universe explorer

you’re gonna find a lot of mess here

[genderqueerpositivity]

Minnesota’s Giant Rainbow and Leather Pride Flags

June 28, 1998. Both flags measured approximately 50 feet wide and 75 feet long.

[ryuutchi]

Friendly reminder that the leather flag predates almost every other flag. We owe this community to leather daddies and kinksters

[nightmarechamillian]

In the era of corporate sanitization never forget it was leather daddies and S&M folks who protected some of the earliest pride parades.

[insomnianightss]

Amazing things happening on Instagram today

[schnoobums]

IRON LUNG (2026) dir. Markiplier

[macabrevampire]

i think avoiding everything is going to save me for real this time

[justsayfkit]

hey no worries lol that just hurt my feelings forever

[freakoutgirl]

the internet seems like a distant dream

[freakoutgirl]

whatever we are on rn is not the internet. It's ads

[loveridden1999]

my two mood these days

[meanbuddhist]

just identified a behavioral pattern within myself

[hijkio]

Zuko

[seasonofhorror]

A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET 3: DREAM WARRIORS

1987, dir. Chuck Russell

[kosmogrl]

[kindlyicy]

[bunigumi]

The gaang is back and my inner child couldn't be happier ❤️‍🩹

[moonlitstoriess]

i just discovered this account and i am OBSESSED with your writing!! if you’re feeling crazy im craving an azriel one shot where the reader is fae (bonus points if she’s an archeron sister and his mate but they don’t know it yet) and she gets kidnapped by an enemy to try and lure azriel out, but of course he saves the day and they figure out they’re mates :) and extra bonus points if there’s just enough angst to make us nervous he won’t get there in time and then they accept and celebrate the mating bond at the end accordingly 🙂‍↕️

Straight to you- Azriel x fem!reader

Summary: Kidnapped and alone, she didn’t know he was already hers.

Warnings: angst, violence, mentions injuries, blood, happy end

A/N: wow! what an emotional yet beautiful ride this was. Thank you anon for the request, I hope it's to your liking🫶

See masterlist

The first blow stole the air from her lungs.

Before she could scream, a rough hand clamped over her mouth, the tang of dirt and sweat filling her senses. The world tilted--boots skidding across cobblestones, her shoulder slamming into a wall hard enough to spark white behind her eyes. She kicked, twisted, but there were too many hands, too much strength.

A strip of coarse cloth yanked over her eyes, knot biting at her skull. Darkness swallowed her whole.

Her wrists were bound before she could form a coherent thought, rope scratching the skin raw. The only sounds were her ragged breaths and the heavy boots dragging her forward, etc step echoing off stone as if the walls themselves were closing in.

Cold. Gods, it was cold. The damp air smelled of mold and rust--of places no one came back from.

She fought to keep track of turns, to memorise the path, but every jolt and shove blurred together until time itself seemed to vanish.

A door groaned open. She was pushed inside, the floor beneath her knees wet and sticky. The blindfold didn't come off.

A voice slithered out of the dark, low and grating. "We need to get to the Shadowsinger," it said, and she could hear the rotting smirk in the words. "Seems capturing one of the Archeron sisters will do just fine."

The pieces clicked with sickening ease.

Of course. She wasn't the prize--she was the bait.

But the revelation didn't stop there--it pulled her backward, years and years, to where this all began.

Azriel had been the only one she could truly call a close friend.

From the moment the Cauldron had dragged her under, lungs burning, bones stretching, senses sharpening into something new, she’d been reborn alongside her two sisters. Elain’s sobs had been soft, Nesta’s silence sharp, but Y/N… she’d stared at her hands, her reflection, her glowing, strange eyes, and felt a thrill deep in her chest. She was immortal now. She had centuries ahead of her to do, see, and be everything she’d once thought impossible.

Being reunited with Feyre, her high lady older sister, had only added to the joy. There had been so much to catch up on, so many moments stolen by months of separation. And after the war--their war--there’d been peace. There had been laughter and dinners in Velaris, quiet mornings watching the city stir awake.

It was in those months after the fighting that she and Azriel had found friendship in each other--not in some grand moment, but through small, consistent ones. A nod across the River House dining room. A conversation on a balcony that stretched until dawn. Training sessions where he corrected her stance with the faintest touch, shadows curling lazily around her. Somewhere between the first sparring match and the first time she made him laugh--really laugh--he’d become her confidant.

For a while, she'd been happy. Truly, blindingly happy. Until her two sisters also found their mates.

It had started subtly: Nesta canceling their weekly sister sleepovers, Elain showing up late and distracted. Then came the excuses, the absences, the drifting away until those nights vanished altogether. No one suggested reinstating them Not even Feyre. No one seemed to notice their absence but her.

Y/N wouldn't lie...it hurt.

One night, she’d confided in Azriel, words spilling out in the quiet of his private balcony. She told him about her fear of never finding her mate, of always being the odd one out. That she felt invisible in her own family, the forgotten sister standing in the shadow of brighter flames.

Azriel had tried to make her laugh--murmuring something about how she was hardly alone, seeing as poor old him had gone 538 years without a mate. But when her voice broke on the next joke, he’d simply sat there with her, shadows curling close, listening as the night turned into morning.

They'd become closer after that.

That was, up until now.

Because now, all she felt was like a burden.

Because of her, her family--and especially Azriel--would be in danger. Or maybe...maybe no one would come for her at all. She was the overlooked one, the forgotten Archeron sister. The one whose absence barely made a ripple.

Y/N smiled sadly beneath the blindfold. At least being an outcast would work in her favor for once.

Azriel rolled the stiffness from his shoulders as he made his way toward the River House dining room. Another long day of hunting down leads and extracting information had left him with the familiar ache in his muscles, the metallic tang of blood still faint on his gloves. Dinner with the others wasn't exactly his idea of unwinding, but Rhys and Feyre insisted on having everyone together tonight.

He slowed without meaning to as he reached the last bend in the hallway. The sound of raised voices spilled toward him--urgent, sharp. The loudest was Feyre's. "...it's not like her- "

Then her name.

Y/N.

Azriel's pulse jumped.

He was moving before the thought fully formed, shadows coiling tighter around him as he burst into the room. Chaos met him on the other side. Feyre stood at the head of the table, eyes bright with worry, Rhys at her shoulder with a hand on her arm as if to keep her steady. Elain's voice broke from where she sat, fingers wringing in her lap.

"She promised she'd be back by the afternoon," Elain said, looking from face to face as though someone might have an answer. "It's well past sunset now--hours past--and she's still not here."

Nesta was pacing near the hearth, arms crossed, her jaw tight. Mor leaned against the wall, uncharacteristically silent, while Amren's sharp gaze cut between them all. Cassian sat forward on his chair, elbows on his knees, tension rolling off him.

"You're certain she went to the market?" Feyre pressed.

"Yes," Elain said, nodding quickly. "She told me this morning. Just to pick up a few things."

"Maybe she got lost on the way back," Rhys said, though his tone hel little conviction. "We should send someone to check- "

Azriel's voice through, cut steel-edged. "Where exactly did she say she'd be in the market?"

The room stilled. Nesta stopped pacing, turning to face him. "Near the fountain. At the far end by the spice vendors. That's her favourite place to visit."

Azriel's eyes went to Rhys. The High Lord's answering nod was all the permission he needed.

He was moving before anyone could say another word, shadows streaming after him, wings flaring in the tight hall. His mind was already spiralling into places he didn't want it to go--every sick, twisted possibility clawing to the surface.

Please be fine, Y/N. Please be fine.

he streets near the fountain were nearly empty now, lamplight spilling in golden puddles across the cobblestones. Azriel's shadows slithered ahead, searching every dark corner, every rooftop. His gaze swept over the crowd, sharp and searching--until a faint thread of scent brushed past him.

Y/N.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he followed it, the shadows pulling him down a narrower street. The scent grew stronger--until it stopped.

There, in the middle of the cold, damp road, lay a basket.

Her basket.

He recognized it instantly--woven with pale wood and lined with soft cream cloth, the one Elain had given her last Winter Solstice. Its contents were scattered across the stones as though dropped mid-step: a loaf of crusty bread, two small jars of honey, and a folded length of deep-blue silk that caught faint moonlight.

People had walked past it without pause, stepping over the mess. To them, it was nothing.

But to Azriel, it was everything.

He knelt beside it, the world narrowing to the sight of those familiar items strewn where she must've stood. His shadows darted out, seeking more of her trail, but came back empty. No scents but hers lingered--not a whiff of the ones who had taken her.

His stomach turned cold. They'd masked their scents. Professional. Deliberate.

Azriel's vision blurred for a moment as his jaw clenched. Slowly, carefully, he gathered the items and set them back into the basket, fingers brushing over the worn handle. His hands were steady only because he forced them to be.

In his mind, the faces of her captors--whoever they were--were already being built from shadows and rage. He would find them. He would destroy them Piece by piece.

It was certain now. She'd been taken.

Azriel straightened, the basket in his hand, and let the rage settle into something colder. Sharper.

Hold strong, Y/N.

Because he would find her.

No matter what.

She had no idea how long it had been.

Minutes, hours--it all bled together in the suffocating dark. Every second felt like an eternity, yet Y/N guessed it had only been a few hours since they'd dragged her here.

The blindfold had stayed on.

They hadn't wasted any time before the pain had began.

A blow to her ribs that stole her breath. The sharp sting of something--metal?--raking across her arm. A boot pressed cruelly into her back when she fell to her knees. Questions hurled at her in voices dripping with malice, each one sharper than the last.

“Tell us about Rhysand.”

“I don’t know anything- ”

A fist to her jaw.

“Where is the Illyrian commander? Where is Cassian?”

“I- please, I don’t- ”

A sharp twist of her hair, forcing her head back.

“What about the Shadowsinger?” A pause, a hiss in her ear. “We know you’re close. Tell us where he is.”

She bit down on her lip hard enough to taste blood. "I don't know anything!"

The blows kept coming, punctuated by jeers that cut deeper than any strike. "Not so high and mighty now, are you?"

"You think you're important, little Archeron? You're nothing but a pretty face playing at power."

"You're right, I'm not the High Lady. Not the Lady of Death. Not even the Seer. So please, let me go!"

She begged. Gods, she begged. Tried to make them see she wasn't what they thought she was. She wasn't Feyre, the High Lady with raw, untamed power. She wasn't Nesta, forged from fire and steel, death in a woman's skin. She wasn't Elain, with visions that could alter the course of war.

She didn't even know what she was.

Whatever 'gift' the Cauldron had given her, if any, had remained silent all this time. And yet they didn't care.

"Your sisters would've fought by now," one sneered. "You? You'll break like glass."

"Maybe we should start taking pieces of you. Send them to Rhysand or Azriel one by one until they answer."

Her chest heaved under the weight of their words, the pain thrumming through every inch of her body. For the first time, she truly began to wonder if she'd make it out alive.

"They want to lure us in," Rhysand said, voice cold enough to frost the air.

Azriel set the basket down on the table. The cream lining was smudged with dirt, the blue silk stained from where it had fallen to the road. “This was hers. I found it near the market fountain. Her trail stops there—no scents but hers.” His jaw tightened. “Whoever took her masked themselves. They knew what they were doing.”

Elain’s hands flew to her mouth, a choked sob breaking loose. She shook her head over and over, whispering, “No, no, not Y/N…” The sound cut through the room like a blade. Mor was at her side in an instant, guiding her toward the door as Elain’s sobs grew ragged, the sound fading only when the door shut behind them.

Nesta’s eyes were sharp and burning, her fists clenching at her sides. Feyre stood stiff, eyes twitching in restrained fury, while Cassian cursed low and vicious under his breath. Amren leaned back in her chair, silver eyes glittering like sharpened steel.

"We don't know who has her, or where," Rhys said, scanning the room. "But if they took her in broad daylight and masked their scents, it's calculated. And if they've gone after her specifically..." His gaze flicked to Feyre.

Feyre's voice trembled, just slightly. "Poor Y/N. The Mother knows what they're doing to her right now."

Azriel's hands curled into fists before he could stop himself. The thought alone--the idea of her in pain, in fear--sent a hot, slicing fury through his chest. His shadows rippled sharply, betraying what he didn't say aloud.

"We can't waste time," he said, each word clipped. "Every second we sit here, they get further."

Rhys gave a single nod. "Agreed. Azriel, Cassian--you'll take the skies. Amren and Nesta, start running the perimeter with anyone available. Also inform Mor. Feyre and I will reach out to our contacts in the city."

Cassian was already halfway to the door. Nesta moved toward him, but her gaze lingered on Azriel. "Find her," she said. It wasn't a request.

"I will," Azriel promised, the vow low and lethal.

As the others moved into motion, his mind was already a map of possibilities--every dark corner, every smuggler's route, every enemy who might dare to try this. But under it all was one clear, unwavering thought:

Hold on, Y/N. I'm coming.

If only he'd known how hard it would be to track her.

Two whole days had passed since Y/N vanished without a trace. In all his long centuries, Azriel had never faced such a challenge as finding her. The bastards who'd taken her were professionals--silent, careful, leaving not so much as a footprint to follow.

His shadows were gone, every last one, under his orders. They were scattered across the Night Court and beyond, creeping through the other courts, combing alleys, forests, docks, tunnels.

And still, nothing.

Azriel hadn’t slept. Not truly. Every hour was spent searching--questioning informants in the slums, scouring every black market and smuggler’s den, slipping through enemy borders without permission. His patience, honed over centuries, frayed more with each dead end. Fury ate at him from the inside out, each passing moment sharpening into the same relentless thought: what if he was too late?

The others were no better. Feyre spent her hours in council and in the skies, her expression hardening more each day. Rhysand was gaunt from exhaustion, spending countless hours raking through the minds of anyone even remotely suspicious...only to find walls or emptiness.

Elain sat for hours in her garden or the quietest corners of the River House, clutching Y/N’s scarf as though it could tether her to a vision. But whatever she tried, the threads remained dark, unspooling into nothing.

Nesta had taken to constant movement: searching the city, flying with Cassian, stalking into every place that might offer a whisper of information. Cassian rarely left her side, his own worry showing in the way he watched her when she wasn’t looking.

Mor and Amren hunted leads in their own ways--Mor slipping into dangerous places where her name still carried weight, Amren leaning over maps and sending out messages through her own web of contacts.

The River House had become a place of hushed voices and quick glances, everyone bracing for news that never came.

Azriel was in Rhysand’s office with Cassian when the door slammed open hard enough to rattle the shelves. Nesta stalked in, eyes bright and dangerous.

“I think I have a plan,” she said, voice low but sharp. “One that might work.”

Time had become a cruel, shapeless thing.

The interrogations didn't stop. Not once. Every few hours--though it could've been minutes or days--they came for her again. Always the same questions.

About Azriel's job.

His secrets that they were so sure he'd shared with her.

"We've been tracking you for a long time, little mouse," one whispered in her ear, the smell of alcohol and something else--something disgusting--blocking her nose. "So we know how close you've been with him. Close enough for him to share his secrets with you."

Then came other types of questions:

His missions.

Where he went when the rest of the Inner Circle didn't see him.

His every move.

She told them the truth. Over and over. I don't know. But the answer never changed their methods.

With each passing minute, the fragile thread of hope she’d been clinging to frayed thinner. At first, she’d tried to hold on--imagining Feyre’s wings blotting out the sun as she landed, Nesta’s steel gaze cutting through chains, Azriel’s shadows spilling into the room before he cut down her captors. But those images came less and less.

Now her mind wandered into darker places.

What if no one was coming?

What if they couldn’t find her?

What if she simply… disappeared?

At some point, they’d torn the blindfold from her eyes. The light in the room had been dim, but it still burned after so long in darkness. And then she’d seen them.

Three faces--if they could be called that. All warped, ugly, monstrous. Their skin looked stretched too tight, their eyes too small for their skulls. She didn’t know them, didn’t recognize anything in them except hunger.

The questions had kept coming. Her begging had stopped.

"I do not know," she murmured again, her voice a rasp. She barely flinched when the slap came, her head snapping to the side.

Her wrists and ankles were bound in heavy chains that dug into her skin, the weight pulling at her shoulders and hips. Every breath was a reminder of the bruises painting her ribs. One shoulder hung at an odd angle, dislocated from when they’d slammed her into the wall earlier.

The pain had dulled to something constant, almost background noise.

It was the anger that burned brighter.

At herself--for being careless.

At her captors--for thinking they could break her.

At life--for making her the one who always seemed easiest to take.

She swallowed, straightened as much as the chains allowed. If this was the end, they would not see her beg again.

Not now. Not ever.

"No."

"No!"

Azriel blinked, and Nesta's shocked, furious glare was met with identical expressions from Rhysand and Cassian.

"What?!" Nesta barked. "But- "

Rhys cut her off, his voice sharp. "You cannot just use the Mask to call the dead to you and command them to search for Y/N!"

"Well, why the hell not?" Nesta snapped. "The Dread Trove is mine! I can do whatever I fucking please with it, can't I?"

Rhysand let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Look...I know you're desperate to find Y/N before it's too late- "

"Watch it, Rhysand," Nesta shot back, eyes flashing.

He didn’t stop. “-we all are. But summoning the dead is extremely dangerous. I understood it during the war, but now? You can’t just summon thousands, if not millions, of dead skeletons, to one place. It’s not just about control. You’d risk catastrophic collateral damage. The dead might not stay contained. The laws of life and death aren’t forgiving.”

Cassian crossed his arms, voice low and steady, though edged with worry. “He’s right, Nesta. It’s too dangerous. The risk to everyone--even to the Night Court--is enormous.”

Azriel’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened. Heat pooled in his chest, sharp and relentless.

“Are you two even hearing yourselves?!” he barked, voice booming over the office. Both Nesta and the others froze mid-gesture. “Y/N IS LOST! GONE! And yet here you are, rejecting a perfectly logical plan because of what? Too many dead roaming our court?!”

He stepped forward, the shadows around him pulsing like living things. “We should be doing EVERYTHING we can to find her. Every possible path, every option! And you’re sitting here squabbling over what could happen if we take a chance? Do you even understand what’s at stake? She’s not just missing--she’s in the hands of monsters who are professionals at keeping her hidden, and we are running out of time!”

His voice dropped to a low, trembling growl, fury mingling with fear. “Do you even hear me? Do you even hear what I’m saying?!”

Cassian opened his mouth, but Azriel didn’t wait. He spun on his heel, shadows curling tight around him as he stormed toward the balcony.

“You can argue all you want!” he snarled over his shoulder. “I don’t care about ‘too dangerous’! She’s all that matters right now!”

With a powerful leap, he vaulted over the balcony railing, wings unfurling and catching the wind in a rush of motion. In an instant, he was gone, streaking into the night, the city lights blurring beneath him as every ounce of his being focused on one truth: he would find her. No matter what.

The nights were endless, the city below him a blur of streets and rooftops, shadows stretching and curling with every step. He hunted tirelessly, gliding from court to court, village to village, through forests and along cliffs where smugglers and thieves might hide. The wind tore at his cloak, the stars offering no comfort. Each street corner, each dark alley, was a potential lead, and yet, every time he followed one, it dissolved into nothing.

Sleep had abandoned him. Food, water--he barely noticed. The only thing that mattered was finding her.

And with every failed attempt, every lead that came to a dead end, the anger at himself grew. He should have seen it coming. He should have been faster. How could I have let this happen? The questions clawed at him relentlessly.

Her face came unbidden to his mind--the tilt of her head when she laughed, that spark in her eyes when she’d figured something out before anyone else. The way she’d lean slightly into him during training, a silent trust he hadn’t been sure he deserved. The quiet moments at the River House, the way she had confided in him, sharing her fears and her hopes.

He remembered one night after the war, sitting on a balcony with her, her voice barely above a whisper as she told him she felt forgotten. He had laughed softly then, hiding the weight of his own solitude behind teasing words, shadows coiling around them like silent guardians. That had been a simpler time.

Now, those memories were knives in his chest, reminders of everything at stake--and everything he might fail to save.

Every whisper of movement, every trace of scent, every shadow that shifted in the corner of his vision became a possibility. He followed them all, tortured by the thought that maybe, just maybe, he was too late.

Yet he refused to stop. He couldn’t. She was out there somewhere, and he would not rest until he had her safe, until he had torn her from whatever hell she had been thrown into.

Azriel’s wings beat the cold night air, and his shadow stretched long and furious across the land. Every heartbeat, every pulse, every whispered memory of Y/N drove him onward.

No matter how long it took.

No matter what it cost.

Time blurred. Hours felt like days. She had no sense of the sun, no clue whether it was night or morning. The only constants were the pain and the voices.

The interrogations never stopped. Questions spat at her again and again--about Rhysand’s power, about Cassian’s defenses, about Azriel’s missions. What does he do when he disappears? Where does he go? Who does he kill?

Every time her answer was the same, low and rasped from exhaustion: "I don't know."

The slap would come before she could even draw her next breath. Or the punch. Or the boot to her ribs. Her body was already a map of bruises and bleeding welts. She wanted to cry, but even her tears had run dry. Instead, her silence only made them crueler.

One of them leaned close, his breath rancid as he snarled, "Useless little sister. No wonder your family barely remembers you exist." Then he turned toward his companions and sighed frustratedly. "We should've taken a more useful sister. It's been four fucking days and Azriel still isn't within our reach. Nor do we have any intel on them."

Another male, the one without his left eye, looked at Y/N in disgust and then back at him. "So...what should we do with her?"

All four heads turned towards her as their 'leader' spoke with a smirk. "We kill her and send her body back in pieces."

Her chains rattled as she shifted, her body aching from the cold stone beneath her. Every inhale was a battle, every exhale a reminder of how fragile she felt. Hope had begun to slip through her fingers like sand.

Her lips trembled, but she forced the corners upward into a bitter smile. Maybe being forgotten would work in her favor, just this once. If her family wasn’t dragged into this because of her--if Azriel wasn’t dragged into this--then perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible to simply… fade away.

The thought twisted like a knife in her chest. And still, she sat there in the dark, body broken, voice hoarse, bracing herself for her death. The next reminder that she was prey, caught and waiting.

The war room was drowning in silence. Four days. Four days without a trace, without a whisper of her, and every passing hour scraped Azriel raw. His shadows hissed and clawed, restless, angry, unable to find what he needed most. He stood by the window, fists clenched so tight his knuckles burned, his gaze fixed on nothing.

And then-

A choked sound tore through the room.

"Elain?" Feyre's voice was sharp, alarmed.

Azriel turned just in time to see her collapse to her knees, a strangled cry ripping from her throat as her hands clutched at her chest. Her eyes glazed--gone white, pupils swallowed by a light that was not of this world.

"Elain!" Nesta was already there, gripping her sister's shoulders. Cassian crouched low beside her, panic flashing in his eyes.

But Rhys's face went deadly still. "No one touch her."

"She's- she's- " Feyre's words faltered as she looked at her sister.

Azriel's heart slammed against his ribs. His shadows went utterly silent, curling tight against him like they knew. A vision.

Elain's body trembled, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She muttered something no one could understand--fragmented words, broken syllables. Then her head snapped back, a cry ripping from her lips that sounded like pure agony.

Nesta shook her again, desperate. "Elain, damn it, tell us what you see!"

Azriel's chest was a cage, every inhale sharp and shallow. He forced the words out, steel and prayer entwined. "Please...let it be about Y/N."

Rhys' eyes narrowed, already reaching out with his power, steady but tense. "It has to be."

And then Elain's voice broke through the storm of fear--ragged, trembling, but clear enough to freeze the blood in Azriel's veins.

"I see her."

The room erupted, voices overlapping--Nesta demanding where, Feyre begging how, Cassian and Mor swearing--but Azriel’s vision tunneled. His heart thundered as he moved closer, every muscle taut.

“Where is she, Elain?” His voice was low, lethal, but underneath--pleading. Tell me. Give me something. Save her.

Elain’s eyes flicked toward him, though she couldn’t possibly see him. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks as her lips trembled, shaping words that would seal their path.

"They're going to kill her."

Her mind was slipping. Threads of memory and hallucination weaving together until she could no longer tell which was which. Her mother’s soft humming. The way sunlight used to filter through the trees when she was small. Azriel’s unreadable hazel eyes watching her too closely. Cassian’s booming laugh. Elain’s gentle hands brushing flour from her cheek.

It all bled together, comforting and cruel, reminders of a world she wasn’t sure she belonged to anymore.

Her body had long since given up screaming at her--numbness had taken over, the ache buried so deep it was almost easier than fighting. It was a miracle she had lasted this long without food, without water. Another cruel gift of being High Fae. Endurance meant only a longer stretch of torment.

Her head lolled to the side, breath shallow, vision blurred with shadows and stars she couldn’t quite blink away. Maybe--maybe if she closed her eyes, she would see her mother again. Maybe she would be waiting. Y/N had always been her mother’s shadow, her little echo. Out of all three sisters, she was the one who had clung to her mother’s warmth the most.

At least think of nice things before it ends.

Her thoughts were severed by the cold bite of iron, the sound of chains scraping against stone as they fastened her to something solid--a boulder, jagged against her spine.

Through the haze she caught the sight of them. The males. Her captors. Standing before her now, blades glinting in the dim light. Predators circling the inevitable end.

Her chest rose once, twice, on a deep inhale that tasted like blood and metal. Slowly, she let her eyes fall shut, surrendering to the darkness. If this was her last moment, she would meet it with calm, not tears.

The scrape of boots drew nearer. The hiss of steel raised.

And then-

The first blow came. A sharp, tearing agony as the sword plunged into her lower stomach.

Her body arched against the stone with the impact, a choked sound strangled in her throat. The pain was fire, white-hot, merciless.

But she did not scream.

Not this time.

The cave was filled with screams before the soldiers even realized what had descended upon them. Shadows erupted like a living storm, snuffing out light, searing fear into every corner. And at the center of it--Azriel. His siphons flared blue, his wings slicing the air, each movement a promise of death.

He had thought, in those endless nights searching, that maybe he’d hold back when he found them. That maybe he’d just incapacitate the bastards so he could take his time later, wring every secret out of them with a blade. But then… he saw her.

Y/N.

Chained, bleeding, body too still. A sword protruding from her lower stomach, crimson staining the stone. Her eyes were half-lidded as if she had already started to drift away.

And Azriel snapped.

He didn’t fight. He slaughtered. Silent, efficient, merciless. Every male who had laid a hand on her was cut down before they could even lift a weapon. Shadows pinned one against the wall as Azriel drove Truth-Teller through his chest. Another tried to flee--his wings were torn from his body before Azriel slit his throat. Not even screams had time to form

Nesta’s fire flared cold and deadly as she ripped through two more, her blade singing with death. Cassian was a whirlwind of brute force, slamming one into the rock hard enough that bones cracked like twigs.

And then--silence.

The three of them stood amidst the carnage, blood dripping, shadows hissing low and restless around Azriel. His siphons pulsed like a heartbeat gone wild. But none of it mattered. None of it compared to the sight of Y/N, broken and barely breathing.

“Cauldron damn them,” Nesta breathed, her voice shaking with rage as she dropped to her knees beside her sister. Her hands hovered uselessly, trembling as she whispered, “What did they do to you, Y/N…”

Cassian’s eyes were burning, fists clenched, chest heaving with fury. “Monsters,” he spat. “Fucking monsters. They’ll never touch you again, I swear- ” His voice cracked.

Azriel didn’t hear the rest. He was already moving, already kneeling, already sliding trembling hands beneath Y/N’s limp body. Blood--her blood--soaked his leathers instantly, hot and suffocating, and he thought he might vomit from the sheer terror choking him.

“Stay with me,” he whispered harshly, pulling her against his chest as carefully as he could. His shadows curled around her, frantic and protective, as if they could hold her soul tethered to her body. “Y/N. Please. Stay with me.”

Her lashes fluttered weakly, her lips parting. A broken breath escaped before she whispered, barely audible, "Azriel...is that you?"

His heart stopped.

And then-

The snap.

It ripped through him like lightning, a tether locking tight around his very core. A bond. A truth. His mate.

Azriel froze, staring down at her in shock, even as her faint, disbelieving gasp echoed the same realization. His mate. His mate.

A thousand emotions warred in him a once: fury at fate for making this moment their beginning, guilt so sharp it could tear him apart, and desperate, desperate hope that she would not leave him now. Not when he had just found her.

He had never had a mate. Had never thought he would. And now--now the Cauldron had given him Y/N, only to try to rip her away on the very same day.

Her trembling hand rose weakly, brushing his chest before her lips moved again, shaping two soft, broken words.

"My mate."

And then her body went limp in his arms.

Two days.

Two entire days since they had dragged her broken, bleeding body back through the wards of Velaris. Two days since she had slipped into a deep, unmoving unconsciousness. Two days that had stretched longer than any of the centuries Azriel had endured before them.

The memory of that return still clawed at him. Feyre’s scream as she caught sight of Y/N in his arms, raw and keening, enough to shake the walls. Rhysand’s immediate roar of command, summoning every healer in the city. Elain stumbling ahead of them, pale and trembling, whispering prayers under her breath as she guided them through rooms. Mor’s sobs, her hands slick with Y/N’s blood as she tried to help stanch wounds that would not stop bleeding. Amren, uncharacteristically silent, her ancient eyes glittering like steel as she barked orders no one dared disobey.

And him, Azriel, who had refused to let anyone pry her from his arms until the healers forced him to. Who had not left her side since. Not once.

He’d braced himself for it, the words he dreaded most. Too late. Nothing we can do. She won’t wake. Every time the healers stepped out of her chamber, he expected it. Every time they sighed, every time they whispered, his heart split further, until he was sure there was nothing left to shatter.

But the words never came.

Still, the silence was its own torment. Her breathing shallow but steady. Her pulse faint but there. He should have felt hope. Instead, Azriel felt only self-loathing.

He had failed her. He had let them take her. He had spent days chasing shadows while she had been chained, beaten, stabbed. He had let himself believe that she would be safe, that he had time. Stupid. Blind. Weak. He had promised himself long ago he would never let someone in only to fail them. And now, the Cauldron had cursed him with a mate he did not deserve.

Maybe he never should have had one at all.

Azriel sat in the dim chamber, shadows curling around him like mourning veils, head in his hands. The scent of her blood still clung to his leathers, even after scrubbing until his skin was raw. It lived in his lungs, choking him, each inhale a reminder of how easily he could lose her.

And if she never woke? If she slipped away before he could ever tell her--before she could even truly know--what she was to him? His chest caved with the thought. He wouldn’t survive it. Not this.

The door burst open.

He shot to his feet instantly, siphons flaring, shadows hissing.

Mor stood in the doorway, breathless, wide-eyed. “She’s awake,” she blurted, not sparing another word before she spun and dashed down the hall.

For a heartbeat, Azriel just stared, the words refusing to register. Awake. Alive. Moving.

Then it hit.

His shadows shrieked with a sound like wind snapping through trees, and he was already moving, heart hammering so hard it hurt, thoughts a blur. Awake. She’s awake. Please, Cauldron, let it be true. Please let me not be too late. Please-

He ran, faster than he’d ever run without flight, hope so sharp it was painful, tearing through the fog of despair that had bound him for two endless days.

The room was packed. The entire Inner Circle crowded around the bed, voices hushed, faces taut with relief and fear alike. Feyre sat perched on the edge, both of Y/N's hands held tightly in hers, her High Lady composure cracked by the tears streaming freely down her face.

Azriel barely saw them. He pushed past bodies, ignoring Cassian’s hand on his shoulder, ignoring Amren’s sharp look, ignoring Elain’s soft sob. His entire world narrowed to the small, fragile figure lying beneath layers of blankets.

Her.

Y/N’s eyes were half-lidded, her skin far too thin, but they were open. Open, and finding him, and--Cauldron help him--she smiled. It was faint, pained, but it was there.

She didn’t move much; every shift made her wince. One arm was tightly bound against her side in a sling, her dislocated shoulder still healing. The bruises had not yet faded from her throat, her cheek, her temple. She looked broken. And still, she looked radiant to him. Alive.

Feyre was whispering something, voice trembling with joy and relief, but Y/N’s gaze didn’t leave his. Slowly, weakly, she slipped one hand from Feyre’s grasp, her fingers trembling with the effort. She lifted it slightly, beckoning him forward.

Azriel’s knees nearly gave out. He moved to her without thinking, sinking down at her side, so close now that he could see every flutter of her lashes, every shallow rise and fall of her chest.

Her hand brushed his jaw, then settled against his cheek. Her skin was fever-warm, her touch barely there, but it undid him.

“My mate,” she whispered, so soft it was almost a breath.

And Azriel...Azriel broke. Centuries of restraint shattered in an instant. His head bowed, his shoulders shaking as tears burned and spilled, as his hand rose to cover hers against his cheek. He didn’t care about the audience, about the Inner Circle watching in stunned silence. He didn’t care that they were seeing him unravel, seeing him feel. All he cared about was her.

He forced himself to lift his head, to meet her gaze through the blur of his tears. “No,” he choked, voice breaking. “No, not yet. Don’t- don’t accept it yet. You’re not well enough. Not like this.”

But she shook her head, slow, weak, stubborn as ever. Her lips curved faintly in a smile that was both fragile and defiant. “Please,” she breathed, voice rough with pain, “I’m… well enough.”

The bond between them snapped taut, a golden thread pulling tight, and Azriel felt it--the certainty, the recognition, the eternity. His soul locked with hers, and there was no undoing it now. Not that he would ever want to.

He pressed his forehead gently to hers, shadows curling protectively around them both. “I’ll always be by your side,” he swore, voice low, steady despite the tremor in his chest. “I’ll never leave you again. This will never happen again. Do you hear me, Y/N? Never.”

Her lashes fluttered, a tear slipping free. Her hand squeezed faintly against his cheek, and her lips curved once more.

“I hear you.”

And though her voice was faint, though her body was weak, the bond between them thrummed with strength, with promise, with the beginning of something Azriel had never dared hope for.

For the first time in his life, he let himself believe.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[idknotgonnapost]

honor jokes in the big 26 😭

[idknotgonnapost]

that’s my GOAT

[hockeylover25]

Shadows in Love*

Azriel x mate!reader

Summary: while on your getaway for your mating frenzy, you wake up believing that Azriel is touching you but him bound to a chair with his shadows watching his shadows take you how they want and they continue to have their way.

Warnings: smut, p in v, shadow play, these shadows are freaky, choking, watching, dirty talk, little just all filth, spiting kink, just filthy.

Authors note: this is just absolute smut and filth and I love it so…also might make my other ones like this into a mini series with this. Because I love the idea of Azriel’s shadows loving his mate just as much as he does! Lmk if any of you would like to be on a Taglist for Azriel stories like this!

Main Masterlist:

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The world had been reduced to the scent of sex, sweat, and him. For nearly a week, you’d been lost in the raw, consuming reality of the mating bond with Azriel. Your bodies had spoken a language of their own, a frantic, beautiful dialect of claiming and surrender. You knew, in accepting him, you were also accepting the living darkness that clung to him—his shadows. You’d expected them to be an extension of him, silent observers. You were wrong.

You awoke on the seventh morning not to his touch, but to a sensation like cool silk whispering over your skin. A gasp caught in your throat as you felt a distinct, finger-like pressure circling your entrance before slipping inside. Your hands jerked upward instinctively, only to meet resistance. Your wrists were bound above your head by bands of solidified darkness.

A moan tore from your lips. “Azriel…”

Your eyes fluttered open, the dim light of the room clarifying the scene. Azriel was seated in a chair across from the bed, his wrists bound to its arms by his own shadows. His chest heaved, muscles corded with tension, and one hand was wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly. His hazel eyes were blown black with lust, fixed entirely on you.

But he wasn’t touching you.

You felt it again—a tendril of shadow, cool and firm, circling a pebbled nipple. Another shadow, taking the shape of a mouth, whispered directly into your ear, its voice a chorus of hushed, dark winds. “Wanted to feel what our master’s mate felt like.”

A chorus of agreement rustled through the room, shadows shifting on the walls and ceiling. “So warm…” one sighed. “So tight…” another breathed, as the shadow inside your pussy curled, exploring.

You whimpered, arching off the bed, your eyes locked on Azriel’s. He let out a broken whimper in response, his hand moving faster on himself. “Gods, you look so fucking good,” he rasped, his voice rough. “Such a good mate for me… for my shadows, huh? You’re their fuck toy as well.”

Overwhelmed, you could only nod.

The shadow at your ear solidified, a cool, finger-like form tilting your chin away from Azriel. “No looking at him,” it whispered, not unkindly but with absolute authority. “It’s our turn.”

Before you could process the command, the sensation inside you changed. It thickened, lengthened, molding into a perfect, cock-like shape of pure, cool darkness. It withdrew and then slammed back into you, setting a ruthless, deep rhythm. You cried out, a sound of shock and blinding pleasure, your hips trying to buck against it.

You tried to pull your hands free, but the shadows binding your wrists only tightened, a dark chuckle echoing in the room. “No, little mate. You are ours to play with.”

Then, another shadow, just as formed, slipped past your lips and down your throat. It didn’t choke; it filled, a phantom cock fucking your mouth with the same relentless pace as the one in your pussy. Your muffled moans made Azriel groan loudly, his head falling back against the chair. “Fuck,” he breathed.

“Master,” a shadow cooed near his ear. “Move your hand faster. Watch her take us.”

Azriel’s eyes snapped to yours, a smirk twisting his beautiful, tortured lips. “Yes,” he hissed, and obeyed, stroking himself in time with the shadows’ thrusts.

You were whining now, a continuous stream of overwhelmed sound. Instinctively, you tried to close your legs, to find some anchor in the storm. The shadows holding Azriel’s chair slithered away. In an instant, new bands of darkness wrapped around your ankles, yanking your legs apart and binding them to the foot of the bed, leaving you utterly exposed.

A new sensation bloomed at your clit—a pad of shadow, circling with devilish precision. The combined assault was too much. Your vision whited out as a climax ripped through you with shocking violence, your body bowing against your restraints.

The shadows went still.

The one in your mouth retreated. The one at your clit paused. A wave of displeasure, cold and sharp, filled the air.

“You came without asking permission,” the whispering voice stated, no longer playful.

Before you could even catch your breath, the shadows flipped you over onto your stomach with impossible ease. A sharp, stinging smack landed on your ass—a shadow formed into a solid, unforgiving hand. You yelped, then moaned, the pain sparking directly back into pleasure.

“Gods, I wanna fuck you,” Azriel growled from his chair, straining against his bonds now, his composure fraying.

You turned your head, looking at the shadows currently tracing your spine. “Please,” you whispered, voice wrecked. “Wanna kiss from him. Please.”

They seemed to consider it. Then they growled, a sound like grinding stone, and descended upon you. Not with punishment, but with a sudden, shocking worship. Cool, mouth-like presses covered your neck, your shoulders, the dip of your spine—a hundred phantom kisses tasting your skin. You whined, pushing back into the sensation. “Please, let me feel him.”

A shadow patted your cheek, almost fondly. “You’ll be a good mate for our master.”

You nodded frantically. “I will. I am.”

The bonds on your wrists and ankles dissolved. In the next second, Azriel was there, his own bonds gone, his heat replacing the shadows’ coolness. His large, scarred hands ran up your back, possessive and reverent. “Such a good slut for them, huh, baby?” he murmured into your hair, his voice thick. “Such a good mate for us.”

You nodded again, a sob of relief catching in your throat as he positioned himself behind you. He tilted your chin back, capturing your lips in a searing, desperate kiss as he sheathed himself inside you in one smooth, deep thrust.

You sighed into his mouth, the feeling of him—warm, solid, real—almost overwhelming after the shadows’ ethereal touch. He set a punishing pace, fucking you with a roughness born of days of pent-up need and the visual feast he’d just witnessed. His shadows didn’t leave; they pooled beneath you, licking and teasing at your clit and where your bodies joined, worshiping you both.

He pushed you back down onto the bed, your chest against the sheets, his body covering yours. His shadows swarmed over your back and neck like adoring pets.

“Az… Azriel…” you panted.

“Ask them,” he grunted, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Ask them, baby.”

You turned your face to the side, where a shadow was nuzzling your cheek. “Please… may I come?”

The shadow kissed your temple. “Yes.”

That single word of permission shattered you. You came with a sharp cry, your inner walls fluttering around him wildly.

Azriel groaned, his rhythm faltering. “Fuck… gonna come, baby…”

“No, Master.” The shadow’s voice was firm by his ear. “Let her come again. Then you can, be a good mate for her.”

Azriel whined, a raw, needy sound, but he obeyed. He slowed his thrusts, grinding deep, his lips at your ear. “Come on, baby,” he pleaded, his voice trembling. “Come for me again. Be my good girl. Be good for us. Come for your mate and his shadows.”

Spurred by his words and the relentless attention of the shadows, a second, deeper, more rolling orgasm built and crashed over you. This time, your cry was longer, sweeter.

The moment you clenched around him again, Azriel’s control snapped. With a roar that was part triumph, part surrender, he spilled into you, his body shuddering violently against yours.

For long minutes, the only sounds were ragged breathing. Then, his shadows—gentle now—coiled around you both, a living blanket of cool darkness. They nuzzled into your hair, along your spent body, murmuring like contented cats. “So good for us… Our beautiful mate…”

Azriel, still buried inside you, pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. As he slowly pulled out, a shadow darted away, returning moments later with a damp, warm cloth. Azriel took it with a soft chuckle, cleaning you with a tenderness that contrasted starkly with the previous frenzy.

His shadows settled around you as he pulled you back against his chest. They were no longer separate entities, but a part of the bond, a part of the love, a part of the dark, possessive heart of the male who held you—all of them claiming you, keeping you, loving you in their own mysterious way.

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The morning sun streamed through the windows of the River House kitchen, painting the space in soft gold. You hummed to yourself, the simple, domestic act of making breakfast a soothing balm after the intensity of the previous day. The scent of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee filled the air. You felt… cherished. Loved in a way that was both terrifying and perfect.

You were reaching for a spatula when you felt it—a familiar, cool caress against the back of your thigh. A shiver, half anticipation, half surprise, raced up your spine. Before you could turn, the touch became more deliberate. A tendril of shadow slipped under the hem of your sleep shirt, gliding up your stomach with a possessive slowness that made your breath hitch.

“Azriel?” you whispered, but the kitchen was empty save for you.

The shadow didn’t answer with words. It answered with action. It hooked into the waistband of your soft shorts and panties, pulling them down your hips in one smooth motion. Cool, solid darkness cupped you from behind, a phantom palm pressing against your core, and then a tongue-like tendril, impossibly skilled, licked a slow, wet stripe through your folds.

A sharp, loud moan tore from your lips. Your hands slammed onto the counter for support as your knees buckled.

The sound of pounding footsteps echoed from the hall a second before Azriel skidded into the kitchen doorway, shirtless, his hair mussed from sleep, his wings flared slightly in alarm. The alarm melted into molten heat as he took in the scene: you, bent over the kitchen counter, your shorts around your thighs, his shadows swirling around your legs and between them, their dark forms focused intently on their task.

He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. “Hungry this morning, are we?” he purred, his voice still rough with sleep.

You could only whimper in response as the shadows doubled their efforts, one lapping at your clit while another probed gently at your entrance. They were murmuring, their chorus of whispers vibrating against your sensitive skin.

“Wanna make our mate come everywhere… Like she never has before…”

Azriel pushed off the doorframe and stalked toward you. With a gentle but firm hand, he helped you be flipped around to sit on the counter, the cold marble a shock against your bare skin. He stepped behind you, hands beside your head, and kissed you—a deep, upside-down kiss that tasted of sleep and him. You could feel his smile against your lips.

He broke the kiss only to pull your shirt up and over your head, tossing it behind him. His lips found your temple as his hands cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. “Fuck, my good mate,” he breathed, watching the shadows work between your legs with rapt fascination. “My shadows love you so much. Can’t keep their hands—or whatever they are—off you.”

Another shadow, thin and curious, joined the two at your core, tracing teasing circles around your entrance before slipping inside alongside its sibling. The dual penetration made you cry out, arching your back. “Az… fuck, I never realized they loved this,” you gasped, the reality of their sentient desire crashing over you anew.

Azriel’s eyes, dark and full of a strange, shared pride, met yours. He patted your cheek gently. “Open.”

Confused but pliant, you let your mouth fall open. A string of saliva, pulled from your kiss with him, dripped from your lip. He caught it on his thumb and brought it back to your lips, patting your cheek again. “Swallow.”

The command, so filthy and tender, made you moan as you obeyed, taking his thumb into your mouth for a second before swallowing. A dark thrill went through you.

“Good fucking girl,” he murmured, his voice thick.

His shadows curled a finger-like tendril inside you, hitting a spot that made you see stars. You jerked against the counter, a broken sound escaping you.

“Gods,” Azriel whispered, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours. “I never knew this either. Not fully. They’ve always wanted you.” His confession was a low, secret thing. “Before we were even mated… they used to watch you. In the library, in the training ring, in the baths. They told me how you’d curl a finger inside yourself at night in your old room, moaning my name. They’d come back to me… begging. Begging me to touch you so they could feel it through me. Begging me to let them have you.”

The admission, combined with the relentless ministrations of the shadows, pushed you to a new edge. You felt one of them shift, broaden. It wasn’t a finger or a tongue anymore. It was a solid, smooth fist of darkness, stretching you impossibly, filling you completely. Your legs trembled violently, a scream lodged in your throat.

Azriel’s head snapped down. He saw what was happening, saw the strain and ecstasy on your face. He leaned over you, a growl rumbling in his chest as he physically pulled your legs wider apart, giving the shadow more room. “Careful,” he snarled at the darkness, but it was a plea, not a threat.

The shadow around your clit growled back, the vibration shooting through your entire body. You turned your face, seeking anchor, and found Azriel’s neck. You kissed and nipped at the corded muscle there, tasting salt and him.

He turned and captured your mouth again, this kiss desperate and consuming. You felt… strange. Not on the precipice of a normal climax, but hovering on the edge of something deeper, more primal. A pressure was building low in your belly, different from anything you’d felt before.

“Oh, gods,” you panted against his lips, then looked down at the writhing shadows. “Please… let me come. Please. I’ve been so good for you. So good for your master.”

The shadows stilled for a heartbeat. Then, they nodded against your skin, a unified, silent permission.

Azriel’s hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back. His eyes burned into yours. “Come, pretty girl,” he commanded, his voice a dark caress. “Come for my shadows.”

The command broke the dam. The climax didn’t crest and crash in waves of pleasure. It erupted. A hot, gushing release surged from you, soaking the shadow-fist inside you, the counter beneath you, Azriel’s legs. A surprised, choked cry left your lips as you squirted, the force of it shocking you to your core.

The shadows didn’t retreat in surprise. They seemed to revel in it, drinking it in. As the tremors subsided, they gently withdrew, their forms softening into caresses. They ran cool, soothing hands up your shaking legs, cooing wordless comforts. “Good mate… Beautiful mate…” They nuzzled and kissed your inner thighs, a display of pure, adoring affection.

Then, as if on a silent command, they slipped away from the kitchen, flowing like smoke toward the bathing chamber.

Azriel was breathing heavily, his eyes wide with awe and a fierce, possessive joy. Without a word, he lifted you from the wet counter, cradling you against his chest in a bridal carry. He carried you through the quiet house, following the path his shadows had taken.

In the bathing chamber, a large tub was already filled with steaming, scented water, courtesy of the shadows. Azriel stepped in, settling himself before lowering you to sit between his legs, your back against his solid chest. The hot water was a blissful relief on your oversensitive body.

A breathy, incredulous laugh escaped you as the exhaustion hit. Your head lolled back against his shoulder, your eyes fluttering closed.

Azriel chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. He pressed a kiss to your damp hair. “Falling asleep on me, my love?”

“Mmm,” you mumbled, already half-gone. “Your shadows… wear a female out.”

He held you close, his arms secure around you, letting you drift in the warm safety of the water and his embrace.

Later, clean and dry and wrapped in soft sheets, he tucked you into bed. The shadows were already there, coiled on the pillows and blankets like contented cats. One draped itself over your hip, another curled around your wrist.

“Love our mate,” they whispered into the dark room, their voices a soft lullaby. “She’s so perfect for our master… and for us.”

You turned your head, nuzzling into Azriel’s shoulder where he lay beside you. With the last of your waking energy, you whispered, “And I love you. All of you.”

In the dim light, you saw Azriel’s smile—a thing of pure, unguarded happiness. He kissed your forehead, his lips lingering. “Sleep, my love,” he murmured, his hand stroking your hair as his shadows pulsed with quiet contentment around you both. “I can tell we are not even close to being done with you.”

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The extra week of seclusion had been a dark, delicious dream. But reality, in the form of Rhysand’s urgent summons, had called Azriel away the very day you’d returned to Velaris. The goodbye was a sharp, physical ache, softened only by the warm, steady pulse of the mating bond and the cool brush of a single, dedicated shadow against your ankle.

“Keep her safe,” Azriel had murmured to it, his forehead pressed to yours. “Keep her… company.”

The shadow had nuzzled his cheek in understanding. It didn’t need convincing. It had stayed.

Throughout the lonely week, it was your constant companion. It followed you like a silent, living pet, twining around your legs when you read in the library, curling on the pillow beside you as you slept. Its touches were small but constant—a cool caress on your wrist as you poured tea, a whisper-soft press against the small of your back as you walked. Whenever you smiled down at it, it would shimmer, a dark little ripple of pure pleasure.

Azriel’s voice down the bond was a lifeline. Missing the feel of you. My shadows are restless without you. Dream of your taste. Each sentiment made your heart clench and your body ache for him even more.

It was on the sixth night, deep in the lonely hours, when the longing became a physical throb. You lay awake, staring at the ceiling, one hand straying restlessly over your stomach. The shadow, coiled at the foot of the bed, stirred.

It sensed your wakefulness, your quiet yearning. It slid up the sheets, a ribbon of living darkness, until it lay between your legs. You didn’t hesitate. With a sigh that was half-relief, half-submissive, you let your knees fall open.

The shadow hummed, a sound of dark approval. “Such a slut for your mate’s shadows,” it whispered, the words a cool breeze against your inner thigh.

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yes.”

It needed no further invitation. With deft, familiar movements, it slipped your underwear down your legs and off. Then it descended, a tongue of cool, solid shadow laving a long, slow stripe through your folds.

You sighed, then moaned, your head tipping back into the pillows. You were so lost in the sensation, in the bittersweet fantasy that it was a piece of him touching you, that you didn’t hear the soft rustle of wings outside. You didn’t hear the balcony door slide open with silent, practiced ease.

Azriel stood there, silhouetted against the night sky, still in his traveling leathers, dusted with the cold of wind and distance. He saw you first—arched on the bed, bathed in moonlight. Then he saw the shadow between your thighs, its dark form moving with intimate purpose. A slow, predatory smirk spread across his tired, handsome face.

Such a whore, he thought down the bond, the words thick with lust and possession.

You gasped, feeling the surge of his presence through the bond a second too late. He was already across the room, a phantom of silence and intent. A large, calloused hand clamped over your mouth, stifling your next moan.

Your eyes flew open, wide with shock and instant, slick arousal.

“Couldn’t wait a week without a cock in you?” he whispered, his lips against your ear, his voice rough from travel and desire. The scent of night and cedar and him filled your senses.

You shook your head frantically under his hand, a denial that was utterly transparent.

He chuckled, a low, dark sound. He patted your cheek with his other hand, the gesture somehow both mocking and tender. “Such a slut for me. For my shadows.”

The shadow between your legs retreated, flowing up Azriel’s arm like water returning to its source. It whispered against his skin, “I kept her warm for you, Master.”

Azriel’s eyes, gleaming in the dim light, never left yours. He cooed, the sound dangerously soft. “Is that it, baby? You needed a cock? Needed something to stuff you up, keep you all warm and full while I was gone?”

You whined his name, the sound muffled by his palm, heat flooding your cheeks in embarrassment.

“Oh no, baby,” he crooned, finally removing his hand from your mouth to begin stripping off his leathers with ruthless efficiency. “Don’t you be embarrassed that I caught you with my shadow’s mouth on your pretty little cunt.” He stepped out of his pants, gloriously, fully naked. “It’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

You moaned at the sight of him, hard and ready.

He didn’t give you time to think. He lifted you effortlessly, making you straddle his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed. Your hand instinctively reached down for his cock, aching to feel him.

A sharp, stinging smack landed on your ass cheek. You yelped.

“Oh, baby, no,” Azriel tutted, gripping your hips. “You’ve had enough cock for the week, don’t you think? From my shadows?” He shifted you, forcing your wetness to grind against the hard muscle of his thigh. “You’ll come on my thigh like a good, desperate little mate.”

His shadows, now multiple and eager, surged from him. They kissed and nipped down your naked body as they took control of your hips, moving you in a slow, grinding rhythm against his leg. The friction was maddening, not enough and too much all at once.

You moaned, rolling your hips to find more pressure.

“Gods,” Azriel mumbled, watching his shadows worship your body, his hands digging into your waist. “My shadows are such whores for you.”

The shadows shimmered in agreement, one swirling to circle your clit with tantalizing lightness before giving the sensitive bud a sharp, tiny bite.

You jerked, crying out, and your hips stuttered forward, your clit dragging perfectly against the coarse hair of his thigh. The sensation was electric.

Suddenly, Azriel lay back on the bed, pulling you with him. In one fluid motion, he positioned you directly over his face. Another smack landed on your ass, this one a promise. “Fuck, need your come, baby. Now.”

His shadows helped, one slipping a cool finger inside you as you lowered yourself onto his waiting mouth. Azriel’s tongue was relentless, hot and demanding, a shocking contrast to the shadows’ coolness. As you began to ride his face, losing yourself in the dual sensation, the shadows finally got what they’d been craving. They formed into gentle, mouth-like shapes and kissed your lips, your cheeks, your eyelids, as you fractured above them.

“Azriel!” you sobbed, and then you were coming, hard, onto his tongue and his beautiful, scarred face.

He drank you down with a groan that vibrated through your entire body. When the last tremor subsided, he gently lifted you off and pulled you down to lie beside him. He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

“Love how much they love you,” he murmured against your mouth, his breathing ragged. “And I love that you love them.”

You smiled, utterly spent and perfectly content. You kissed him softly. “I love everything about you, Azzie. Even these shadows of yours. And I always will.”

He smirked at the nickname, then let his head fall heavily into the crook of your neck with a deep, satisfied sigh. His shadows, sated and gentle now, flowed over you both like a cool, silken sheet, washing away the sweat and evidence of your reunion with a whisper-soft touch. They settled around you as you drifted off, a living blanket of adoration, guarding the deep, peaceful sleep of their master and their beloved mate.