be found in the light.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
“You do,” you promised, your own eyes glimmering in the moonlight leaking through the windows now. “And you never have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Azriel—but I’m here if you do, and I will love you through it all.”
~ ~ ~
Azriel had never considered himself to be a jealous male.
Was he occasionally temperamental? Yes.
Did he have a history of pining? Unfortunately.
He was never territorial, though. He could still remember the days Cassian would spar with males in their camp after treading too close to a female, the rage that wafted off them in waves as Cassian’s smug ass smirked at them. Azriel was never like that.
No, he wasn’t territorial, and he wasn’t jealous—he was just protective. He would die for the ones he loved, and now that you were at the top of that list, he was just worried about you. Worried about the way the male at the bar kept inching closer, the way your smile grew tighter when he laughed at one of his jokes, and the way you flinched when his hand touched your arm.
Watching his fingers graze your skin turned Azriel’s vision red.
He shrugged off Cassian’s attempt to sit him back down, rage pumping through his veins as his gaze stayed glued to the hand resting on your arm. He really wasn’t thinking when his hands grabbed your waist, physically pulling you away from the male and inserting himself between you and him. Your eyes were wide when you saw him, startled by his sudden appearance. “Az—” you said, “What’s wrong?”
Azriel picked up the arm the male had touched, his disgruntled jeers behind him blurring with the rest of the raucous throughout Rita’s. He dragged his hand up and down the length of your arm, your breath stuttering at his touch. “Are you okay?” he asked, softening the venom that he had been ready to spew at the male behind him.
You blinked, glancing down at your arm in his hand. “I’m okay,” you answered, with a bit of confusion in your tone. “Are you?”
Azriel was practically vibrating with anger, every bit of his restraint being used to face you and to not turn around and grab that male by the throat. “Great,” he said.
“You’re shaking,” you said, your hand coming up to rest on his chest. “And your heart is racing.”
His hand came up to rest on top of yours, finally dropping your arm from his grasp. “I’m okay,” he said, this time a little more convincing—he thought. “I just—I got worried. When I saw that male…”
Understanding dawned on your face, and an amused grin stretched across your face. “Ah,” you said, patting his chest. Azriel only squeezed your hand. “I see.” You peered around his shoulder, and Azriel begrudgingly followed your gaze, relieved to see the male had turned his attention to a female that was not his mate. “He was harmless. A little touchy, if you ask me—” A lot touchy, if you asked Azriel. “But who isn’t when they’re drunk?”
“He shouldn’t just be touching people—”
“No,” you agreed. “He shouldn’t.” Then mischief lit your eyes, and you stepped in closer, your chest brushing against his. “I bet you’re a cuddly drunk.”
Azriel scoffed, leaning into you a little more. Your scent drowned out the sweat and alcohol of the bar, and he much preferred your sweet smell over the suffocating air in Rita’s. “In your dreams, honey.”
~ ~ ~
“Can I touch your wings?”
Azriel nearly dropped the glass of water he had just filled from the kitchen tap. He blinked, taking in the way you were sitting cross-legged on the edge of your bed, your bottom lip stuck between your teeth again. He could see the curiosity eating at the edges of your eyes, and he wondered just how long you had been dying to ask him that.
“You can tell me no,” you said, drawing him out of his shock. “I asked Cassian—”
“You asked Cassian if you could touch his wings?”
Azriel felt faint.
“No!” you exclaimed, hands shooting out to your sides. “No, of course not. I just—I didn’t know—” You huffed, clearly flustered. Azriel came closer, setting your glass of water on your night stand so he could sit beside you. “He explained that you’re taught to protect your wings as babes—that they’re sensitive, vulnerable—but he said that he didn’t think you would mind if I asked.”
Of course he said that.
“I’m sorry,” you said sheepishly. “That was foolish. I shouldn’t have brought it up—”
Azriel grabbed your hands that were moving around frantically, bringing them down to rest in your lap. Your throat bobbed as you looked at him, your eyes wide and nervous. “Of course you can touch my wings,” he said softly, his words alone making his stomach flip. “But, sweetheart, they’re very…” Azriel felt his face warm. “They’re very sensitive.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Not like that,” he corrected gently.
You blinked, recognition slowly creeping onto your face. “Oh.” Then you winced, embarrassment clouding your face. “Oh. I can’t believe I asked Cassian—”
“It’s okay,” he assured you, and he would make sure Cassian never brought it up again. “Cassian didn’t mind, I guarantee you.”
You nodded softly, your eyes roving over him, your gaze catching on his lips—then his wings splayed out behind him. When your eyes flit back to him, your pupils blown with your heart beating a little faster in your chest, Azriel forgot how to breathe. “Can I?” you asked softly.
Azriel licked his lips, nodding slowly, anticipation clawing at his chest as he waited for his mate to touch him. You slowly untwined your hands from his, shifting so you faced him more, your hand trembling slightly as you let it hover over the inner membrane of his wing.
When your fingers finally grazed the delicate skin, Azriel grappled for every last thread of restraint he possessed to hold still, to let you explore this part of him—months of growing tension and longing to tip over this new edge of intimacy with his mate, and he was wholly unprepared for just how transcendent your touch was. Your fingers dragged up his wing and then back down one of the ridges, your skin soft and warm against him, leaving a trail of unimaginable pleasure in their wake.
When you traced back up the ridge, and your fingers trailed along the arch to the inner membrane again, the shudder that escaped Azriel was inevitable. You paused, your fingers lifting from him. “I’m okay,” he said, his voice embarrassingly rough.
He noticed it then, the shift in your scent—your warm and sugary scent turning hot and intoxicating in an entirely new way. He felt the desire that twirled inside you pulse down the bond, and Azriel’s own arousal intensified ten-fold.
You grabbed his face in your hands, your lips locking with his before he could overthink this, before he could hesitate or flee or even think about slowing down. You had never kissed him like this before, never with so much fervor and white hot desire that it left him spinning and clinging to you just to stay upright.
You tugged him close by the neck of his shirt, stretching the flimsy fabric to the point it ripped a bit at the seam. You only huffed against his mouth in frustration, your hands reached around him to rip open the slats in his shirt, fingers grazing the skin at the base of his wings and forcing another shudder through his body.
Azriel curled into you, his forehead pressed against your neck, his arms looping around you to hold you even closer. His breaths were growing more shallow, his mind foggy with something beyond desire—a sense of belonging and love so potent he thought he might drown in it.
Your fingers slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, dragging over his abdomen as you pushed the fabric up, up, and up, a desperation limning your movements that he had never seen in you—a desperation that made his mind stutter, a kernel of worry nestling inside him as you pulled his shirt over his head—and then yours.
You were truly ethereal, which Azriel already knew, but seeing you like this was…it was an honor. A privilege—one he had no intention of taking for granted. His hands rested on the soft curves of your waist, your body warm and pliant against him.
Then your hands reached out, tracing his wing in delicate patterns that felt anything but—and there was only so much willpower Azriel had when he was in the hands of his mate. He squeezed your hips, holding you away from him just a bit, but you did your best to reach for him again. “Y/N,” he breathed out, voice ragged and trembling when you reached for his other wing. “Honey,” he said, pushing you back a bit, your hazy eyes finally meeting him. “Maybe we should slow down?”
A flash of hurt so raw and visceral passed through your eyes, and Azriel felt like he had been stabbed.
You shook your head, blinking too many times. “I don’t—do you want to stop?”
“No,” he rasped, his body coiled tight with pleasure that was sitting on a dangerous precipice. “But you seem—”
Your eyes filled with a new determination, your hands tracing down his face, his neck, his chest, his stomach. “I want to take care of you,” you whispered, your lips latching onto the skin at his neck before he could really respond.
Then you pulled back, tugging on his arm as you crawled onto the center of the bed. “Come here,” you coaxed, and Azriel was too enthralled by you to do anything but follow.
He fell back into the mountain of pillows you had scattered across the head of your bed, his wings splaying out on either side of him. He watched you carefully, his eyes drinking in every inch of your body, breathing in your scent that left him spinning as you crawled on top of him, your legs bracketing his hips. Your eyes locked onto his, and relief washed over him as he felt you tug on the thread between you, a gentle warmth rushing through his blood that seemed to anchor both of you back to each other.
Your hands roamed his chest, his stomach, your eyes tracking your fingers that tracing every ridge and valley of his muscles that rippled reflexively beneath your touch. “I’ve never felt this way,” you whispered, half to yourself. “You’re so beautiful, Azriel—it makes me dizzy.”
Azriel huffed a laugh, his head falling back into the pillows as he let you explore. “I know the feeling.”
He sucked in a sharp breath when your lips pressed to his chest, trembling as you worked your way over his skin, your tongue laving over his nipple briefly before moving up to his neck. He had never—no one had ever had this sort of access to him. He was always in control in the past, always the one in charge. Never had he just laid bare for someone to inspect and touch and kiss—but he couldn’t imagine not letting you have your way with him.
He would give you the moon if you asked.
He groaned when you sucked a little harder on the skin at his collarbone, and when your mouth dragged over his shoulder and to his arm, your teeth grazing his bicep in a way that simultaneously taunted and begged for more, he had succumbed entirely to your touch. Your hands moved back to his wings, stroking and brushing the membrane with exploratory and reverent touches that Azriel was certain was better than anything he had ever dreamed of.
When your teeth sank against the skin of his bicep, he gasped, the bite unexpected and intoxicating. You kissed the mark you inevitably left in your wake, and finally, finally, you brought your lips back to his. His hips involuntarily bucked against you, desperation creeping in as you kissed him and stroked the arch of his wings. “Honey,” he rasped, your lips sealing his warning away for another second. “I can’t—I’m going to—”
You rolled your hips against him, your lips kissing his jaw, his neck, his ear. “Good,” you whispered. “Let go, Azriel. I’ve got you, I promise.”
Your words electrocuted something inside him, sparking another dormant and fractured piece of him back to life. He fell into the pleasure you had weaved inside him, letting it wrap around him and hold him hostage for so many long and blissful seconds, his entire body trembling as he came undone.
You kissed him through it, your touches slowing and growing more gentle, and Azriel had never felt true euphoria until this moment. His chest heaved as he came down, his eyes never leaving yours. When you smiled softly with a hint of shyness lying in the crinkle of your eyes, Azriel knew that he had found a home in your arms, and he would protect and cherish it until the day he drew his last breath.
~ ~ ~
If a few nights ago was Azriel’s dream come true, today was his living nightmare.
You had been avoiding him since that night, and every second that passed without seeing you only stretched the chasm growing in his chest farther and farther.
He was panicking.
Everything seemed fine when the two of you fell asleep—good, even. Azriel had never felt so at peace as he had in that moment, with you in his arms and his wing draped over you.
You had not let him take care of you the way you had him, but he didn’t want to push. He would never do that. As much as it pained him not to give you the pleasure you had given him, he recognized the vulnerability that had crept into your eyes, that laced your words after you kissed him and said Not tonight.
He knew it was a lot.
It was overwhelming and intoxicating and he could have very well stayed in bed next to you for an eternity if you let him—but you were gone come morning.
The bed was still warm where you had once laid, your scent still potent on your sheets, and the morning sun glittered off the charms and suncatchers you had hanging in your window—it was a perfectly warm and peaceful morning, except you were nowhere to be found.
Azriel would have liked to stay until you returned. He tried. He spent the morning cleaning your kitchen, doing the dishes from last night’s dinner, wiping down the counters and straightening the Solstice decorations you still had out. He picked up your living room—he even folded the pile of laundry you had stacked on the chair in your room.
Hours passed and your apartment was spotless, but you still weren’t back—and well, Azriel wasn’t clueless. He could take a hint.
He started to feel like an invader and less like a guest the longer your absence stretched, and he never wanted to encroach on your space, your privacy. He never wanted to be the reason you were uncomfortable, though it seemed that was exactly what he was.
So he left, the smell of you and your apartment clinging to his clothes as he shut and locked your door behind him, a twinge of guilt in his chest for stealing your spare key, but he would be damned if he left your apartment unlocked and vulnerable.
He really wanted to sit on the roof across the street and wait for you to return, but the odds of you catching him were too high—you always seemed to know exactly when he was near and where he morphed into the shadows. He also didn’t want to scare you, so he settled for a note on your counter and your spare key in his pocket, and possibly a small tendril of shadow lurking in the curtains of your living room.
You came home in the early evening—and that’s all he knew.
He was itching to see you, to talk to you, to understand what went wrong, but you were never home when Azriel stopped by.
Just like you weren’t home now. It was like you knew when he was coming, and fled before he could catch you. He didn’t understand.
He wasn’t angry. Far from it. He would be the biggest hypocrite in Prythian if he was—the Mother only knew how many times he had pushed people away or ran from his feelings. Hell, he was terrified he would do that to you, he just never imagined he would be facing such a role reversal.
A bit arrogant of him, if he was honest. He dropped his forehead to your door, the silence of your apartment weighing him down. He could go to your bakery. He knew he would most likely find you there, but he hated the thought of ambushing you at your place of work. It was important to you, and the last thing he wanted to do was taint it.
And really, it had only been a few days. He was being a tad dramatic. His brothers would tear him apart if they saw him now. He could practically hear Cassian’s taunts—
“Azriel?”
His head flew up, his heart leaping in his chest at the sound of your voice. You were standing there, just a few feet away from him, with your hair a bit frazzled from the day and smudges of flour streaked across your pants. Your scent wafted over to him, the same warm and sugary scent mixed with something new—cherries.
Azriel took a step closer, his eyes raking over you. “You smell like cherries.”
You blinked, a bit stunned, and Azriel wanted to shake himself for saying that of all things. You bit your bottom lip, and Azriel watched the way it curled beneath your teeth and popped back out when you said, “Yeah, I was working on something new. I thought you might like it, but…” you trailed off, seeming a bit dazed. “What are you doing here?”
Azriel ignored the twinge of hurt in his chest, knowing it was a perfectly reasonable question to ask the male who was slumped against your apartment door. “I wanted to see you.”
He saw your grip on your keys tighten, glancing warily at your apartment door. “Oh–”
“Actually,” he said hurriedly, desperate to cling to you now that he found you again, “I wanted to show you something.”
You seemed to relax a bit, your eyes lightening and a soft smile pulling at your lips. “Yeah?” you asked.
Azriel nodded, scrambling to put together this very last minute plan. “I want to take you flying.”
Your eyes widened, your body going rigid all over again. “Azriel—”
“Please,” he begged, taking another step closer. Then, softening his tone, voice pleading, he said again, “Please. I don’t know what I did wrong, but—”
“You did nothing wrong,” you hurried out, your hand wrapping around his wrist. Guilt flooded your face, and when your eyes started to glisten, Azriel didn’t hesitate before he pulled you into his chest. And when the first shudder rocked through you he only held you tighter, his hand rubbing up and down your back.
He reached for the key in his pocket, his other arm holding you to him while you cried, and he fumbled with the key in the lock before pushing your door open and guiding the two of you inside. “Honey,” he murmured into your hair, your face pressed against his neck that was now damp with your tears. He stroked the back of your head, your body only falling into him more.
“I’m sorry,” you rasped. You sniffed, your fingers clutching his shirt tighter before pulling back. You wiped at your face, your eyes swollen and red, and Azriel felt utterly helpless.
“For what?” he asked gently.
You looked at him incredulously, shimmying out of his hold and taking a step back. “For leaving you. I can’t believe I did that. I hate myself for just running away—”
“Hey,” he interrupted gently, his heart hurting for you. “It’s okay to need space.”
“But Azriel—”
“In the future,” he added on, “I would appreciate it if you told me that, though.”
You nodded, your cheeks damp and glistening from the tears that still slowly rolled down your face. “What happened?” he asked.
“I was scared,” you whispered, the words rough as they scraped your throat. “I am scared. I—” You closed your eyes, breathing in through your nose, and then back out. “I’ve never been in love.”
Oh.
Azriel was fairly certain he just felt the world shift a few degrees to the left.
“And I know it sounds ridiculous. I know I’ve been clinging to you since we met, since the mating bond snapped, but the other night, I just—I realized, I was in love with you. I am in love with you, and I think I would die if I ever lost you. And I started overthinking, worrying about everything I did, and I felt like I took advantage when that’s the last thing I wanted to do, and I just, I just spiraled, and I’m so sorry.”
“Take advantage?” Azriel knew that was not the most important thing you had just said, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stand the thought of you feeling guilty when you did nothing wrong, and he was going to fix that immediately.
Your throat bobbed, and he could feel your nerves racing down the bond, pummeling his heart with every wave that emanated from you. “Yes,” you said, voice small. “You decided to share something vulnerable with me and I attacked you—”
“Attacked?”
“Yes,” you argued, and he could see the shame and embarrassment heavy in your eyes. It made him nauseous. You threw your arm over your eyes, and said, “Azriel, I bit your bicep, for Cauldron’s sake.”
“Trust me, I remember,” he said, reaching out to pull your arm away from your face. “I remember liking it—more than that, actually.” He cupped your face in his hands, your skin warm against him. “Sweetheart, you made me come in my pants.”
You bit your lip, your entire face going hot. Azriel brushed his thumb over your cheek, wishing he could erase the last 72 hours of pain you had endured alone. “I’m the last person who would ever judge you—for anything.”
Your eyes fell to his lips, and he waited—waited for you to make the next move, and when you pressed your lips to his, he felt himself melt a bit, his soul somehow melding with yours more than it already had. You pressed a few more gentle pecks to his mouth before pulling away, your eyes searching his for something, a flicker of uncertainty lingering.
“You did nothing wrong,” he assured gently, his hand squeezing your hip. “Mating bonds make everything more intense, it’s natural.”
You nodded. “I guess I knew that in theory, just, experiencing it—” You sighed. “I’m sorry.”
Azriel smiled gently, pushing some hair out of your face. “It’s okay. We’re okay, I promise.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you and his shadows brushing against your cheeks once he finally let them go. “I love you,” he murmured into your ear, and the undiluted joy that rippled down the bond made him smile wider than he had in centuries.
~ ~ ~
Azriel was, in fact, a cuddly drunk.
At least, he was with you.
His mate.
Sue him.
How could he not be?
You were just so beautiful. You were warm and soft and loving. You smelled delicious, like freshly baked cookies. You were his love. His home.
And it was his birthday. If he couldn’t be handsy with his mate—well that would be a piss poor birthday.
Most importantly, you didn’t mind, and your opinion was frankly the only one Azriel cared about. So when you giggled as he tugged you into his lap, your eyes wide and bright as you pressed a kiss to his lips in greeting, Azriel did not give a damn about his brothers’ teasing quips from across the table.
He pressed a kiss to your jaw, and then the corner of your mouth, smiling once his lips finally pressed to yours again. “Az,” you giggled, “I knew you would be a touchy drunk.”
Azriel hummed, his arms circling around your waist as he pressed your back to his chest, his nose nuzzling against your neck. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder where the strap of your dress had fallen down, then fixed it for you. “Just with you,” he murmured. Though, that wasn’t entirely true, given the way he had his arms thrown around Rhys and Cas earlier in the night. He kissed the pointed tip of your ear, smiling into your hair when you sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s okay, right?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t bothering you.
You turned your head to face him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Yeah, baby,” you said softly. “It’s okay.”
Azriel felt fuzzy—floaty in a way he almost never was from drinking. So maybe the alcohol coursing through his blood had dropped some of his usual inhibitions, but he knew that the buzzy and giddy warmth that was unfurling in his chest was entirely because of you.
“I think I want to go home,” he said to you, voice low in your ear.
“Are you sure?” you asked.
He nodded, his arms squeezing you once before letting you go, tapping your ass twice to coax you up and off his lap. He grinned when he watched you grow flustered, your eyes glaring at him playfully as you slid off his lap.
“Heading home already?” Rhys asked as Azriel stood up, swaying a bit on his feet before your arm circled his waist. “Leave it to Az to be the first one to leave his own party,” Rhys taunted, mischief glowing behind his purple irises.
“Leave him be, Rhys,” Cassian said, leaning on the table as his eyes gleamed with anything but innocence. “He’s surely eager for Y/N’s gift to him.”
Azriel snarled at Cassian, pushing you behind him as his wings flared. Apparently, he was also a territorial drunk.
“Knock it off, Cassian,” Nesta growled, swatting his arm.
Your hand laced with his, his eyes snapping to you, who was watching his display with amusement. “Come on, birthday boy,” you said, tugging on his arm. “You can fight your brother another day.”
He cast another glare at a smirking Cassian, then let you lead him by the hand out onto the street. His steps were a little more stumbly than he would have liked, and he was certainly in no state to fly either of you anywhere, but you didn’t seem to mind as you held his hand in yours and walked toward your apartment a few streets over.
“I love you,” Azriel blurted.
You smiled, the moonlight washing your face in a pretty glow that made you look ethereal. “I love you too, Az.” You squeezed his hand, swinging your arms a bit. “I hope you’ve had a good birthday.”
Azriel nodded, a little too eagerly if your widening grin was anything to go by. “The best I’ve ever had.”
You laughed, leaning into his side, the two of your stumbling together before regaining your balance. “I doubt that. I have over five centuries of birthdays to compete with.”
Azriel shook his head, then brought your hand up to his lips to press a gentle kiss to your skin. “There’s no competition. None of them had you.”
He was a sappy drunk too, it seemed.
“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he went on, his words only slightly smushed together. “I love you. I love you so much I can hardly breathe. I cannot wait for the day you decide you want to accept the bond—at least, I hope you do. I want you for an eternity, my love.” The two of you were still walking hand in hand along the Sidra, your apartment building now visible in the distance, but Azriel kept rambling, “We can have whatever kind of mating ceremony you want. However big or small, I just want our friends and family there with us—if you even want a ceremony.”
“I do,” you told him, looking up at him with a smile on your face. “I definitely do.”
Azriel’s stomach fluttered, and he leaned a little more into you, his body relaxing into your touch as you neared your home. “Okay,” he sighed, relief and love and joy making him feel like he was floating. “I do too.”
~ ~ ~
It was entirely too bright, and this bed was entirely too empty. Azriel groaned as he turned his face into your pillows, the silk sheet set he bought you blocking out the sun for a brief moment.
Then he smelled food.
He pushed himself upright, his head throbbing a bit from the movement, and his eyes taking a moment to adjust. He was bare aside from his underwear, but he was still too warm in the morning sun. He shoved the covers from his body, his feet landing on the plush rug beside your bed as he stood up.
He followed the smell of bacon and cinnamon, the sound of pots and pans clattering growing louder as he opened your bedroom door and moved toward the kitchen. You were moving around in a flurry, your feet bare on the kitchen tile—your legs bare, aside from his far too large shirt that draped over your body.
Your knee lifted the oven door after pulling a pan out, your hip pushing it the rest of the way shut as you sat the pan on top of the stove with a clang. You slide the oven mitts from your hands, brushing some hair out of your face as you let out a heavy breath.
“Smells good.”
Your head whipped toward Azriel, your eyes going wide as he walked closer. Azriel’s heart pounded in his chest as he took in the spread of food across your kitchen counters. You were clearly in your element, and Azriel loved seeing you like this—but you had never cooked or baked for him before, for obvious reasons.
“What’s all this?” he asked as he peered at the pan of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls.
Your lips parted, your hands ringing together as you rocked back on your heels once. “Breakfast,” you said. A nervous smile pulling at your lips that made Azriel’s heart stall. “For you.”
“For me?” he rasped. “Y/N—”
“Only if you’re ready,” you hurried out, “but I know I am, and, after last night…”
Azriel’s cheeks went hot as last night replayed in his head, the way he clung to you and gushed about his love for you. He moved closer, crowding your space. “I’m ready,” he murmured.
Your face lit up, and Azriel’s hangover was long forgotten as you reached for the fork on the counter behind him. You scooped a piece of a cinnamon roll right out of the still steaming pan, and when you blew on the hot and doughy piece Azriel’s heart flipped. You were still smiling as you offered it to him, the fork slightly shaking from the nerves he knew were coursing through you.
His hand folded over yours and the fork, helping guide it into his mouth so he could take the first bite of the first meal his mate had made for him. He pulled the fork away from his lips, tossing it on the counter as he pulled you flush to him. “I love you,” he said, the words gravelly and choked with more emotion than he really knew what to do with.
You pulled back to cup his face, pushing up on your toes to kiss his lips. “I love you, Azriel.”
A/n: Hey yall, I’m trying to get back into writing so here is something I’ve been working on. Sorry if the ending seems rushed, I’ve been working on it for days and I’m tired lol.
Summary: When missing Azriel becomes unbearable, you decide to write him letters. Not to send, of course, just for yourself. But what if a certain shadow singer got his hands on them.
Warnings: 18+ provocative language and scenes.
WC: 8.6k
The House of Wind felt bleak tonight, as it has for the past 3 days. Yes, your nights are spent alone, your bed, alone, but there’s a comfort in knowing that a certain shadow singer usually slept only down the hall from you. Azriel had left Velaris’ fresh spring air to bone chilling Windhaven for a mission that he said would only last 2 days.
Now, 3 have gone by. No word from him, not to you at least. At dinner you were able to (not so) subtly ask Rhys for an update on him. Apparently, there’s a group of rouge Illyrian’s still hiding from the aftermath of the war, more of them being discovered every month, some even boldly returning home in hopes that they will be protected from the High Lords punishment by their own. Azriel has the dis fortune of tracking them all down, thereby prolonging his stay for cauldron knows how long.
Leaning against the railing of your bedrooms balcony, you sigh. The spring breeze brushing against your skin, yet its warmth does not reach you. You watch the glittering lights of Velaris in the late night. So much beauty and life, but you still feel alone.
Not really in a “no one’s around” kind of way. You trained everyday with Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie, had dinner with Nesta and Cassian in the evenings, spent time with the rest of the inner circle when they arrived.
It’s all just feels different without him. When Nesta all but dragged you up to the training grounds a year ago, she also accidentally rewired your entire brain. She introduced you to the male who has stolen your heart, locked it in a safe, chained up that safe and buried it in the heart of this world. Complete and utterly his now. All that’s left is for him to figure it out and reciprocate the sentiment.
You became friends rather quickly, his shadows taking a liking to you, slipping past Azriel to entangle you in affection. Despite them being an extension of himself, he does not express the same emotion. The child like excitement they seem to gain in you presence.
You giggle. The thought reminding you of Nyx today at dinner. He ran to you and embraced you so hard, you fell on your ass.
Azriel would have found that hilarious, you think. If only he could have been there to see it. If only you could tell him about it.
I mean, you could tell him about it. Theoretically, you could write him a letter…
Theoretically, you could send it…
Theoretically, he could read it…
But that would be weird…right? It’s only been 3 days. You’re sure he has better things to do than to read about how a one year old knocked you over.
In fact, you’re sure it’s the last thing he’d want to hear about after hunting down Illyrian traitors all day.
Yet, you’re itching to tell him.
You silently make your way to the desk in your room and take a seat, pulling out a blank sheet of paper. Perhaps you can make the short story more entertaining than it really was.
You let the pen scratch at the paper.
Dearest Azriel,
That’s how you start these things off right? It’s been 3 days since you’ve been gone and you sure have missed a lot. Yesterday in training, Cassian attempted to cover up a fart by dropping his sword. He did not time it correctly. And if the sound was not loud enough to alert us, the smell was. And tonight at dinner, Nyx charged straight at me and tackled me with the force of 1000 Illyrians. Not nearly as gentle as your shadows. I fear I may have dislocated my spine.
You stop, realizing that is the full extent of what Azriel has missed out on since his departure. It has only been 3 days but it feels like an eternity.
You open the drawer and toss the lousy excuse for a letter in it, slamming it shut with irate disappointment.
He better come back soon or you just know you’ll die.
💌
5 days.
You must have begrudged The Mother. Must have burned babies alive in a previous life to deserve the torment of missing Azriel. You felt it in your stomach, bloated with the amount of emotion you were trying to hold back.
“What’s got your leathers in a bunch?” Nesta asks amused from her twinned sit up position beside you.
Training, as it has been for the last 5 days, is miserable. Another reminder that Azriel is not here
“Nothing.” You answer flatly, not wanting to engage in the conversation that is about to happen.
“Missing him already?” She asks with feigned innocence.
Already? If only she knew.
“Shut up.” You mumble, fighting the heat that singed your cheeks. You return to your sit ups, hoping to disguise the color rising in your skin.
Cassian did a better job at disguising the fart.
“I’m just teasing. He’ll be back soon.” Nesta huffs a laugh as she sits back up.
“I know.” Is all you reply.
But you didn’t know. Which is how you ended up back at your desk, a fresh sheet of paper before you and your pen in hand.
Dearest Azriel
I hope all is well. We missed you at training today. Cassian caught Emerie and I cheating at our planks and made us do 20 more. In my defense, I was exhausted. I haven’t slept too well the past few days. Your shadows usually linger at my door but they have gone with you. I didn’t realize how much comfort it brought me. Did you know you leave a piece of yourself with me at night? Anyways, I know you would have made us do 50 more planks but it still would have been nice to have you there.
You set the pen down, reading your own words over and over, imagining how he would react, how he would feel after reading each sentence.
This letter feels more vulnerable. Definitely not what you intended to write but certainly what you wish you could tell him. If only you weren’t such a coward.
💌
Day 8 starts with you struggling to get out of bed. Your head telling you to get up and your body refusing to moved, depleted from the lack of sleep and heart ache. You are a pathetic mess over a male who you have no claim over.
You hadn’t mustered the strength to go to training, barely managed to make it to lunch where you are met with the concerned stares of Nesta and Cassian.
You acknowledge them with a nod and take a seat at the table, a fresh meal appearing before you.
“You missed training.” Cassian addresses the obvious.
“I slept in.”
“You look like hell.” Nesta observes setting her fork down and forgetting about her meal.
You breathe a laugh, pushing the food around your plate. “Haven’t slept much.”
“Clearly.” Nesta ‘s eyes softened with sympathy. She is one of the very few people who know of your Azriel affliction, always encouraging you to go for it, that he feels the same way. When you’d ask her how she would know that, she simply says she just does. How reassuring. “Let’s have a ladies night. You, me, gwyn and Emerie. A few glasses of wine and a magic house never disappoints.”
And so that night you end up drunkenly squished beneath the pile of girls, feathers falling all around you as you attempt to laugh.
“Surrender! You are no match for our combined strengths!” Gwyn yells through her fit of giggles.
“Never.” You’re barely able to get out from your crushed lungs.
“Nesta, her head!” Emerie shouts.
Nesta rolls off of the pile and grabs the nearest (hardly) intact pillow before hitting your head with it. So much is happening. Being crushed and swatted at is not for the weak.
“I-“ smack “surrender!” You say between hits to the dome.
Suddenly, the weight of your friends disappears and the pillow to the head ceases. The four of you laughing uncontrollably. You really needed this.
Once the laughter dies down Gwyn speaks. “Are you finally gonna tell us what’s going on?”
You groan, too intoxicated to hold your tongue and push down the feelings. “I miss Azriel.”
Despite them already knowing of your ridiculous love for the shadow singer, it’s still humiliating to talk about the unrequited love and awkward when they encouraged it.
“He’ll be back soon, though.” Emerie responds, laying on the floor beside you.
That was another one you hated hearing. All week, Nesta had been saying the same. “It doesn’t feel that way.”
“Maybe you’ll miss him so much that when he comes home you’ll tell him how you feel and he’ll fuck you against the counters. Thats what Cass and I would do.” Nesta shrugs with a smirk on her lips.
Your cheeks ignite in flames. “Nesta! Stop!” You slam your palms to your cheeks attempting to contain your embarrassment.
“What! He’s Illyrian…Illyrian’s are horny.” Nesta adds, Emerie barks a laugh from beside you.
“Emerie, is it true that the bigger an Illyrian male’s wings are the bigger their…” Nesta trails off.
You all laugh, Nesta sure has no filter when she drinks but it entertained you. It made you forget why you’ve been miserable the last week of your life. Being here with them made things okay.
“That’s what they say. The males love talking about their wing span and sizes. It’s funny to watch them in a group, all flexing and sizing each other up, ready to whip it out.” Emerie indulges Nestas curiosity .
You’ve never heard of such a thing but her answer leaves you curious too. You haven’t met many Illyrians. And the only Illyrian males you knew were the three brothers of the inner court.
“Who has the biggest wings?” Gwyn asks coyly adding laughter to the air.
“Azriel.” Nesta answered in a heart beat, immediately turning to look at you with a mischievous smile so wide you thought her cheeks might fall off.
You tensed. You never noticed the difference between the males wings. Of course you’ve stared at Azriels beautiful wings, took note of their size and strength, the way they twitched when he neared.
You remember a time in training when Cassian and Azriel were stretching, focusing unusually on their wings. You marveled at the full extend of Azriels wings, had seen just how far they spanned on either side of him. Glorious.
And if his wings matched his cock, then it must be glorious too.
Warmth grew between your thighs. There have been plenty of nights where you imagine him, his manhood. Sometimes his mouth between your legs, his fat cock in your hands or inside of you. You dream of the day.
The night ended shortly after but the desire didn’t. You writhe in your sheets, letting your sensitive skin prickle with need against the soft material. In all this time of missing him, you hadn’t even thought to relive yourself. A pretty common occurrence, shaded by your sadness.
But tonight, with all the wine in your system and the new information you learned, your body ached for it. Ached for your fingers to find your most sensitive area as you thought of those brilliant wings.
A thought creeps in and in an instant you’re at your desk, pen in hand.
Dearest Azriel
Do you ever think of me the way I think of you? I lie awake at night with such filthy thoughts of you. Today I learned that you have the largest wing span of your brothers. Another filthy thing to fill my mind with while you’re gone. The same hand that writes this letter will find its way between my thighs tonight, though I won’t imagine it’s my own.
You bite your bottom lip, intending to keep your promise before clumsily throwing the paper in the drawer.
💌
The 9th night is just as miserable as the rest. You can’t take it anymore yet there’s nothing you can do. You can’t drag him home, you can’t join him, and you most definitely cannot send him these letters.
Once again, you scribble your feelings down on the sheet of paper for tonight. The smallest sense of relief coming only when you dot the last period of the letter.
You sigh. How ridiculous. These letters were pointless. Sure, you got certain things off your chest but none of it matters when he’s still gone and the wound opens up in the morning.
You pull out every sheet of paper, reading over them. You sound like a child. A love sick child trying and failing to hide their true feelings.
You silently ask the house for a fire and one ignites in the hearth. You look over them once more before deciding they have no place in the world and would not have a place in his heart.
You stand from the desk despondently. You’ll let the letters burn until it dies as you will your feelings for Azriel.
Suddenly, boots hit the ground of your open balcony, not too hard, not too soft. Your heart stops in your chest.
“Hello.”
You whip around to find Azriel approaching the balcony’s door frame. His face, dirt ridden, leathers dark and muddy, scented of iron and his wings…his wings still as splendid as ever.
“Hello.” You manage to breathe out. The air in your lungs nowhere to be found.
Azriel’s eyes flicker down to the small pile of papers in your hands. “What’s that?” Just like that, your heart jump starts, banging against your ribcage. Embarrassment shuddering through your every nerve.
“Nothing!” You say a little louder than you hoped. You messily shove the papers into the desk drawer, one dastardly sheet falling out and guided by the wind alllll the way to Azriel’s feet.
He bends down to pick up the secret letter. You shriek, racing for the door and swiping it up before he could reach it. You didn’t know you could move that fast.
It’s then that you realize you’re chest the chest with Azriel. He looks down at you with those golden eyes, confusion laced in them.
You shriek again, rushing back to your desk and shoving the last traitorous paper into the desk and finally slamming it shut.
The room is silent, save for the crackling fire.
You silently curse yourself. You didn’t even need to send the letters to feel humiliated by them.
“You’re back.” You state. Not knowing how else to cut the tension.
“Yeah.” Azriel responds shortly.
You wanted to throw yourself into the fireplace.
“What are you doing here?”
Azriel shifts on his feet, scratching the back of his head, eyes fixating on the trim of the door frame. “I wanted to see you.”
Once again, you’re speechless, not knowing how to respond to such a statement. He wanted to see you? But he’s covered in blood and dirt, he landed in the balcony. Was he just barely getting back now? Were you the first person he’d come to see?
“You did?”
He nods.
Silence. The both of you at a lack of words.
“I’m sorry I was gone so long. It was only supposed to be 2 days but there were so many of them.” Azriel steps into your bedroom. An unnatural occurrence.
Your very bones going hot and cold all at the same time. You can’t help but glance at his wings behind him. A blush now staining your cheeks. “Oh no, Rhysand told me- us…that you’d be gone longer.”
“Good.” Azriel says, looking around your room. You can’t tell if it’s genuine interest or escape from the tension between you two.
He reaches your desk beside the bedroom door, only a few feet away from you. “I just wanted to see you. Explain myself.”
Your limbs begin to shake like an overjoyed school girl despite his eyes no longer reaching yours. A faint pink tints his cheeks as he eyes your desk, the drawer.
“You don’t need to do that. I understand your work, Azriel.” You almost reach for him. Almost offer him comfort, knowing that his past is what makes him feel that need of reassurance that he has done anything wrong.
His looks at you then. His eyes softened with a look you can’t identify. “Right then. Have a goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Azriel.” You say hardly above a whisper as he exits your quarters.
💌
You were acting weird last night. If Azriel was being honest, he expected you to be all smiles and giggles. Greeting you is different than the rest of his family. You’re usually excited to see him rather than just content. His favorite part of the day is seeing you for the first time.
But last night you looked like you’d seen a ghost when he flew onto your balcony. Perhaps it was because he’s never done that before? No, he’d caught you doing something and it had to do with the papers.
What are its contents? He’d vaguely caught a glimpse at the markings but not enough to distinguish its writing.
His thoughts are cut short when his brother arrives at the training grounds.
“Well, well, well, look who’s back. You better not try to steal the credit for these girls improvements.” Cassian claps him in a hug, smacking his back unnecessarily hard, but that’s who his brute of a brother is.
“Or lack there of.” Azriel’s lip curls in amusement. Cassian rolls his eyes.
The two fall into their natural warm up routines, talking, catching up when Cassian reveals something that truly catches his attention.
“Y/n was acting strangely.”
So he wasn’t delusional.
“How so?” Azriels asks doing his best to remain neutral.
Cassian scratches his stubble. “Mmm, just strange. Kind of moody, distant. She didn’t even come to training a few days ago.”
That was concerning. He knows that you hate the working out part but you never miss an opportunity to be with your friends, even if it involves 100 sit ups.
“Strange indeed.” Azriel glances over his shoulder to the entrance. Would you miss today too? “Did she…say anything?”
Cassian shakes his head. “Not much. Said she having trouble sleeping though.”
Azriel can’t help but worry at this information. Of course, he thought you were behaving differently but for it to affect you this much? He had to fix it, whatever it is.
As if hearing his thoughts, you, along with the Nesta and Gwyn, come up the stairs and into view. The three of you laughing about whatever it is you’re talking about. You wear a big smile, a barely noticeable bounce in your step.
You don’t look sleep deprived. In fact, you look radiant, no longer pale as you were last night.
“Good morning, ladies. Ready to lose all sensation in your arms and legs?” Cassian claps his hands together, the sound commanding their attention.
The three girls groan, long gone are the big smiles and laughter.
“Don’t try showing off just because Azriels back.” Nesta rolls her eyes and adjusts her leathers for the intensity to come.
Cassian gasps, hand over his chest. “I have been training you all very hard.”
Cassian earns a laugh from the group, Azriel might have laughed too if he wasn’t so preoccupied with worrying about you.
You’re smiling and laughing, no bags under your eyes, your skin glowing. To anyone else you would seem fine, but there is one thing. You didn’t greet him.
You smiled at him and that’s was it. A part of him hurt at that observation. For more than a week, Azriel had hunted, killed and bled, the only thing keeping the thought of all the horrors he committed at bay, was the anticipation of your greeting. To see your eyes light up and for you to all but run to him. Last night was an absolute failure of his imagination. He hoped this morning would be exactly what he was waiting for.
He swears to himself he will find out what is bothering you.
“Alright, let the torture begin.” Cassian announces after everyone completes their stretches. The ladies stand and begin to follow him.
Azriel reaches for you, gently grabbing your arm and holding you back as the others proceed. You look up at him with those eyes he loves so much, now big and full of surprise. “You’re with me today.”
You look away, a blush just barely tinting your cheeks. A small smile forms upon Azriel’s lips.
You walk beside him, allowing him to guide you to the ring. “I want to work on your stances.”
“My stances? What’s wrong with my stances?” You ask. Nothing honestly, but he plans to interrogate you and maybe he wants you to himself for a while.
“Before I left, I noticed your stances change at times. Today we’re just going to be standing. Correctly, of course.” Azriel teases a bit, earning a slight smile from you.
“Whatever. Let’s stand then.” You get into your attack stance, feet shoulder width apart, knees bent, arms up.
Azriel approaches you, circles you, examining you head to toe. Your stance isn’t perfect but it’s not bad, though, after the first inspection, his focus had turned to just checking you out. In your leathers, Azriel could hardly focus on anything else.
The tight material clinging to you like a second skin, it makes him jealous really. The way they hug your thighs, waist. The tightness on your chest is what really riles him up. If only he could touch.
And then he realizes he can touch.
He stops just behind you, catching the way your breath hitches when his hand hovers over your waist.
“May I?” His voice is smooth, laced with a dark, sweet, syrup. Your figure trembles momentarily, as if a chill went up your spine.
You only nod in response.
Azriel’s hands barely touch your hips as he slightly adjusts you, his left hand coyly sliding down to your mid thigh as he pulls it back. Only a bit but enough to send your back into his chest.
You gasp, standing up straight again. “S-sorry.”
This is what he imagined his coming to look like. Having you somewhat in his arms, a blush on your face and knots squeezing in his stomach. He missed this, ached for this while he was away.
“How did you sleep?” Azriel asks, turning to a more serious topic.
“Great actually.” You bite the inside of your cheek, holding back a smile.
Azriel raises a brow. “Is that so? Cassian said you’ve been struggling with sleep.”
You frown. “Cassian is a busy body gossip.”
“So then you have been struggling with sleep?” Azriel comes to stand in front of you now, once again taking you in but this time, it’s your face that he examines.
“I’ve…been up reading a new book series. I can’t put it down.” You wobble in your stance a bit then get yourself into position.
“Hmm.” Azriel thinks. It’s not unlike you to stay up late reading so why were you so shaken last night? “Is that what you were putting away last night? Excerpts from the book?”
You tensed, your whole body locking up, your eyes widening with the same shock of last night. Your mouth opens then closes then opens again. “Yeah. Notes.”
Your words are tight, rushed.
Azriel simply hums in acknowledgment.
You’re lying and he’s going to figure out just what is going on.
-
After training, Azriel holds Nesta back. You look back at them confused but continue towards the exit.
“What is it, shadow singer?” Nesta blows out a heavy breath and flops onto the bench. Azriel remains on his feet, hands behind his back, his usual picture perfect calm. But inside he’s anything but calm.
“What’s going on with y/n?” He wastes no time and cuts right to the chase.
“What do you mean?”
“She’s acting…differently. Cassian says she hasn’t been sleeping. She’s missing training.”
Nesta taps her chin, thinking dramatically. “Mmm, not sure, have you tried asking her?”
“Of course I have. She said she’s just reading a new book series.” Azriel rolls his eyes. Why you thought he bought your story is beyond him. As if you aren’t a book he’s memorized front to back.
Nesta also rolls her eyes. “She’s not the best liar.”
“Last night, I went to her room-“
“Last night you went to her room?” Nestas brow raises in amusement and a smirk coats her lips.
Azriel’s brows furrow. “Last night I went to her room to say goodnight. She had this stack of papers and she was in such a hurry to hide them that she was being clumsy and making a mess of them.”
Now Nesta really looks like she’s thinking. “I really don’t know about any papers.”
Azriel lets out a hopeless breath. “Right. Thanks anyway.”
Nesta nods as she stands and heads for the exit.
He has no choice. He has to know what those papers say. Why they had you so flustered last night. They must have something to do with what’s troubling you.
💌
That evening, you and Nesta go into the city, something about needing new pillows and once some time passed, Azriel takes full advantage of the opportunity.
As if you are still in the house, Azriel creeps down the hall and to your door, sending one of his shadows to scout the room for your presence. Can’t be too careful.
After the all clear, Azriel slowly twist the nob of your door and slides through the crack he creates just big enough to fit him and closes the door behind him.
The room feels odd without you in it. Granted he’s only been in your room less than a handful of times, but there’s something about the still air and emptiness that bothers him.
Azriel reaches for the desk drawer, carefully sliding it open. The drawer is filled with things. Trinkets, pins, pens, folded paper, crumpled papers and…loose sheets.
Azriel pulls out every loose sheet and flips through the mess. Some are blank, some are abandoned writings and letters from friends.
Azriel flipped through each sheet wonder how any of this could possibly be a problem.
He sighs. None of these are remotely secret worthy, so what were you trying to hide from him?
Azriel tosses the sheets of papers on your desk, rubbing his temples in confusion. What the hells is going on with you.
He groans looking back to the pile of papers, his brows knit together.
Dearest Azr
A sheet of paper buried at the bottom of the pile peeks out from underneath.
Azriel pinches the corner of the paper and slides it out from beneath the mess.
Dearest Azriel
The bakery sold out of the honey rolls you like. I bought the last one and saved it… just in case you come home sooner than I expect.
A letter? Addressed to him? The perfectly dark ink suggests its recent creation.
Azriel picks up the pile once more, grabbing the next bottom sheet.
Dearest Azriel
I hope all is well. We missed you at training today. Cassian caught Emerie and I cheating at our planks and made us do 20 more. In my defense, I was exhausted. I haven’t slept too well the past few days. Your shadows usually linger at my door but they have gone with you. I didn’t realize how much comfort it brought me. Did you know you leave a piece of yourself with me at night? Anyways, I know you would have made us do 50 more planks but it still would have been nice to have you there.
His shadows sleep with you? He in fact did not know that.
Dearest Azriel
I worry every time you’re gone that I won’t see you again. Pathetic, I know. It’s only been 4 days. I wonder if you miss me too? I bet your shadows do.
His heart stutters as if caught between beats. You’d missed him. Enough to pour these words onto a page? He most certainly missed you, his shadows even more than himself with a vehemence so strong they nearly drawled him back many nights. They went crazy anytime he so much as thought of you during his mission.
Azriel takes a deep breath, attempting to regulate the thumping in his chest. He’s successful in a sense as his heart plummets deep into the core of his stomach.
Dearest Azriel
Do you ever think of me the way I think of you? I lie awake at night with such filthy thoughts of you. Today I learned that you have the largest wing span of your brothers. Another filthy thing to fill my mind with while you’re gone. The same hand that writes this letter will find its way between my thighs tonight, though, I won’t imagine it’s my own.
Azriel doesn’t know what tighter, his hands gripping the paper or his cock in his pants.
You’d touched yourself to him. Hand written down your private desires, touched this same sheet with those same hands that pleasured yourself.
He takes in every word, every letter. His eyes scanning the page over and over and over.
The image of you sprawled out against your silk sheets, nude just for him displays so vividly in his mind. Your soft hands lightly tracing over every curve, every sensitive part of you until your finger slides between your drooling slit, moaning his name.
That’s what you had done to yourself in his absence. Why you couldn’t sleep or hold his eye contact. The embarrassment of him catching you with these vulnerable, provocative letters has left you shying away.
And Gods he’s beginning to feel the same way. His face turns beat red, flustered at the idea of being face to face with you after not only invading your private thoughts but the knowledge of how badly you’d wanted him in his absence.
A shadow slinks over Azriels shoulder, whispering. Coming.
Azriel jolts out of his lustfully hazed state, comedically scrambling for the pages and showing them in the drawer just as you had last night. All but one, that he quickly tucks into his leathers before slipping out of your room.
By the mother’s grace, just as he composed himself back into his stone faced, broody self, you round the corner, some bags in hand and a content smile.
“Hey, Az.” Your head tilting slightly. “What are you doing in the middle of the hall?”
Az shrugs, doing his best to remain casual. But his eyes keep drifting to your hands. Those naughty hands.
“Nothing. I’m just…on my way to…see Rhysand.” He fights the urge to punch himself in the head at his stumbling excuse.
You hum in response. “Well, these are heavy and you’re kind of in my way.” You gesture towards the bags in your hands. Again his eyes catch on your freshly manicured fingers. Heat once again rushing to his core, requiring him to adjust his shadows a bit.
“Az? I’m dying here.” You groan pulling the bags back up your forearms.
Azriel snaps out of his trace once more. Quickly reaching for your bags and taking them all like they weigh nothing.
“Oh! I didn’t mean-“
“I know.” Azriel bites the inside of his cheek, suppressing the blush that insists on returning to his face.
You smile at him shyly. Those doe eyes looking up at him with gratitude and something more. Something he wasn’t supposed to know.
He steps aside allowing you to move passed him to your room.
Azriel has no idea what to do with this information but what he does know is that he’s fucked.
-
Azriel could not find sleep, didn’t even try to. His only thoughts are the echoing words on the page he holds in his hands.
The same hand that writes this letter will find its way between my thighs tonight,
Is that what you’re doing now? He wonders, if he walked past your room, would he hear you? Would he catch your scent?
Though, I won’t imagine it’s my own.
In the empty silence of the night, do you find solace in imagining his mouth between your legs as he does?
Azriel doesn’t remember when his hand drifted from the paper, down beneath the waistband of his shorts.
His half lidded eyes remain fixated on your words as his hand pumps.
Though, it’s not his hand he imagines.
💌
The following morning, training is tense, for Azriel at least.
It’s him who now shys away from you.
The letters were a pleasant surprise, of course, but he was wrong to go through your belongings and he was so wrong for what he’d done with it. Not that he has never touched himself to the thought of you but touching himself to your secret dirty thoughts is a level of perverse he wish he didn’t cross.
He can’t even look you in the eye and barely spoke a short greeting. Even when you’d looked excited to him, the shame was eating him up.
You spent the first half of training teasing and poking at him, but he just couldn’t put on the act. He’d get too flustered and embarrassed if you were within 10 feet of him. The last half, you’d given up.
Cassian ended training and slowly everyone made their way out. Everyone but you.
Azriel did his best to casually slip away but he knew you’d catch him.
“Are you mad at me?” You ask from across the ring. Azriel is hesitant at first. What if he pretends he didn’t hear you and keep walking? Then you’d really think he’s mad at you.
He turns, eyes steady on the horizon as he clears his throat. “No.”
“Then why are you acting weird?” You cross your arms. Gods, if only he had been as blunt with you yesterday.
Azriel focuses on his breathing, willing himself to finally meet your stare. “I’m not acting weird.”
His steady heart, short lived as you walk towards him. Your hair shines in the sunlight, but still not as brilliantly as your eyes. Your hips swaying with each step in those tight leathers nearly stops his heart entirely.
“So nothings wrong?” Your brows knit together in question.
It feels wrong to lie to you, especially when the lie is about you. He can see it in your eyes, you know he’s lying, you’ve always been able to tell when he’s hiding something. Be it a secrete or a wound, you always got the truth out of him.
“I did something I shouldn’t have. I wronged a friend.” Azriel confesses. He can be honest without being completely honest, right?
Your expression softens. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Gods no.
Or maybe yes?
He wants nothing more than to speak of the letters, to tell you he missed you just as much, that he dreams of you every night he’s ever away.
But to speak about them would be to reveal how he had read them.
“Not now.” Was all he can say.
You nod, looking at the ground now.
An awkward silence fills the space between you two. His hands squeezing together behind his back while you gently kick at a small rock.
Azriel has no idea what to do or say. He doesn’t know how to act around you now, period. If not because he read your private confessions to him, then because he’s fighting the urge to take you against the floor mats.
“You know, I bet I can stand on one leg longer than you can.” You say out of the blue. It’s not unlike you, especially in moments of silence. He’s certainly grateful for the distraction.
“Do you now?” The corner of his lip curves and short breath leaves him. Relief.
“Yup. I’ve been working on my stance like you said. I’ve mastered balance.” You nod confidently.
“One day made that much of a difference, huh?” His stomach knots as the words leave his mouth. A day really can make a difference.
“Wanna bet? Loser buys the winner whatever they want from Mimi’s.” You smirk. Of course you’d choose your favorite bakery, though, Azriel does enjoy their pastries.
He nods, accepting your challenge. “Be prepared to buy one of everything.”
“Oh hush. 3…2…1!”
The two of you stood across from each other, arm’s length apart. Your eyes burn into his with a competitive intensity that can only match his. As if he could fall any more for you, his chest fills with glee.
You wobble for a second, finding your balance again and rolling your eyes at Azriels smirking, still figure.
“You look nervous.” Azriel teases, voice low and steady.
“I’m not nervous.” You murmur as response.
“Liar.” Azriel’s shadow slinks around your grounded ankle, the sensation causing you to wobble again. Your arms swaying to counter your weight.
“S-stop that! You’re cheating!” You whine, still trying to stay balanced.
Azriel can’t help but laugh at the sight. You look ridiculous, arms flailing, your raised leg stretching and pulling back. You look like a baby Illyrian learning to fly.
Then your other leg touches the ground. Both feet now planted on the stone.
“I win.”
“Not fair!” You smack his arm. His shadows swirl around you and you swat them away. “You too, cheaters.”
“I don’t know, I didn’t see anything.” Azriel shrugs placing his raised foot on the ground now.
“You don’t have to see them, you are them.” You pout.
Azriel shrugs again. He missed this. Missed you. He’d been gone for a week but it had felt like an eternity and the last two days have been full of secrets and avoidance. He craved this normalcy.
“Well, a deal is a deal. I wasn’t kidding when I said one of everything.” Azriel smirks.
“Fine. But we can’t go today.”
“I do prefer my prizes to be immediate.” Azriel’s on a high if he’s being honest. He doesn’t want it to end. He’d spend every moment of his day with you if he could.
“Too bad. They’re closed on this day of the week. No treats for you, Shadowsinger.” You walk past him to towards the exit.
Azriel follows in suit, his steps matching yours. “Oh, I’ll have my treat.”
He doesn’t miss the way your shoulder twitches at his choice of words.
“Where do you suppose I find this treat?”
“There are plenty of options. Rita’s has some good selections.” Azriel runs his chin in false thought. “Or you can bake them for me.”
“Rita’s is also closed at this hour and I don’t bake.” You shrug failing to hold back your smile.
“Then perhaps you’ll give me that honey roll you’ve been saving me.”
The words slipped out before he even thought of them.
You cock your head to the side in confusion. “Huh? What honey roll-“ the words died on your tongue and you come to a halt. The letters. You had written about a honey roll.
Azriel also stops. His brain too busy coming up with excuses. He meant to say something playful in your banter but he hadn’t meant to say something incriminating.
You shake your head in denial. There is absolutely no way. “You didn’t.”
Azriel’s blood went cold. He didn’t know what to say. No excuse, no lie that would undo what he just revealed.
“You read them?” You say barely more than a whisper. Devastating humiliation courses through your every nerve.
Azriel swallows hard. “I didn’t mean to-“
“You didn’t mean to? How many?”
His heart was in his stomach. The guilt and shame of it all now returning tenfold. He remains silent.
“Azriel. How. Many.”
“All of them.” He mumbles staring at the floor, eyes once again unable to stand the weight of look at you.
Your hands fly up, covering your beet red face. “Oh Gods.”
“I swear, I thought something was troubling you and the night I returned you were trying to hide these papers and I just wanted to help and-“
“You wanted to help so you snuck into my room and went through my things?” Your words muffled behind your hands.
“Well, you wouldn’t have told me. I tried asking about your sleep and you said it was a book.” Azriel counters.
“I-I have to go.” You rub your cheeks, silently begging the mother that Azriel wouldn’t see how red you are.
“Wait, I’m sorry.” Azriel gently grabs your arm, holding you back. “Really, I was trying to help.”
You pull away, the need to escape this mortification is all you can’t think of. Without a word, you hurry down the steps and disappear down the hall.
-
Azriel fucked up. Not just by letting the honey roll slip but in going through your private belongings. To see what he saw.
He slumps into his office chair, hands running through his hair as a soft sigh escapes him. The nauseating guilt eats away at him, slowly and deeply. His shadows curl around him, restless, as if they also understand the gravity of his betrayal.
He didn’t mean to find those letters. Well, didn’t mean to find such intimate confessions to himself. Never in a million centuries would he have thought you’d write such things to him.
It was a shock, truly. He had expected to find, perhaps, a disturbing document or a letter from an angry family member. Something to explain your odd behavior, the last thing he expected was the letters to hold hints of your feelings for him.
Azriel hasn’t had the best track record with love. He’s a fool when it comes to it. Every time he believes he might have something good, he goes and fucks it all to hell.
The day that Nesta had brought you to training, he was a goner. You were quite literally the most beautiful female he’d ever laid eyes on. His chest nearly collapsed entirely when you greeted him with a shy blush, hands fumbling with your leathers.
He thought you were nervous to be around Illyrians, maybe Illyrian males, or that your leathers were uncomfortable. Had you been just as struck as he had been in that moment?
He wishes he could ask you, to just be as honest as you’d been in those letters. Yet, he is not bold enough, especially not now with you so upset with him.
How long is he supposed to wait to speak to you? Would you be ready in a few hours? Days? Weeks? Would it even help to apologize again? He had explained himself, apologized but it wasn’t enough.
Would this hurt you, mortify you to the point of your feelings for him vanishing?
That thought hurts the most. If only he had asked you what was truly going on as you had asked him. He might have coaxed a truth as you had.
All of these “if only”s. The truth is already revealed. He cannot undo the mess but what he can do is be honest, vulnerable.
Azriel does the only thing he can think to do. He grabs a pen and paper.
💌
You couldn’t sleep. You wish you could sleep more than ever right now. You wish you could fall into an eternal slumber and never have to come face to face with that beautiful bastard again.
How could he do such a thing? What possessed him to believe he can enter your private space and scavenge through your things so freely? And to find the one thing you did not want him to find?How could the mother let such a thing happen!?
Mortification is not a strong enough word to describe how you feel. The shame of having confessed your feelings to someone you know does not feel the same is of another magnitude.
You’d run out of tears hours ago, spending the later half of the day and all night letting them flow. You feel dried up, drained of all the emotions you’ve felt today.
You turn over in your sheets, looking at that stupid desk, still in possession of those stupid letters you wrote.
You should have burned them. You should have thrown them in the fire like you intended instead of putting them back in your desk. You’d panicked and this is the consequence.
You stood from your bed, once again asking the house for a fire, once again grabbing the stack. You didn’t care to sort through all the stack, any important documents are damned to the same fate.
You throw the pages in the fire, one by one. You don’t know exactly why, just let yourself do. With each sheet you toss, you imagine a piece of your love for him with it.
Might as well save yourself even more heartbreak when he rejects you.
A flash of white from the corner of your eye catches your attention.
You look over at your door spotting a white rectangle on the floor.
Your walk away from the hearth and to the door. You open it, searching the halls for the culprit but you’re only met with darkness and the occasional beams of moonlight through the windows.
Closing the door, you pick up the folded piece of paper and open it.
My starlight
Your hands drop along with the paper. It’s a letter. You can only imagine who it’s from.
Your heart pound in your chest. My starlight?
There is no way. This has to be a joke played by Nesta. No. Nesta was not so cruel as to play games with your heart, not unprovoked at least.
You can’t bring yourself to read it. The hope sprouting in your heart is not something you can believe in. You throw the sheet onto your bed, rubbing at your eyes, yank at those roots wrapping around your soul, threatening you with love.
You just can’t do it. You’re afraid. Because what if you read it only to be refused with pretty words?
There is no world where your feelings bleed into his or where your hearts align with passion. There’s only want and yearning.
He is far too kind, too beautiful, too important to want someone like you. A silly female who punches dummy’s and gushes over him for a living.
And yet your heart aches to read more. As much as you fight it, that hope still lives deep inside of you. You love him, the damage is done and irreversible.
So you pick up the letter and read.
My starlight
My days without you were a torment. 8 days I spent tracking in the freezing mountains from dusk to dawn with only the thought of you to keep me warm and going. There was one day that Devlon ordered a female to clean up a bowl of food he dropped himself. I ordered him to cleaned it up himself, even did that thing you do with your lip when you’re bossing me around. He didn’t put up much of a fight. I think you would have been proud at that.
There was another day when I was searching the mountains, when I thought I caught your scent. It scared the shit out of me but it also excited me for just a second. Turns out it was a field of snowy flowers. Not sure which ones exactly but they smelled just like you. I took one back with me. Kept it on my pillow so that it would smell like you.
Durning the night, I did not sleep much. It’s shames me to admit but the only nights I slept were the nights my need for you grew so strong that I couldn’t resist touching myself. My chest, my stomach, my cock. Every inch of myself, I imagined belonged to you and those lovely hands. I imagined what it’s like to be buried in you so deep that we can never be separate again.
My souls is yours, my heart and very being is yours. Has been yours from the moment you looked up at me all shy and fumbling. I’d like to imagine it was because you’d felt the shift of a new beginning as I did. I’d like even more to ask you in person and to apologize for hurting you, embarrassing you, and breaking your trust.
I thought something was wrong. That you were in trouble or distress and instead of being brave enough to ask for the truth, I selfishly went searching for it on my own. Please forgive me. I beg it of you. I will grieve the loss of your love but I cannot live without your friendship. My greatest love, my starlight.
You hadn’t realized when the tears started again but you know these are different. These tears are not of pain and humiliation, they are of love and joy.
Azriel loves you and had suffered just as you had in his absence. He wanted you just as much as you wanted him.
Your chest swells with emotion. Your heart and head having a difficult time aligning but just like that-
Snap
Everything makes sense. The torture of missing him so badly, of aching to see him and be at his side.
You can hardly breathe as that beautiful golden thread stretched out, begging for him, begging to see him. Your mate.
Your feet move before you can think as you race to him, clad in your nightgown, feet bare and letter still in hand.
The cold stone floor bites at the soles of your feet with each quick step as your stride turns into a sprint. You barely reach his door when it swings open.
There stands the Night Courts mighty spy master, the shadow singer, your dearest friend and your mate. His broad, shirtless, chest puffs up and down as if he was the one sprinting and based off of his equally shocked expression, the bond had unmasked itself to him, too.
For a second, the two of you stare at each other. Eyes reaching for a silent answer from each other.
Then your lips were on his.
His arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against him. His lips, soft and plump, glide against yours in a primal dance neither of you rehearsed yet somehow mastered. Azriel put everything into this kiss. Every second of longing, desire, and love.
The world beyond his lips ceases to exist for you. The only thing you know is that you never want to breathe another breath if it means this kiss would last forever.
But despite your immorality, you did need to breathe.
You both pull away, panting, lips swollen and glossy with each other. For a moment, you look into each others eyes, no, souls. You want to speak, to say anything but all you can think of is the feeling of his lips, so you kiss him again, this time softer, yet another unspoken confession from your tender heart.
It’s Azriel who pulls away first, his grip on your hip strong, afraid that if he lets go, you’ll slip away once more. “I didn’t mean to.” He says quietly.
One hand reaching up to perfectly cup your cheek. Made to perfectly hold you.
“I shouldn’t have gone through your things. I broke your trust and-“
“I don’t care.” You shake your head. You mimic him, resting your hand over his that holds your cheek. “The letter your wrote, the bond, Cauldron I don’t know where to start.”
“You should care. I-“
“I don’t. Not if it led us here.” You squeeze his hand. “You’re my mate.”
He shudders at the word. The way it rolls off your tongue has something awakening deep inside him. The feeling reverberating through you, doing the same.
“You love me?” You ask, trying (and failing) to mask the need arising in you.
The way Azriel vigorously nods his head and squeezes your waist only tells you he feels the same. “Do you love me?”
In response, you reach up on the tips of your toes and kiss him. “More than you know.”
Azriel lifts you in his arms, bringing you into his room and shuts the door behind him for a night without secrets. Tonight, your bodies confess, what words cannot.
Azriel x Mermaid Reader | A series of interconnected one-shots/drabbles.
a/n: These are all listed in chronological order. The one-shots are denoted with the starfish & drabbles with the fish, both will have some plot mixed into them. If there is anything you'd like to see between this mermaid reader & Az, lmk! I am open to drabble/headcannon requests for this series <3
𓇼 ˖° Sing Me to Sleep | Az's pov | In which a heartbroken Azriel is sent to the Summer Court to unwind and accidentally finds himself engaged to a mermaid.
𓇼 ˖° Sing Me to Sleep | mermaid's pov | In which a lonely mermaid is caught in a storm and swept away into the Summer Court and ends up engaged to Azriel.
𓇼 ˖° Only One for Me is You | Azriel has no choice but to accept the consequences of his actions, starting with bringing you back home with him.
𓆝⋆.˚ A Mermaid's Kiss | You tease Azriel with a kiss.
𓆝⋆.˚ untitled drabble | Azriel notices you admiring a pair of heels and surprises you with them.
Tag list: @breathingstarlight @my-venus @xxbelaa @bravo-delta-eccho
-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.
Warnings: trust issues, smut, oral (f!receiving), p in v
"It could be love
We could be the way for it
And I know I'll pay for it."
✩✩✩✩✩
The ball was a spectacle as only Beron Vanserra could conjure—an opulent storm of firelight and finery, where the very air hummed with the weight of secrets and the scent of spiced wine. The grand halls of the Forest House shimmered, chandeliers dripping with jewels that scattered fractured rainbows across the marble floors: sapphire, amethyst, rose gold. The violins’ melody curled through the crowd like smoke, slow and haunting, pulling nobles into a waltz of silk and whispered promises.
I stood at the edge of the dance floor, a shadow in rust-colored satin, my gown’s bodice stitched so tight it felt like armor, the skirt a cascade of lace and gemstones designed to dazzle and distract. My mask, molded to my face with cruel precision, was a masterpiece of gilded latticework—beautiful, unyielding.
I lifted the crystal flute to my lips, the champagne sharp and cold in my mouth. Around me, the elite of the Autumn Court laughed too loud, their voices clinking like coins, their hands clutching goblets as if they could drink away the truth: that beneath the glitter, every smile was a blade, every glance a calculation. I looked the part of a noblewoman, poised to drown in wine and excess, but the glass in my hand would be my only indulgence tonight. There was work to be done, and in a room full of predators, even the smallest sip could mean the difference between triumph and ruin.
Despite the mask of indifference, my senses were honed to a razor’s edge. I knew the truth of these gatherings: the real power plays never unfolded in war rooms or council chambers, but here, in the gilded heart of the ballroom, where the clink of glasses drowned out the clink of daggers. Every laugh was a negotiation, every brush of fingers a silent contract. The nobles of the Autumn Court might pretend this was merely a night of revelry, but I had spent too long in the dark to believe such illusions.
My ears caught fragments of conversation—the southern border, unrest in the Spring Court, a shipment of arms arriving under cover of harvest. I let my gaze drift, lingering on the clusters of courtiers, their voices low and honeyed. A lord leaned too close to a lady, his breath hot with wine and something sharper: He grows careless, they say. His favor wanes. The lady’s fingers tightened around her fan, her smile never wavering. Some say it’s only a matter of time before the old fox falls. I didn’t need to hear more. The words hung in the air, heavy with implication, the kind of whispers that could topple thrones or spill blood.
Eris’s name was never spoken, but it didn’t need to be. The way certain courtiers exchanged glances, the way others suddenly fell silent when a particular guard passed—it was all there, written in the spaces between their words. This court was a viper’s nest, and I was the serpent’s fang, poised to strike at the right moment. All I had to do was listen, and wait. Patience was my weapon, and tonight, the ballroom was my hunting ground.
There was a shift in the air, a whisper of movement—my gaze snapped to the left. A male stood there, a silhouette carved from shadow and sin, too broad, too still, too wrong for the peacocks of the Autumn Court. His suit was black as a moonless sky, the mask plain and unadorned, as if he had no need for ornamentation. But it was the space behind him that betrayed him: a faint, shifting distortion, the barest ripple of glamour struggling to conceal what I knew lurked beneath—wings, dark and deadly as the night itself.
He moved with predatory grace, each step deliberate, soundless, as though the very floor bowed to his will. When he stopped before me, the firelight caught the hazel of his eyes, sharp and knowing, the ghost of a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. “It’s not very often you see such a beautiful lady standing by herself on a night like tonight,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, like gravel beneath a boot heel.
I didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as blink. “I think we both know that I’m no lady.”
His smirk deepened, a blade unsheathed. “No,” he agreed, tilting his head just enough to let the light glint off the dangerous curve of his smile. “But you play the part so well, I almost forgot.”
The air between us crackled, charged with something far more volatile than the wine in my glass. I let my own lips curve, slow and deliberate. “And you, shadowsinger? What part are you playing?”
He didn’t answer, not with words. Instead, he extended a hand, palm up, fingers long and ridged with familiar scars. “Dance with me.”
I should have refused. I should have turned and melted into the crowd, lost myself in the sea of silk and secrets. But something in his gaze held me fast, a challenge and a promise all at once. I arched a brow, letting my own mask slip just a fraction. “Dancing is a dangerous game.”
His eyes darkened, the smirk turning feral. “Then let’s see who walks away unscathed.”
The moment his hand closed around mine, the music seemed to sharpen, the violins’ melody twisting into something wilder, more dangerous. He pulled me into the dance with the ease of a man who knew how to lead, but I let my steps lag just enough to make him work for it—a silent reminder that I wasn’t his to command.
“You’re not very good at blending in,” I murmured as he spun me, my skirts flaring like embers. “Black in a court of gold? Bold choice.”
His grip tightened, just for a heartbeat. “And you’re dressed like a noblewoman who’s trying too hard to look like she isn’t trying at all.” His breath was warm against my ear, his voice a velvet blade. “The lace is a nice touch, though. Very… distracting.”
I arched a brow, letting my fingers trail lightly along his shoulder. “The way you move gives you away. Too quiet. Too precise. You’re not one of them.”
His eyes gleamed, hazel flecks catching the firelight. “No. And neither are you.”
We moved together, a whirl of shadow and silk, our steps too controlled, too deliberate. The other dancers blurred around us, a sea of masks and lies, but here, in this circle of tension, there was only one truth: we were both wolves in a herd of sheep.
“So,” I said, letting my voice drop to a conspiratorial purr, “what are you really here for? Or should I guess?”
“By all means.” His smirk was all teeth. “But I doubt you’ll be right.”
“I doubt you’d tell me if I was.” I tilted my head, studying him. “You’re not here for the wine. Certainly not the company.”
“Neither are you.”
A beat of silence, the kind that hummed with possibility. I let my gaze flick to the faint shimmer at his back—the glamour that only I seemed to notice. “We’re both here for the same reason, aren’t we? The thing no one else can see.”
His hand found the small of my back, pulling me closer, his shadows curling around us like a cloak. “And what’s that?”
I met his gaze, unflinching. “The cracks in the foundation.”
For a moment, the music faded, the crowd vanished. There was only the heat of his palm, the weight of his stare, the unspoken understanding that we were the only two in this room who saw each other—not the disguises, not the performances, but the predators beneath.
Then, just as quickly, the spell broke. His lips quirked, his voice a whisper against my temple. “Careful, little spy. Some cracks swallow you whole.”
I pulled back, just enough to let the cold air rush between us. “Then I suppose we’re both in danger.”
His laugh was dark, delighted. “I’ve never been one to run from it.”
✩✩✩✩✩
The Day Court’s gathering was all golden light and laughter, a riot of sun-kissed nobles and the cloying sweetness of citrus and honey. I should have been focused—should have been listening for the sip of a name, the hush of a secret, the way Eris’s allies shifted in their seats when certain topics arose. But my attention kept fracturing, splintering like sunlight through stained glass.
Around me, the court pulsed with the kind of energy that came from too much wine and too little restraint. Helion’s influence was everywhere: in the way hands lingered too long on arms, in the low, sultry laughs that spilled from alcoves, in the heated glances exchanged over rims of goblets. The High Lord himself moved through the crowd like a sunbeam given form, his touch a brand, his smile a promise. He flirted with everyone—nobles, servants, even the guards—his voice a velvet purr, his fingers always brushing just a second too long. The air was thick with the scent of arousal and ambition, the party teetering on the edge of becoming something far more carnal. One more drink, one more whispered invitation, and the entire gathering would dissolve into an outright orgy.
I should have known better than to expect him here. The shadowsinger wasn’t made for places like this, for courts that burned too bright, for nobles who wore their desires like jewels. He belonged to the dark, to the quiet, to the spaces between breaths. And yet, I found myself searching for him anyway—half-convinced that if I looked hard enough, I’d catch the glint of hazel eyes in the dimmest corner, the faintest ripple of shadows where there should have been none.
But he wasn’t there.
The realization settled like a stone in my chest. Where was he, then? What had pulled him away? I’d seen him in the Hewn City before, had walked its jagged streets and felt the weight of its silence. I could picture him there, a silhouette carved from the dark itself, moving through the labyrinth of stone and secrets as if he were part of it. But the Hewn City wasn’t the end of the Night Court’s depths. There were places even I hadn’t seen—places where the light never touched, where the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and old magic. Places that would swallow a man like the shadowsinger whole and still hunger for more.
I could imagine him there, in the heart of that darkness, his wings furled tight, his shadows curling around him like a second skin. He would fit, I thought. He would fit so perfectly it would be like he’d never been anywhere else.
The thought sent a shiver down my spine.
A nobleman’s laughter snapped me back to the present, his hand brushing against my arm in a way that was meant to be inviting. I forced a smile, but my mind was still caught in the dark, still chasing the ghost of a shadowsinger who wasn’t here—and the terrifying, thrilling possibility of where he might be instead.
✩✩✩✩✩
The Summer Court’s festival was a storm of color and heat, a whirlwind of silk and laughter, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and the distant tang of salt from the sea. Lanterns floated above the crowd, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the faces of nobles who danced as if the world weren’t on the brink of yet another war. I moved through them like a ghost, my fingers brushing the edge of a lord’s pocket, my ears tuned for the slip of a name, the hush of a secret. My target was in sight—a noble from the Dawn Court, his pockets heavy with letters that could unravel Eris’s plans if they fell into the wrong hands.
I was about to make my move when a hand closed around my wrist.
I froze. The touch was firm, familiar, and my pulse spiked not with fear, but with something far more dangerous: recognition. I didn’t need to turn to know who it was. The scent of cedar and night-chilled mist, the faintest brush of shadows against my skin. It was him. The shadowsinger.
“Not this one,” he murmured, his voice rough and low, his breath warm against my ear. His grip didn’t tighten, but it didn’t loosen either. A warning. A command.
I turned slowly, meeting his gaze. His hazel eyes were unreadable, his expression a mask of calm, but there was something beneath it—something that made my stomach twist. “Why?” I demanded, keeping my voice steady despite the way my heart hammered against my ribs. “This is what I’m here for.”
“And I’m telling you it’s not worth it.” His thumb brushed the inside of my wrist, a gesture so small it could have been accidental. But nothing he did was ever accidental. “That letter isn’t what you think.”
I wanted to believe him. Cauldron, I wanted to. But trust wasn’t a luxury I could afford. Not here. Not with him. “Or maybe you just don’t want me to have it,” I shot back, my voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe you’re here for the same reason I am, and you’re just looking to get it for yourself."
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “If I wanted it, I’d already have it.”
The words hung between us, heavy with implication. Anger and indignation rang through me, but I knew he was right. If he’d wanted it, I wouldn’t have seen him coming. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t playing me. That didn’t mean this wasn’t just another move in a game I didn’t know I was part of.
I pulled my wrist free, stepping back just enough to put space between us. “Then what are you doing?”
His gaze darkened, his shadows flickering at the edges of my vision. “Saving your cover.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. My cover. My life. The trust of my handler. Everything I’d worked for, everything I’d risked—it all balanced on the edge of this moment. If I trusted him and he was wrong, I was ruined. If I didn’t trust him and he was right, I was still ruined. There was no winning here. Only choosing which kind of loss I could live with.
“I don’t need saving,” I said, but the words sounded hollow even to my own ears.
His expression didn’t change, but his eyes—his eyes burned. “You think I don’t know what you’re risking?” he said, his voice a velvet blade. “You think I don’t see the way you look over your shoulder, the way you flinch at every shadow? You’re in over your head, and you know it.”
I wanted to deny it. I wanted to scream that I could handle myself, that I didn’t need him or his warnings or his damn shadows. But the truth was a bitter pill, lodged in my throat. I was in over my head. And worse—I was starting to think he was the only one who could pull me out.
But at what cost?
I studied him, the shadows flickering at the edges of his form, and felt the old familiar knot tighten in my chest. I’d been here before—closer than anyone would ever know, close enough to taste the thrill of trust, only to have it ripped away, exchanged for advantage, for gain, for survival. And I had done the same to others. Lied. Seduced. Used. Discarded. I knew the game too well—every card, every bluff, every knife behind a smile.
And yet.
And yet, standing here, feeling the warmth of his body so close to mine, the quiet ferocity in his gaze, I wanted to believe that maybe he wasn’t like them. That maybe the man who could move through shadows as easily as he moved through a room of nobles wouldn’t use me, wouldn’t mark me as another acquisition, another prize, another pawn in some impossible game.
But fear is a clever liar.
I pulled back slightly, enough to put space between us but not enough to let the air go cold. I tried to yank my wrist away, but his grip remained firm. My voice was low, sharp, and deliberate. “You tell them what they want to hear,” I said, letting each word cut through the music around us. “Is that all I am to you?”
The air between us turned to ice.
His grip on my wrist tightened, just for a second—long enough to feel the shift in him, the way his body coiled like spring ready to snap. His shadows rippled, thickening around us as if to shield the moment from prying eyes, but I knew better. Shadows didn’t hide intentions. They only made them harder to read.
His voice was low, a blade wrapped in velvet. “You think this is a game?”
I didn’t flinch. “Isn’t it?”
Something dark flickered in his eyes—annoyance, maybe, or something sharper. “You want the truth?” He leaned in, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his irises, the way his pupils dilated just slightly. "I don’t give a damn what they want to hear. I don’t give a damn about any of them."
The words hit like a punch. Because it wasn’t an answer. It was a deflection.
"Then what do you give a damn about?" I pressed, my voice dropping to a whisper. The music swelled around us, the laughter of the court a mocking chorus. "Me?"
His jaw clenched. For a heartbeat, he didn’t speak. Then, "You’re the only one in this viper pit who sees me."
The admission hung between us, raw and unguarded. My breath caught. It wasn’t a confession of affection. It was worse. It was recognition. Two predators, two liars, two people who’d spent their lives wearing masks—except now, for this one dangerous moment, neither of us was looking away.
I should have laughed. I should have called him out for the manipulation it was. But the truth was, I understood. Because I saw him, too. The way his shadows moved when he was amused. The way his voice roughened when he was lying. The way he watched me like I was the only variable in this game he couldn’t predict.
And that terrified me more than any trap he could have set.
His thumb brushed the inside of my wrist, that same gesture that almost seemed accidental. “No,” He agreed. “It doesn’t.”
A beat. The space between us felt charged, like the moment before a storm breaks. I should have pulled away. I should have walked back into the crowd and lost myself in the sea of masks and lies. But I didn’t.
"Why warn me about the letter?" I asked instead.
His lips quirked, but there was no humor in it. "Because if you’d taken it, you’d be in a cell by now. And I’m not ready for this to be over."
The words sent a jolt through me. "This?"
"You and me." His gaze dropped to my mouth, just for a second. "This dance."
My pulse spiked. It wasn’t a declaration. It wasn’t even a promise. It was a threat, wrapped in silk and shadows. Because if this wasn’t over, then we were still playing. And if we were still playing, someone was going to get cut.
I should have walked away.
I didn’t.
Instead, I stepped closer, close enough that my skirts brushed his legs, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him. "Careful, shadowsinger," I murmured, tilting my head up to meet his gaze. "Dances like this end one of two ways. Someone wins." My fingers trailed lightly up his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles. "Or someone bleeds."
His smile was slow, dangerous. "Who says it can’t be both?"
The challenge in his voice was unmistakable. And for the first time, I let myself admit the truth: I didn’t want to walk away. Not yet. Not when the game was finally getting interesting.
"Fine," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "But if you’re lying to me, I’ll make sure you regret it."
The shadowsinger’s hand slid up to cup my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. His shadows curled around us, a living cage. "Little spy," he murmured, "I’ve been lying since before you learned to walk. The question is—" His voice dropped, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "—do you actually want the truth?"
I didn’t answer. Because we both knew I didn’t.
And that was the most dangerous lie of all.
I didn’t know what had possessed me to leave with him, but I did anyway. The Summer Court’s festival faded behind us like a dying dream, its golden light swallowed by the dark. We didn’t speak as we slipped through the winding streets of the coastal town, the salt-tanged wing whipping at our clothes, our breaths coming fast. The inn was a crumbling stone building, its shutters groaning in the breeze, the scent of damp wood and old wine clinging to the air. He pushed open the door with his shoulder, his shadows curling around us like a shield as we stepped inside.
The innkeeper didn’t ask questions. One look at the shadowsinger’s face, the way his shadows flickered like living things, and he just tossed a key onto the counter. “Top floor. Don’t make a mess.”
I should have laughed. I should have run. But I followed him up the stairs, the wood creaking beneath our feet. The room was small, the bed narrow, the air thick with the scent of lavender and dust.
The door to the room slammed shut behind us, and before I could even take a breath, he had me pressed against it, his body pinning mine, his mouth crashing into mine with a hunger that stole the air from my lungs. His hands were everywhere—tangled in my hair, gripping my waist, pulling me closer until I could feel every hard line of him against me. I gasped into the kiss, my fingers clawing at his shoulders, my nails scraping against the leather of his cloak there as I tried to pull him closer.
His shadows curled around us, thick and suffocating, blocking out the rest of the world until there was nothing but him on me and the heat burning between us. I could taste the wine from the festival on his tongue, the sharpness of it mixing with the salt of the sea air, the iron tang of something darker, something dangerous. His teeth grazed my lower lip, his breath hot against my skin as he pulled back just enough to growl, “You’re still thinking too much.”
I wasn’t. Not anymore.
My hands fisted in his tunic, yanking him back to me, my mouth crashing into his again. He groaned, the sound vibrating against my lips, his body pressing me harder into the door. The wood dug into my back, but I barely felt it. All I could feel was him—the heat of his skin, the way his muscles tensed under my touch, the way his shadows flickered against my skin like a lover’s caress.
“What’s your name?” The words tore from my lips between kisses, desperate and breathless. I didn’t even know why I was asking. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the way his body felt against mine, the way his hands were already working at the laces of my dress, his fingers rough and impatient.
He pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his hazel eyes dark with something primal. "Azriel."
The name hit me like a spark, igniting something deep inside me. I repeated it, testing the shape of it on my tongue. "Azriel." It felt like a secret. Like a weapon. Like something I’d been waiting to say without even knowing it.
His smirk was all teeth. "Now you know what to scream."
Then, as if the name itself had broken the last thread of his control, the glamour shielding him from the world flickered—and vanished. His wings unfurled behind him, dark and leathery, the membranous skin stretching taut between the delicate bones, casting eerie, shifting shadows across the walls. They arched over us like a living canopy, blocking out the dim light, making the room feel smaller, more intimate. More dangerous.
I reached out, my fingers brushing the edge of one wing. The texture was unexpected—smooth, almost silken, but with an underlying strength, like the blade of a knife hidden in velvet. He shivered at my touch, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
"Careful, little spy," he murmured, his voice rough. "Those aren’t for show."
There wasn’t much more talking after that.
His mouth was on mine again, his kiss bruising, his teeth nipping at my lip as his hands finally tore the last of the laces free. My dress fell in a pool at his feet, leaving me in nothing but my shift, the thin fabric doing little to hide the way my body reacted to him. His hands slid up my thighs, pushing the fabric higher, higher, until his fingers found the bare skin underneath. I gasped, my back arching as his touch sent a jolt through me.
"Fuck, you’re perfect," he growled against my mouth, his voice rough, his wings rustling softly as they shifted, folding slightly to frame us in darkness. His shadows wrapped around my wrists, pinning them above my head as he pressed me harder into the door. His free hand slid between my thighs, his fingers finding the heat there, teasing me through the damp fabric of my shift. I moaned, my hips jerking against his touch, my body already aching for more.
He didn’t make me wait.
With a snarl, he tore the shift from me, the sound of fabric ripping loud in the quiet room. His mouth was on my neck, my collarbone, my breasts, his teeth grazing my skin as his hands explored every inch of me. I tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, my body burning with need. His wings arched again, the tips brushing the door on either side of my head, caging me in.
"Azriel—"
His name was a plea, a demand, a curse. He growled against my skin, his hands gripping my thighs as he lifted me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me to the bed. The moment my back hit the mattress, his body was over mine, his wings spreading wide before folding around us like a living cocoon, his shadows coiling around us, blocking out the world.
"Tell me to stop," he growled, his voice dark, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of my throat.
I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
Instead, I arched against him, my nails digging into his shoulders as his mouth found mine again. The kiss was desperate, all teeth and tongue and the kind of hunger that couldn’t be sated. His hands were rough as they slid down my body, mapping every curve, every scar, every place that made me gasp. And when his fingers finally found the place between my thighs, I arched into his touch with a moan, my mind blanking with pleasure.
"Azriel—"
"Quiet," he murmured, his voice rough, his shadows coiling around my wrists, pinning them to the bed. "Unless you want the whole inn to know what I’m doing to you."
I bit my lip to stifle a cry as his fingers moved with precision, relentless and insistent, curling and stroking in ways that left me gasping. My hips pressed into him, seeking more, needing more, and he responded without hesitation. His mouth followed the path his hands traced—nipping, sucking, licking along the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, teasing, tasting, marking me as his.
The contrast between the cool drafts from his restless wings above and the heat of his mouth and fingers against me sent shivers through my body. Shadows coiled around my legs, holding me open, holding me in place, and I felt exquisitely exposed under his touch. Every movement, every flick of his tongue or twist of his fingers, drove me closer to the edge, my nails digging into his shoulders as my chest heaved.
“Az… Azriel,” I gasped, the name trembling out of me, my body shivering against him.
He hummed against me, a low, vibrating sound that matched the rhythm of my heartbeat, his fingers plunging deeper as his mouth lavished attention on me. The sensations stacked impossibly high, pleasure cutting sharp and deep, and I felt myself unraveling under his touch.
“Not gonna last much longer, little spy?” he murmured, voice rough, teasing, yet commanding, and the shadows holding me seemed to tighten just enough to make every nerve end burn hotter.
I couldn’t hold back. My back arched, nails digging into his shoulders as a cry tore from me, high and ragged, body quivering with need. His mouth and fingers didn’t relent—they moved together with precision, teasing, coaxing, and claiming me all at once. Every flicker of sensation built, twisted, and broke over me like a wave I couldn’t escape. My muscles clenched, thighs tightening around him, chest heaving, pulse hammering.
I shuddered violently, gasping his name as the pleasure ripped through me again and again, waves of heat wracking my body until my legs trembled under him. And still, he didn’t pause. Hands sliding over his own clothes, he tore them away with a frantic urgency, every movement sharp, impatient, like he was burning through restraint. His skin came into view, hard and scarred in the firelight, wings quivering above us as he knelt between my legs, shadows wrapping and coiling around us like a living, hungry thing.
Even as my body still trembled from release, my hands found him, tracing the taut muscles, brushing over the slick tip of him, eliciting a sharp hiss and a violent jerk of his hips. His control was fraying, every shiver of mine feeding the hunger that drove him forward, and I knew there would be no pause, no reprieve, only the wildfire of him claiming me fully.
“I want to feel you,” he growled, his voice rough. “All of you.”
He entered me in one slow, deep thrust, his body stretching mine, filling me completely. I gasped, my back arching, my body adjusting to the intrusion. He stilled, his forehead pressing to mine, his breath coming in harsh pants. His wings rustled, the sound like a whisper in the dark.
“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough. “You feel–”
I didn’t let him finish. I lifted my hips, taking him deeper, and his control snapped.
What followed was nothing short of desperate. He moved inside me with a rhythm that was almost brutal, his hips snapping against mine, his wings arching and flexing with every thrust, their shadows dancing across the walls. His shadows wrapped around us, muffling the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the gasps and moans torn from both of us. I met him thrust for thrust, my body winding tighter, tighter, until I was teetering on the edge again, my nails digging into his shoulders, my teeth sinking into his lip as I came undone beneath him.
His release followed mine, his body tensing, his cock pulsing inside me as he spilled himself with a groan, his wings arching high before collapsing around us like a shield. He buried his face in my neck, his breath hot against my skin, his shadows swallowing the sound.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. The only sound was the ragged rhythm of our breathing, the distant crash of waves against the cliffs outside. His wings still flickered around us, a living blanket, and I could feel the steady thud of his heart against my chest.
When the heat of the moment finally faded into something slower, softer, Azriel rolled onto his back, pulling me with him so that I was sprawled onto his chest. His wings folded neatly behind him, though the occasional rustle of membranes reminded me they were still there. His shadows still flickered around us, and I could feel the steady thud of his heart beneath my ear.
This was the part that terrified me the most—the quiet. The intimacy. The way his fingers traced idle patterns on my skin, like he was memorizing me.
"You’re still tense," he observed, his voice rumbling beneath me.
I exhaled, my breath shaky. "I don’t trust this."
He didn’t laugh. Didn’t mock. Just pulled me closer, his shadows curling around us like a barrier against the world. "I know."
✩✩✩✩✩
I woke to the gray light of dawn creeping through the shutters, my body aching in the best way, Azriel’s arm still slung possessively around my waist. His wings were still out, hanging behind him with an unencumbered relaxation I’d never seen from him.
For a moment, I let myself pretend—pretend that this was real, that we weren’t enemies, that he wasn’t the Night Court spymaster and I wasn’t an Autumn Court spy.
But then my gaze snagged on the obsidian dagger laying on the nightstand, its blade glinting in the pale light.
Azriel’s dagger.
I reached for it before I could stop myself, my fingers brushing the hilt. It was cold, deadly, a reminder of who we were. Of what we’d done. Of what we’d do again, if we had to.
Azriel’s voice was rough with sleep. “If you’re going to kill me, little spy, at least do it after I’ve had my coffee.”
I dropped the dagger like it burned me, turning to face him. He was propped up on one elbow, his hazel eyes dark with something unreadable, his shadows flickering lazily around him.
"I wasn’t—" I started, but he cut me off with a smirk.
"I know."
We both knew the truth: this was a game. A con. A fleeting, fragile thing, as beautiful and impossible as the Hanging Gardens. And like the Gardens, it would crumble to dust when the sun rose.
“You’re thinking too loud,” he muttered, one arm finding its way back around my waist.
I didn’t deny it. “We can’t stay like this.”
His fingers traced a slow, idle pattern on my back, his touch light but possessive. “No,” he agreed. “We can’t.”
The silence that followed was heavier than the weight of his arm around me. We both knew what came next. The missions. The lies. The return to our respective courts, our respective roles. Enemies, in theory. Strangers, in practice.
I sat up, pulling the sheet with me to cover my body, though the gesture felt pointless. He’d seen every inch of me. Known every scar, every breath, every gasp. The thought sent a shiver down my spine.
Azriel didn’t stop me as I slipped from the bed, gathering my clothes from the floor. His shadows retreated, pooling around him like a second skin as he watched me dress. I could feel his gaze on me, heavy and unreadable, but when I finally turned to face him, his expression was carefully neutral.
"You’ll go back to Beron’s court," he said, not a question but a statement.
I nodded. "And you’ll go back to Rhysand’s."
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. The Night Court was his home, his kingdom of shadows and secrets. And I was Autumn’s blade, sharp and hidden until the moment I struck.
I reached for the dagger on the nightstand, turning it over in my hands before offering it to him, hilt-first. "You’ll need this."
He took it, his fingers brushing mine for the briefest moment. "And you’ll need this." He tossed something small and metallic onto the bed. A pin. Autumn Court insignia, but not one I recognized.
I picked it up, turning it over. "What is it?"
"A way in," he said simply. "If you ever need to disappear."
I should have refused. Should have tossed it back at him and walked away. But I didn’t. I closed my fingers around it, the metal biting into my palm.
We left the inn separately.
I slipped out first, the early morning air cool against my skin, the streets of the coastal town still quiet. I didn’t look back. Not when I heard the door open again, not when I felt the faintest brush of shadows against my skin, a silent farewell.
The mission would resume today. The lies, the deception, the careful dance of loyalty and betrayal. But as I walked toward the stables, where a horse waited to take me back to Beron’s court, I knew one thing with a certainty that terrified me:
I would never love again.
Not like this. Not with this fire, this desperation, this all-consuming need. Because it wouldn’t be anyone but him. And that was the cruelest truth of all.
I was almost to the stables when his voice cut through the morning air, low and rough. "Little spy."
I turned. He stood in the shadows of an alleyway, his wings hidden once more, his shadows curling around him like a promise. "You’re not getting rid of me that easily."
My breath caught. "What?"
His smirk was slow, dangerous. "I’ll find you again."
The words hung between us, heavy with something I didn’t dare name. Then he was gone, dissolved into the shadows, leaving me standing there with my heart pounding and the weight of his promise wrapped around me like a vow.
Summary: Azriel finally meets his mate. Only to realize you exist only in his dreams. Each night with you feels achingly real, until one touch snaps the mating bond into place. When he wakes with only your scent and fading clues, he knows one thing: he’ll tear the world apart to find you.
Azriel had not dreamed in over two centuries.
Sleep, when it came at all, brought only blessed darkness. A temporary reprieve from constant vigilance.
Dreams were a luxury he'd abandoned long ago, along with hope and the foolish notion that somewhere in this vast world, someone might be meant for him.
So when he found himself standing in a moonlit clearing he'd never seen before, surrounded by ancient oaks humming with old magic, his first instinct was to reach for Truth-Teller.
The blade wasn't there.
Neither were his leathers.
Instead, he wore simple black clothing, and his shadows swirled around him with restless energy, reaching toward something he couldn't yet see.
That's when you stepped into the clearing.
The breath left his lungs in a rush.
Beautiful. The word felt inadequate for what stood before him.
You were ethereal in the moonlight, all flowing hair and luminous skin that seemed to glow from within. Your bow was held with easy confidence, but it was your face that undid him completely. Delicate features arranged in perfect harmony, eyes that sparkled with mischief, lips that looked made for kissing.
You were the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. In five centuries of existence, through courts filled with fae females of legendary beauty, nothing had prepared him for you.
When you saw him, you didn't scream or run. Instead, you tilted your head and said, "Well. You're definitely not a deer."
"No," he managed, voice rougher than usual. "I'm not."
You studied him with those captivating eyes, not assessing him as a threat but with genuine curiosity. "This is a dream, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Thank the gods," you breathed, lowering your bow completely. "I was starting to think I'd finally cracked and gone completely mad."
Despite five centuries of training that screamed at him to maintain distance, Azriel found his mouth curving upward. There was something infectiously warm about your presence.
"And why would you think that?"
"Because I've been having the strangest dreams lately," you said, gesturing animatedly. "Places that don't exist, magic that feels real enough to taste. And now there's you, looking like some dark god of war who wandered out of a fairy tale." You paused, color blooming across your cheeks. "I mean, not that you look like... I didn't mean to..."
The stammering was adorable. When was the last time anyone had blushed because of something they'd said to him?
"You're not afraid," he observed.
"Should I be?" You settled onto a moss-covered log, then immediately stood back up. "Actually, wait. That looked more elegant in my head."
You sat again, more carefully this time, but somehow managed to catch your braid on a low branch. As you untangled yourself with muttered curses, Azriel felt something unprecedented happen. He wanted to genuinely smile.
"It's a dream," you continued once you'd freed yourself. "What's the worst that could happen?"
"You could be a nightmare," he pointed out, moving closer despite every instinct.
"Could be." Your smile was warm, inviting. "Are you?"
His shadows crept closer despite his attempts to call them back.
"I don't know," he admitted.
You patted the space beside you with such casual invitation that he found himself sitting before he'd consciously decided to. His shadows immediately betrayed him, reaching toward you.
"Oh," you breathed, extending a hand toward the wisps of darkness. "They're beautiful."
Beautiful. Applied to parts of him others had only called terrifying.
"They're dangerous," he said quickly.
"So are thunderstorms," you replied, letting one curl around your wrist like a bracelet. "Doesn't make them any less gorgeous."
The shadow settled against your skin as if it belonged there. His shadows didn't behave this way. They didn't seek out strangers, didn't show interest in anyone outside his small circle of family.
"That's impossible," he murmured.
"Good impossible or bad impossible?"
The question made him look at you, really look. You were smiling at the darkness surrounding him as if it had given you some precious gift.
"I don't know," he said again.
"What's your name?" you asked.
Names had power. Names created connections.
But this was a dream, and you were looking at him like he was someone worth knowing.
"Azriel."
"Azriel." You repeated it carefully, and something about the way you said his name made his shadows pulse with satisfaction. "I'm—"
"Don't," he said quickly. "Don't tell me your name. Not yet."
You tilted your head curiously. "Why not?"
He couldn't explain the sudden certainty that knowing your name would make this too real, too dangerous. That it would cement something he wasn't ready to face.
"What do you do, Azriel? When you're not appearing in strange dreams looking like every maiden's fantasy?"
The casual compliment hit him like a physical blow. Every maiden's fantasy. You thought he was...
"I serve my High Lord," he managed. "I gather information."
You nodded as if he'd told you he tended gardens. "Sounds important. Lonely, though."
The observation hit close to home. "It can be."
"When's the last time you did something just for yourself?"
The question made him blink. "What do you mean?"
"Fun. Enjoyment. You know, that thing people do when they're not being brooding warriors of darkness?" You tilted your head, studying him with perceptive eyes. "You carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, don't you? Everyone's safety, everyone's secrets. When do you get to just... exist?"
No one had ever asked him that. No one had ever looked at him and seen the burden he carried, the way he'd made himself into a weapon at the cost of his own happiness.
"I don't think I know how," he admitted quietly.
Your face lit up with something fierce and determined. "Then I'll have to teach you. Starting with the revolutionary concept of having absolutely no agenda whatsoever."
Despite himself, Azriel found himself smiling.
The dreams became his obsession.
Every night, he counted hours until he could see you again. You appeared like clockwork in that moonlit clearing, always with some new lesson in "having fun."
You taught him to skip stones across the stream, laughing when his attempts sent rocks plunging with military precision.
"You're thinking too hard," you said, demonstrating with a smooth motion. Then you immediately tripped over your own feet and nearly tumbled into the stream.
"Graceful," he observed, steadying you.
"Shut up," you muttered, grinning. "I'm a woman of many talents. Coordination just isn't one of them."
Watching you laugh at your own clumsiness, seeing starlight catch in your hair and make your eyes sparkle, Azriel felt something shift in his chest. Something warm and golden and terrifyingly precious.
You convinced him to weave flower crowns, your nimble fingers creating delicate circlets while his fumbled with stems.
"This is ridiculous," he muttered when you insisted he wear the crown.
"This is fun," you corrected, reaching up to adjust the flowers in his hair. "There's a difference."
Your fingers brushed his forehead as you worked. You were close enough that he could smell your sweet scent, count the freckles scattered across your nose like stars.
"There," you said, stepping back to admire your work. "Now you look like a proper fairy prince instead of a terrifying shadow lord."
"I am a terrifying shadow lord," he protested weakly.
"Not in here," you said simply. "In here, you're just Azriel. And Azriel looks very handsome in flower crowns."
The casual compliment made his shadows flutter with something like preening.
His shadows seemed to enjoy the flower petals, playing with them instead of their usual vigilant hovering. You watched with delight, occasionally reaching out to let them wind around your fingers.
"They really like you," he observed.
"I really like them too," you replied. "They're like curious little pets."
"They're extensions of my will," he said automatically. "They don't have personalities."
You shot him a look that clearly said you thought he was an idiot. "Right. And I suppose they investigate my hair because you will them to?"
He followed your gaze and realized several shadows had wound through your hair, seeming to enjoy the silky texture. He hadn't commanded that.
"That's not normal," he said.
"Maybe normal is overrated," you shrugged.
One night, you lay side by side in soft grass, pointing out constellations. The casual intimacy of it, your shoulder pressed against his, your hand occasionally brushing his arm as you gestured, was driving him slowly mad.
"There," you whispered when a star fell, catching his scarred hand and pointing it toward the light. "Make a wish."
The feel of your skin against his scars sent electricity through him. You didn't flinch, didn't pull away from the evidence of his past. Instead, your thumb traced over one of the worst scars with such tenderness it made his breath catch.
"What did you wish for?" you asked softly.
He turned his head to study your profile, noting how moonlight caught on your lips.
For the first time in centuries, he wasn't cataloguing exits or potential threats. He was simply here. Present.
Memorizing the way your lashes cast shadows on your cheeks, the small smile playing at your lips, the way your braid had come undone and spilled across the grass like silk.
When had he stopped being the shadowsinger and started being just Azriel?
"Can't tell you, or it won't come true," he said quietly.
But he could tell you.
He'd wished for this to be real, for you to be real, for some impossible way to keep you. He'd wished to always feel this strange peace that seemed to settle in his bones whenever you looked at him.
The space between you seemed to crackle with tension. He wanted to kiss you, had wanted to since that first night, but something held him back. Some instinct that this was precious, fragile, not to be rushed.
Instead, he traced the curve of your cheek with one finger, marveling when you leaned into the touch like a cat seeking warmth.
"This doesn't feel like a dream," you murmured, your breath ghosting across his palm.
"No," he agreed, voice rougher than intended. "It doesn't."
It was on the night you attempted to teach him to whittle that everything changed.
"It's supposed to be relaxing," you said, demonstrating with a piece of wood and a small knife. "Meditative."
Azriel watched your hands move with practiced ease, creating delicate curls of wood. "I don't think I'm built for relaxation."
"Everyone's built for relaxation. You just have to find the right kind." You handed him the knife and a fresh piece of wood, your fingers brushing his wrist as you did. The contact sent sparks up his arm. "Try it."
He took the tools, hyperaware of every point where your skin had touched his, the lingering warmth like a brand.
"What am I supposed to make?"
"Whatever wants to emerge," you said with that dreamy smile he'd grown to love. You shifted closer, your knee bumping against his thigh as you settled beside him. "Sometimes the wood tells you."
"The wood tells you," he repeated dryly, trying to ignore the heat radiating from where you touched him.
"Mock me all you want, but—oh!"
You'd been gesturing enthusiastically when your elbow knocked into his wing. The unexpected contact sent a shockwave of sensation through him. Wings were sensitive, intimate, and his sharp intake of breath made you freeze.
"I'm sorry," you said quickly, but your hand had landed on his forearm to steady yourself, fingers pressing against his skin. "I didn't mean to—are you hurt?"
"No," he managed, voice strained. The dual sensation of your touch on his wing and arm was making his head spin. "Wings are just... sensitive."
Understanding dawned in your eyes, followed by something that looked like hunger disguised as curiosity. "Sensitive how?"
The innocent question, delivered in that slightly breathless tone, made heat pool low in his belly.
"Sorry," you said again, but you weren't moving away. If anything, you'd leaned closer, your fascinated gaze tracking over the membranous expanse. "I just—they're beautiful. Can I...?"
You reached out tentatively, stopping just short of touching. The anticipation was exquisite torture.
"Yes," he breathed.
Your fingertips brushed the edge of his wing, feather-light, and Azriel bit back a groan. The sensation was overwhelming, part pleasure, part pain, entirely consuming.
"Like that?" you asked softly, voice gone husky.
He could only nod, not trusting his voice. You grew bolder, trailing your fingers along the sensitive membrane, and he felt his carefully constructed control beginning to fracture.
"You're trembling," you observed, wonder in your voice.
"You're touching my wings," he said roughly. "It's... intense."
"Good intense?"
Before he could answer, you leaned closer to examine the intricate patterns, your breath ghosting across his skin.
Your free hand came up to steady yourself against his chest, palm flat over his racing heart. The innocent curiosity in your expression, combined with the intimacy of touching him like this, made him feel like he was coming apart at the seams.
That's when you stumbled.
Your foot caught on something and you pitched forward. Instinct had him catching you before you could fall, his arms coming around you as his wings flared instinctively to shield you both from harm.
Time crystallized.
You were pressed against his chest, your hands fisted in his shirt, face tilted up toward his. Moonlight streamed through your disheveled hair, turning it to liquid silver, and when you looked up at him with those bright, beautiful eyes, pupils dilated, lips parted in surprise, something ancient and primal roared to life in his chest.
The mating bond didn't just snap into place.
It erupted.
The world exploded into sensation and color and rightness so overwhelming it drove him to his knees. Golden threads of light blazed between your souls, weaving together everything he was with everything you were until he couldn't tell where he ended and you began. Five centuries of emptiness, of believing himself unworthy of love, of carefully controlled loneliness, all of it shattered in an instant.
Mate. Mine. Forever.
The words weren't thoughts so much as truths written into the fabric of reality itself. His shadows went wild, streaming around you both in a protective cocoon, some part of him desperate to shield this moment from anything that might disturb it.
Distantly, he was aware that he'd pulled you both down onto the grass, that he was cradling you against him like you might disappear, that his hands were shaking with the force of restraining himself from claiming your mouth, your body, your soul.
"Azriel?" Your voice seemed to come from underwater. "What's happening?"
He tried to speak and found he couldn't. The bond was singing in his blood, demanding he tell you what you were to him, demanding he make you understand that you belonged to him now, that he would burn the world down before letting anything harm you.
But you were human. You didn't know what this meant, what had just changed between you. To you, this was still just a dream.
To him, you had just become his entire reason for existing.
"I..." He tried to form words, but his voice came out raw, broken. "You're..."
"What?" you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. Your thumb traced his cheekbone with devastating gentleness. "What's wrong?"
Wrong? Nothing was wrong.
Everything was perfect and terrifying and he was drowning in the need to kiss you, to taste you, to bury himself so deep in your soul that you'd never question who you belonged to.
"Mine," he breathed, the word torn from somewhere primal and possessive. "You're mine."
Before he could stop himself, before sanity could intervene, he crushed his mouth to yours.
You made a soft sound of surprise that turned into something hungrier when he deepened the kiss, his control finally snapping entirely.
You tasted like starlight and forever, like every good thing he'd never dared hope for. The bond blazed brighter with each touch of your tongue against his, each breathless gasp you gave when he traced the curve of your lower lip.
When he finally pulled back, lungs burning, hands fisted in your hair to keep you close, you stared up at him with dazed wonder.
"That felt..." you started, voice dreamy and confused.
"Real," he finished roughly. "It felt real because it is real."
You went very still in his arms, and when you looked at him again, there was something heartbreaking in your expression.
"Azriel," you said gently, "this isn't real."
The words hit him like a physical blow. "What?"
"This is just a dream." Your voice was soft, patient, like you were explaining something to a child. "A beautiful dream, but still just a dream. And I'm—" You took a shaky breath. "I'm dying. In the real world. I've been sick for months, and the healers can't do anything more for me."
"No." The word tore from his throat. "No, you don't understand. You're my mate. This bond between us, it's real. I can feel it."
You reached up to cup his face, and he could see tears gathering in your eyes. "I know you feel it. I feel it too. But that doesn't make it real."
"It is real," he said desperately. "You have to believe me. I'm going to find you, I'm going to save you."
"You can't save me from a dream," you whispered. "And you can't save me from dying."
"This isn't a dream," he insisted, but even as he spoke, he could feel the world beginning to fracture around them. "You're real. We're real."
"I'm dying, Azriel." The words were gentle but final. "My body is failing, and my mind is creating this beautiful fantasy because it's easier than facing the truth. You're everything I've ever wanted, everything I've ever dreamed of, but you're not real."
"I am real," he said, panic rising in his chest as the dream continued to dissolve. "Please, you have to believe me. I exist, I'm coming for you, just hold on."
But you were already fading, becoming translucent around the edges.
"This is just a dream," you said again, and this time there was peace in your voice. Acceptance. "A beautiful, impossible dream."
"No," he breathed, reaching for you as you slipped away. "Please, just tell me where you are. Tell me your name, tell me something I can use to find you."
But the last thing he saw before everything went dark was your sad, sweet smile, and the last words you spoke echoed in the silence:
"It's just a dream. Just a dream."
Azriel woke with a roar that shook the foundations of the House of Wind.
The mating bond blazed in his chest like a dying star, gold and molten and desperate. Your phantom scent still clung to his skin, jasmine and starlight and something fading, like flowers pressed between the pages of a book.
His mate was dying, and he had no idea how to find you.
His shadows writhed around him, agitated and hungry, still reaching for the ghost of your touch. They whispered of dreams and dying girls, of bonds that burned across impossible distances, and Azriel felt something cold and determined settle in his chest.
You thought he was just a dream. You thought none of it was real.
But the mating bond didn't lie. And neither did the way his shadows had responded to you, the way they'd played in your hair like they belonged there.
Somewhere in the mortal lands, his mate was dying, convinced that the love she'd found was nothing more than her mind's final gift to itself.
Azriel rose from his bed, shadows streaming around him like liquid night, and began to plan.
He would find you.
Author’s Note:
Slowly crawling my way out of writer’s block, and this little dreamscape romance with Azriel was the spark I needed. Hope you enjoy it as much as I loved writing it. ✨
The River House was quiet when you and Azriel arrived. You followed Azriel as he led you to where Feyre and Rhysand were. They greeted you as you stepped into Rhysand's office. The shadows clung close to Azriel, tense like the rest of you.
Rhysand broke the silence first. “Thank you for coming so quickly. This needed to be discussed between us before the others got here. Lucien has been asking a lot of questions about your marriage. Not just out of curiosity, he’s suspicious. Wants proof that it’s real.”
You glanced at Azriel. His jaw tightened.
Feyre stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. “Lucien has always been protective of Elain, and he’s worried she might’ve been hurt, emotionally or worse. His concerns aren’t unfounded given the circumstances.”
Azriel’s eyes darkened. “Elain is unharmed by this. I don't understand.”
Rhysand nodded. “Still, Lucien’s persistent, wants to make sure himself. The Autumn Court invited us all under the pretense of peace and alliance, but it’s really a test. A political game to push and pull at the night court's weaknesses, which right now is your unexpected union.”
You swallowed. “So we need to convince them this is genuine.”
Feyre’s gaze softened as it flicked to you. “It’s more than acting. They’ll watch every look, every touch, every hesitation. You two need to be even more believable than you were at dinner the other night.”
Azriel’s shadow curled protectively around your feet. “We’ll make sure they have no doubts.”
“Good,” Rhysand said. “Because this isn’t just about politics. If Lucien pushes too hard, it could put Elain and Y/N in a difficult position. And that’s something we want to avoid at all costs.”
You nodded, heart pounding. “What’s the plan?”
Feyre folded her arms. “We stick together. Present a united front. Avoid giving Lucien or anyone else an inch of leverage. Never let yourself be alone with him without one of us in this room.”
Azriel looked at you. “We rehearse, again and again if needed.”
You took a deep breath. “Then the next three days will be our practice.”
Footsteps echoed down the hall outside Rhysand’s office. The soft sound of voices filled the air.
Feyre straightened. “The others are here, we’ll have to pause.”
Azriel and you stood quickly, smoothing the tension from your clothes.
Rhysand gave you both a look over. “Stay here. Do not come out just yet. Wait a couple of minutes and then walk in like you were just running late.”
Azriel’s shadows flickered as he crossed his arms but nodded once. You swallowed hard and took a slow breath.
“No need to worry,” Feyre assured you softly. “You'll know when it's been long enough.”
Rhysand and Feyre stepped to the door and opened it, greeting the others as they entered the hall: Cassian, Nesta, Mor, Amren, and Elain.
Once the hallway filled with laughter and chatter, the door shut behind them, leaving you and Azriel alone in the office.
You exhaled and turned to him. “Three days of pretending... I am not sure if I'm ready for this.”
Azriel’s dark eyes softened just a little. “None of us ever really are, but we have to be.”
You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “What if I mess up?”
He stepped closer, voice low but firm. “I’ll be there to help you."
“Yeah, but this time everyone’s watching,” you said. “Every move. Every breath.”
He nodded once. “Then we don’t give them anything to question.”
You shifted on your feet. “Right.”
Another pause.
Azriel’s gaze flicked to yours briefly. “We’ll get through it.”
That was all he said, but somehow it felt heavier than a promise. You nodded once, quietly. “Yeah. We will.”
Just then, an idea came to you, one to help ease the stress of what’s ahead.
You glanced toward the antique clock on Rhys’s desk with a smile. “I think we should wait seven minutes before we go out there.”
Azriel leaned against the bookshelf, arms crossed, shadows coiling lazily around his boots. “Seven? That's oddly specific.”
You nodded. “Only to make it seem like we just arrived.”
His mouth curved slightly. “So... a strategic delay?”
You smirked. “Exactly. Almost like we were playing a game."
He tilted his head, curiosity piqued. “What kind of game?”
You raised a brow and crossed your arms with false innocence. “Oh, I don't know, maybe Seven Minutes in Heaven?”
Azriel’s gaze sharpened, a glimmer of amusement flickering behind his calm exterior. “Didn’t take you for the type to play party games.”
You shrugged. “Didn’t know you knew what it was.”
Azriel’s lips twitched. “I’ve been around Cassian long enough.”
You laughed. “That explains so much.”
He studied you in that quiet, infuriating way he always did. “You think the others would believe we got... distracted, and that's why we were late?”
“Would that be so hard to believe?” Your voice playful.
His shadows moved to curling around his ankles like smoke catching on something hot. “That depends.”
“On what?”
Azriel glanced at you, voice smooth. “On how flushed you are when we walk out.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “Wow. Shadowsinger’s got claws after all.”
He stepped past you toward the desk. “You started it.”
Your lips parted slightly, but you covered it with a scoff. “You’re such a tease.”
Azriel straightened, professionalism snapping back into place. “Our seven minutes are almost up.”
"Let's go give them the performance of our lives," you smiled.
As you turned toward the door, Azriel suddenly reached out and ruffled your hair, deliberately messing it up.
“Hey!” you protested, swatting his arm.
“Just making it believable,” he said, completely unrepentant. “Now you look flustered.”
You narrowed your eyes, then reached right back and tousled his hair in return, fingers tangling in the soft strands. “Now we both look flustered.”
He blinked, surprised, but not displeased. For a heartbeat, you just stood there, staring at each other with a little too much heat in the silence.
Azriel was the one who stepped back, clearing his throat. “Alright. Showtime.”
You nodded, smoothing your shirt. “Let’s go lie to everyone you love.”
And just before Azriel opened the door, his shadows curled briefly around your shoulder in a gesture that almost felt like... reassurance.
The scent of roasted garlic and honeyed lamb filled the dining room as you and Azriel stepped in, side by side, hair slightly tousled, shoulders brushing.
Feyre and Rhys had already taken their seats at the long table, and across from them sat Cassian, already halfway into his first glass of wine.
Cassian looked up as you entered, grin tugging wide. “Look who finally decided to show up. What, did the shadows slow you down?”
Azriel arched a brow, sliding into the chair beside him. “You know how dramatic they can be.”
Cassian chuckled, then turned to you. “Do you have any more scandalous stories for my game?”
Before you could answer, a slender figure glided into the room, eyes sharp as moonlight and presence heavier than steel.
Amren.
She didn’t smile as she studied you, her silver eyes flicking up and down. “So... you’re the female Azriel married.”
You managed a polite nod. “I am.”
She sipped her wine, still watching. “You don’t look terrified.”
Cassian leaned toward you with a wink. “That’s a compliment. Maybe.”
Then the sound of another chair being pulled out made you turn. A golden-haired female entered behind Nesta, with soft features and graceful steps. Elain.
She paused when she saw you. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her, the image of gentleness.
Her gaze slid to yours. “Hello.”
It was said with all the warmth of frostbite.
You smiled, small and polite. “Hi.”
Azriel’s shoulders tensed beside you, but he didn’t look away from his plate. Not once.
Rhysand clinked his fork gently against his wine glass, quieting the room. “Now that everyone’s here, let’s discuss the real reason we’re all having this lovely dinner.”
Feyre took over. “The Autumn Court has extended an invitation to a formal gathering...“
Cassian groaned loudly. “My Gods, it's a ball. Just say it. That’s what it is. They're throwing a party to see if we’ll squirm in our leathers.”
Mor smirked. “And we’ll give them nothing. Right?”
Azriel spoke then, his voice calm but unreadable. “Lucien’s suspicious. He’s been asking questions about my marriage... about us.”
You felt every eye at the table shift to you. Even Elain.
Rhysand cleared his throat. “The purpose of the ball is layered. Publicly, it’s a peace offering. Privately? Lucien will use it as a chance to press us. To gauge whether the Night Court’s stability has cracks.”
Amren’s fingers tapped against her glass. “And your sudden marriage to a female no one’s ever met before would be the crack.”
“No,” Azriel said, sharp and final. “It’s not.”
You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to. Your silence beside him was part of the performance.
Feyre reached for her drink. “We will all be attending. But this time, there will be dancing, questions, and mind games. We all need to stick to the same script of information about Y/N and Azriel. Never adding more or giving too much away at a time.”
“We’ve practiced,” Azriel replied.
Cassian gave a low whistle. “Not that kind of practice, I hope.”
Azriel shot him a deadly glare.
Rhys chuckled, then turned to you. “This will be in three days. Like Feyre said, we'll all be guests of the Autumn Court. But you two will be the ones they're watching. Don’t let your guard down.”
“Are you ready?” Feyre asked you gently.
You nodded. “I can handle it.”
Dinner resumed in stiff, quiet bites. No more jokes. No more laughter. Just the weight of what was coming. Afterwards, everyone retreated to their rooms with a calm that only happened right before a storm.
You and Azriel walked down the halls, past the rooms that should’ve been empty, to his room, which was his when he stayed here.
You arched a brow. “Your room?”
“It’s the one they expect us to use,” he said simply, not meeting your eyes.
You crossed your arms. “Convenient.”
Azriel gave you a look. “Suspicion kills more than honesty.”
You rolled your eyes and pushed the door open.
It was warm, the fire already crackling inside. Shadows clung to the corners, flickering with the orange light. And, just as you feared… one bed.
You turned slowly toward him. “I swear to the Mother, if you take your shirt off without warning again, I’m sleeping on the floor.”
Azriel’s lips twitched. “Isn’t that a little dramatic?”
“You’re the one who always makes everything dramatic,” you shot back.
His mouth twitched like he was fighting off a smirk. “Then you may want to close your eyes.”
You blinked, half-horrified, half-excited. “Don't you dare.”
He started lifting it, slow and deliberate, his smirk growing wider. “Three… two…”
You turned away with a strangled noise. “Azriel!”
“You did warn me about the consequences,” he said mildly, voice too calm to be innocent. “I’m simply preparing.”
You were already halfway to the bathroom with your sleepwear bundled in your arms. “Fine. Change. But if I see any shadows trying to peek under the door...”
“They have manners,” he cut in smoothly.
You shut the door behind you. Changing took longer than it should have, mostly because you spent several minutes arguing with yourself in the mirror about whether your nightgown was too much or not enough. In the end, you told yourself it didn’t matter. It was just Azriel, who just so happened to be your husband of convenience.
You stepped out and saw he had dimmed the lamps and turned down the sheets. He was already sitting on the bed, shirtless, one knee bent as he looked through his pack for something.
He looked up when he heard the door, and froze.
The nightgown wasn’t scandalous, but it wasn’t exactly modest either. Soft fabric clung to the curves of your body, thin straps slipping slightly down your shoulder as you paused in the doorway.
Azriel didn’t say anything. His jaw clenched, and his eyes darted away too quickly, as if looking again might unravel his control.
You cleared your throat, walking over to your side of the bed. "I'm sorry. This is all that I packed, thought I would be alone at night..."
You paused for a moment more, waiting for him to say something. "Your silence is speaking volumes.”
“I’m being polite,” he said stiffly.
You slid under the covers. “Huh, that’s new.”
Azriel exhaled a slow breath through his nose. “Just trying not to look like I’m thinking anything I shouldn’t.”
You turned your head toward him, studying the hard lines of his profile. “And are you?”
He didn’t answer right away. “I plead the fifth.”
You laughed, and it was that sound that finally pulled his gaze back to you, softer now but still intense, as you both settled into bed to get some rest.
You weren’t sure what time it was when you stirred. The moonlight still cast across the room. The sheets had twisted slightly, and the cool air kissed your bare arms as you blinked slowly into the dark.
And then you felt warmth, solid and close.
Azriel.
His arm was slung across your waist, hand resting lightly over your ribs. His chest was pressed to your back, the steady rise and fall of his breath brushing the base of your neck. One of his legs had tangled with yours.
You froze.
Your heart screamed at you to stay still, to not move, because this was comfortable in a way it shouldn’t be.
Azriel made a soft noise behind you, a little sigh against your skin. His fingers flexed briefly over your side.
Your breath hitched. You didn’t dare shift. Not an inch. Not when his shadows curled lazily around both of you, content and unbothered, as if they approved of this.
Eventually, sleep pulled you back under, lulled by the warmth of him, the way your body had instinctively curved into his, and the strange, grounding calm that came from being held like this.
Then the morning came too fast.
You woke up, Azriel’s arm still around you.
But now, he was awake, too. And very, very still.
Neither of you moved.
Eventually, you cleared your throat. “So.”
Azriel spoke at the same time. “We don’t talk about this.”
You blinked. “I wasn’t going to.”
“Good,” he said a little too quickly.
You shifted away, slowly. “It was cold. That’s all.”
“Very cold,” Azriel agreed stiffly, already sitting up, shadows zipping away like they wanted nothing to do with the conversation.
You pulled the blankets tighter. “Just… survival instincts.”
He stood, grabbed a shirt off the chair, and nodded as seriously. “Exactly.”
You didn’t look at each other as you both got dressed for the day.
You didn’t mention the way your heart had slowed to match his in the dark. Nevertheless, you got out of bed and got ready for the day ahead.
Each morning began with taking a drop of your potion, having to go back to hiding your wings. Afterwards, you met up with Nesta, who was drilling you in dance lessons sharp enough to draw blood. Her voice was stern, movements strict. By the end, she admitted you were “passable," which felt like the highest praise.
Afternoons were spent with Mor, who dragged you through Velaris’s boutiques with a gleam in her eye. She tossed aside anything too plain and helped you find the dress. One that hugged your body just right, was the right shade of blue, and looked like it belonged to a female confident in her place beside a shadowsinger.
Evenings brought strategy meetings with the Inner Circle. You and Azriel sat close, reciting the "story of your marriage" until it was second nature with everyone listening. Rhys and Feyre asked tough questions, Cassian, of course, wanted to know who confessed first, and Elain stayed quiet the whole time.
And at night, you returned to Azriel’s room. You changed in the bathroom. He warned you before taking his shirt off. It quickly became your nightly routine.
You kept your distance in bed... well, most of the time. When you didn’t, neither of you mentioned it in the morning.
By the time the morning of the Autumn Court ball arrived, the act was second nature. And that was the part that scared you most.
