Hey everyone! I’m Katie (she/her - 23). I write stuff. Masterlist is here! Empty blogs will be blocked and marked as spam. Follow my second account for my reblogs: @mcuamerica-reblogs
Disclaimer: All my works are FICTION. Nothing pertaining to the characters and/or actors are to be taken as fact. I do not own characters (unless I create an OC, in which I will be sure to mention), actors, tropes, or titles. This is a hobby of mine to relax and take a step back from the real world. If you ever have an issue with something I write, please feel free to send in an ask or comment on my post. I am human and will continue to learn from my experiences and research. I do not agree to my works being reposted or published on any sites. Enjoy!
A/N: Requests are open! Choose from the prompt list if you want!
Please read these guidelines before requesting anything!
Feud For Two - Abandoned
Chris Evans
Steve Rogers
Tom Holland
Peter Parker
Tony Stark
Azriel
Eris
Extras
Summer Nights | Tarquin x Reader
Biscuits & Jam | Cassian x Reader
Cassian Appreciation Week - Day 7 Submissions
Mating Bond | Cassian x Reader
Most Idiotic Mate | Cassian x Reader
Sometimes I remember how awful it must have been for Steve Rogers in 2012.
It wasn't even the fact that he woke up in the future, all his friends except Dum Dum and Peggy were dead, and he was still mourning Bucky, who, for everyone else, had died decades ago, but the very fact of society's expectations for him.
Steve was awakened from the ice, and people expected the great Captain America, whose myth had grown over the years, the experience and wisdom of a hundred-year-old man…
And Steve was a goddamn 26 years old.
He was the youngest member of the Avengers at the time and people looked up to him and expected a mentor. Even the fandom forgets this and says Steve and Thor are the oldest, when Tony could practically be his father.
Azriel x Fem!Reader where reader is frustrated with herself for not being able to complete a training course (or something). Az and her have been mated for a few years and she feels inadequate because she can’t get it done and doesn’t feel like she’s equal to Az. Az comforts her and tells her how they balance each other???
All the fluff and comfort - and a little angst.
Purpose is Glorious
Request: Azriel x Fem!Reader where reader is frustrated with herself for not being able to complete a training course (or something). Az and her have been mated for a few years and she feels inadequate because she can’t get it done and doesn’t feel like she’s equal to Az. Az comforts her and tells her how they balance each other???
Hi! So sorry this took me so long to get out. I had so many ideas for this fic, I just didn’t know how to wrap it up. I’m still getting the hang of writing for Azriel. Not in love with the ending, but hopefully you like it. Thank you again for the request :)
(Warnings: vague mentions of war and injury, kinda only halfway proofread, let me know if i’m missing anything)
—
Just like the rest of your family, you’d been Cauldron made — reborn, with new senses, a new body, new friends, a new home. Practically everything about you had changed, most of which you had gotten used to over the years.
But what didn’t change? Your borderline pathetic lack of stamina.
Growing up after your Mother’s death and your Father’s injury, you and your sisters were responsible for keeping the family afloat. Nesta’s beauty and Elain’s gentleness were their weapons. Seeing as neither of them hunted or did much physical labor, their best contribution to the family would be marrying rich. As for Feyre, she hunted and traded at the market for food and necessities. Each had their role to play, and though it was hard, you always managed to make ends meet.
Your contribution was your brain.
You didn’t have much schooling, but you quickly grasped what little you could, and in your spare time, you sharpened your wit as best you could. You studied the habits of the hunters in the village, and the secrets of their wives in their gardens. The way the weather changed, and the migration of the animals with it. You memorized the best paths to get you where you needed to go, which were quickest and most efficient. You were good with numbers, in charge of the funds you spread out from the beginning of the month till the end, always knowing how much or how little you could spend on necessities and what you could afford to waste on pleasure. You were good with your hands. Instead of buying new coats or shoes when they ripped or scuffed, you learned how to mend them until they had been used to their full value.
Nesta would come to you when her dresses had gotten too big in the waist. You knew it was from the lack of food during a particularly harsh winter, but you’d never say anything.
“Too much walking,” you’d muse, standing behind her as you fiddled with a needle and thread while she watched you work in the mirror. “I take this in another inch, and you’ll disappear.”
She couldn’t help but crack a grin, though it was gone as fast as it came. “Jealous?”
You scoffed, playfully poking her with the dull end of the needle. “Hardly.”
When winter turned to spring, and the flowers began to bloom, Elain would ask for your help in the garden.
“Last year, I planted chamomile but they never grew. I wanted us to have tea.”
“That’s because you planted them in the summer,” you answered, kneeling next to her with the watering can as she dug up a patch of soil for the seeds. “It rains too much in the summer. Spring is a bit drier, but still warm.”
She playfully rolled her eyes, glancing up at you with a gentle smile. “Of course you’d know that.”
Feyre would come to you for lots of things, always the closest to you out of your siblings. Whether it be mending her bow, or crushing up plants, berries, and shells for paint, there was always a task you could busy yourself with for her.
“How much fish do I need to buy at the market tomorrow again?” She asked one evening, her palm resting on your knee as you gently removed the splinters in her fingers that she got while chopping wood.
“Five pounds will get us through next week, spend the rest on starches and grains,” you replied, frowning at the way her forearms tensed when her muscles spasmed. “Swing the axe like I showed you next time.”
“It’s too heavy,” she huffed, as if resigned to a life of splinters if it made chopping wood even a fraction easier.
“I know it’s heavy. But you’re not putting your weight into it like I showed you. Swinging like you do makes the axe vibrate and cut you up like this. If you kept your hands one at the top and one at the bottom, it would be easier to lift and drive down. I read that in one of those pamphlets the Beddor son is always trying to sell. As if he invented good form.”
At the mention of the pamphlet, you could see Feyre curl into herself. She could hunt and cook and trade and sell, but her inability to read always discouraged her, no matter how often you told her she was keeping the family afloat.
You finished pulling out the splinters, wrapping her hands. “I’ll show you again tomorrow, and I’ll take your turns chopping for the week while those heal. Show me how you made those snares in the woods? I fixed your bow and sharpened your arrows. We can look for rabbits.”
In lighter spirits, your youngest sister nodded.
—
Once you’d adjusted to your new life, it wasn’t long after when the mating bond snapped between you and Azriel.
It wasn’t exactly a surprise. You’d been quietly pining after each other since you’d met. Where one of you was, the other wasn’t far behind. It was a natural transition from your budding relationship into mates. Much easier than the transitions your sisters had been through with their mates. Small mercies, you supposed. But despite that, sometimes you just couldn’t figure out why the Cauldron would draw you together. Even after a few years, it still didn’t make sense to you sometimes.
When the war had ended and the Courts had settled, everyone had more downtime. Even Azriel could be home more, his duties as spymaster not needed as much while there was a silent but mutual agreement for peace. Like his brothers, he’d taken to training in his spare time.
He and Cassian had trained Feyre when she’d first settled in the Night Court. He’d even taught her to fly, like his brothers did for him all those years ago. When you first came to Velaris with your sisters, they began training Nesta once her abilities started to manifest. Elain didn’t train much, but to her credit, her abilities were impressive in a different kind of way. Your sisters were all strong, and they had the war to prove it. But you? For the most part, you’d stayed home. Coming up with battle plans, helping Cassian with the logistics. You’d helped Rhysand draft correspondence to the other High Lords, which was always a headache and a half. You weren’t of much use on the battlefield. If anything, you were more trouble than you were worth. They’d have been constantly worrying about your wellbeing more than the battle at hand, and you couldn’t put them through that. So, you stayed back and helped wherever else you could.
After the war, you figured it was finally time for you to take training more seriously. Azriel offered to do it himself, but it was embarrassing enough having not been able to have a more active role in the war. In the end, you chose Cassian to take over your training regiment.
And, gods, did he — there wasn’t a night you didn’t go to bed sore and grumpy, a mere bath not enough to sooth the ache that seemed to seep into your bones.
Every day was more frustrating than the last. Cassian would never say it to your face, a firm believer of tough but still constructive love, but you knew what he was thinking. You just weren’t strong enough. You couldn’t keep up on runs, you couldn’t manage to dodge the punches he’d throw fast enough. You were covered in bruises from head to toe, callouses building up on your palms from when he taught you to carry a sword. Any muscle tone you had developed was overshadowed by your weak lungs, inflexibility, and terrible hand eye coordination.
It wasn’t that you weren’t learning. As far as listening to directions and computing them into action, you were one of the best students Cassian had ever had. It was just your slow progress that was frustrating, both to you and him. And as the sessions went on, it only discouraged you more.
Intelligence was a powerful thing — you knew that.
Muscle and brute strength only gets you so far. If you don’t have a clear head and a solid plan, you won’t get very far. If it weren’t for your intervention growing up, your family would have been a hell of a lot more worse off then you were. You knew that. But it didn’t make it any easier.
Azriel found you one nighter after you’d bathed and crawled into bed, a book in your lap.
“There you are,” he murmured, shedding his leathers and sheathed knives. “Cass said you cut training short today. What happened?”
You clenched your jaw, setting your book aside. “I can’t do it.”
“Do what?” he asked, raising a brow as he sat on the edge of the bed.
You sighed, sinking further into the pillows behind you. You could hardly bring yourself to make eye contact, too embarrassed about your lack of skill to want to open up to your clearly very skilled mate. But Azriel wasn’t having it, placing a warm hand on your knee.
“My love…you can’t do what?”
You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, stinging and burning as you willed them not to fall. “All of it. The training, the fighting, the battles. I’m not strong enough.”
“Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that,” he gently scolded, trying his best to comfort you.
You appreciated the sentiment, but you were fed up. A few nice words and a warm hug wasn’t going to fix this. This was years and years of frustration building up to the tipping point. There was nothing he could do to help you.
“I understand what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate it. Really, I do. And I fully recognize that there are other things I’m capable of doing, and half the challenge of learning to fight well is using your brain. I know that. But…but why can’t I do this? Why? I’ve dedicated years of my life to trying to get better, and what do I have to show for it? I can’t fight off an attacker, I can barely swing a sword. I come home every night covered from head to toe in bruises and scrapes, and I’m not any closer to getting better than I was when I started. I’m just tired. I’m sick of not being strong. It’s humiliating. It’s humiliating, standing next to you—”
The way Azriel’s face fell made you trail off, biting your tongue. You could see the look on his face and know that he was angry. But more than that, he was sad. Sad that you felt that way, sad that he didn’t notice. He knew you had a knack for being hard on yourself, but this had clearly been brewing for quite some time.
How did he possibly miss it?
He scooted closer to you on the bed, scooping you into his lap. “Darling—”
“Don’t look at me like that, with that face and those eyes,” you groaned, unable to stand the gentleness in his gaze.
He’d mastered the art of the puppy dog face. It wasn’t often that he pulled it on you, cleverly saving it for moments like this when you were down in the dumps. But, no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t stay upset when those warm brown eyes softened on you, every rigid bit of him seeming to melt in your presence. It was brutal.
“Not fair,” you grumbled under your breath, leaning into him.
“Hush,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Let me love on you.”
You sat for a minute in comfortable silence curled up in his lap. He pressed slow kisses into your skin where he could reach, each sweeter than the last. He ran a comforting hand up and down your side slowly, smiling softly as he felt you relax into him.
It never took much, him making you feel better. He was good like that.
“You’re so smart, my love,” he whispered into your skin. “So strong.”
You shook your head, still unable to believe it. “I’m not—”
“You are,” he insisted, tilting your chin up. “You’re so strong — so much more than you give yourself credit for.”
“But—”
“But nothing. You’ve pulled yourself through things I couldn’t even imagine. You kept your family afloat back in your village, you kept us organized during the war. Do you know how insane I would’ve gone if I was unable to fight? If I had to make the call to stay here where I was best utilized? That’s one of the bravest, most selfless things I’ve ever seen anyone do. I wouldn’t have lasted a week. You lasted the entire time. Not a single person in this house could’ve done that.”
As much as you hated to admit, he was right. Gods, did you hate it when he was right.
“I mean no disrespect to your sisters. They had their own battles, and they fought them well. But just because you didn’t fight in the same way as them doesn’t mean you didn’t fight. We couldn’t have done it without you, my love. Rhysand has told me countless times how glad he is to have someone so competent around for a change. Cassian thinks we should be taking you with us to Windhaven next time we go so you can find the most efficient way of training the Illyrians. And your sisters? They adore you. They couldn’t have made it this far without you there to keep a level head and a determined heart.”
“I just…” you stuttered, finally managing to tear your gaze away from him. “I’m not like you.”
Azriel stifled a laugh, grinning. “Thank the gods for that.”
You sighed, still not convinced. “Doesn’t it bother you? You’re one of the most capable warriors in Prythian, and you’re mated to someone who quite possibly could be the clumsiest person in the entire realm. If I haven’t picked it up by now, I never will.”
“So what? Would that be so bad?”
You frowned. Why did he have to be so rational all the time? When would it be your turn to be right? At this rate, you’d never have the chance to be right at all.
“It’s a weakness, Azriel. One that’s easily exploited. It’s a burden.”
“We all have our faults,” he shrugged. “If that brain of yours is compensation for your lack of physical skill, I’d say you got a pretty good hand dealt to you.”
You huffed, seconds away from relenting when he spoke again.
“You could never be a burden. Your intelligence, kindness, wit, and beauty is worth every bit of the skills I have. And your determination to prove yourself and make your abilities better is proof enough to me that you’re the strongest one here. I don’t care about drills or sparring or hunting or whatever else it is you don’t have a handle on quite yet. I’d trade away my own ability and will for even a fraction of yours.”
His words made you emotional. You let out a dramatic sigh, burying yourself into his chest. He let you hold him while you gathered yourself together again.
“You’re infuriating,” you finally managed to mutter into his skin.
He just smiled. “You’re extraordinary.”
There was so much left that either of you could say. You could keep listing all your faults, and he could come up with counterpoints for each and every one. You could have let yourself stew in your melancholy. He could've attempted to pull you out of it. But you didn’t do any of those things.
Instead, you looked up at him, running your thumb across his cheekbone. “Will you…will you teach me? I’ll keep trying with Cassian, but I want you to show me some things too.”
Azriel looked at you like you’d just asked him to give you the sun — something he most definitely could have managed to do, regardless of the impossibility, just because you asked. He gently cradled your face in his hands, smiling.
“I’ve been waiting for you to ask,” he beamed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “We’ll start next week.”
There was so much he could teach you that you were too afraid to ask for. Beyond the physical obstacles, his mind was a goldmine. He knew the brewing tensions between the courts, the inner mechanisms of Prythian’s ever evolving politics. He knew how to make himself disappear into the shadows, always heard but rarely seen. There was so much he could show you how to master, if you’d just gotten up the courage to ask. To fight was just the tip of the iceberg. He could sharpen your other skills to make you undeniably stronger, in the mind rather than the body. And your brain was your best asset.
Still, the thought of failure left a pit settled in your gut, gnawing and raw.
“And…if I don’t get any better? If this really is all I’m capable of doing?”
He smiled, resting his forehead against yours.
“I’m happy with that. One day, I’ll make you see how happy you should be with it too. I promise.”
SUMMARY: You and Azriel long for the love your family members have found. That longing can easily turn into an isolating loneliness, so what if you rely on each other to numb that sickly feeling? What if your chance at love has been by your side for nearly a century?
A collection of moments showing reader and Azriel recognizing the love they have for one another. Inspired by the song "So This Is Love"
Summary: After a rough night and a too-tight bandage, Y/N wanders the House and finds a piano. Azriel’s shadows find the music first; when he steps into the doorway, his harmony slips under hers—shadowsinger and survivor learning the same song. In these early days of them drawing closer, what follows is quiet, careful, and exactly enough.
CW: Past physical abuse, childhood abuse mentions
A/N: i keep having random y/n backstory ideas lol, this one is where y/n is Hybern’s daughter raised under his control but learning to breathe again. fluffier than my other work, soft midnight vibes, music, hands, and Azriel learning to choose gentleness on purpose. Hope it lands. 💫
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Y/N woke to the kind of tired that lives in the bones. The lamp burned low; the bandage at her ribs complained if she breathed foolishly. Rest had taken the edge off the ache and left a restlessness under her skin—too much stillness, too many thoughts.
She slid from bed, pulled on a sweater, and padded into the corridor. The House at night kept different hours—floorboards that knew how to be quiet, the kitchen humming like a contented animal, a single candle left for people who liked to make bargains with insomnia. The low spill of light down a side hall she’d never bothered to take felt like permission.
The music room was small and stubbornly lovely. An old ebony piano stood with its back to the window, lid propped, keys waiting. Someone—Feyre, probably—had left a lamp burning on the corner of the bench. On the music stand sat a sheaf of blank staff paper and a blunt pencil, as if the House expected songs and had learned to be patient.
She stood there too long with her hands curled loosely at her sides. Then she sat.
Her fingers hovered and, without her permission, cataloged the scars: the pale seam where the ring finger had been set a hair crooked; the little ridge over the knuckle that still clicked in weather; the memory-awareness of where it once hurt to make an octave. Old breaks. Old healers. Old orders: no more music.
“My mother taught me this,” she told the empty room, because sometimes you say it aloud so the truth can hear you. “Before.”
Before a king had learned there was a kind of light that didn’t obey him. Before he’d tried to cut the lessons out of her with the dull tool of a man who didn’t understand that you can’t bruise a song out of a person—you can only make it quieter until it finds somewhere else to live. She’d learned to play again, later, in hands he thought he owned.
She set her fingers. The first chord came out clean, low and patient. She found the second by habit and the third by wanting. A melody unwound—sorrowful, yes, but not interested in drowning. A path laid out for a tired mind to follow home.
When she sang, it was soft at first, like something you check for cracks before you put weight on it.
river keep your promise, carry what I can’t—
stone, keep still the questions, let the night be chance—
if morning has an answer, I’ll listen when it comes;
for now I’ll learn the quiet under drum.
The vowels warmed as they left her mouth. The lamp hummed along. She played the second verse the way you take a second step on a bridge you’ve built yourself and decide it holds.
--------------------------
Azriel’s shadows woke him the way rain wakes a roof—certain and unbothered. Come see, they said, tugging—not with alarm, but with that rare insistence they saved for joy. He was on his feet before he’d decided to be.
The House put the night under his boots and didn’t argue. He followed the line of sound the shadows fed him: not a crowd voice, not a drill call—music layered with a woman he knew in an entirely different context. He stopped in the doorway and let himself look.
Y/N sat with her spine straight and her shoulders soft. The old piano had been tuned and therefore adored. Her hands—those hands he’d watched ruin angles and fix roofs—moved like they remembered gentleness and had decided to trust it. The scars didn’t make the notes stumble. They made them true.
He’d thought he was already in trouble where she was concerned. He’d underestimated the slope.
She didn’t see him at first. He eased back against the jamb, let the lamp do the work of light, and listened. And felt. The song found the parts of him he generally kept shelved and dusted: the boy who had thought noise meant danger; the youth who’d made silence into armor; the man who had learned the kind of quiet that isn’t empty—just room, finally, for a life.
The melody climbed, failed to break, and climbed again, finding a hope that didn’t apologize for having teeth. He could taste it—warm brass, winter honey, the first inhale after a rooftop run. His chest hurt in that honest, infuriating way that means something in you has chosen to live.
You can love a person for the way they fight, he thought, and realize later you’ve fallen because of the way they stop.
She felt him the way a person feels a change in weather. Her left hand paused on a chord; her right bled the last note into the air. She turned her head.
“Are you stalking me or auditing?” she asked, voice a little rough from singing and sleep.
“Auditing,” he said gravely. “With a bias for being impressed.”
“Don’t lie,” she said, but her mouth tipped.
“Play more,” he asked, and didn’t bother to pretend it was a command.
“You’re a Shadowsinger,” she said, sliding over on the bench to make room, “and you want me to sing over you. That’s sacrilege.”
He came anyway, sat at the far end of the bench like a man who respected the reach she needed. “It’s called professional development,” he said. “I’m broadening my range.”
She barked a quiet laugh at that, took the melody back up, and let it carry her. The second song—another old piece, a lullaby stitched to a marching tune—came out of her like it had lived in her ribcage waiting for somewhere safe to be a voice.
He watched her hands. He always watched hands. Now he saw the history written there: the tiny hitch of the fourth finger when she reached wide, the strength recovered in the thumb. And something he’d never let himself imagine for his own body slid over him, slow and disorienting: the thought that hands like his—scarred, burned, made for knives—might be allowed to touch a thing only to make it beautiful.
She finished the phrase and rested her palms on the closed fallboard. “He broke them,” she said, not tragic, not brave. “When he found out I kept playing. He didn’t like what he couldn’t own. Broke where it would take longest to heal. Made the set bad so the reach would always hurt.”
Azriel’s jaw went tight. Rage, clean and useless, pressed behind his teeth. He swallowed it down where it belonged: in the past, as a wire you never cut, only learn to avoid. “I’m sorry,” he said, which meant I will never call what you survived a story that made you strong to justify the fact that you had to survive it.
Her gaze shifted to his hands—scarred backs, the skin shiny where the burns had healed badly decades ago; the ridges he sometimes forgot until winter reminded him. She turned one over without asking, slow enough for him to say no and gentle enough that he didn’t. The lamp found every old ruin and made them honest.
“Yours?” she asked quietly.
“Brothers,” he said, the word simple because the alternative was heavier. “When we were boys. A game that wasn’t. Oil. Fire. A lesson about touching what wasn’t mine.” He flexed once; the old tightness complained, familiar as weather. “I learned how to hold blades around it. I stopped thinking I could hold anything else.”
She didn’t pity him. She considered. Then she set his palm on the keys and arranged his fingers like she’d arranged her own an hour ago, each placement a small thesis on mercy. Scar ridge against ivory, bone alignment neat. “You can,” she said. “If you want.”
He stared at their hands against the keys—his wreckage and her ruin making a shape that, impossibly, looked like it fit. The thought sneaked in, stupid and enormous: these hands could be used for more than ending things. It landed somewhere old in him and set up a small lamp.
“Again?” he asked.
“Always,” she said, and played.
He didn’t join at first. He didn’t want to put his sound on top of hers before he’d earned it. But when the melody found a place he knew—an Illyrian field hymn, stripped of blood and turned toward the idea of breakfast and weather—he did something he hadn’t done in public in years.
He sang.
Not loud. Not for power. For pitch and meaning. His voice was a tool he had always been careful with; tonight he used it like hands held out for a heavy thing so someone else could put it down. The harmony slid under hers and made room. He heard her inhale and then smile in the sound of it.
“You cheat,” she murmured between lines. “You’ve been hiding that.”
“I sing under my breath when Cassian cooks,” he admitted.
“That explains nothing,” she said, and—gods help him—he laughed.
They followed the song to its last, clean chord. It settled into the wood of the piano and the lamp and whatever the House is made of that isn’t stone. He let the silence bloom; didn’t rush to fill it. Watching her this close, unarmored and lit by something that liked her, he understood why people write foolish things on staff paper at two in the morning and dare to call it living. Her face, unguarded—eyelids heavy from pain and music, mouth softened, the little line between her brows smoothed out—looked like the sort of peace a person earns, not inherits.
“Another?” he asked, to keep from saying something he couldn’t take back.
She nodded, started a tune that tasted like winter sunlight, and for a while nothing existed but the small arc of her wrist, the way air changes right before a note resolves, the feeling that the House was holding its breath with him because it, too, liked being here.
At some point his hand rose without permission and cradled the back of her neck where the braid started. She didn’t flinch. She leaned—subtle pressure, a yes that didn’t ask for permission because she’d already given it.
“Better?” he asked, thumb barely moving.
“Infuriatingly,” she said, a smile in it.
“Good.”
“You’re pleased again.”
“Constantly.”
“Tiresome.”
“Correct.”
She slid, slow and cautious, until the piano bench had no choice but to be a couch. He turned just enough to give her the line of his chest. She rested her temple against him, breath easing in the way people’s breath does when their head lands where it wanted to go. The tug under her sternum—that fine-thread hum that had started near the training ring and had been getting bolder ever since—pulled and settled, like a note tuning to a pitch only she could hear. She didn’t name it. She didn’t need to.
She kept playing, softer now, the melody thinning to a ribbon and then to nothing; her hand drifted off the keys and found his, fingers half curled. He looked down to tell her some unnecessary joke about shadow-singers and real singers and noticed her eyes were closed not with concentration but with surrender.
She’d fallen asleep on him without his permission or her own announcement.
He didn’t move. Didn’t dare. He existed where he was, with one palm in her hair and the other under her fingers, and let his own breathing take that easier road. The thought came, uninvited and honest: I want to be better in ways that belong to me. Not for a vow, not for reputation. Because sitting here with a sleeping woman and a sleeping song felt like the first proof that he could be.
Sometime after the lamp learned to be softer, his head tipped onto hers. He had told himself a thousand nights he slept best alone because no one got hurt that way. For the first time in years he dozed because he wanted to, in the middle of a House that had decided to keep what it could, with a woman who’d stopped apologizing for existing against him.
---------------
Cassian came looking for water and an excuse to leave a blanket somewhere it would make him feel useful. He paused in the doorway, took it in without sighing like a stage play—Azriel asleep on a piano bench, Y/N folded into him, their hands a tangle of accidental answers.
“About time,” he told the lamp, because someone had to. He draped the blanket over both, not bothering to hide the grin that made him look younger. He turned down the wick to a low ember and left on quiet feet, humming the line he’d heard down the hall without knowing he’d remembered it.
The House kept their secret badly. The river told no one at all. And on a bench that should have been uncomfortable and wasn’t, two people who didn’t do this kind of thing did, because they had decided—slowly, stupidly, correctly—that they could.
Oneshot-Series: Every part of this story can be read separately.
Summary: When a big bad Illyrian warrior falls head over heels in love with a sweet baker lady from Velaris.
A/N: I love this story so much you guys, it's literally all fluff and I'm channeling all my impossibly high standards into this to cope with the disappointment that are real-life men.
Feel free to drop a request if you have any scenarios in mind that you feel would make a good addition to the story and lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!
Warnings: all the fluff, somewhere along the lines of grumpy x sunshine, some SMUT (*)
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Just a Little Crush - Everyone secretly longs for Azriel, but Azriel only longs for her.
Every Time We Touch* - Azriel gets with his crush, the lucky bastard.
Body and Soul - Azriel and his love spend some time discovering each other’s stories and bodies.
Apple Pies and Family Ties - Azriel brings a girl home to meet his family for the first time ever.
Flour Prints* - The recreation of Feysand’s infamous paint scene followed by an important step in their relationship.
A Matter of Firsts - Azriel and his love get into their first fight.
Starfall Nights - Starfall is tough without her mother. But this year is special.
Summary: Dawn Court's best tinker/blacksmith and the Night Court's Lord of Bloodshed work on weapons together... but spending all that time together leads to something more. Requested by @runnergirl234 here.
Warnings: pure fluff, soft Cassian, mentions of battle
The bell above the door to your shop chimed once and you glanced up from the weapon you were boxing. “Hello.” You said, noticing the wings and the leathers on the male. He most certainly is not from the Dawn Court. From his wings alone you know he is Illyrian. And Illyrians don’t travel to the Dawn Court for many reasons. “How can I help you?” You asked, smiling at the warrior.
“You’re not going to step back and cower?” He asked and raised his eyebrows. His gravelly voice does something to your knees, but you stand your ground.
“No… is that a normal occurrence with females for you? Because that sounds like a problem.” You said, your heart seizing when he let out a loud laugh.
“Oh, you’re funny.” He said and sent a breathtaking smile your way. If you didn’t know better, you would think there was a tug on your ribs, towards this male. But… it couldn’t be. “It’s a common occurrence for anyone outside of my home Court.” He said.
His dazzling smile, the stubble along his jaw, the golden flecks in his hazel eyes. You shook your head slightly, taking in his leathers again. “You must be General Cassian.” You said, pushing the box to the side. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. How can I help you?” You asked again, though your heart rate picked up since the first time asking.
“I was tasked with finding the best blacksmith to recreate some weapons.. Thesian directed me to you.” He said and set the bag he was carrying down on one of the work tables. You walked around the counter, noticing how much he towers over you as you looked at the weapons. His body heat radiates towards you. You are a dawn court resident, you’re used to the heat in the summer. In these circumstances, you can’t help but feel a little overwhelmed by it. Why is he so attractive?
“I’m honored that Thesian has such faith in my abilities.” You said and looked at the weapons. Your eyes widened slightly. “Is this Iridam?” You asked. “Where did you find this?”
“These have been in our supply rooms for quite some time. And it so happens they are perfect weapons to killing Attors.” He said. “Is there a way to replicate them? I can provide more of the stone.” He said.
“Metal… it’s metal.” You corrected as you looked at the craftsmanship of the sword. “I can… but… can I ask why you want swords?” You asked.
“Because it’s what we’re trained with for the most part. Why? Do you have a better suggestion?” He asked, but with no condescension in his tone.
“I think a shotel would work better for Attors. Especially if they are flying. Easier to catch on the curve.” You said. “I suppose that’s what I would make for ground soldiers… but I assume you are wanting them for more Illyrians.” You said.
“No… a shotel actually might be better… especially with the… metal. I know it’s more prone to bending anyway.” He said. “How many can you have ready by the end of the week?”
“I’d say about 20, if I finish the orders I have today.” You said. “It’s only me.” You said and shrugged.
“I could help… make it 40?” He asked and you looked up at him.
“Oh… I couldn’t ask you to put your own labor-“
“If it means I get to spend more time with you, I’d very much like if.” He said.
Heat rushed to your neck as you stumbled over your next words. “Oh… okay.” You said and gave him a small smile. “I would like the help… but do you have the metal?” You asked, changing the subject so your heart doesn’t leap out of your chest.
“I’ll go grab it. And… I have a few other ideas for a couple mechanisms. Thesian mentioned you weren’t just a blacksmith. Maybe I can run them by you?” He asked.
“I’ve never really been to war. But I’d be happy to help.” You said and smiled softly.
Cassian came back later in the day when the shop was closed. You had finished all your orders and closed down for the week, knowing it would take most of your time with the order. Plus, if a certain General was going to spend his time with you, you didn’t want any distractions.
“So, how did you get into this business?” He asked.
You looked over to him and gave him a small smile as you took the metal from his hands, careful not to make contact out of fear you may scare him.
“My father was a blacksmith. And believe it or not, he was very happy when I decided to take over the business.” You said. “My mother and him are living their lives out on the coast now, along with my younger brother. Plus, when I was a child, I loved to take things and put them together. It was always a lot of fun for me. Challenged me. My teachers hated that I would change the way they taught us how to make things. But it always turned out I made it a better way. And quicker too.”
“The Master Tinker…” A soft smile came to his lips. “Does your family survive off of what the business made?” He asked.
“I send them money every now and then, but they’re well off. My mother was the daughter of an emissary. When he passed, she received all his funds.” You explained. “But, she was never close with her father. And we didn’t live that well when I was growing up. This shop was all that I knew.”
“It’s honorable for you to continue the business. Even if you didn’t need to.” Cassian said. “Do you get a lot of business?”
“Yeah, I do. Ever since Thesian came back from Under the Mountain, he decided that I was his #1 recommendation for a blacksmith.” You said. “And I also love to make new concepts for designs. I’ll spend all night up just thinking of exactly how to make something work.” You explained.
“Like what?” He asked, leaned a little closer to you.
And so you went off on a tangent, rambling to Cassian about the new device you were trying to create. Something like an easy device to carry a faelight when someone with less power needs it. “Like the lights on the wall. But portable. I just can’t get it to bind quite yet. But I’m almost there.” You said happily, turning around. You stumbled and held onto the mold in your hands as you ran into Cassian’s chest.
“You are incredible.” He whispered.
Your breath hitched and your eyes widened as you looked up at him.
“Oh… sorry.” He said and stepped back, clearing his throat. That would have been incredibly creepy… if you weren’t undeniably attracted to the male. “I just.. I’d love to hear more about your devices.” He said.
You gathered yourself as you set the mold on your work table. “Sure.” You said quietly, then proceeded to talk about all of the inventions you had helped make. “I’m terrible at making potions though. And burning magic and metal is difficult work.” You finally finished.
He was still staring, but continued to work on the mold in front of him. “You know… if you’re ever wanting somewhere else to reside… I think there may be a place for a Master Blacksmith in the Night Court.” Cassian finally spoke.
“Oh… I appreciate the offer. But I love being in Dawn…” you said. “I always have been one to work late into the night and not in the early morning like most residents.” You corrected.
The thought of you being so far away once Cassian went back home hurt. He couldn’t describe it, but he was going to miss you.
By the end of the week, you had been enthralled by Cassian. He opened up to you about his childhood, how he made his way to General of the Night Court armies. You also learned that his favorite food was biscuits that Rhys’s mother had made one time. And he loved them even more if they were covered in homemade jam.
While you weren’t an expert baker, you had some skill when it came to the kitchen. You also had a close friend that had a farm on the outskirts of the city. So, you left a note for Cassian when he would arrive later and made your way there. You picked up the jam that you requested. Your friend happened to have his favorite on hand, etherberries. They were similar to the strawberries that you loved, but had a slight tart aftertaste that Cassian said he found interesting.
When you made it back, Cassian was already there and working on the shotels.
“I have a couple things to do upstairs.. Why don’t you come up when you’re done with this one?” You asked him.
He shot you that breathtaking smile and nodded. “Of course.” He said.
You knew it would take at least 2 hours for him to finish what he was working on, so you had just enough time to make the biscuits. You wanted to thank him for the company he gave you during the week. His kindness and his helpfulness. The people of Dawn were sweet, and always nice to you, but having Cassian around was different. It was like his praise and attention meant more. And maybe it did. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but you wanted his constant praise and amazement all the time. When he left, it would be bittersweet. He would be leaving to help defend his Court but he would be leaving you. And you weren’t sure you were ready to say goodbye.
You made sure to hide the smell of the biscuits so Cass couldn’t smell them, and when he came upstairs finally, you had a clean towel draped over them. The jam was hidden precisely so he couldn’t see either. You were nervously bouncing on your heels when he made his way up and washed his hands.
There was something endearing about him being the one covered in soot, smelling like fire and metal. It was only ever you here before. You never got the chance to actually have anyone other than friends over. And even that wasn’t too often. You were so busy, especially now that Thesian decided you were the best tinker and blacksmith in the Court.
But Cassian being here was different from when your friends were here. This meant something. What, you couldn’t place. But it did nonetheless.
“So… what have you been working on up here all the time?” He asked as he sat down at the counter, leaning his strong forearms against the stone.
“Well… I wanted to thank you for your help this week. And I know you’re going to say it’s for you and your Court anyway… but it was very kind. I.. I enjoyed your company while you were here.” You said and pushed the bowl towards him, then lifted the towel off of the biscuits along with revealing the jam. “So I wanted to make this for you. I hope you like it.” You said, a warmth creeping up on your neck.
“I can’t.” He said, his tone slightly more serious than you had heard it before.
Your gaze snapped up. Maybe you had presumed that he would like these. This was something dear to him. You overstepped in thinking he would like these. Especially coming from you, a female he only met a few days ago. “Oh… okay.. That’s.. That’s fine.” You said, a knot working its way into your throat. “I’ll set them aside for myself - later… someone.” You cleared your throat and shook your head.
“No.. (Y/N) that’s not what I meant.” He whispered and stopped you from pulling away the bowl, his hand on your forearm. “I can’t accept food from you.” He said.
You furrowed your eyebrows and tilted your head. “I’m sorry if I overstepped-”
“I can’t accept this because you are my mate.” He said gently, his eyes bearing into yours. “And considering the look on your face, you don’t know that. I wouldn’t want to accept it without you knowing-”
“Eat.” You stopped him, staring right back into those gold-flecked hazel eyes.
He paused, searching your eyes. “What?” You hadn’t seen him this stunned yet.
“I may have not realized… but I know it. Deep down, Cass. I know you’re my mate. And the Mother has blessed me with you as a mate. I’m not going to sit back and wait. Eat.” You whispered. “If you want-”
Before you could even finish the sentence, Cassian was uncapping the jam and spreading it over the biscuits. You felt the bond snap completely into place as he took the first bite, letting out a ludicrous sound of delight.
“These are fantastic.” He whispered, finishing the biscuit and moving the bowl aside. “And I can finish these later… But I need to have a taste of my mate first.” His voice was low and gravelly. Like he needed water. But you weren’t going to question what he needed as you rounded the counter. You giggled as he pulled you close to him and his lips landed on yours. You could taste the buttery biscuit and sweet, but tart, jam on his lips. And when you opened your mouth for his tongue, you could taste him. You sunk into his hold, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pulled you on his lap.
Lets just say that neither you, nor Cassian, left your shop for the next month.
A/N: I'm picturing this takes place after Frost & Starlight.
Also, there is going to be one more part to this just because I want to develop them actually being mates and working together. Not sure when that will come out, but soon hopefully!
I promise I’m working on the Cassian ask AND the Azris fic I mentioned. I’m just super busy at work and getting time to write is hard 😩 but it’s happening I promise!
Summary: Azriel's shadows have always been loyal, always obeyed him without question. Until now. Until they start misbehaving whenever another man so much as looks at you.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1,066
Notes: This is my first fic, I hope you like it! :)
~~~~~
The first time it happens, you don't think much of it.
You're at Rita's with the Inner Circle, nursing a drink at the bar while Cassian and Mor dance somewhere among the crowded space. The music thrums through the air, and the conversation hums around you when a male slides into an empty seat beside you.
"Didn't think someone like you would be sitting alone," he says, flashing a grin.
You don't even get the chance to respond before a flicker of something moves between you.
The male frowns, swiping at his hair, which has suddenly transformed from being neatly styled to sticking up in wild angles, as if an invisible force had run its hands through it... aggressively.
You blink in surprise.
He mutters a curse, trying to fix it, but the moment he smooths it down, the strands spring right back up. His frustration grows, hands swiping over his head repeatedly.
"I- what the hell?" he grumbles. "Is this air cursed or something?"
You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting a laugh.
And then you feel it.
A cool, familiar brush against your wrist.
Slowly, you glance down—just in time to see a shadow curling around your fingers before slipping away.
Your stomach flips.
You don't even need to turn around to know exactly where Azriel is.
~~~~~
The second time it happens, it's harder to ignore.
You and Azriel are training in the House of Wing, and the session has drawn some attention—mainly from a visiting group of Illyrians who very clearly wanted to spar with you.
One in particular, a cocky warrior named DAIN, is relentless. He lingers, circling the ring as Azriel corrects your stance, his gloved hands light against your arms.
"You sure you don't want a real sparring partner, sweetheart?" Dain calls, grinning. "I promise I'll go easy on you."
Azriel stills.
His fingers tighten ever so slightly before he steps back, shadows slithering at his feet. "She's training," he says evenly, but there's an obvious warning beneath the words.
Dain chuckles. "Training is nice and all, but I'd be happy to teach her a few things myself."
Something cold coils around your ankles.
Before you can react, the shadows yank. Not hard. Just enough to make you stumble backwards, right into Azriel's chest.
Your breath catches.
His hands steady you, fingers gripping your waist for a fraction of a second before he forces himself to let you.
You glance up at him, about to ask whether or not that was intentional, but his jaw is tight, hazel eyes locked on Dain.
Azriel's shadows have started to shift.
Not the lazy, fluid movements they usually have—but sharp, possessive flickers that wrap around you. One curls over your shoulder, while another drapes across your wrist, looping around like a claim.
You shiver, pulse skittering.
Dain seems to notice, too. His smirk falters, his eyes flicking between you and the swirling darkness. "Uh-"
The shadows snap toward him.
Not touching—just close. Close enough to make him step back.
You swear you hear them hiss.
Dain swallows hard. "Right. I, uh, should probably-"
Azriel doesn't blink. Doesn't move.
Dain takes the hint. He all but scrambles away, muttering under his breath.
And just like that, the shadows slip away, leaving you cold.
You whip around, crossing your arms. "What was that about?"
Azriel frowns, too casual. "What was what?"
"Oh, I don't know," you say dryly. "Maybe terrorizing a man into running for his life?"
His brow furrows, like he truly doesn't know what you're talking about. "I didn't do anything."
You narrow your eyes. Then one last shadow curls around your wrist before darting away like a child caught misbehaving.
Azriel glares at it.
Your lips part. "You have got to be kidding me."
His expression darkens as more shadows flick around you, playful now.
Azriel sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose. "They don't usually-"
"Get jealous?" You finish for him, holding back a smile.
Silence.
His throat bobs.
And then—quietly, almost too quiet—you hear his shadows whisper something.
A name.
Your name.
And you realize—maybe it's not just his shadows who are jealous.
Your breath hitches. Azriel's wings rustle. And he looks like he's about to bolt.
Which is just unacceptable.
You cross your arms, tilting your head back to study him. "You know, I think your shadows like me more than they like you."
Azriel exhales sharply. "That's ridiculous."
"Is it?" You smirk, glancing down as a shadow curl lazily around your wrist. You give it a little wiggle, and the shadow clings tighter.
Azriel scowls at it. "Traitor."
A laugh bubbles out of you. You can't help it.
The great and terrifying Shadowsinger, bested by his own shadows.
"Oh, this is too good," you say, beaming up at him. "All this time, and they've secretly been on my side."
Azriel mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a curse. His wings twitch again. His shadows flick in annoyance—except the ones still clinging to you, moving to curl around your waist like they never want to let go.
You bite back a grin. "I mean, it makes sense." You gesture vaguely at them. "They probably just think I'd be a much better master."
Azriel gives you a deadpan stare. "That's not how this works."
"I don't know," you hum, pretending to consider it. "They seem pretty happy right now."
As if to prove your point, one shadow playfully loops around your fingers.
Azriel glowers. "You're encouraging them."
You give him an innocent smile. "Would I do that?"
He sighs, but you catch it—the way the corner of his mouth twitches. The way his gaze softens, just a little.
And then, so softly you almost miss it, he murmurs, "They have good taste, at least."
Your breath catches.
Your teasing falters for half a second before you recover. "So, you admit they like me more?"
Azriel exhales, shaking his head. "You're impossible."
You grin. "And you love it."
He doesn't answer. But the way his shadows linger—curling, warm, content—tells you everything you need to know.
~~~~~
Cassian walks in moments later, takes one look at Azriel's shadows practically cuddling you, and immediately points.
"I knew it!" He boasts.
Azriel pinches the bridge of his nose. His shadows flick toward Cassian, clearly unimpressed.
And you?
You just laugh.
Because really—Azriel might deny it all he wants, but his shadows?
Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 3.5k | warnings: mentions of shackles and kidnapping
Summary: based on this request - the spymaster of the Night Court is harboring a secret and Nesta Archeron is determined to figure out what it is. What happens when she discovers the secret isn’t a what but rather a whom?
A/N: thank you to this request!! It’s late but this fic was so fun (wanted it done for Halloween but 🤡) Happy free day for @sjmromanceweek!
Something was going on with Azriel. The other members of the Inner Circle might not have noticed, but Nesta sure did. The shadowsinger always kept things close to his vest, his personal life a secret to his whole family. Nesta was certain he had an entire life they had no idea about.
But something had happened recently and Nesta couldn’t quite pinpoint what it meant.
Nesta had run into Azriel the other morning as if he were just coming back into the house, even though she knew he had spent the night at the House of Wind. It left her so confused, she spent the rest of the day confused and stuck in her own head.
These days he seemed to have less shadows following him about, the light allowing Nesta to see more of his face. The bags beneath his eyes had lessened and he seemed brighter. Azriel had even been a bit more vocal at family gatherings.
She hadn’t said anything when she saw him, merely nodded at him in greeting before he disappeared once more. She had turned the brief interaction over and over in her mind, searching for any detail she may have missed.
“He’s seeing someone.”
Cassian choked on his smoothie, a chunk of banana getting caught in his throat. The mated pair had been enjoying a quiet breakfast until the realization hit Nesta hard and fast.
Yes. He was seeing someone. Someone he cared about.
“You can’t be serious. We’ve talked about this.” Cassian looked down at the smoothie he spilt on himself, dabbing at his shirt with a towel as he spoke. The topic had come up before, but Nesta hadn’t felt so resolute and convinced as she did now.
“Cassian, I’m sure of it.”
“Have you seen this mysterious fae?”
“No, but-“
“Nesta,” he sighed, throwing the towel onto the counter, “Azriel’s love life has been a mystery to all of us for a long time. Believe me, if he’s keeping secrets, I want to be the first to know.”
Nesta let the words hang in the air, taking a bite of her bowl of oats. She watched Cassian’s face for a moment, an idea forming.
“Let’s find out.”
The couple made a plan they felt quite proud of: they’d covertly ask Rhys about Azriel’s upcoming schedule, and on the nights he was staying at the House of Wind, they would stay up and follow him out.
It sounded so easy, surely within a night or two they would catch where he snuck off to, finding him with a lover, putting an end to Nesta’s curiosity.
Cassian was quite proud of himself when asking Rhysand about their brother’s schedule. He had been debating all sorts of reasons as to why he should know Azriel’s whereabouts from planning a surprise for him to wanting to make him a nice meal. He knew Rhys would see through those reasons, so he went for a much simpler reason.
The two were lounging lazily in Rhys’s office, the deep purple curtains blowing softly in the breeze. Rhys had hummed after Cassian asked about Azriel’s schedule, finally looking up at his brother before Cassian quickly sputtered out.
“You know, so Nes and I can have alone time.”
Rhys tilted his head, analyzing Cassian’s face as he took the question in. He leaned back in his chair, a slight creak as his weight shifted.
“Since when have the two of you ever cared about having an audience?”
Cassian rubbed his sweaty palms against his thighs, anticipating the question. He leaned in conspiratorially, dropping his voice as if Azriel would hear. “Well, we were talking and we felt a bit bad after everything at Solstice, ya know? We’ve been trying to be more delicate.”
Rhys rubbed his eyes, clearly not swayed on the reason, but not sure if he cared enough to know the full truth. “He’ll be gone Saturday through Tuesday, otherwise he has no commitments that aren’t small and local.”
The two continued on their ‘meeting’ - mostly drinking while Rhys reviewed mind numbing documents. It was rare Cassian got to spend time alone with Rhysand these days. Nyx and Feyre kept his brother’s attention nearly every moment of the day.
He didn’t harbor any ill will about it, but the crackling fire and silence transported Cassian back to a much younger body. One with less scars and aches, less sure of himself. How every evening of his youth was accompanied by Rhys and Azriel, the three complaining about whatever fresh new horrors training had laid upon them that day.
Had Az felt this distance with Rhys or even Cassian? Sure, he lived in the House of Wind with him, but the general hardly saw him. Guilt flooded his chest, trying to remember the last time he devoted any attention to Azriel directly.
Cassian spent the rest of his afternoon in Rhys’s office, thoughts far away from the brother before him.
-
For the rest of the week, Cassian went out of his way to seek out Az. He found him for meals, looking for him to do work together, asking to go on flights together. The sudden clinginess had met little resistance from Azriel, just confusion from the shadowsinger.
During the night, Cassian would leave his brother, and he and Nesta waited, lurking the halls of the House of Wind to see what they would find.
The first three nights were unsuccessful, the mated pair falling asleep in the hallway during their shifts before giving up and retreating to their beds. It felt odd staying up so late with little results, but the pair were determined to catch Azriel.
On the fourth and groggy night, the pair had changed to watching in shifts. Nesta took the first watch and would wake Cassian to take the second watch. Cassian agreed easily, exhaustion overtaking his body quickly after the extra training he had been doing with Azriel.
Cassian hadn’t slept for that long when he felt Nesta tugging the bond intently. He reluctantly got up, letting the bond drag him through the halls of the house. He finally found his mate standing at the balcony doors, urging him to hurry up.
“He just took off - we have to follow him.”
Guilt stirred in Cassian’s chest, an unpleasant pang creeping back in that he had a hand in his brother’s loneliness. He didn’t want to follow his brother, and wanted to afford him some privacy in the company he kept these days.
But the general scooped up his mate anyway, wings taking off, slicing through air currents. Cassian’s wings flapped slowly in the wind, trying to stay as silent as possible as the two flew over Velaris. His hands gripped tighter around Nesta as the air got colder, the altitude rising to hide between the clouds.
They followed Azriel to the outskirts of Velaris, watched him land at the gate to a small, quaint home. It was charming - a white house with wood trim, a round door, and a small garden in the front. Cassian glided in the air, watching Azriel walk into the home before he closed the door behind him.
After a moment, the pair made their descent, landing softly on the ground. After setting Nesta down, the two slunk through the night, making little disturbance as they made it to the front door.
Nesta pressed her long ear to the door, listening for any movement before gently reaching her hand out and twisting the knob. It moved with ease, a quiet one could only find in the dead of night.
The mated pair crept in, slowly shutting the door behind them before gazing at each other, a silent now what? exchanged in their glances.
They both took in the dark house, scanning across the bookshelves that littered the common room. Books were strewn about the place. Papers were scattered everywhere. Mugs sat out on the tables, lonely tea bags left in the bottoms of them.
This was certainly not Azriel’s home, Cassian thought. Azriel’s room was incredibly bare boned, not even appearing to be lived in. But this place, with a worn couch and still warm fireplace, called out a level of domesticity Nesta doesn’t think she’s ever had.
Cassian began tracing his thumb across the spines of books, none of the titles familiar to him. He was just about to sit on the couch when Nesta pulled him away, dragging him to a staircase. He wanted to stop the madness, guilt sinking into his gut at the invasion of privacy, continuing on in spite of what he knew was wrong.
The hallway was small, Cassian’s wings tucking in tight to squeeze through. Paintings hung on the walls, but it was too dark to make out the subjects. At the top of the stairs was a hallway which had three doors coming off of it. Cassian pointed his finger at the doors, moving his hand between them in decision. Muttering something under his breath, his finger landed on the door in the middle. The two began making their way to the door, until they heard shuffling from behind it.
The two quickly changed direction and moved into the closest room, closing the door quickly behind them. Cassian’s wings barely fit through the door, but he managed somehow, turning to gaze at the door, half wondering how he’s going to get out. Nesta’s hand on his arm made him still, the soft dig of her nails an unwelcome feeling for the first time.
Cassian turned, taking in the room they chose. Just as cozy as the rest of the house, the room was filled with knick knacks and trinkets, the place seeming well loved. He wasn’t certain what had stopped Nesta until his eyes landed on the bed, finding a female’s form covered by a large comforter.
The female slumbered, her breathing heavy as Nesta watched her. Her mind whirled, doubt creeping in that they had gotten this all wrong. Azriel had a girlfriend and that was that.
Nesta knew Azriel was a bit odd, always keeping secrets. A secret girlfriend shouldn’t surprise her, but the air still held a note of sinister to it.
She began turning away, pushing Cassian to go back to the door, when the female shifted, her foot moving out from the blanket and Nesta’s blood ran cold.
“Cass.”
A faebane shackle laid across her ankle.
She turned to Cassian, pointing her index finger at the shackle but it was too late. Something cold wrapped around her shoulder, a deep voice in her ear whispering, “what are you doing?”
Nesta let out a scream from deep in her soul before turning to find the shadowsinger behind her. He was towering over her, and it was then Nesta understood the icy rage so many had described him having. His shadows were slithering all around him in agitation, his stare making Nesta’s stomach plummet. She shot out a fist, instinct kicking in before Azriel caught her hand, holding it tight.
Hazel eyes had targeted onto hers, his hand holding tight around her fist as she tried to push him off her.
“Let her go, Az.” Cassian’s jaw clenched, preparing to fight his brother. Cassian was shocked at this secret life his brother had. He knew that the shadowsinger had an unsavory job, but he never thought his brother could resort to this.
“Not before she tells me what the two of you are doing here.”
“What we are doing here? You’ve kidnapped someone, Az!” Her free hand flung out to the direction of the female on the bed, surely drugged by how the rocuse hadn’t woken her. Azriel’s eyes followed Nesta’s hand, his jaw ticking at having been caught.
“She’s none of your business.” Any warmth Azriel had shown Nesta was gone from his voice, a cold timber that nearly made Nesta collapse.
Cassian put an arm around Nesta’s shoulders, trying to pull her away from Azriel. “Brother, what are you doing? Why is she-“
“She’s none of your concern.” Azriel’s voice was clipped, sharp with agitation. He stepped toward them, his shadows peering over his shoulder making him seem a foot taller. “Now, why are you two here?”
Cassian growled at his brother, forming a shield in front of Nesta. His blood was roaring, Illyrian drive revving up in preparation for anything. Azriel stood his ground, a menacing shadow towering over Cassian.
The general looked back at the bed, the split second he spent watching the steady rise and fall of the female’s breathing lasting almost a lifetime.
A hundred possibilities moved through Cassian’s mine, a slideshow of what ifs and regrets. He knew the best course of action now was to flee, to run, to get Rhysand. If Azriel had gone rogue, truly going off the deep end, were Cassian and Nesta enough to fight him?
He didn’t wait to find out. Cassian turned his back on his brother before grabbing Nesta’s waist. He carried her to the balcony in a sprint, crashing through the doors before taking to the skies with Nesta in his arms.
“Cassian, we have to go back! We have to save her.” Nesta’s words were accented with her fist making contact with Cassian’s shoulder.
“Nesta, if what we saw was real, we have to tell Rhys. We can’t fight this by ourselves.”
The General had never flown so fast before, yelling for Rhys in his mind only to get no response. The pair landed on a balcony outside the River House that Cassian knew led directly into Rhys’s study. After setting Nesta down, he opened the door, stopping as he saw both of his brothers already conversing.
“Cassian,” Rhys purred, irritation twinkling in his eye the only hint at his annoyance. “How lovely for you two to join us.”
Nesta wasted no time as she stormed in, squaring up to Azriel. The shadowsinger still towered over her, but she did not back down.
“I trusted you.”
Her finger jabbed into his chest. It didn’t do anything other than pain Nesta’s finger, but she did it again to drive the point home.
“I trusted you with my friends, the priestesses, my sisters! I trusted you!” Each word was emphasized with a jab of her finger into his chest. He snarled back at the accusations, but remained quiet.
“Was this because of Solstice?” Cassian chimed in from behind his mate. “Certainly there were better options than this!”
“Do you find me so inloveable I’d resort to- what exactly?”
“Sit down, all three of you.” A High Lord’s command had the three fae tensing. They all sat promptly, Nesta moving her chair closer to Cassian.
“Rhys, look into my mind, you have to know what I saw.”
Rhys held up a hand, his jaw setting in annoyance.
“I was woken up by Azriel, something that hasn’t happened in centuries. Now, I want to hear from all of you what happened.”
Cassian and Nesta began speaking at the same time, their words jumbled on top of each other. Rhys sighed before he looked to Azriel. “You woke me up, I’ll hear your side first.”
“This situation is no one’s concern.”
Rhys raised his eyebrows. “Well, if there’s no concern, why did you wake me?”
Azriel opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by Nesta. “None of our concern? You had a female hostage, Azriel!”
Azriel bared his teeth at his sister in law, “she is not some female and she is not your concern.”
Cadsian and Rhys stared in shock at Azriel’s outburst, neither brother getting a word in before three light taps hit the wood of the door. All four fae turned as the door opened, a female in her pajamas coming into view.
“Um, hi.”
All heads turned to the doorway to find Feyre escorting a female in. Hair unbound, she wore a long shirt and nothing else, exposing her legs to the cold air.
Azriel stood quickly, knocking his chair back to get to the door in three quick strides. He reached out his hands, gently placing them on her shoulders. The female raised her hands, rubbing his in a soothing motion.
“You don’t have to.”
Azriel was met with a glare before a soft “I know” could be heard if Nesta strained her ears just enough.
“It’s nice to meet you all, despite the strange circumstances.”
Cassian looked on in confusion, each moment curiouser than the last. Nesta watched the reactions of everyone around her - Azriel stood in the doorway next to a confused Feyre, and Rhys sat back in his chair, arms crossed at the chest.
“None of you know me, but it feels like I know all of you from how much Azriel speaks of you.”
Azriel cut in, his hands going back onto her shoulders, his wings wrapping around her in a possessive stance. Shadows circled the pair incessantly, twitching in agitation, huddling close to both as if protecting them.
“She is my mate.”
The room was completely quiet at the revelation, no one moving to break the spell of the atmosphere. Azriel’s shadows swirled around the room, whether fighting or dancing, Nesta couldn’t tell.
“I think you killed them.” A soft giggle came from her, unable to help herself as she saw the most famous family in the Night Court at an utter loss for words.
“Hush, you.” Azriel gently squeezed her arm, watching the faces of his family. They all stared back, jaws practically hanging off the hinges. It was Cassian who spoke up first, his hand scratching the back of his head.
“Then why was she chained to your bed?”
A sad smile graced her lips, the endearingly sleepy look gone. “Oh, um, it’s quite a story. My brother could wield the shadows, but when he died a few years ago, his shadows just flocked to me.”
Cassian looked more closely, and could tell a slight difference in the shadows in the room. He didn’t think much of them initially, assuming they were just Azriel’s, but now he could make out two distinct groupings of darkness: one pool was erratic, moving with no plotted course, the other seemed to follow them, trying to corral them closer.
It was truly a sight to see. He was mesmerized by them, like a child watching fish pass by in a tank.
“Then why the shackles?”
“Oh!” Nesta wanted to roll her eyes, not expecting Azriel’s mate to cause her such anguish in such a short span of time. “I’ve been having issues lately where I shadow walk while dreaming. It’s really not ideal.” Hands moved to her bag, pulling out a set of keys that jangled as they came free. “Azriel thought of it - but he ensures I always have a set of keys nearby should I need to escape.”
”And why have you been a secret from us?”
“My fault, again. I don’t have the best hold on my shadows and they like to tell me everything so I’ve basically been a homebody unless Azriel’s around.”
They stared blankly, the three fae still not quite wrapping their heads around her existence.
“It’s just really difficult taking in all the new information all the time like how my High Lord is smiling and how he has his shoes off beneath the desk and how Nesta’s nails are digging into her palms-“
“I think that’s enough, dear.”
Azriel ran a soothing hand down his mate’s hair, the action soothing her shadows.
“But I promise he’s not hiding me against my will. In fact, that’s my house you two broke into.”
The color drained from Cassian’s face as he leaned forward, “I’m so-“
Her hand waved him off. “Azriel warned me his family was nosey. I figured it was only a matter of time until he found out how nosey you lot were.”
Cassian looked sheepish, leaning back in his seat, avoiding the gaze of both of his brothers.
“Will we see you again?” Nesta sounded almost sheepish, insecure. She didn’t want to convey how badly she wanted to know Azriel’s mate. She always held a soft spot for the shadowsinger, and she wanted to probe more answers out of her.
Azriel and his mate shared a glance between each other, the adoration shining in their shared look. It was enough for Nesta’s hackles to fall back down and be satiated.
For now.
“I’m sure you will.” Despite the hour, despite the fact they broke into her home, she was all smiles and brightness.
“Now, I’d like to escort my mate back to bed. Surely the two of you-“ Azriel pointed fingers at his brothers, “should do the same.”
Azriel led his mate to the balcony before gently picking her up, carrying her off into the night. The three fae sat in silence, watching his form get smaller and smaller. The doors stayed open, the soft wingbeats and giggles carried through the house on the wind.
Ahhhhgggghhhh I saw Brave New World today and it was sooo goood!!! The little hints to CA:TWS were so good!! I’m so impressed with how amazing this movie turned out. Woooooo
Hey! Would you be willing to write a fic with Cassian x dawn court reader? Like maybe they are mates and she is a tinkerer or something and she helps to design weapons and gives them to Cassian to try out and he gives her suggestions on how to improve them? If not that's okay! Hope you have a great day/night!
Aww I love this idea! I will work on it this weekend and tag you when I put it out!
