Hey, could you write 9. “Tell me what happened.” with Azriel ? I love your writing!
(Photos courtesy of Pinterest)
Summary: "Tell me what happened."
Authors Note: Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy! What I would give to have a sleepy Azriel in bed next to me...
A soft sound pulled you from sleep.
Your eyes flickered open and you lay very still, assessing your surroundings.
You could still feel the warm body next to you. Azriel was still there in bed, still wrapped in the blankets beside you, but something felt wrong.
The room was dark, illuminated only by the faint moonlight spilling through the window.
You blinked the sleep from your eyes and listened.
Azriel's breathing was uneven. Too uneven. A quiet sound escaped him. Like someone struggling against something they couldn't escape.
Your heart immediately clenched.
"Az?"
No response.
His shadows were suddenly everywhere. Thrashing across the room. Curling around the bedposts. Sliding frantically over the walls.
You pushed yourself upright. "Azriel."
His face was tense even in sleep. Jaw clenched. Brow furrowed. A light sheen of sweat coating his skin. His hands were fisted so tightly in the sheets you could see the strain in his scarred knuckles.
Another sound escaped him. A strained breath that sounded almost pained.
And suddenly you knew.
It was a nightmare.
Again.
Your chest ached.
Because Azriel rarely spoke about them, but you knew he suffered with them more than he let on.
Sometimes from his childhood. Sometimes from centuries of war. Sometimes from things he'd seen while serving Rhys and his father before him.
You immediately moved closer to him, one hand finding his cheek.
"Azriel."
Nothing.
The shadows lashed harder.
A soft curse slipped from your lips when he didn't react.
You cupped his face with both hands instead, shaking him slightly. "Az."
His entire body jerked. A sharp breath tore from him. Hazel eyes flew open. Wild. Panicked.
For half a second he wasn't here. He wasn't in your bed. He wasn't safe.
You watched him search the darkness instinctively, muscles tensing as though preparing for a fight.
Then his gaze landed on you and everything stopped. The panic. The tension. The frantic shadows.
Gone. Immediately soothed just like that.
Relief crashed across his face so suddenly it almost hurt to see.
"It's okay," you whispered immediately.
His breathing remained uneven.
You could see him struggling to orient himself. Trying to remember where he was.
You reached for him without hesitation. "Come here."
Azriel made a quiet sound that almost resembled protest, but you ignored it completely.
A moment later you were pulling him against you, his body following. His head settled against your chest automatically. Your arms wrapped around him. One hand sliding into his dark hair.
You felt him exhale, long and shakily.
"You're okay," you murmured.
Your fingers continued stroking through his hair. Untangling the knots. Tracing soothing paths along his scalp.
The shadows began settling almost immediately. Azriel closed his eyes. Not asleep. Just exhausted.
You pressed a kiss into his hairline.
Then another.
Then another.
Until some of the tension finally eased from his shoulders.
"What was it?"
He didn't answer. It wasn't unusual, so you waited.
Your hand never stopped moving through his hair. Back and forth. Slow and steady. The same way he'd comforted you countless times before.
Eventually you felt him swallow.
His voice came out rough.
"Nothing."
You snorted softly.
Azriel shifted slightly against you. He was embarrassed, you could feel it.
"It didn't look like nothing."
Silence.
You let it stretch. Never pushing. Never forcing. Just holding him.
Eventually you rested your cheek against the top of his head when the tension continued to sit through his body.
"Tell me what happened."
The words were soft and gentle. No pressure, just an invitation.
Azriel was quiet for a long moment.
Then another.
Then finally—
"The cell."
Your heart sank.
Of course, the cell.
The place he'd spent his childhood. The place that haunted him more than almost anything else.
You tightened your arms around him instinctively.
You couldn't see his face from where it was buried against your chest, but you could tell his eyes remained fixed on some distant point.
"I was there again."
His voice was flat, detached. The way it always became when discussing those memories.
"The door wouldn't open."
Your throat tightened. Slowly, your fingers brushed through his hair again.
"You were alone?"
A pause, then you felt a small nod.
You closed your eyes briefly. Every instinct in you wanted to march into the past and tear the entire place apart with your bare hands.
Instead you simply held him closer.
Azriel continued quietly.
"I knew it wasn't real."
Another pause.
"But it felt real. It was like I was back there again.”
Your hand slid down to the back of his neck, massaging gently. His shoulders loosened fractionally beneath your touch.
For a while neither of you spoke. The room remained silent except for his gradually slowing breathing.
Eventually he shifted slightly, just enough to look up at you.
Moonlight caught the exhaustion in his eyes. The vulnerability. The remnants of fear he tried so hard to hide from everyone else.
You smiled softly, reaching down to brush a strand of hair from his forehead.
"You're here."
His gaze never left yours as you spoke.
"You aren't there. You aren't alone. You’ll never be alone again.”
A tiny nod. The corner of his mouth twitched in gratitude.
Your thumb brushed lightly across his cheek.
"And if you ever are there again," you whispered, "I'll come get you."
A quiet laugh escaped him, small and sleepy.
"Storm the prison yourself, would you?"
"I'd bring a battering ram."
That earned an actual huff of amusement.
Victory.
You smiled.
Azriel rolled his eyes weakly, but some of the darkness had lifted now. The nightmare no longer holding him quite so tightly.
You nudged Azriel's body with yours, a silent request. Immediately, Azriel moved back to lie down again. Settling against your chest. His head beneath your chin. Your arms wrapped around him.
Safe. Protected. Loved.
Your fingers drifted through his hair once more. Slowly and rhythmically. You felt his breathing even out and the last traces of tension leave his body.
And just before sleep finally reclaimed him, you felt his hand find yours beneath the blankets. As though even half-asleep, he wanted reassurance that you were still there.
Hey, could you write 9. “Tell me what happened.” with Azriel ? I love your writing!
(Photos courtesy of Pinterest)
Summary: "Tell me what happened."
Authors Note: Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy! What I would give to have a sleepy Azriel in bed next to me...
A soft sound pulled you from sleep.
Your eyes flickered open and you lay very still, assessing your surroundings.
You could still feel the warm body next to you. Azriel was still there in bed, still wrapped in the blankets beside you, but something felt wrong.
The room was dark, illuminated only by the faint moonlight spilling through the window.
You blinked the sleep from your eyes and listened.
Azriel's breathing was uneven. Too uneven. A quiet sound escaped him. Like someone struggling against something they couldn't escape.
Your heart immediately clenched.
"Az?"
No response.
His shadows were suddenly everywhere. Thrashing across the room. Curling around the bedposts. Sliding frantically over the walls.
You pushed yourself upright. "Azriel."
His face was tense even in sleep. Jaw clenched. Brow furrowed. A light sheen of sweat coating his skin. His hands were fisted so tightly in the sheets you could see the strain in his scarred knuckles.
Another sound escaped him. A strained breath that sounded almost pained.
And suddenly you knew.
It was a nightmare.
Again.
Your chest ached.
Because Azriel rarely spoke about them, but you knew he suffered with them more than he let on.
Sometimes from his childhood. Sometimes from centuries of war. Sometimes from things he'd seen while serving Rhys and his father before him.
You immediately moved closer to him, one hand finding his cheek.
"Azriel."
Nothing.
The shadows lashed harder.
A soft curse slipped from your lips when he didn't react.
You cupped his face with both hands instead, shaking him slightly. "Az."
His entire body jerked. A sharp breath tore from him. Hazel eyes flew open. Wild. Panicked.
For half a second he wasn't here. He wasn't in your bed. He wasn't safe.
You watched him search the darkness instinctively, muscles tensing as though preparing for a fight.
Then his gaze landed on you and everything stopped. The panic. The tension. The frantic shadows.
Gone. Immediately soothed just like that.
Relief crashed across his face so suddenly it almost hurt to see.
"It's okay," you whispered immediately.
His breathing remained uneven.
You could see him struggling to orient himself. Trying to remember where he was.
You reached for him without hesitation. "Come here."
Azriel made a quiet sound that almost resembled protest, but you ignored it completely.
A moment later you were pulling him against you, his body following. His head settled against your chest automatically. Your arms wrapped around him. One hand sliding into his dark hair.
You felt him exhale, long and shakily.
"You're okay," you murmured.
Your fingers continued stroking through his hair. Untangling the knots. Tracing soothing paths along his scalp.
The shadows began settling almost immediately. Azriel closed his eyes. Not asleep. Just exhausted.
You pressed a kiss into his hairline.
Then another.
Then another.
Until some of the tension finally eased from his shoulders.
"What was it?"
He didn't answer. It wasn't unusual, so you waited.
Your hand never stopped moving through his hair. Back and forth. Slow and steady. The same way he'd comforted you countless times before.
Eventually you felt him swallow.
His voice came out rough.
"Nothing."
You snorted softly.
Azriel shifted slightly against you. He was embarrassed, you could feel it.
"It didn't look like nothing."
Silence.
You let it stretch. Never pushing. Never forcing. Just holding him.
Eventually you rested your cheek against the top of his head when the tension continued to sit through his body.
"Tell me what happened."
The words were soft and gentle. No pressure, just an invitation.
Azriel was quiet for a long moment.
Then another.
Then finally—
"The cell."
Your heart sank.
Of course, the cell.
The place he'd spent his childhood. The place that haunted him more than almost anything else.
You tightened your arms around him instinctively.
You couldn't see his face from where it was buried against your chest, but you could tell his eyes remained fixed on some distant point.
"I was there again."
His voice was flat, detached. The way it always became when discussing those memories.
"The door wouldn't open."
Your throat tightened. Slowly, your fingers brushed through his hair again.
"You were alone?"
A pause, then you felt a small nod.
You closed your eyes briefly. Every instinct in you wanted to march into the past and tear the entire place apart with your bare hands.
Instead you simply held him closer.
Azriel continued quietly.
"I knew it wasn't real."
Another pause.
"But it felt real. It was like I was back there again.”
Your hand slid down to the back of his neck, massaging gently. His shoulders loosened fractionally beneath your touch.
For a while neither of you spoke. The room remained silent except for his gradually slowing breathing.
Eventually he shifted slightly, just enough to look up at you.
Moonlight caught the exhaustion in his eyes. The vulnerability. The remnants of fear he tried so hard to hide from everyone else.
You smiled softly, reaching down to brush a strand of hair from his forehead.
"You're here."
His gaze never left yours as you spoke.
"You aren't there. You aren't alone. You’ll never be alone again.”
A tiny nod. The corner of his mouth twitched in gratitude.
Your thumb brushed lightly across his cheek.
"And if you ever are there again," you whispered, "I'll come get you."
A quiet laugh escaped him, small and sleepy.
"Storm the prison yourself, would you?"
"I'd bring a battering ram."
That earned an actual huff of amusement.
Victory.
You smiled.
Azriel rolled his eyes weakly, but some of the darkness had lifted now. The nightmare no longer holding him quite so tightly.
You nudged Azriel's body with yours, a silent request. Immediately, Azriel moved back to lie down again. Settling against your chest. His head beneath your chin. Your arms wrapped around him.
Safe. Protected. Loved.
Your fingers drifted through his hair once more. Slowly and rhythmically. You felt his breathing even out and the last traces of tension leave his body.
And just before sleep finally reclaimed him, you felt his hand find yours beneath the blankets. As though even half-asleep, he wanted reassurance that you were still there.
Summary: when Azriel finally returns home from a mission that lasted three weeks instead of one, you confront him with your worries and fear. But doing so, you open up a new part of your soul to him.
Warnings: talks of murder, talks of abandonment, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, shadow kink, just fluff and angst…
Authors note: this request came in my box I wanna say a month ago, and I have been working on it since then wanting to get it the exact way I wanted for you guys. I hope you guys enjoy this story as much as I do. This is just a small love story for the pain about to happen in the arrangement story… BUT, as always hope yall enjoy🫶🏻. Find request, here.
Main Masterlist:
༄⋆⭒˚｡⋆🌌⋆｡˚⭒⋆༄
The memory doesn't feel like a story someone else tells. It feels like a wound that never quite knitted shut, a jagged piece of glass you still carry tucked against your ribs.
You can still smell that night, the metallic tang of blood cutting through the crisp, biting scent of pine and fresh snow. You were only fourteen, practically still a small fae baby, who thought she knew the shape of her own life. Then came the ambush. It was surgical, quiet, and over with a terrifying, hollow finality. One moment your mother and sister were there, the next, there was only the suffocating silence of the forest and a grief so sharp it felt like it might actually carve you open.
But the real, quiet destruction happened afterward, inside the walls of your own home. Your father, the High Lord, didn't reach for you. He didn't pull you into his arms to share the crushing weight of what you'd lost. Instead, he looked at you and recoiled. Every time he caught sight of you, his face would drain of color, his jaw tightening until the bone nearly snapped.
You were young, you were terrified, and you were starving for his comfort, but you realized, slowly and painfully, that he wasn't looking at his daughter. He was looking at a ghost. You had your mother's eyes, her jaw, the way she tilted her head when she laughed. You were a mirror he couldn't bear to look into, a living, breathing reminder of the mate he'd failed to keep safe. He didn't just mourn them, he began to treat you like an unwanted memory, disowning you in all the ways that didn't require words.
It wasn't until the very end, the night he and Rhysand left to hunt down those responsible for the massacre, that the truth finally spilled out. You stood in the foyer, your heart hammering against your ribs, and for one brief, agonizing second, he looked at you. There was no softness in his eyes, only a jagged, raw pain.
"I cannot look at you," he rasped, his voice sounding like gravel. "You look exactly like her."
That was the last thing he ever said to you. He walked out into the dark, and he never came back.
You were left in the wreckage of a house that no longer felt like a home, but you were not left to rot. The Night Court claimed you, and in the process, three men essentially became the architects of who you are today.
Cassian took that raw, jagged grief and shoved a blade into your hand. He didn't have the patience for your weeping, and thank the Cauldron for that. He taught you that the world didn't care about your broken heart, it only cared about whether you could stand back up. He spent years bruising you, pushing you to the brink, ensuring that if someone ever came for you the way they came for them, you wouldn't just be a victim. You'd be the one they should have feared.
Then there was Azriel. If Cassian was the fire, Az was the cool, quiet shadow. He never asked you to be anything other than what you were. He was the one who sat with you on the nights when the silence was too loud, his hand a steady weight on your shoulder. He was your person, the one who learned the language of your stillness and knew exactly when you were about to shatter. He didn't need to be loud, his presence was the anchor that kept you from drifting away entirely.
And Rhys... your brother. He understood the darkness better than anyone. He took the volatile, terrifying power of your Daemati gifts and taught you how to harness the storm. It was a delicate, intimate process, sharing minds, building walls, learning where your thoughts ended and the world began. He didn't just teach you to use your power. He taught you to own it, to keep it as a shield so that you would never again be caught defenseless.
They took a girl who had been hollowed out by her own father's hate and they forged you into iron. They didn't just raise you; they breathed life back into you, one lesson, one touch, and one hard-won victory at a time.
You are a product of their love, and even on the days when the ghost of that fourteen-year-old girl tries to take over, you look at the scars on your palms or feel the familiar hum of your power, and you remember, you are not a mirror for anyone else's pain anymore. You are your own.
༄⋆⭒˚｡⋆🌌⋆｡˚⭒⋆༄
Centuries have passed since the blood stained the snow, and the girl who once trembled in the foyer of a cold, empty house is long gone. You are the Princess of the Night Court, a woman carved from starlight and shadow, forged in the fires of the Illyrian mountains and the deepest secrets of Velaris. You are not a victim, you are a force.
But even princesses have vulnerabilities, and yours has been sitting in the quiet, empty spaces of the training ring for weeks.
Azriel has been gone too long.
The shadows he commands have left Velaris strangely muted, but it is the silence in your own mind that is truly agonizing. You have been pushing your Daemati abilities to the absolute brink, stretching your awareness across borders and through the veil, trying to snag a thread of his consciousness, a flicker of his presence. Each time you reach, you find nothing but a hollow echo. Your mind is frayed, your nerves are raw, and your brother, Rhysand, has been pacing your chambers for days, his own worry bleeding into your link, demanding, hounding, you to try again, to find him, to bring him home.
"You're going to burn yourself out," a rough voice interrupts your frantic pacing.
Cassian stands in the doorway of the ring, his wings tucked tight against his back, his eyes searching yours with that annoying, persistent brand of concern. He knows you need to bleed off the tension before you snap, and he knows exactly how to make it happen. He offers you the ring, a silent invitation to take your frustration out on his ribs.
You don't hesitate. You launch yourself at him with a ferocity that would have terrified you centuries ago. You drive him back, your strikes precise and lethal, a symphony of violence that serves as the only language you can speak right now. You beat him until your knuckles are white and your breath is coming in ragged gasps, and he takes every hit, dodging just enough to keep you coming.
But then, the banter starts. It's his way of trying to keep you tethered to the living, to pull you out of the spiral of your own terror.
"You know," he grunts, parrying a blow that would have shattered a lesser man's jaw, "if you spent half as much energy actually relaxing as you do obsessing over our Spymaster, you'd probably have found him by now. It's not just the mission, is it? You're terrified he's never coming back to you."
He wears that infuriating, lopsided smirk, he one that usually makes you want to drive a blade through his boot.
"Shut up, Cass," you hiss, your voice sharp enough to draw blood.
"Or what? You'll tell him?" He chuckles, ducking under a sweeping kick. "You've been pining for him since the dawn of time, and honestly, it's getting exhausting watching you stare at the horizon like a lovesick acolyte."
The heat in your chest flares, white-hot and blinding. You don't need his analysis, and you certainly don't need his pity. Without warning, you drop your physical guard and reach into his mind, sharpening your focus into a single, jagged needle of psychic energy.
You drive it straight into his mental soft spot, a pointed, intrusive jab that makes his breath hitch. Cassian lets out a strangled groan, stumbling back and clutching his temples as the psychic feedback ripples through him.
You don't wait for him to recover. You turn on your heel, your chin held high, your composure iron-clad despite the frantic, aching worry still humming in your veins. Behind you, you hear him recover just enough to flip you the bird, his dark laughter echoing off the stone walls of the ring.
You don't look back. You just walk away, the princess of a court that feels entirely too quiet, carrying the weight of a man who hasn't come home yet, and a heart that is far too exposed for your own good.
The stone corridor feels unnervingly long tonight. Your boots click rhythmically against the floor, but the sound barely registers over the static-like hum of your own frayed nerves. You are halfway to your bedroom, determined to finally surrender to the exhaustion that has been hounding you since you left the training ring, when you stop dead.
It starts in the center of your chest, a phantom tug, like an invisible hook buried deep in your sternum. It's a rhythmic, insistent pulse, a magnetic pull dragging your focus away from the comfort of your bed and toward the heavy, oak-paneled door of your office.
You stand there, your hand coming up to press against your chest, kneading at the dull, aching pressure beneath your ribs. It's been three years of this, three years of that same, maddening tug. At first, you thought it was a lingering side effect of a training injury, or perhaps some residual trauma from your early years, but the consistency of it is terrifying.
Every time you've dared to mention it to Rhys, the reaction has been... telling.
You remember the first time you brought it up. You had been sitting in his study, and the pull had been so strong it actually made you gasp. You had looked at him, confused, and asked, "Rhys, do you ever feel like... like something is calling you? A pull, right here?"
His reaction hadn't been a dismissal. It had been a revelation. His eyes had gone wide, that flicker of raw, panicked realization crossing his face before he slammed his mental shields down so hard it felt like a door being bolted in your face. He had immediately changed the subject, launching into a lecture about court logistics or trade routes with a forced, manic intensity that told you more than his words ever could.
He knows. He knows exactly what this is. And he is terrified of it.
You stand in the hallway now, caught in the gravity of that pull. The office door seems to loom, almost as if it's breathing. Your heart hammers against the palm pressing over your chest. Every instinct screams at you to go to your bedroom, to lock the door, and to hide under the covers until the world stops spinning. But the tug is relentless, a physical command that bypasses your brain and pulls at the very marrow of your bones.
You take a shaky breath, your fingers tightening into a fist against your tunic. If you turn and walk toward your room, you can pretend this is just fatigue.
But, this pull was so tight on your soul that you turned to the right and opened the door to your office.
The air in the office is different the moment you cross the threshold, it was charged, heavy, and smelling of ozone and Illyrian pine. The door clicks shut behind you, the latch turning with a finality that seems to seal you off from the rest of the world. Before you can even adjust to the dim light, the shadows in the room behave like living things. They uncoil from the corners, slithering across the floor to dance around your boots, before rising to press soft, cool caresses against your cheeks, a welcome home from the only part of him that has been present while he was gone.
Then, he turns.
Azriel stands in the center of the room, his shoulders broad, his wings folded tight, and that familiar, brooding stillness radiating from him like a physical weight. The exhaustion that has been hounding you for weeks vanishes, replaced by a surge of adrenaline so potent it makes your vision swim.
He sees you, and that rare, small smile, the one he saves exclusively for the quiet moments between the two of you, flickers across his face.
You don't think. You don't ask why he's here instead of reporting to the war room, and you don't think about the protocol you've been conditioned to follow. You launch yourself across the room. The distance closes in a heartbeat, and his arms are already open, catching you with the strength and precision of a predator.
He lifts you effortlessly, his hands gripping your waist as you scramble, wrapping your legs around him to pull him closer. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of him, the ink, the cold night air, and that underlying, sharp metallic tang of his shadows.
"I was so worried, Az," you whisper, the words breaking against his skin. Your voice is thick, raw with the weeks of silence you've endured. You press your forehead against his, your hands tangling into the dark silk of his hair, needing to feel the solid, beating reality of him. "I looked everywhere. My mind... I couldn't find you. I thought—"
You can't even finish the thought, not when he is here, holding you so tightly you can feel the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heart against your own ribs. It is the only thing that matters, the only thing that silences the frantic, pulling ache that has haunted your chest for three years.
He lets out a low, ragged sound, it was a mix between a sigh and a growl, and pulls you even closer, his wings shifting to envelop you both in a shroud of impenetrable, velvet darkness.
He nudges his nose against yours, a small, grounding gesture that feels more intimate than any battle-scarred hug ever could. He doesn't pull away completely; instead, he slowly sets you down, but his hands linger at your waist, and his massive, leathery wings shift to form a private, velvet-dark cocoon around you both.
It feels like you've stepped into a sanctuary where the rest of the world doesn't exist. His shadows are practically buzzing with a manic, joyous energy, swirling around your ankles and darting up to brush against your cheeks like excited pets finally reunited with their favorite person. They aren't just his shadows, they're your shadows too at this point, and their frantic, happy dancing tells you everything you needed to know: they weren't just searching for him; they were trying to bring him back to you.
He begins to sway, a slow, hypnotic movement that pulls you with him. He hums, a low, vibration in his chest that you feel through your own ribs, and it's so grounding, so overwhelmingly him, that your head spins with the relief of it.
But the confusion hasn't left you. The weeks of silence, the way Rhysand avoided your questions and how you pushed your brain to the point of exhaustion, it's all still there, nagging at the back of your mind.
You draw back just enough to look up at him, your eyebrows furrowed in sharp contrast to the soft rhythm of his swaying. You search his eyes, those dark, unreadable pools that usually hide everything, but tonight, they seem to hold a flicker of something raw and exposed.
"Where were you?" you whisper, your voice thick with the frustration of the last few weeks. "Why did it take you this long, Az? I searched... I pushed until my mind felt like it was catching fire, and there was nothing. Not even a whisper of you."
You tighten your grip on his shoulders, needing him to be honest, needing him to bridge the gap between his long absence and the magnetic pull you've felt for years.
"I couldn't find you," you press again, your gaze searching his face for a hint of the truth. "It felt like you were behind a wall I couldn't climb. What happened out there?"
Azriel lets out a long, ragged sigh that ruffles your hair. His voice is a low, rough vibration against your forehead as he whispers, "I got caught up."
The simplicity of it feels like a slap. You let out a soft, jagged breath, your gaze dropping to the intricate pattern of the leather straps on his chest, unable to meet the intensity of his stare. "Where?" you press, your voice barely audible.
His finger hooks under your chin, firm but impossibly gentle, forcing you to look at him. His dark eyes search your face, scanning every detail, and you catch the flicker—a fraction of a second where his gaze drops to your lips, heavy and hungry, before he pulls his focus back to your eyes.
"Does it matter?" he asks.
The weight of the question is crushing. Your hands, which had been anchored to his shoulders, slide down, your fingers curling into your palms as you try to put distance between you. But the cage of his wings is absolute. They are warm, solid, and immovable, pressing you against him until there is no space left for your doubt.
When your body brushes against the sensitive inner lining of his wings, he lets out a sharp, shaky breath, his grip on you tightening. You look up at him, your eyes burning with the sting of unshed tears.
"'Does it matter?'" you repeat, your voice cracking. "Of course it matters, Az! I was worried sick. You were gone for three weeks when it was supposed to be a week, maybe a week and a half at most. We couldn't find you. My mind... I couldn't reach you. I thought you were..."
The word dead hangs in the air, too heavy to speak aloud. You look down again, the memory of those dark, silent nights of searching making your chest ache with that familiar, mysterious pull.
Azriel pulls you closer, the movement fluid and desperate, his wings drawing tight, cocooning you in his scent and his heat. "I'll always come home to you," he whispers, the vow fierce and raw.
You shake your head, a hollow laugh escaping you. Your fingers move of their own accord, trembling as they trace the cold, familiar texture of the leather over his stomach, feeling the steady, powerful thrum of his heart beneath it.
"You can't promise me that," you whisper, the honesty of your fear finally spilling over. "Not when you're you, and not when the world is the way it is. You can't promise that to me."
Azriel just nods, his expression unyielding, his jaw set with a stubborn, ancient resolve. "I will always come home to you," he repeats, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly whisper that vibrates through your very bones. "I can promise you that."
You look up at him, the tears you've been holding back for three weeks finally spilling over. Your breath comes in ragged, broken hitches. "I don't know what I would've done... if we never found you. I just... I can't even think about it."
You cover your face with your hands, the shame of your vulnerability warring with the sheer, overwhelming relief of his presence. Azriel makes a soft, guttural sound—a coo of pure, unadulterated tenderness.
"Sweetheart," he murmurs, his hands gently prying yours away from your face. "Let me see that pretty face."
He moves your hands with infinite care, his thumbs brushing the salt tracks from your cheeks. He doesn't stop there, he lifts your palms to his lips, kissing the sensitive skin of your wrists, then the center of your palms, grounding you with every touch. He takes your hand, pressing it firmly against his chest, right over his racing heart.
"I promise you," he whispers, his eyes searching yours with a terrifying level of honesty. "With my heart... and my soul. I will come home to you. I don't care if it means losing myself, my body, my wings. I will crawl through the fires of the Cauldron if I have to, just to make it home to you. Because you are my home."
As the last word leaves his lips, a strange, electric heat flares at your wrists. You gasp, your eyes widening in shock as you look down. Around Azriel's wrist, a shimmering, intricate mark has etched itself into his skin—a band of dark, swirling starlight and shadow that pulses in rhythm with your own heartbeat.
"Az..." you whisper, your voice trembling. You look at him, stunned, then slowly rotate your own wrist. There, mirroring his perfectly, the same mark has manifested, glowing faintly against your skin.
He doesn't look surprised. He doesn't pull away. He just watches you with a serene, terrifying calm, his hand still cradling your waist, his other hand brushing a stray lock of hair back from your forehead with a feather-light touch.
"My wrist," you whisper, the realization dawning on you with the force of a tidal wave. You turn your arm, staring at the mark that binds you. "Azriel, what have you done?"
He doesn't flinch. He just nods slowly, pulling you even tighter against his hard, solid frame. "I know what it is," he says, his voice steady, anchored by a choice he clearly made a long time ago. "And I don't regret it."
You look up at him, your breath hitching. "Our souls are tied now... with this... you tied our souls together."
Azriel nods again, a faint, sad, but utterly devoted smile touching his lips. "I know, sweetheart," he says softly.
Then, the sharp sudden tug in your chest isn't painful this time. It's like the final snap of a heavy iron chain you hadn't even realized you were wearing.
A gasp leaves your throat as that familiar, agonizing pressure, the one that has dogged your every step, kept you awake at night, and haunted your thoughts for three long, grueling years, simply evaporates. The emptiness it leaves behind isn't a void, it's an open space, flooded with a sudden, overwhelming sense of clarity and absolute, unshakable peace.
It's as if you were holding your breath for a thousand days, and finally, you are allowed to exhale.
You look up, your eyes wide and searching, and find Azriel looking down at you. His expression is no longer the guarded, weary mask of the Spymaster. His smile is soft, genuine, and so profoundly relieved that it makes your knees weak. He's looking at you like he's finally seeing you through a clear lens, without the static and the distance that had kept him tethered away from you for so long.
He doesn't need to ask. He can feel the shift in you as clearly as he feels the bond pulsing against his own skin.
"You feel it too," he whispers, the statement vibrating against your forehead as he tucks you closer, his wings folding around you until you are entirely shut away from the rest of the world.
The air in the office feels different now—still and expectant. The frantic, happy dance of the shadows has slowed into a protective, undulating hum, vibrating in sync with the marks on your wrists. The mystery of the pull, the secret your brother was too terrified to name, the fear of the last three weeks—it all feels like a lifetime ago.
You aren't just the Princess of the Night Court, and he isn't just the Spymaster. In this closed-off, silent room, you are simply two halves of a whole finally standing in the same place.
"It's gone," you whisper, the realization echoing in the quiet office. "The ache. It's... it's actually gone."
Azriel brushes his thumb over your cheek, his touch lingering, possessive and reverent. "It was never meant to be an ache," he murmurs, his voice a low, dark promise. "It was just the distance between us, waiting to be closed. And now that it is... I'm never letting you be that far from me again."
The realization hits you not as a shock, but as the final, missing piece of a puzzle you've been trying to solve your entire life.
Mate.
Everything, the years of him being your steady anchor, the way his presence alone could silence your worst nightmares, the magnetic tether that had been pulling at your very marrow—it all snaps into place. He isn't just your person; he is your soul's counterpart.
Without a second thought, you grab the lapels of his tunic and pull him down, closing the remaining space between you. The kiss is frantic, born of three years of repressed longing and the sheer terror of almost losing him. Your lips meet his, and it's like coming home to a fire you didn't know you were freezing beside.
But as quickly as you started, you break away, your heart hammering, eyes wide. "Az—sorry, I—"
The apology dies in your throat. Azriel lets out a low, dangerous growl that vibrates through the entire room, his shadows swirling into a frenzied, dark mist around you. He doesn't let you retreat; he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your pants, yanking you flush against him.
"Don't," he rasps, his voice rough and stripped of every bit of his usual, composed restraint.
He crashes his mouth back onto yours, his kiss hungry and aggressive, stripped of all caution. You feel your knees go weak, your body folding into his intensity, and before you can even register the movement, his hands are on your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. He deposits you onto the mahogany surface of your desk, scattering maps and inkwells to the floor with a clatter that neither of you cares about.
His hands are everywhere, they were urgent, possessive, and shaking with a need he's been holding back for centuries. When his fingers find the hem of your shirt, he doesn't fumble; he rips it away, the fabric tearing as he tosses it aside.
The cool air hits your skin for only a second before his mouth is there, tracing a burning path down your throat to your collarbone. You let out a broken, sharp moan that echoes off the office walls, your fingers tangling into his hair, pulling him closer.
He groans against your skin, a sound of pure, unadulterated want, and you can't help the bubble of breathless, bewildered laughter that escapes you. Watching the untouchable Spymaster, the man of infinite control, completely unravel the moment he touches you—it's intoxicating.
"You're a mess, Az," you giggle, your breath hitching as his hands trace the line of your waist, his shadows dancing over your skin like dark silk.
He pauses, looking up at you from where he's pressed against the desk, his eyes dilated until the irises are nearly gone, his face a mask of primal desire. "You have no idea," he growls, his voice a promise of what is to come.
The office door swings open with a sharp, insistent creak, cutting through the haze of the moment. Azriel is currently buried against the curve of your neck and chest, his lips tracing the sensitive skin right above your bodice, when the sudden intrusion hits.
He doesn't even let you look. In a blur of motion, his wings snap outward like a shroud, expanding to cover you entirely from the view of the door. He turns his head, his face twisting into a feral, guttural snarl that would make a warrior tremble.
"Get out," he growls, the sound is dark, possessive, and dangerous.
You hear a heavy silence, followed by two sets of footsteps stopping dead. When you peek over your shoulder, you see Rhysand and Cassian standing in the doorway. Their eyes are wide, Rhysand's, in particular, hold a mixture of shock and that terrifying, High Lordly recognition, while Cassian is mid-snicker, his lean against the doorframe already forming a joke.
Rhysand's expression shifts instantly. He takes one look at the way Azriel's wings are shielding you, the way the air in the room is vibrating with the raw, unmistakable static of a newly snapped mating bond, and his face goes unreadable.
"We'll talk later," Rhysand says, his voice flat, cutting off whatever Cassian was about to say.
"Wait, I just—" Cassian starts, still grinning.
Rhysand doesn't let him finish. He grabs Cassian by the back of his leathers and hauls him out of the room, slamming the door shut with a flick of his fingers.
Azriel doesn't stop. As soon as the lock clicks, he turns back to you, his breathing slowly steadying, though his hands, that are large, calloused, and trembling, continue to map every inch of your skin. He presses his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to a jagged whisper. "I have been waiting for so long for you to see."
Your heart skips a beat. You pull back slightly, blinking at him, your eyes wide. "How long?"
Azriel looks down, his dark lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. A rare, vulnerable flush creeps up his neck. "Over twenty years."
You gasp, the breath leaving you all at once. "Twenty... twenty years?"
He pecks your lips, his expression softening into something so tender it almost hurts. "I knew the bond was there, but I wanted it to hit you as well. I didn't want to force you, or make you feel trapped by some celestial whim. I wanted you to choose me on your own, without the pull making the decision for you."
A slow, shy smile spreads across your face, and you reach up to trace the sharp line of his jaw. "You idiot," you whisper, laughing softly. "I've had a small crush on you for a little over twenty years myself."
Azriel lets out a genuine, low laugh that rumbles through his chest, his eyes darkening with amusement. "Yeah? Think I'm pretty, sweetheart?"
You nod, your eyes searching his, filled with a decades-worth of unspoken longing. "The prettiest," you tease.
The playfulness vanishes instantly. He growls, a sound of pure, unadulterated hunger, and crashes his mouth against yours, kissing you with a desperate intensity that makes your head spin. You reach for the buckles of his leathers, tugging frantically at the straps, whining against his lips for him to get rid of them, to be closer, to finally, finally be yours.
"Take it off," you breathe against his lips, the words a desperate, breathless command.
Azriel lets out a low, dark chuckle that vibrates right through your chest. "My greedy mate," he whispers, the possessiveness in his tone making your pulse skyrocket.
You shudder, a visible tremor racking your body, but you meet his gaze, nodding with a shy, defiant heat that makes his smirk widen. He doesn't waste another second. A wall of living shadow erupts around you, thick and velvet-black, swallowing the room, the desk, and the world outside. When the darkness shifts and thins, the scenery has changed entirely. You are no longer on the hard wood of your desk; you are sinking into the soft, familiar linens of his bed.
Your clothes are gone, he's stripped them away with a speed and precision that speaks to years of suppressed want. Before you can even catch your breath, he's between your thighs, his presence solid and grounding.
He doesn't hesitate. As his mouth finds you, his shadows, the dark, silken tendrils that have been with you your entire life, begin to writhe and coil. They brush against your sensitized skin, teasing your nipples with a cold, electrifying precision that makes your back arch off the mattress.
"Az—" you gasp, the name tearing from your throat as he begins to work on you.
The sensation is overwhelming, the heat of his mouth, the impossible softness of the shadows dancing over your sensitive points, and the sheer, focused worship in his movements. You moan in genuine surprise, your head falling back against the pillows as your fingers tangle into his dark hair, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself to him as the world dissolves into nothing but the friction of his tongue and the dark, intoxicating magic of his shadows.
Azriel's voice is a low, guttural vibration against your most sensitive skin, muffled by the heat of his mouth. "Taste so good," he groans, his tongue swirling with a deliberate, maddening expertise. "Better than I ever imagined... and I've imagined it every night for twenty years."
The raw confession sends a jolt of pure electricity straight to your core. You let out a broken, needy moan, your hips bucking instinctively. "Az... please," you gasp, your voice trembling as he slips a long, calloused finger deep inside you, stretching you, claiming you.
He rises up then, his eyes burning with a dark, predatory hunger. He captures your lips in a bruising, possessive kiss, his mouth tasting of you. He pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips, his voice dropping to a gravelly, indecent register. "You don't want to know the number of nights I've had to wrap my hand around my cock, biting my tongue so I didn't scream your name into the dark, just thinking about how you'd taste."
You smirk, despite the dizzying haze of pleasure, and arch your back, presenting yourself to him with a bold, wicked grace.
"Good girl," he growls, his voice thick with approval.
He slips a second finger inside, the invasion slow and agonizingly perfect. As your breath hitches, his shadows suddenly surge upward. Before you can react, they coil like thick, velvet rope around your wrists, binding your hands firmly to the headboard above your head.
You whine, a sound of frustrated, delicious helplessness, pulling against the cool, dark restraint. "Azriel, you can't just—"
"I can," he cuts you off, his voice a dark, velvety promise. He drops his head, his mouth latching onto one of your nipples, his tongue swirling around the peak while he sucks with a rhythm that matches the sliding of his fingers inside you.
"Look at you," he murmurs, pulling away for a second to watch his fingers slide in and out of your slick, hot heat. He watches your eyes roll back, your skin flushing a deep, aroused crimson. "Look how wet you are for me. Bound to me. Entirely mine."
"Yours," you pant, your chest heaving as his shadows tease your sensitized skin, wandering down your stomach and back up to trace the line of your throat. "Always yours, Az. Just... make me finish. Please."
He chuckles, a dark, dangerous sound, and begins to thrust with a measured, lethal precision that threatens to snap your composure in two. "Not yet, sweetheart," he hums against your ear, his breath hot. "We have twenty years of hunger to settle. I'm going to make you beg for every single second."
The tension in the room is a physical weight, thick with the scent of arousal and the hum of your connection. As his fingers work inside you with expert, rhythmic precision, you feel the tide rising, an uncontrollable swell of pressure blooming deep in your belly.
"Az—I'm—I'm close," you gasp, your head thrashing against the pillow.
"I know, sweetheart," he murmurs, his lips tracing the sensitive column of your throat, his voice dripping with pride. "Show me. Give it to me."
He picks up the pace, his fingers driving into you, and when you finally shatter, your body arching and locking into a high-pitched, breathless cry, he doesn't stop. He keeps the pressure there, relishing the way you shudder, the way your muscles clench around him. He lets out a low, satisfied chuckle at the sight of your unraveling.
He waits until your shudders subside before his shadows loosen, the one binding your right hand snapping back like a whip. He catches your wrist, guiding your trembling fingers down.
"Touch me," he rasps, his eyes dilated, pupils blown wide as he watches you. "Touch my cock, baby. Feel how hard I am for you."
Your fingers close around him, and he's hot, thick, and pulsing with a desperate need that matches your own. He lets out a ragged groan, his head falling into the crook of your neck, his breath hitching against your skin.
"I need you, Az," you whine, your voice strained and desperate, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, I can't take this ache anymore. I need you inside me, now—please, put it in."
"I'll give you what you want," he growls, his voice barely audible, vibrating with suppressed intensity. "I'll give you everything."
He moves up, his hands shifting to your hips, his palms scorching against your skin. He aligns himself with you, the tip of his cock pressing against your heat, and with a slow, agonizingly deliberate motion, he helps guide himself inside. You gasp, the sensation of him filling you so completely that it feels like you're being put back together.
He pauses, his breath hitching, his forehead pressed against yours. You both let out a synchronized, shuddering moan that dies in each other's mouths as he waits for the two of you to settle, his body adjusting to the tight, slick warmth of your interior.
"God," he rasps, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that feels like a claim. "You have no idea how long I've dreamt of this. Of being exactly where I belong."
You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, anchoring him. "Then stay," you whisper against his lips. "Don't you dare go anywhere."
He lets out a dark, hungry sound, shifting his weight. "I'm not going anywhere, my beautiful mate. We're just getting started."
The friction is intoxicating, a primal rhythm that seems to echo the very beating of your combined hearts. Azriel begins to move, his hips driving into you with a power that takes your breath away. Each thrust is deep, possessive, and agonizingly slow before he picks up the tempo, his movements becoming increasingly frantic and uncontained.
You arch your back, your entire body humming with the force of his rhythm. You watch as he leans up, his face flushed with the exertion and the sheer, raw pleasure of claiming you. His magnificent wings flare out wide, a massive arc of midnight velvet that fans across the room, his control completely shattered by the intensity of your pleasure.
With your other hand finally freed from the lingering shadows, you reach up, your fingers tangling into the dark silk of his hair. You pull him down, desperate to bridge the distance, your lips meeting his in a bruising, heated kiss.
"Please," you moan into his mouth, your voice thick and ragged. "Let me come. Just... just fuck me, Az."
He lets out a guttural, broken sound of surrender. He nods against your lips, his jaw tight as he fights to maintain the last shreds of his composure. "Come for me, sweetheart," he rasps, his voice trembling. "I won't be able to last long now."
You don't need to be told twice. As his pace quickens, driving into you with a relentless, driving hunger, you let yourself go. The climax hits you like a tidal wave—a white-hot explosion that ripples from your core, causing you to clench around him with every ounce of your strength.
The sensation of you shattering against him is the final catalyst. Azriel lets out a feral, guttural roar, his body locking rigid as he drives into you one last, deep time. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his entire frame shuddering as he spills his release inside you, his shadows swirling in a violent, ecstatic storm around the bed.
You both lie there, gasping for air, the world outside this room forgotten. He keeps his weight anchored on you, his breath heavy and wet against your skin, while the mating bond between you pulses, bright and absolute, in the quiet aftermath.
Azriel draws back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with an adoration that is almost painful to witness. He presses a kiss to your lips, and it’s not the hungry, frantic kiss of a moment ago, but something soft, slow, and reverent. As he sighs into your mouth, you feel him harden again deep within you, a silent, stirring promise that he is far from finished.
He lifts your legs, draping them over his hips so you are completely open, completely his. He settles his weight, resting on his elbows beside your head, framing your face with his body as he begins to move again. This time, there is no rush. Every thrust is a slow, rhythmic slide, a deliberate act of worship.
"So beautiful," he murmurs against your temple, his breath hitching as he draws back and fills you again. "I have spent lifetimes just wanting to hold you like this. Just wanting to be this close."
You arch into him, your own hands finding his shoulders, tracing the heavy muscle there. "Az," you whimper, the name feeling like a prayer.
"I'm here," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, his hips rocking in a steady, loving cadence. "I'm right here, and I'm never leaving. You are my home, my sun, my shadow. Everything I am, everything I've ever done, it was all just leading me to this moment. To you."
He drops his head to the crook of your neck, his lips grazing the pulse point there. "Do you have any idea how much you're loved?" he asks, his voice vibrating against your skin. "I love you. I have loved you since the moment I saw you, and I will love you until the mountains crumble into the sea."
The intimacy is almost too much; it feels as if he is peeling back the layers of your soul and smoothing over the scars of your past. The friction builds, not with the fire of the previous release, but with a deep, consuming warmth that starts at your toes and radiates outward.
"I love you too," you breathe, your voice shattering in the quiet room. "I've loved you for so long."
He lifts his head, his gaze locking onto yours, intense and unyielding. The rhythm of his hips finds that perfect, agonizing sweet spot, and you feel the crest of another climax beginning to rise.
"Together," he whispers, his voice breaking. "Let's do this together."
As the pleasure takes you, pulling you both into that shimmering, silent void where nothing else exists, he thrusts deeper, harder, his shadows surging to wrap around you both in a final, protective cocoon.
"Gods," he groans, his voice trembling as he spills himself into you one more time. "I love you."
You press a lingering, weary smile against his lips and pull him down, burying your face in his neck. You lie there for a long time, the silence of the room no longer heavy, but filled with the steady, synchronized thump of your hearts. The shadows remain curled around you like a warm, protective blanket, keeping the rest of the world at bay.
Eventually, Azriel shifts. With a low, possessive hum, he scoops you up, keeping you flush against him. You let out a soft, startled whine as you realize he hasn't pulled away, but he's still buried deep inside you, and the movement makes your toes curl.
He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates against your spine. "Still greedy, are we?" he murmurs, his voice playful as he navigates the short distance into the en-suite bathroom.
He maneuvers you toward the smooth marble vanity, bracing you against the cool stone and bending you forward. With a slow, deliberate withdrawal, he finally slips out, the sudden emptiness making you gasp. Before you can even turn, a firm, stinging slap lands on your backside, followed immediately by his lips pressing a searing, possessive kiss to the same spot.
"Wait here," he commands, his voice dropping into that dark, soothing register.
You lean against the counter, your legs feeling like jelly, watching as he moves with a grace that seems at odds with the lingering haze of your shared intimacy. He turns on the taps, the steam beginning to coil toward the ceiling as the water fills the large stone tub. He works with a quiet focus, and when the water is perfectly tempered, he turns back to you.
He doesn't say a word, he simply holds out a hand, his palm calloused and warm, his dark eyes fixed on yours with a silent, intense devotion. You take it, your fingers interlacing with his as he guides you into the water.
The warmth of the bath is an absolute balm, washing away the ache of the last few weeks. Azriel climbs in behind you, pulling you back against his chest until you are cocooned by his wings and his warmth. He picks up a sponge, his movements impossibly gentle as he begins to wash you, his hands lingering over your skin with a reverence that makes your breath hitch all over again.
"I have you," he whispers, his chin resting on your shoulder as he circles a patch of soap over your collarbone. "You don't have to carry anything tonight. Just breathe."
The sunlight filtering through the heavy drapes is soft and hazy, but it's the weight of the arm anchored across your waist and the warm, possessive pressure of Azriel's hand cupping your breast that anchors you to the world. You're still blissfully tangled in the linens, drifting in that half-asleep state where reality feels like a dream, and you instinctively shimmy backward, molding your spine against the solid, immovable heat of his chest.
The moment of peace is short-lived. The heavy oak door of the bedroom creaks open with agonizing slowness.
Before your eyes can even fully adjust to the light, you feel a shift in the air. Azriel's wing snaps out in a blur of velvet shadow, arching over your front to shield you from the doorway's view. A deep, frustrated sigh rumbles through his chest against your back, he doesn't even have to look to know who it is.
"So..." a familiar, amused voice drifts into the room. "She finally figured it out, huh?"
You freeze, your face flushing a deep, mortified crimson as Rhysand leans against the doorframe, wearing a look of pure, unadulterated smugness.
Azriel doesn't even bother to move his hand from where it's draped over you. He simply lifts his free hand and, with a bored, sharp flick of his middle finger, flips your High Lord off.
Rhysand erupts into a low, rumbling laugh, shaking his head at the display. As he turns to leave, his eyes linger on the way Azriel is practically claiming you beneath that wing. "Should I make plans for your absence for a week?" he calls back over his shoulder.
Azriel's growl is primal, vibrating through the bed and right into your shoulder blades. "Make it a month, Rhysand."
Rhysand's laughter echoes in the hallway, dripping with teasing incredulity. "A whole month? You're an animal, Az."
You let out a tiny, whimpering sound of pure embarrassment, burying your face in your hands to hide from the world. You can practically feel the heat radiating off your own skin. Azriel, however, seems completely unbothered by the scrutiny. He pulls the wing tighter, effectively shutting out the rest of the world as the door clicks shut, leaving you in the dim, private sanctuary of his room.
He chuckles, a low, contented sound, and his lips find the sensitive curve of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "Let them talk," he murmurs, his hand squeezing gently, possessively. "They're just jealous because they know I'm not letting you out of this bed anytime soon."
Summary: Solstice night may be over, but Azriel isn’t ready to let go of the warmth just yet. A quiet moment in the Birchin becomes a lot less innocent when the Shadowsinger pulls you into his lap — and a lot more chaotic when certain males walk in at the worst possible time.
(Azrielx Reader)
Warning: Smut
Masterlist
________________
The fire had burned low, the last of the Solstice warmth lingering in the Birchin. I hadn’t meant to stay this late, but the House was quiet tonight—emptied of guests, the celebration over, everyone drifting into their own routines again.
Azriel’s legs bracketed mine on the small sofa before I even realized he’d crossed the room. One moment I was holding a mug of mulled wine; the next, his hands were at my waist, guiding me into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Sit,” he murmured, voice low enough that it curled heat through me. “I’ve been waiting all night to have you to myself.”
I settled over him, knees on either side of his thighs. His shadows curled around us, brushing my skin like knowing fingertips. My breath stuttered when he tilted my chin up with a single scarred knuckle and kissed me—slow at first, then deeper, his hand at the back of my neck holding me there like he couldn’t bear to let me go. The bond hummed between us, warm and insistent, like it had been waiting for this moment too.
His other hand slid to my hip, steadying me. The kiss turned hungry. I felt his restraint thinning beneath my palms—felt the way his body tensed as if he was holding something back for my sake alone.
“Az,” I breathed, barely managing the word as his mouth trailed along my jaw, to the place just below my ear that made my thoughts scatter. “Don’t—”
“Don’t what?” His voice was velvet pulled taut. Shadows curled around my shoulders, protective and intimate. “Don’t start?”
Heat rushed to my face—my chest. Words tangled uselessly on my tongue. I could only manage a soft, embarrassing sound in reply.
His lips brushed my ear. “Say it.”
I swallowed hard, my voice barely a whisper. “Don’t stop.”
Azriel’s hands moved faster then, his touch urgent as he began to undress me. My clothes fell away, his shadows helping to shed the fabric until I was bare before him. He was just as quick with his own clothing, his body hard and ready against mine. his Tongue found my nipples.
" Fuck" I sigh.
I straddled him, feeling the length of him against me. Azriel’s hands gripped my hips, guiding me as I slowly lowered myself onto him. A gasp escaped my lips at the sensation, my body adjusting to his size. He filled me completely, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Az,” I moaned, beginning to move against him, impatient. His hands tightened on my hips, setting a rhythm that grew faster, more intense with each passing moment. The shadows danced around us, responding to our needs, our desires.
The door swung open.
I froze. Azriel went still beneath me, but only for a fraction of a second—just long enough for his shadows to snap up around my body like a shield, swallowing exposed skin in night-dark silk.
“Well,” Cassian drawled, stepping inside with entirely too much amusement for someone who should value his life. “Don’t mind us.”
Rhys stopped beside him, arms folded, expression infuriatingly calm. His violet gaze took in the scene—me flushed and breathless in Azriel’s lap, shadows wrapped around me like a blanket—and one brow lifted. “Interesting timing.”
Cassian tapped his chin thoughtfully. “And positioning.”
Azriel didn’t shift me off him. Didn’t look away. Eyes on me. His voice was low, steady, lethal. “Get. Out.”
Rhys offered a mild smile, like he was observing an art piece in a gallery. “Next time, put up a shield. Or a sign.”
Cassian winked at me. “Or both. Definitely both.”
Azriel’s shadows snapped toward them—fast, enough to ruffle Cassian’s hair and extinguish what remained of the firelight for a beat.
Rhys’s smirk only deepened. “Enjoy your evening.”
They left the door open on purpose. Azriel’s shadows slammed it shut.
Silence returned—thick, charged, my pulse still racing where Azriel’s hands held me firmly in place.
His breath brushed my ear again. “Where were we?”
I leaned into him, my body already aching for more. “Right here,” I whispered, beginning to move against him once more.
Azriel’s control was evident, his movements precise and deliberate, even as I rode him with abandon. My moans and whimpers filling the room, begging for more, for everything he could give me.
“Oh god ” I gasped, my body tensing as pleasure built within me. “I’m close.”
His grip tightened, his voice a low growl. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
And I did, my body shattering around him as waves of pleasure washed over me. Azriel followed soon after, moaning—actually moaning—louder than usual, his release intense and overwhelming.
We stayed like that for a moment, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling… and then, as the absurdity of what just happened sank in, we both started laughing. Soft at first, then helplessly.
Azriel shook his head, still breathless, still inside me. “I’m going to kill them,” he muttered, voice hoarse with post-release and pure murderous intent.
That only made me laugh harder. “They’ll never let us live this down.”
He eased out of me with a low groan, then lifted me carefully and settled me on the sofa beside him. His shadows wrapped around us like a blanket—warm, protective, claiming. As if they were making sure no one else dared to interrupt again.
Azriel brushed a thumb along my jaw, his expression caught somewhere between adoration and outrage. “They made bets,” he said, almost to himself, like he still couldn’t believe it. “They truly have a death wish.”
I nudged his shoulder. “We’ll lock the door next time.”
“We’re burning the door next time,” he corrected grimly. Then, more quietly, “And putting warding on the ashes.”
I snorted. “A sign might be enough.”
His eyes slid to mine, dark and unimpressed. “No. They need fear.”
I leaned into him, laughter softening into something warm. “We’ll get them back.”
A slow, wicked smile curved his mouth—the kind that promised creative revenge. “Oh, we will.”
His arm came around me, pulling me against his chest as his shadows cocooned us tighter. The fire crackled low again, the room settling into that familiar Solstice quiet.
Azriel pressed a kiss to my temple—soft, sincere, grounding.
What happens in the House of Wind stays in the House of Wind
Masterlist
Cassian leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine like a male who thought he’d just uncovered the secrets of the Mother herself.
“So,” he began, that familiar grin spreading, “we all know how Rhys and Feyre met—at that lovely little Spring Court orgy.”
Rhys’s brows lifted. “Excuse me?”
Feyre nearly choked on her drink, laughing. “It was not an orgy!”
Cassian shrugged innocently. “There were masks. There were rituals. I’ve read books with less suspicious openings.”
Nesta snorted into her glass. “He’s not wrong.”
Cassian threw an arm around her. “Exactly, sweetheart. So that’s one down.” He looked around the table with predatory delight. “Now what about Azriel and Y/N?”
Every head turned toward the shadowsinger, who was quietly cutting his steak with the same calm precision he used to assassinate people.
“Don’t,” Azriel warned, without looking up.
“Come on,” Cassian said, leaning forward. “You two show up with bruises every other day, you both disappear at suspicious hours, and every time Y/N opens her mouth, Azriel’s shadows flare like they’re jealous.”
Feyre laughed. “Cassian—”
“No, no, I’m serious,” Cassian interrupted. “My bets? Dungeon. Or one of those underground sex clubs in Velaris. Probably both. Maybe they met while fighting for the last set of handcuffs.”
Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded like “Cauldron save me.”
Y/N just smiled sweetly. “You’d be surprised how close you are.”
Cassian raised his hands in surrender. “Oh, I’m careful. I’m very careful. You’re the one who sounds like he could command an army—or a very happy bedchamber—with that voice.”
Nesta choked out a laugh. “He’s not wrong about that either.”
Rhys groaned. “Nesta.”
Azriel’s shadows twined lazily around Y/N’s shoulders, dark and smug, as if they were enjoying the chaos.
Y/N leaned into him, eyes glinting. “For the record,” she said, voice low enough for only the table to hear, “we didn’t meet in a dungeon.”
Cassian sighed dramatically. “Damn.”
“He built one later,” she added.
The room exploded.
Rhys looked one breath away from summoning a mind shield just to survive the mental images. Feyre was doubled over laughing. Cassian howled so loudly the windows shook, while Nesta clinked her glass with Y/N’s in wicked approval.
Azriel only smirked, shadows curling tighter around his mate as he whispered, “You just couldn’t resist, could you?”
hey, wanted to start by saying i love your fics!! finally worked up the courage to request 😂
just wanted to ask if you’d be interested in an azriel x f!virgin!reader fic? not in an “omg im so innocent” way, but in an “im nervous and don’t know what to do” way lmfaoo! if possible, was thinking a friends to lovers type scenario, with maybe some forced proximity to lead up (thinking some kind of mission?). maybe some hurt/comfort slight injury stuff thrown in if you’re feeling angsty…
honestly open to anything your creative mind can come up with. just looking for some sweet fluffy smut with az 😆
thank you and no worries if not interested!
Warmed by the Fire
Pairing: Azriel x f!virgin!reader
Summary: The mission seemed simple enough, but with Azreil, nothing is ever straightforward. After years of working side by side, the stolen glances grow longer, the touches linger closer, and the feelings between them become impossible to ignore.
Author’s Note: I needed this, fluffy tension, a mission setting, some lowkey oblivious longing, and a reader who’s just trying her best. As you can probably tell, I had a lot of fun with the plot for this mission. Please feel free to message me; don’t be nervous about sending a request. I genuinely love writing them, and while I’m slowly making my way through my inbox, I do see you! I promise!
I was already at the meeting point, sitting on a fallen tree, eyes scanning the file in my hand. Reports of increasing thefts, villages and camps losing supplies, some more than others. Rhysand asked me to review the findings and investigate the area, hoping my ability to track residual magic might reveal something useful.
The map was spread across my lap, with red dots scattered along the eastern coast. Most items reported stolen were ordinary, including food, clothing, and weapons. Some were more concerning, such as large shipments destined for Illyrian camps, high-grade weaponry, and a cargo ship bound for Velaris that had been cleared out overnight. Jewels, enchanted artifacts, and rare books disappeared without a trace.
I’d been thinking about possible tracking spells for days, but I needed to be near the scene. Feel the magic in the earth, the trees, the air. Reading it off parchment only took me so far.
I was nibbling on the end of my pen when the ground beneath me trembled slightly, a gust of wind rustling the leaves overhead. I looked up just in time to see an Illyrian warrior descend from the sky, wings flaring then folding neatly behind him.
Azriel.
He glanced at me, the file in my hands, and my bag leaning against the tree.
“I could’ve flown you,” he said, shaking his head as he walked over and lifted my bag from the ground with ease.
“I’ve been stuck in that office for what feels like months. I needed the walk,” I replied, jotting down a quick charm idea before closing the file.
Azriel raised a brow. “This walk would’ve taken you hours.”
“Fine, I lied,” I huffed, pulling my hood against the chill. “I winnowed most of the way.”
A ghost of a laugh tugged at his mouth, but he said nothing more. We started walking, me leading him a few steps behind, as the path narrowed into a winding trail shaded by dense forest.
We made our way through a ravine into a valley, with silence settling comfortably between us. Azriel carried my pack without saying a word. He offered his hand when I needed assistance over a fallen tree, touch light and brief, his hands never staying longer than necessary.
We’d worked together before, training, reports, and the occasional shared mission. The thought twisted something in my stomach. Not fear, exactly. Nerves. Anticipation. The kind of fluttering unease that came with the unknown.
As the valley began to open up, I pulled to a stop and turned to scan the land.
“I think here would be a good spot to set up camp,” I said, nodding toward the cluster of trees near a mossy rock outcrop.
The village was just a head, an easy flight if needed, and this area was tucked far enough from the main paths to avoid unwanted attention.
Azriel nodded silently and dropped our packs near the largest tree, an ancient thing, gnarled and towering, its thick roots curling into the moss-covered earth. We were nestled in a hollow surrounded by stones and a soft, leaf-littered floor. The kind of place that could vanish entirely under shadow.
He began setting up camp without being asked. I lingered nearby, fingers tugging idly at the hem of my cloak, trying to ignore how fast my heart was beating.
It was just a mission, just a few nights in the woods with the spymaster of the Night Court.
“I’m going to go and scope the area,” I said, scanning the treeline.
Azriel, crouched near the base of the tree as he unrolled the bedrolls, looked up and gave a simple nod, then returned to setting up the tent.
I slipped into the trees, moving carefully through the undergrowth. My fingers brushed over bark and moss, the occasional stone, trying to pick up even the faintest magical trace. I cast a few low-level detection spells, quiet things meant to stir the air, reveal residue.
This would have been the easiest way to leave the village without being seen. The thieves would have had to pass through these woods, but still, there was nothing. No sparks. No hums. Not even the trees held a memory of the magic that might’ve been here, and the trees remembered everything.
If spellwork had been used, it was subtle, or cloaked by someone who knew how to cover their tracks.
An hour passed before I circled back to camp. The sun hung low now, spilling golden light through the canopy in soft, slanted beams.
Azriel had finished setting up. A small tent stood beneath the tree, with the fire pit already laid out in a neat ring of stones and kindling arranged. He’d unpacked supplies, canteens, utensils, and a cloth-wrapped bundle of dried food.
He glanced up as I stepped into the clearing. “Anything?”
“Not much,” I admitted, brushing a leaf from my shoulder. “If magic was used, it’s faint, or very well hidden.”
He nodded, unsurprised, and returned his attention to the small stack of papers he’d begun to sort.
I stepped into the tent to drop my satchel and froze briefly. My pack was tucked to one side, but the bedrolls were laid out side by side, blankets neatly folded, pillows set just far enough apart to pretend there was space between us.
The tent was small. Very small.
I let out a quiet breath through my nose, just a mission. Grabbing the empty sack bundled with our gear, I stepped back out.
“I’m going to gather some firewood and some water. There’s a stream nearby.”
“I’ll come with—”
“No, it’s okay,” I cut in, a little too quickly. I waved a hand. “You’ve done enough setting up. I’ll be fine.”
Azriel gave me a long look, unreadable, as always. Without a word, he held out a small black dagger.
The blade was the length of my hand, wickedly sharp. I could feel the enchantment humming through the hilt. This blade would cut through muscle and bone like silk.
I rolled my eyes, a small smile tugging at my mouth as I tucked it into my belt.
I turned and disappeared into the trees, moving slower this time, letting the forest breathe around me. I bundled fallen branches, dried twigs, and thicker logs under one arm. On my way back, I stopped by the stream and filled the canteens with icy water, the cold biting into my skin.
By the time I returned, the forest had dipped into twilight. The clearing glowed gold and blue, fading fast into shadows.
Azriel was seated against a tree now, sorting through maps and files, his shadows curling softly around him like a second skin, always watching, always listening.
I dropped the firewood beside the pit and began stacking it into a tidy pyramid.
“The essentials,” I said lightly, lifting the canteens like trophies.
His mouth twitched. Barely.
God help me, that was enough to make my chest flutter.
“I’ll start the fire,” he said, rising to his full height. He gathered the wood I’d collected, his movements precise and silent, and began placing it into the fire pit.
I sat in the spot he’d vacated and began sorting through the food packed: bread, dried meat, cheese, a few apples, and some dried fruit. I cut and tore pieces of bread, laying them out neatly on a cloth as Azriel finished building the fire.
With a wave of my hand, the fire lit, flames crawling up the wood, warming the circle of our camp. Another flick of my wrist and a ward shimmered over the camp, cloaking us from view. Azriel followed without a word, shadows pooling outward like fog, cloaking the flames from any distant onlooker. Outside, it would look like nothing more than another pocket of darkness.
I hummed softly to myself as he filled a small pot with water, setting it on a flat stone to warm by the fire. We worked in an easy rhythm, no instructions needed, just the quiet understanding of two people who didn’t need many words.
The sun sank fully behind the trees, and the firelight became our only source of warmth. I began to shiver despite the flames licking at the air. Without saying anything, Azriel pulled a blanket from the tent and draped it gently over my shoulders. He sat beside me on the log, close but not too close.
“Thank you,” I said softly, fingers gripping the worn fabric.
“You’re too cold,” he said, tone unreadable, eyes trained on the fire.
“I’ll warm up,” I murmured, nodding toward the food I’d laid out.
We ate in comfortable silence, the sounds of the fire and distant night creatures wrapping around us. It was simple: bread, dried meat, and fruit, but somehow satisfying.
Afterwards, I curled closer to the fire, choosing one of the smooth stones around it as a makeshift seat. I unrolled a piece of parchment and set it across my knees, flipping through the notes I’d brought.
My fingers moved absently as I scribbled a variation of a detection charm, eyes flicking between the fire and the trees. I tried to feel something, anything, but the forest was still muted. It didn’t hum, with magic. It was like whatever had passed through had scraped all the magic clean.
“Do you feel anything?” Azriel asked, voice low.
I shook my head.
“Not yet, but something feels wrong. I don’t like how quiet it is.” I looked around. “It’s like... the forest has forgotten.”
That earned me a glance. He tilted his head, a flicker of curiosity passing over his face. “The forest forgot?”
I met his eyes. “Trees usually remember. Spellwork. Blood. Grief. It lingers, but here, it’s just blank.”
Azriel leaned back against the tree behind him, arms crossed. “Someone erased it.”
“Or used something that doesn’t leave a trace,” I murmured. “But even that should cause a ripple.”
We sat in silence, the fire casting golden light across his face. His shadows didn’t rise, didn’t seem alarmed, but I knew he was thinking it over, cataloguing possibilities.
“You always talk like that?” he asked suddenly, a thread of quiet amusement in his voice.
“Like what?”
“Like the trees are old friends.”
“They kind of are,” I said with a shrug. “They talk more than most people.”
He huffed a soft laugh, barely audible, but it made my stomach twist in the best kind of way.
The quiet settled again.
I felt his gaze, lingering for a second too long, and when I finally looked up from my notes, his eyes didn’t move away fast enough.
Eventually, I pushed myself to my feet and slipped into the tent. The temperature was dropping quickly, and my cloak and blanket weren’t doing much to stop the chill anymore.
I changed into warmer layers, soft leggings and a wool-knit jumper. Cozy. Plain. I tugged thick socks over my feet and wrapped my cloak around my shoulders again before curling up on the edge of my bedroll. Notes settled in my lap, and I tried to warm my fingers enough to finish scribbling down the last of my thoughts before sleep took over.
A moment later, the tent flap rustled.
Azriel ducked inside, careful not to let the cold air follow him. In his hands, he carried a small cup, steam rising in gentle curls.
“I thought you might be colder than you let on,” he said simply, holding it out.
I blinked up at him, then at the cup. I reached for it, the mug was warm in my palms, filled with lightly spiced tea.
“Thank you,” I murmured, softer than I intended. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” he said.
I sipped, the heat blooming in my chest. I wasn’t sure if it was the tea or the way he was watching me, unguarded, but suddenly, the tent felt much smaller.
I turned toward the tent wall, giving him privacy as I heard the soft clink of leather buckles, followed by the rustle of tight fabric peeling off skin. My cheeks warmed.
God.
The zip of his pants made me bite my lip. I shut my eyes hard and tried not to imagine the sharp planes of his torso, the way his tattoos might catch the light, or how far down they trailed—
“You can turn around now.”
His voice cut through the silence, shattering the image my traitorous brain had conjured. I inhaled and slowly shifted, placing my notes beneath the lantern hanging from the tent pole.
Azriel was now dressed in loose sleep pants, his chest bare. His Illyrian tattoos shimmered faintly in the low light, inked over golden-tan skin. My eyes skimmed across them before flicking, too late, up to his face.
He was watching me, amused.
“You don’t mind?” he asked, raising a brow.
I shook my head quickly. “No. As long as you’re not cold.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m used to mountain weather. This feels like home.”
“I’m sure,” I said, forcing a polite smile and turning back to my writing. I didn’t look at him again, not with him stretched out across from me, bare-chested and terrifyingly relaxed.
He slid beneath his blankets, the furs muffling his movements. Quiet as always, he pulled out a small, worn book. I didn’t catch the title. I was too aware of how close he was. His wings half-spilled onto my bedroll. His knees nearly brushed mine, despite my legs being crossed.
Occasionally, I felt his gaze flick toward me, subtle, so subtle I convinced myself I was imagining it.
I focused on my notes, letting the silence settle thick between us. It wasn’t uncomfortable; it never was with Azriel. His silence was grounding, his breath even and slow. His shadows hovered, soft and calm, resting at the edges of the tent like smoke.
I sipped the tea slowly, until the cup was empty, and my eyes kept drifting shut as I reread the same line over and over again.
My parchment was gently lifted from my lap.
I blinked up to find Azriel kneeling beside me, his fingers brushing mine as he took the empty cup from my hand.
“You need to sleep,” he murmured, voice low and quiet in the tent’s stillness. With one hand, he fluffed my pillow; with the other, he tugged back the blankets.
I was too tired to argue. I nodded and slipped beneath the covers, turning onto my side, facing away from him. The tent was small, barely wide enough to fit both our bedrolls. Not touching required intentional, careful space.
His wings brushed my back as he lay down behind me, a ghosting touch I knew hadn’t been intentional; he always kept them tucked in tight. Every breath he took seemed to echo through the narrow space between us. I closed my eyes and focused on the faint, distant crackle of the fire outside the warded tent.
The warmth of the tea, the travel, the weight of magic that still clung to the woods like morning mist, everything dragged me under.
Sleep took me fast.
Morning crept in slowly, the kind of soft grey light that barely filtered through the canvas walls. I stirred when something shifted beneath my cheek, something warm and solid. Definitely not a pillow.
A chest.
A slow, steady heartbeat thudded beneath my ear.
I blinked, my face resting on bare, warm, tattooed skin.
Azriel’s arm was wrapped securely around me, his hand resting at my waist. Not possessive. Not inappropriate. Protective. Natural.
His wings were folded around both of us like a shield, the leathery warmth cocooning us from the morning chill.
I shifted slightly, trying to pull away, but the movement only made his arm tighten, his wings curling in again on instinct.
I let out a soft breath. Reluctantly, I rested my head back against his chest. It was easier than pretending I didn’t want to stay.
A low groan rumbled through him, then he shifted slightly, his grip loosening just enough to let me breathe.
“Morning,” he mumbled, voice rough, sleep-heavy.
His wings slowly uncurled, letting the cold brush my skin again.
“Sorry,” he added after a beat. His eyes cracked open, meeting mine. “You were shivering in your sleep.”
“Oh,” I said, my throat suddenly dry. “Thanks.”
We were quiet for a long moment, a heartbeat too long.
Too long to pretend nothing had happened.
Eventually, I sat up, the blankets slipping from my shoulders. I didn’t look at him as I smoothed my leggings and reached for the edge of my satchel. My hands moved with quiet purpose, a way to break the moment without having to name it.
“I should head to the village,” I said, voice low but steady. “See if I can find any lingering traces of magic. A trail.”
Azriel was fully awake now, propped up on one elbow, eyes sharpening from sleep-soft to warrior-clear. “Do you want backup?”
“I’ll be more likely to catch subtle traces if I’m alone,” I said, tugging out fresh clothes: fitted trousers, a navy tunic, thick socks, and a wool-lined cloak.
He stood without a word, grabbing a black tunic from his own bag. “I’ll get the fire going. So you can dress in peace.”
He pulled the tunic over his head and shoved his feet into his boots. His shadows stirred, stretching outward like tendrils tasting the morning air.
I changed quickly, then stepped out of the tent to lace up my boots. I could feel him watching me. Those hazel eyes scanned over me, never leaving. He was already crouched by the fire, coaxing a flame from the kindling.
Laid out neatly beside him on a small cloth was a piece of bread, still warm from the flame, with a thin slice of cheese melted on top. A steaming cup of tea sat beside it. He was already eating, his eyes flicking from me to the food, a silent invitation.
I blinked at it, then at him. “You really didn’t have to.”
His only response was a small shrug and a muttered, “Didn’t want you passing out on the trail.”
The tea was warm and citrusy, creating a calming effect. The bread melted on my tongue, and as I ate, it seemed to warm something in my chest.
“I won’t go far,” I said again, tugging on my gloves. “Just enough to get a sense of the village’s edges. Maybe whatever passed through left a thread it couldn’t quite bury.”
Azriel nodded once, slowly. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze never left mine. “You’ll let me know if something feels off.”
I met his gaze, steady. “I will.”
He didn’t reply, just watched as I buckled the dagger to my belt once more, tucking it beneath my heavy woollen cloak. His shadows circled his boots in slow, curling ribbons, restless, a silent guard detail of smoke and silk.
I turned and left the camp. The walk down the valley wasn’t as long as it had seemed from above. The village came into view just beyond the trees, a scattering of stone and timber cottages, smoke curling from their chimneys into the pale morning air. It was quiet.
I moved cautiously, my cloak brushing damp earth and frost-covered grass as I went through the outer fence, giving quiet nods to the few early risers working. Most looked at me, curious but polite. Guarded. I was unknown, harmless, maybe. A traveller. A woman on her own. Not worth stopping for.
The baker was the first to speak.
“You’re not from around here,” he said, squinting at me as he pulled a tray of flatbread from the oven.
“No,” I replied with a light smile. “Just passing through. I heard about the missing supplies in a nearby village. They mentioned this place too.”
His face darkened slightly. The warmth drained from his expression. “Us and the rest of the villages, I imagine.”
I nodded, agreeing.
He frowned. “I’m sure you’ve felt it,” he murmured, quieter this time. “It’s not just things disappearing anymore. It’s the air. It feels off. Wrong.”
I asked how long it had been. He answered with weary eyes, and I listened. Thanked him, then moved on.
One by one, I spoke to the blacksmith, the stable hand, and two elderly women knitting outside under woollen blankets. Their fingers trembled in the cold, but their voices remained steady. The stories repeated like a broken record: missing items, misplaced tools, lights flickering without a breeze, whispers no one could explain.
Still, I couldn’t feel anything in the breeze. No spark, no hum.
I wandered to the far edge of the village. A small gate stood ajar, leading into the forest, denser and wilder here. Beyond the trees, the cliffs loomed, jagged against the pale blue sky. The moment I stepped past the gate, I felt it.
Magic. Faint. Fleeing.
I paused.
The forest ahead was darker than it should’ve been. Sunlight tried to filter through the canopy but was swallowed by thick branches and shadow. I glanced back at the village behind me, then further up the ridge, toward where Azriel still waited at our camp.
The trace was faint, and by the time I returned with him, it would be gone.
I hesitated, then stepped into the forest.
The undergrowth was thick and uneven. The path we had taken yesterday was gentle by comparison; this one was tangled, slick with moss and frost. Stones shifted beneath my boots. A vine caught my ankle, nearly sending me tumbling. I caught myself against the bark of a tree, breath puffing in the cold air.
Far below, I could hear water, not a stream, but the roar of a river crashing into stone. The sound added to the eerie silence pressing in around me.
I whispered tracking charms as I moved, my fingers trailing bark and brush. Most faded into nothing, but one, rare and old, clung to the air like silver smoke. It unfurled before me, illuminating a trail of handprints, bent branches, and disturbed earth, unmistakable.
They had come this way. Two or three.
I should’ve gone back to Azreil. Instead, I followed the trail, deeper and lower into the valley.
It was as if time had bent beneath the trees. The light dimmed. The air thickened.
Eventually, the trail came to an end, vanishing into silence.
I stood there, heart thudding, listening to the strange stillness. Then I heard voices. Distant. Muffled. I crept forward and found them: three men pacing a makeshift camp, with tents, crates, and burnt coals.
A smuggler’s nest.
I couldn’t make out their faces, cloaked in shadow, but I could feel the magic clinging to the camp. Dull. Compressed. As though something was snuffing it out.
I tried to winnow back to camp and failed.
My magic didn’t just falter. It was gone.
I turned back, climbing, struggling through thick undergrowth. I whispered spell after spell, but the forest swallowed them all. I had stayed too long and gone too far.
I was completely lost.
The climb back was brutal. Vines tore at my hands. Mud sucked at my boots. At one point, I slipped and had to claw my way up on hands and knees, heart pounding, lungs burning.
Snap.
The vine I gripped broke, and I tumbled hard into a bed of jagged stone. My breath vanished. Pain radiated through my ribs, legs, and palms. I groaned and rolled onto my back, staring up through the tangled branches above.
The sun was dipping low; it was already late afternoon.
I had been gone far, far too long.
Crawling up the embankment, I pushed in the direction I hoped led to the village, or at least to our camp. Another hour passed, maybe more. My limbs ached. My body throbbed. I was soaked in sweat and grime, stumbling alone through a too-quiet forest.
God, this was stupid.
Eventually, I saw it, a patch of golden light spilling through the trees. I dragged myself toward it, breaking through the edge of the forest and into the clearing.
Wings.
A dark shadow cut through the sun. I looked up.
Azriel landed hard. His boots slammed into the earth. His wings flared wide, his shadows whipping around him like a silent, fraying storm. His jaw clenched, eyes wild with fury, no, not just fury.
Fear.
“Where were you? What on earth were you thinking?”
His voice cracked across the glade. I blinked up at him, covered head to toe in mud and blood, pointing vaguely toward the ditch I’d just climbed.
“I found something—”
“I’ve been flying this goddamned ridge for hours,” he snapped, stepping forward, eyes dragging across every inch of me like he was searching for broken bones. “I thought—”
He cut himself off, breath ragged. His chest heaved like he’d run the length of the mountains.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he didn’t wait.
“You’re filthy. You’re bleeding.”
“It’s just bruises,” I muttered. “I slipped. I’m—”
“You disappeared,” he growled, his voice low and frayed.
“I had to follow the trail. I found a camp, Azriel. There’s something down there suppressing magic. I couldn’t winnow out. I could barely breathe in it.”
“I don’t care about the camp,” he said, his voice raw. “I care if you’re alive.”
Something sharp cracked in his expression, and before I could answer, he grabbed my wrist. “Come on.”
He began to pull me toward him, wings lifting to take flight.
“No, Az,” I said, pulling back. “It’s easier to track if we walk.”
I looked up at the sun. “It’s southeast.”
“We aren’t going to the camp,” he said flatly.
“Where are we—?”
“To the river,” he said. “You’re covered in mud, and you need to clean those cuts. I can’t—” He stopped, voice catching. “I can’t look at you like this.”
I started to argue, but the moment I opened my mouth, he pulled me against his chest. His warmth wrapped around me, shadows curling instinctively to hold me as he launched into the air.
We landed minutes later beside the river, not far from camp. I recognised it, the same river I’d gathered water from yesterday. Roaring, clear, ice-cold. He led me to a pool nestled between two boulders.
“I know you can warm it.”
“But Az—”
“Don’t argue with me,” he said, more sternly than I’d ever heard. “Bathe. I’ll bring fresh clothes and something for those wounds.”
I stared at him, at the storm still burning behind his eyes, and nodded.
“Okay.”
He gave a clipped nod, then vanished with a rush of wings.
I exhaled. Stripped off my cloak, now stiff with dried mud and torn along the hem.
It was my favourite.
Piece by piece, I peeled off the rest, boots, tunic, trousers, hissing as cold air met bloodied, bruised skin. A sharp sting pulsed from my ribs. Another cut throbbed along my thigh.
I whispered a warming charm and gestured over the pool between the boulders. The water’s surface shimmered, and steam curled into the cold air.
I stepped in slowly.
Pain prickled up my legs, tiny fires flaring across every scrape, but the warmth helped. I sank into the water, my arms floated beside me, and my head tipped back onto a smooth stone lip as I sighed, the breath shuddering from me.
God, I was tired.
Grime and blood loosened from my skin, the water swirling pink around me as I reached to scrub lightly at the worst of it. I flinched when my fingers brushed the jagged edge of the cut near my ribs.
I let my eyes fall shut.
I should have taken Azriel up on those training sessions.
Climbing that ridge, tumbling down it, and now sitting here bruised and bleeding, it was humiliating.
I let my eyes close again, the warmth of the water easing the worst of the ache as memory slipped in, soft as breath.
All our missions. Late nights elbow-deep in paperwork, heated debates over war strategies. The last assignment had been two days straight in the war room, maps and reports strewn everywhere, ink staining both our fingers.
We’d started on opposite sides of the table. We’d ended with me perched on its edge, Azriel between my knees, one hand beside my hip, the other gesturing over parchment I wasn’t even pretending to read anymore. I’d watched his mouth when he leaned in close. I hadn’t pulled away.
He hadn’t noticed, or maybe he had and just hadn’t acted. Maybe he didn’t mean it that way. Maybe I misunderstood.
The stones beside the pool shifted.
My eyes snapped open just as Azriel landed, shadows curling in behind him. A satchel hung from one hand. His expression was unreadable, but his jaw was tight, brows still drawn.
He crouched by the edge, laying out two bundles of clean clothes and an array of balms, wraps, and salves.
“You’re not exactly subtle,” he said at last, tone dry. “I could hear you cursing the water from the ridge.”
I groaned and sank lower into the pool. “You could’ve waited another minute.”
“You could’ve screamed less.”
“I didn’t scream.”
“You did when you hit the river.”
“Well, the air is cold.”
He exhaled a breath that could have been a laugh. Some of the tension in his shoulders eased, just a little. He studied me again, not just looking, assessing. His gaze flicked over every bruise, every scrape.
“You can bathe too. If you want.” I tried to keep my voice light and casual, but it came out softer than I meant it to. “I don’t mind.”
His brows arched. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. “Only if you want.”
A pause.
Without a word, he stood and began to unbuckle his leathers. I turned slightly, keeping my eyes on the steam rising from the water. When he entered the pool, everything was silent, just the gentle ripple of water and a faint breath as he lowered himself in, feeling the heat on his old bruises.
“You’re hurt,” I murmured.
“So are you.”
I glanced at him, careful not to linger, but god, he was beautiful like this. His wings tucked close to his back, his muscles taut beneath wet skin, dark hair curling slightly from the river mist. He scrubbed a hand over his face and neck, then leaned back against a boulder across from mine.
We sat in silence for a while, only the sound of the river falling over rocks.
His voice broke the quiet. “You scared me.”
“I got carried away,” I said, voice low. “Once I felt the magic, I just followed it, but I promise it was worth the risk. There’s something in that forest—”
“I don’t care what you found,” he cut in sharply. Water lapped gently between us, but his tone cut straight through it. “You could have been taken, or worse, and I wouldn’t have known.”
“I didn’t think—”
“You should’ve come back; we could’ve gone together, but you didn’t, and seeing you like this—” He stopped, exhaling sharply. “If you’d been more than hurt…”
He ran a hand through his wet hair, and the fury in his face had softened into something more vulnerable, fear and concern.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” I said, shifting forward slightly.
He didn’t answer right away.
“I was more than scared,” he said eventually, his voice low.
I swallowed.
The heat in the water suddenly had nothing on the heat crawling up my spine. Those hazel eyes, darker in the fading light, studied my face with an intensity that made my chest tighten.
He inched closer, not much, but enough for me to notice.
His gaze swept over my cheek, to my mouth, then back to my eyes.
“Tell me what you found,” he murmured, voice rough.
“I think the thieves are using an artifact. One that suppresses magic.” I didn’t realise I’d moved closer, or maybe he had. We were close, now far too close to be professional.
My voice went quiet. “The forest felt like it was suffocating.”
He nodded, eyes flicking to my lips again. “And you didn’t think to come get me.”
“I didn’t want to lose the trail, and…” I hesitated. “I didn’t want to be wrong.”
His lips curved faintly. “Did you think I’d be mad?”
“No,” I breathed. “I just don’t like being wrong.”
That smile, small and devastating.
He reached forward slowly, and his hand brushed the water’s surface before settling gently on my waist beneath it. The contact was light, barely there, but I sucked in a breath, and then I hissed.
Pain shot up my side.
I stumbled back instinctively, covering my bare chest as I glanced down. Blood was trailing in the water, blooming softly from a deeper wound near my ribs.
“Shit,” Azriel said, instantly alert.
He turned, striding to the edge of the pool in one fluid motion. A towel was wrapped around his waist as he reached for the supplies. Without turning, he tossed me another towel, giving me privacy as I climbed out. The fabric clung to my skin, soaked red where the wound still bled.
“Sit,” Azriel said, already kneeling.
I obeyed, wrapping the towel tightly around me and sitting on a flat rock. The sun had dipped below the trees, leaving only the hush of river and wind around us. I held the top of the towel to my chest, clutching it as he gently pulled the edge away from my side to expose the wound.
“This will sting,” he said, dipping a cloth into a salve. His hands were steady as he cleaned the watery blood from my skin. His fingers brushed lightly along my ribs, heat blooming beneath his touch.
I watched him work, eyes tracing the hard lines of his jaw, the faint furrow of concentration in his brow.
“You’ve done this before,” I murmured.
He nodded. “Too many times.”
When the wound was clean, he began wrapping gauze around my ribs. His knuckles brushed the underside of my breast as he reached behind me to tie it off, hands lingering just a breath too long.
“You’ll bruise,” he said softly.
Neither of us moved, we were both wrapped only in towels, our skin still damp and glowing from the heat of the pool. That earlier moment, whatever it had been, hung between us tight.
He pulled away first, reaching for the clean shirt in the bundle. He held it out without a word, and I dressed slowly. So did he. We turned our backs to each other, the soft sounds of fabric, the stream, and the wind the only sound.
Azriel flew us back in silence, his wings tense beneath the twilight sky. They twitched when we landed, like they were still ready to carry him off again if something went wrong.
By the time we returned to camp, the sun had vanished behind the ridge.
The fire crackled as we entered the clearing. A jug of water rested on a flat stone. I lowered myself onto a log, flinching slightly as pain lanced through my sore ribs. The fresh shirt hung loose, but the bandage beneath pulled tight with every breath.
Azriel crouched by the fire, feeding it another stick of wood. The flames lit his face in shifting gold and shadow.
“I’ll need to look over your wounds again tonight,” he said, not looking up. “Especially your back. It’s bruised worse than I thought.”
“I fell down an embankment,” I whispered, cheeks heating.
“You fell down an embankment?” Azriel’s voice laced with dry amusement.
“The vine snapped,” I muttered defensively.
He huffed a laugh and rose, beginning to brew tea. When it was ready, he handed me a mug and sat beside me. Not quite touching, but close. His warmth radiated through the narrow space between us like a second fire.
I tried to focus on the flames rather than the memory of his hands on my skin.
I took a sip of the tea, letting it soothe my throat. Silence stretched between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy.
“Did you really fly over the whole ridge looking for me?” I asked.
He gave a quiet, humourless laugh. “Yes. Three times.”
I blinked.
“I couldn’t find your scent. The forest’s magic was too thick. I thought maybe...” He trailed off, eyes fixed on the flames. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me,” I said softly.
His jaw flexed, something unreadable tightening in his expression. He turned to me, slow and deliberate. “Don’t scare me like that again.”
It wasn’t a command; it was something raw and personal.
“I won’t,” I whispered.
His hand rested on the log between us, close to mine. Our fingers brushed. My heart stuttered.
I pulled back, uncertain, and murmured, “I’ll make something to eat.”
Before I could rise, his hand reached gently to rest on my knee.
“I stopped in the village,” he said. “Didn’t get much out of them; they thought I was hunting you down. So I bought supplies and paid far more than I needed to.”
He pulled out a small parcel. Pastries. Dried meats. Goat cheese. Fruit.
His hand left my knee as he laid the food out between us. We ate in silence. Knees brushing, gazes lingering. A slow-building tension wrapped around us like the smoke from the fire.
When we’d finished, and exhaustion crept in, we retreated to the tent. My pain had worsened as the night wore on, and soon enough, Azriel had me lying down, fretting over me like I was made of glass.
He refused to let me read the notes I’d brought, much less write anything.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” he said. “Not thinking.”
Of course, that sparked an argument, which led to me dictating, and him writing furiously with one of my pens.
“This is ridiculous,” I grumbled, trying to sit up. “Let me—”
I flinched, biting back a groan. He raised an eyebrow in smug satisfaction.
“See? Told you.”
I huffed in pain.
He knelt beside me. “Can I check them?”
I hesitated, then nodded.
I lifted my shirt just enough to reveal the bandages. The bruising had deepened, a bloom of violet and blue beneath pale skin. His hands hovered for a second, then touched.
He pressed along my ribs, firm but careful. A soft groan escaped me, and he stilled.
“Azriel,” I hissed through gritted teeth.
His hands gentled. I heard it then, his breath hitching.
“Roll over,” he said, voice lower. Rougher. “Let me see your back.”
I winced but obeyed, turning slowly. Azriel lifted my shirt higher and began working the balm into my spine. His touch was tender, but the pain struck like lightning. I cried out once, curling forward as tears pricked the corners of my eyes.
“Breathe,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”
He moved slowly, carefully, his hands trailing over the curve of my back as he finished. Gentle. Steady. Present.
“It’s over,” he murmured. “Tomorrow, I’ll follow your trail into the forest. See what I can find.”
I shifted, propping myself up on one elbow. “We should go early. If we’re lucky, they might still be there.”
“You’re not coming,” he said, voice leaving no room for argument.
My brows furrowed. “What? Why?”
“You’re injured.”
“I’ll be better by morning.”
“I’ll go first. If it’s clear, I’ll come back for you.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but then, with the faintest flick of his wings, the candle blew out. Darkness wrapped around us, thick and quiet.
“Mature, Az,” I muttered.
I was still shivering when I slipped beneath the blankets. The silence between us now heavier than the cold. He didn’t touch me, didn’t speak, but I felt him there. Present. Watching.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer.
Minutes passed. I turned onto my side and found him already facing me. His face was shadowed, unreadable, but his voice, when it came, was low and rough.
“Don’t do that again.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Disappear. Run off like that. You scared me.”
I opened my mouth, but he cut me off.
“I don’t care about the camp. I care if you’re alive.”
My breath caught. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I know.” He exhaled hard, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I know you didn’t, but if something had happened to you out there—”
He didn’t finish the sentence; he didn’t have to.
I shifted closer, barely an inch between us now. “I’m sorry.”
Azriel didn’t speak. Instead, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered, just for a moment, and then dropped to the blankets between us.
“Sleep,” he murmured.
I didn’t, not for a long time, not with his scent surrounding me, not with the weight of his words curling around my heart.
I woke alone.
The tent was quiet, the fire outside faintly crackling in the early morning light. My body ached, stiff from injury and sleep, and the space beside me was cold.
Azriel was gone.
On his pillow, laid neatly where his head had rested, was a folded piece of parchment.
I reached for it, unfolding it slowly.
Food’s by the fire.
Didn’t want to wake you.
Going to scope out the camp from yesterday.
I’ll be back soon.
—Az.
A faint smile tugged at my lips, even as worry tightened in my chest.
Azriel returned just after the sun had cleared the treetops. I sat on the log by the fire, wrapped in a blanket, picking at the food he’d left, trying not to think too hard.
He landed without a sound, shadows curling quietly back into him.
“They’re gone,” he said, brushing dirt from his leathers. “The camp’s cold. Tracks heading southeast.”
I stood, slower than I would’ve liked. “Can we still follow?”
Azriel’s eyes flicked over me, lingering on the stiffness in my movements, the pain I couldn’t quite mask.
“You’ll be able to track the magic. The artifact left a trace in the air and slightly tainted the ground. I marked the path. We’ll follow it.”
He turned and began packing the camp in swift, practised motions. I moved to help. This time, he didn’t stop me, but his eyes kept drifting toward me, assessing and noticing every wince. Every falter. Always watching.
By midmorning, we were on the move.
The trail wove down the mountain, steep and slick in places. My ribs protested with every stumble, but I kept going. Azriel didn’t speak about it, just walked beside me in silence. He caught me when I slipped. Lifted me when I couldn’t manage the steeper drops. Even flew us over the rougher terrain when the trees thinned enough to allow it.
Eventually, we reached the abandoned camp. He was right, the earth glowed faintly, residual magic seeping into it like smoke into fabric.
I whispered charms under my breath, trying to identify the thread of power that clung to the place. Whatever had been here, it was suppressing the forest’s natural magic, stifling its breath. The spell felt half-familiar. Like something I’d read once, long ago. Not enough to place, but enough to make my blood hum with quiet anticipation.
We kept moving, further down the mountain.
Hours passed before the trees gave way to a valley and the village came into view.
Larger than the last. Busy even at dusk. Smoke curled from chimneys. Lanterns glowed in crooked windows. The scent of meat and hearthfire thickened the air. It felt almost peaceful. Almost.
Azriel had flown ahead earlier, and he confirmed what we’d suspected: the thieves had set up camp just outside the village limits. Close enough to slip in and out unnoticed.
We checked into a small roadside inn on the edge of town.
The woman behind the desk barely looked at me. Her gaze never strayed from Azriel, like he was something golden and worth worshipping.
She wasn’t the only one.
In five minutes, three different fae women and one man propositioned him with offers that made my stomach twist. Some offered drinks. Some offered themselves. All of it free. One even reached out and traced a nail down his leathers like she had a right to touch him.
He turned them all down with quiet disinterest. His shadows curled just a little tighter, but I saw how they looked at him, like he was something rare. Something to be devoured.
By the time we reached our room, a small, narrow space with a single bed and not much else, I was ready to snap. I dropped my pack and sank onto the mattress, trying not to glare at the door even though the desperate admirers had long since gone.
Azriel set down his pack. He glanced at me once, then hesitated.
“I’m going to scout the camp,” he said finally, his voice level.
I didn’t look up. I just sighed and shifted. “Okay.”
He paused.
I could feel the concern tightening around him. “Are you okay?”
I forced a smile and nodded. “Fine. Just sore from the trip.”
“I’ll recheck your wounds when I come back,” he said gently. “Apply more balm if you need it.”
Something about the thought of his hands on me again twisted in my chest.
“It’s fine,” I murmured. “I’ll bathe. I’ll check them myself. It’s just stiffness.”
His brows knit. “You don’t have to do that alone.”
“I can handle it.”
“I’ll get food while I’m out, then. Something hot.”
“You don’t need to,” I said, too quickly. “There’s a pub on the corner. I’ll grab something.”
“You’re not going to that pub by yourself.”
“Az—”
“No.” His tone sharpened, firm. “You’re not going anywhere. Not like this. Not when I can’t protect you.”
“I’m not helpless,” I snapped softly.
“I know that,” he replied. “But you’re injured, and I can’t lose you because of something stupid. Please.”
That stopped me.
Azriel never asked. Never begged.
I looked up then. His eyes were steady on mine. Soft. A little tired, but unwavering.
“Fine,” I whispered.
He lingered for a second longer, tension hanging between us, quiet and unresolved. Then he turned, and the door clicked shut behind him.
Silence returned.
I sat there for a long moment, heat prickling behind my eyes, not from pain, but from shame. That entire exchange had been ridiculous. I’d acted like some jealous fool, bristling over attention given to a man who wasn’t mine. Who had never been mine.
Azriel hadn’t flirted with them. He hadn’t even smiled. Still, bitterness coiled in my stomach.
Because he could have them, any of them, and me?
I was sore, stiff, and inexperienced. I wasn’t the kind of woman who knew how to touch a man like him. Not the type of woman who could satisfy him, make him stay.
Not the kind he deserved.
I ran my fingers through my hair, sighing quietly. Unclipped my cloak and forced myself into the bathroom. It was small, but warm, and for once, I didn’t have to use magic to keep myself from freezing.
I peeled away the bandages, cleaned the wounds, and let the hot water work its way into my aching bones. Then, dressed in the softest clothing I had, I crawled into bed.
I tried not to think about the way he’d looked when he said please.
Tried not to wonder if someone else had tempted him before he came back. Tried not to care, but I did, and that was the worst part of all.
Azriel returned just after midnight.
The door opened with the softest creak, followed by the near-silent hush of his boots brushing the floorboards. I didn’t turn, just shifted slightly, the candle on the bedside table flickering low, bathing the room in quiet amber light.
I’d been flicking through reports, or pretending to. Mostly, I’d been watching how the moonlight spilled in long strips across the floorboards, more comforted by its glow than by the words I wasn’t taking in.
“I’m sorry, I’m so late,” Azriel said softly. “I brought pastries. We’ll get something hot tomorrow.”
I kept my eyes on the page. “You don’t need to apologise. I’m not your keeper.”
It sounded fair. Dismissive, even, but the sharpness beneath my words gave me away, the same bitterness I hadn’t been able to shake since early evening.
The air shifted as he stepped inside. Wings folding close. The quiet thud of his weapons and boots hitting the floor. I heard the zip of his pack, the crinkle of paper, the unmistakable scent of sugar and cinnamon.
“I’ll bathe while you eat,” he said, already heading for the bathroom. “Then I’ll redress your wounds.”
I hummed in agreement. He hesitated for a breath, then closed the door behind him with a quiet click. A moment later, steam began curling out beneath the crack.
I reached for the pastry, biting into it: warm cinnamon and honey-coated bread. I’d thought about going out for food earlier, then changed my mind. Azriel would’ve hated that, and he was right. On my own, still healing, I wouldn’t have stood a chance if something had happened.
When I’d finished, I laid out the healing supplies and braced myself for the pain.
By the time the bathroom door opened, steam trailing behind him, I was sitting on the bed, report still in hand but long since abandoned.
My eyes flicked up, too fast to stop myself.
Shirtless. Pants low enough to make my breath catch. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and as he ran a hand through it, humming some quiet, unfamiliar tune, I looked away. Quickly.
“Lie down,” he said gently, stepping toward me.
I obeyed without a word, folding the papers and setting them aside. I shifted onto my back, lifting my shirt slowly to expose the bruises across my ribs.
He knelt beside the bed, uncapping the balm with practised ease. His fingers were cool, steady, his first touch stealing the breath right out of my lungs. I sucked in a sharp inhale, my body curling slightly on instinct.
He caught the motion, the wince I tried to hide.
“You’re doing better,” he murmured, voice low. “Barely any yelling this time.”
“Progress,” I muttered through gritted teeth.
He didn’t laugh. I just kept working the balm deeper into my side, my thumbs pressing in slow, practised circles. The muscles in his forearms flexed with each pass.
“Turn over,” he said, and his hands slid gently to my hips, guiding me. Firm, but careful, like he’d done this before. As I shifted onto my stomach, his palms lingered a moment too long.
Then came the balm again, slower now. More deliberate.
His thumbs found a knot low in my spine, and I groaned into the pillow before I could stop myself. The pain was sharp, but good, a necessary ache. One I’d been carrying too long.
“Sensitive,” he said softly, and I could feel the heat of his gaze even as I kept my face buried.
I didn’t answer. Just breathed through the burn, every nerve alight beneath his touch. It hurt, but it felt like my body had been waiting for this kind of hurt.
“You’re tense,” he said, voice lower now. Rougher. That edge was new. Different.
He pressed again, just above my tailbone, and pain flashed up my spine. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I curled forward with a sharp inhale.
“God, Azriel,” I breathed. It came out softer than I meant. A little desperate.
His hands froze, just for a beat. Then resumed, slower now, moving higher, tracing just beneath my shoulder blades.
“You really do need to start training with me,” he said after a moment, rubbing balm into a deep bruise.
“You just want to take me down,” I mumbled, voice muffled as I bit back another groan.
He huffed a quiet laugh, fingers pressing gently over tense muscle. “No, but that would be a bonus,” he whispered. A breath left me as his hands stilled, then he tugged my shirt down.
I shifted, easing back onto the pillows with a wince. He sat beside me on the edge of the bed. I looked at him. Unfairly handsome, skin golden in the flickering firelight, dark hair still damp. He looked at me like he was on the edge of something, like he couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“You really don’t see it, do you?” he asked.
“See what?”
“How badly I want you.”
The words knocked the breath from my lungs.
He looked away.
“After our last assignment, when we were stuck in that war room for days, I thought I’d made it obvious. I offered private training. Brought you coffee. Showed up to your office every damn day for two weeks.”
“I thought…” My voice faltered. “I thought you were just being kind. I figured maybe you felt sorry for me or—”
“Why would I ever feel sorry for you?”
His voice was soft but fierce. His brow furrowed, his eyes locked on mine.
“I wasn’t sure if you were... uninterested, or already seeing someone. Rhys told me you were single, married to your work, but I didn’t want to assume,” Azreil said.
“You asked Rhys about me?”
His cheeks flushed. “I… did.”
“You want me?”
“I do.” The words came out rough. Honest, like he’d been holding them in for far too long.
Something inside me cracked open. Jealousy flared, raw and sudden. I thought of all the women who might’ve touched him, who knew what to do. I thought of how easy it must be for them.
I had never touched a man, never been wanted like this and never had someone like him.
“I’m not the one for you,” I whispered.
His expression shifted, hurt flickering across his face like a spark. “Did I misread this?”
“No!” I said quickly, stumbling over the word. “No. I want you. God, I do. You make my heart race, Az. But I…”
My hands trembled in my lap. I forced the words out.
“I’m not experienced,” I said at last, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never—never been with anyone.”
For a moment, he didn’t react, then realisation dawned.
“You’ve never…?” he asked gently.
I shook my head, shame crawling up my neck.
“You’ve never had—?”
“Please,” I whispered, heat flooding my cheeks, “you don’t need to say it again.”
“No,” he said quickly. “I’m not judging. I swear. I just… you’re so beautiful. I thought you’d have a line of men.”
“I never found the one,” I said quietly. “And Rhys was right. I got good at being alone. At pretending it didn’t matter.”
Azriel let out a long, uneven breath. His gaze met mine, soft but flickering with something close to desire.
“Can I finally kiss you now?” he asked, voice hushed. “Or are you still waiting for your ‘one’?”
My breath hitched, and I paused.
“I want you to be the one.”
His eyes closed for a beat, like the words broke something open inside him.
“I’ll be your one,” he murmured. “Your only one.”
His hand reached for my cheek, thumb brushing along my jaw, and then, his mouth was on mine.
A soft moan slipped from me as our lips met. It was gentle, careful, as if he were learning the shape of me. His hand braced beside my thigh, the other cradling the back of my head, holding me like something precious.
When we finally pulled apart, his breath was uneven.
“Are you okay?” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from my face.
I nodded, eyes fluttering shut.
He kissed the corner of my mouth, then the hollow of my throat. My body arched instinctively toward him.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, lips grazing my skin, “and I will.”
“I don’t want you to stop.”
He kissed me again, deeper, slower. His body lowered gently over mine, every part of him warm and steady. Skin to skin, we tangled together, his weight comforting rather than overwhelming.
When he slipped my shirt off, I shivered, not from the cold, but from the way his eyes devoured me like he’d been waiting a long time. Like I was something sacred.
“I’ll go slow,” he promised, lips brushing over the centre of my chest, then lower. “If you change your mind—”
“I’ll tell you,” I whispered. “I trust you.”
Something shifted in his gaze at that; his expression softened with unspoken emotion. His mouth found mine again, deeper this time, as he eased me back into the mattress. His hands moved over my skin, mapping scars and bruises, cataloguing the places to avoid, and the ones that made me gasp.
His hands settled at my hips, and my legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. I could feel him, solid and hard, pressed against me, his restraint obvious, his every touch reverent.
He waited at the waistband of my pants, silently asking. I lifted my hips in answer. His breath hitched.
He exhaled my name like a prayer. “God, you’re more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen.”
“Wounds and all?” I whispered, my fingers trailing down his ribs, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“Wounds and all,” he echoed, voice husky.
He kissed down my chest, finding my nipple with his mouth. The sensation curled through me like liquid heat. When his tongue swirled over the sensitive bud, a soft moan left my lips. Then his teeth grazed, gentle but purposeful, and my back arched.
His fingers trailed lower, settling between my thighs. I parted them for him instinctively, and the sound of my own wetness meeting his fingers made embarrassment bloom inside me.
I tensed.
His eyes opened, still half-lidded with lust, and found mine. His mouth didn’t stop its worshipful attention on my breast.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, voice small, heat curling in my belly.
“Why are you sorry?” he murmured against my skin, his thumb brushing over my clit, and I gasped, the sound helpless.
“Because I’m so—”
“Wet,” he finished for me, and I could feel his grin against my chest. “Yes, you are.”
I huffed, half-embarrassed. “I—”
“Don’t ever apologise for that,” he said, almost sternly. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
His mouth trailed lower, kissing down my stomach, slower and slower. I arched involuntarily, my fingers sliding into his hair, desperate for something to anchor me.
“Oh, God,” I gasped as his mouth replaced his fingers.
He moaned against me, the vibration rippling through every nerve in my body.
His fingers began to slide inside me, slow, careful, coaxing me open. I saw stars. His tongue and fingers moved together in a rhythm that defied reason, pulling sounds from me I’d never made before, my moans echoing off the walls, the air charged with something feral and raw.
“Azriel,” I moaned, hips rising off the bed. His free hand gripped them, holding me steady as his tongue worked in slow, sinful patterns. He moaned again, as if drunk on the taste of me.
His fingers curled, there, and I arched again, thighs trembling around his head.
He found that spot again, and again. My whole body locked tight.
“Azriel,” I panted, the pressure building fast, too fast. “I—I can’t—”
I did.
I shattered, falling over something I didn’t know I’d been climbing. The moan that tore from my throat was almost too much for my ears, raw, high, utterly helpless.
Azriel didn’t stop. He kissed me through the aftershocks, slow and reverent, his mouth brushing along my inner thighs as I trembled.
He finally pulled back. I blinked down at him in a daze, watching as he brought his glistening fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, eyes never leaving mine. His lips, chin, and jaw gleamed in the candlelight.
“You taste like heaven,” he murmured, crawling back up to settle between my legs.
At some point, his pants had come off, and I hadn’t even noticed. I was only aware of the ache between my thighs and the way his bare body pressed against mine.
My eyes trailed down instinctively. His hand was wrapped around his cock, pumping once, twice. I gasped softly.
He was… huge. Thick and hard, the head flushed and glistening with precum, nestled in dark hair. Beautiful and intimidating.
“Are you sure you want this?” he asked, voice low but sincere.
I nodded, breathless. “I do.”
His hand moved to my thigh, gently parting me. He positioned himself carefully, the tip of him nudging at my entrance.
“I’ll take care of you,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss me. “I’ll go slow.”
“I trust you,” I said again, voice trembling but steady.
He pressed into me, inch by inch. My breath caught, hands clutching his shoulders as I felt my body stretch around him.
His jaw clenched.
“Fuck—you’re so tight,” he groaned, holding still once he was fully inside, like it took everything in him not to lose control.
I winced, body adjusting. He didn’t move, his thumb brushing soothingly along my side.
“Are you okay?” he whispered again.
I nodded, voice barely audible. “I am.”
Relief flooded his face. He kissed my temple, then slowly, carefully, began to move.
Each thrust was measured, deep and steady. The pain eased into pleasure, and soon I was moaning again, helpless against the rhythm he built between us.
“Oh…” I whimpered, overwhelmed. Every inch of me was alight.
Azriel moaned shamelessly, as if he wanted me to hear how good it felt, like the sounds I made were undoing him.
God… I wanted to keep undoing him.
Azriel’s thrusts deepened, still careful, still measured, but more insistent now, each one dragging a helpless moan from me. The pain had long since melted into something hotter, headier. My body had adjusted to the stretch of him, and now it was only pleasure, sharp, sweet, and building fast.
His hand gripped my thigh, angling my hips just slightly, and then he hit something inside me that made me cry out, my back arching off the bed.
“There,” he groaned, like the sound of me undid him.
“Azriel,” I panted, nails digging into his back. “There, again, please—”
He obeyed. Over and over, that spot, perfectly. I was unravelling, hips rising to meet his, every part of me clenching around him.
“Fuck—god, you feel so good,” he gasped, breath shuddering. “You’re perfect, so perfect—”
The pressure inside me coiled tighter, unbearable in the most exquisite way. I couldn’t breathe. Could barely think.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, kissing my throat. “Let go for me. Come with me.”
His hand slipped between us, fingers finding my clit in perfect rhythm, rubbing tight, slick circles as he thrust deep once more, and I broke.
My orgasm crashed through me like a tidal wave, my entire body arching beneath him. My cry was loud, unrestrained, his name on my lips like a prayer.
Azriel groaned, low and raw, and then he was following me over the edge. His body tensed, shuddered, his hips pressed deep as he spilled inside me, moaning into the crook of my neck. I felt it, the warmth of him, the pulse of release, the way he clung to me like he might come apart.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. Our bodies tangled, breath coming in gasps, sweat-slicked skin pressed together like we were trying to become one.
Azriel shifted, gently pulling out. I winced, and he immediately stilled, eyes searching mine.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, voice hoarse with worry.
“No,” I breathed, hand brushing his cheek. “You didn’t.”
Still, he moved quickly, disappearing into the bathroom. I heard the water run, and when he returned, he carried a warm, damp cloth. He cleaned me gently, whispering soft apologies every time I flinched. His brows were drawn, mouth tight with concern.
“I should’ve stopped sooner,” he murmured, as he dabbed at the inside of my thighs. “I pushed too far.”
“You didn’t,” I said quietly, reaching for him. “Azriel, look at me.”
He did. His eyes were glassy, the weight of everything behind them.
“You were perfect,” I said. “You were everything I needed.”
He let out a slow breath, his shoulders easing just a little. Then he tossed the cloth aside, pulled the blankets up, and gathered me into his arms like I was something fragile.
I curled into his chest, our legs tangled, his warmth enveloping me like a second skin.
His thumb stroked lazily along my spine, up and down, again and again.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked softly.
I nodded against him. “I am. I promise.”
He kissed the top of my head. “I was afraid,” he admitted. “Afraid I’d ruin it for you. That I’d mess it up.”
“You didn’t. You couldn’t.”
A beat of silence.
He whispered, “I’ve never wanted anything this badly before.”
I looked up at him, brushing my fingers through his damp hair. “What? Me?”
He nodded, a little sheepish. “You. Us. This. All of it.”
My heart thudded. “I’ve never had anyone take care of me like that.”
He kissed my forehead. “You deserve to be taken care of. Every time. Every way.”
We lay there in the quiet, heartbeats slowly settling. His shadows danced lazily across the ceiling, like they too had been soothed by the closeness.
“I didn’t think it would feel like that,” I whispered, eyes fluttering shut.
“Like what?”
“Like more. Not just physical, emotional, like it meant something.”
He pulled me tighter to him. “It meant everything.”
We fell into silence, a comfortable quiet. His breathing slowed, deepened. Mine matched it, our bodies pressed together beneath the blankets. My fingers traced idle patterns across his chest, feeling his heartbeat.
Sleep tugged at me, and just like that, we fell asleep curled into each other’s arms.
That morning, we woke in a silence so soft it felt sacred.
The light was just beginning to slip through the curtains, golden and pale, casting a warm glow over the room. Azriel’s arm was still draped around my waist, his breath steady against the back of my neck. I could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat, slow and sure, pressed into my spine.
My body ached in new places, pleasantly sore. The balm he’d applied the night before had done its work; the worst of the bruises and cuts were fading into nothing more than memory, but that deep, unfamiliar thrum from our night together lingered, intimate, impossible to ignore.
I shifted slightly, and Azriel stirred behind me, groaning softly.
“You okay?” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.
I turned in his arms, meeting his drowsy gaze. “More than okay.”
He smiled, small, private, and leaned forward to press a kiss to my temple. “Good.”
We didn’t speak after that; there was no need. We dressed in the quiet, exchanging soft looks and slower movements, as though neither of us wanted to break the fragile spell of our time together. When we finally stepped outside, the world beyond our room felt stiller, suspended.
Mist clung low to the cobblestone streets of the village, swirling around our feet as we walked. The scent of dew and woodsmoke filled the crisp air, and the first hints of dawn light filtered through the tall pines bordering the edge of town.
Azriel’s hand brushed against mine as we made our way toward the thieves’ camp that he had spotted and monitored the night before. We reached the edge of the ridge overlooking the camp, and Azriel stopped without a word.
Below us, the scene was already unravelling. A small group of men moved quickly between crates and bundles, packing up stolen goods with no urgency, as if no one was watching. I could see gleaming weapons, bolts of cloth, sacks of food, rare books and scrolls, all of it looted from the township that night. It was far more than any of the reports had indicated.
Azriel scanned the area, jaw tight, eyes sharp.
He looked at me. He pointed silently to a twisted tree just beyond the ridge. I nodded and stepped behind it, taking cover beneath its crooked limbs. His shadows slithered around me, cool and watchful, like sentinels.
I waited, listening.
A few heartbeats later, the quiet broke. Grunts, the clash of steel, the thud of bodies hitting the earth. Low swearing. Someone cried out, a brief, pained sound, then nothing. Silence returned as swiftly as it had been shattered.
When I peered back around the tree, Azriel stood alone in the centre of the now-empty camp.
The men were gone, but blood trailed across the stone and dirt, dragged in lines leading away into the trees.
He’d taken them, quite and efficiently, without a single scream.
I didn’t ask where they’d gone. I didn’t need to.
Azriel caught my eye and lifted a hand, beckoning me forward with a single motion.
I stepped into the clearing, my boots crunching over gravel and blood-dried leaves. The air was thick with metallic tang, but his shadows curled softly now, lazily winding around his shoulders like they were settling after a job well done.
“The site’s clear for you to analyse,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I contacted Rhys last night after I found their camp. I’ll send word that he can bring the reinforcements to collect the prisoners.”
I nodded, already turning toward the mess of crates stacked near the centre of the camp, but before I could take a full step, Azriel moved closer.
His hand came up, fingers rough with calluses but impossibly gentle as they brushed my cheek. He leaned down and, without hesitation, pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.
“Stay safe, okay?” he murmured.
Before I could reply, he tilted my chin and kissed me, brief and warm.
“I will,” I whispered.
His eyes lingered on me, concern flickering through them. Then he stepped back, shadows rising around him like a second skin, and vanished into the tree line.
I stood there for a breath longer than I meant to, watching the place he’d disappeared, the warmth of his lips still ghosting over mine. I turned back to the clearing, pushing away the strange ache blooming in my chest.
Something was wrong.
Even with the camp emptied, the trees felt too still. The forest air was thick, almost dense. My own wards were faint, barely registering against the magical resistance that clung to the area like fog. Whatever had been here, it had not wanted to be found.
I whispered detection spells beneath my breath as I moved slowly between the remnants, crates, splintered weapons, scraps of parchment and torn maps. I brushed my fingers over them, searching. Nothing.
Until I felt it.
A thrum, not in the air, but in my chest. Like a second heartbeat, low and steady and pulling.
Drawn by instinct, I moved to the far end of the clearing, where a battered canvas tarp fluttered weakly over a makeshift table, and there it was.
A box.
Small. Black. Ornate. Onyx carved with intricate gold filigree. Its jewelled clasps glinted like eyes in the shadows, watching.
It was beautiful, and wrong.
I didn’t think. I reached out. The moment my fingers grazed the lid, a pulse shot through me. Not painful, cold and knowing.
This wasn’t just magic.
It recognised me.
The box tugged, not physically, but in the space between breath and thought. It wanted me, as if it had been waiting.
Another pulse. Sharper. Hungrier.
My mind reeled back six months to a report Rhysand had handed me, almost dismissively. A list of flagged artifacts from a failed transport manifest. I hadn’t cared at the time, barely skimmed it.
This box was in there. High-risk. Highly unstable. Magical containment takes priority.
My fingers hovered over the lid.
Just a bit more, and I’d lift it, just to see, just to know—
“Stop.”
The voice was velvet over steel.
My hand froze.
I turned, heart leaping into my throat.
Rhysand stood a few feet behind me, silent. His violet eyes were locked on the box, as shadows coiled tightly around his boots, magic shimmered at his fingertips, controlled, but ready.
He wasn’t smiling.
“Don’t touch it,” he said again, his voice a quiet command that cut through the silence like a drawn blade.
I froze. My fingers hovered mere inches above the lid, trembling slightly. The box still pulsed, as if sensing my hesitation, as if pleading.
I slowly pulled my hand back. A tingling remained in my skin, like static, or something deeper, something alive, still curled beneath my fingertips.
“You know what it is,” I said, my breath catching in my throat.
Rhysand’s eyes finally left the box and met mine. “I do.”
He stepped forward, but not too close, stopping a few feet from it as though the thing radiated heat or poison.
“It was onboard one of the cargo ships that sank six months ago,” he said, his voice tight. “We thought it was lost to the sea.”
I stared at the box again. The ornate gold filigree seemed to shimmer, catching the faint light like a smirk in shadow.
“What is it?” I asked, my voice quieter now, my spine prickling.
Rhysand’s jaw flexed. He exhaled slowly through his nose. “Inside is a suppression crystal, an ancient one. Looks harmless enough, just a polished black stone. It’s a containment artifact. We use stones like it in the prison to nullify magic.”
A chill crept down my back. My eyes flicked to the box again. The lid sat still and silent, but I could feel it pressing against the edges of my awareness, as if it were listening.
“I felt it call to me,” I admitted, barely above a whisper. “Like it recognised me.”
Rhysand’s expression darkened, the corner of his mouth tightening.
“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t open it,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It doesn’t call to you. It feeds off you. It latches onto whatever power it finds and twists it into submission. Devours it. Then buries itself in your mind until you think it belongs to you.”
The silence after his words felt heavy.
The box said nothing, but it knew.
By the time we returned to Velaris, my entire body ached. Between cataloguing stolen goods, reactivating containment wards, and sending magical documentation to tracking teams, I was running on fumes.
Azriel had taken the lead on interrogating the captives, trying to uncover how they’d gotten their hands on the artifact. Whether they’d truly pulled it from the sea, or robbed the ship before sinking it, no one knew, but it would be days before we had the full picture.
I collapsed into my office chair late that night, surrounded by stacks of parchment, half-read manifests, and exhausted magical seals. The smell of old paper and ink made my eyes sting, and the last thing on my mind, though it tugged at the edges, was the memory of Azriel’s hands on my skin.
I hadn’t seen him since the morning at the camp, and I’d told myself not to expect anything more. That it was just one night.
Which is why I froze when the office door creaked open.
Azriel stepped in, a takeout bag balanced in his gloved hands. The scent hit me before anything else, rich spices and warm bread from my favourite Sidra restaurant.
“Az,” I breathed, stunned.
He said nothing at first, just strode forward and began clearing space on my cluttered desk, setting down the bag with careful precision. Steam curled from the containers as he unpacked them, and my stomach growled on cue.
“I promised you hot food,” he said, glancing up, shadows curling lazily around his shoulders. “And I doubted you’d make time to eat with the mountain of paperwork you always bury yourself in.”
He moved around the desk, reaching for me. One arm wrapped around my hips, pulling me close. His other hand gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear before leaning down to kiss my forehead, then my lips, slow, reassuring, and familiar.
“You really didn’t have to,” I mumbled as he helped lower me back into my chair. He took the seat across from me without a word.
“I couldn’t let my girl work all night on an empty stomach,” he said simply, opening the first container.
My heart stuttered.
“Your girl?” I asked, voice barely audible over the rustle of parchment and paper.
Azriel looked up, brow raised. “What?”
“You said... your girl.”
He blinked once, then the barest smile touched his lips.
“I thought that was clear after last night.”
A slow grin crept onto my face. My pulse quickened.
“Well,” I teased softly, “I guess I am your girl.”
Azriel shook his head with a low chuckle and passed me a warm container.
“You were always my girl,” he said, voice like velvet, eyes like midnight.
Summary: After years of surviving as a mercenary, you are pulled into the Night Court after a dangerous mission forces your path to cross with Azriel, the feared Shadowsinger. What begins as distrust and sharp-edged tension slowly becomes something harder to ignore. Old wounds, dangerous work, and the quiet pull of Velaris begin reshaping the life you thought you had already chosen.
Conent Warning: Violence, blood and injury, death, kidnapping, captivity, torture, trauma responses, discrimination and derogatory language toward humans/half-Fae, alcohol use, sexual content, and strong language.
A/N: This is a collection of One-shots organized in chronological order for a continuous story.
𓆩 𓆪 The Mercenary Problem | Azriel expects a simple retrieval mission, not two mercenaries he neither trusts nor wants—especially a half-human, half-fae female his shadows seem inexplicably drawn to. (07/13)
𖤓˚࿔ Ten Thousand Godsdamned Stairs | You and Devon wander through Velaris, trading insults, sharing street food, and complaining about the Night Court’s brooding Shadowsinger. (07/13)
Description: After days away on a mission, Azriel returns home, desperate for you. Lucky for him, Azriel finds you just as desperate.
Warnings: Porn no plot, p in v, oral sex (m receiving), knife play, gags, choking, hair pulling, rough sex, inappropriate use of Truth-Teller, multiple orgasms, dom!Azriel, sub!reader
A/N: This was a request from a very dear friend of mine, the one who put me on ACOTAR in the first place. To my dear Sugar, eat it up girl. This was so fun to write I’m almost embarrassed. Feel free to send in some requests! Enjoy!
Everyone in the Night Court understood that the High Lord’s shadowsinger worked hard. Azriel knew everything about everyone, everywhere. He spent his days soaring through the skies of Prythian learning what he could and reporting back to the High Lord. No one understood how hard Azriel worked better than you, though. His wife. His mate.
You were the one who waited up on the nights he came through the doors of your bedroom with bags beneath his eyes. You were the one who sat with him when he saw something that made him want to uproot the entire political system of Prythian. You were the one who kissed his scarred hands when they shook in the dark hours of the early morning, when the dreams were too much even for a warrior like him.
Tensions were high in Prythian, following the war with Hybern. Keeping an eye on all of the varying courts and their post-war movements required a lot from the Illyrian spy. Rhysand had even recruited Cassian to do some spy work, in the hopes to alleviate some of Azriel’s workload. Hardly a dent in the mountain of tasks Azriel had before him.
He’d been away for days. Sudden plays from Beron made Rhysand nervous, and when Rhys was nervous, Azriel went snooping. You understood that the safety of the realm came first, that your mate was doing important work and needed to be away so long, but the loneliness that came with his absence was starting to get to you.
You missed his eyes, the depth in them. You missed his voice, and the gentle timber of his voice when he told you he loved you. The occasional check-in you got through the mating bond, a tug of warmth reminding you that he thought of you, wasn’t nearly enough to satiate you. You missed his hands most of all.
Those big, tanned hands, covered in brutal patterns that tell his stories whether he wants them told or not, were your favourite part of your mate. The way his knuckles whitened when he gripped the hilt of Truth-Teller too tightly, the way his fingers flexed when he was nervous, the way they manhandled you whenever he got you alone…
Four days was much too long to have gone without those hands. You had to give yourself credit for trying to get by without them. On the nights where the simmering loneliness turned into a boiling neediness, you’d slip your own hands into your lace panties, close your eyes and dream of your winged spy. You almost hated Azriel in the desperate moments where your fingers tried so hard to imitate his, but ultimately failed to come close, leaving you aching all the days he was away.
After hearing word that Azriel had returned, and feeling a confirming hum zip through your mating bond, you’d been patient as he recounted his findings to Rhys. You’d slipped into a deep purple underthing, made of lace and sheer mesh, and got comfortable atop the bed you shared with your mate. You knew it was only a matter of time before he’d be home to you.
The anticipation already had heat pooling between your legs, your thighs pressing together in a stupidly feeble attempt to ease some of your tension. The minutes seemed to drag by as you waited, your heart pounding much too loudly for your own liking.
When the doorknob shook, your core clenched. He was finally here. Sure enough, the door to your bedroom opened to reveal your mate, still dressed in his Illyrian leathers. Azriel’s seven siphons pulsed with energy, his power barely contained by the mass number of them. His wings were tucked behind his back, and you silently wished they weren’t. Strapped to his thigh, glinting in the candlelight of your bedroom, Truth-Teller sat in its place.
Azriel’s face was unreadable as he stepped into the room. He shut the door behind him, his eyes falling on your frame. You watch his hazel eyes slowly drag over you, the slope of your breasts, barely hidden by lace, the curve of your hip wrapped in purple mesh. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his wings lifting only slightly.
“Aren’t you a sight.” He practically whispered.
“I missed you, Az.” You purred, sitting up on your elbows to stare at him.
His jaw clenched, his fingers flexing. Not nervous, you noted, excited. He let out a deep breath through his nose, almost a sigh. He walked towards the bed, towards you, and your stomach erupted in butterflies.
“I missed you more, pet.”
The coolness in his response sent a shiver down your spine. As Azriel reached the foot of the bed, he circled it, instead of climbing on like you’d expected. He walked over to you, holding a hand out expectantly. You leaned over to him, setting your chin down in his palm, nearly moaning at the contact after so many days. His fingers curled inward, securing a firm, but not painful, grasp on your cheeks.
“Good girl. I didn’t even have to say a word.”
His praise is something you never tire of. He gave you a small smile then, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips.
“How was your trip?” You ask softly, gazing up at Azriel lovingly.
“Long.” Is all he replies.
His thumb traced a gentle line over your cheek, back and forth. His eyes were dark as you stared into them, thin golden irises around blown pupils. Something in them told you, clear as the night sky, that he was in no mood for slow tonight. The trip had been long, and you both knew it.
“Let me welcome you home properly,” you offered, sliding a hand over to paw at the tenting bulge in Azriel’s armour.
He let out a satisfied huff at the contact, releasing your jaw so that you could crawl over to where he stood at the side of the bed. Your hands lifted to his leather breastplate, moving to unfasten it, but his larger hands were quick to swat them away.
“Leave it on. You don’t need to take my shirt off to welcome me.”
You swallowed thickly at his words, arousal pooling in your underwear at the tone he took with you. You nodded, lowering your hands to unfasten his pants just enough to free his already hard cock. Azriel let out a soft breath as your fingers curled around the base of him, your thumb and middle finger almost touching around his width. Your mouth watered as you stared at him, desperate to feel the weight of him on your tongue. A large, scarred hand came down to slide into your hair, the palm resting on the back of your head.
“Go on, pet.” He ordered.
You wasted no time in parting your lips, taking the tip of him between them. He groaned quietly as you took him deeper into your mouth, your tongue gently dragging along the bottom of his dick. The hand on your head pushed you gently, not forcing, but encouraging. You choked, only for a moment, and relished at the growl he made as you did. Forcing yourself to relax, you let him push all of him into your mouth, your throat.
Tears stung in your eyes as he held you there for a moment, his jaw set as he gazed down at you. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he took you in. Azriel’s hand, the one in your hair, curled to make a tight first, the new grip making it easy for him to drag you back off his cock. You licked over the tip as he moved you, tugging against his grip to take him back in your mouth.
“Needy, eager thing.” He taunted, loosening his grip enough to let you set the pace.
You set a simple rhythm, bobbing your head in time with your breaths. You braced your hands on his thighs, sitting on your knees on the bed as you sucked him. The tears in your eyes spilled over, tracing sparkling lines of starlight down your cheeks. Azriel’s free hand lifted, his thumb brushing away some of your tears. You couldn’t stop yourself from moaning around him as he brought his hand to his mouth, sucking away the remnants of your tears.
Azriel’s throat bobbed, his breath coming in hot pants as you quickened your pace. You slide your hands along his thighs, the fingers on your left hand bumping into the hilt of Truth-Teller, where it still sat in its sheathe.
“Careful,” Azriel warned gently, “Don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
The needy whine that left you was muffled around the cock in your mouth, but was certainly not lost on Azriel. His eyebrow cocked, his head tilting to the side like an animal. His grip in your hair tightened once more and he yanked you off his cock. As you gasped for breath, he stared at you, his gaze somehow darkening more.
“That’s how it is, is it?”
“I don’t know what you mea-”
“You like my knife.” Azriel cut you off, watching your face flush with his statement.
“I like you, and the knife happens to be yours, so…” You sass, trying to play off the light embarrassment seeping into you as you sit back on your knees.
“Yeah? Come back here.” He ordered.
You knew better than to disobey him, but you hesitated slightly as you leaned back over to him, now on all fours. You watched with nervous eyes as he unstrapped Truth-Teller from his thigh, pulling it from its sheathe. The metal blade glittered, shadow seeming to leak from its hilt. Azriel flipped the knife in his hand, catching it by the blade with two fingers. He turned his gaze from the knife to you.
“So eager to have that pretty mouth full, aren’t you?”
You nodded. He lifted his knife to your mouth, tapping the hilt against your bottom lip.
“Then open up.”
“You want me to–”
“Did I say speak?” He nearly snarled, his eyes narrowing.
You shook your head, earning a hum of agreement from Azriel. You licked your lips, opening them slowly so that Azriel can slip the hilt of his blade into your waiting mouth. It’s cold, and it tastes like the sweat of his palm. This blade has seen hundreds of battles, thousands of deaths, and more blood than you could fathom. You should be disgusted. Instead, you moan. You hear a humourless chuckle from above you, your gaze snapping up to Azriel’s.
“You like that, huh? I should’ve known. Always such a nasty slut for me. Isn’t that right?”
The tone in his voice has you clenching around nothing, humiliated and so turned on by his words. You tried to respond, maybe to deny his claim, maybe to agree, but all that came out around the hilt of his blade was a garbled moan. You sucked the hilt like you had his cock, keeping your eyes on his approving gaze.
“Fuck, that’s enough.” Azriel growled, pulling the blade from your mouth, “Turn around. Stay on all fours.”
You shuddered, nodding your head as you turned around quickly. Azriel’s hands roamed over your body, trailing over the lingerie you’d picked out for him. His fingers slipped beneath the straps of your top, toying with them by just slightly dragging them off your shoulders. He pressed a kiss to one of your shoulderblades as his hands slid over your stomach. His touch was reverent, a stark contrast to the way he’d shoved the hilt of his knife down your throat.
“Az, don’t tease.” You huffed.
“Not teasing. Appreciating.” He replied, biting down on your shoulder.
“I fucking missed this.”
His words had you melting, his fingers making quick work of your panties. He nipped at the skin of your thigh, your ass, as he dragged the lace down your legs, which had you trembling by the time he ran a finger down your core. He wasted no more time, plunging two fingers into you. You let out a startled moan, your head dropping forward as he slid his fingers in and out at a punishing pace. No more appreciating, then.
“Fuck, Az!” You moaned, earning you a bite on the hip and a curl of his fingers.
“I’ve barely touched you and you’re screaming my name. Is that all it takes, pet?”
“When it’s you.” Your answer is honest, and he knows it too.
His fingers don’t relent, not even as his thumb moves to press your clit. You cry out, clenching down on his fingers. This was what you’d been missing so badly. Your fingers could never do what his fingers did to you now. No matter what you tried, nothing could make you feel like Azriel did.
“I want you to come on my fingers first.” He said, his fingers curving upward to make you see stars.
Even without the order he gave, you were approaching your orgasm quickly. The sparks under your skin snapped brighter, hotter, and you knew you were a goner. A few quick rubs of his thumb had the cord in your gut snapping like a rubber band pulled too taut and you fell over the edge. You moaned his name as he continued to fuck you on his fingers, drawing out your whines and whimpers as long as he could.
He pulled his fingers out of you slowly, bringing them to his lips to suck them clean. You tried to catch your breath, your arms shaky beneath you as pleasure continued to zip through your veins. You choked on a sound at the blunt press of his cock against you, your pussy still clenching from having just come.
“Az, wait–”
“No.”
His patience had been thin the moment he’d landed back in Velaris after his mission. He had none left, not when he could feel your pussy trying to suck him in. Azriel pushed forward, groaning lowly as he sank into your tight heat. You whined at the intrusion, woefully understretched from just two of his fingers. The burn of him was thrilling, the stretch something you relished.
Your mate let out a deep grunt as he bottomed out inside you, stilling for a moment to trace his hand down your spine. Your head spun, dizzy from the feeling of him buried so deep, but you could’ve sworn you heard him mutter a quiet “beautiful” from where he stood above you.
When he drew his hips back and snapped them forward again, you practically screamed. Every nerve in your body was alive, singing at the feeling of having your mate home, having him inside you again. Azriel fucked you hard, not too fast, but deep and steady enough to have you crying out loudly at each thrust.
“You take me so well. Made for taking cock, aren’t you?” He grunted, settling his hands on your hips to pull you back into his thrusts.
“Yes, Az, made for it. I’m a slut for it.”
“That you are, pet. My cockhungry little whore.” He replied, making you moan louder still.
“Faster.” You breathed out, a knot once more forming in the pit of your stomach.
“Any faster and you’ll tell the whole house exactly what we’re up to.” He taunted, but the way his hips sped up betrayed him.
“A-As if they care.” You countered.
“Bite down on this.”
You focused your gaze to see Truth-Teller before you once more. Azriel’s hand carefully held the blade, the hilt balanced delicately in front of your face. You obliged, opening your mouth for the knife once more, sinking your teeth into the leather-wrapped hilt. The sound of your moans were muffled against the makeshift gag, and Azriel took that as all he needed to fully let loose.
He fucked into you without hesitation, his hips slamming into yours again and again. The four posts of the bed groaned as they shook from his movements. You felt a trail of spit slide down your chin from around the hilt of your mate’s weapon, dripping into the mattress below you. These sheets would need to be burned, you imagined. Your cunt clenched around him, making the male behind you groan.
“You’re close.” Azriel said, his voice deep.
You could only nod, even without the gag, the feeling of him rearranging your guts had sent you past the point of coherent sentences. One of Azriel’s scarred hands slid over your stomach and between your legs, two of his fingers rolling over your clit. He leaned over you, biting down on the shell of your ear as he fucked you.
“Come for me. Come because I said so. Because you’re mine.”
The growl in his voice was enough to tip you over the edge, your muscles tensing and relaxing as you came around him. Azriel managed two more harsh thrusts into you before he came with a low call of your name, rocking into you as you rode out your highs.
“Welcome home.” You murmured, once you’d let Truth-Teller fall from your mouth.
“I missed you so much.” He said, smoothing a hand over your side as he slid out of you, “I’ll avoid such long journeys in the future.”
“No, you won’t,” you laugh softly, breathlessly.
“You’re probably right. But I think I’ll keep you right here in this bed until the next one.”
“No complaints from me.”
Azriel chuckled softly, finally shucking off his uniform. His tanned muscles glistened with sweat, his tattoos now on proud display. You found your mouth watering all over again.
“Don’t give me that look. Rhysand told me he needed you to be able to walk tomorrow.” Azriel warned gently, though there was no malice behind it.
“Since when does Rhysand decide how much you get to fuck me?”
You watched something shift in Azriel’s eyes then, his mouth snapping shut as his jaw clenched once more, and you knew you were in for a long fucking night.
Your writing is soooo delicious <3 is there any chance you could write a little something about Azriel and if his mate was a virgin? And maybe she’s a bit embarrassed? If not that’s totally ok! Have a good day!
{Delicate} Reader x Azriel
Now, I know I've been gone for a while. But I always make my return. I'm very much excited to sit at my desk and do no actual work and write this instead. So soft, so fluffy, so steamy. Yearning Azriel just does something to me. You'll see. Mwah!!
Word Count: 5,381
Warnings: Smut, fluff, female reader, innocence kink, praise kink, just a liiiitttlleee teasing and humiliation, hint of possession, unprotected sex, Ally being a tad rusty at writing (gulp😅)
DM to be added to ACOTAR taglist!
Smut Writing Playlist
Summary: Azriel is observant. Too observant. You let him touch you, caress you... a few kisses here and there. Nothing more. He knows you're hiding something from him. He's had enough. He wants to know, he has to know.
~~~~~
AZRIEL POV:
“Can I ask you a question?”
Yn flicks her head, eyes scanning my face. So full of life, so full of light. “Sure.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Perhaps it was my tone in which the words were delivered, or the words themself, but she jumped. Yn flushed from the tips of her ears all the way down her chest.
“Nothing is wrong, my love,” she quipped. “Why do you think something is wrong?”
I shrugged and leaned back against the kitchen counter. Arms crossed. Head tilted to the right. “Don’t lie to me, Yn.”
Her mouth pressed together as she turned back to the cutting board. “I-I’m not lying.”
I push off the counter, letting her feel my steps coming towards her. My hands press against the stone beside her board and I duck my chin down to her shoulder, lips close to her ear. “Really?”
I watched her blink and then quiver. “I’m not.”
“Wanna try that again, flower?”
She huffed and turned around. Boxed in by my arms. I relish the way she has to look up at me. “What is your problem?”
“I’m gonna say something, and it’s going to make me sound like an asshole. But, I need you to let me explain, will you give me that grace?”
Her eyes widen, but she nods.
“You have not let me touch you. Once. It's been nearly seven months my dear, and the most you’ve allowed me to do is askance touches. It is far from a secret how much I desire you. And, of course, it is not all I desire from you. I just wish to know if there is something keeping you hesitant. From before we met. I feel as if we are open and honest, yet this… doesn’t feel candor. I want to be able to touch my mate. To bed you as we please. To worship you the way you deserve to be. But I can’t do that if you don’t tell me what is keeping you from allowing me to do those things.”
I watch a tear prickle her eye. Fear and anger ripple through me with reckless abandon.
“I-”
“Who did it?”
“Huh?” Yn says, “no-no it’s not-”
“Don’t you say it’s nothing,” I snapped. I have to willfully calm my hands before I put them on her cheeks. “Who did it, baby? Who hurt you?”
“Azriel it's nothing like- calm down. Please, it’s not what-”
“Yn, sweetheart, I promise I will find whoever hurt you and shred them beyond recognition. Just tell me, just give me a name, where it happened, anything. I’ll make them-”
“Caldron boil me, Azriel! Just shut the fuck up for two seconds!” She screamed, pushing me off of her. The way her chest rose rapidly, her eyes blinked, her skin an even deeper shade of red. “Gods above nothing happened.”
“What do you mean nothing happened?”
Yn breathes, and I send two shadows to curl around the palm of her hands. Nice and cool to ground her. I can see the endless stream of words form, brew, and strike her tongue. But there is no thunder. No sound.
“My flower,” I pull a stool from the island and sit, able to be on her level. I reach out my palm, inviting her into my space if she wants it. She doesn’t take it. “How could nothing have happened?”
She swallows hard, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Picking her nails. “I mean… nothing has happened. Ever.”
What?
“Yn, what-”
“I’m a virgin, Az. Okay? There, I said it. I’ve never had sex before. I’ve never been touched or kissed or… or held before you came along. It’s not something I’ve ever experienced and I know you want to give it to me and I have no idea how to receive it because you make me so nervous, and I know you shouldn’t because you’re my mate. But you’re so much bigger than I am and I don’t want it to hurt because my sister told me it can and I don’t know how to make it not hurt and I just want-”
“Woah woah woah, take a deep breath baby.”
As if it were my own, her lungs expand and contract with breath.
“Good,” I step into her space. “Can you look at me?”
She does for a moment before darting away. It takes a moment–one that I don’t push–before her gaze returns.
“Now, Yn, why have you been so afraid to tell me? Do you think I would judge you?” Her eyes wander– “Ah ah, look at me, flower. Why?”
“Because it’s embarrassing,” she whines. “I don’t know.”
“Yn, it’s not embarrassing.”
“Yes, it is,” she shakes her head, wiping the tear from her cheek. “It’s stupid that I’ve never had sex. Trust me I’ve wanted to. I just get shy and I don’t know how to formulate any words and-”
“Please, baby, let me help you.”
I can feel the walls she is building up with how she crosses her arms over her chest. “But what if-”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”
“Yes I do.”
“How?”
“Because I’m your mate. And even if I wasn’t, it’s written all over your face. You’re not going to be terrible.” That blush turns purple. It makes it a little harder to focus. Warmth floods every inch of my body when she licks her lips and looks at me head to toe. “Let me help you. You deserve it all baby.”
Please say yes, please say yes.
“Can you-” she breathes in, and then out. “You’ll be gentle?”
My heart cracks in my chest. I’m almost buckled to the ground. “My love, I would never, ever, hurt you. Even seeing you worked up over this conversation is making me sick to my stomach. I promise I’ll take such good care of you, let me do this for you.”
Yn chews on her lip and I hate how many times I’ve imagined doing it myself. I wonder if she can feel my need like I can feel hers.
“Okay.”
“Okay? You’re up for it?”
She nods her head, “yeah.”
I smile and move to stand in front of her. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear those words. And, I promise, I’ll walk you through everything. I will never do something without asking first. If it ever gets too much, you tell me to stop. We don’t have to go all the way if you don’t-”
“I want to, I just need to stop being a little baby about it. I’m a grown woman. I want to have sex and I want to do it with you.”
My smile becomes a smirk. “Let's go to bed, then.”
Our fingers lace between one another, and I lead her up the stairs. The carpet runner on the wood floor pads our steps, dampens the creaking as we make our way down the hall. Our scent hits me like a wall as I open the door and shut it softly behind us.
It’s happening. I’m not sure I’ve been so equally nervous and excited. My mouth waters.
“Now, would you like me to help lead you or just make decisions for you?” I ask, tugging her towards the bed. Her heart is thundering in her chest.
“Uhh, I’m not really sure.”
I chuckle. “I promise I’m not laughing at you. You just have no idea how adorable you truly are, my flower.”
My finger tucks under her chin as I guide her lips to mine. I wait for her to pull away, but she doesn’t. My good, good girl. I pull her closer to me, finally getting a taste of her for the first time. She’s so sweet. So soft and supple. My tongue is so delicate when it touches her lip. I open my eyes and watch her face. She has her eyes closed… She looks so perfect.
Her fingers tighten in my shirt. Her scent is thick in my head. Dizzy… Drowning…
I can’t help the desperate noise that slips through my teeth when she flicks her tongue against mine.
Don’t go too far too quickly, Az. Control. Restraint.
Despite my primal instincts telling me no, I pull away and rest my forehead against hers. “Sit on the bed for me, flower.”
Yn is quick to tuck herself up against the pillows. She fiddles with a thread on the comforter. I stand next to her, too aware of how far away she is.
“Do you want to watch or help me get undressed?” I ask, fingers tingling with need.
Yn folds her legs. She shrugs. “Can I watch?”
“Of course, baby girl.” My thumb hooks under the buckle of my belt. The sound of it pulling through the loops singes my ears. It is so quiet. I can taste the tension.
I pop the button and pull down the zipper. She is watching so intently. It’s not the first time she's seen me get undressed, but it is with this new intention. It sends my shadows rippling across my back and down my wings.
“What do you want me to take off first?” She immediately tenses. “It’s okay baby. This is your fantasy, it’s whatever you want it to be. You’re in control.”
She closes her eyes for a brief moment, sighing out sharply. Her gaze is focused when it lands on me again.
Stop being afraid, I hear her say down the bond. I show no expression; was it meant to be shared or was it an accident?
Doesn’t matter to me.
“Shirt.”
I grin. I make it painful for her. Maybe her endless teases and taunts haven’t been intentional, but it doesn’t mean it hasn’t had any effects. A little payback is okay in my books. The shirt tugs up and over my torso. It takes an extra second to tuck my wings in and out around the slits in the back. I let it fall from my fingers to the floor. I don't rush her as she looks at me.
“What next, my flower?”
The way her tongue scrapes the inside of her cheek… I hope she is writing my name in her gums. Wishing it was me she was tasting. My saliva instead of her own. If I could just grab her face and squeeze her mouth open and drool…
“Pants.”
“Say please,” I cock my head, daring her.
She blinks, “Please?”
Oh. oh good gods…
I take them down slowly. Dragging them down my thighs, taking my time to fold them neatly, letting her imagination run wild. “Only one more piece left, Yn. You're doing so good. Why don’t you come and take it off yourself.”
Her eyes widened. “Can I?”
“Baby, you could do anything you wanted to me and I’d say thank you. Are you enjoying watching?”
She nods her head yes, a small smile on her lips. “Mhm.”
“Good,” I smile, brushing some hair behind her ear when she gets close to me. “Can I take your hands?”
She places her palms in mine. I lay them flat against my chest, letting her feel my heart beating. They are slightly cold, it raises the bumps on my flesh. I drag them down my stomach, letting her fingers catch every ridge in every muscle. Her breathing picks up.
I curl her fingers in the waistband of my briefs. “Look, Yn. Look at what you’ve been doing to me… Gods I can barely stand it. You have no fucking clue what its been like… so sweet…so innocent… take your fingers and pull them down. You can touch me wherever you like, baby.”
She’s so tense. I’m so proud of her for doing this. She deserves everything I’m going to make her feel soon. She's being so brave.
“Good girl, Yn. Just like that. Keep going, nice and slow.”
My cock is aching. I’ve never been so hard. Her nails graze me ever so slightly. Like the tip of a talon, of a razor sharp blade. It excites me beyond compare. Yn works them down my thighs, and I catch the look she sneaks.
“I know it looks scary baby, but I promise it’s gonna feel so good. Your turn.”
“M-Me?”
I chuckle, “Yes, my flower. You can either do it yourself or I can do it for you. What will it be?”
My pretty girl turns red again. I can’t quite understand how she has remained untouched for so many decades. I suppose that means she is all mine… will only be… has only ever been touched by me. Kissed. Fucked… All. Mine.
She rips off her shirt, no finesse or grace, in a pile on the floor to be forgotten about. Same with her pants and undergarments. Her skin is so smooth. Pliable beneath my palms. I want to bite and lick and kiss and scratch and bruise it all.
Focus. Don’t scare her.
“That was quick,” I smiled. Yn shrugged and kept quiet. “Would you like to keep going?”
I get a nod, but I can tell she's nervous. “I do.”
“Good. You’re doing so good, darling.” I kiss her forehead, admiring every bit of her. We lock eyes, only for a brief moment. I’m probably intimidating her.
I kneel.
I watch her face, but keep quiet. Listening to her body language. I rest my hands on her waist, gently stroking her skin with my thumbs. Her eyes look so helpless… I can’t fucking stand it. I just have to kiss her. My mouth presses just above her belly button. The breath leaves my chest, a particularly needy whine I hope she finds desperate enough to want to touch me. I need her hands on me.
I feel her hands slide into my hair. She tugs just enough to hurt and it takes considerable effort to not fall to the side.
“You are so pretty, baby. It’s so hard to control myself,” I say, my grip on her tightening. The indentations of my fingers in her skin is holding me hostage. They way her body conforms to mine, how it responds to my touch…
I keep kissing her. It’s the only thing I can do.
My tongue slides up her side and I can feel her shake against my mouth. “Doing okay, baby?”
I look up and she has her eyes closed, mouth parted open. “Mhm, it feels nice.” She smiles and caresses my face. “Keep going, please.”
“As you wish, my flower,” I smirk, standing up. “Come sit in my lap.”
I crawl onto our bed and sit with my back flush against the pillows. Her knees straddle mine, and I have to ease her down onto my thighs. “Just like that, Yn. It’s alright. Good good job, baby. Still feeling okay?”
“It makes me more nervous when you ask all the time. Like I'm being pulled out of the moment. I appreciate the check in, and thank you for caring about me. I will tell you if I don’t like something, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I shot her a wink and received one in return.
I lean up to catch her lips, and this time she is not shy. Our mouths tangle, and she wastes no time getting comfortable. Arms around my neck, thighs squeezing mine. I sink into the way she doesn’t pull away from me when I prod her mouth open.
This is how things have always been meant to be. She follows me, copying what I’m doing. She even gets a little bold and pulls my lip between her teeth. Just a gentle tug, but it goes straight through my stomach in between my legs.
“Oh, I see how it is,” I whisper against her mouth.
She giggles and kisses me again. “This is fun.”
“I’m so glad, baby.”
I let her take her time. I’ve gathered that she loves playing with my hair. It’s a good thing the inky black strands look good curled around her fingers. My hands roam all over; her legs, up her sides and down her back. I test the waters with my nails. Yn recoils into me, gasping. I soothe the ache with my palms, cooing her and kissing her neck.
She grinds into my thigh.
“Aww baby, did that feel good?”
“Yes, Az,” she nods, voice light and airy.
Guiding her hips, I push them back and forth across my lap. “Good girl, Yn. Just like that, baby. Give me your hand.”
Yn places her fingers in mine, and I wrap them around my aching cock. She fumbles out unintelligible words, then quiets down. Gently, I have her stroke up and down. My heart is in my throat. I can barely breathe. This exact moment has been imagined so many times in my head, and it could not be any sweeter.
“Oh… Gods, Yn,” I sigh.
“Is it okay?” She asks, letting the pad of her thumb circle the tip. Spots dance in my vision.
“Mhmmmm,” I hum, letting my head lull back. “Please don’t stop.”
Up and down… up and down… so slowly. It’s torture. Yet genuine, unadulterated bliss. The shadows sizzle around us, cocooning our bodies in a blanket of darkness. She looks divine encased in my entity. Her hands drape over my shoulders, and the tip of her fingers craze my wing. I jolt and whine out louder than intended.
“I’m sorry, did that hurt?”
“No no,” I heave, swallowing despite the lack of moisture coating my tongue. “Quite the opposite, baby. Just wasn’t expecting it. They’re very… sensitive.”
“Oh,” she nods. “I’ll be more careful.”
“No need. I’ll just make sure I get compensation.” I ease my thumbs towards the inside of her thighs, sweeping them across the plush skin. She watches as I caress towards her warmth. I can see how wet she is.
“Aww, baby. Do you want me to touch you that badly?”
Yn nods, scraping her nails down my neck. “Yes. Please.”
“I didn’t even have to remind you to use your manners. What a good girl.”
Yn throws her head back as I touch her core. When I imagined this moment, many, many times, I always knew it would be intimate. This, however, feels almost confidential. I am no stranger to the way Rhys and Cassian have talked about their personal lives. Perhaps they’ve been a little too cavalier. I could never imagine telling them these sickly sweet details. They must be kept safe, all to myself.
Yn shivers and bucks her core into my hand. “More.”
“Anything.”
Using my wings for leverage, I flip her over, spreading her knees nice and wide for my hips to fit in. I crawl down and waste not a second diving my tongue in. Her thighs immediately clamp around my ears. Gently, but with pressure, I push them flat.
“Oh my gods, Azriel,” she heaves.
I use the broad, flat expanse of my tongue to warm her up. I know she's sensitive. I don’t want it to hurt. Judging by the way she grinds against it, I’ll go ahead and assume that she’s enjoying it thus far.
Yn threads her fingers in my hair, again, and tugs. Hard. I groan against her, licking directly on her clit. Chills spread across her stomach, and they echo down my back. She must really let herself relax because the bond floods with pleasure. I have to grind my dick into the bed just to get some relief. How am I going to survive this?
I peek up at my love, pleased to find her watching me. Her lips are puffy and red, and her eyes are heavy lidded. It only makes me want to give her more.
I pause for a moment, memorizing the taste of her in my mouth. “Do you want me to make you cum now or on my cock, Yn?”
My baby freezes. Like a moth drawn to a flame, completely encapsulated. “I- I umm… I don’t really know?”
My fingers stroke up and down her thighs. “That’s okay. You like the way my mouth feels?”
She nods. “Yes.”
“Do you want me to keep going?”
“Please.”
“Bleeding hells, baby,” I whisper, crawling up her body. “Kiss me.”
She does without a second thought. The gasp she releases into my mouth feels like a bucket of cold water.
“You like the way you taste? So do I. So perfect, so rich and healthy,” the words flow through me. Only when it comes to Yn do I get this vocal. This woman has brought me so far out of my shell. I can’t believe I had to wait so long before becoming this version. I only have her to thank. “I’ll keep going. Can I ask you another question?”
“Mhmm,” Yn hums.
“Do you touch yourself? When I’m not here? Don’t feel ashamed if you do. I just want to know if you know what it feels like.” It is hard watching her battle with her thoughts. She’s so flustered, and, I hate to admit it, it’s so fucking hot.
I get a nod in response. “I know what it feels like.”
“Then let that feeling guide you, my flower. You can cum whenever you want.”
My hypothesis is that if I don’t give her time to stew in her head, she’ll let go and get comfortable quicker. My tongue laps over and over again against her soft pink skin. Tension releases from Yn’s body as she molds into the mattress. It bleeds down the bond and I’m able to focus on the only thing that matters.
The shadows leech out in every direction, cloaking the bed in darkness. They are restless. Desiring a task. I let them coast along her skin. I get so much information from them. How warm she is, the muscle twitches and aches. Or how when I use too much teeth and she flinches away. By the time I soothe my error, she’s calmed and settled.
I curl my fingers and dig into her skin, making her cry out.
“Too much?” I ask?
“No, no please don’t stop, I’m close,” she babbles, tossing her head back and arching into me.
I push my tongue flat and shake my head back and forth, adding just enough pressure. A well balanced line between too much and not enough, and I know, with time, that that line will become clearer. And I will be able to bend her to my will as I please.
I press my elbows into her legs, keeping them still as she squirms uncontrollably. I smile against her cunt. She's taking me so well. Her hips grind against my face, and I try to follow where she wants me.
“Oh my gods right there right there right there,” she murmurs. I feel her clench her stomach. Her breath is hard, short bursts. When she lets go, Yn goes rigid and locks her legs around my head, forcing me to keep going. As if I would stop. I lap gently, bringing her back down at a steady pace. When she goes completely lax against the bed, I stop, pressing a few kisses to her tummy.
“Feel good, baby?”
“Mhmmmmm,” she coos, eyes closed. Completely sprawled out. “Thank you.”
“Of course baby. Anything for you.”
I rubbed up and down her back when she rolled over on her side, I moved hair out of her face. Her cheeks are bright pink, lips still red and puffy. I wish I could’ve seen her biting them. Next time.
I can’t help but fist myself and stroke.
After a few moments, she peaks an eye open. “Welcome back.”
I get an eye roll. “Need help with that?”
My eyebrows go up. “I’d love some.”
Yn sits up and takes over, doing to me what I did for her. Soft and gentle tugs, and light kisses on my stomach. It’s an effort to remain standing, all of the muscle I’ve acquired over the decades does little to keep me from melting into the fucking floor.
I watch her look from my cock to up at me. Her mouth is so warm, even just her hesitant breathing before her tongue touches my skin. My noises are embarrassing. Needy whines.
“What a good girl, Yn,” I smile, collecting the length of her hair in my palm. It's just a few licks, but I can tell she’s nervous. “Come here.”
Yn kneels on the bed so she is at my level. Well, more my level. “Yes?”
“We’ll work up to it,” I explain. “I can feel you’re nervous. No need to push anything. Lay down.”
With her back against the pillows, I have her spread her legs, and I take the time to kiss all over. Across her chest… up her neck… I bite her ear. I capture her lips and hope she likes the taste of herself as much as I do.
When I pull away, I keep her eyes. “Are you ready?”
“You’re gonna go slow, right?”
“Of course, my flower,” I thumb her cheek. “You have to tell me if I need to stop, okay? Or if something doesn’t feel right, I need to know. I don’t want to hurt you. I will go at your pace.”
“What do I need to do?”
“Nothing, pretty girl,” I smile. “Just relax and enjoy.”
She smiles. I can’t help but kiss her. It’s so wonderful.
I place a pillow under her hips to make it as comfortable as possible. I just look at her spread out before me. Tits plump and bouncing with every shift on the bed. Her hair is splayed out around her.
She looks like a goddess. I know she’s going to feel like one too.
I line myself up. My heart is racing so fast. This is not a process that can be rushed. I know it won’t be pleasurable at first. Distant, in the back of my mind I worry if she will feel any pleasure from this at all. I start small. I keep a close eye on her face. One hint of pain and I will rescind.
Yn’s eyes are closed, but her face isn’t contorted in pain. I push a little more, finally able to feel more warmth. It wraps around me. She's so soft. And so, so, so wet. The arousal hits me in my throat. The slight sweat I worked up earlier cools the back of my neck, but prickles my scalp.
I push a little more. Yn shifts slightly, but doesn’t make any noises. It takes a few minutes, but eventually, I’m seated all the way inside her. I had a feeling she would be tighter, but it feels like it should be hurting her.
“You’re okay, baby?” I ask, just to be sure.
“Yes, Azriel,” she sighs. “Are you okay?”
I chuckle. “I’m not quite sure.”
She leans up and kisses me. “I love you.”
My heart soars. “I love you, too. So so much.”
With my hands planted on either side of her, I pull out. I’m not sure I’ve been so aware of my body before. Even when learning how to fly, I needed severe effort on my spatial awareness at every waking moment. This is somehow an even more desperate attempt at attention. I want to lose myself in her, in her body. And I have to fight every single urge. They want to pull me in a thousand directions and I cannot follow a single instinct.
Yn lets loose a soft sigh, adjusting slightly before fully relaxing into the sheets. “Feels good, Az.”
“Good, good,” I nod, kissing her neck.
I move a little more, careful not to push too deep. I get to a steady pace and lean down to my elbows, using my knees to support more weight. My wings aid in the effort as well, splayed out, casting shadows over our bodies.
“This feels… fuck me, Yn…” I can’t believe I’m at a loss for words. I always have something to say when it comes to my Yn.
This will be over so quickly. Yn scoots a little closer and I feel her legs drape across my lower back.
“Woah, baby I don't know if–”
“I’m okay, honey,” she kisses my cheek. “Your arms are shaking, you can take what you need. It feels good.”
She must notice the way my eyes glaze over because a look of wonder crosses her features. I grab her waist and thrust. Not too hard, but harder than I had been. I do it a few times, realize she is okay, and forget about my worries. I trust her. I know she will stop me if something isn’t right.
She wants me to feel good.
She wanted to make me feel good.
What a woman.
Our bodies rock together, and the bed along with it. She holds on, her nails digging into my back as I drive into her.
Between breaths, “My gods, baby. You’re so good at taking me, you’re doing such a good job.”
“Azriel,” she moans. “Fuck, you feel so good.”
“Oh, oh fuck Yn,” I tuck my head down, drawing her nipple into my mouth. She cries when I bite down. The first mark on her skin from my mouth. Definitely not the last, by any means. Everyone will know she is mine. Has only ever been mine.
I can feel my release building. My hips fumble to keep steady, but she keeps drawing me back in, meeting my thrusts. She scrubs her nails into my hair, tilting my head.
“Go on baby, fill me up.”
It's deep in my chest, the noise that tears through me. I can only manage a few more conscious thrusts before my body chases the release. I grind into her, making her squeal, and cum harder than I ever have before. Black spots dance behind my eyelids. I didn’t realize I was biting her until she shoved my head away. I lap at the sore indentations of my teeth, pathetically thrusting into her at the same time.
“Holy fuck, Yn,” I gasp for a breath. “Gods above… What have you just done to me?”
She giggles, kissing my temple. “I should be the one asking that question.”
I relax onto her, wings dropping and blanketing us. She soothes my arms, kneading the muscle. I could fall asleep. Before we get cozy, I pull out and admire the mess I’ve made. It dribbles out of her onto the sheet. It shouldn’t be so appealing, so intense. And it definitely shouldn’t make my cock twitch.
“Are you feeling good?” She yawns, stretches, and curls a pillow against her face. “I’ll take that as a yes. Don’t get too comfy. We need to get cleaned up, baby.”
“Mmmmmnoooooo,” she grumbles, trying to tug the blanket up before I snatch it away.
“Nope, come with me. We’re taking a bath. Lets go,” I grab her ankle and pull. She comes easily after that.
The large basin is full of warm water, and the candles are lit in an instant. I help her in, grinning at how shaky her legs are. It shouldn’t feel like such an accomplishment. I nestle behind her, chest fluttering when she nestles into my shoulder.
I take the sponge and drizzle on some soap. I scrub all over her, taking the opportunity to learn every freckle, every line, ever curve and dip. It is incomprehensible how soft her skin is. I almost feel bad for touching her with my hands; calloused, worn and marred with scars.
Something that she has always done is kiss them, my hands. It is touching in a way I can’t describe. Makes me feel… whole. Not less for being imperfect. She saw I was worthy of her love, and it’s something I will never take for granted.
“I love you more than life,” I whisper against her hair.
“I love you more than the stars,” she says.
“More than Bramble?” Her stuffed piglet toy.
“Know your limits, bat,” she pokes my side, and I feign furry. I splash her, and she splashes me.
We laugh, we splash around, and we kiss. We kiss and kiss and kiss. And everything is perfect.
When you find a guy on a dating app, (yes, I know) and ya'll getting along fine. Like fr, everything is good! He makes you laugh etc... but somehow, they find this place in this fun, innocent banter, that they're like: "oh, hey, here's me lounging on the couch in flannels...see my dick outline?" and we're like, "really?" And they act confused.
Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 1.9k | warnings: brief sexual language
Summary: Azriel is quite smitten with you, a fact he doesn’t want to confront until he overhears an intimate moment between you and his brother
Azriel strolled through the House of Wind, the chill of the halls raising the hair on his arms. He had several plans for the day - the biggest one was to search for Solstice gifts. He went over the list of gifts in his mind, half of his family’s gifts accounted for. He had already gotten gifts for Rhys and Feyre, he had picked up nail jewels for Mor, and something for Amren that the sketchy fae who sold it to him had warned ‘not to look at directly’. But he had yet to pick up gifts for you and Cassian.
There were still a few weeks before Solstice, but if Azriel didn’t have his gifts ready at least three weeks in advance, it made him spiral with nerves and anxiety, causing him to bring gifts of lesser quality.
And Azriel hated losing at anything, even gift giving.
The only ones left to buy for were you and Cassian. He could stroll the streets and vendors of Velaris this afternoon, finding the perfect gifts for you and Cassian before dinner.
The two of you had plans to meet for dinner out in Velaris - you insisting Azriel had to try this new restaurant with you, and Azriel taking any chance he could to bask in your warmth.
His long legs carried him through the halls, halting when he heard your sweet voice through a doorway. He paused outside of your room, the sound of delicious moans coming from your mouth.
He felt his pants tighten, his shadows start pawing beneath the door, wanting desperately to take a peak. o, Azriel wouldn’t violate your privacy like that. He yanked the shadows back, watching them pull as if they were on a lead. No, he’d stand outside your room just listening to you touch yourself.
Because that was better.
He shook his head, shaking the arousing pictures from his head, the hope that maybe you were thinking of him. He picked up one of his feet, not wanting to leave but not wanting to get caught listening when your voice came through the door, the words from your mouth like a bucket of water over his body.
“Mmm, Cassian.”
He stopped, his brother’s chuckle coming from under the door as well. His foot hovered in the air, his body unable to move. Had he gotten things wrong again? Had he put too much stock into the small touches, the lingering gazes, how the two of you seemed to linger after everyone else had departed?
How had he gotten this wrong again?
He continued down the hallway, his shadows swirling and bouncing off the walls as his thoughts raced, trying to figure out where he had gotten it wrong once more.
He headed toward his room, his plans for the day changing immediately to include wallowing in his chambers.
Alone.
Just like he always found himself.
-
A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts, your voice coming through the door instead of the lingering remnants of your sighs in his mind.
“It’s me.”
Of course you would come check on him. He had one of his shadows leave a note for you that he couldn’t make it to dinner. He should have told you he was out working, but he hated lying to you. The thought of it churned his stomach, which was why he decided to tell you he wasn’t feeling well, which wasn’t technically a lie anymore.
He opened the door, stepping to the side to allow you in. You entered his room, carrying a tray with a water pitcher, a couple of glasses, and a bowl of soup he could see steam rising off of.
The sight made him close his eyes, his heart beating around his chest, unable to calm down. You were so impossibly sweet, even when you were breaking his heart. A small part of him wanted to play pretend - to lay in the warmth of your gaze and affection, make a home in your attention, forgetting all about what he heard this morning.
That wasn’t possible now, and it wasn’t possible this morning, Azriel having forgone his shopping plans, opting to stay in his room, listening to your moans over and over.
Your concerned eyes pulled him from his trance, a shadow whispering your moans from earlier into his ear.
Right. The Cassian of it all.
He sighed, watching you drop the tray off at his desk before pouring him a glass of water, the condensation from the carafe dripping onto the floor.
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“You’re not feeling well - you never cancel plans. I knew you had to be knocking at the Mother’s door if you were cancelling on me.”
Had he always been that obvious? Had you and Cassian thought his affections a mere joke?
“Well, uh thank you I-”
His words were cut off as your hand reached his forehead, your tongue sticking out as you stood on the tops of your toes to reach.
“No fever, but you feel a bit clammy. What were your symptoms?”
“Really, sweetheart, you don’t have to-”
The nickname fell from his lips naturally, and he stopped speaking at the realization of what he had done.
“When did they start? Have you been eating? Drinking? Here.”
You pushed the cold water glass into his hands, and he accepted it, taking a sip from it.
“Good, good.” You muttered, pouring yourself a glass.
You were being so sweet, so nice to him, and all he wanted was to curl back into his bed and wallow in self-pity. One of his shadows hit him in the head to get him to focus back on you.
He can’t live in this misery anymore. He has to just get it out there that he knows, then he can move on, fall for another unattainable female.
Again.
“I’m happy for you. And for.. Cassian.”
There. He did it while rubbing the back of his head, trying to soothe the spot the shadow hit. He said the hard part out loud, but your quirked brow did little to soothe the ache in his chest.
“What did we do?”
His mouth dried, unwilling to explain this even further to you.
“On account of your uh relationship with Cassian?”
You spit out your drink unceremoniously, water covering your front. You start coughing while Azriel grabs a rag for you and you dabbed at your shirt as you asked, “what relationship with Cassian?”
Azriel tries not to scream as he has to choke out, “ya know - you two are together in some capacity?”
You laugh, a big uproarious laugh that nearly knocks him off his feet. What was going on? Surely the two of you had been sneaking around in some capacity. Why were you so amused by the fact that he knew?
“I’m not seeing Cass. I’m not seeing anyone - especially not Cassian!”
He stills, his brain working overtime to connect pieces that aren’t there.
“But you- I heard you earlier..”
His voice trailed off, the tips of his ears heating pink.
“You heard me what?”
He looked at you incredulously, unable to believe you were going to make him spell it out. He could feel the blush creeping across his cheeks and nose as he said, “I could hear you and Cassian… ya know…”
Your eyes were wide with bewilderment, still not grasping what he wasn’t saying.
“I know…?”
He huffed, “I heard you moaning Cassian’s name earlier.”
It was your turn to be flustered and red, spluttering at being caught. The spymaster part of Azriel wanted to hum in delight, having caught the perpetrator in a lie. But the romantic side, the part of him that was deeply in love with you just wanted to shrivel up and blow away in the wind knowing his brother has gotten to be with yet another female his heart soared for.
“Um,” you stutter, and Azriel would find you so endearing if you weren’t blushing over Cassian’s hands all over you.
Azriel shook his head, trying to remove the unwanted thoughts and pictures once more.
“Cassian uh.. We were training earlier, and Cassian,” he filled in the gaps of your story as you paused, wanting to stop you from explaining in detail how his brother got his grubby hands on you, “Cass and I were sparring, and his practice sword hit me pretty hard in the back.”
Oh god, you were using euphemisms for his brother’s cock.
“It caused my back to spasm pretty bad. Cass felt terrible, so he carried me to my room and gave me a massage.”
Cauldron, just stop with euphemisms.
“So are you two a thing now?”
“A thing?”
“Yeah, you two fucked because of training.”
How stupid did you think he was?
“Az, I think you’re confused. Cassian massaged my back. I have a massive bruise from where he walloped me.”
You turn, pulling up the back of your shirt to show him. Aziel practically short circuited at the sight of the bruise on your back. It was massive, and he could make out the clear outline a sword hilt.
He felt his stomach bubble in anger at his brother, but for a different reason. How could he be so rough with you? How could he be so careless with you. His thoughts whirled before he stilled at the expression on your face.
“Were you… jealous, Az?”
“No.”
It came out quick and clipped, and one of his shadows hit the side of his head in annoyance. You stepped forward, your body only a few inches from his own.
“So it wouldn’t bother you if I went on a date with Cassian?”
His fingers formed a first, and he exhaled slowly, “no, it wouldn’t bother me in the slightest.”
“What if I went on a date with his brother?”
“Rhys is-”
He stopped, looking down at you, taking in your words.
“A date? With Cassian’s brother?”
You take your lip between your teeth as you look up at him, and he desperately wants to take your lip between his own, pulling you into his arms, He doesn’t. Instead, he listens as you say, “I heard he wasn’t feeling well, but maybe when he’s feeling better we could get dinner.. Maybe walk along the Sidra..”
He raised his eyebrows as you pressed your body closer to his. “The latest report I received said he was feeling better.”
He wanted to run his hands across your forehead as your brows quirk, “any reports about his availability tonight?”
You were bouncing on your feet before him, and if he didn’t find you adorable enough, the action would have made his heart soar with endearment. He hummed, enjoying watching your palpable excitement over him. “My reports say he’s available around seven.”
You peer at the clock in his room, the minute hand showing it was only a few moments until seven.
“I’ll be there to pick him up at seven.”
He watched you pull away, his body already missing your warmth, stepping outside his door. He waited, standing in the same spot, unable to move like a lovesick fool until the clock in his room chimed seven times, the last chime immediately followed by a quick knocking at his door. He opened the door to find you standing there, a small bouquet in your hand. He had no idea how you procured it in such a short amount of time, but your big grin made him stop thinking entirely.
ellievsbear
areudirty
stormborns
2087
yousharknotpass
turnnoffyourmind
jacobvanloon
gracieabrams
dailybridgerton
snowghoul
amandla
tangentwithtanner
