[sweet-pea-channie]

sweet-pea-channie’s masterlist

updated: June 6th, 2025

ACOTAR Azriel

Shadows of the Exile Azriel x female!reader Series (complete 12/12)

In the silence, I found you Azriel x female!reader

Yours, Elsewhere Azriel x female!reader

Soul Inked Azriel x female!reader

The Art of Treason Azriel x female!reader

Dylan O’Brien & Characters

Friday Nights Dylan x Reader (smut)

Forbidden Love Prince!Stiles x fem!servant!reader Mini Series (complete 5/5)

Your name Stiles x Reader Mini Series (complete 5/5)

Wait, WHAT?! Stiles x Reader

Orange Flowers Stiles x Lydia 

Ouch Stiles x reader (smut) 

Never Have I Ever Stiles x reader (smut)

Pretty Little Fangs Stiles x vampire!reader (smut) 

I wolf you Stiles x wife!reader 

Saving you Mitch Rapp x Reader (smut)

Peter Kavinsky & Noah Centineo

Mistakes Peter Kavinsky x Reader 

Scumbag Peter Kavinsky x Reader (smut)

Help required Peter Kavinsky x Reader

Trust Me Peter Kavinsky x shy!reader (smut) 

All fake Peter Kavinsky x Reader (smut) 

Breaking walls Peter Kavinsky x Reader 

Bad Timing Noah Centineo x Reader 

Bad Timing Part 2 Noah Centineo x Reader (smut)

[sweet-pea-channie]

The Art of Treason - Azrielxfem!reader

Azriel x female!reader

Summary: She’s been trained her whole life to be a weapon, but no one knows who she truly serves. A mission that blurs loyalty and love drags her between two courts, two worlds, and one impossible choice. Secrets and shadows threaten to unravel everything she’s fought for, while hearts risk breaking in the quiet between battles. And in a city of magic and danger, trust is the deadliest gamble of all.

Warnings: agnst, emotional manipulation, mentions of violence & war, betrayal, moral ambiguity, light smut, oral (f!receiving, but not detailed), some fluff

Word count: 17.8k (oops)

A/N: Honestly, I could have split this into two chapters, but somehow it felt… better as one. Maybe there will be a part two, exploring what life looks like afterward, if there’s interest. English isn’t my mother tongue, it’s actually my third language, so please bear with me, even though I’ve proofread it twice! 💛

masterlist

The Sidra glittered like spilled starlight beneath the afternoon sun, its currents slow and deceptively gentle as they curved past Velaris. Feyre’s studio windows were thrown wide, letting in the river breeze scented faintly with citrus and salt.

Y/N kept her back to the wall.

Not obviously. Not suspiciously. Just enough.

Canvas stretched before her, paints neatly aligned, brush held with steady fingers that had once been trained to hold blades instead.

Across from her, Feyre Archeron stood barefoot in a smudge of cobalt and gold, sunlight catching in her hair as she leaned back to examine her work.

“You’re very quiet today,” Feyre said gently.

Y/N offered a small smile, soft and harmless. “I’m trying not to ruin your floor.”

Feyre laughed. “It’s survived worse.”

Silence settled again, but not uncomfortable. The kind that came with the scratch of bristles against canvas, the murmur of the river beyond the glass.

Y/N painted what she always painted when she needed to look unthreatening, wildflowers along a woodland path. Nothing sharp. Nothing burning. No shadows. Just softness.

Feyre glanced at her canvas. “You always choose something gentle.”

“I’m not very imaginative,” Y/N replied, lowering her gaze as if embarrassed. “I’ve never been particularly good at… grand things.”

A lie. But an easy one to wear.

Feyre hesitated. The brush in her hand slowed. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Y/N’s fingers stilled only for a fraction of a second before continuing their careful stroke of pale lavender.

“Yes?”

Feyre exhaled quietly. “Mor has been asking questions.”

There it was.

Y/N tilted her head slightly, confusion carefully arranged across her features. “Questions?”

“And Nesta…” Feyre’s mouth tightened faintly. “She doesn’t distrust easily. But when she does, it’s hard to change her mind.”

Y/N set her brush down slowly, wiping her hands on a cloth.

“I understand,” she said softly. “I’m from the Autumn Court. That alone is reason enough.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Feyre insisted. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Not here, Y/N thought, at least not in the last two years while residing in Velaris.

Aloud, she only shrugged lightly. “I’m just a lesser Fae who wanted to see Velaris. To learn from you.” Her eyes lifted, open and almost shy. “There isn’t much more to me than that.”

Feyre studied her, painter’s gaze perceptive in a way that made Y/N’s skin prickle.

“I just want everyone to get along,” Feyre admitted quietly. “We’ve fought enough wars. I don’t want suspicion turning into something worse.”

Y/N’s chest tightened at the word war.

She dipped her brush back into white paint to steady her hands.

“I don’t blame them,” she said. “If I were in their place, I would be cautious too. I don’t expect trust. Only… tolerance.”

The humility was practiced. Polished over decades.

Outside, the river shifted, light fracturing across its surface like broken glass.

Feyre stepped closer, studying Y/N’s canvas. “You paint like someone who’s searching for peace.”

Y/N forced a faint, almost self-conscious laugh. “Or someone who’s never had much of it.”

That part wasn’t a lie.

For a heartbeat, something flickered in Feyre’s expression, recognition. Understanding. Shared history of survival.

“You’re safe here,” Feyre said gently. “You know that, don’t you?”

Safe.

The word felt foreign. Fragile.

Y/N lowered her eyes again, lashes casting careful shadows across her cheeks.

“I’m grateful for your kindness, High Lady,” she murmured.

Feyre frowned slightly. “Just Feyre.”

Y/N smiled, softer this time. Warmer.

“Just Feyre, then.”

But even as she said it, her gaze drifted briefly to the open window, to the skyline, to the rooftops, to the shifting light beyond.

Measuring distances. Counting exits. Noticing shadows. Always shadows.

And far above the Sidra, unseen, something dark moved across the rooftops, silent as a held breath.

Y/N did not look up. But she felt it.

Feyre’s eyes softened. She set down her brush and took a step closer. “You know… I was hoping—” She hesitated, almost shyly. “Would you… like to come over for dinner tonight? Just us, or… a few others from the Court. I think… it would be nice to share a meal once again.”

Y/N blinked, hesitating before lowering her brush completely. “Dinner… tonight?” Her voice was soft, almost unsure, like she’d forgotten how to ask for herself.

Feyre nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yes. Nothing formal… just a meal. I thought it might be nice for everyone to gather, relax a bit.”

Y/N’s fingers fidgeted with the edge of her smock. “You know, I… I’m not very good at… gatherings.” Her words trailed off. She felt exposed, though she tried not to show it.

“You’ll be fine,” Feyre said gently. “I’ll be there. Mor, Nesta… perhaps Cassian and Azriel. It’s casual, really.”

Y/N hesitated again. Then, almost shyly, she asked, “What… what should I wear?” Her cheeks warmed slightly. She hadn’t expected to have to consider appearances beyond her careful composure.

“Something comfortable. Something you like,” Feyre replied, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Velaris is warm tonight. Flowing, soft colors… nothing extravagant.”

Y/N nodded, absorbing the guidance, though internally she was counting possibilities: not too bright, not too revealing, not too formal. Just… ordinary. Safe. Inconspicuous.

“And… the occasion?” Y/N asked, lowering her eyes to her canvas. She didn’t want to appear overeager, but the question slipped out anyway.

Feyre’s smile softened. “Just dinner. To… talk. To laugh. To see each other outside the studio. Nothing more than that.”

Y/N allowed herself a faint, careful nod. “I… I’ll come, then.”

Her words were polite, measured. But inside, her heart beat a little faster. For someone trained to hide everything, even this small act, agreeing to dinner, choosing how to appear, felt dangerously intimate.

Feyre reached out and touched her shoulder lightly. “I’m glad you’re coming.”

Y/N’s lips curved into the smallest, almost imperceptible smile. “As am I… grateful,” she murmured.

𓌜

The dining room smelled of roasted herbs and fresh bread, candles flickering softly along the table. Velaris’ evening light spilled through the windows, painting everything in gold and rose.

Everyone was seated. Feyre at the head, Y/N to her right, Cassian across from her, Azriel at the far end, Nesta and Mor flanking the table like statues of cautious judgment.

The first moments passed in polite silence. The clinking of cutlery and the occasional sip of wine were the only sounds.

Y/N kept her hands folded neatly on her lap, her posture correct, her expression calm. Her brushstrokes may have been softer, but now she wore the same control on her body and voice. Every smile measured. Every glance calculated.

Feyre noticed it immediately. The tension. Mor and Nesta barely spoke, and the occasional glance they cast Y/N felt sharp, like a blade she was carefully dodging.

Feyre leaned slightly toward Cassian under the table and nudged him lightly with her foot. A spark of thought flickered between them, the mental link, subtle but clear. Ask her something. Anything. Get her talking.

Cassian’s eyebrow quirked, a grin ghosting across his face as he caught Feyre’s cue.

“So,” he began casually, voice smooth but teasing, “Y/N… tell me, have you ever tried painting before you applied for Feyre’s class, or is this your first brush with the fine arts?”

Y/N’s fingers flexed slightly under the table, almost imperceptibly, before she responded with the same calm that masked the slight rush of surprise. “I’ve… tried, yes,” she said softly, brushing imaginary dust from her lap. “Though I’ve never… had lessons like yours. This is… different.”

Cassian leaned back, pretending casual interest but keeping an eye on her reactions. “Different how?”

Y/N considered, tilting her head faintly. “It’s… peaceful. Quiet. But… you can still make mistakes. The world doesn’t punish you for a crooked line, only for the choices you don’t correct.”

Her words were careful, veiled. But Feyre caught the slight undercurrent, discipline, control, a life spent correcting errors before anyone noticed.

“Hmm,” Cassian murmured, clearly intrigued, “sounds like you’ve spent a lot of time avoiding… trouble.”

Y/N offered the faintest smile, just enough to seem polite and humble. “I suppose… everyone does, in one way or another.”

Across the table, Mor and Nesta exchanged a glance, silence stretching between them like a taut wire. Azriel’s gaze lingered on Y/N for a fraction longer than necessary, shadowed by something Feyre couldn’t read—concern? curiosity?

Feyre reached over and touched Y/N’s hand lightly. “See?” she whispered. “You’re doing just fine.”

Y/N’s lips curved just slightly, polite and unreadable. “Thank you,” she murmured.

But even as she said it, her eyes flicked subtly to the window, to the rooftops beyond, measuring exits, counting shadows. The calm she projected was impeccable, but not complete.

And for the first time that evening, she felt the faintest pull of… possibility. Of connection. Of danger.

The soft murmur of polite conversation was interrupted by the soft chime of the door.

Rhysand stepped in, tall and composed, his dark eyes scanning the room briefly before landing on Feyre. Behind him came Nyx, the little prince, bouncing lightly on his small feet, dark hair tousled, eyes bright with mischief.

“Apologies for being late,” Rhys said smoothly, though a hint of amusement touched his voice. “The little prince here absolutely refused to leave the Sidra. Negotiations were… extensive.”

Nyx crossed his arms dramatically. “I was not ready, Father! They didn’t even serve the proper afternoon tea, and you,” He pointed a small finger at Rhys, “tried to drag me out before I finished organizing my… my treasure map!”

The adults around the table couldn’t help but smile. Feyre laughed softly. Even Mor’s usually guarded lips twitched in amusement. Nesta’s eyes narrowed slightly, though the corners of her mouth betrayed a hint of humor.

“What have you been up to today, little troublemaker?” Nesta asked cautiously.

Nyx puffed up proudly. “I taught Father a very important lesson about manners, about bravery, and about the correct way to climb the library ladder! Also,” he added solemnly, “he fell in the fountain twice, which was very educational.”

Rhysand gave a short, resigned laugh. “Yes, educational. Very much so. I believe I now owe him three apologies, one for each fountain splash, and a promise to never touch his treasure map again.”

Feyre shook her head, smiling. “An interpretive fountain lesson, then?”

Nyx nodded gravely. “Exactly. And then we had a debate about which cloud looks most like a dragon. I won, obviously. Father concedes gracefully, eventually.”

Y/N, seated quietly at the table, tilted her head slightly at Nyx, lips curling in a faint, amused smile. “Sounds like a very… productive day.”

Nyx beamed, proud that someone acknowledged the complexity of his lessons. “It was! And I expect you all to learn from it too. That’s why I let him bring me here. I’m a very generous prince.”

Even Nesta chuckled quietly at that, and Mor’s stern expression softened further. Azriel, across the table, watched Y/N closely, noting the subtle way she kept her composure, calm, polite, yet perceptive as she studied the tiny prince’s antics.

Feyre leaned closer to Y/N under the pretense of passing her a plate. “See? It’s fine to let your guard down a little. Even just a flicker. Moments like these… they matter.”

Y/N allowed herself the smallest smile. “A flicker, yes. Only a flicker.”

And while laughter and chatter began to fill the room, Y/N’s gaze briefly flicked to the window, calculating, observing, always aware, her calm practiced, but not complete.

The last of the dishes had been cleared, though a few crumbs still dotted the table. Feyre sipped her wine, eyes flicking toward Rhysand as he stood, stretching slightly.

“I should excuse myself for a bit,” he said, smiling at the group. “The afternoon with Nyx took longer than expected, and there are still a few things I need to handle in my office.”

Nyx, perched on a chair beside Feyre, pouted dramatically. “Father, I was teaching you important lessons! About maps! And bravery! And… the proper way to eat roasted figs without spilling them!”

Rhys chuckled. “Indeed, lessons were learned. But the office will not wait forever, Nyx, and neither will my reports.”

Nyx crossed his arms, but didn’t move. “Fine. But you owe me a proper game tomorrow!”

“Agreed,” Rhys said, smiling down at him, then gave the table a small bow. “Don’t let me keep you all from finishing dinner. I’ll return shortly.”

He left the room, and the moment his footsteps faded, the atmosphere shifted.

Nyx, now the center of attention, began bouncing slightly in his chair, recounting the “important lessons” from the afternoon with Rhys. His voice was high, sharp, and insistent, gesturing wildly with his tiny hands.

“And then Father had to climb the library ladder while holding my treasure map!” Nyx exclaimed. “And then he slipped, twice! And it was very educational!”

Cassian laughed, loud and booming. “Sounds like a proper Illyrian training session!”

Feyre smiled, shaking her head. “More like a proper disaster.”

Mor chuckled quietly, Nesta remained stiff, and Azriel’s shadow seemed to twitch subtly across the floor, drawn toward Y/N as she kept a careful, polite smile, listening while pretending to focus on her plate.

The table erupted into a mixture of laughter, teasing, and mock outrage. Cassian exaggerated every part of Nyx’s tale, Nyx interrupted with corrections, Feyre laughed and rolled her eyes, and even Mor joined in the sharp commentary, which only fueled the chaos further.

For Y/N, the noise, the overlapping voices, the sudden bursts of laughter, the clattering of cutlery, was overwhelming. She pressed her hands together, careful to keep her composure, but her pulse quickened.

Quietly, almost imperceptibly, she rose from her chair under the pretense of needing air, her steps measured and calm. The adults were too absorbed in the laughter and Nyx’s ongoing commentary to notice.

All except Nesta.

Nesta’s gaze shifted just in time to see the empty space where Y/N had been. Her eyes narrowed.

“Wait,” Nesta said, voice low but sharp. “Where’s Y/N?”

Azriel’s head turned, his expression tightening as he noted the absence. Calm and controlled on the outside, but inside, unease stirred. Something about her leaving now mid-laughter, mid-story, didn’t make sense.

Nesta’s eyes narrowed as she scanned the empty space where Y/N had been sitting. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “She’s gone.”

Feyre leaned back in her chair, brow furrowed. “Do we really need to…? Maybe she just went to the balcony or-”

“No,” Nesta interrupted sharply. “I’m going to find her.”

Feyre’s hands flew up slightly. “Nesta, wait! Is that really necessary? She’s just… maybe needed a moment alone.”

Nesta’s gaze didn’t waver. “Alone? Or scheming? You know how she is. I don’t trust her.”

Feyre’s hand went to Azriel, who had been watching quietly, shadows coiling subtly at his feet. “Azriel, can you… go with her? Make sure she’s okay?”

Azriel tilted his head, calm but guarded. “Why do you seem so certain she’s… dangerous? You’ve barely spoken with her.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed further. “She’s from the Autumn Court, Azriel. That alone is reason enough. And she’s too polished, too perfect. I don’t like it. And you know me, I notice things.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened faintly. “Feyre chose to spend time with her. She has good sense. Feyre doesn’t take risks with people she considers dangerous. Not without reason.”

Nesta crossed her arms, unmoved. “All the more reason for us to see for ourselves. If you won’t go, I’ll go alone. But the chance of me being seen… without the Shadowsinger, it’s higher. And I’d rather not give her an advantage.”

Azriel’s shadow shifted subtly at his feet. He exhaled, a quiet, measured breath. “Then I’ll go. But only to ensure nothing happens. Nothing more.”

Nesta gave a curt nod, satisfied, and rose from the chair. “Fine. Let’s not waste time.”

Azriel’s eyes flicked briefly toward the hallway, already calculating, already scanning. Nesta walked toward him, and he fell into step beside her, shadows lengthening quietly as if reaching toward her.

Azriel’s shadow stretched long across the stone floor as they moved down the hallway. Nesta walked briskly ahead, jaw tight, arms crossed.

He fell into step beside her. “Nesta… why do you not trust her?” His voice was calm, careful, but curious.

Nesta glanced at him, eyes narrowing. “Because she always disappears. Every time we’re together, there’s a moment where she vanishes. It started the first time Feyre forced a… girls’ night.”

Azriel raised an eyebrow. “Girls’ night?”

Nesta shot him a sharp look. “Yes. A girls’ night. Y/N was… gone for a long time. Claiming she was on the… bathroom, or something. Then she came back, looking apologetic, saying she wasn’t feeling well. But I noticed.”

Azriel’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smirk. “And what if… she met a young fae. And went off with him for a while? She’s not exactly ugly, you know.”

Nesta stopped in her tracks, spinning around to face him. Her eyes were sharp as knives. “Are you saying you find her attractive?”

Azriel froze, momentarily caught off guard. Silence.

Nesta’s lips quirked in a dangerous smile. “Wicked. I knew it. You always have eyes for the unpredictable.”

Azriel’s shadow shifted, darkening and tightening around him as he didn’t answer, letting the accusation hang in the air.

Nesta’s arms crossed again, smug. “Figures. You’re no different than the rest of them. And yet, somehow, I’m supposed to follow your calm, measured judgment? Hmph.”

Azriel kept walking silently, side by side with her, a small tension coiled between them, half amusement, half irritation. And somewhere, deep beneath the shadows, a pull of unease lingered.

Y/N rounded the corner just as Nesta and Azriel came into view, shadows stretching long across the corridor. And then, impossibly, Rhysand appeared beside her, tall, composed, eyes sharp but calm.

Nesta froze mid-step, shock flickering across her face. “Rhysand? With her?”

Rhysand’s lips curved in a small, reassuring smile. “Yes. She’s fine. I found her just as she was about to step outside. We’re on our way back.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed, still skeptical. “Why was she gone?”

Y/N’s hands folded neatly in front of her, gaze lowered slightly. “It… it was so loud. So many impressions at once. I’m not used to it. I didn’t want to disturb anyone. And I didn’t want anyone to worry. I just…” She paused, voice soft but steady, “stepped outside for a moment. That’s when Rhys found me.”

Rhysand nodded smoothly, stepping slightly ahead. “Exactly as she says. Nothing to worry about, Nesta. The noise, the chaos, it was overwhelming for her. Best we all just walk back together.”

Y/N lowered her gaze politely, hands folded neatly. “I… I think my stay has overstayed its welcome. I should probably return home soon.”

Rhysand chuckled softly. “But, see…” He glanced subtly at Nesta. “You make others feel… awkward.” Nesta huffed but Y/N shook her head gently. “I simply don’t wish to impose on the family any longer than necessary. I’d like to say goodbye to the others first, then I’ll go.”

Azriel’s shadow shifted subtly beside her. “I can escort you home,” he offered quietly.

Y/N’s lips curved in a small, appreciative smile. “That would be… wise. Thank you.”

Rhysand gave her a nod. “Good. Then all’s settled.”

They began walking back toward the main hall. Rhysand led ahead with his usual grace, Y/N beside him. A few steps behind, Azriel fell into step beside Nesta.

Nesta’s gaze followed Y/N, narrowed thoughtfully. Then she muttered, low and pointed, so only Azriel could hear: “She always disappears.”

Azriel’s eyes flicked toward her, calm but deliberate. “If I accompany her home, she won’t vanish again. You can be sure of that.”

Nesta’s lips curved into a knowing grin. “Figures”

Azriel didn’t answer, just walked beside her, shadows coiling subtly at his feet, aware of every step Y/N took just ahead.

The group moved through the quiet halls of the Town House, the faint echo of footsteps a rhythm between caution, care, and the unspoken tensions that hovered just beneath the surface.

𓌜

The streets of Velaris were quiet, the Sidra flowing gently beside them, reflecting the last streaks of sunset. Y/N walked beside Azriel, her steps careful, measured, as always, but slightly slower than usual.

“You don’t need to take me home,” she said softly, glancing at him, though not too directly. “I… I can find my way.”

Azriel’s shadow shifted subtly, falling across the pavement in a protective sweep. “I know you can. I just… prefer to make sure you do.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, her lips curling faintly in a polite, thoughtful smile. “It’s strange,” she murmured. “I try to be polite, careful… but somehow, I still seem to irritate them. Mor, Nesta… even Feyre notices, though she doesn’t say it.”

Azriel’s dark eyes softened, just the slightest crease at the corners. “People are wary. They notice when someone isn’t quite like them. That doesn’t mean you’re… bad. Just… different.”

Y/N’s hands flexed subtly at her sides. “Different is dangerous, though. Or at least… unwelcome. What else can I do? What would make them like me?”

Azriel considered, looked around him, then stepped slightly closer so his wing brushed her faintly. “You’re polite. You’re careful. You try. That’s… more than most offer. The rest… they’ll have to see it in time.”

Y/N looked down at her feet, thoughtful. “It’s exhausting,” she admitted softly. “All these calculations, watching every movement, every word. I just… wish I could be… easier to accept.”

Azriel’s lips pressed into a line, uncharacteristically quiet. “You’re doing enough,” he said finally, voice low. “Don’t let their judgment define you.”

She glanced up briefly, just enough to meet his eyes, and then looked away. “Perhaps,” she whispered, “but I still feel… out of place.”

Azriel didn’t answer, just fell into step beside her, silent, his presence steady and reassuring. He wasn’t on Nesta’s side. That much was clear.

And for Y/N, that quiet loyalty, though unspoken, subtle, was enough to calm the restless edge of her mind, if only for a few steps along the cobblestones of Velaris.

He glanced at her, shadows flickering subtly at his feet. And while he finally put his arm around her shoulders, he whispered in her ear “Isn’t it enough that I like you?” His voice was low, teasing, but warm.

Y/N smirked, just the slightest curve of her lips. “You like me?” she said, voice playful, leaning just a fraction closer. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Azriel’s lips twitched into a faint, dark smile. “Really? Because I would have thought you’d feel it… every time I nearly glare at anyone who dares to bother you.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled, amused. “Ah, so that’s your way of showing affection? Threaten anyone in my vicinity?”

“That, and occasionally make sure you don’t disappear into the night without me noticing,” he said, voice dropping just a little.

Her smile softened slightly, still teasing. “If Nesta knew you followed me, she’d have a fit.”

Azriel’s shadow shifted closer. “She’s noticed you disappear before. If she knew you vanished… with me?”

Y/N’s lips curved into a quiet challenge. “Then I suppose I’d better make sure you stay the night. Can’t have you worrying all alone.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened with a hint of humor and something warmer. “What if Nesta expects a report and notices I’m not back?”

Y/N leaned closer, voice low and playful. “Tell her you lounged by my window all night to make sure I didn’t vanish. That I’m… responsible for your safety.”

Azriel let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Responsible, huh? And yet somehow I feel like I’m the one keeping you safe.”

Y/N’s gaze flicked to his, teasing but intimate. “Maybe… that’s the way it should be.”

He fell silent for a moment, letting the quiet stretch between them, shadows entwining subtly as they walked. Then, almost reluctantly, he added, “Alright. Tonight… I stay.”

And so the cobblestone streets of Velaris held their little secret, a flirty, intimate rhythm of shadow, trust, and moments stolen from the world outside.

𓌜

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, painting the room in pale gold. Y/N lay curled against Azriel, her bare skin warm against his chest. His arm was draped protectively over her, the other tucked gently around her shoulders, and one of his wings curled lightly over her, shielding her from the chill of the early hour.

Azriel’s fingers threaded through her hair, thumb brushing along her temple as he breathed her in, quiet and steady. “Do you really have to return to the Autumn Court today?” he asked, voice low, almost hesitant.

Y/N nuzzled closer, resting her cheek against the curve of his shoulder. “Mother isn’t well,” she murmured. “I need to be there… to care for her. But I should be back in three, maybe four days.”

Azriel’s lips pressed briefly to the crown of her head, a soft, lingering kiss. “If I went with you…” His words trailed off, uncertainty flickering in his dark eyes.

She shook her head slightly, eyes meeting his, soft but firm. “It’s not a good idea. You’re… not really welcome there, you know that. It would draw attention, and I can’t risk that.”

Azriel’s hand slid down her arm, tracing gentle circles on her skin, as if memorizing the warmth of her in his presence. “I’d rather risk a hundred eyes than let anything happen to you,” he murmured, voice husky with quiet emotion.

Y/N smiled softly, pressing her lips to the hollow of his throat. “I know,” she whispered. “That’s why I love you.”

He caught her hand, pressing it to his lips, a soft, lingering kiss. “And I love you,” he said, letting the words settle between them like a shield against the world.

She shifted slightly, brushing her lips against his jaw, then his lips, tenderly, and he responded, careful but insistent, the kiss slow and intimate, filled with all the quiet longing of the night they had shared.

Azriel drew her closer with a sigh, one hand resting at the small of her back, his wings curling protectively around them both. “Three days, four days,” he murmured. “I’ll be counting every moment until you return.”

Y/N pressed her forehead to his chest, breathing in the steady beat of his heart. “Promise me… you’ll stay safe too,” she whispered, soft and vulnerable.

Azriel kissed the top of her head, then her hair, lingering, his voice low and steady. “I promise. But only if you promise to come back to me.”

Her lips curved into the faintest smile, her eyes half-lidded with warmth and trust. “I will. Always.”

Azriel pulled back just enough to look down at her, his dark eyes searching hers with that quiet intensity that always made her heart stutter. “When do you have to leave?” he asked, his voice soft, almost reluctant to break the fragile calm between them.

Y/N rolled onto her side, stretching slightly, and glanced at the clock on her bedroom wall. “Hmm,” she murmured, tracing a finger along the edge of the timepiece, “I should be on my way in about an hour. I really shouldn’t dawdle too much.”

Azriel let a slow, playful grin tug at his lips. “No problem,” he said, his voice teasing but warm. “I don’t need long anyway,” and with a soft rustle, he burrowed himself back under the blankets.

Y/N shook her head slightly, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she leaned back against the pillow. “Az… I really don’t have much time. I need to be ready.”

From beneath the covers, his voice floated up, low and teasing, but threaded with genuine affection. “I’ll be quick,” he murmured, and she could feel the faint vibration of his chuckle through the mattress. “I always am for you.”

„You always say that,“ she warned him and glided her fingers through his hair.

“Mmmh,” he nodded, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along her inner thighs, working his mouth inward, as his breath ghosts over her cunt. Then his tongue darted out- tentative, flat, licking a broad stripe from entrance to the clit. “So good.”

Azriel murmured the words again, his voice low and warm, as he gently stilled Y/N’s hips beneath his hands. Then he raised his head slightly, dark hair falling into his eyes as he peeked out from beneath the covers, a faint, mischievous smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Are you sure you only have an hour?” he asked, voice husky with amusement.

Y/N let out a breath that was half a laugh, half something softer, her fingers threading into his hair. “Azriel,” she warned, though the way her voice dipped betrayed her lack of resolve.

His shadows curled lazily along the bedposts and across the sheets, wrapping the space in privacy as he disappeared beneath the covers again, determined and entirely unrepentant. The quiet that followed was punctuated only by her sharp intake of breath and the soft rustle of sheets shifting.

“Az-” she started, but her words dissolved into a quiet gasp, her hand tightening instinctively against his shoulder.

He hummed in response, entirely pleased with himself.

Minutes later, when he finally resurfaced, there was a satisfied glint in his eyes and warmth flushed across her skin. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss just below her navel before stretching up beside her again, pulling her close as though he had no intention of ever letting go.

“See, you still have time,” he murmured against her temple, brushing his nose lightly along her hairline.

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly, though her breath was still uneven. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he replied, lips ghosting over hers in a slow, unhurried kiss, “you’re still here.”

The intimacy between them wasn’t frantic or reckless. It was familiar. Earned. A quiet understanding built from shared wounds and shared trust. Even in laughter, even in teasing, there was something deeply grounding about the way he held her afterward, not possessive, not fleeting, but certain.

And when she finally rested her forehead against his, both of them a little breathless and very aware of the ticking clock, the world outside their bedroom felt far away.

Afterward, the quiet felt different.

Not light. Not playful.

It settled over them like something fragile and sacred, as though even the air understood that this moment was slipping through their fingers.

Azriel lay on his back, one arm curved around Y/N’s waist, holding her close, not tightly, not desperately, but with the kind of steadiness that came from someone who had spent his life losing things. His other hand traced slow, absent patterns along her spine, fingertips warm and reverent, as if committing every inch of her to memory.

Y/N rested against his chest, her cheek pressed over his heart. The rhythm beneath her ear was strong, steady, but she could feel the subtle change in it. It wasn’t racing anymore. It wasn’t heated. It was heavy.

Neither of them spoke. Because speaking would mean acknowledging the clock.

The faint ticking in the room sounded louder now, intrusive. Each second felt like a quiet theft.

Azriel’s fingers paused at her shoulder blade, then resumed their slow path upward, brushing along her neck and into her hair. He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling the scent of her, warmth, skin, something entirely her. Something that had come to mean safety in a way he had never allowed himself to need before.

“I hate this,” he said quietly.

There was no anger in it. No bitterness. Just truth.

Y/N tilted her head slightly so she could see his face. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling as though calculating something impossible, how to stop time, perhaps. Or how to bend fate to his will.

“Hate what?” she asked softly.

“The part where you leave,” he admitted, his voice roughened by something he rarely allowed to surface. “The part where I have to let you walk out that door and pretend it doesn’t feel like something is being carved out of my chest.”

Her breath caught.

Azriel did not speak like this. He did not expose the tender places.

His hand slid to her jaw, thumb brushing gently along her lower lip. “I’ve lived my entire life in shadows,” he continued, quieter now. “I’ve learned how to endure silence. Distance. Waiting. But you…” His throat tightened slightly. “You made it feel like I didn’t have to endure anymore.”

Emotion burned behind her eyes, sudden and fierce.

Y/N swallowed against it, afraid that if she let it surface too quickly, it would spill into something she wouldn’t be able to contain. She shifted slightly, lifting herself just enough to meet his gaze fully, her fingers resting lightly against his chest as though grounding herself there.

“This…” she began softly, her voice almost unsteady despite her effort to keep it calm. “Whatever this is. Whatever it becomes. It’s already more than I ever thought I would have.”

Azriel’s brow furrowed faintly, not in confusion, but in quiet concern.

She offered him a small, vulnerable smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes because it was holding too much feeling beneath it.

“I’ve never had this before,” she admitted. “Not like this. Not something that feels steady. Or chosen. Or safe.” Her thumb brushed absent circles against his skin, mirroring the pattern he had drawn along her spine moments before. “I don’t know what the future looks like. I don’t know what we’ll be in a year, or five. But I know that whatever this is… it’s real to me. And it’s already more than I ever thought I deserved.”

Azriel’s expression shifted at that, something softening, something almost pained.

“You deserve more than you think,” he said quietly.

She shook her head slightly, not in disagreement, but in disbelief. “Maybe,” she whispered. “But this? Lying here. Feeling like I don’t have to prove myself. Like I don’t have to be anything other than what I am in this moment.” Her voice dipped lower. “That’s new for me.”

His hand slid from her jaw to cradle the side of her neck, thumb brushing beneath her ear in a slow, reverent stroke. “You don’t have to prove anything to me,” he murmured.

Her breath trembled at that, just barely.

“I know,” she said.

And that was the frightening part.

She rested her forehead lightly against his, their breaths mingling in the quiet space between them. The clock continued its steady ticking, but for a heartbeat, it felt distant, irrelevant.

“I don’t know what this will become,” she continued softly. “But I know it’s already changed me.”

Azriel studied her as though trying to memorize the exact cadence of her voice, the way her lashes lowered when she let herself be honest.

“Good,” he whispered.

And for a moment, the weight of what lay beyond that bedroom door felt a little less sharp, not because the world had softened, but because they had found something in each other that neither of them had ever been allowed to hold before.

𓌜

The streets of Velaris were quiet, the city still stretching and yawning under the soft gold of dawn. Y/N and Azriel walked side by side, their steps in sync, though neither spoke much. The warmth of the night still lingered between them, soft, intimate, a thread of closeness neither wanted to break.

Azriel kept one hand near hers, just close enough to brush against her fingers every few steps. The shadows around him twisted faintly, protective, almost as if aware of the subtle tension that now hung in the crisp morning air.

“You really must go,” he said finally, his voice low, almost a whisper.

Her expression softened, a gentle shake of the head. “It won’t be long. I’ll manage. I always do.”

He exhaled quietly, tension leaving his shoulders in a small, reluctant sigh. “You always do,” he murmured. Then, almost teasing, he added, “That’s what worries me.”

Y/N smirked faintly, brushing her hand lightly over his arm. “You worry too much.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, shadow curling around them like a protective cloak. “But I care too much to do otherwise.”

Her smile softened, warmth in her eyes. “I know. And I appreciate it. Always.”

They reached the outer streets of Velaris, where the cobblestones gave way to wider roads leading out of the city. Azriel paused, his gaze sweeping the horizon. “I’ll see you safely out of the city, at least. After that…” His voice trailed, heavy with restraint.

Y/N’s hand brushed against his, quick but deliberate. “After that… I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

His shadow shifted subtly, protective even as his eyes followed her, dark and unreadable. “I don’t like letting you go. Not even for a moment.”

She pressed her forehead briefly to his arm, a quiet, tender gesture. “Then come with me as far as you can. But after that… let me manage. I can’t put you at risk.”

Azriel’s lips twitched in a small, reluctant smile. “Fine,” he murmured, though his eyes never left her. “But I’ll be thinking about you every step of the way.”

With a soft nod, Y/N turned toward the path leading out of the city, and Azriel followed alongside her until the shadows of Velaris began to stretch longer and the gates came into view. Each step was measured, calm, but beneath it, a coil of tension, worry, care, something unspoken, followed them both.

And as the city faded behind them, the world outside remained unaware of the quiet, intricate bond between the two, a bond forged in trust, intimacy, and the delicate balance of letting go.

𓌜

The morning had started quietly, a soft gold spilling over the streets of Velaris as Y/N left Azriel’s side. She had spoken of her mother, of needing to see her, but the truth was far more precise, far more deliberate.

She wasn’t simply visiting for care or comfort. Her steps were measured, her mind focused. Each motion, each glance over her shoulder, was part of her duty, an obligation she carried carefully, under the guise of concern. The streets, the passing shadows, even the light of the sun, were all details she took in as she moved, calculating, observing, and preparing.

This was no leisurely visit home. This was work, in every sense of the word. And the Autumn Court awaited.

The Autumn Court sat in crisp morning light, its colors sharper, edges colder than Velaris. Y/N entered quietly, bowing lightly to Eris, her movements precise, measured, careful to appear the dutiful visitor he expected.

Eris looked up from his desk, eyes sharp and assessing. “You’ve returned earlier than expected,” he remarked, voice smooth but edged with curiosity.

Y/N inclined her head. “I needed to report,” she said, voice steady. “And… I observed Rhysand over the past few days. He’s spent much of his time alone in the ruins.”

Eris’s eyes narrowed slightly, interest piqued. “Alone?”

“Yes,” Y/N continued, keeping her tone calm. “At the last gathering… the dinner, he spoke often of artifacts. He and I discussed them, what still exists, what could be found. He confirmed there is a crown… and that it resides somewhere in the Night Court.”

Eris leaned back, eyes darkening slightly. “The crown.” His fingers drummed on the desk. “And the Night Court… the ruins would place it nearby?”

Y/N inclined her head again, careful to remain factual, detached. “Yes. It would be safest to assume it is near the ruins. He has been careful, but the location is likely not far from where he has spent the last days alone.”

Eris’s dark eyes flicked to her, a slow smile touching his lips. “Good. Keep observing. Any movements, conversations, or plans… I want them noted. And make no mistake, accuracy is paramount.”

Y/N nodded, bowing lightly. “Of course, High Lord. I will ensure you have all necessary information.”

She began to turn, ready to leave, but Eris’s voice stopped her, calm yet commanding. “Wait.”

Y/N paused, eyes lifting to meet his.

“I have a crucial task for you in the coming days,” he said. “You will not return directly to the Night Court. I need my best agent for this.”

Y/N hesitated, a small furrow in her brow. “High Lord… I… I cannot stay longer than three days. I promised… I need to be back. It shouldn’t appear that I’ve been absent too long.”

Eris leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp and unwavering. “The mission may take longer than that. And I truly need you. No one else is suited for this task.”

Y/N’s shoulders slumped slightly, a flicker of hesitation passing across her features. He was, after all, her superior. She let out a small, resigned sigh, keeping her voice steady despite the pressure.

“Where do you need me?” she asked quietly, the words measured, obedient, the faintest edge of submission in her tone.

Eris’s lips curved faintly, approving. “Good. You will leave at dawn tomorrow. Details will follow.”

Y/N nodded once, careful, precise. Every gesture, every word was perfect, as though she had always been meant to serve him in this way. Yet beneath her composed exterior, the wheels in her mind were already turning, calculating, planning, preparing for the days ahead.

𓌜

Eris melted into the shadows near Y/N’s small house, the edges of the Autumn Court folding around him like a cloak. She had said she could not stay away longer than three days, just a brief absence, she had promised. That limit had planted a seed of curiosity, a quiet suspicion in him. Three days, no more. He had counted them carefully, observing from afar, ensuring she kept her word.

Now, on the third day, he watched.

The night was still, pale dawn brushing the rooftops, and yet he could see her moving with the same grace, the same careful precision he had always admired. She returned later than expected, not from the mission he had assigned, not from the tasks she had promised to complete. Her movements were meticulous, deliberate, but there was a subtle hesitation in her steps, a quiet difference he could not ignore.

He had trusted her. Trusted her implicitly. She had endured so much under his father, had worked tirelessly for the Court, and now she was one of his most capable agents. Yet tonight… something felt wrong.

Eris’ jaw tightened. She had said she couldn’t be gone longer than three days, yet here she was, returning at the edge of dawn, the pale light catching her hair, the small curve of her shoulders as she moved through the quiet streets.

A shadow shifted closer to the doorway. He had watched her prepare, observed her for minutes that stretched into an hour, cataloging every detail. And now, it was time to confront the uncertainty gnawing at him.

With a quiet step, Eris moved to the door, hands steady. He let the shadows slip from him like water and raised a hand to knock.

The sound was sharp in the stillness. Three measured taps, deliberate. Not aggressive, not accusatory, just enough to announce his presence.

He waited, every sense alert, as the door moved. Inside, Y/N would be aware, perhaps, but he would let her explain herself. And if she lied… he would know.

Y/N opened the door with a faint, polite smile, though her brow creased slightly at the early knock. “High Lord Eris… you’re early,” she said, voice careful, masking any surprise. Her poker face settled instantly, smooth and controlled.

Eris’ dark eyes studied her, unreadable. “I thought I’d check in,” he said evenly, stepping inside without invitation. “A few adjustments to the mission… and a need for a brief update on your progress.”

Y/N inclined her head, composed. “Of course,” she replied, her tone steady. She gestured for him to sit, though she remained standing, posture perfect, movements fluid.

For the next several minutes, she spoke carefully, reporting everything she had observed over the past few days. Each detail, each subtle shift in behavior, every fragment of information she had gathered, left uncolored by emotion. She maintained the poise of the loyal agent, efficient and precise, leaving no trace of doubt, or so she thought.

Eris listened, silent, his gaze unblinking, assessing every word, every nuance, every flicker of her expression. He said nothing of his suspicion, giving no hint that he knew she had not returned from her mission as she claimed.

“I want you to meet with me at the end of the day from now on,” he said finally, his voice smooth and controlled, “We will discuss the rest of your progress then. I hope it won’t take longer than three days”

Y/N inclined her head, masking the faint relief that she had made it through without raising alarm. “Understood, High Lord,” she said, voice steady. “I’ll be ready.”

What she did not know, could not know, was that she had yet to set her glamour. The faint, almost imperceptible smell of the Shadowsinger clung to her, and Eris smelled it immediately. The truth of her night away was clear, undeniable, even though her words had told a different story.

He remained calm, silent, letting her leave the room with the illusion of trust intact. But now, everything was laid bare in the shadows: where she had been, what she had done, and the careful deception she believed she had maintained.

Eris’ lips curved in the faintest, controlled smile. The game had just grown far more interesting.

The next days in the Autumn Court moved with a precision that was both comforting and suffocating. Y/N settled into her routine quickly, reporting small observations, cataloging what she could of the Court’s movements, and subtly navigating the hierarchy she had long known. Every word she spoke, every bow, every careful pause, was perfect, meticulous, loyal, untouchable.

Eris never revealed his knowledge. He listened as she spoke of her days in the Night Court, the artifacts, the Inner Circle’s subtle behaviors, the places she had “observed.”

Y/N told him everything, careful, precise, efficient. And Eris received it all with a calm face, giving no indication that he already knew more than she could imagine. He noticed the way she lingered too long at certain windows, the faint worry in her eyes when she thought she was alone, the way she brushed against his office door as if she hoped to catch a glimpse of him, to feel the faint comfort of his presence without knowing he was watching.

By the second day, Eris’ patience began to strain subtly. He did not move in the shadows any closer, but the intensity of his attention followed her like a second skin. He noticed her small gestures, the way she adjusted her cloak, the way she traced her fingers along the edge of a table as she thought, the way she hesitated before leaving a room.

She still spoke as if her mission were everything, but the little things told him otherwise. And though he did not voice it, he began to anticipate the moment she would depart, when she would walk back toward Velaris, and the mysteries of the Night Court would pull her once more into motion.

Y/N, oblivious to his suspicions, planned her own schedule meticulously. Three days, no longer, she reminded herself. A return window carefully calculated to appear loyal, careful, unremarkable. Yet the shadows were patient, and Eris’ senses were precise. He knew she had more in mind than she let him see, but he waited, silently, letting her think she still controlled the game.

The air of Autumn Court pressed around her like a cage of gold and frost. She moved with grace, with purpose, but underneath it all, there was the subtle tension of unspoken eyes, of silent scrutiny, of a High Lord who knew more than he let on.

The third day dawned crisp over the Autumn Court. Y/N arrived at Eris’ study promptly, expression calm, posture perfect, ready to report. She had completed her observations meticulously, cataloged every detail, and yet her mind lingered on the upcoming steps.

Eris looked up from his desk, a faint, approving smile on his lips. “Well done,” he said smoothly. “Your diligence over the past days has been impressive. You’ve gathered a lot of useful information.”

Y/N inclined her head politely. “Thank you, High Lord. I did as you instructed.”

Eris gestured for her to come closer, placing a small, detailed map on the desk. “Now, we move to the next phase,” he said, voice calm but firm. “I want you fully briefed. The operation will happen soon. Here is the date, mark it.” He tapped the parchment. “The location, these ruins. The target… the crown. And before we retrieve it, the House of Wind must be cleared.”

Y/N leaned in, absorbing every detail, her mind already mapping out the steps. She did not notice the faint smirk tugging at Eris’ lips, the way his eyes glimmered with hidden amusement.

“What I’m telling you now,” he continued, “is all you need to know. My other agents have confirmed the details, the timing, the defenses, everything is set. Your role is crucial. Ensure the plan unfolds as described.”

Y/N nodded, determined, believing every word. “Understood, High Lord. I’ll ensure it is executed exactly as you intend.”

Eris watched her, silent for a moment, then allowed a slow, approving exhale. “Good. You’ve proven yourself indispensable these past days. But remember, vigilance is key. What I’ve told you is accurate for your purposes, but…” His voice dropped slightly, a subtle weight beneath the calm, imperceptible to her, but clear to the reader. “…not all is as it seems. Some things will need adjustment once the operation begins.”

Y/N inclined her head, unaware of the subtle layers of deception threading through every instruction. To her, this was a straightforward mission, a matter of obedience and precision.

But one thing is clear: Eris had just fed her false information, dates, locations, targets, all carefully crafted. Y/N would carry it back to the Night Court, believing it true, while Eris shaped the battlefield in secret, orchestrating the coming attack with her unwitting help.

As Y/N left the room, map in hand, the Autumn Court’s golden light streaming across her path, the tension hung in the air. Every step she took now carried the weight of misdirection, every word she would repeat would be a thread in Eris’ carefully woven web and the game had only just begun.

𓌜

The Night Court greeted Y/N with its familiar velvet darkness and the faint scent of the Sidra lingering in the air. She had arrived barely a day after receiving Eris’ plans, her mind already a battlefield of conflicting thoughts.

Azriel stayed close, his presence warm and grounding, relief and quiet possessiveness radiating from him. He had missed her during her absence, and though she returned safely, his attention clung to her like a shadow, comforting but suffocating in its intensity.

Y/N forced a small smile, masking the storm inside. She could not tell him the truth, could not let him know who she really served, what she had learned, or what she intended to do. Her duty, her mission, demanded secrecy. Yet the weight of it pressed against her chest, making each heartbeat a drum of tension and guilt.

The evening stretched into quiet hours. Azriel finally relaxed slightly, letting himself sink into the rhythm of their closeness. Y/N allowed herself a fleeting moment of warmth, of comfort, letting her head rest lightly against his chest. His arm draped over her, his wing folding protectively around her, the familiar safety of him a fragile shield against the world.

But the night held a choice. And Y/N’s training, the long years of discipline, of survival, of secrets, took over. She slid carefully from his arms, practiced and silent, her movements ghostlike. Azriel stirred slightly but did not wake, the deep trust between them allowing her passage.

Once clear of the room, she melted into the shadows, her cloak drawn tight, feet soundless against the cold stone floors. Every instinct, every lesson learned in years of Autumn Court training, guided her steps.

Once clear of the room, she melted into the shadows, her cloak drawn tight, feet soundless against the cold stone floors. Every instinct, every lesson learned in years of Autumn Court training, guided her steps.

She reached the Town House and knocked softly. The door opened to Feyre, concern etched in her features.

“Y/N? Is everything… okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Y/N said quickly, forcing a reassuring smile. “I just… needed to speak with Rhys.”

From behind, a calm voice cut through. “Feyre, it’s alright,” Rhysand said, stepping into view. “I’ve been expecting her. I need to speak with Y/N privately.”

Feyre’s brow furrowed, but she trusted him and stepped aside.

Rhysand led her into his office, closing the door behind them. Shadows curled along the edges of the room, the quiet hum of magic lingering in the air.

Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “He believed it,” she said. “He believes the artifact is in the ruins. That part… we’ve convinced him.”

Rhysand leaned against his desk, gaze sharp. “Then why do you look so tense?”

She hesitated, then spoke carefully. “Eris… he plans to attack the House of Wind in two days. He wants it cleared, emptied… before he comes for the artifact. I can’t stop him directly. I can only make sure no one is left here, so no one gets hurt.”

Rhysand’s lips curved faintly. “You can help me,,” he said gently, meeting her eyes.

“Eris expects me to fight for him. That means the others, Azriel, Cassian, everyone, they will see me standing on his side. I’ll have to play my part,” Y/N replied with her eyes fixed on the ground.

“I know it costs you their trust… and his,” he added, nodding slightly toward her thoughts of Azriel.

Her chest tightened. “I… I don’t know if I can,” she whispered.

“You can,” Rhysand assured her. “And you will. You’ve done more than most could manage. Tomorrow, Cassian and Azriel and I will use the day to plan. Velaris is heavily protected, we’ll meet him at the city walls. His men won’t even make it inside. You don’t need to worry about being seen, neither on his side, nor mine. Just focus on keeping them safe.”

Y/N nodded slowly, a flicker of relief mixed with the weight of the task. She would be forced to betray appearances, to risk Azriel’s trust, all for the greater plan, but she would do it. She had to.

Rhysand’s eyes softened. “We’ll handle it together, in the shadows. You won’t have to face it alone.”

For the first time that evening, Y/N allowed herself a small, quiet exhale. She could help. She would help. And even if no one knew what she truly was, she could make sure the people she cared about survived.

𓌜

The sun hung low in the Velaris sky, painting the gardens with gold and amber. Y/N and Azriel sat side by side on the stone bench outside her small house, the faint scent of blooming flowers drifting on the warm breeze. A soft smile tugged at Y/N’s lips as she let the sunlight wash over her, the weight of the past days momentarily eased by the quiet beauty around them.

Azriel leaned back slightly, letting one arm rest casually on the bench behind her. “It’s nice,” he murmured, voice low, almost reluctant to disturb the stillness. “To just… sit.”

Y/N nodded, letting her fingers trail along the edge of the bench. “It is. I… forget how calm it can be here sometimes,” she said softly, though her thoughts were already elsewhere.

The quiet was broken by the faintest pulse at the edge of Azriel’s mind, a pull he had learned to recognize instantly. Rhysand. A thought, a presence, reaching out to him.

“I need to go,” he said, his voice tense but controlled. “Rhysand… he wants to speak with me.”

Y/N’s chest tightened imperceptibly. She knew exactly why he had been called. Her stomach fluttered, nerves igniting, but her face remained calm, serene.

Azriel knelt slightly to meet her eyes, a quiet intensity in his gaze. “I’ll be back soon,” he murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. Before she could respond, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering just long enough for warmth to spread through her chest.

“Of course,” she said lightly, hiding the storm inside. “Go ahead. I’ll be right here when you return.”

Azriel gave her a questioning glance, reading the unspoken worries in her expression, and offered a reassuring, almost playful smile. “I mean it. I’ll be back quickly.”

With that, he stood, lingering for only a moment longer to let her feel the faint echo of his presence, and then walked away.

As he walked away, Y/N sank a little deeper into the bench, the warm sunlight no longer comforting. Her mind churned. Is it really worth it, living like this? she wondered. The lies, the secrets… pretending to be one of them while serving another. Would it be easier to just choose one side?

Her heart clenched as she thought of Azriel. The way he trusted her, the way he depended on her presence for comfort and safety. Could she truly balance this double life without breaking that trust?

And yet, the decision had been made. She belonged to Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. Her loyalty, her purpose, was clear. Every risk she took, every subtle move, every secret smile exchanged in shadowed corners, it was all for him, for the people she wanted to protect.

But why, then, did it feel so heavy? Why did the weight of the deception press so hard against her chest?

Y/N leaned back, eyes tracing the garden paths, the sunlight catching on the leaves, on the flowers, on the distant rooftops of Velaris. She exhaled slowly, a quiet breath of resolve mixed with lingering doubt.

She had chosen. She was committed. And yet, for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to feel the cost of that choice, alone in the quiet garden, with only the faint hum of the city and the whisper of the wind to witness her thoughts.

Y/N stood in her small Velaris kitchen, hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea, but her mind wasn’t on the drink. A soft melody floated from the corner of the room, Feyre’s favorite music playlist she had left running earlier, filling the space with gentle piano notes and distant, lilting strings. She had let herself be distracted, letting the music soothe her tense thoughts.

Her eyes stared out the window at the garden, but she saw nothing of it. The sunlight warming the stone paths, the gentle sway of flowers in the breeze, all of it blurred into a background haze. Her mind was elsewhere, devouring her, gnawing at her with the weight of impossible choices.

She closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her for a few moments longer, trying to ground herself. But the melody couldn’t drown out the tension rising in her chest. She could feel the storm coming, far away yet inevitable, creeping closer with every passing second.

Her fingers tightened around the mug, knuckles whitening. I’ve chosen. I serve Rhysand. I protect them. I must.

But even as she reaffirmed her decision, doubt lingered like a shadow at the edges of her mind. Why does it feel so heavy? Why does it hurt so much to lie to those who trust me?

The soft notes of the piano faded into silence as her heartbeat quickened, the tension in the room suddenly sharp and tangible. And then, the pounding at the door, urgent and frantic, shattered the fragile calm she had allowed herself.

Feyre, Nyx, and Nesta burst in, voices taut with alarm.

“Y/N! Rhysand sent us, he said you need to be here, you have to protect us!”

“What’s going on?” Y/N asked sharply, her voice low but urgent, already moving toward them.

Feyre’s eyes were wide, and her grip on Nyx tightened. “It’s Eris,” she said, voice trembling slightly. “He’s here. He… he has no good intentions. His forces are already in the city. They’ve started fighting, attacking the Town House, the House of Wind… everything.”

Y/N’s stomach clenched. The attack… today? Her mind raced. Eris had moved faster than expected. The House of Wind and the Town House were already under siege. The carefully laid plans, the misinformation he had fed her, everything had changed.

Without a word, Y/N dropped into motion. Every habit, every lesson from her years of training surged forward. Her fingers brushed the weapons at her belt, her stance shifting into precise, protective readiness. The calm, polite mask she wore in the Night Court dissolved, replaced by the deadly efficiency she had honed over decades.

Nesta froze for a moment, eyes wide, taking in the change. “Who… who are you really?” she demanded, voice tinged with disbelief and awe.

Y/N met her gaze steadily, unwavering. “I cannot tell you that,” she said, voice firm but quiet. “What I can tell you is this: my loyalty, my true allegiance, is here, in the Night Court. My actions, my skills… they are for Rhysand, and for no one else.”

Her hands rested lightly on her weapons, ready for anything. “You are safe here,” she added, glancing at Feyre and Nyx. “I will protect you.”

Nesta’s expression softened slightly, but the shock lingered. The polite, distant fae she had known, the one who smiled at small gatherings and painted in the sunlight, was gone. In her place stood someone far more formidable, someone who could not be underestimated.

Nyx, sensing the shift, pressed close to Y/N, eyes wide. Feyre gripped her hand, relief and fear mingling.

Y/N drew a slow breath, centering herself, every muscle coiled and ready. “You stay behind me. No one will get through,” she said, voice low but unyielding. Her gaze hardened, scanning the distant horizon, every sense alert. “I serve only Rhysand. Nothing else matters. And right now… your safety is my priority.”

Nesta, still staring at her, whispered, almost to herself, “I never knew…”

Y/N gave no answer, only a brief, steady nod. Words were unnecessary. In that moment, actions spoke louder than any explanation could.

Y/N moved quickly, shutting and locking the windows, bolting the doors, and activating wards she had learned to craft in the Autumn Court. The faint hum of magic filled the room, a protective barrier that ensured no one could enter, or leave, without her knowledge.

“Alright,” she said, stepping back and brushing her hands over her clothes. “We’re secure. No one gets in, no one gets out. For now, you’re safe.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed as she surveyed the room, clearly unnerved but also intensely curious. “Who are you really?” she demanded, her voice sharp. “What are you? I want to know everything, why you move like that, why you… why you’re capable of this.”

Y/N shook her head, her expression calm but firm. “I can’t tell you. Not now. If I reveal too much, I put all of you at risk. Everything I do, every move I make, has to stay hidden. That’s the only way you stay safe.”

Feyre’s brow furrowed, concern softening her features. “Does Azriel know about this?” she asked cautiously, glancing at Y/N.

Y/N blinked, genuinely confused. “Why… why would you ask about Azriel?”

Feyre let out a short, sharp laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, you two are such idiots,” she said, her tone teasing. “As if anyone couldn’t tell you sneak off together all the time. And honestly? I can’t smell anything else in this entire apartment besides him. You’ve been very obvious, Y/N.”

Nesta gaped at her, a mixture of exasperation and incredulity on her face, while Y/N only tilted her head slightly, lips twitching as if to suppress a smile. The tension in the room shifted just a fraction, but the gravity of the situation remained.

Y/N’s eyes hardened as she glanced around at the three of them. “Focus. You’re safe here for now. That’s all that matters.”

𓌜

The air was thick with smoke and the acrid stench of fire. The streets of Velaris shook under the pounding of armored boots, and the cries of the wounded echoed through the city like a chorus of despair. Azriel moved through the chaos like a shadow, blades flashing, cutting down anyone who threatened the innocent or the few defenders holding their ground. Cassian roared beside him, wings beating against the choking smoke, axe swinging in a brutal rhythm that sent soldiers and walls alike crashing to the ground.

Y/N’s senses flared from afar, every piece of intelligence she had gathered in the last days replaying in her mind. She couldn’t intervene directly, she had to maintain Eris’ trust, but her stomach twisted at the screams, the smell of blood, and the sheer carnage erupting in the streets.

The Night Court’s defenders pushed back, but Eris’ forces were relentless, flooding the streets with brutal efficiency. Limbs were torn, armor dented and soaked, faces streaked with blood and soot. The clash of steel, the roar of magic, and the sickening thuds of bodies hitting stone filled the air. Even the most seasoned soldiers flinched at the chaos.

And then, in the center of it all, Rhysand and Eris faced each other. Rhys’ eyes burned with fury, wings spread wide, shadow and starlight coiling around him like living armor. Eris sneered, aura dark and twisting, his own power lashing outward like a black wave.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” Rhysand said, voice low and deadly. His magic twisted the shadows at his feet, turning the street around him into writhing tendrils that threatened to snare Eris.

Eris laughed, dark and sharp. “And yet, here I am. You’ll see me again, Rhysand. I always come back. You cannot stop me.” His hand flared with black fire, striking at the air, melting stone, and searing the cobblestones beneath their feet.

The fight escalated instantly. Rhysand twisted, dodging a blast of fire that spat molten stone into the air, chunks flying like deadly shrapnel. Magic collided with magic, soundless shockwaves tearing through the streets, ripping doors from frames and shattering walls. The smell of burning stone, scorched flesh, and iron from spilled blood was overpowering.

Azriel and Cassian tore through soldiers, shadows and steel moving as extensions of themselves. Every strike was precise, every slash deliberate, yet the sheer volume of Eris’ men made the battlefield grotesque. Limbs flailed, screams echoed, and bodies tumbled into the smoke-choked streets, some already broken, some writhing in the dirt as magic crackled over them. Cassian roared, driving his axe through another attacker, only to be slammed back by a blast of raw force from a horde behind him.

Through it all, Rhysand held Eris at bay, the two of them spinning a deadly dance of magic and menace. Shadows clashed against black flames, stone cracked, and the city itself seemed to groan under the weight of their powers. And yet, even as Rhysand forced him back, Eris’ voice carried over the chaos, venomous and unyielding:

“This isn’t over,” he spat, blood streaking his face, a dark grin cutting across his features. “I will return. And next time… you won’t be ready.”

Rhysand’s eyes narrowed, his wings unfurling like midnight silk. “You’re already losing,” he said, voice a low growl, and with a final surge of shadow, he forced Eris to retreat.

The battlefield fell into tense silence as Eris vanished, his forces scattered and broken, but the lingering stench of death and fire remained. Azriel and Cassian stood panting, blood and soot streaked across their skin, scanning the wreckage.

Velaris had survived… for now. But the city, its streets, and its defenders bore the marks of a battle that had left the air thick, heavy, and unforgettable.

𓌜

The wards on the apartment shimmered once, twice, before the darkness in the center of the room folded in on itself.

Rhysand stepped out of it.

Smoke clung to him. Blood, not all of it his, darkened the sleeves of his shirt. His wings were half-spread, as if he had not yet convinced himself the fighting was over. For a heartbeat, the room went utterly still.

Feyre was on her feet immediately. “Rhys-”

“Innocents died,” he said quietly, before she could ask. His voice was steady, but something strained beneath it. “They pushed through the lower district before we stopped them. We caught most of them at the city walls,but not before damage was done.”

Silence fell like a weight.

Nesta’s jaw tightened. Feyre’s hand drifted instinctively to Nyx, who had begun to stir, sensing the tension in the room.

Y/N did not move. Her fingers were still wrapped around the hilt of her blade.

Eris moved early.

Rhys’ violet gaze found hers. Not accusing. Not doubtful. Just sharp.

“You need to go,” he said to Y/N.

Feyre blinked. “Go? Go where?”

“Back,” Rhys answered without looking at her. “To the Autumn Court.”

Y/N’s spine straightened immediately. “He’ll suspect.”

“He already does,” Rhys said. “And if he’s as calculating as I believe, he’s heading to your residence now.”

A flicker of understanding passed between them.

“You were never here,” Rhys continued, stepping closer to Y/N. “You did not leave your apartment. You heard rumors of an attack through the usual channels. Nothing more.”

Feyre looked between them. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Feyre-” Rhys began.

“No,” she cut in, frustration rising. “People died tonight. Eris marched into our city. And you’re sending her back to him without explanation?”

Rhys’ tone did not harden,but it cooled. “This is between Y/N and me.”

The words landed heavier than any shout.

“For now,” he added, softer but firm. “Until this is finished.”

Feyre’s eyes flashed, but she said nothing more. She trusted her mate. Even when she didn’t understand him.

Rhys turned fully to Y/N. “Stand still.”

Power brushed over her skin like cool silk. His glamour slid into place with precision, erasing the faint trace of Night Court air from her scent, muting the subtle imprint of Azriel’s shadows, replacing it with crisp Autumn, dry leaves, smoke, distant frost.

“No one will smell Velaris on you,” Rhys said quietly.

Y/N nodded once. Controlled. Focused. But her throat tightened.

“Do you have everything you need?” he asked her, low enough that only she could hear.

“Yes.”

“If he presses you-”

“I’ll handle it.”

Their eyes locked for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

Then darkness swallowed them both.

They reappeared inside Y/N’s Autumn Court residence.

Cold. Still. Untouched.

Rhys released her immediately and moved toward the window, scanning the treeline beyond the estate.

“He’ll claim this was a test,” Rhys said quickly. “Or that his timing changed due to ‘new intelligence.’ Don’t challenge it.”

“I won’t.”

“He’ll watch your reaction carefully.”

Y/N gave the faintest, humorless smile. “He always does.”

Rhys stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“We intercepted a portion of his forces retreating north. He lost more than he expected tonight. That will wound his pride.”

“And make him reckless,” she finished.

“Yes.”

A pulse of power rippled at the edge of the estate wards. They both felt it. He’s close.

Rhys’ jaw tightened.

“You were here,” he reminded her one last time. “You heard nothing until rumors reached you. You’re frustrated he didn’t inform you sooner.”

Y/N inhaled slowly, letting her posture shift, her expression cool and sharp, Autumn’s finest weapon sliding back into place.

“I understand.”

Rhys hesitated, just for a fraction of a heartbeat. “Be careful.”

Then he was gone. The air settled. And not five seconds later, a knock. Three deliberate raps against her door.

Y/N did not rush. Did not falter. She walked calmly across the room, each step measured, every emotion sealed behind the mask she had perfected.

Her hand closed around the door handle. And she opened it.

𓌜

It took Azriel days to get back to Y/N’s place. Days plagued by remorse. He did not immediately step into Y/N’s apartment when he arrived. He stood in the doorway for a long moment, letting the quiet settle around him, as if the space itself might offer an explanation before he had to look for one.

The apartment felt untouched. Not ransacked. Not disturbed. Just… absent.

He closed the door softly behind him and moved further inside, his shadows stretching along the walls, brushing across familiar surfaces. The faint scent of her lingered in the air, jasmine threaded with steel and something darker beneath, but it was already fading, as if it had not been refreshed in a week.

That alone made something tighten in his chest.

He had grown used to her presence here. The books stacked in uneven towers near the couch. The blanket draped carelessly over the armrest. The small knife she always left on the kitchen counter, within reach even in a place that was supposed to be safe.

Tonight, everything was too orderly.

He walked toward the bedroom without quite meaning to. The bed was made with careful precision, the sheets smooth, the pillows aligned. He stepped closer and laid a hand against the fabric. Cold. Not recently vacated. Not stepped out of at dawn.

Cold in a way that meant she had not slept here at all.

Azriel exhaled slowly, steadying himself.

Nesta’s words returned to him, unwanted but persistent. That Y/N disappeared too often. That she slipped away before he woke. That there were nights when the bed beside him had already gone cold by the time he reached for her.

He had defended her. Quietly. Firmly. Without hesitation. Because trust, to him, was not given lightly. And Y/N had earned it. Or he had believed she had.

Eris’ attack had been too precise. The shift in timing, one day earlier than expected, according to the information Rhys received from an unknown intel. Knowledge of the House of Wind. Of their movements.

There was only one bridge between Night and Autumn. Only one person who moved freely between both courts without raising suspicion.

Y/N.

The thought settled into him with slow, dreadful clarity. He returned to the living room, his gaze falling on the couch.

Memory rose before he could stop it.

She had been curled against his side there, her legs tucked beneath her, listening while he read aloud from a book she had insisted he finish. She had claimed his voice sounded different at night, quieter, warmer. She had fallen asleep halfway through a chapter, her fingers loosely hooked into the fabric of his shirt as if afraid he might disappear.

He had kept reading long after she slept. Just so the sound would wrap around her.

The memory pressed against his ribs like a bruise.

Azriel crouched slowly in front of the couch. He did not want to do this. Did not want to turn her space into an investigation. But he was not just a male who cared for her.

He was Spymaster of the Night Court. His shadows slid between the cushions first, more cautious than his hands, searching deeper than fingers could reach. They hesitated.

Then coiled around something thin. Folded. Hidden deliberately. Azriel reached in and drew it out. A letter. The seal had been broken, but the dark red wax left no doubt as to its origin.

Autumn.

His pulse did not quicken. It slowed. He unfolded the parchment carefully. The handwriting was unmistakable, elegant, precise, controlled. It belonged to no other than Eris.

The message was brief, efficient, stripped of unnecessary words.

Well done. You’ve proven yourself useful. We proceed as discussed.

Azriel let his eyes move over the words slowly, as if by taking his time he might discover some hidden meaning between the lines, some subtle indication that he had misunderstood. He read the letter once, then again, absorbing every curve of Eris’ elegant handwriting, every calculated phrase that confirmed coordination, trust, strategy.

Nothing shifted. Nothing softened.

The message remained what it was, clear, deliberate, undeniable.

For a long moment, he simply stood there, the parchment held between steady fingers while something far less steady settled inside his chest. It was not the sharp flare of anger he might have expected, nor the violent rush of betrayal that could have justified immediate action. Instead, the realization moved through him slowly, like winter creeping over a landscape, quiet, numbing, inevitable.

She had been corresponding with Eris. Not under duress. Not by accident. But effectively. Successfully.

Useful.

The word lingered in his mind far longer than it should have.

A tight, hollow ache spread beneath his ribs, not dramatic enough to bring him to his knees, but deep enough to make breathing feel different, heavier, more deliberate. Disappointment did not erupt; it settled. It layered itself carefully over trust, over memory, over every quiet night spent on that couch where she had leaned into him without hesitation.

He allowed himself to close his eyes for a brief moment, and in that darkness he tried, truly tried, to imagine another explanation. Perhaps it was a game within a game. Perhaps she had embedded herself deeper than anyone realized. Perhaps this was part of something larger that he had not yet uncovered.

But hope, he knew better than most, was a fragile foundation for strategy.

As Spymaster, he could not afford the luxury of believing in possibilities simply because they hurt less than the truth. He could not gamble Velaris, Rhys, Feyre, Nyx, the city that had rebuilt itself from centuries of fear, on the chance that this was all an elaborate misunderstanding.

If Y/N had been feeding Eris information, then she represented a breach in their defenses, no matter how much it wounded him to think it.

And breaches were his responsibility. Not as a male who cared for her. Not as the one who had memorized the rhythm of her breathing in sleep. But as the protector of the Night Court.

With movements that were careful rather than cold, Azriel folded the letter along its existing creases, smoothing the parchment once before slipping it inside his jacket, as though handling something fragile instead of something that had just fractured the ground beneath him.

When he stepped out onto the balcony, the night air met him like a quiet reckoning. Velaris shimmered in the distance, lanternlight reflecting against the Sidra, the city beautiful and unaware of the fault line running silently through its heart.

He rested his hands briefly against the stone railing and allowed himself one final glance back into the apartment. The couch stood exactly as they had left it days ago, the blanket still draped over its arm, the indentation in the cushions barely visible unless one knew where to look.

He remembered her laughter there. The way she had tilted her head to listen more closely when he read. The softness in her expression when she thought he wasn’t watching.

For a fleeting second, he wished, truly wished, that he could remain in that memory instead of stepping forward into whatever waited for him in Autumn.

“Let there be more to this,” he murmured quietly, not as a demand, but as something closer to a prayer.

The city did not answer him. The night offered no reassurance.

And so he straightened, the hesitation draining from his posture as resolve replaced it. Whatever truth awaited him, he would face it directly. Not out of anger. Not out of vengeance. But because the safety of his court demanded clarity.

His wings unfurled in a slow, powerful sweep, shadows tightening around him as if sensing the gravity of the choice he had made. Then, without looking back again, Azriel stepped into the open air and rose into the night, flying toward the Autumn Court with a heart heavier than it had been in years, yet steadied by the unyielding certainty of duty.

𓌜

Y/N remained seated for a long time after the ink had dried, her gaze fixed on the folded letter as though it might rearrange itself into something easier to bear. The firelight flickered across the parchment, casting restless shadows along the walls, and for a fleeting moment she allowed herself to imagine what it would feel like to simply abandon all of this , to stop calculating, stop balancing lies against survival, stop measuring every word for the damage it might cause.

But that had never truly been an option for her.

Not in the Autumn Court. Not in the Night Court. Not in the fragile space between them where she had chosen to stand.

Until Eris trusted her completely again, she was tethered to this place. Every step beyond its borders would be scrutinized. Every absence weighed. If she moved too soon, if she reached for Velaris before suspicion had faded entirely, she would undo months, years, of carefully constructed deception in a single breath.

And Eris would not forgive that kind of betrayal.

She knew what he was capable of when crossed. She had seen it. Had survived it once already.

Which meant she had to endure this now, the distance, the uncertainty, the tightening coil of fear that pressed quietly at the base of her spine whenever she imagined his patience wearing thin.

Beyond the red and gold forests, beyond the heavy air of Autumn, Azriel was out there somewhere. Perhaps searching. Perhaps doubting. Perhaps already drawing conclusions she could not blame him for reaching.

The thought hurt more than she allowed herself to acknowledge.

Because if he did begin to suspect her, if he believed the worst, she would not be able to correct him. Not yet. Not without tearing down the very shield she was trying to hold over all of them.

She folded the letter to him with deliberate care, smoothing the crease as though gentleness might somehow carry through ink and parchment. Her words were measured, restrained, carefully neutral, but beneath them lived everything she could not openly confess: that this distance was strategy, not abandonment; that the silence was protection, not indifference.

When she finally rose from the desk, the fire had burned low, the last traces of Rhysand’s letter reduced to nothing but pale ash. No evidence remained. No proof that she belonged anywhere but here.

And yet her loyalty had never been clearer to her than it was in that moment. She did not serve Autumn. She did not serve Eris.

She served the Night Court, and the High Lord who had trusted her with a role no one else could have played.

If that meant allowing Azriel to doubt her, even to resent her, for a time… then she would carry that weight too.

Y/N moved toward the window, staring out over the endless blaze of Autumn trees, their beauty deceptive in its warmth. Somewhere beyond the horizon lay Velaris, luminous and fragile and worth every sacrifice she had already made.

Whatever Eris planned next, whatever suspicion lingered in his gaze, she would endure it. She would outlast it. She would remain exactly where she needed to be until the moment came to strike without shattering the fragile illusion she had built.

And until that moment arrived, she would do what she had always done best.  She would survive the fire without letting it consume her.

Y/N felt the shift in the air before she understood what it meant. It was subtle at first, a tightening in the invisible threads of magic that ran through her apartment, as though the room itself had inhaled and forgotten how to exhale. The late afternoon light spilled in through the tall Autumn Court windows, casting the space in molten gold and deep amber, deceptively warm, deceptively peaceful.

She had just stepped away from her desk when the shadows changed.

Not the natural stretch of evening darkness.

His shadows.

When she turned, her breath caught in her throat.

Azriel stood in the center of her living room.

He had not shattered through wards. Had not announced himself with force or fury. He was simply there, as if the darkness had shaped itself into him and given him form. His wings were half-spread, not in aggression but in restraint, as though he had landed only moments ago and had not yet decided whether to remain or to strike. The shadows around him were restless, fractured in their movement, some clinging close while others drifted uncertainly through the room.

Shock moved through her swiftly, but she mastered it just as quickly. Not because she feared him. But because he had found her. And that meant something had unraveled.

She studied him in the span of a heartbeat. The rigid line of his shoulders. The unnatural stillness in his posture. The way his jaw was set too tightly, as though holding back something far more volatile than anger. His eyes were the worst of it, not blazing, not cold, but searching. Wounded.

He did not greet her. He did not ask why she had not written.

He reached into his jacket with slow, deliberate precision and withdrew a folded piece of parchment.

Her stomach dropped before she even saw the seal.

When he held it up between them, she did not need him to unfold it. The fractured red wax was enough. The handwriting she could not see was already burned into her memory.

Eris.

Silence thickened between them, heavy and suffocating.

Azriel’s voice, when it came, was low and steady, but threaded with something raw that made her chest tighten.

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

There was no accusation in it yet. No fury. Only a final, fragile request.

His gaze locked onto hers with devastating intensity, as though he could force the truth from her by sheer will alone.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he repeated, and this time the words felt less like a demand and more like a plea from a man who already feared he knew the answer.

She could have lied.

She was trained for it. Conditioned to let falsehoods roll off her tongue with the smoothness of silk. She had done it with Eris without blinking, had layered truth and deception so seamlessly that even suspicion struggled to take hold.

But this was Azriel.

And the truth she was forbidden to speak was more dangerous than any lie she could craft.

If she told him she served Rhysand, if she revealed that every calculated step had been for the Night Court, she would not only shatter her cover, she would condemn them all. Eris’ lingering doubts would crystallize into certainty. Whatever patience he still possessed would evaporate. The next move he made would not be cautious.

It would be lethal. Rhys had been clear. No one else could know. Not even him. Especially not him.

So she did the only thing she could.

She said nothing.

The silence stretched, long enough to change something in him.

She saw it happen, the moment hope drained from his expression, not in a dramatic collapse, but in a quiet resignation that felt far worse. It was the look of a man who had prepared himself for pain and received confirmation instead.

He lowered the letter slowly, but his other hand moved with lethal familiarity. Truth-Teller appeared as though conjured from the darkness itself, the blade catching a sliver of Autumn light before coming to rest against the delicate line of her throat.

The steel was cool. Unyielding.

Close enough that she could feel the promise of it against her skin.

His hand did not press hard enough to break flesh, but she could feel the faint tremor beneath his control, a tremor that betrayed how violently he was restraining himself.

His shadows reacted in contradiction. Some recoiled from her, withdrawing as though they sensed treachery. Others drifted closer despite him, curling around her waist, brushing her arms, hovering near her shoulders in something that felt dangerously close to protection.

They could not decide what she was. Neither, perhaps, could he.

Y/N did not move. She did not reach for a weapon. She did not attempt to step back or twist away. Instead, she held his gaze steadily, allowing him to see composure rather than fear, even though her heart was beating hard enough to bruise her ribs from within.

He mistook her stillness for acceptance. For guilt.

For the quiet understanding that she knew what she had done and was prepared to face the consequence.

His throat worked as he swallowed, and when he spoke again, his voice had roughened, stripped of the seamless control he usually wore like armor.

“When you lie to me,” he said quietly, the words dragged from somewhere deep and unwilling, “I can endure it. I can survive a lie.”

The blade remained at her throat, steady but trembling ever so slightly in his grip.

“But if you stay silent…” His jaw tightened, and she saw the fracture beneath the surface, the strain of a male torn between duty and something far more personal. “If you say nothing, I don’t know how to survive that.”

The ache in her chest flared so sharply she almost faltered. Almost told him everything. Almost let the fragile structure of secrecy collapse just to spare him this moment.

But she could not.

Not if she wanted any of them to survive what was coming.

So instead, she lifted her chin slightly, exposing more of her throat to the blade, a deliberate gesture that acknowledged the danger without resisting it. Her voice, when she spoke, was steady, heartbreakingly calm.

“Then do what you have to do.”

Azriel’s grip on Truthteller did not waver, yet there was a tremor in his posture, a subtle shiver that betrayed the war raging within him. Every fiber of his being wanted to act, to punish, to sever the threat he believed Y/N represented. But another force, quieter yet far stronger, restrained him. The Night Court, the people he had sworn to protect, the city he had devoted himself to, was more important than any personal attachment, even one that had once burned so brightly across the borders of loyalty and desire. He had loved her, perhaps even deeply, but duty was the cornerstone of his being. The whisper of betrayal he felt now could not outweigh the lives depending on his choices.

His shadows tightened, coiling closer, restless and conflicted. Azriel’s jaw flexed, his knuckles whitening as he fought against instinct, against the burning ache in his chest. He could almost hear the echoes of his own thoughts: This is her, and yet… this is the Night Court. She cannot imperil them. I cannot allow her to.

Then, impossibly calm, Rhysand appeared. Not a shout, not a dramatic entrance, but the soft, commanding weight of presence that could still make the air itself pause. His arrival was quiet, deceptively simple, yet it carried the authority of someone who had long ago learned how to halt storms without calling attention to them.

“Enough.”

The word was low, precise, and as he extended his hand, subtle threads of Night Court power wrapped around Azriel’s own shadows, halting the blade just inches from Y/N’s throat. The pull was gentle but absolute, stopping the motion before it could even fully manifest.

Azriel froze, eyes wide, disbelief and confusion contorting his features. “What… what are you doing?” he demanded, voice rough with disorientation. “Let go. She’s a traitor, Rhys. She’s-”

Rhysand’s gaze held him still, steady as obsidian, unwavering. “Y/N works for me,” he said, his tone even, almost detached. “She is a double agent.”

Azriel’s mind whirled. The weight of the revelation pressed down on him, his pulse spiking in a way that made every muscle in his body ache. “For you?” he breathed, incredulous. “After everything… for you?”

Rhysand stepped closer, his calm radiance cutting through the storm of confusion. “I met her long ago, when I was young, arrogant, insatiably curious. I accompanied my father on one of his political visits to the Autumn Court under High Lord Beron Vanserra. During that visit, I slipped away, foolish, reckless, and wandered into a forbidden area. It was the training ground for the Autumn Court’s secret agents. She was there.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched as he listened, the tension in his shoulders easing only slightly, even as the story began to piece together in his mind.

“She saw me get caught,” Rhys continued, voice low, precise. “Not by Beron, but by the instructors, the guards. I was cornered, frightened, and… she did something entirely illogical. She distracted them. She intervened, putting herself at risk, and allowed me to escape.”

Azriel’s hands, still hovering tensely near the Truthteller, clenched and unclenched. Every instinct screamed that Y/N had been untrustworthy, yet here was Rhysand, calm and certain, revealing a thread of loyalty and empathy that Azriel had not expected.

“Why?” Azriel’s voice was barely audible, a mixture of disbelief and dawning understanding.

“She saw fear in me,” Rhys said simply, his eyes meeting Azriel’s with that unshakable intensity. “Something human, something real, that most of the others in that camp could not feel. It stayed with me. Years later, when I became High Lord, I sought her out. I gave her a choice, one she could have refused. She accepted. She serves me because she trusts me, because she chose this path deliberately, knowing the stakes. Everything she has done, everything she has sacrificed… it has been for the Night Court.”

Azriel’s breath caught, and for the first time in moments, he lowered the blade slightly, though his shadows still quivered around Y/N. Rage had been replaced by a slow, shattering realization. Betrayal had never been hers. Her silence, her deception, everything he had interpreted as treachery, was nothing more than a carefully maintained armor, forged over a lifetime, designed to protect the ones she truly cared for.

He let out a long, ragged breath, the tension leaving his shoulders fractionally, replaced by bitter regret. He had been ready to strike, ready to extinguish the life of someone who had already given everything she had. And now he saw it. He had almost destroyed her for a cause she had served all along.

Azriel’s hands fell to his sides, shadows slackening as his mind reeled. He looked at her, at Rhys, and the weight of his near-decision pressed down on him like a stone. Anger, fear, and guilt collided, yet under it all, a quiet, grudging understanding took root. She had chosen her side long before he had ever fully understood it, and the Night Court, their people, their city, their lives, came before even the ties of love, trust, or pain.

And for the first time, Azriel realized he had been ready to betray her for the very cause she had dedicated her life to protecting.

Rhysand’s presence was calm, but the weight of it pressed down like a tide against the shore. His gaze flicked once toward Azriel, who still stood tensely, shadows twitching and coiling as though trying to restrain a storm. Rhys’s eyes softened slightly as they met Azriel’s, and then he gestured for him to sit. “Azriel,” he said quietly, almost gently, “you need to settle yourself. I can feel the storm roiling beneath your skin. You are allowed to be human here, to process what just happened.”

Azriel obeyed, sinking into a chair with a reluctant groan, his wings folding against him as he struggled to untangle the mix of anger, relief, and betrayal that churned inside. Rhys’s assessment was correct, he could feel it all, Azriel’s fury at the thought of losing Y/N, his guilt for nearly striking her, the fear that she had been leading him astray.

Y/N, still standing a few paces away, watched silently, her chest tight with anxiety. She knew the fragility of this moment, that the truth of her life, her choices, and her loyalties were precarious, and that a single misstep could ruin everything. Yet Rhys’s voice cut through the tension, calm and commanding.

“I received your letter,” he said, glancing at Y/N, a small trace of wry amusement touching his expression despite the gravity of the situation. “Perfect timing, as it seems. You need to come back to Velaris. Now. You are not safe here. Staying in the Autumn Court, even for a moment longer, risks too much, not just for you, but for all of us.”

Y/N’s stomach clenched, knowing exactly what that meant. Her cover, carefully maintained for years, would be in jeopardy the instant she returned. She could feel the layers of Eris’ surveillance, the inevitable analysis, the questions, the footprints he would trace until he realized she was missing, until he found a trail leading straight back to Velaris. Her home in the Night Court would no longer be simple. Even Velaris itself would not remain untouched by his pursuit.

Rhys continued, his tone sharpening subtly. “Eris will not stop. He will track, observe, interrogate, sniff out patterns until he discovers the truth. Mor already sees you as a risk, as do others who do not understand your… methods. You will not have an easy path ahead, Y/N. Not here. Not even in your own city.”

Y/N absorbed the weight of his words. She could see it clearly, the inevitability of it. Eris would come, sooner or later. He would question witnesses, trace energy, follow scents, analyze movements. If she wasn’t prepared, Velaris would suffer. And she could not allow that. She had lived her entire life as a weapon, forged in silence, trained in secrecy, honed for precision. And now, for the first time, she made her choice, not at the behest of another, not as a tool of someone else’s ambition.

She stepped forward, voice steady, even as her hands trembled imperceptibly. “Rhys, I… I have decided. I will face Eris. I will go to him, not as a spy, not as a traitor, but to end the game myself. If this is the path, then I will take it. My life, my choices… this is where they lead.”

The room was quiet, except for the low, resonant hum of shadows around Azriel, still lingering with cautious watchfulness. Rhys studied her for a long moment, his expression inscrutable, but then he nodded slowly.

“Then so be it,” he said, voice low and steady. “I will not stop you. You have always been your own weapon, Y/N, and now you are directing it where it must go. I trust you to see this through.”

Relief and apprehension mingled in her chest. She had the blessing of her High Lord, the support of the Night Court, and yet the weight of the coming storm pressed down heavier than any mission before. Still, she had made her choice, and that was something no one—not Eris, not fear, not even the memories of a lifetime of obedience, could take from her.

Rhys turned toward Azriel, offering a small, imperceptible gesture of reassurance. “You will have some time,” he said, voice softening. “Time to adjust, to prepare. Do not lose yourself in the immediacy of this. Y/N and you, make sure you are ready before she steps into the fire.”

He gave Y/N a final glance, the kind that held both authority and trust, before stepping back, winnowing away with a whisper of shadow, leaving only the two of them behind. The weight in the room did not lift, it shifted, settling differently, full of purpose, of decision, of the quiet ferocity of a life finally under her own control.

Y/N exhaled, shoulders releasing a fraction of their tension. Azriel looked at her, eyes heavy with unspoken understanding, his jaw tight, yet no words passed between them. They did not need them. Both knew that the coming days would test everything, but for now, there was a fragile calm. She had chosen, and for the first time in her life, she had chosen entirely for herself.

Y/N sank onto the edge of the couch, her movements deliberate but soft, careful not to startle him. Azriel’s gaze was still fixed to the floor, shadows of turmoil flickering in his dark eyes, betraying the storm that raged within him even as he remained outwardly still. She could see it, the war he waged in silence, the conflict between the man who had almost struck her in fear and fury, and the man who had devoted himself to the Night Court and all it represented.

She leaned closer, her hand brushing lightly against his arm, an unspoken plea for understanding. “Azriel,” she began, voice low, careful, “I… everything between us, it was real. I never played you. Not once. That was the only truth in all of this, my feelings for you.”

His silence stretched, deep and impenetrable. He didn’t speak, and she understood, with the weight of all their shared history pressing down on her, that if he opened his mouth, the finality of what was coming would crush him. Azriel had found someone who understood him, who loved him for the broken pieces he carried. And he could not yet let go, could not yet put words to the loss he felt.

Y/N’s chest tightened. She saw his silence as a farewell, a quiet acceptance of the inevitability of what must happen. She could feel it in the set of his shoulders, in the heaviness of his gaze, and in the way the shadows around him seemed to draw in and coil tighter, as if bracing themselves for absence. She pressed her lips lightly to his cheek, soft and fleeting, a last promise and goodbye wrapped in one.

“I… I have to go,” she whispered, standing. Her cloak brushed against the floor, light and airy, leaving nothing behind but the lingering warmth of her presence. She carried nothing with her, no weapons, no letters, no illusions. She had nothing to take, because she had long ago made peace with the path she had chosen. She knew the danger that awaited her. She knew the truth would unravel as soon as she faced Eris, and yet she walked toward it with steady steps.

But before she could reach the door, a hand closed over hers, firm and unyielding. She froze, a flicker of surprise crossing her features, and looked up. Azriel’s dark eyes met hers, steady and unwavering, shadows coiling protectively around him. In that single touch, in that silent hold, the unspoken promise was clear: he had chosen her. He would find a way to protect her and Velaris, to safeguard both, without betraying the Night Court.

“You don’t get to leave,” he murmured, voice low, intimate, yet carrying the authority of someone who had made a decision he would not reverse.

Y/N’s lips curved in a faint, almost ironic smile. “I thought I had to,” she said softly.

Azriel’s fingers tightened slightly around hers. “Not this time. I won’t let you go.” His eyes flicked upward, catching hers fully. “I have a plan, a strategy to force Eris into position without you facing him directly. You won’t have to confront him alone. You won’t be the pawn, Y/N. Not this time.”

She felt the weight of it, a mixture of relief, tension, and awe. He had coordinated with Rhysand without telling her while she was explaining herself, ensuring her safety while still keeping her in the loop only as far as she needed to be. The careful balance of secrecy, protection, and trust was a dance she knew intimately and yet seeing it executed on her behalf, by someone she had loved, left her momentarily breathless.

Azriel’s voice dropped, soft but unwavering, a whisper that cut through the chaos. “I’ll keep you safe. I’ll never let you out of my sight again.” His gaze locked with hers, shadows folding in a protective embrace. “I’ve spent my whole life in the shadows, Y/N. Don’t think for a second I’d be afraid of yours.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, emotion pooling in her chest, and she allowed herself a single nod, silent understanding passing between them. No more words were needed. They had both spoken volumes in the quiet of that touch, in the shared breath, in the weight of the promise that hung between them like a living thing. And with that, the world outside could rage, but in that room, for a moment, they were aligned, unbroken, and ready for whatever would come next.

Y/N’s legs gave way before she realized it, her strength ebbing from the weight of everything she had carried, the fear, the tension, the choices she had made alone for so long. She stumbled, a fleeting panic in her chest, and Azriel’s arms were already there, catching her with effortless precision. His hold was steady, protective, unwavering, the solid anchor she had longed for without fully admitting it.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he murmured, his voice low and warm against her ear. “I’ve got you. Whatever comes, whatever he tries… you won’t face it without me.”

Y/N leaned into him, letting herself melt into the safety of his embrace. Her cheek pressed against the warmth of his chest, the faint rhythm of his heartbeat steady beneath her ear. It was grounding, reassuring, everything the world outside was not. Her home wasn’t the Autumn Court, not the Night Court, not any gilded palace or strategic stronghold. Her home was here, in his arms, where the shadows softened and the weight of duty and deception fell away, if only for a heartbeat.

Azriel shifted slightly, tightening his hold just enough to make the world feel smaller, manageable. “You’re not alone, Y/N,” he repeated, and there was no hesitation in his words, no ambiguity. “Not now, not ever. We’ll face this together. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a soft smile, laughter catching in her throat as she pressed herself closer, inhaling the familiar scent of him, of home, of safety, of belonging. She allowed herself a tiny, teasing thought, one she whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

“And… if anyone doubts it,” she murmured, “you can always duel Mor to prove I belong here, with the Night Court.”

Azriel’s chest rumbled with laughter at the edge, warm and deep, and she felt the vibrations under her cheek, grounding her further. “Oh, I can handle Mor,” he replied with mock severity, though his grin betrayed him. “No one doubts that you’re ours.”

Y/N let out a laugh, rich and relieved, and buried her face deeper into his chest, inhaling the faint, comforting scent of him. For the first time in what felt like forever, the chaos of lies, spies, and looming danger faded into something that simply was. Here, in his arms, she could breathe. Here, with him, she was home.

And Azriel, with shadows coiling gently around them, with steady hands and unwavering eyes, held her as though the entire world could crumble outside, but inside this embrace, they were unshakable.

Her home wasn’t a court or a city. Her home was him.

[sweet-pea-channie]

thank you for ‘yours, elsewhere’. that one shot has — and by extension, you — completely altered my brain chemistry.

it was so wonderfully written. you made me feel emotions — a rollercoaster, mind you — and i couldn’t be happier. i was so ready to leave my heart irreparably damaged as i neared the ending BUT, thankfully, it didn’t resort to that. the ending left me feeling so, so soft. thank you for that.

now, i’m quite excited to go through everything else on your masterlist! much love! <333

Thank you so much, your feedback honestly means the world to me, and I think I might know who you are from my notifications 🤭 but please don’t scroll too deep into my masterlist because I only really started seeing progress after taking a few writing lessons and especially once I began writing for ACOTAR, so the difference between those pieces and my older, very awkward ones is definitely noticeable 😮‍💨

[vennywrites]

Brightest Star

Pairing: Dad!Azriel x Mom!Reader Word Count: 6.2k Summary: Autumn is in full swing and with the fog and hedgehogs creeping around in his garden, Azriel notices a conspiracy at foot: The two of you are hiding something from him and only your utter inability to lie has given him rather inconclusive clues. So Azriel plays along and comes to realize just how lucky he really is. Warnings: Fluff, Parenthood, Shenanigans of a 4 year old, Azriel in love, Surprises, Fatherly love and pride, Mentioned/Implied bad past a/n: Currently sick and stuck at home when I should be at work practicing for our lantern fest and our surprise for the parents with the kiddos. So instead of doing that, I'm writing about it all bc I'm emotional. Inspired by @illyrianbitch because her Honestverse Story has me in a chokehold (go check her out!). I'm so sold on Dadzriel, I have a whole Fic in the makings. Anyway - hope you enjoy!

Azriel has never considered himself lucky. Not when he was thrown into the cellar and escaped it a decade later. Not when he survived the war and not when he was appointed Spymaster. Luck was for other, greater fae than him. For people like Rhys and Cassian, who smiled so easily and took life in a stride.

But wandering into the kitchen to find you in one of his shirts, back turned towards him, humming a soft melody, he just might think he is.

His shadows are quick to scatter, to weave across the floor and walls, to vanish altogether and dart off into the adjoining rooms.

You don’t notice him as he steps closer, rattling pans and sizzling food too loud to catch the faint creak of the floorboards. So he clears his throat, announces himself to you in some obvious, loud way and even now, even years later, you still flinch and so, he still makes noise. Old habits die hard.

He’s careful when he reaches out to you, when you turn your head to verify it’s truly him and your shoulders relax, when he snakes his arms around your middle only once you’ve given a faint nod of consent and when you sink into the embrace, leaning against his chest with another content hum.

His lips find the tip of your ear, kissing down to your neck where you’re ticklish and wind yourself like a fish out of his loose grip. Azriel lets you and you swat at him with a laugh as you spin around to face him, hands coming to settle against his chest, lips stretched into a smile.

“Good morning, handsome,” you greet him, a peck to the jaw, then the nose, finally his lips.

He greets you back, calls you ‘beautiful’ and means it. Tousled hair, tired eyes and all. Pulls you into another kiss that lingers until you grow restless again, push at his chest, his shoulders, wriggle and weave your way back out of his arms. Azriel lets you. It’s been a constant dance. He knows this is still unfamiliar to you, so he doesn’t take it personal. You’re adjusting - so well - and he’ll be here for every step of the way.

Only a year ago, this would have been impossible. But now, now you smile at him, place featherlight kisses against his skin and let him hold you for moments at a time. Slowly, you’re learning that touch can be something one does not have to shy away from.

“What were you singing just now?”

He’s curious, has always been, courtesy of being Spymaster and just nosy by nature. But your reaction throws him off. You look caught, eyes momentarily widening before you turn back to the stove, push the pancakes around with so much vigor he fears they will turn scrambled.

“Oh, just… something I heard a while back.”

Something’s off and you’re a horrible liar.

“Really?” he asks and moves to stand beside you, casually leaning against the counter to watch you. You press your lips together and nod.

“Anything I know?”

You laugh, eyes darting anywhere but him. “Definitely not.”

Your reaction to all of it is - strange, but he lets it go and instead goes to set out the dishes.

“Where’s the little one?” he asks, smoothly changes topics as he sets out her favorite plate, the wobbly, uneven one, the one with all the stars along the lip, the one with a shooting star in the middle of it and the clumsy lettering of ‘My Brightest Star’ beneath it all. Something you’d crafted yourself in a brave endeavor to the Rainbow after spotting a pottery studio a few days prior. A gift to her fourth birthday and one of her greatest treasures ever since.

You vaguely point towards the window. “Wanted to feed the hedgehog again…”

He’s glad you entertain him, even if you’re aware he knows all that already. The moment he’d entered the kitchen and had only found you inside, his shadows had gone to search for her, only to find her coatless and with cold hands, crouched before the pile of rotting leaves he’d raked together just weeks ago.

Now, as she grew older, she’d gotten more verbal with his shadows, happily babbling away at them, treating them like little shady companions or pets. They adore her, he can tell. And when one of the little inky shades had returned to him, curling subtly around his ear, he’d known where she was.

Rotten leaves and spilled ink, the little one waits for her like clockwork yet she never shows. Apple gone but always there.

A daily ritual at this point.

“You could go and fetch her, Azriel. I’m almost done here…”

He steals another kiss from you, one that has you giggle and blush as he finally separates, wandering out the kitchen and down the hallway towards the back door leading out into the garden.

In the midst of autumn, fog has found a home in Velaris, relentlessly and thick it hangs in each crevice of the city, dipping everything in cold gray. He’s come to cherish it, the gray of the season- the winds and fallen leaves and maybe, even the hedgehogs.

Following her tiny footsteps that have left imprints in occasional mud puddles, she’s still just where his shadows found her, crouched before the pile of leaves, tiny waterdrops reflecting the light from inside. If it wasn’t for the slowly appearing pathway towards the pile, he’s sure she would wander to a new one each day.

This time, the leaves are just enough to announce him, Aella’s tiny body swiveling and almost losing balance as she turns to look for him.

“Dada!” she waves him closer, her wild arm movements just enough to tip her off balance and let her land in the grass, a soft thud! as she lands on her butt, tiny wings stretching. “Come, come!” she calls still.

Azriel makes a show of running towards her, crouching down at her side to press a kiss to the top of her head as she giggles.

“Not so loud, you gonna wake her!”, she scolds, pudgy fingers covering her mouth as she tries to whisper.

“Is it breakfast time for our little friend here, too?” he asks, leaning closer and examining her work.

There’s a little sign she’s crafted with your help, soggy paper and smudged ink. ‘Home of Pokey’ it reads, clumsily tied to a stick and stuck into the pile of leaves.

Aella has shoveled a little doorway, removed some sticks and leaves and attempted to dig a tunnel to the inside but it kept collapsing and without being able to tell her, it’s for the better. And there, on one of the tiny, bright red saucers and right at the front door of the hedgehog home, lays an apple - breakfast as she would call it.

“Pokey needs some privacy for eating, you know how shy she is,” Azriel tells her, “and we need to get inside to your mama to eat breakfast as well.”

Aella has other ideas, shakes her head and makes her hair fly as she stays seated, pants slowly but steadily soaked in sludgy mud. “Do you think she wants something else? Does she like the apple?”

“Oh, she definitely loves it, sweetheart.”

Contrary to you, he’s a good liar. He can sell a story, even when it’s absolutely wrong.

It all had started when the little one had first learned about hedgehogs and decided it was absolutely necessary to build at least five hedgehog hotels for the approaching winter. Hibernation and all, the concept was unable to be understood and here they were, just six weeks shy of Winter Solstice and far too deep down the rabbit hole to stop it. Aella had decided that hibernation was a myth and that little Pokey was indeed awake and hungry each day, which led to a permanent plate at her doorstep and one apple on a red saucer.

Azriel had taken it upon himself to keep the narrative going. Each evening, before going to bed, he would take the apple and place it back inside, leaving an empty plate and his daughters high hopes, that the hedgehog in fact came out for food and had eaten it all. She was utterly unaware of the fact that they’d moved the same apple back and forth for over a week now and he even had written a little note for her at some point, obviously in the name of Mrs. Pokey, that Aella’s apples were by far the best apples this hedgehog had ever tasted in their long and apple-loving life.

So the little girl was sold entirely on the story and Azriel didn’t have the heart to pop the bubble.

“But how about we go inside and you eat your apple, while Pokey eats her own? Hm?”

She nods, eyes still trained on the collapsed hole as if the hedgehog could appear any moment. So Azriel scoops her up, throws her over his shoulder with careful movements, where she squeals and laughs and thrashes and carries her back into the house, careful of her tiny wings that flap helplessly as she tries to escape his grip. Only on the doorstep does Azriel set her down, watches her laugh and sprint away towards the kitchen, a trail of mud following in her wake.

“Aella, shoes off!” you call, already aware of the little girl that comes fullspeed sprinting into the kitchen but she only laughs and runs around the table as Azriel follows, a playful chase as he attempts to wrestle off her boots.

You watch with a smile as she falls into his arms and the dirt stains the floorboards with little imprints of a dreaming, happy child.

The same evening, he catches you hum again. The same tune, same melody after you tug your daughter in and lean her door shut, unaware he’s already lingering, watching you from down the hallway.

You falter in the middle of it, freeze momentarily as you catch him loitering. He beckons you closer with outstretched arms and this time, after a long day of errands and work and chasing a four year old through the fog, you follow him into the bedroom, sink into his arms with the intention to stay.

Only when you’re both in bed, beneath warm blankets and your cold feet tangled with his, your head resting in the crook of his arm, does he dare approach the topic again.

“So… that song. Tell me about it.”

Immediately he can feel you tense, if only for a moment.

“Azriel…” you hiss at him as if he just dared you to do something horribly offensive.

“It’s a song. Wanna sing it to me?”

“Not at all.”

“So why is it stuck in your head all day?”

Usually, you share simple things more easily. A soft flow between the two of you, you’ve started to share the little wonders of your new life. A squirrel in the trees, birds by your little bird feeder, the taste of the berries you found on the market. Usually, you share your thoughts, your ideas, your experiences.

But this song seems utterly stuck behind several barricades and Azriel feels some sort of competitive strike when he realizes you’re trying very hard to keep this one hidden from him.

You have gone to a new defense, absolute silence, and he lets you stew in it, fully aware it makes you far more uncomfortable than him. It barely takes a minute for you to crack.

“Promise me you won’t tell her.”

“Tell who?”

“Aella. Whatever I’m telling you now, you know nothing, understood?”

“Absolutely. I’ll take it to my grave,” he offers, sets his free hand against his chest as if speaking a vow. He can literally feel the way you roll your eyes, sense the exasperated smile that stretches across your face.

“She’s…” you hesitate, shift in the bed so you can look at him, cheek resting against his bicep, “She wants to show you something and I’m helping her practice.”

“Practice? She’s going to be a singer now?”

This time, you really roll your eyes, right in his face. “No. I’m…” a groan falls from your lips as you struggle to find the right words. “Look, she is so eager to do this but she’s not so confident she can so we’ve been practicing and the song is a part of it and it’s just really stuck in my head, alright?”

“But do what?”

“Will you stop asking?”

“Only if you stop being so bad at hiding things from me.”

You bury your head against his arm, nose brushing against his skin and he gives you the reprieve, lets you hide there until you’re ready to peek out again.

“We’ve met these other kids on the playground a while back. They had something going on for the autumn time and Aella saw and wanted to join which they, foolishly, allowed her and now I’m stuck practicing this thing with her and she’s already so excited for it.”

Azriel could watch you like this for ages. All soft and pliant and relaxed in his arms, covers pulled up to your chin, eyes heavy-lidded and bare in a way they rarely are.

“Just keep your calendar free for the evening, Friday, two weeks from now, alright?”

Azriel nods, agrees immediately because of course he does. He’s not sure what to expect from the cryptic way your explaining the situation, but he’s eager either way, happily overwhelmed by the fact the little girl chose him as recipient of her new life endeavors. It’s the first autumn she really experiences. Last year she was still too young, too occupied with the dried orange slices and cinnamon sticks, with mittens and scarfs in all the patterns and frost crusting the windows. This year, she’s old enough to partake - and apparently she’s taking that position very seriously.

“We have our family dinners on Friday,” he then ponders, deliberately, trying to coax you out just a bit more.

“I know, I know,” you immediately subside, soothe him with a pat to his pecs. “We'll just walk to the House of Wind. Take a little stroll through Velaris, yes?”

He can’t quiet piece it together. You’re withholding whatever it is that would make him understand what the little one has planned. Or you. Because you seem to be a vital culprit in this whole affair.

“Neither you nor her will walk up 10 000 steps.”

“Oh please!” you snort, mock-insult in your face. “And you totally would, Mr. Carynthian over here.”

Azriel laughs at that, dares to pull you just a bit closer, twist himself up until he can kiss your forehead. Your skin is warm, stray hairs tickling. He’s not quiet sure when the cold finally left you but it’s been years and finally he can say you’re not cold anymore -with a stubborn exception considering your feet. The freezing winds of Illyria have finally left you.

“Totally not. I’m just saying.”

“Yea, you’re the one who gets to winnow us inside once we walked a bit. Understood?”

He can only grin stupidly against your forehead and nod.

“Loud and clear,” and after that, a comfortable silence settles over you. Different than before, one you can nestle into and one that isn’t oppressing.

You’ve given Azriel just enough information that he will refrain from digging deeper and he’s said enough right things to make you heavy in his hold, sinking against him as sleep slowly takes you.

Just when he’s about to blow out the candle on his bedside table do you stir again, nails gently raking over his chest.

“When she suggests the walk, just-“ your voice is quiet in that pleading way. In the way you never learned to just request something and not be punished for it. “-just agree, okay? Please?”

Azriel blows the candle out, rolls over and tugs you closer against his chest, arms loosely around your body, one wing draped carefully over the two of you.

“I’ll be the most pleasantly surprised and excited male in the room.” You nudge your nose against his skin and he can feel your lips stretch into a grin.

“You’re insufferable.”

Then there’s a kiss, soft lips trailing up his sternum and settling at his collarbone.

“I love you,” he whispers and says it for the both of you.

The two weeks that follow are filled with careful preparation. The song is still stuck in your head and by now, you’ve given up hiding it. Azriel adores the way your daughter shares glances with you over dinner, becomes a giggling mess when Azriel fails to be slow enough to give the two of you time to properly stop what you are doing, just to find both of you standing awkwardly in the living room, clutching random objects in your palms or raising them towards the ceiling like a random offering to the gods.

His shadows are no help at all. A conspiracy is at foot and not even they let him in on what’s happening in his household.

Still, he loves the domesticity of it all. Loves how his home is filled with excitement for the season, with crudely crafted paper animals glued to the windows and a random assortment of leaves and stones along the windowsills. How there’s laughter and warmth and a child that comes running to greet him at the door whenever he returns.

Sometimes, on good days, he starts dancing with you to that mysterious tune and you indulge him, continue humming and let him twirl and spin you about. Let him hold you close and let him stare. Stare right back and make his knees weak until he kisses you and the world melts away.

On bad days, you go quiet, stop the song and let him just hold your hands instead, thumbs stroking over knuckles and red nail beds. You return the gesture, carefully trace the scars that run like rivers along his hands. On bad days, you can’t manage a real kiss, but you press your lips to that scar at his neck and that’s more than enough for him.

The day of the secret turns out to be a good day.

Unhindered excitement reigns the house. He can feel it, see it too, by the way Aella forgets to check for the apple at Pokey’s hibernation hotel for the first time since the hedgehog moved in. Today, she’s giddy, can barely sit still to eat her breakfast, spills her tea and throws glances your way when she thinks Azriel isn’t looking. The spiel continues into late afternoon, when he’s already worrying how long the little one will be able to reign in her excitement, until she eagerly climbs into his lap.

“Dada?” she asks, that cute feigned pout already in place to get her will. The title he’s earned with her presence still feels strange, something that he never considered until you came into his life. But here he is, proud and unexperienced but still a ‘Dada’.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

He spots you, lingering at the edge of the room, leaning against the door frame and watching the whole scene with a soft smile.

“Can we go for a waaaalk?” if possible, she pushes her bottom lip even further and her dark eyes are big and shining. Azriel feels something soften inside him, like eggshells his heart cracks open for her.

He attempts to make it feel natural. To really sell the show after he gloated so much about being a better liar than you are. Clearly you’re here to watch the whole performance, arms folded and eyes unblinking. So Azriel glances out the window at the fog and the frosted edges, frowns and tilts his head this way and that way, makes noncommittal sounds as if he really had to weight his options.

“Velaris is beautiful this time around…” he considers and feels her bounce in his lap, hands clapping and cheeks flushing.

“Yes, yes, yes. We can just walk to the House of Wind, yes? See the Sidra?”

It’s a trek, from here to the House of Wind, all across Velaris, over one of the bridges and to the other end of the city. He’s not sure she’ll be able to walk the whole trip, but he can always just winnow the two of you when whatever surprise he awaits has happened.

It’s easy to return her grin, to get infected by her enthusiasm and give her a revealing nod.

“I think thats a wonderful idea, Pepper.” His favorite nickname for her. Besides the obvious ones. The one that’s just his and hers and started when she’d grown old enough to show just how wild she could be. A true Illyrian at heart. Spicy like black pepper, still mild enough to be manageable but sharp enough to make an impression. Witty and clever and just as stubborn as her mother.

She squeals, throws her arms around his neck and clings to him and he can feel her whole body vibrate with the eagerness to do whatever she’s planning to do. He can only grin and lift her up with him, wings flaring to catch the imbalance before he carries her towards you. Without a word, he raises an eyebrow at you and asks for critique. ‘Flawless performance,’ you mouth and he preens under your eyes, grin widening as you crane your neck for a kiss.

A good day. One that can only get even better.

As it turns out, it takes ages to get the little one dressed, too excited to sit still for long, eager and utterly undecided on which outfit to take for a walk. In the end, she’s a whirlwind of colors and he almost has to wrestle on the little earmuffs she’d begged him for on their last trip to the Palace of Thread and Jewels. Of course he couldn’t deny her. He never can.

So finally, there she stands, bundled up in layers upon layers to fend off the cold wind and fog and cloudless night that soon approaches, wings still small enough to be safely tugged beneath her jacket. You’re right beside her, ready to go and barely able to control your grin and here he is, staring at the family that’s just his, warmth like honey in his chest.

“Think you can lead us, sweetheart?” he’s not sure if it’s asking too much, if she really knows where she’s going but she immediately pulls the door open, drags the two of you outside and off you go into the cozy glow of approaching dusk.

Velaris is a city for autumn and winter. A city for the golden shine of candles and fae lights reflecting against windows, for amber leaves drifting past and fog clinging to the mountains. On their tips, snow has already settled.

Aella walks between the two of you, swinging your arms about like it’s nobody’s business and marching along the street as if she owns the whole city. Clearly, his doubts were unnecessary - the girl knows exactly where she’s going.

Avoiding the major squares, she leads the two of you through narrow alleyways, that smell of savory food and winter spices wafting out of cracked windows, through canopies of evergreens and mistletoes that make him tip his head down to shower your face in kisses that leave you breathless with laughter.

When the Sidra dances to his right, Aella has taken off. She skips along the sidewalk and collects leaves he has no place for storing. Last year it was chestnuts, this year it’s whatever colorful foliage she finds on the ground. Something tells him this won’t stop for a long time, pockets heavy with rotting vegetation and smooth little stones.

You’re content. With Aella ahead of you, there’s nothing stopping you from huddling against his side, arms curled around his, pressing closer for warmth. It’s easy, walking through Velaris like this.

Suddenly, it doesn’t really matter that he’s taller than anyone else around. That he is Illyrian and a Shadowsinger, that he’s the Spymaster of the Night Court, that he’s Judge, Jury and Executioner. Right now, with your smile pressed into his jacket and your fingers digging into the bend of his arm, he’s just Azriel, wandering the streets with his girls, heading for their weekly get together with family.

The bridge is one of the smaller ones, fae lights winding along the railing, evergreens tied to each arch they step through.

“How far exactly are we walking?”, he whispers, conspiracy making him lean down and speak against your temple, where you shift to meet his gaze. Despite your daughter being far enough away to not hear you, you whisper back.

“Not long. Down the road and then left and a bit further…”

He tries to follow your description, he really does. But it ends him up in an area he never really wandered into, a lively neighborhood, full of young families.

Azriel settles on an undefined hum that has you squeeze his arm.

“Just… trust me on this one. She’s so nervous. Could barely sleep.”

“Whatever it is, she’s gonna be fine. I still have no idea what the two of you are up to, by the way.”

“What a Spymaster you are,” you grin up at him and he grins back, bending down towards you as you reach one hand up to stroke his cheek. Like a cat he leans into your touch but finds your fingers ungloved and cold as ice.

Worry lines his brow as he slips his gloves off, a whole lot too large but warm and fending off the cold. You protest as he gently pushes them onto your hands, gentle and slow.

“Now you’ll be cold,” you argue but he only tugs you back against his side, an arm around your shoulder, another kiss to your temple.

“I’m not cold. Windhaven born and raised, remember?”

You grumble, but settle back against his side, leather gloves awkwardly large on your hands. The cold is uncomfortable against the scar tissue, always has been, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. What he can’t handle is you freezing ever again.

Aella drifts back to the two of you, closely nestling at Azriel’s other side to grab his hand, tiny fingers curling around two of his and if he wouldn’t know any better, he would definitely be taken off by her sudden shy demeanor. But he can tell how nervous she suddenly is, how she can’t mask or hide it anymore, how her fingers squeeze too tightly and she almost pulls on his arm, anxiety making her heart race.

Despite his shadows being spread all over the square that opens up before him, his sole focus is settled on the little bundle of nerves that keeps tugging on his arm, keeps jumping, staring up at him with wide, excited eyes.

Before him, the square isn’t as abandoned as one might think at the hour. Despite dawn already settling and the sky having turned a darker blue, distant stars already twinkling above, small groups of fae linger about. A soft but steady hum of conversation drifts towards his ears and his shadows are eager to report that it’s exclusively families with children around Aellas age.

You’re the one to take over now, gently tugging the two of them towards the crowd, nails traitorously digging into his jacket. Usually, you avoid large places like this, crowds you can’t control, people you can’t read. He’s aware how much it costs you to step out here, to fulfill your child’s dreams by crossing your own boundaries. Azriel feels pride swell in his chest, like a rumbling beast that wakes after slumber, it pushes and stretches about his heart, making it swell with each passing moment. He stops where you stop, pulls you just that bit closer and tilts your face towards his, gentle fingers guiding you to look at him, where he presses a kiss to your lips that warms him from the inside out. Suddenly, his fingers aren’t cold anymore. He’s hot and proud, excitement bubbling in his chest.

The little one has gone completely still, rhythmically squeezing his fingers like a secret code, asking for help. And when he looks down, she’s stranded somewhere between excitement and fear. Anxiety and joy battling obviously in her face as it twitches between vibrating joy and wide-eyed dread.

“I wonder what we’re doing here,” Azriel announces and makes it very obvious he has not a clue what’s going on.

But before either you or your child can say anything, someone out of sight greets the whole gathering and calls the children to crowd in the center.

Left and right the little ones come running, eagerly flocking to the middle of the square, where several female fae are busy arranging them all in a neat circle. Aella squeezes his hand again, tugs him down, face set to a brave expression, lips tight as she pulls him close.

“Dada, look!”

“My eyes are only on you, Pepper!” And with that, she glides out of his grip and goes running to the gathering of children, head on a swivel as she keeps looking back.

You press closer, eyes wet as you search for his gaze. “She’s so anxious,…” you whisper and he agrees with a hum, gently guides you closer to the circle of children, anything to not leave the little girl out of his sight.

Azriel has not yet really figured out what’s happening as the children are each handed long, tapered candles and someone lights them all, hushed whispers of carefulness and a steady hand.

Aella holds the wax stick like she wants to strangle it, both hands clinging to the candle with balled fists. He can see the flame flicker with each breath she huffs out. Eyes darting about, she looks for him in the crowd, for you - and Azriel unconsciously feels his hand raise, waving at her to catch her attention. She immediately spots him - hard not to considering size and wings. Tiny face growing a shade paler but a smile now settling where her frown was.

A friendly greeting is spoken, something about tradition and warmth and a dance prepared for parents.

Like ice it drips down his spine, like lava it pools in his chest. He’s a parent. A father and she practiced endlessly to show him this dance. Teeth dig into his bottom lip as he feels the nervousness he was previously immune to, suddenly clutch around his heart. His little girl wants so badly to make him proud.

Someone plucks the first string of a guitar, you tug on his arm and then the melody he’s heard in the past weeks, suddenly clear and loud, echoes across the square.

When everybody starts to sing, including all the kids, something long since buried inside him, cracks open, wide and raw.

The dance is simple. Nothing outrageous, nothing even remotely hard, considering the dancers are all aged two to five. Crouching, standing up again, raising the candle up towards the sky, twirling once to the left, then back to the right.

But as Aella stays rooted to the spot, Azriel realizes fear has her in a tight grip.

His brave Pepper, with frightened eyes and shaking hands, doesn’t move. Desperately she stares at the candle and he can’t even react before you shift at his side.

“Oh no…” you whisper and are gone before he can stop you. The warmth that you pressed against him now suddenly absent, he watches with stiff limbs how you rush towards your child.

The bravery of a mother that would run into an open blade for her own. He knows how much you hate attention, to be in the middle of a crowd. But now, you breach the circle of spinning children to come to her aid, gentle hands engulfing her shaking ones, gentle words falling from your lips as you lift her up, Aella’s pale face momentarily hiding against your neck.

Undeterred, you take over. Hold the candle now in your gloved hands, sway with the other children, spin and turn, lift the light above your head towards the sky like anyone around you.

Soon, Aella gains confidence again, takes the candle, face flushing as she wriggles to be let down. You don’t leave her side, tiny hand ensuring you stay close, just stay right there, dance with her, coat flaring and eyes bright.

And Azriel - Azriel feels something inside himself heal shut. That wound this whole ceremony opened fading into nothing as he watches his family dance. Watches you step out of your comfort to help her do this, to make the gift she so eagerly wanted to share, perfect. His eyes itch, horribly so and the shadows around him coo at the scene before them. These are his stars he thinks, the two who light up that endless night he calls his life, those who guide him when it all seems hopeless. His brightest stars.

The song is a soft thing, gentle and hopeful and the dance could be nothing but perfect. Everybody fades into a blurred distance as he can’t move his eyes from you, from his little Aella who now beams and twirls and spins with all her tiny body, eager and happy and confident with you right beside her. His two girls, he thinks. His perfect little family that he’s found in the most cruel of places - all just to end up here, to be something gentle and supportive and utterly good. Utterly his.

As it ends, a tear has burned it’s way down his cheek, the cold night making it sting against his flushed skin. How soft it all is, he thinks and how wide the world seems, even just here, in a part of Velaris he’s never been to, among fog and fae lights and smiling children. The two of you are the lights of his life.

Everybody claps. Everybody cheers, everybody opens their arms as their children come running, open flames and dropped candles quickly put out with laughter and unharmed hands.

You take the candle from her before she comes sprinting, so eager to find praise and approval. To get a reaction to the whole thing. He doesn’t even have to look for others on what to do, he just knows, something fatherly or undamaged or whole making him crouch and embrace her as she comes flying into his open arms, tiny limbs around his neck as she trusts him to catch her.

“Dada, did you see?”

“I saw, Aella. You did so well!”

He tries very hard not to sniffle, tries very hard to smile as wide and bright and hopeful as he feels.

“What a beautiful dance, and you knew it all by heart.”

He doesn’t mention the frozen fear in the beginning, only thinks of her in your arms, a candle raised towards the night sky like your own tiny star. An image he will hold dear forever, bury it right beneath his heart, guarded by his ribs and his own very breath.

“We’ve been practicing for so long, Dada! And you had no idea!”

He laughs. “No idea at all, Pepper. Did the shadows teach you to be sneaky?”

She beams, so completely pleased with herself and when you approach, Azriel lifts her up into his arms to be able to rise, to pull you just as close and hold his girls as tight as he can.

“That was perfect…” he mumbles against your brow and you smile at him, a bit tense, a bit exhausted but with red-tipped ears and eyes that only ever soften for him and her.

You pull just a bit closer and he takes the time to lift your face toward him, to kiss you with all the love he’s found in his heart, with all the pride he never knew he could feel.

“The perfect gift,” Azriel concludes and you grin, Aella grins, and he lets his eyes roam over the gathered families, all with their pride and joy, all with tears in their eyes and a relentless smile.

“Now, you get to winnow us,” you announce, voice soft and Aella giggles, and Azriel just spreads his wings, curls them around the two of you and steps with you into the shadows.

The House of Wind greets them with laughter and music and golden light. As they step out of the shadow, Aella immediately slips out of his grip, proudly bouncing through the large pillars that frame it all, slipping into the golden light where her family hollers and cheers at her arrival. You press a kiss to his lips, whisper a fragile “Thank you,” and follow into the room.

Somewhere unseen, Mor laughs.

Behind him, so high up above the city, the lights of Velaris are just another sea of tiny stars.

And when Azriel steps closer, he can see you all. His family, the people he loves more than his very own life. Cassian, already with Aella on his shoulders, going for a jog around the table as she screeches in joy, arms and wings spread wide. Rhys, who’s with you now, a grin on his face as Mor has you in a hug. Even Amren is there, seated, something akin to a distant smile dancing at the corner of her lips as her eyes follow the little child.

And Rhys, who notices him first, lifts his hand and looks at him with pride Azriel doesn’t feel deserving of. But when his brother’s outstretched arm beckons him closer, and Azriel steps into the warm light of their home, he realizes that tonight, he just might be the luckiest in all of Prythian.

[sweet-pea-channie]

My heart 🥹🥹 this is how I picture Azriel with a little girl that has him wrapped around her finger! Loved it!

[kymawrites]

a loving touch

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: pure fluff with a sprinkle of smut (wingplay, 18+)

a/n: seriously this is pure sap i'm sorry

word count: 9.6k

synopsis: Azriel had spent his entire life wishing for this—for you.

my masterlist

~ ~ ~

When Azriel found his mate, he was terrified.

You were everything he wasn’t. 

Sweet. Gentle. Soft.

You wore your heart on your sleeve, and Azriel had never been good at handling delicate things. If he held on too tight, squeezed just a little too hard, he was liable to shatter anything precious in his vicinity. He was still racked with nerves any time he visited his mother, still sick with anxiety every time he held Nyx.

Now there was you, who looked at him with so much hope and unfiltered adoration that he could hardly breathe. He probably should have left you alone, but not even he was strong enough to ignore the way your soul was threaded through his. He still remembered the first time you touched him, the way you were the first to break from the stupor of a fresh mating bond, and gently curled your fingers around his wrist.

Azriel knew then that he was a goner.

Now he was standing next to you on the front porch of his brother’s home, listening to your heart beat erratically in your chest. You were nervous—you had said as much—and he couldn’t blame you. He was nervous.

He watched you for a moment. The way your eyelashes brushed the tops of your cheeks as you closed your eyes, the way your breath curled in the air as you let out a little puff. The flecks of snow that clung to your hair, melting slowly in your warmth.

Azriel felt like one of those snowflakes.

He wished he knew how to comfort you. He seemed to have the annoying tendency to freeze up around you. Any ability to form a coherent sentence seemed to flee his mind when he got too close to you, when he thought about you. He was fortunate enough that you didn’t seem to notice, or, if you did, you never mentioned it.

Azriel was flustered around you.

You were everything he ever wanted, and he was so worried about losing you, about messing this up in some way, that he overthought everything he said and did. He was so used to moving with absolute confidence—not necessarily in himself, but in what he was meant to say and do. He knew what was expected of him, but now, with you? Now he was desperate and infatuated and—

Your hand slid into his, your cold fingers entwining with his scarred ones, and Azriel’s spiral grinded to a halt. Your eyes met his, wide and nervous and eager. Your lips pulled into a small smile, your hand squeezing his as if his touch, his presence, was enough to ground you. 

“This is fine,” you said, nodding to yourself as you glanced at the wooden double doors. Your gaze flicked back to him, the warm faelights surrounding the door making your eyes twinkle, and Azriel had to remind himself to breathe. “You’ll stay with me, right?”

Azriel blinked, his mind lagging as he processed your words. One of his shadows bumped into the back of his head, before spiraling down to wrap around your entwined hands, and Azriel felt his entire body turn warm. He squeezed your hand, his heart skipping when your smile widened into a grin. “Of course I will,” he answered softly.

You bit your bottom lip briefly, a nervous habit of yours, Azriel had noticed. He was entirely certain you had no idea how endearing, how alluring, the tiny motion was—how the darkened skin of your lips when you released the delicate skin tormented him. He wanted to kiss you. Every fiber of his being wanted to tug you close and press his lips to yours, but then doubt crept in and darkened the momentary haze that engulfed his senses.

He wanted to go at your pace. He needed to go slow. Azriel had taken plenty of lovers, but he had never had a partner, and he was quickly learning that this came with an entirely new facet of intimacy he was a stranger to. A form of intimacy so vulnerable it left him rattled—gentle smiles and grazing of hands, chipping away emotional walls he had built centuries ago. 

Azriel shifted just a little closer, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. Everything about you was intoxicating. Your scent was sweet, like brown sugar and vanilla. Azriel thought at first it was because of the long hours you spent in your bakery, but he had decided that it was just you. Your eyes crinkled at the edges, some of your nerves dulling as the two of you stared into each other's eyes, and Azriel couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his own lips.

Then the door flew open, the hinges creaking slightly with the abrupt motion, causing the two of you to flinch. You curled into Azriel’s side, your hand still clutching his as your arm pressed flush against his, and he had never felt so much pride as he did then, knowing your instincts were to lean on him.

He glared at Nesta, who stood in the doorway with cool and narrowed eyes. Her lips pursed as she took the two of you in, and he felt you go rigid underneath her gaze. “Nesta,” he snapped, his spine prickling with irritation.

Her eyes dragged to his, her lips pulling up into the smallest smirk, and he knew then that this was her version of teasing. “Be glad it was me,” she drawled, stepping back to hold the door open further. She raised her brows expectantly, and Azriel sighed as he glanced at you. Your nerves were back in full force, and yet it was you who smiled hesitantly, and took the first step through the threshold.

Nesta shut the door behind the two of you, the heavy wood shutting with a soft click. Azriel helped you out of your coat, his skin buzzing as your smile turned bashful when his fingers curled around the lapels.

“Cassian is practically chomping at the bit,” Nesta warned, her gaze tracking Azriel as he put your coat and scarf in the closet.

“Wonderful,” Azriel murmured.

When he turned back around, you were still standing there in the foyer, your hands fidgeting at your sides as you took in Nesta. “Hi,” you said, a wide smile breaking out on your face as you gave a small, adorable wave that you promptly dropped. He watched your throat bob, your heart once again pounding in your chest. “I’m Y/N.”

Nesta, thank the Mother, smiled back. “Nesta,” she returned, her icy tone thawing a bit. “We’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N.”

Azriel’s face went hot as you glanced at him. “Oh,” you said, uncertainty lacing your words, “All good things, I hope?”

Nesta scoffed, waving away your worry. “The way Az talks about you—you would think you hung the moon and stars.”

Azriel’s face was molten now, but his embarrassment was entirely worth it to see your shoulders relax and your grin brighten into one unmarred by nerves. It was worth it to feel your joy radiate down the bond, a pulse of euphoria that made his mind fuzzy.

He expected you to follow after Nesta, and he sent you an encouraging smile as you watched her walk down the hall. Instead, you turned toward him, grabbing his hand in both of yours, and you pulled him with you after Nesta.

Azriel felt like he was floating.

~ ~ ~

That night, after bidding his family goodbye and freeing you from their incessant questions, and himself from their relentless teasing, the two of you walked side by side along the Sidra. Azriel had offered to winnow you home—or fly you—but you refused. You always refused those offers, and Azriel never pushed, but part of him wished you would let him, just once.

It was admittedly nice to slow down with you, though. The water trickling along the Sidra was louder in the quiet of the night, at least on this side of the city. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his wings were nestled tight against his back, and he was begging his shadows not to swarm you. You were close enough beside him that your arm brushed his every so often, every accidental graze making his heart leap and his shadows buzz.

Then you stopped, the gentle click of your footsteps abruptly halting. You grabbed Azriel’s arm before he could really even react, dragging him back a couple of steps so he stood in front of you. “Are you okay?” he asked, his heart rate immediately picking up.

You smiled softly, a smile unlike any of the others you had passed around to his family tonight, and he liked the thought of you having a smile just for him. “I’m fine—Az.” His cheeks reddened at the familial nickname you clearly picked up on. “I didn’t know you liked to be called that,” you added softly, a question hidden in your words.

Azriel shrugged. “Rhys and Cas have called me that since I was a boy.”

You nodded, looking out at the water behind him. “Your family is really nice—close.”

Azriel felt like there was something you weren’t saying, something you were holding back, and suddenly all of his earlier anxiety came rushing back. “They are,” he agreed slowly. “They can be a little much at times—I know that. I’m sorry if—”

“Azriel,” you interrupted gently, your hand squeezing his arm. “They did nothing wrong.” Then with a smaller smile, “I had a good night.”

He could feel the ache in his chest radiating through him, and he was fairly certain that at least some of that was coming from you. “Tell me what else you’re thinking,” he urged gently.

You took a deep breath, pulling your hand away to stick both of them in your coat pockets. Azriel hated it.

“I just—” you started, then shook your head. “I know we’ve only known each other for a month.” Another smile stretched your lips, but this time it didn’t reach your eyes, and it quickly fell. “And I know I just sort of dropped into your lap—and that I’m probably nothing like what you expected as you mate—”

“That’s not true,” Azriel hurried out, the words desperate. He was the one to reach for you this time, his hands curling around your arms, and he saw the way you watched him, the way your eyes widened at his touch. “You’re—you—” Azriel hated that he was fumbling this, that he was struggling to give you these words. “You’re beautiful,” he finally said. “I don’t have a better word for it. Inside and out—you leave me in awe. And I’m so grateful I found you.”

Your eyes glistened in the moonlight, laughing half-heartedly as you wiped away a tear. “I’m sorry,” you said, “This is silly.”

“It’s not,” he assured.

You shrugged, your hands still stuffed in your pockets and Azriel’s hands still gripping your arms. “I guess it just rattled me, being around so many people that know you so well. It—well, it didn’t feel great. I know that’s unfair, I know it’s only been a month, but—”

Azriel’s hands cupped your cheeks, startling you. Your eyes stared into his, wide and unblinking, and when you watched his gaze fall to your lips, he felt you relax into his touch. “Azriel,” you whispered, your breath warm against his cool skin. “You don’t have to.”

His thumb brushed your cheek, and you leaned a little more into his hand. You never balked from his scarred skin, and you never pushed for answers either. Azriel appreciated it, more than you likely knew, but maybe it was time he started peeling away some of his layers for you. You shouldn’t have to ask.

His eyes met yours again, and he thought he might like to fall into your irises, let the way they sparkled under the Velaris sky consume him. “I want to,” he murmured.

Your breath hitched, and your hands now clutched his waist, your hands curled tight in the fabric of his coat. “What are you waiting for then?”

That was a very good question.

Azriel pressed his lips against yours, and his entire world tilted on its axis. His blood rushed a little faster, his skin turning warm in the cold, early winter air. The thread twining the two of you together glowed when you pressed up on your toes to get closer, one of your hands reaching up to thread through the hair at the back of his head. You tasted like the glass of wine you had sipped on all night, mixed with a hint of sugar that made him smile against your lips.

The kiss was sweet—tender. It was unlike anything Azriel had ever experienced in his five centuries of life and he never wanted it to end. When your hand slid around to cup his face, when your fingers brushed his cheek, he felt himself melt a little, drops of his heart falling into yours.

You were the one to break away first, falling back onto your feet and wobbling a bit, Azriel quickly steadying you by a hand on your waist. You giggled, sniffing a bit as a cold breeze washed over the two of you, and Azriel was certain he looked like a lovesick fool as a grin spread across his face. Gods, you were perfect.

Azriel couldn’t help but press one more kiss to your lips, your face now flushed with warmth when he cupped your jaw. “You’ve brought out parts of me even I didn’t know existed,” he murmured, eyes stuck to yours again. Your lips parted, awe washing over your face. “This is just the beginning, Y/N.”

You smiled, that soft and special smile again, and Azriel was floating amongst the moonlit clouds. “I like the sound of that,” you murmured.

~ ~ ~

Azriel was in love.

His heart was irrevocably yours, and there was no other life on this planet he would trust to handle it with as much effortless care as you.

You were joy incarnate, and maybe there was some sick and twisted humor behind the Mother’s choice to link his dark and dreary heart to yours—but he was selfishly so grateful that he belonged to you now.

You were fluttering between booths in the market, your hair a little tangled and errant from the wind today, and a smile so soft it immediately disarmed anyone you approached. Azriel was trying to stay back, to let you shop and chatter to your heart’s desire without his intimidating presence dampening your glee.

It was freezing today, a light dusting of snow laid across the cobblestone streets—but you had insisted on visiting the winter markets, saying that today would be the best day for finding bargains, now that Winter Solstice had passed.

His heart was warm as he watched the silver pendant he gifted you glint in the morning sun, a diamond encrusted starburst that sat against the center of your chest. You had worn it every day since Solstice, and Azriel couldn’t deny the pride he felt when he saw the necklace around your neck. 

Your head snapped to him, your eyes locking on him from across the street, as if you had known where he had wandered off to this entire time. Your eyes were bright as you hurried through the crowd, your steps light and airy as you ran toward him.

“Azriel,” you said excitedly. You looped your arm through his without a second thought, tugging him close against your side before you dragged him into the throng of faeries. “You have to see this booth. She has peppermint chocolates left over from Solstice, and I was so sad I didn’t find any this year. Oh! She has these chocolate covered cherries too, and I know you don’t love sweets, but you do like cherries—”

Azriel could listen to you talk for days on end. Your voice was like a balm for his soul, and your touch—your touch was enchanting. No matter how much time you spent together, Azriel was unraveled by every one of your touches. It was these casual displays of affection that really did him in. The way you pressed your side against his and held onto him as you pointed out sweet after sweet to him.

The way you didn’t mind the stares his presence garnered sometimes. The way you held on just a little bit tighter when you caught the interested gaze of a female across the table. Azriel loved it.

He loved you.

~ ~ ~

Azriel had done his best to shield you from the gory and unsavory details that came with his job. He hated that you knew he had hurt people, that he was feared. He was terrified you might one day wake up and see the blood on his hands, and finally decide to leave him.

That was why, despite every instinct inside him screaming to go to you, he plummeted on the balcony of the House of Wind, and not on the cobblestone street leading toward your house. He groaned as he pushed himself to his feet, cursing the Autumn Court bastards that had ambushed him at the border. He ought to wring Eris’s neck for letting his father’s minions slip through his fingers.

He should have probably found Madja, but he hated the idea of waking her in the middle of the night, when he knew he would heal—eventually. He just needed to shut himself in his room and lick his wounds for a bit, and he would be fine.

Fine enough to finally see you, after weeks apart.

Azriel didn’t know how he didn’t immediately notice you sitting on his bed, but he nearly fell over when he heard your horrified voice murmur, “Oh gods.”

The door shut behind Azriel with a harsh thud, his body falling against it as soon as it closed. He winced when your hands cradled his face, your skin soft and warm against his clammy and dirty cheeks. “Az,” you breathed, your mounting panic making your hands tremble. “What happened?”

One of his hands came up to wrap around yours, gently pulling it away from his face. “I’m okay,” he told you, voice rough with the obvious lie. He would be okay, though, and that’s what mattered. “Just a little bruised.”

“You’re bleeding,” you argued, sliding his arm over your shoulder. His sweet mate, who didn’t hesitate to shoulder the weight of his body that was twice the size of yours. He did his best not to lean too much on you, but his mind was addled with pain and exhaustion and confusion, and he just wanted to melt into your touch.

You guided him into the bathroom, setting him down on the toilet as the bathing pool behind him started to fill. You brushed the hair from his eyes, one of your hands gliding down to cup his jaw, and Azriel couldn’t help but let his head fall into your hand.

“Sweetheart,” you murmured, and Azriel was practically a puddle on the floor. No one had ever called him something so lovely, so soft. No one had ever handled him with so much care.

“I promise,” he said, meeting your eyes. “I’ll be okay.”

“Well, you’re not right now,” you grumbled. Azriel shouldn’t find it as endearing as he did. He knew it probably hurt you to see him hurt—he didn’t want to even imagine if the roles were reversed. 

Azriel flinched when your fingers started working at the buckles of his leathers, making your eyes fly back to his. “Did I hurt you?” you asked, fingers hovering over his abdomen.

“No.” He shook his head. “What are you doing?”

You huffed, going right back to work on his leathers. “We need to get these off of you.”

Azriel’s hand grabbed yours, his eyes wide when he met your exasperated ones. “I am more than capable of—”

“Azriel—” you snapped, fingers tightening around his leathers, making him hiss. You immediately loosened your grip, and a flash of guilt passed through your eyes, making you deflate. “Just let me take care of you?” you pleaded.

Azriel wasn’t going to tell you no. Even if his heart had stopped beating and his shadows had stilled behind him.

So he nodded, and you started undoing his buckles and laces one by one, peeling away the blood soaked fabric until his skin was bare. It was unfair that this was how you were undressing him for the first time.

You tossed his leathers to the side, picking up a cloth and soap then dunking it in the tub. As you wrung the rag out, you glanced at him out of the corner of your eyes, catching him watching you. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

He tracked your movements, his shadows finally breaking from their stupor to circle around you slowly. A drop of water fell to his knee as you let the cloth hover between you, your brows raising expectantly.

Azriel knew he should. He should tell you about his mission—he should be transparent with his mate of all people about the atrocities he faces, and sometimes causes, if you were ever going to accept the bond between your souls. 

He knew that, and yet the words wouldn’t form.

Instead, he swallowed hard, his mouth gone dry, and shook his head slowly. “Not tonight.”

He saw the disappointment in your eyes, no matter how carefully you tried to veil it. He felt the twinge of hurt that pushed through the bond, and Azriel hated himself for it.

“I’m not naive, you know,” you said as you pressed the cloth to his abdomen. Azriel flinched, and this time you didn’t pull away. “I know what you do is dangerous. I know the sacrifices you must make are unimaginable. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

Azriel’s brain was short-circuiting as he listened to your soft voice, as you gently cleaned the blood from his skin. It wasn’t until you pulled away that he realized he should really answer you, but he didn’t have a good response.

He supposed if he wasn’t ready to give you one truth, he could give you another though.

You dunked the cloth in the water, ripples of blood curling away from your hands—his blood, and undoubtedly others. You stood up, moving back to him, this time using the pads of your fingers to gently tilt his chin up. You held his face like that as you wiped the dirt and grime and caked on blood from around his eyes, your finger gently brushing his jaw anytime you went over a cut.

You were so beautiful. There were truly not enough words to describe how perfect you were, and Azriel was appalled when he felt his eyes burn and his nose tingle as he watched you take care of him. He was mortified when your eyes met his and your ministrations stopped.

“Azriel,” you said softly.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, voice rougher than he would have liked. “I’m scared you will look at me differently, if you know the things I’ve done—the things I’m capable of.”

Your face twisted, and Azriel immediately wanted to take his words back and shove them down deep inside. You tossed the cloth into the bath, cupping his face with both of your hands, and Azriel felt a tremble go through him. He had never felt so exposed as he did then, sitting on a toilet with bare and tattered skin, his head—and his heart—in his mate’s soft and gentle hands.

You kissed him.

It was just a chaste kiss, a slow and drawn out press of your lips to his, but it dragged the breath from Azriel’s lungs and left him dazed and blinking as soon as you pulled away. 

Your eyes were locked on his when you said, “I know you don’t remember this, but you saved my life once—before we met.”

Every whirring and buzzing worry circling Azriel’s head ground to a halt. “What?” he rasped. How could he ever forget—

You smiled, the first one you had given him all night, and your thumb brushed against his cheek. “When Velaris was attacked,” you said, voice so soft in the quiet of the night, “I was cornered in the alley behind my bakery. One of Hybern’s monsters had found me—I’ll never forget its face.” Azriel’s hand came up to circle your wrist, his heart aching as your voice trembled. “I thought I was going to die, Azriel. Blood was raining from the sky and screams were piercing the air, and I was staring in the face of what I thought was my end—and then his head fell to the pavement.”

Azriel shook his head, his chest tight. “I don’t remember—how can I not—”

“Sweetheart,” you interrupted gently, “You didn’t even see me—I mean, you obviously knew someone was there, but you came and went like a breeze. You were a little busy defending your city.” That smile again. “But a shadow stayed behind, curling against my neck like a worried pet—and I knew who saved me. I’ve never been scared of you Azriel, but after that day, knowing I lived in a city under your protection made me feel safe.”

Azriel was crying now. His cheeks were damp from the tears that ran down his face and onto your hands. “I don’t want the darkness that taints my soul to ever seep into yours.”

You hummed softly, brushing away the hair that had fallen into his eyes again. “I quite like the dark,” you said, “It’s gentle in its own way. It knows things that would never be found in the light.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“You do,” you promised, your own eyes glimmering in the moonlight leaking through the windows now. “And you never have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Azriel—but I’m here if you do, and I will love you through it all.”

~ ~ ~

Azriel had never considered himself to be a jealous male.

Was he occasionally temperamental? Yes.

Did he have a history of pining? Unfortunately.

He was never territorial, though. He could still remember the days Cassian would spar with males in their camp after treading too close to a female, the rage that wafted off them in waves as Cassian’s smug ass smirked at them. Azriel was never like that.

No, he wasn’t territorial, and he wasn’t jealous—he was just protective. He would die for the ones he loved, and now that you were at the top of that list, he was just worried about you. Worried about the way the male at the bar kept inching closer, the way your smile grew tighter when he laughed at one of his jokes, and the way you flinched when his hand touched your arm.

Watching his fingers graze your skin turned Azriel’s vision red.

He shrugged off Cassian’s attempt to sit him back down, rage pumping through his veins as his gaze stayed glued to the hand resting on your arm. He really wasn’t thinking when his hands grabbed your waist, physically pulling you away from the male and inserting himself between you and him. Your eyes were wide when you saw him, startled by his sudden appearance. “Az—” you said, “What’s wrong?”

Azriel picked up the arm the male had touched, his disgruntled jeers behind him blurring with the rest of the raucous throughout Rita’s. He dragged his hand up and down the length of your arm, your breath stuttering at his touch. “Are you okay?” he asked, softening the venom that he had been ready to spew at the male behind him.

You blinked, glancing down at your arm in his hand. “I’m okay,” you answered, with a bit of confusion in your tone. “Are you?”

Azriel was practically vibrating with anger, every bit of his restraint being used to face you and to not turn around and grab that male by the throat. “Great,” he said.

“You’re shaking,” you said, your hand coming up to rest on his chest. “And your heart is racing.”

His hand came up to rest on top of yours, finally dropping your arm from his grasp. “I’m okay,” he said, this time a little more convincing—he thought. “I just—I got worried. When I saw that male…”

Understanding dawned on your face, and an amused grin stretched across your face. “Ah,” you said, patting his chest. Azriel only squeezed your hand. “I see.” You peered around his shoulder, and Azriel begrudgingly followed your gaze, relieved to see the male had turned his attention to a female that was not his mate. “He was harmless. A little touchy, if you ask me—” A lot touchy, if you asked Azriel. “But who isn’t when they’re drunk?”

“He shouldn’t just be touching people—”

“No,” you agreed. “He shouldn’t.” Then mischief lit your eyes, and you stepped in closer, your chest brushing against his. “I bet you’re a cuddly drunk.”

Azriel scoffed, leaning into you a little more. Your scent drowned out the sweat and alcohol of the bar, and he much preferred your sweet smell over the suffocating air in Rita’s. “In your dreams, honey.”

~ ~ ~

“Can I touch your wings?”

Azriel nearly dropped the glass of water he had just filled from the kitchen tap. He blinked, taking in the way you were sitting cross-legged on the edge of your bed, your bottom lip stuck between your teeth again. He could see the curiosity eating at the edges of your eyes, and he wondered just how long you had been dying to ask him that.

“You can tell me no,” you said, drawing him out of his shock. “I asked Cassian—”

“You asked Cassian if you could touch his wings?” 

Azriel felt faint.

“No!” you exclaimed, hands shooting out to your sides. “No, of course not. I just—I didn’t know—” You huffed, clearly flustered. Azriel came closer, setting your glass of water on your night stand so he could sit beside you. “He explained that you’re taught to protect your wings as babes—that they’re sensitive, vulnerable—but he said that he didn’t think you would mind if I asked.”

Of course he said that.

“I’m sorry,” you said sheepishly. “That was foolish. I shouldn’t have brought it up—”

Azriel grabbed your hands that were moving around frantically, bringing them down to rest in your lap. Your throat bobbed as you looked at him, your eyes wide and nervous. “Of course you can touch my wings,” he said softly, his words alone making his stomach flip. “But, sweetheart, they’re very…” Azriel felt his face warm. “They’re very sensitive.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Not like that,” he corrected gently. 

You blinked, recognition slowly creeping onto your face. “Oh.” Then you winced, embarrassment clouding your face. “Oh. I can’t believe I asked Cassian—”

“It’s okay,” he assured you, and he would make sure Cassian never brought it up again. “Cassian didn’t mind, I guarantee you.”

You nodded softly, your eyes roving over him, your gaze catching on his lips—then his wings splayed out behind him. When your eyes flit back to him, your pupils blown with your heart beating a little faster in your chest, Azriel forgot how to breathe. “Can I?” you asked softly.

Azriel licked his lips, nodding slowly, anticipation clawing at his chest as he waited for his mate to touch him. You slowly untwined your hands from his, shifting so you faced him more, your hand trembling slightly as you let it hover over the inner membrane of his wing.

When your fingers finally grazed the delicate skin, Azriel grappled for every last thread of restraint he possessed to hold still, to let you explore this part of him—months of growing tension and longing to tip over this new edge of intimacy with his mate, and he was wholly unprepared for just how transcendent your touch was. Your fingers dragged up his wing and then back down one of the ridges, your skin soft and warm against him, leaving a trail of unimaginable pleasure in their wake.

When you traced back up the ridge, and your fingers trailed along the arch to the inner membrane again, the shudder that escaped Azriel was inevitable. You paused, your fingers lifting from him. “I’m okay,” he said, his voice embarrassingly rough.

He noticed it then, the shift in your scent—your warm and sugary scent turning hot and intoxicating in an entirely new way. He felt the desire that twirled inside you pulse down the bond, and Azriel’s own arousal intensified ten-fold. 

You grabbed his face in your hands, your lips locking with his before he could overthink this, before he could hesitate or flee or even think about slowing down. You had never kissed him like this before, never with so much fervor and white hot desire that it left him spinning and clinging to you just to stay upright.

You tugged him close by the neck of his shirt, stretching the flimsy fabric to the point it ripped a bit at the seam. You only huffed against his mouth in frustration, your hands reached around him to rip open the slats in his shirt, fingers grazing the skin at the base of his wings and forcing another shudder through his body. 

Azriel curled into you, his forehead pressed against your neck, his arms looping around you to hold you even closer. His breaths were growing more shallow, his mind foggy with something beyond desire—a sense of belonging and love so potent he thought he might drown in it.

Your fingers slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, dragging over his abdomen as you pushed the fabric up, up, and up, a desperation limning your movements that he had never seen in you—a desperation that made his mind stutter, a kernel of worry nestling inside him as you pulled his shirt over his head—and then yours.

You were truly ethereal, which Azriel already knew, but seeing you like this was…it was an honor. A privilege—one he had no intention of taking for granted. His hands rested on the soft curves of your waist, your body warm and pliant against him.

Then your hands reached out, tracing his wing in delicate patterns that felt anything but—and there was only so much willpower Azriel had when he was in the hands of his mate. He squeezed your hips, holding you away from him just a bit, but you did your best to reach for him again. “Y/N,” he breathed out, voice ragged and trembling when you reached for his other wing. “Honey,” he said, pushing you back a bit, your hazy eyes finally meeting him. “Maybe we should slow down?”

A flash of hurt so raw and visceral passed through your eyes, and Azriel felt like he had been stabbed.

You shook your head, blinking too many times. “I don’t—do you want to stop?”

“No,” he rasped, his body coiled tight with pleasure that was sitting on a dangerous precipice. “But you seem—”

Your eyes filled with a new determination, your hands tracing down his face, his neck, his chest, his stomach. “I want to take care of you,” you whispered, your lips latching onto the skin at his neck before he could really respond.

Then you pulled back, tugging on his arm as you crawled onto the center of the bed. “Come here,” you coaxed, and Azriel was too enthralled by you to do anything but follow.

He fell back into the mountain of pillows you had scattered across the head of your bed, his wings splaying out on either side of him. He watched you carefully, his eyes drinking in every inch of your body, breathing in your scent that left him spinning as you crawled on top of him, your legs bracketing his hips. Your eyes locked onto his, and relief washed over him as he felt you tug on the thread between you, a gentle warmth rushing through his blood that seemed to anchor both of you back to each other.

Your hands roamed his chest, his stomach, your eyes tracking your fingers that tracing every ridge and valley of his muscles that rippled reflexively beneath your touch. “I’ve never felt this way,” you whispered, half to yourself. “You’re so beautiful, Azriel—it makes me dizzy.”

Azriel huffed a laugh, his head falling back into the pillows as he let you explore. “I know the feeling.”

He sucked in a sharp breath when your lips pressed to his chest, trembling as you worked your way over his skin, your tongue laving over his nipple briefly before moving up to his neck. He had never—no one had ever had this sort of access to him. He was always in control in the past, always the one in charge. Never had he just laid bare for someone to inspect and touch and kiss—but he couldn’t imagine not letting you have your way with him.

He would give you the moon if you asked.

He groaned when you sucked a little harder on the skin at his collarbone, and when your mouth dragged over his shoulder and to his arm, your teeth grazing his bicep in a way that simultaneously taunted and begged for more, he had succumbed entirely to your touch. Your hands moved back to his wings, stroking and brushing the membrane with exploratory and reverent touches that Azriel was certain was better than anything he had ever dreamed of.

When your teeth sank against the skin of his bicep, he gasped, the bite unexpected and intoxicating. You kissed the mark you inevitably left in your wake, and finally, finally, you brought your lips back to his. His hips involuntarily bucked against you, desperation creeping in as you kissed him and stroked the arch of his wings. “Honey,” he rasped, your lips sealing his warning away for another second. “I can’t—I’m going to—”

You rolled your hips against him, your lips kissing his jaw, his neck, his ear. “Good,” you whispered. “Let go, Azriel. I’ve got you, I promise.”

Your words electrocuted something inside him, sparking another dormant and fractured piece of him back to life. He fell into the pleasure you had weaved inside him, letting it wrap around him and hold him hostage for so many long and blissful seconds, his entire body trembling as he came undone. 

You kissed him through it, your touches slowing and growing more gentle, and Azriel had never felt true euphoria until this moment. His chest heaved as he came down, his eyes never leaving yours. When you smiled softly with a hint of shyness lying in the crinkle of your eyes, Azriel knew that he had found a home in your arms, and he would protect and cherish it until the day he drew his last breath.

~ ~ ~

If a few nights ago was Azriel’s dream come true, today was his living nightmare.

You had been avoiding him since that night, and every second that passed without seeing you only stretched the chasm growing in his chest farther and farther.

He was panicking.

Everything seemed fine when the two of you fell asleep—good, even. Azriel had never felt so at peace as he had in that moment, with you in his arms and his wing draped over you.

You had not let him take care of you the way you had him, but he didn’t want to push. He would never do that. As much as it pained him not to give you the pleasure you had given him, he recognized the vulnerability that had crept into your eyes, that laced your words after you kissed him and said Not tonight.

He knew it was a lot.

It was overwhelming and intoxicating and he could have very well stayed in bed next to you for an eternity if you let him—but you were gone come morning.

The bed was still warm where you had once laid, your scent still potent on your sheets, and the morning sun glittered off the charms and suncatchers you had hanging in your window—it was a perfectly warm and peaceful morning, except you were nowhere to be found.

Azriel would have liked to stay until you returned. He tried. He spent the morning cleaning your kitchen, doing the dishes from last night’s dinner, wiping down the counters and straightening the Solstice decorations you still had out. He picked up your living room—he even folded the pile of laundry you had stacked on the chair in your room.

Hours passed and your apartment was spotless, but you still weren’t back—and well, Azriel wasn’t clueless. He could take a hint.

He started to feel like an invader and less like a guest the longer your absence stretched, and he never wanted to encroach on your space, your privacy. He never wanted to be the reason you were uncomfortable, though it seemed that was exactly what he was.

So he left, the smell of you and your apartment clinging to his clothes as he shut and locked your door behind him, a twinge of guilt in his chest for stealing your spare key, but he would be damned if he left your apartment unlocked and vulnerable.

He really wanted to sit on the roof across the street and wait for you to return, but the odds of you catching him were too high—you always seemed to know exactly when he was near and where he morphed into the shadows. He also didn’t want to scare you, so he settled for a note on your counter and your spare key in his pocket, and possibly a small tendril of shadow lurking in the curtains of your living room.

You came home in the early evening—and that’s all he knew.

He was itching to see you, to talk to you, to understand what went wrong, but you were never home when Azriel stopped by.

Just like you weren’t home now. It was like you knew when he was coming, and fled before he could catch you. He didn’t understand.

He wasn’t angry. Far from it. He would be the biggest hypocrite in Prythian if he was—the Mother only knew how many times he had pushed people away or ran from his feelings. Hell, he was terrified he would do that to you, he just never imagined he would be facing such a role reversal.

A bit arrogant of him, if he was honest. He dropped his forehead to your door, the silence of your apartment weighing him down. He could go to your bakery. He knew he would most likely find you there, but he hated the thought of ambushing you at your place of work. It was important to you, and the last thing he wanted to do was taint it.

And really, it had only been a few days. He was being a tad dramatic. His brothers would tear him apart if they saw him now. He could practically hear Cassian’s taunts—

“Azriel?”

His head flew up, his heart leaping in his chest at the sound of your voice. You were standing there, just a few feet away from him, with your hair a bit frazzled from the day and smudges of flour streaked across your pants. Your scent wafted over to him, the same warm and sugary scent mixed with something new—cherries.

Azriel took a step closer, his eyes raking over you. “You smell like cherries.”

You blinked, a bit stunned, and Azriel wanted to shake himself for saying that of all things. You bit your bottom lip, and Azriel watched the way it curled beneath your teeth and popped back out when you said, “Yeah, I was working on something new. I thought you might like it, but…” you trailed off, seeming a bit dazed. “What are you doing here?”

Azriel ignored the twinge of hurt in his chest, knowing it was a perfectly reasonable question to ask the male who was slumped against your apartment door. “I wanted to see you.”

He saw your grip on your keys tighten, glancing warily at your apartment door. “Oh–”

“Actually,” he said hurriedly, desperate to cling to you now that he found you again, “I wanted to show you something.”

You seemed to relax a bit, your eyes lightening and a soft smile pulling at your lips. “Yeah?” you asked. 

Azriel nodded, scrambling to put together this very last minute plan. “I want to take you flying.”

Your eyes widened, your body going rigid all over again. “Azriel—”

“Please,” he begged, taking another step closer. Then, softening his tone, voice pleading, he said again, “Please. I don’t know what I did wrong, but—”

“You did nothing wrong,” you hurried out, your hand wrapping around his wrist. Guilt flooded your face, and when your eyes started to glisten, Azriel didn’t hesitate before he pulled you into his chest. And when the first shudder rocked through you he only held you tighter, his hand rubbing up and down your back.

He reached for the key in his pocket, his other arm holding you to him while you cried, and he fumbled with the key in the lock before pushing your door open and guiding the two of you inside. “Honey,” he murmured into your hair, your face pressed against his neck that was now damp with your tears. He stroked the back of your head, your body only falling into him more.

“I’m sorry,” you rasped. You sniffed, your fingers clutching his shirt tighter before pulling back. You wiped at your face, your eyes swollen and red, and Azriel felt utterly helpless.

“For what?” he asked gently.

You looked at him incredulously, shimmying out of his hold and taking a step back. “For leaving you. I can’t believe I did that. I hate myself for just running away—”

“Hey,” he interrupted gently, his heart hurting for you. “It’s okay to need space.”

“But Azriel—”

“In the future,” he added on, “I would appreciate it if you told me that, though.”

You nodded, your cheeks damp and glistening from the tears that still slowly rolled down your face. “What happened?” he asked.

“I was scared,” you whispered, the words rough as they scraped your throat. “I am scared. I—” You closed your eyes, breathing in through your nose, and then back out. “I’ve never been in love.”

Oh.

Azriel was fairly certain he just felt the world shift a few degrees to the left.

“And I know it sounds ridiculous. I know I’ve been clinging to you since we met, since the mating bond snapped, but the other night, I just—I realized, I was in love with you. I am in love with you, and I think I would die if I ever lost you. And I started overthinking, worrying about everything I did, and I felt like I took advantage when that’s the last thing I wanted to do, and I just, I just spiraled, and I’m so sorry.”

“Take advantage?” Azriel knew that was not the most important thing you had just said, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stand the thought of you feeling guilty when you did nothing wrong, and he was going to fix that immediately.

Your throat bobbed, and he could feel your nerves racing down the bond, pummeling his heart with every wave that emanated from you. “Yes,” you said, voice small. “You decided to share something vulnerable with me and I attacked you—”

“Attacked?”

“Yes,” you argued, and he could see the shame and embarrassment heavy in your eyes. It made him nauseous. You threw your arm over your eyes, and said, “Azriel, I bit your bicep, for Cauldron’s sake.”

“Trust me, I remember,” he said, reaching out to pull your arm away from your face. “I remember liking it—more than that, actually.” He cupped your face in his hands, your skin warm against him. “Sweetheart, you made me come in my pants.”

You bit your lip, your entire face going hot. Azriel brushed his thumb over your cheek, wishing he could erase the last 72 hours of pain you had endured alone. “I’m the last person who would ever judge you—for anything.”

Your eyes fell to his lips, and he waited—waited for you to make the next move, and when you pressed your lips to his, he felt himself melt a bit, his soul somehow melding with yours more than it already had. You pressed a few more gentle pecks to his mouth before pulling away, your eyes searching his for something, a flicker of uncertainty lingering.

“You did nothing wrong,” he assured gently, his hand squeezing your hip. “Mating bonds make everything more intense, it’s natural.”

You nodded. “I guess I knew that in theory, just, experiencing it—” You sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Azriel smiled gently, pushing some hair out of your face. “It’s okay. We’re okay, I promise.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you and his shadows brushing against your cheeks once he finally let them go. “I love you,” he murmured into your ear, and the undiluted joy that rippled down the bond made him smile wider than he had in centuries.

~ ~ ~

Azriel was, in fact, a cuddly drunk.

At least, he was with you.

His mate.

Sue him.

How could he not be?

You were just so beautiful. You were warm and soft and loving. You smelled delicious, like freshly baked cookies. You were his love. His home.

And it was his birthday. If he couldn’t be handsy with his mate—well that would be a piss poor birthday.

Most importantly, you didn’t mind, and your opinion was frankly the only one Azriel cared about. So when you giggled as he tugged you into his lap, your eyes wide and bright as you pressed a kiss to his lips in greeting, Azriel did not give a damn about his brothers’ teasing quips from across the table.

He pressed a kiss to your jaw, and then the corner of your mouth, smiling once his lips finally pressed to yours again. “Az,” you giggled, “I knew you would be a touchy drunk.”

Azriel hummed, his arms circling around your waist as he pressed your back to his chest, his nose nuzzling against your neck. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder where the strap of your dress had fallen down, then fixed it for you. “Just with you,” he murmured. Though, that wasn’t entirely true, given the way he had his arms thrown around Rhys and Cas earlier in the night. He kissed the pointed tip of your ear, smiling into your hair when you sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s okay, right?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t bothering you.

You turned your head to face him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Yeah, baby,” you said softly. “It’s okay.”

Azriel felt fuzzy—floaty in a way he almost never was from drinking. So maybe the alcohol coursing through his blood had dropped some of his usual inhibitions, but he knew that the buzzy and giddy warmth that was unfurling in his chest was entirely because of you.

“I think I want to go home,” he said to you, voice low in your ear.

“Are you sure?” you asked.

He nodded, his arms squeezing you once before letting you go, tapping your ass twice to coax you up and off his lap. He grinned when he watched you grow flustered, your eyes glaring at him playfully as you slid off his lap. 

“Heading home already?” Rhys asked as Azriel stood up, swaying a bit on his feet before your arm circled his waist. “Leave it to Az to be the first one to leave his own party,” Rhys taunted, mischief glowing behind his purple irises.

“Leave him be, Rhys,” Cassian said, leaning on the table as his eyes gleamed with anything but innocence. “He’s surely eager for Y/N’s gift to him.”

Azriel snarled at Cassian, pushing you behind him as his wings flared. Apparently, he was also a territorial drunk.

“Knock it off, Cassian,” Nesta growled, swatting his arm.

Your hand laced with his, his eyes snapping to you, who was watching his display with amusement. “Come on, birthday boy,” you said, tugging on his arm. “You can fight your brother another day.”

He cast another glare at a smirking Cassian, then let you lead him by the hand out onto the street. His steps were a little more stumbly than he would have liked, and he was certainly in no state to fly either of you anywhere, but you didn’t seem to mind as you held his hand in yours and walked toward your apartment a few streets over.

“I love you,” Azriel blurted.

You smiled, the moonlight washing your face in a pretty glow that made you look ethereal. “I love you too, Az.” You squeezed his hand, swinging your arms a bit. “I hope you’ve had a good birthday.”

Azriel nodded, a little too eagerly if your widening grin was anything to go by. “The best I’ve ever had.”

You laughed, leaning into his side, the two of your stumbling together before regaining your balance. “I doubt that. I have over five centuries of birthdays to compete with.”

Azriel shook his head, then brought your hand up to his lips to press a gentle kiss to your skin. “There’s no competition. None of them had you.”

He was a sappy drunk too, it seemed.

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he went on, his words only slightly smushed together. “I love you. I love you so much I can hardly breathe. I cannot wait for the day you decide you want to accept the bond—at least, I hope you do. I want you for an eternity, my love.” The two of you were still walking hand in hand along the Sidra, your apartment building now visible in the distance, but Azriel kept rambling, “We can have whatever kind of mating ceremony you want. However big or small, I just want our friends and family there with us—if you even want a ceremony.”

“I do,” you told him, looking up at him with a smile on your face. “I definitely do.”

Azriel’s stomach fluttered, and he leaned a little more into you, his body relaxing into your touch as you neared your home. “Okay,” he sighed, relief and love and joy making him feel like he was floating. “I do too.”

~ ~ ~

It was entirely too bright, and this bed was entirely too empty. Azriel groaned as he turned his face into your pillows, the silk sheet set he bought you blocking out the sun for a brief moment.

Then he smelled food.

He pushed himself upright, his head throbbing a bit from the movement, and his eyes taking a moment to adjust. He was bare aside from his underwear, but he was still too warm in the morning sun. He shoved the covers from his body, his feet landing on the plush rug beside your bed as he stood up.

He followed the smell of bacon and cinnamon, the sound of pots and pans clattering growing louder as he opened your bedroom door and moved toward the kitchen. You were moving around in a flurry, your feet bare on the kitchen tile—your legs bare, aside from his far too large shirt that draped over your body. 

Your knee lifted the oven door after pulling a pan out, your hip pushing it the rest of the way shut as you sat the pan on top of the stove with a clang. You slide the oven mitts from your hands, brushing some hair out of your face as you let out a heavy breath. 

“Smells good.”

Your head whipped toward Azriel, your eyes going wide as he walked closer. Azriel’s heart pounded in his chest as he took in the spread of food across your kitchen counters. You were clearly in your element, and Azriel loved seeing you like this—but you had never cooked or baked for him before, for obvious reasons.

“What’s all this?” he asked as he peered at the pan of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls.

Your lips parted, your hands ringing together as you rocked back on your heels once. “Breakfast,” you said. A nervous smile pulling at your lips that made Azriel’s heart stall. “For you.”

“For me?” he rasped. “Y/N—”

“Only if you’re ready,” you hurried out, “but I know I am, and, after last night…”

Azriel’s cheeks went hot as last night replayed in his head, the way he clung to you and gushed about his love for you. He moved closer, crowding your space. “I’m ready,” he murmured.

Your face lit up, and Azriel’s hangover was long forgotten as you reached for the fork on the counter behind him. You scooped a piece of a cinnamon roll right out of the still steaming pan, and when you blew on the hot and doughy piece Azriel’s heart flipped. You were still smiling as you offered it to him, the fork slightly shaking from the nerves he knew were coursing through you.

His hand folded over yours and the fork, helping guide it into his mouth so he could take the first bite of the first meal his mate had made for him. He pulled the fork away from his lips, tossing it on the counter as he pulled you flush to him. “I love you,” he said, the words gravelly and choked with more emotion than he really knew what to do with.

You pulled back to cup his face, pushing up on your toes to kiss his lips. “I love you, Azriel.”

[adventure-awaits13]

This is so soft and sweet and precious 🥹🥹

Azriel deserves all the love and softness and this really captures that. Absolutely beautiful fic 💙💙

[kymawrites]

thank you!!! az definitely deserves some love and care 🩷

[sweet-pea-channie]

I loved everything about this! This is exactly how I picture Azriel being in love 😍

[lalacliffthorne-deactivated2026]

📃 the basic rules of friendship 📃

Azriel x Reader

summary: the basic rules of friendship. and how to break them.

notes: oh boy. writing this one was pure and utter chaos. it gave me a headache. it did not want to work out. I changed the whole damn plot like five times, because I just wasn't happy with my ideas; they didn't work, they didn't feel right, but I had this specific part that I really wanted to write around, so I couldn't just give it up and call it a day either. then once I finally had it figured out, it still took ages to finish the whole thing, because my brain just wasn't braining - to sum it up, this lil piece of writing basically fried me. but, the last few days, it got easier, I wasn't just staring at the words anymore and what I wrote finally didn't feel blah - and I made it!

so here are the basic rules of friendship. they are long af, and even though they strongly advise against it, there's smut. steamy steamy smut.

______________________________________________________________

the basic rules of friendship

no. 1: friends are there for each other (friends also never get jealous).

Staring up at the male in front of me, I hoped my facial expression didn't convey my current thoughts.

Someone help me.

" - so of course we went in, and even though it was a bit of a struggle, we managed to get them all." The male sent me a grin, and I felt my lips curve, though it probably looked slightly pained.

Mor had decided it was that time of year again where she tried herself at being a matchmaker. She had picked me as target of the night, using the festivities as a clever cover to drag me from one male she thought might fit the requirements to the next.

The one I was talking to now was by far the most pleasant one this evening, which was probably why I hadn't bolted yet. He had even managed to make me laugh a few times, while the few males before that had been closer to making me cry in despair. He was fairly pretty too, with a cheeky smile, dimples and warm eyes. And I really should have been interested, because he seemed sweet, and funny, and actually charming.

But it just didn't click.

There was something about him - no, actually, it was something that wasn't there. His humor wasn't dry enough. He was a bit too reserved. He didn't quite get my teasing.

There was just something missing.

The way he smiled didn't do anything for me; no little skip in my chest, no hitch in my breath. His voice didn't send tingles down my spine, the dimple in his cheek was not quite right, he was a bit too hulky -

Something churned a little in my chest, and I almost winced.

Gods, what was wrong with me?

The air behind me shifted, and for a second, I wondered if maybe I had left my mental shields down and either Rhys or Feyre had caught onto my thoughts and had decided to step in before I went down a rabbithole of possibilties of what could be wrong with me.

But then the male in front of me straightened a little, suddenly looking alert, a familiar scent washed over me, cool and frosty, like pine woods in winter, and something skipped softly against my ribs.

Quickly looking over my shoulder, my eyes moved up, and up, and my shoulders sank a little when they found the face of the male suddenly towering over me.

Azriel's eyes were piercing, unwavering and unreadable as usual, and they were fixed onto the male in front of me. Shadows were swirling around him, creeping over his wings and shoulders, some gently brushing over my back like a happy greeting.

The shadowsinger's face itself looked like carved from marble, jaw sharp and set, the muscles in his cheeks shifting with what looked strangely like tension.

"Hey." I hoped the relief didn't vibrate too strongly through my voice, quickly turning back towards the male in front of me with an apologetic smile.

I had to give it to him, he had balls: Even though the Spymaster of the Night Court was staring right at him, unsettlingly quiet and brooding, the male hadn't immediately shrunk into himself.

Though he did look very uncomfortable.

"I'm going to -" He pointed over his shoulder, sending me a soft grin, and I smiled back, again hoping the relief wasn't too visible in how bright it was.

One corner of the male's lips curved. Then he turned around, and I felt my shoulders sag.

"Thanks." I breathed out, turning around to send Azriel a relieved, crooked smile.

The shadowsinger's eyes followed after the male for another second before they turned down towards me, and his gaze lost some of that unreadable coolness, softening. His eyes moved over my face, and he seemed to catch onto something, because his gaze narrowed in, and a slight crease formed between his brows.

And because it was Azriel, he didn't even have to ask.

The words just tumbled out before i could stop them.

"Is there something wrong with me?"

Azriel's lips parted a little. Then his eyes sharpened, his shoulders shifting as his gaze moved up over my head, zeroing in on somebody behind me, and something skipped high in my chest at the way his gaze froze over, becoming steely and quietly raging like a rising tide -

Hastily, I widened my eyes.

"No, no; he didn't -", I huffed and breathed out, turning my eyes towards the twinkling night sky in a half-laugh. "It's not because of him, it's - me."

The dangerous promise in Azriel's eyes vanished with a blink, but the light crease between his brows deepend as his gaze returned to my face. The warm lights dotted all over the House of Winds' terraces threw shadows under his jaw and made his amber eyes glow softly, his dark hair tousled and skin rosy from the cool wind.

"It's just -" I exhaled again, furrowing my brows softly at myself.

"There's this male, who's actually not a jerk, and who seems good and funny and interested, and - nothing. Absolutely nothing. I just kept finding things that were wrong, even though I don't even know what would have been right, and -", I shook my head and looked up at Azriel, frowning gently as something churned a little in my chest.

"Is there? Something wrong with me?"

Azriel stared at me before huffing, and something tipped over in my chest when a soft snorted laugh broke from his throat.

I frowned, feeling something tighten a little under my ribs. "What?"

Azriel's lips were still twitching upwards like I had just made some sort of joke only he understood as he turned his face away, shaking his head a little. Then he looked back down at me. His amber eyes flickered over mine for a moment, and there was something in the way he stared at me that soothed the soft twinge under my ribs.

Azriel blinked, then he said steadily, his low, deep voice gently tickling my spine: "There's nothing wrong with you." His gaze moved over my face, and something I couldn't place shifted in his eyes, tinging his voice when he added: "He just wasn't what you're looking for."

"I don't even know what I'm looking for,", I grumbled under my breath, but there was a soft skip in my chest, that bit of tightness gone when I looked up at Azriel. "How am I supposed to find something when I don't know what it looks like?"

Az blinked again, eyes resting on mine. "You'll know."

I felt my brows furrow gently at the sound of his voice, a little quiet and distant but so, so sure.

Feeling my lips twitch, I raised an eyebrow. "That's sappy."

Azriel huffed, but his lips twitched even as he glared down at me, almost like he couldn't hold back the way they curved at the corners. Then he lightly raised a brow. "Mor looks like she's got the next target."

I cursed softly and quickly slid my hand into the crook of his arm, bumping my shoulder into his biceps.

"Come on, let's go, I need a drink."

no. 2: friends talk about their feelings.

“What the fuck was that?”

The door slammed behind me, and I raised my head just in time to see Azriel turn around, his eyes burning into mine so fiercely, I almost held my breath.

Running a hand down my face, I shook my head, my voice tired when I mumbled: “Can we not –“

“I told you to get out, and you didn't listen, you disobeyed orders –“

“Orders?” I stared at him, feeling something begin to bubble in my chest. “You told me to run and fucking leave you!”

“And you didn't!” Azriel's voice sounded like thunder, not simmering anger, but loud and deep. Shadows gathered around his feet, and his wings flared when he stalked towards me, blood dripping from the wound in his side, but he didn't even seem to notice. “You came back when I told you to leave; you could've fucking died!”

“You would have died!” My voice was incredulous as I stared up at him with wide eyes, and Azriel's jaw tightened as he took one last step forward, his chest almost pressing into mine as he glared down at me.

“Then I would have died.” His voice was quiet again and cold, so cold, but his eyes were whirling with emotions I couldn't decipher as they burned into mine. “But you would have been safe.”

Staring up at him, my eyes blown wide, I felt my breathing pick up as I tried to fight against the way my chest grew tighter with every second. Then I exploded.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Azriel blinked like I had slapped him across the face, but it felt like some kind of dam had broken, because the words just started falling, becoming louder with every second.

“I don't give a shit about being safe if it means you try and sacrifice yourself! You asshole! What the fuck is wrong with you?! I couldn't just leave you because I will never leave you to sacrifice yourself like your fucking life means nothing, because it does, it means everything!” My voice broke as my voice rose into a scream, and I felt tears well in my eyes as the ache under my ribs grew and I hit my fist against his chest.

“You're hurt, you would have died!! What the hell is wrong with you that you think I could just leave you for death, you moron, what would I be living for if you died, especially because of me; it wouldn't mean a thing! You fucking asshole!” My vision blurred as tears streamed over my cheeks. Azriel stared at me like he had never seen me before, frozen in place as I heaved with quiet sobs, my whole body trembling as I tried to fight for air.

“Don't you get it? You're –“ My voice broke.

Everything.

Azriel's eyes pierced mine, emotion whirling in them, jumbled, indiscernable. Then he blinked.

“Come here,”, he mumbled, his voice hoarse, and I breathed in shudderingly, tears streaming over my face when his hand closed around my elbow and he pulled me forward, not caring a bit that he was still dripping blood onto the carpet as he dragged me into his chest.

“I'm sorry.” I could feel his low voice vibrating through my body, quiet and rough when he wrapped his arms around my shoulders and buried his nose in my hair, and I hiccuped, feeling tears stream over my face as I slid my own arms around his middle and clung to him.

“Never ask that of me -” My voice broke, and Azriel tightened his grip, the tension not leaving his frame as he slipped his hand up my back to tangle his fingers in my hair, his thumb slowly brushing over my skin when he raised his head a little to press his lips against my temple.

“I'm sorry,”, he mumbled against my skin, soft but hoarse, and I buried my face in the crook of his neck, my body trembling with silent, heaving sobs as I held onto the male who held me.

no. 3: friends might engage in the occasional amicable teasing.

That was it.

Stopping in the middle of the street only a few feet away from the entrance to Rita's, I barely kept myself from wincing as I leaned forward, trying to balance on one foot as I started unlacing the straps of my heels. They were murderously high, and, together with the cobblestone streets and the drinks I had, that meant mortal danger for my ankles and my dignity.

Plus, they were beginning to hurt like shi-

I almost lost my balance, feeling myself tip to the side and my eyes widening. But then a hand slipped under my arm and steadied me, and my breath hitched a little when my gaze darted up.

Azriel raised a brow at me.

“Oh, shut up,”, I grumbled quickly under my breath, trying to ignore the soft skip in my chest at the way his amber eyes were twinkling almost indiscernably as I slipped out of the first heel.

Groaning happily in relief as I rolled my ankle, I carefully placed my foot on the cold ground, trying not to wince at the ache jolting through it when I shifted my weight onto it.

Azriel kept his hand under my arm, his scarred skin warm in the cool night air, even as I balanced a lot easier, undoing the laces of the second heel.

Slipping out of it, I straightened, breathing out and trying not to squirm at the soreness of my feet when I shifted on the cold cobblestone. Then I raised my head, and my heart skipped softly.

Az was still staring down at me, brows drawn together a little as he narrowed his eyes at me.

I frowned back at him suspiciously. “What?”

Azriel huffed, but his lips twitched upwards as he shook his head and stepped forward, and I felt my eyes widen when he leaned down.

“No, wait –“

The shadowsinger slipped his arms under my thighs and lower back, and a soft squeal broke from my lips when he straightened back up, easily sweeping me off my feet.

My hands gripped his back, and my heart jumped into my throat when Azriel hoisted me up a little to adjust his grip, the motion causing me to slide up and down in his arms. I hastily clung to him and stared at him desperately.

“Are you serious?”

Azriel's eyes were twinkling a little when he threw me a look. “You looked like you were going to hobble the way home.”

I huffed, scowling at him, but it probably looked more like a pout, because the shadow of a crease formed in Azriel's cheek. Then he raised a brow at me.

“All set?”

Grumbling softly under my breath, I leaned forward a little to gather my shoes in one hand. Azriel changed his grip to hold me steady, his breath brushing over my temple, causing something to flutter gently against my throat, and I tried to ignore the sudden dip in my chest.

Wrapping my arms tightly around his neck, I pressed my forehead against his collarbone and squeezed my eyes shut.

“Alright, ready.”

There was a soft, amused huff that made Azriel's body vibrate. Then he started moving, setting down the street, every long, steady step sending a soft jolt through my body.

I blinked before cracking open an eye and furrowing my brows in confusion.

“We're walking?”

From my position, I saw only one side of Azriel's face as he looked ahead, but there was a curve to his lips that caused something to swerve sharply in my chest when he threw me a look.

“Unless you want to almost throw up again.”

I raised my head quickly to glower at him.

“That was one time."

"I wasn't actually aware anyone could turn that shade of green before you did." One corner of Azriel's lips tipped upwards.

I scowled at him. "Are you ever going to let me live that down?”

Azriel still looked ahead, but I saw the crease in his cheek deepening.

“Unlikely.”

I scowled, trying to bite back the stupidly wide smile that was suddenly threatening to break out over my face as I narrowed my eyes at him. “I don't like you.”

“I know. You want to hold on any tighter?”

I lightly bonked one of my shoes against the side of his head and earned myself a glare.

Breathing a soft giggle that bubbled in my chest, I exhaled, slowly melting into Azriel's hold as I loosely draped one arm over his collarbones and propped my chin onto his shoulder. Staring at his profile, I felt something flutter softly against my ribs, my heart skipping steadily as my eyes tracked over his straight nose, the sharp line of his jaw illuminated by the warm light of the lanterns and his soft looking lips.

The shadowsinger threw me a look, and I could see the amusement flashing through in his eyes.

“What?”

I shrugged.

“You're pretty.” I sent him a bright, cheeky smile.

Azriel blinked, and it almost looked like the top of his cheekbones started to darken a little, like the lightest shade of pink dusted his skin –

One corner of my lips slowly quirked as I softly narrowed my eyes.

“Are you blushing?” I started to grin widely. “Azriel, are you –“

The shadowsinger's grip shifted, and I squealed softly when I could feel myself being dropped for nothing more than a heartbeat.

Hastily clinging to his shoulders, I raised my head to glare at Azriel incredulously only to find him smirking, just the tiniest bit.

I huffed, something flutter harshly against my ribs as I scowled at the shadowsinger.

“I really don't like you."

no. 4: friends spend quality time together.

Diving, I avoided a swing of Azriel's wing, sliding over the mats and raising my head.

My heart skipped high, and I barely ducked out of the way, Azriel's wings almost translucent in the light of the sinking sun when he flared them to keep his balance, shadows whirling around him as he dodged a blow, a strand of dark hair falling into his forehead, muscles working under his sweaty, glowing skin -

Something caught against the back of my heel and ripped me off my feet.

My back hit the mats with a thud, and all the air was pressed out of my lungs, causing me to grunt softly. My heart skipped in its race against my ribs, and I relaxed into the mats with a huff, scowling when Azriel appeared above me, lips curving upwards as he squinted down at me, barely out of breath.

"Didn't we just talk about never letting your guard down?"

Huffing, I rolled my eyes, feeling a bead of sweat run over my temple and how my hair stuck to my skin when I just laid flat on the mats for a second before holding out my hand with a grumble.

The second Azriel's fingers closed firmly around my wrist, I pulled, my foot catching against his chest and using his own momentum to send him flying over my head.

The shadowsinger crashed onto his back with a heavy thud and a grunt, and I whirled around, using his hand to pull myself up and onto his torso, thighs clamping down next to his hips and my whole weight pressing down onto his chest as I pinned his wrists onto the mats right above his head and smiled widely.

But my remark along the lines of Right back at you, pretty boy got stuck in my throat.

Azriel's eyes were barely an inch away. I could count the golden spots in his amber iris, the dark lashes framing his eyes under dark brows between which a little crease sat that smoothed over slowly. I could feel his breath, warm and a little uneven as it brushed over my skin, could feel the steadiness of his piercing eyes as they stared into mine and how solid his bare chest was, pressed against mine.

My heart fluttered wildly; I hastily moved back a little, and suddenly, something in Azriel's eyes shifted, his body going still beneath mine.

I needed a second until I realised why; why suddenly, Azriel's gaze burning into mine looked different, why he had tensed and his lips were standing just a little agape. But then I shifted again, and Azriel grunted softly, his hips twitching.

Right under my ass.

My breath caught in my throat, my eyes widened a little, and I grew still, staring down at the male pinned onto the mats who had suddenly frozen beneath me as my heart thumped in my throat and something twinged tightly in my lower stomach.

"Sorry,", I whispered, my voice soft and a little breathy, and a spark flashed through Azriel's eyes.

The next second, I was pushed to the side, all the air escaping my lungs when I crashed onto my back again, and my heart simply gave out when my body was pressed into the mats, hips lodged between my thighs keeping me down and Azriel's face only an inch away, dark hair falling down onto his forehead as his eyes twinkled and one corner of his lips rose.

"Got you."

I blinked, something pounding and fluttering harshly against my ribs as my breath hitched and I stared up into Azriel's golden amber eyes, his lips curving and fingers loosely wrapped around my wrists, just lightly holding them to the ground next to my head as shadows whispered, slowly swirling over his flared wings. Then Azriel's lips twitched, and his hands slipped away, pressing into the mats as he pushed himself up and his weight disappeared.

I stared up at the soft blue sky high above, the first stars twinkling down at me while my heart was skipping, missing beats in my chest until Azriel offered me a hand, the twinkle still in his eyes causing me to huff.

no. 5: friends are comfortable with each other (but not overly).

Grumbling softly, I buried deeper in the cushions. There was a heavy weight resting on my waist, and something warm pressed into my back, a body, tall and solid, wrapped around me. A familiar scent surrounded me like a blanket, engulfing me and filling my lungs, and something started to flutter softly against my ribs when I tiredly cracked open an eye.

My sight was blurry with sleep as my gaze slowly tracked over the coffee table and the open doors leading into the garden, the sun already sinking and dipping everything in a golden light -

My heart jumped softly when the tall body curved around mine shifted, the arm closed around my waist tightening, and my gaze slowly focused on the hand wrapped around my wrist, laying on the cushion of the couch right in front of my face.

My mind was still tired and foggy with sleep as from under half-closed lids, my gaze dragged over the long, slim fingers, a palm far bigger than my own, veins running up a tanned forearm and the marred skin, scarred tissue rough but warm against my skin.

A soft, tired sound vibrated through my body, the thighs lodged between my calves shifting. Then I felt warm breath brush over my skin, and as I shivered softly, Azriel buried his nose at the back of my neck and grumbled lightly. Something skipped high in my chest at the deepness of the sound, how raspy it was.

There was a soft tap against my mental shields, and with a huff, I let them down.

"Please don't tell me you two are still napping."

Rhys' amused voice vibrating through my head made me grumble softly into the cushions, and from the way Azriel's lips curved upwards as he huffed softly against my neck, sending another shiver down my spine, the same question had sounded through his mind as well.

"Weren't you the one who told me that with less than ten hours of sleep, I get unbearably grumpy?", I thought.

There was a light snicker in my mind. Then Azriel growled softly. I didn't know what Rhys had said to him, but it made his grip tighten as he scowled into my neck.

There was one last chuckle in my head followed by a gentle sensation resembling a friendly headbutt before the familiar presence disappeared, leaving everything quiet again.

Breathing out, I squinted tiredly, the haze of sleep slowly dissipating.

Shifting on the spot, I started to wrestle myself around. Azriel grunted softly when I accidentally kicked his shin, and a breathy, sleepy giggle broke from my throat, then I buried myself in his chest. Exhaling, I felt Azriel slide his arm around my waist, his hand coming up to tuck my head under his chin. His fingers slipped into my hair, scratching gently over my scalp, and I groaned happily, causing the shadowsinger to huff in amusement.

His thumb lightly brushed over my cheek, and something skipped gently against my ribs, fluttering lightly.

no. 6: friends don't stare at each other (for too long).

Moving down the stairs, I slipped my fingers under one of the thin straps of the black silk dress softly swishing around my legs, pulling it up my shoulder. I could feel the hilts of my knives gently pressing against my thigh where they were tucked into the legs of my boots, the heavy heels thumping softly against the steps as the golden earrings Mor had lent me clinked softly. The heavy black leather coat Cass had gifted me a few years ago was draped over my arm, daggers hidden in the specially constructed lining.

It was time to charme some people. Maybe kick some ass.

Hopefully the latter.

Turning to walk down the last pair of stairs into the entrance hall, I grinned when Feyre tapped against my mind's walls, and when I let her in, her voice echoed through my head.

"Are you ready?"

Ready as ever.

"Alright, we'll be there and pick you up in a second."

Good. Feeling my lips quirk when I heard her chuckle, I raised my head.

My eyes met amber ones, and my breath hitched a little, my movement faltering for just a second.

Azriel stilled. Went completely quiet, head turned back to look up at me, eyes flickering over me, and his lips parted. Just a bit, nothing more than a little gap as his gaze slowly dragged down and up again, and he blinked, the crease between his brows smoothing over into nothing as he simply - stared.

"What?", I mumbled, feeling my lips curve into a soft, sheepish smile as I moved down the last steps.

Azriel blinked again, gaze sliding over me, and something shifted in his eyes, something I couldn't decipher but that made my breath hitch.

My gaze flickered over him, and there was a strange little hop in my chest. He was wearing his fighting leathers, nothing unusual, black shoulderplates making him look even broader, daggers strapped around his lean torso and onto his thighs.

Tearing my eyes away from his chest, I tried to ignore the way my heart performed a double flip when I found Azriel's gaze still pinned onto me, piercing my skin.

The shadowsinger blinked, and his throat worked a little like he was suppressing the urge to swallow. Then he slowly turned and stepped towards me. Wordlessly, he held out a hand, and I needed a second before realising what he wanted.

Huffing at myself and cracking a grin, I handed him my coat, and Azriel unfolded it, holding it open for me to slide into the sleeves. The lining was cool against my skin as Az slipped it over my shoulders, and I barely suppressed a soft shudder when his fingers, still out of his gloves, brushed against my neck, carefully pulling my braid out from under the heavy leather.

Turning around, I straightened the lapels and raised my head, and my heart fluttered up, getting caught in my throat like my breath when Azriel reached out.

His fingers brushed against my waist as he pushed the coat to the side, and a small crease formed between his brows when his hand ghosted over an empty sheath. He straightened a little, and my lips parted, something suddenly rising in my chest when he pulled a dagger from one of the sheaths strapped to his chest.

The silver blade flashed in the warm light when Azriel carefully pulled my coat to the side and slid it into the lining. Then his fingers brushed over the hilts concealed by the black silk, checking every single one of them as my heart thrummed into my throat and I stared up at him, his face a lot closer with his head dipped for a better view of the lining, brows drawn together in concentration, amber eyes clear and focused.

Sliding his hand against my waist to check the other side, Azriel raised his head; his gaze found mine, and my breath hitched when he slowly straightened back up a little.

With a soft swoosh of air, Feyre appeared in the middle of the foyer, and somehow, I managed to tear my gaze away from Azriel's to look over at her. She was wearing a silky dress similiar to mine, dark like the night sky and with high slits very practical for any sort of well-placed kick.

Feyre stilled for just a second as her eyes flickered over Azriel, standing so close to me that his chest almost touched mine and yet not making any move to step back, before finding mine, and something like a light twinkle flashed through her iris. Then she blinked and raised her brows.

"You two ready?"

Blinking, I looked back up at Az, and my breath hitched.

The shadowsinger was still staring down at me. I wasn't sure he had even looked when Feyre had winnowed in, and he didn't react when Mor appeared next to her either, wearing a dark red dress with a deep neckline. Both of them looked ready to smile charmingly and, if necessary, press a knife to someone's throat, but Azriel didn't even cast them a glance.

His eyes were on me, and suddenly, it felt a little hard to breathe.

Azriel's gaze cleared just a little, and he shifted, shoulders straightening.

"Give me a sign if you need me." I knew his deep voice was directed at the other two as well, but his eyes didn't stray away from mine, waiting until I nodded lightly. Then he took a step back, and shadows swallowed him.

Feyre cleared her throat lightly, and when I looked over at her with a blink, one corner of her lips had curved upwards, her iris twinkling. But she just raised her brows, and Mor held out her hand, her eyes bright as she beamed at me.

Staring at the two of them for a moment in confusion, I then blinked and shook my head lightly, moving towards them. Mor sent me a wink.

"You look hot."

I nodded. "As opposed to how I usually look."

Feyre lightly rolled her eyes and Mor flicked my forehead, and snickering, I took her offered hand.

no. 7: friends don't kiss.

Closing the bathroom door behind me, I raised my head, and my heart skipped softly against my ribs when Azriel raised his head.

He was sitting on the edge of my mattress, wearing only soft looking pyjama pants, his hair tousled and a little damp, like he had taken a shower earlier.

Sending him a soft, cheeky grin, I felt my brows furrow gentle. "Hey."

Azriel's eyes tracked down my body, over the large soft sweater and the too big pyjama pants that both had probably belonged to him at some point, and I shifted a little on the spot. Then his gaze turned back towards my face, and one corner of his lips rose into a small, crooked smile.

Slowly starting to walk towards him, I let my gaze flicker over his face, feeling the curious crease between my brows deepen.

"What are you doing here?"

Azriel blinked. His eyes tracked over my face, slow, a little tired but warm in the soft light.

"Just -" He broke off before huffing and shaking his head. "I don't know. Can't sleep."

I felt my lips curve and sent him a cheeky smile. "I could read something to you."

Azriel's lips curved, and his gaze moved over mine. "I doubt that would help."

"Hey, my reading skills aren't that bad, alright?" I grinned.

Azriel raised his brows, and I lost the fight against the soft giggle building in my throat.

"Oh, shut up."

The shadowsinger's cheek creased a little. He was still staring at me, and I caught something shifting in his eyes as a muscle in his jaw tightened and relaxed again.

Something shifted in my chest, and before I could stop myself, I quickly moved forward and hugged him tightly.

I could feel Azriel freeze a little. One second. Two. Then his shoulders sagged a bit, and his arms slowly slid around my waist, squeezing lightly. It was funny, like this; with him sitting on the edge of the mattress, the size different was reversed for once, me dropping my head to press my nose against his shoulder and Az burying his face at my collarbone.

Holding onto him for another second, I slowly moved back, feeling my lips curve softly. Azriel's arms slipped off my waist, and his muscles shifted when he turned his head. Then he went still, and when I looked up in confusion, my breath hitched.

Golden eyes stared into mine, lips parted just a bit. I could see the shadow of a few freckles on a straight nose, the softness of his lips. And suddenly, my heart was quiet.

The tip of my nose softly nudged against Azriel's, and his eyes fluttered, the muscles in his jaw working as his fingers dug into the cotton of my pants. Then he lightly raised his chin, and his nose brushed past mine again, causing a tingling shiver to travel over my skin, down my spine and into my fingers, making them tremble as I curled them into his shoulders.

I didn't know if I leaned down or Azriel up.

Didn't know if my hand slipping to the back of his neck was first, or his fingers closing around my hips, dragging me forward a little.

All I knew was that his lips were warm and soft and that they were pressed against mine, gentle but soon almost a little feverish.

That his breath was harsh, trembling when he exhaled against my skin.

And that suddenly, my heart wasn't quiet anymore. That it was rising in my chest like a storm, fluttering more violently with every second until breathing was difficult.

Slowly, Azriel broke away, just far enough for his nose to bump against mine again and his unsteady breath to hit my lips. When I forced open my eyes, something flipped against my ribs, because his were still closed, his chest moving quickly as his finger dug into my hips and he swallowed harshly. Then Azriel opened his eyes, and all air I had managed to get left me. Because the gold in his iris was melting together and his lids were heavy and for a moment, he looked a little bit like he wasn't quite there. But then our noses brushed and his lids fluttered and a soft sound broke from his chest that made the world tip over.

"You -" His deep voice sent a shiver down my spine, uneven and more hoarse than I had ever heard it, and Azriel's jaw worked, brows drawing together like he was forcing himself to focus as his eyes found mine, something in them that was strange and pleading and burning when he mumbled raspily: "If you let me kiss you again, I won't be able stop."

My heart skipped once and high and harsh. Then I whispered, soft and a little shakily: "I don't think I want you to stop."

Azriel's cheek muscles shifted and he shuddered, like the thought alone -

His fingers dug into my hips, tugging me closer as he pressed his forehead against mine and mumbled roughly: "If you kiss me again -"

I leaned forward and kissed him breathlessly, and Azriel's grip slipped before tightening as a deep rumble built in his throat and he pushed forward and kissed me back like he'd been waiting for centuries.

no. 8: friends never, ever, under no circumstances - well, you can probably guess where this is going.

My breath tumbled when Azriel dragged me closer, closer until my body curved into his sitting one and he kissed me like it was the only thing keeping him alive, deep and desperate and causing my heart to tip over in my chest when his tongue dragged over mine and his hand slipped under my soft sweater.

A soft shuddering breath left me when his rough fingers ghosted over my back, trailing up my spine, and my fingers curled into his hair, causing a deep sound to rumble through Azriel's body. His other hand closed firmly around my hips, then he pulled back, and my heart skipped into my throat at the sight of his eyes, glazed over and hazy.

Azriel's lips parted just a little and his throat worked when he slid his hand from my back to my front, fingers pushing up the hem of my sweater, up until it was bunched up under my breasts, and my spine turned to jelly when Azriel turned his burning gaze away from my face and dropped his head to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss against my ribs.

My hand flew up to tangle in the soft hair at the back of his head, my eyes fluttering, and Azriel groaned softly, deep in his throat as his hand slipped up to press against my back, pushing me into him until my thighs were pressed against the inside of his and he leaned forward, lips dragging over my skin as he began to trail hot kisses over my stomach.

My head fell back as something rose in my chest, wild and madly fluttering. My lower stomach tightened, quivering, causing my breath to hitch.

It felt like with every kiss, Azriel pulled the floor out from under me, over and over again, the whole world swaying around me whenever he got closer to where my sweater was bunched up under my breasts, my fingers digging into his hair when he dipped down again.

It seemed like he was trying to taste every inch of my skin, breath heavy and uneven, grip tightening around me when his teeth grazed over the skin right under the seam of my bra, and I whimpered.

A small, guttural sound built in Azriel's chest, and he attacked the spot, dragging my body into his, kissing and biting until I could feel my skin pulse. My eyes fluttered as my head tipped back a little and my lips parted, and the shadowsinger pressed a scarred hand flat against my spine, running his nose over the bruise like a breathless apology. Then he raised his head, and my heart skipped, tipping over at the sight of his hazy eyes, amber iris clouded, lids heavy and soft lips swollen.

A strand of dark hair fell into his forehead, and the way he was staring at me caused my breath to stumble, hitch and flutter, his throat working as he swallowed and tugged me forward, slowly pulling me with him as he leaned back, and my heart tipped over in my chest when he dragged me down into his lap.

I could feel Azriel's grip shift, saw the flutter of his lids as my chest pressed into his, and everything under my ribs coiled when his hot, unsteady breath brushed over my lips, his nose softly nudging against mine.

My fingers curled into his shoulders as I tried to breathe, even though it felt impossible with his scent invading my senses, his chest against mine and his arm heavy on my waist as his palm pressed against my back, gently urging me forward.

My hips rolled down, and Azriel's lids fluttered the same second my lips fell open as I felt his hard cock press against me, his hands slipping down to close around my hips, and I almost expected him to push me away, bring distance between us -

Azriel dragged my hips forward, and I inhaled softly, sharply, something hot zipping through my lower stomach and pulsing when I ground down against the bulge in Azriel's pants. His lips were parted just a bit, his breathing harsh as his nose nudged against mine, lids heavy. Then his grip around my hips tightened, fingers digging into my skin, and my breath hitched and stumbled when he started guiding my movements, his eyes fixed onto my face like they were burning through me, hazy but piercing.

I barely bit back a soft whimper when Azriel's hot, unsteady breath grazed over my lips, my fingers digging into his hair as I rocked against him, tantalizingly but deliciously slow. Azriel's nose brushed over mine, his hands shifting on my hips, rocking me down harder, and something twisted harshly in my stomach, a wave of heat washing over me.

Before I could stop myself, I pulled him towards me, and Azriel's lips crashed onto mine.

My heart rose into my throat, fluttering as I felt myself twist around nothing, and I whimpered, curling my fingers into the back of Azriel's neck when he kissed me like I was his last breath, devouring, desperate. His tongue slid against mine as his hands slipped under my sweater, curving around my waist, and something swelled in my chest when his rough warm skin pressed against mine, his thumb brushing over my ribs, up against the underside of my breast.

I moaned softly into his mouth, causing his grip to tighten and drag me closer like I wasn't already pressed flush into his chest. His hands closed around the hem of my sweater and pulled it up, up until I had to break away for him to tug it over my head. My arms slipped back over his shoulders, and Azriel leaned forward, into me, kissing me again, deep and hard as he threw my sweater carelessly into the room.

My fingers dug into Azriel's shoulders when his hands slipped under my thighs. Then he lifted me up, turning to place my back on the mattress, his warm, solid body between my legs pushing my knees apart and causing something in my chest to rise and flutter madly, and a soft groan broke from his chest when his body pressed down into mine.

My fingers curled into his hair, and Azriel broke the kiss to drop his head, his hand sliding to the nape of my neck, tangling in my hair and dragging my head back as he began to press hard kisses against my throat, his heavy, uneven breath hitting my skin as his teeth grazed over my skin. A whimper fled my throat, and my eyes rolled back lightly.

A deep, rough sound rumbled through Azriel´s chest, and his lips brushed lower, kisses growing more deep, more desperate the lower his rough hands slipped on my sides as he slowly made his way down my torso. My body arched into him as he breathed harshly, kissing and nipping at my skin as he pulled down my pants. Then his nose grazed the rim of my panties, and my head fell back as my insides twitched and Azriel groaned deep in his chest.

His hot, harsh breath brushed over the soaked material, and his nose nuzzled against my hip like he was trying to reign himself in, the tension in his shoulders looking unbearable as his lips ghosted over where my thigh and middle met. Then Azriel's fingers hooked into the waistband of my panties and pulled them down, and a soft groan left him, almost desperate.

Raising my hips to help him shimmy the material down my legs, I expected him to move back up my body. But Azriel didn't. His shoulders pushed my thighs apart, and my heart stilled, simply stopped when without hesitation, Azriel sank to his knees.

My breath caught when his hands closed around my hips and dragged me towards him, and a whimpering sound left me when I felt his nose gently nudge against my skin, an ache spreading through my lower stomach like a weight.

My hips bucked, my fingers digging into the sheets, and with a soft rumbling sound leaving him, Azriel pushed one of my legs over his shoulder and dipped his head.

My lips fell open, my heart stilled, and my whole body became weightless when Azriel slowly ran his tongue through my folds. My eyes flew down, finding his, heavily lidded and hazy, a strand of dark hair falling into his face between my legs, and a deep groan rumbled deep in his chest. Then he dropped his head and dove in.

My head fell back against the mattress, and my back arched.

Azriel moved like a male starving, devouring his last meal. His warm tongue lapped at me, running over my clit, pressing down and flicking before his mouth closed over it, and my eyes rolled into my head as breathless moans spilled from my lips.

Azriel's fingers dug into the top of my thigh, his other hand slipping up to press onto my stomach as his eyes fluttered and a moan vibrated in his chest. He sounded more enthusiastic than I had ever heard him; like right where he was, settled between my legs, his nose brushing over my skin as he dipped his head to lap and suck at me eagerly, was exactly, precisely where he had always wanted to be –

His tongue flicked over my clit, and my hand flew up to press over my mouth as a loud whimper broke from my lips. But Azriel's fingers slipped around my elbow, and something flipped in my chest, rising and fluttering violently when he gently tugged my hand away from my mouth, his own sliding down my arm until his rough, scarred fingers slid between mine, lacing them together as his eyes pierced my face, clouded and lids heavy like he wasn't quite there. Then he ran his tongue firmly over my clit, and I moaned, breathily and drawn as I curled my fingers into the sheets above my head.

The weight in my stomach grew slowly, twisting tighter and tighter, and my back arched as a deep groan left Azriel, like what he was doing right now, fingers laced with mine, eyes hazy and hair dishevelled, was the best satisfaction I could give him. The muscles in his cheeks worked as he sucked eagerly on my clit, pressing his tongue against the sensitive spot, eyes never leaving my face even as they fluttered, and I felt my lips part at the sight of him.

My fingers dug into the sheets as I could feel myself pulse around nothing, the pressure in my lower stomach slowly building as whimpers left me and I squeezed my eyes shut tightly as whispered curses broke from my lips and my breath heaved, and Azriel's hum vibrated through me. Then his tongue ran over my clit and he sucked, hard, obscene sounds filling the room as he kept pushing and pushing –

The knot in my stomach collapsed and my back arched off the mattress, hips bucking as waves of pleasure crashed over me, my insides twisting and exploding like stars and loud whining sounds breaking from my lips as my eyes rolled back.

I felt Azriel's soft moan more than I heard it, sending vibrations through my body and causing my hand to fly down and dig into his hair. My hips jerked and rolled as my thighs twitched, sharp twinges of pleasure causing my whole body to spasm, but Azriel didn't stop. His tongue lapped at everything he could get, eyes fluttering as another groan rumbled through his body, making me whimper, and he moved, fingers digging into my thigh, keeping it wrapped over his shoulder as he pushed closer, sucking harshly, tongue swirling, and I could feel my stomach twist and turn as another knot built, even tighter and bigger than before.

My mouth fell open, my head pressing into the mattress; Azriel gave a soft sound, maybe an encouragement or a plea, and the world simply slipped away, bursting into a million pieces as the knot exploded, crashing down into a wave so violent, my body shuddered.

My insides tightened, tightened with pleasure so blinding, I couldn't breathe, no sound leaving me as I twitched and writhed, and Azriel kept going, kept sucking my clit into his mouth, tongue pressing against it and flicking over me until my trembling fingers curled deeper into his hair, because it was too much, too good, too much -

My insides twisted, twitching as my knees shook and a breathless whimper left me, and I dug my nails into Azriel's scalp and tugged, tugged harshly until with a soft rumbled growl, the shadowsinger pulled away.

My heart missed a beat, another.

Azriel's pupils were blown, eyes heavily lidded and a little far away when he raised his head, licking his swollen lips. His mouth and chin were glistening as he slid his hands off my thighs, and my breath hitched.

The bed dipped when Azriel pushed himself to his feet to move up my body, his arms pressing down next to my head, his bare chest brushing over mine and his knee pressing into the mattress between my thighs. His nose softly nudged against mine, like a silent question of you alright, and something tipped over in my chest, rising and fluttering.

Quickly, I slipped my hands into his hair and pulled him down, and Azriel groaned softly when I pressed my lips feverishly against his. His body sank into mine when he kissed back, deep and desperate.

My heart skipped against my ribs, and I wrapped a leg over his back, because he still wasn't close enough, not where my middle was pulsing -

The shadowsinger went rigid under my touch when I dragged him down, down until his whole body pressed into mine and I could feel -

Azriel caught my hand, grip tight around my fingers as he breathed heavily, his voice hoarse as he mumbled against my lips: "Are you sure -"

A moan slipped past my lips, soft and pleading as my insides turned, something hot washing over me as I nodded into the kiss, maybe a bit too frantic, too eager, but it didn't matter, not with the groan leaving Azriel's throat, rumbling through his body in what felt like pure relief and desperation.

I tugged at his pants, feeling them slip down his hips and over his legs as Azriel pushed my thighs apart. His lips dragged over mine, then I could feel the tip of his cock nudging against my folds.

My breath gave out, an ache spreading through my body as I whimpered, and Azriel's jaw shifted as he moved in the spot, trying to find an angle with him kneeling on the side of the mattress -

A soft, impatient sound left him; his hands slipped under my backside, and Az lifted me up.

My breath hitched, my arms quickly sliding over his shoulders when Azriel straightened, lips crashing against mine as my chest pressed into his, and I moaned when I could feel him rub up against me as he turned around.

My back hit the wall, and I whimpered, Azriel's tongue dragging over mine as he pushed closer, dragging my thigh up his side as his tip brushed through my folds, way easier like this for him to -

My heart got caught in my throat. My lips fell open, and my heart rose into my throat as I felt myself stretch around Azriel's cock, his hard length pressing at my walls he slowly began to push in.

Azriel dropped his forehead against mine with a strained grunt, his back muscles flexing as my fingers dug into the back of his shoulders, harsh breath hitting my skin as he slowly began to work his way in.

Whimpering softly, I shifted my hips, because he was big and I felt too tight and -

My eyes fluttered, a quiet sound leaving me when my walls closed around him, pulling him in, and Azriel's grip tightened when his hips settled against mine. His hand pressed against the wall over my head he breathed heavily against my lips, nose nudging against mine, and I whimpered, tugging him closer.

A soft groan left Azriel, and his hand slid down to the side of my neck, tilting my head back to kiss me. It was messy and breathless and I whimpered when his tongue slid against mine, his teeth sinking softly into my bottom lip and pulling lightly. His nose nudged against mine, then Azriel slipped his hand down to grip the back of my thigh, pulling it higher up his side, and I felt my lips part when it caused him to slide inside of me.

Azriel pressed his forehead against mine, out of breath as his throat worked, and I curled my fingers into his hair, nodding frantically as my insides tightened, and my head tipped back against the wall when Az slowly pulled out. Then he thrusted back in, and my lips fell open.

Slowly, little by little, Azriel took me apart. His lips dragging over my throat, heavy breaths hitting my skin, hot and ragged, his fingers digging into my thighs as his slow, deep rhythm shook me to my very core.

With every thrust, the world seemed to tip a little more, until there was nothing anymore, nothing but him, body rocking mine into the wall, his cock hitting deeper with every thrust. His arm gripped me tighter, then his hand tugged down one strap of my soft bra and his palm closed over my breast, causing a whimper to break from my lips that turned into a moan when Azriel's lips latched onto my nipple, a groan rumbling deep in his throat when he bit and sucked on my skin, rough palm squeezing and tugging at my breast until my insides tightened around him, squeezing as I shuddered and dug my fingers into his hair, dragging him back up, and Azriel moaned hoarsely into my mouth as our lips crashed together.

His hips snapped forward, and my hand flew out to grip the mantlepiece as my own rolled down to meet his next thrust.

Azriel's shoulders trembled as his fingers almost slipped off my thighs, and a sound left him that caused my chest to rise when his cock hit a spot so deep inside of me, I lost my breath. Lost my grip, felt my stomach pulse, and Azriel groaned against my lips when I dug my fingers into his neck and started meeting his hard, slowly quickening thrusts.

My lips fell open, my eyes fluttering as little by little, that familiar tightness began to form in my lower stomach. Only it felt even brighter, hotter and more pulsing than before, with Azriel buried deep inside me, hitting that spot that made my body writhe with every hard snap of his hips. I knew he could feel it too, the way my insides wound tighter with every thrust, fluttering and pulling him in, his grip bruising as he breathed harshly against my neck, deep, hoarse sounds leaving him somewhere halfway between moans and whimpers, and maybe those sounds alone would have done me in. But then his nose dragged up my cheek, and Azriel pressed his forehead against mine as my fingers scratched over his scalp, his ragged breath hitting my lips as his lids fluttered over his eyes that looked like melted amber.

His hand slipped between us, and my breath caught. Simply stopped when Azriel's rough thumb brushed over my clit, slow and hard, and the world fell apart. Became exploding galaxies and stardust as waves of pleasure crashed over me so intensely, I felt my body tremble and shake beyond measure, my eyes rolling back as my sight went blurry, and Azriel's thrusts faltered. His hips snapped once, twice before pushing in deep, then his head fell forward and lips opened soundlessly as his body shuddered.

no. 9: friends don't fall in love with each other.

When I woke up, Azriel was gone.

Something tightened a little in my chest, and I quickly sat up, my gaze moving over my clothes haphazardly strewn over the floor, the crinkled sheets and the window behind which, the sky was still a deep black, with galaxies twinkling in the far, far distance.

I couldn't have been asleep for long.

A little bit of pressure built in my throat, a gentle ache forming in my chest, and I quickly slipped off the mattress, picking up my sweater and tugging it over my head as I padded towards the door.

The townhouse was submerged in peaceful silence, the moon shining through the windows onto the stairs the only source of light as I soundlessly moved down the steps.

On the third floor, there was faint light shimmering out from under the door to the library, and my breath got caught in my throat.

Swallowing softly, I carefully opened the door and slipped through. Gently closing it behind me, I started to quietly move past the shelves until I caught movement over at the window, and my heart did a flip against my ribs when I came to a slow halt.

Azriel was with his back to me, slowly wandering from side to side, his bare feet making no sound on the hardwood floors, his shoulders tense, wings shifting and muscles working under his skin as he ran his hands through his hair. Shadows were pooling around his feet, completely quiet for once, just gently brushing against his ankles when he leaned forward, pressing his palms onto the window sill and dropping his head.

Something tightened a little in my chest, and I pulled up my shoulders, whispering softly and a bit hesitantly: "Az?"

Azriel stilled for a moment. Then he looked over his shoulder, and his eyes found mine, amber in the warmth of the fae lights.

I tried to fight against the soft skip in my chest and stared at him.

Azriel blinked before straightening slowly, his deep voice sending rushs of soft tingles down my spine when he mumbled: "Are you okay?"

I nodded, feeling one corner of my lips rise carefully as I fiddled with my sleeve and my eyes flickered back and forth between his.

"You?"

Azriel's gaze wandered over my face as he slowly turned to look at me, eyes moving over mine, almost like he was looking for something. Then he nodded lightly.

Feeling the curve of my lips deepen, I shifted a little on the spot, mumbling softly: "You don't look like it."

Azriel blinked again, and his throat worked a little, something shifting in his jaw. The tightness in my chest grew a little as I stared at him, feeling my throat close up.

I knew that look, knew how it meant he was in his head.

"Th-this doesn't have to change anything." I quickly shook my head, taking a step forward as I stared at him. "We can just forget about it, if you -" My eyes darted over his face, something tightened sharply in my chest, and I blurted hastily: "I'll get over it; I can push it away, I mean I think I have for centuries, I can pretend, and it'll go away, and we'll just -"

I broke off, my eyes darted up, and my heart did one mighty flip.

Because I had just realised what in my hurry to make Azriel's doubt go away had slipped from my lips.

And because Azriel had straightened. His lips parted as his eyes rushed over my face, and I barely suppressed the urge to swallow.

Shit.

"What?" Azriel's voice was hoarse as he stared at me, and I nearly winced.

"I don't know;", my voice rose to a panicked, high tone as I widened my eyes and quickly raised my shoulders, "you looked so in your head, and I know we messed up, but I can't lose you, and if you think this was a mistake or you don't like me like that, I -"

The shadowsinger stared at me, and suddenly, his eyes brightened. Started to shine like amber held into the sun, and his shoulders sank like the tension of centuries had flooded from his body. His lips parted a little more as he stared at me, and suddenly, the shadow of a crease formed in his cheek.

"Push what away?"

Something started rising in my chest, fluttering wildly as Azriel's eyes pierced mine and the golden spots in his iris started to dance.

Azriel stared at me. Then he began to slowly walk towards me, iris bright and twinkling. My heart tipped and tilted, and I swallowed, my gaze darting around the room.

Rough fingers gently closed around my chin, and my breath got caught in my throat, simply stopping when Azriel mumbled: "No, no, come on, sweetheart." His thumb and forefinger gently forced me to look up, up until I met his eyes flickering over my face, his deep voice tickling my spine and something shifting through his gaze, careful, anxious, when he said softly: "Push what away?"

I felt my lips open, my heart pounding harshly against my ribs, and my brows arched on their own accord.

"Oh, come on; really?" My voice rose desperately, and in any other situation, it would have been hilarious.

"What do you want to hear; that kissing you made the fucking world stop? That you probably ruined me for every godsdamned male out there, because there's no way anyone could ever make me feel that way again? That I was too stupid to realise I've fallen for my best friend like a complete idiot, even though you make my heart beat out of my chest everytime you just look at me? That you're everything? Tha-"

Azriel leaned down, and the world tipped off its axis when he kissed me, his hand slipping to the nape of my neck to tug me closer, fingers tangling in my hair. Then he started to smile against my lips, slow and wide, and my breath caught when he dipped forward and kissed me deeper.

Digging my fingers into his sides, I tried to keep my heart from fluttering out of my chest as something rose so violently under my ribs, a soft sound broke from my throat when Azriel's tongue slid against mine, and a slightly shaking exhale left him.

Gently brushing his thumbs over the side of my neck, Azriel slowly pulled away, his nose nudging against mine when he mumbled roughly against my lips: "If it makes you feel any better, you definitely ruined me for everyone I'll ever meet."

A trembling breath left me, and I pulled my head back to stare up at Azriel, that flutter in my chest growing when I saw the light in his eyes when he stared back down at me.

"You -" My voice gave out, and one corner of Azriel's lips quirked a little.

"I?" His voice was a little hoarse as his eyes tracked over mine, and he swallowed softly. "Am in love with you."

My breath caught in my throat.

Azriel's eyes moved over my face, and I could feel a gentle exhale leaving him as his hands pulled me closer until I gently bumped into his chest and he dropped his head, staring at me, looking like he was trying not to swallow as he mumbled lowly: "I've loved you for as long as I can remember. And I'll probably still love you when we're nothing but dust under the sky. The only reason I didn't tell you sooner was that I was scared to lose you if you didn't feel the same."

I breathed out and closed my eyes as my heart rose in a wild flutter and a warm thrum built in my chest as my lips started to curve into a ridiculously wide, desperate smile. "We're so stupid."

I felt Azriel's soft huff more than I heard it. Then his breath brushed over my face, and the next second, his hands slipped under the underside of my thighs and lifted me up.

My legs locked around his waist like instinct, my breath hitching as I held onto his shoulders, and my heart skipped when my nose almost bumped into Azriel's, his eyes bright as he stared at me.

"Remember when you asked me how you're supposed to know what you're looking for and I said you just know?" His low, deep voice sent a shiver down my spine, and I swallowed and somehow managed a nod.

One corner of Azriel's lips curved, then he dropped his head, and my breath caught in my throat, my eyes fluttering close when he leaned his forehead against mine.

"I was thinking of you." Azriel's quiet voice vibrated over my skin. "Because you became all I ever wanted, all I could see when I realised you were what I had been looking for my whole life."

My fingers curled into his hair, and a soft sound left Azriel's lips the same moment my heart rose into my throat.

"Sappy,", I whispered, my voice breaking a little, and Azriel chuckled against my lips before he pulled back, and something tipped over in my chest at the way he stared at me.

I blinked before looking down at his arms holding me up, chest pressing into mine, and something rose under my ribs.

"Now what?"

Azriel's lips curved, and my heart stumbled and skipped at the way his golden eyes twinkled when he raised a brow.

"Now I'll take you back upstairs and we'll do some more things that will ruin just thinking about anybody else."

no. 10 - the golden rule: friends make their own rules.

(and occasionally realize they aren't friends at all and they're idiots.)

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @ailyr92

[sweet-pea-channie]

I am absolutely in love with this! 😍😍

[paintedwritings]

The Battle Between

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/her pronouns used)

Word Count: 9.9k

Read Part 1 Here!

Summary: Reader now knows that she’s pregnant, with the Spymaster of the Night Court’s baby, after a one night stand. Cue inward groaning. How in the Mother was she supposed to navigate this?

Warning/Notes: Thank you everyone who liked and responded to the first part! I’m excited to write this part, and maybe a part three depending on how this one ends. Angst??? A little, there is gonna be hardships and talk about dangerous pregnancies and fears so just keep that in mind. There is a little self harm in the form of snapping a rubber band–nothing too bad, but just something to keep in mind.

This is my first taglist, hopefully I did it right! Please let me know if there are any problems with it. 

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

Y/n 

Pregnant. 

With a baby.

No matter how hard she tried, that one thought kept elbowing its way through all of her defenses, a relentless battering ram against the flimsy walls of her denial. The rest of the day was a blur, a chaotic symphony of buzzing white noise as she finished her shift at the clinic. She had found herself outside a bakery with her sister and friend as she pushed her cinnamon bun around on the plate, their presence barely registering. Mari chatted about her latest project, her voice a distant hum she couldn't focus on. Lena nudged her knee, a question lingering in her wide, familiar eyes: Are you okay?

No.

Y/n was not okay. In fact, she was so far from okay that she couldn't even bring herself to say the problem out loud. Saying it out loud made it real, and she was so not ready to accept it yet. Not even close.

She hadn't even reached a century in age. She was supposed to have all the time in the world to find someone to share this kind of joy– because isn't that how she should feel? Shouldn't she be happy about this kind of news? Some fae tried for decades, for centuries, and weren't able to fall pregnant. And somehow she has a one night stand with a guy she only just met and it happens to her? What had she done to the Mother to warrant such bad luck?

She stared into her empty apartment. She had no idea where Lesa was tonight, couldn't find it in herself to care. She hadn't even remembered the walk home, missed the worried glance between Lena and Mari as they made their own ways home. 

She wasn't ready to tell her sister or any of her friends, so them not being here was really for the best. Her eyes snagged on the bookshelves, the coffee table, even some of the opened cabinets. The kitchen doubled as a dining area, and the two small bedrooms squished together in the back were no bigger than the one bathroom they had access to. 

I can't raise a baby here.

The thought came out of nowhere, bitch-slapping her with a fresh wave of tears as she slid down her door, her hands grappling her poor strands of hair – she could practically hear them screaming as she pulled and yanked just to feel anything other than this numbness. There was absolutely no way she would sleep tonight, not between finding out the…news, and doing her best to forget the man who had gotten her into this mess.

No.

She reminded herself that this was not his fault, not entirely. It took two to tango, and gods, she had wanted to. Why hadn't she made sure to take a tonic afterwards, though? She had had so much going on it hadn't even crossed her mind, especially not with her abysmal attempts at forgetting that night, and the male, so viscerally. But, she was a healer, and a damn good one, taking a tonic should have been at the forefront of her thoughts. Not to mention the signs of early pregnancy that she had been so spectacular at ignoring: She had been utterly exhausted, chalked that up to the hard labor at the clinic and the late nights. Her nausea, which had been so out of the ordinary, she had convinced herself that it was stress, that she just had a lot on her plate. Cauldron, she had even had a sausage bagel the other morning and something about the smell had completely turned her off, and she had just brushed that off.

The tears that spilled down her cheeks painted her face, the outside mirroring her feelings perfectly. She had made mistakes, and they had led her to this point. She was doing her best to come to terms, honestly. But, all she kept coming back to was how this would change her plans: Would Madja take away her internship? The older fae hadn't alluded to this being a problem, but the internship was supposed to last a year and a half– this baby would disrupt at least a third of that time, if not more. She'd have to find her own place, buy all kinds of baby things– gods, what did babies even need? She had absolutely no idea– and that would surely drain her savings. And that's not even considering what would happen once the baby was here, how would she continue to work twelve hour shifts, or over-nights? 

She shook her head, trying desperately to reign in her growing panic. Stress was bad for a baby, right? She'd have to brush up on her readings, reacquaint herself with the information. She knew at this point, the baby was only the size of a pomegranate seed, so maybe stress wasn't her biggest problem right now.

Trying to remember her mother's soothing voice, she took a deep breath. She used to say that if she ever found herself with too much stress, or too many problems, to look at them one at a time. To start with the most ‘in the now’ concerns.

She could do that. Right now, her most pressing concern was to calm the storm that brewed and swirled chaotically inside of her. She needed to keep herself from falling victim to her panic. 

She made her way to the bathroom, splashing cool water on her face. Taking in her reflection, she wondered how something so monumental could leave her looking so… normal. Her hair remained the same shade, her face still symmetrical with both sides meeting in the center of her heart-shaped chin, and her eyes were the same color, still vibrant– still completely her. 

The quiet enveloped her for a moment, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room her only solace of time passing. But it didn't matter, not really, because she always came back to the same question:

How could this have happened? The question burned as it travelled through her, even as her mind provided the answer it already knew by heart: She had—happily—participated in said event that had caused this entire fiasco.

The memories of that night, of him, still resonated with her. She could still picture him perfectly, his dark curls, his honeyed eyes, and that beautiful, rare smile of his. She could hear his laugh, feel his tongue on her– in her. She could still hear his seductive, deep voice in her ears, the way his body had perfectly slotted with hers. And how he had used his body like it was built to sin. The memories were vivid, potent, and now… tainted. Each one a stark reminder of the impossibility of her current situation.

A soft shiver traced its way up her spine, entirely unrelated to the chill of the evening. It was a familiar sensation now, a subtle, cool brush against her skin, the gentle caress of shadows. She’d dismissed them for weeks, attributing them to lingering residual magic or perhaps her own overactive imagination. But tonight, they felt different—agitated, almost pulsing with an urgency she couldn't quite decipher. 

Exiting the bathroom, her bare feet padding softly against the cool tile, she did her best to remind herself that she couldn't change this, wondering how she got here, what she could have done differently– none of that actually changed the fact that it had happened.

“I'm pregnant.” She said aloud to no one in particular. The sob that followed the words did little to soothe the ache in her chest, in her belly. She found herself cradling her stomach, her hand smoothing over the skin that still looked the same, that hadn't grown yet. 

Even as she groaned, collapsing onto her own bed after the longest day of her life, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, she could feel the shift in her worries. How in the Cauldron was she going to tell him?

She hadn't so much as seen him around Velaris, or any of the Inner Circle for that matter. The last point of contact had been when Cassian dropped her off at her apartment that morning. Since then, she'd been actively avoiding any places she may accidentally stumble upon them:Rita's, but that was really more because she was busy, she tried to go to the markets a little later in the day, and she even avoided the bookshops she knew Cassian's mate was known to linger in. She didn't know why she was going to such great lengths– well, that wasn't true, not entirely. If she happened to stumble across him, she didn't want to risk him not remembering her, or worse,  of her making a fool out of herself when it was just one night. 

Y/n wasn't an idiot, she knew that the shadowsinger didn't date, gods, he had never been seen in public with any female more than once unless she was a member of the Inner Circle. He was mysterious and alluring and very much untouchable. How could she possibly spring this on him? There wasn't a scenario in her mind where this went well, where he didn't tell her to leave him out of it.

She screamed. Into her pillow. Full force.

Little did she know that somewhere in the corners of her room, the smallest, sneakiest tendril dwelled, keeping an eye on her. And, if it's chaotic whirls or uncoordinated spirals said anything, it had heard everything.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

Azriel

The clang of steel echoed through the private training ring deep within the House of Wind, a rhythmic symphony of combat that usually brought Azriel a measure of grim satisfaction. 

Today, it was just noise. 

Cassian, a whirlwind of muscle and easy power, moved with his usual devastating grace, but Azriel was off. He had been off for weeks, and it had started grating on his nerves. He didn't react this way, not to anything, especially not to a female that he had a one-night stand with.

He blocked a sweeping kick that normally would have sent him reeling, but his parry was sluggish, his return strike lacking its usual viper-quick precision. He ducked under a heavy sword swing, his shadows flaring erratically around him, a tell-tale sign of his unsettled mind.

"Lost your edge, brother?" Cassian's voice, usually a booming laugh in the ring, was laced with a knowing smirk as he effortlessly dodged a strike that was too low to the ground. He ducked under a wide swing, his focus miles away, almost taking a glancing blow to the temple.

Azriel parried Cassian's brutal overhead swing, the clash of blades jarring his teeth. He returned with a low thrust, aiming for Cassian's knee, but his movement was a beat too slow, his focus fractured. He saw Cassian's eyes narrow, a flicker of concern mingled with amusement. Another block, then a sidestep that wasn't quite fluid enough. Cassian's elbow caught him squarely in the ribs, a breath-stealing impact that would usually infuriate him into faster, deadlier action. 

But today, it just felt dull, distant.

 Cassian grunted, twisting away from a half-hearted swipe to his legs. Azriel felt a flicker of heat, not from exertion, but from Cassian hitting too close to a nerve. He pushed back, harder, trying to banish the apple-blossom scent and the memory of soft, intoxicating skin from his mind.

His shadows swarmed chaotically, proving no help to him in the ring today. If he was being honest with himself, they hadn't been much help to him the past few weeks. Ever since that night. Almost as if he had lost his complete control over them, as if they now answered to another that he wasn't privy to. 

 "Or just dreaming of... ghosts?” Cassian quipped, a predatory grin on his face as he pressed his advantage. Something knowing glinted in the war General's eyes, an assessment that screamed he knew more than he was letting on. 

Azriel couldn't help the soft, but deadly growl that slipped from between his lips. He rushed Cassian, his sword sweeping wide as he feigned right, but Cassian saw it from a mile away. His footwork was amateur at best, his movements sluggish and sloppy. Cassian merely sidestepped the wild lunge, his own blade a blur. With a sharp twist of his wrist, he expertly hooked Azriel's sword, wrenching it from his grasp with a clang that echoed loudly through the silent training ring. 

Azriel found himself suddenly disarmed, breathless, and glaring at the empty space where his weapon had been. Cassian, breathing only slightly harder than normal, lowered his own sword until its tip rested gently against Azriel's throat. 

"Like I said, brother," he murmured, his grin widening, "definitely off your game."

He withdrew the blade, sheathing it with a decisive click. "You done for the day? Or do I need to kick your ass again?”

Azriel didn't bother with a response. Quietly getting to his feet, he grabbed the sword and placed it in its home amongst the other blades and scabbards. He made his way to the water cooler, ignoring the concerned look etching its way onto his brother's face with expert precision. 

An all-too-familiar ache took over him, his hand finding his chest on instinct. He hadn't been able to shake the emptiness that burrowed deep within him. It had only gotten worse the past few weeks, that sensation becoming a close friend– or enemy– that had stayed past its welcome.

“Seriously, Az, what gives?” Azriel loved his brother, he did, but that didn't mean his insistent poking and prodding didn't drive him up the wall. 

Had he been off his game lately? Yes. That didn't mean he needed constant check-ins, though. This was his problem, and he'd be damned if he didn't figure it out on his own. 

“Not sleeping well, that's all.” Vague, but hopefully enough to satiate Cassian's curiosity. 

That was an understatement, though. Azriel had never really slept well, he bordered the insomniac line, and usually found more comfort in resting, then actually sleeping. He had never known what he was missing out on, his sleep schedule perfect for his spy work, but that night? 

The night spent with her. 

Y/n.

The memories of that morning, weeks ago, flooded him. He had woken up then, the midmorning sun beaming in through the glass doors. For the first time in his five centuries of life, he had felt completely at peace. There were no lingering nightmares, no stress about upcoming missions; he hadn't even woken up to go to training. His shadows had kept to themselves in the corners, quiet and content, not rousing him. He had been shocked when he realized he had slept so late, had been even more shocked when he realized the beautiful fae he had brought home was nowhere to be found. The only signs she had even been there: his naked body and her lingering apple-blossom scent.

Ordinarily, Azriel made sure to go somewhere else, either the female's apartment or maybe even an inn. Never, had he brought a female back to his home, to his room. It made things complicated. Sometimes, it gave the wrong idea, made them think that because he'd brought them home, he'd want to continue the previous night's activities. He didn't like to give them false hope, no, it was much easier this way. 

His bedroom was his sacred place, the space he went to get away from everyone else, where no one could touch him. For some reason, though, he hadn't even thought about bringing her there. It had been instinct, he had wanted to see her splayed out on his bed. It made it easier to convince himself that she had been his, even if it was just for that night.

He hadn't even changed his sheets, hadn't allowed the House to do it, either. Admitting why he felt comfort in that scent, in her, though? Well, he hadn't even attempted to touch that line of thinking; it was too dangerous, too vulnerable. He simply accepted that he couldn't change what brought him comfort; why should he have to explain it?

He'd been expecting to wake up with her in his bed, his arm slung around her– maybe even have a passionate morning rendition of the night before. But, instead he'd woken up to find her gone, her side of the bed cold and deserted. She had begged Cassian to bring her home, gods, she hadn't even wanted to see him. It made him wonder if she had had as good a night as him. She had seemed to enjoy herself, if her three orgasms, that he had on constant repeat in his mind, were any indication.

No, she must have enjoyed herself, right?

Then why did she flee?

He shut that thought down as quickly as it came. He didn't have time to ponder her thoughts or what might have been. It was a one night stand and he needed to accept that. He needed to get her off of his god-damned mind.

“That's never stopped you from handing me my ass before,” Cassian continued, his eyes burning into the back of Azriel's head. He was like a dog with a bone when he wanted to be. 

And, he had taken her home that morning. Azriel would be lying if he said he wasn't a little irritated with his brother over it. He could have woken him, could have told him she wanted to go home, he would have gotten her there safely. And, maybe, he wouldn't be feeling this incomplete mess, he'd have… closure.

Surely that was all he needed.

Crushing the cup in his hand before tossing it into the bin, he shrugged, “Maybe I thought you deserved a win,” before Cassian could respond, Azriel was out of the training ring and walking to his room, ignoring the sound of his name being called. 

He held his breath the whole way there, trying desperately to reign in his jumbled feelings. He was the spymaster for crying out loud. He didn't falter when faced with enemies, or wars, or missions– nothing shook him. He needed to be a solid force for his family, his court to rely on– not some heaving mess of a male.

Azriel's mind was a maelstrom. He shot through the halls of the House of Wind, propelled by an urgency that overshadowed all else. His earlier ache had solidified into a heavy, leaden weight in his chest. He reached his room, barely registering the familiar darkness before his eyes snapped to the balcony doors and  that clawing, nagging voice in the back of his head made itself known once more.

Why couldn't he move past this, past her?

He slammed his fist against the wall beside the balcony, the sound echoing in his room. He heard the crack, felt it deep in his body as his knuckles caved under the laden stone of the wall. The skin splitting easily, the blood pooling as he took in the wrecked bones.

He couldn't find it in himself to care, not when it was the safest, most comfortable feeling he'd had in weeks.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

Y/n

Strong, calloused hands cupped her face. Deep, molten pools of honey staring intensely into her own deep wells. His lean body pressed against hers, shivers running the length of her arms as they chased his shadows.

“Azriel,” she breathed, his teeth catching her bottom lip as she let her hands roam over every glorious inch of him she could reach. His skin was dipped in pure heat, the places her fingers met only enhancing the warmth blossoming in her core.

She couldn't get enough, not as he finally breached that distance, his mouth claiming hers in with an animalistic glint in his eyes. He didn't simply kiss, he savored, he coaxed, and then devoured. His fingers found their way to her scalp, wrapping around the hair there and pulling, just enough to elicit a moan from her, just enough for his tongue to slip in. He ate the noises slipping from between her lips, his tongue quickly won the battle of dominance. 

Her hands found their place on his sides, running along the muscle and finding the curve of his ass as he continued to kiss the daylight out of her. He groaned and shifted against her aching core, right where she wanted him. She could feel his arousal, could do nothing but beg for him to end her misery.

“Please,” she whispered between kisses, “Please, don't stop,” his smile resembled something sinful, something utterly devilish, it only appeared for a moment, just long enough for her to rock her pelvis against his, a hiss coming out.

“Patience, pretty,” he cooed, his tongue finding the pulse point on her neck, sucking and licking before placing a soft, almost reverent kiss to it. 

“We have all the time in the world.”

Y/n woke with a brutal start, the moonlight from her window barely lighting enough space for her to throw herself out of bed and whip the door open. She had mere seconds between slamming into the bathroom, her knees cracking against the tile floor before retching violently into the porcelain bowl.

She’s not sure how long she stayed there, her hair a mess of waves around her, hugging the toilet like it was her best friend, all the while her throat constricted and burned as she continued to vomit, her stomach swirling dangerously.

She heard Lesa's door open, but couldn't pull herself away from the toilet long enough to investigate. Not that she needed to, the small blond poked her head into the bathroom, sleep still lingering on her delicate features.

“You okay?” She yawned. Her feet making soft noises as she padded over, collecting Y/n's hair and holding it back as another tremor made its way through her.

She barely managed a ‘no’ before the sickness took over. Lesa cooed quietly at her, grabbing a rag and wetting it before dabbing Y/n's face, securing her hair with a leather band, and flushing the evidence down the toilet.

Finally, after what felt like hours, her stomach settled. The cold compress the only real relief against her shaking limbs. She leaned against the tub as Lesa handed her a glass of water and some medication. 

“I can't believe you're still this sick,” she shook her head, golden curls getting tucked behind her ear as she took care in watching over her friend. “Are you sure it's just stress? I know it's rare for fae to get sick, but this isn't normal.”

If she had more energy she may have cursed herself for not having the foresight to stay with Lena. Her sister was many things, but a healer was not one of them. She would be worried, but she wouldn't have put it together this quickly. She could already see the wheels spinning in Lesa's intelligent gray eyes as she mentally ticked off all the possibilities.

She had met Lesa at a herbalist retreat years ago. Lesa had made a comment about how she thought the moonbloom flowers she and Y/n had been tasked with researching were in love– and therefore couldn't be seperated. Y/n had thought she was a quack– and to be fair, she is– but she’s her quack. The two quickly found shared interests and common ground when they realized they were both in school to become healers. It hadn't taken long for their bond to solidify, and they'd been thick as thieves ever since. 

She wiped her mouth with the rag, dropping the disgusting thing in the laundry basket as Lesa slowly helped her to her feet. They remained quiet as they made their way to the living room couch, there was no way either of them were getting back to sleep. She could already see dawn cresting the sky as daytime began to take over, the moon finding its home lower in the sky as minutes ticked on.

Lesa brought her a pack of bland crackers and more water, settling next to her as they watched the sunrise. She didn't pressure or ask invasive questions, she just sat there and waited until Y/n was ready. 

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered so quietly she wasn't sure Lesa could hear her. Lesa hummed, as if she already suspected, her hand rubbing soothing lines up and down her back. “And, I'm terrified,” she added, even quieter. 

Lesa smiled at her, pearl, straight teeth on full display as she worked her magic. Lesa had this magnetic pull, she could make anyone feel at ease, it was just her personality. She’s kind and gentle, and a huge gooey romantic. And Y/n couldn't think of anyone else she wanted helping her at this moment.

“That's normal, being terrified– I mean.” She laid her head on Y/n's shoulder, her sweet cinnamon and cardamom scent wafting around them. “It's a massive adjustment to a person's life, even in the beginning before anything really changes.”

She felt the tears forming, and did her best to hold them back as she said, “I don't know if I'm happy about it.” She let out a hysterical laugh that definitely bordered on crazed. “Gods, Les, what does that say about me?” Running her hand down her face, smearing the stubborn tears that had fallen, she met her friend’s kind– completely non-judgmental face.

“It doesn't say anything about you. It just means that you're coming to terms, that you need time to find a balance between what you thought your life would be, and how this could change things.”

This would change things, there was no doubt about that. There were so many aspects of her life that would be different than how she expected them to be. But, despite all that, she found herself leaning into Lesa, her warmth a shield against all those scary, and troubling thoughts.

“What would we do without you?” She said affectionately.

Lesa giggled, “Crash and burn, no doubt. Now, since you're feeling better, I'm going to go get the others so we can have a proper chat about this,” Y/n groaned, already dreading the interrogation she wouldn't be able to escape. 

Despite that, she smiled for the first time since finding out this life-altering news.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

The interrogation with her sister and friends had gone about as well as she could have hoped for:

Lesa had remained a pillar. Staying unbiased and guiding the conversation effectively. And, she threw in a few ‘oohs,’ and ‘ahhs,’ whenever Azriel was mentioned– they all knew he had to be the father, he had been the only person she’d been with in nearly a year–the timing matched perfectly.

Mari had stared at her for about three minutes, her mouth falling open in a perfect 'O' of shock. Then her gaze had shifted from that of surprise to concerned. A faint crease appeared between her brows as if she was trying to fit this unexpected piece into the complex tapestry of Y/n's life. "Is this something you want?” Not once, in their seventy-five years of friendship had either of them ever mentioned children. They were simply young in terms of fae.

Peri– the quietest of them had been a rock amongst her storm. She listened intently, didn't move or speak for a long moment. Then, with a quiet solemnity, she simply reached out, her hand finding Y/n's and squeezing, her gaze steady and filled with an unspoken, deep understanding that bypassed all the chaos. She had put her arm around her and didn’t let her go.

Lena had gone through the full spectrum of emotions. She had started with denial–she had actually laughed. And when Y/n hadn’t yelled “psych” and started laughing too, Lena’s laugh had quickly morphed into hysteria. That had quickly bled into outrage, mainly at Azriel, briefly cursing him through their shared tattoo, or threatening to make good on her scrote to throat comment.

When she finally calmed down, her anxiety had strapped its shields and lifted its blades. She had been the one to voice the question they all had: How are you going to tell him?

She hadn’t been able to answer that, and it only made the pit in her stomach evolve into something aggressive and terrifying. Maybe she could just like… send him a postcard or something? 

She wondered how long she could get away with ignoring this. She probably had another few weeks before she really started showing, not a lot of time, but maybe enough to wrap her head around it.

The real issue was that she didn’t actually know how to get in contact with him. If she did, what would he say? She hadn’t gotten the impression that he was the kind of male to be cruel or outright ignore her, but she really didn’t know him that well. And, this wasn’t like she was asking for a second date, this was a baby.

Cauldron, how did one even begin to introduce that into a conversation. “Hey, shadowsinger, remember that one night weeks ago when you rocked my whole world. Well, surprise! Here’s a forever present in the form of my womb.” 

She couldn’t stop the physical reaction to that stupid thought, her head nearly slamming against the table. She’d give herself a few more weeks to figure it out, maybe then she could finally start to wrap her head around this whole thing.

Hours later, the soft clinking of glass and the gentle murmur of voices filled the air in Madja's busy clinic. The afternoon rush had just ended, and interns bustled between treatment rooms and the apothecary, each absorbed in their end of day tasks.

She hummed a quiet, off-key tune as she carefully arranged newly mixed Sunpetal Bloom salves on a display shelf. She prided herself on the perfect order of her workspace, a small pocket of calm in the sometimes hectic environment. She reached for another perfectly preserved Moonwhisper Leaf, her movements precise and practiced. 

Yet, even as she focused, a strange undercurrent of anticipation prickled at her skin. The energy in the clinic felt... different today. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor, like distant thunder, seemed to vibrate beneath the stone floor. She paused, tilting her head slightly, doing her best to convince herself it was nothing but fatigue–she hadn’t slept much last night between the nightmares and sickness.

She put the last vial away when she heard the distinct chirp of the front bell. She had a few more hours before the end of her shift, so without hesitation she grabbed her clip-board and made her way towards the charming sound. 

She came to an abrupt halt when her eyes collided with the back of a very large, very identifiable male. 

Maybe if she turned back now–

He spun around, his wings swiping through the air, the action causing the loose hair around her face to move chaotically. Hazel eyes collided with her round ones, her mouth slightly agape as she blinked like a moron. In all fairness, he stared at her just as dumbly, as if he couldn’t think of one possible reason why she would be here.

Beautiful. It’s really the only way to describe this male. Or yummy, that also worked. His hair curled slightly behind his ears, his massive wings gleaming a soft pink against the golden rays of the sun. His leathers sinfully tight against his impressive, powerful figure. 

She wet her lips subconsciously, his eyes immediately snapping to the action, his eyes darkening to the purest obsidian. She blushed furiously at being caught practically salivating over him, in front of him. 

Before either of them could come up with something to stammer out that would definitely be stupid or completely inappropriate, her spine stiffened as pain attached itself to her. The edges of her vision shredded with deep purples and twisted reds as her mind finally caught up with her magic –sensing the pain in the room. 

On instinct, her eyes scanned for the cause. Her sensory perception peeled around the edges of her vision as she located the injury in one of his hands, a phantom pain taking over her own as she took a closer step. 

When she's in close proximity and focusing, she sees or feels flickers, distortions, and concentrations of energy where pain or injury resides. It can help her to pinpoint injuries, even unseen ones like internal bruising or hairline fractures, with incredible accuracy. 

It's like a thermal map for discomfort.

Healer mode snapped into place, immediate and absolute. She moved towards him, closing the distance between them, her steps purposeful. When she reached him, she gently took his injured hand in hers, her touch firm, but careful. 

Despite her professionalism, she did her best to avoid his gaze, an easy feat when she needed to assess the extent of his injury anyways.She barely managed to capture the hiss that whizzed by her teeth as she got a better look at the mangled bones. This was not a small injury, from the looks of it, every single bone had shattered leaving nothing but jagged and loose pieces of bone floating about. 

Gods, he could have severed tendons or important ligaments, any healer would have to be very careful when trying to move his bones back into their rightful place. That wouldn’t account for the time it’d actually take to meld them back together, even then, he’d still have to wait for his own healing magic to set them. This process would take hours, and probably several sessions.

"What happened?" Her voice, though low, was sharp with professional demand. “And when?” She readjusted her grip to his wrist, trying to see if the injuries had ricocheted to bones further up his arm.

His feet readjusted, ever so slightly, almost as if unconsciously, before he let out a low, “I think I–broke it.” His fucking voice. She slammed so hard against her instinct to move closer, to smell him. Gods, what was happening to her?

Once again, it took her mind an embarrassingly long moment to out pace her body, but when it did–

Had he said he ‘thinks’ he broke it?

His hand was so far past broken, she wasn’t even sure she’d be able to fix it without the help of more healers. It would have been easier to reattach a severed hand. This was practically a thousand piece puzzle, each piece the exact same color, no distinction whatsoever.

Her head shot up on instinct, catching him already looking down at her, eyes hooded, Adam's apple bobbing. She couldn’t help but notice the stubble he’d grown, his skin kissed by the sun as if he’d spent the morning in an open training ring– her eyes narrowed, he’d better not have been training in this state. 

That thought kicked her right back into gear, “Yes, Azriel, it’s broken, shattered would be more precise,” she murmured as she went back to watching his hand, doing her best to hide the slight tremor in them as she resumed her movements. She held her breath as she took in the scars adorning his skin, the brutal marks that promised the memory of pain. She swallowed hard, it took an awful lot for fae skin, especially with Illyrian healing, to scar like that. 

She missed the way his eyes heated as she spoke his name, the sound rolling off her tongue coated in honey. She began leading him to the back of the clinic, bringing him to one of the sickbeds so they could get started.

“How long ago did this happen?”

“A few days.”

“I need you to be more specific than that, shadowsinger. Sit.” She demanded, placing her clipboard on the desk as she washed her hands, black gloves sliding on seamlessly. She also grabbed a rubber band and wrapped it around her wrist. Snapping it just once.

“Two days ago. I–” he looked sheepish, just a tad bit as her disapproving eyes bore into him. “I thought it would heal itself.”

That, she believed. He watched her intently as she fluttered about in her environment, her ease and determination making it obvious how talented and dedicated she was to her work. She placed salves, needles, rags, and a pair of tweezers on her stainless steel cart. All sorts of medicines and herbs littered along the walls, along with charts and posters, "Our healers run on coffee, good intentions, and the sheer disbelief that you actually tried that." Y/n had found it funny, and it usually worked as a good icebreaker, so bonus.

“What did you do?” She put a pair of magnifiers on, pulling up a seat next to where she had his hand displayed for her. She placed her hand over his, skin to skin contact usually worked best, but Madja had found gloves that could mimic the sensation, still allowing them to be safe and avoid cross-contamination. Cauldron, she loved the new ideas and trinkets that fae all over came up with these days.

As soon as her hand hovered underneath his she could feel the violent hum of her magic as it did its best to navigate the injury. Her eyes watched the thin, silver strand of her magic as it followed the natural path of the injury from start to finish. She could see that his knuckles had made the first impact, the bones flattening against what had probably been a steady, firm surface– more than likely stone or cement. 

Phantom flares of pain bounced along her bones as she did her best to take it away from him. 

He sucked in a sharp breath at the sensation of her magic moving from her body to his, the immediate relief of pain as she sucked the feeling into her magic and through her own body– her magic was truly fascinating, some would even say amazing, but it came at a price. She couldn’t take his pain without transferring it somewhere else. In this case, straight into her own body. But, her body had always been better at handling pain and she naturally healed faster than ordinary fae. Not to mention her pain tolerance was through the roof, whether because of her magic or from taking others' pain so often, she wasn’t sure. 

It was a small price to pay when it came to helping her patients heal faster, and have a more comfortable experience. 

“I punched the wall,” he said, so low she almost missed it. “It’s made of obsidian stone, my hand went straight through,” she stopped, her enlarged eyes meeting his, a small smile pulling at his lips as he took her in. Large goggles adorned her face, eyes the size of saucers and her nose turned up to keep the glasses on as she stared at him.

“You broke through obsidian stone?” She finally pulled away, placing his hand down slowly. Wheeling her chair over to her clipboard as she recorded her findings. Detailing her professional thoughts and her findings, while also adding insights and possible solutions.

“I wasn’t thinking straight.” He said simply. 

She guessed that was the end of that conversation. The how didn’t matter too much, though. She knew the general way he’d broken his hand, and the rest? Well, she had just wanted to know more. She cursed herself inwardly, she should not be asking this man more questions than necessary. 

She hadn’t even had a moment to think about her pregnancy during all of this, though she did quickly make sure that her glamours were intact. Surely now was not a good time to mention it? He seemed… vulnerable. And, she had only known for a few days, she hadn’t expected him to just walk into the clinic she worked at. She thought she had more time.

Shoving the thoughts aside, she stood, her hands crossing as she informed him of her professional opinion. “So there’s good and bad news,” she said, her eyes meeting his, each time seeming to make it harder to look away. “The good news is that it doesn’t seem to have traveled past the bones in your hands, the ones directly surrounding your knuckles were affected the most.” She crossed her legs as she leaned against the desk, doing her best to keep eye contact.

Come on, Y/n. He’s just like any other patient. It doesn’t matter that she knew what it felt like to have those fingers inside of her.

NO. 

Gods, what was wrong with her?

She snapped the rubber band once, twice, three times just to be safe.

She cleared her throat, “the bad news is that you’ve completely wrecked the bones that did break. They aren’t healing because the impact caused them to break into pieces that then, over the course of two days, have moved and mixed in such a way that they can’t mend themselves back together. Imagine a cup of dice being shaken. Your bones are the dice, your hand–the cup.”

He stared at her like she was speaking another language. He scratched the back of his head, his brow furrowing as he asked, “But it can be fixed?”

Without hesitation, “Yes.” She offered him a piece of paper, the one she’d been taking notes on, a small diagram of the bones drawn out to make it easier to understand. It would help any other healers that may need to work on his injury.

“As long as you don’t use it, try and keep it elevated, and-under no circumstances- should you be training.” Her eyes hardened, locking with his as he swallowed, hard. She may not be the most intimidating, but he was hurt–which made him her patient, even if just for a short while– She doesn’t mess around when it comes to her patients' health. So she stared into his eyes, “Capiche?” 

His jaw twitched, somewhere between a grimace and a wicked grin. It was incredibly sexy. She slipped her finger between the band on her wrist and let it fly. Bad Y/n. “For how long?” She did her best to hide the shock from the cool coated sensation that wrapped around her wrist, was that a…shadow?

Pointing at the diagrams she handed him, she continued, “This outlines the treatment method, you are free to consult any other professionals you trust, I know you and your family work with Madja a lot, I’m sure she’d be more than happy to help you out. When you choose a healer, I’m sure they’ll give you a timeline for your restrictions.”

His fingers in his uninjured hand tightened on the piece of paper, the white sheet folding slightly. He didn’t meet her gaze as he asked, “What if I want you to do it?”

She blinked. Surely, he didn’t mean that? Madja was much more successful in more complex injuries like this. She had spent centuries traveling courts and helping the Inner Circle of the Night Court. She had much more experience. Y/n had meant it when she said the injury could be healed, but Madja would be much faster, and he was lucky enough to have her at his beck and call.

She floundered for just a moment, catching the slight flush on his cheeks as he finally looked at her again. “I mean I– I can do it if you’re comfortable with that. But, I’ll warn you, my magic takes a lot more energy from me than hers. We’d have to do it in probably three or four sessions over the course of a week or two.”

“Works for me.” He spoke, his deep voice sending goosebumps down her spine. 

“You’re really not gonna like my restrictions for you,” That wicked grin was back as he stood to his full height. She quickly got to work wrapping his hand and keeping it secure for the night, adding in a touch of her magic to keep it from swelling and causing him pain. 

“If taking a few weeks off training means getting to see you more, it’ll be worth it.” 

She nearly fell off her chair. “I’m sorry, what?” She must have started snapping her rubber band subconsciously because his good hand reached out, stopping her movements. Small red dots bubbling from she’d repeatedly snapped it. 

He flashed his teeth, just barely, “Please, stop doing that.” When she didn’t yank her wrist away he slowly peeled the stupid thing off her wrist and tossed it in the bin.

He stared down at her, his thumb running over the underside of her wrist a few times. Her skin tingled where he touched her. Then he was jerking away his hand as if she burned him.

She rubbed her chest, the tight, heated sensation intensifying at the action.

She should tell him. Now would be the perfect time. Right?

But, she’s technically his doctor now, surely telling him she’s pregnant with his child broke some kind of bylaw. Yes. She would wait, take a few more days. She’d tell him during his last session and it would be fine. 

Spinning on her heel, palms meeting the cool marble surface of the desk, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 

“So what time works for you tomorrow?”

“The sooner the better, I can be here as early as six,” She tried not to balk, six am? She had not been sleeping well, and that sounded awfully early. And she had no doubt that tomorrow morning her would hate her right now for agreeing. That didn’t stop her though.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

She spun her pretty ass right back around, disbelief on her face. She was proud of herself, when he let out a small, rough laugh, she only faltered for a moment.

“Azriel!” She hushed him, making sure her door was completely closed. “If I’m going to fix your hand you cannot ask me things like that.” She whisper-yelled. Doing her best to ignore the chaotic thrum of her pulse, or the breath escaping her hold. 

The stupidly adorable grin was back, “Why not?”

“I’m your healer for starters, it's– it’s completely inappropriate.” She straightened her scrubs, nervously flipping her pony off her shoulder. Plus, it made her nervous, and made her stupid heart do a stupid little flip that definitely resembled something awfully close to hope. 

“So I’m not allowed to ask you out while you’re healing me?” 

“Exactly.” She allowed a small smile to slip from her as he finally seemed to understand. It would be for the best if they stayed professional, she could worry about the personal later. She hoped saying it enough would make it true. But then–

“I guess I’ll just wait until we’re done then.” Her eyes widened, wait–that wasn’t what she meant–

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Little Ghost,” oh gods, now he was calling her that? She so did not want that to stick. All she could do was watch as he effortlessly walked out of the treatment room, her head tilting she allowed herself the glorious vision of his ass. It was glorious. 

She found herself going to snap the rubber band, but was just met with the now healed skin. He had seemed rather… uncomfortable with her snapping it. Odd.

She watched the door long after he left. Her heart taking its sweet time to calm down. 

It was going to be a long couple weeks.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

Out of everything that had happened in the past month, she regretted this the most.

Dawn was just cresting the horizon as she made her way to the clinic the next morning. She had woken up late, dropped her coffee, and stepped in dog poop on the way out of the door and into work. 

She was cranky, exhausted, and really starting to think that this baby was some reincarnated crazy person hell bent on revenge in the form of morning sickness. 

Nevertheless, she persevered because she had told Azriel that they could start his treatment as early as he wanted. And the bastard had chosen an ungodly hour of the morning, and she had been too flustered in his presence to tell him she didn’t function properly before eight a.m. Yet another thing having a baby would ruin. 

She let out a frustrated huff as she tried the keys to the clinic, too many bags filled with supplies. She couldn’t get the key in, and nearly screamed when a calm, butterfly-inducing voice spoke from behind her.

“It seems doors have it out for you, Little Ghost,” She let her head drop against the glass, her breath granted life in the frost-chilled morning. He was early. Why wasn’t she surprised that he showed up early?

“I promise, I’m usually more put together,” she spoke, her voice muffled against the store.

He let out a small chuckle, casually taking the keys from her hand and sliding them into the intricate lock. “Why do I feel like that’s not entirely true,” she groaned as they made their way inside, him holding the door open and lingering outside for just a moment longer before following her lead.

She went about flicking lights on and setting her things down before facing the unforgettable presence that came with Azriel. It was then she noticed he had something in his hand, the other one still secured in the makeshift splint she’d given him yesterday.

Her eyes widened, it looked like coffee.

A godsend.

“I didn’t know how you like your coffee, so I brought tea.”

She couldn’t help the way her chest warmed, he had thought of her when he didn’t need to. When she hadn’t expected him to.

“Thank you,” she spoke softly as she took the cup offered. The warm liquid quickly finding its way down her throat. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He gave her a panty-melting smile. Gods. No one should look as good as him in the morning. His cedar and night scent lingering in the air as they made their way to the room they’d be working in. No one was due at the clinic for another few hours, so she’d be able to focus on piecing his bones back together.

“I wanted to.” 

A simple statement that sent her mind into a very not simple freak-out.

“You are something…else.” She said with nothing but kindness in her tone. She may not know this male well, but what she did know… well, there wasn’t one thing she hadn’t liked, hadn’t wanted to know more about.

He hummed in acknowledgement as he settled into his chair.

It didn’t take long for her to gather her supplies where they needed to be and placed her magnifiers on. Her magic was fully rested and ready to take on the task.

“Is it alright with you if I use my bare hands?” She asked, washing them in the sink. “My magic works better with contact, and the gloves can mimic it, but with an injury so complex– I figure any little boost we can give can’t hurt.”

“Of course,” he cleared his throat, “if you think it will help.” 

She smiles reassuringly, expertly ignoring the way his breathing hitched. “Today we’ll focus on getting your bones back to where they belong. That’ll probably take a few hours, if you need a break for any reason just let me know.” She pulled her chair up, his hand at her mercy. 

Then she began her work.

It was a long and slow process, Azriel hissing slightly every time she had to let the conduit of his pain slip from her grasp. Not something she enjoys, but is necessary to ensure she’s not severing his pain receptors. 

“Not a morning person?” He asked, his voice tight as she maneuvered a particularly jagged piece of bone to its rightful place.

She grimaced, not taking her eyes off his hand, “What gave me away?”

“Well when I mentioned coming in this early yesterday you looked horrified at the idea. And this morning you were cursing the sun when I–”

“I get your point,” she cut him off, embarrassment climbing through her. She had to remind herself that he was the Spymaster of the Night Court. People cowered at the mere mention of him, it was his job to notice the small things. She wasn’t special. And she needed to remember that. 

“I’m used to staying up late either studying or working, the mornings always come too soon. And, that may or may not irritate me sometimes.” She watched as the silver thread made its way seamlessly through the portion of bone she’d set back into place. A relieved sigh coming from him as the pressure released.

She wanted to keep him talking, though, because she was about to move onto another jagged piece that would definitely be uncomfortable. The more distracted he was, the more likely the pain would be background noise.

“Does that mean you’re a morning person?”

He tilted his head, “I’m an every time of day kind of person, I don’t sleep much.”

That caused her to stumble. He didn’t sleep much? He hadn’t even stirred that morning when she'd woken up in his arms. He had had such a relaxed and innocent face, not a crinkle in sight. She had assumed he wouldn’t get much sleep with his job, but she had started doubting when she slipped out so easily.

Before she could shove a foot in her mouth, she said, “That surprises me, you stayed asleep that–.” His head lifted so quickly, deep hazel chasms catching hers and holding her hostage. The movement of his body caused the aluminum tray with all her goodies to shake, her carefully crafted workspace falling victim to her inability to filter her thoughts.

“That morning?” He prodded, her face flushing as she realized she’d just stepped over a very thin line she hadn’t even realized she’d been walking. Forget pregnancy announcements, he seemed ready to delve into her early morning disappearance.

She swallowed, focusing back on his hand, the feeling of his eyes burning into the side of her skull. She never should have agreed to healing his hand. She should have insisted that he work with Madja, or someone else that hadn’t slept with him. She had just wanted to help him, and maybe she hadn’t wanted yesterday to be the last time she saw him before he disappeared forever. She wanted a few more interactions before the inevitable, denial or refusal regarding this baby. Their baby. 

This was such a sticky situation and she had no idea how to navigate it. Confliction had become her most sought after companion. One moment she wanted to shout the truth from the top of her lungs, beg him to stay, to help her; and next she wanted to take this truth and shove it so deep inside of her that she forgets it, or gets to keep the way he’s looking at her, even if just for a little while longer.

“For someone who isn’t a morning person, you certainly couldn’t get away from me fast enough.” She felt his pulse flutter, his body betrayed his empty sounding words. 

She took a deep breath. She supposed he deserved an explanation, and at least she could sort of answer this one. “I didn’t want to get away from you.” Her gaze briefly flicked to his before focusing once more.

“But, I also didn’t think you’d want to wake up with me there.” She managed to move the tricky piece in the right direction, her movements short and quick to avoid more damage. “I’m not an idiot, I’m well aware you don’t do attachment. I guess I didn’t want to be collateral.”

He openly gaped at her, his jaw tightening as he absorbed her words. “You don’t know me very well, Y/n. So I guess I can’t blame you for having that perception of me.” He ground the words out, he almost seemed hurt by her admission, but it had been the truth. The only one she could offer him.

She thought that’d be all he said on the matter as minutes ticked by in tense silence. Her magic still deftly stitching him back together. Then he murmured, his voice low, “It didn’t really matter that you didn’t stay,” her eyes narrowed as they met his, where was he going with this? “You had already made your way in,”

He didn’t speak after that, and she had been too stunned to respond. The revelation was all-consuming as she took the next hour or so to finish his hand. When she finally managed to put the bones back to their rightful places, she helped set bones and splint his hand. She had used the last dregs of her magic to meld them together temporarily. Long enough for her to regain her magic in the next few days, just in time for their next session.

Her mind kept bouncing back to what he had said. Maybe she had been worried for no reason. Perhaps, she had made a big enough indent in his life that he’d decide to stay, to be a part of this baby’s life. 

Maybe– maybe she was being selfish, trying to put the inevitable off, taking the time she needed, while actively denying him his. A painful twist took place in her stomach.

She couldn’t do this to him. He deserved to know. And if the roles were reversed and he kept something like this from her, something so monumental that it would potentially change her life–well, she’d be pretty upset. 

“Azriel,” she began, meticulously cleaning her area up as he flexed his wrist, moving the blood throughout his arm after sitting stiff for so long. “I–I need to tell you something.” When she found herself without anything else to clean or put away, she began wringing her hands, anxiety taking over her being.

She swallowed the sand in her mouth, the heavy feeling of her tongue fighting against her thoughts as they tried to spill out coherently. 

He must have understood the panic in her tone, or her body language, honestly who knew at this point. But, he stood in front of her in an instant, his fingers lifting her chin so their eyes could meet. 

“What’s wrong, Little Ghost?” He whispered, worry laced in his tone.

She felt the tears well in her eyes as the words, finally, slipped past her lips. As they found their mark, “I’m pregnant.”

He just stared at her, he didn’t blink, didn’t move, didn’t even seem to breathe. She held her breath, waiting for the inevitable– for the interrogation, the demand for answers, or even yelling.

He didn’t do any of those things, though. His eyes simply slipped from hers, his hand falling to his side as he took a step back. His good hand ran down his face, and then dragged through his hair roughly. 

Her hand flew to her mouth, trying her best to hide the quiver in her lips. She couldn’t stop the shaking, didn’t dare move as she watched him digest the information in real time. 

Finally, finally, he looked at her, his tortured gaze meeting her tear-filled one. A broken, “I’m sorry,” falling from her lips as her head dropped.

He didn’t approach, didn’t offer a reassuring smile or kind words. He simply croaked, “I can’t do this.” 

And walked out.

Taglist! @anon1227@hbizates-blog@zanaorian@meritxellao@iangelofmusic@sheblogs@paleidiot@lou-diaries@lreadsstuff@randomramblesfanfiction@waka-babe@whyucloudingmymind@bravo-delta-eccho@sttvrdustt@astraealupinblack@adventure-awaits13

[sweet-pea-channie]

oh gods, i love this! I really need to be added to the taglist. I want to know how the story continues, like right now!

[paintedwritings]

But First, The End

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/her pronouns used)

Word Count: 10.5k

Summary: A one-night stand with Prythian’s most notorious spy leads to an avalanche of life changing events. 

Warning/Notes: Hoping to make this a mini-series if people are interested! Some talk of anxiety, smutty/adult content, I think it can be categorized as fluff, but there will definitely be some angst eventually because I can’t help myself. Please let me know what you think and if you’d be interested in more parts! Thank you.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

The glimmering purple liquid burned as it raced down her throat, shot number–who even knew– as her hips swayed back and forth, the upbeat music acting as a guide. 

Heat danced across her flesh, pirouetting on every inch of her skin, as her friends pressed closely around her, dancing the night away. Lena–her twin sister, had been the one responsible for tonight. When she learned that her sister had been accepted to intern under the best healer in Velaris, well, she’d wanted to celebrate by taking Y/n out and–apparently– getting her laid, or very drunk, whichever happened first.

She hadn’t given much of a fight, it was rare that she got to enjoy a night out. Usually, she sequestered herself away in her own corner of the world studying herbal remedies and medicinal practices, or doing research on all sorts of plants and carnivorous insects.

“We need more alcohol,” Mari– one of her good friends, called out, not waiting for a response before dragging Lena behind her as they headed for the bar. Y/n watched as the small, fearless seamstress flipped her hair over her shoulder, exposing a small constellation tattoo, and smiled seductively at the bartender. Laughing slightly, Y/n spun on her heels, grateful that her friends were enjoying the night as much as she was.

Vasilisa, her sweet roommate, quickly filled in the gap the other two had left. Smiling softly at a male before she twirled once, the delicate glimmering mesh of her skirt chasing after her thighs. 

“The High Lord’s here tonight,” she giggled, throwing her arms around Y/n’s neck as she danced with her, but kept eye contact with the male just out of view. Perhaps alcohol was, in-fact, not what they needed more of. “And, he looks delicious.”

“He’s mated, Lesa, probably best to pick some other poor soul.” Despite the oddity of Lesa’s drunkenness, she couldn’t help but warm at her friend’s state. 

A small, devilish grin plastered across the girl’s face as she quickly shifted gears, “What about the shadowsinger? He’s not mated and Cauldron, he is scrumptious.”

At this point, Y/n would definitely have to be the one to stop drinking. With Mari and Lena still chatting up the bartender, more drinks appearing and disappearing before they ever left the counter; Lesa all but grinding against her as she mentally undresses the High Lord and the Spymaster of the Night Court; and Peri’s complete disappearance once a beautiful female had shown interest; it was a safe bet that she’d need to make sure everyone got home safely tonight.  

“I have an even better idea, Y/n,” Lesa squealed, her toes bouncing as she gripped both of her arms, big doe eyes pleading. “You should ask him to dance!” Lesa seemed so happy with herself, but she had to hold back the cringe that fought desperately to claw its way free.

She must not have done a good enough job hiding it, because Lesa pouted, “You don’t think he’s hot?” 

Y/n blanched, “No, of course I think he’s hot. I mean he's very tall, and gorgeous, and I like the way his shadows surround him, and I can only imagine what they can do in–” her cheeks flooded with heat that she couldn’t blame on the atmosphere. Good gods, she needed to reattach her tongue to her brain. Clearing her throat, and ignoring Lesa’s growing smirk, “that’s not the point.”

She laughed awkwardly, hoping to change the subject. She certainly wouldn’t be asking him to dance. The male took her breath away, she’d never be able to speak to him, not without clamming up or dying on the spot– the latter more preferrable. 

It was entirely possible that she was a little obsessed with the male, but in a ‘I’ll adore you from behind the scenes and never, ever do anything about it,” kind of obsession. Totally healthy. Not at all going to bite her in the ass.

She just admired him, and well, all of the Inner Circle. They did so much to keep the Night Court safe and an enjoyable place to live. 

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t dance,” Peri spoke as she finally made her reappearance. She took one of the shots that Lena handed her as she and Mari finally made their back, as well. “Besides, you're out of his league,” the purple haired faerie said, shooting her a wink. 

Of all of her friends, Peri understood the anxiety that lingered beneath Y/n’s bones the best. The circumstances that she and Lena had grown up in– they hadn’t been the best and it followed them even now, nearly one hundred years into their lives.

She smiled back at her friend, spinning Lesa into Mari’s arms, the girl gasping at the sudden movement, Lena catching the two barely before they tumbled. Y/n slung an arm around Peri’s shoulders, the two swaying back and forth as she thanked the Mother for her friends.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

The night lived on, the girls tapering off to dance with all kinds of people, the lights switching from flickering rainbow rays, to disco, to low set golden glows. Y/n let the euphoria from adrenaline and excitement drive her body– she had stopped drinking what had to have been hours ago, but she still felt the light thrum in her limbs that made her feel like a cloud, made her feel untouchable. 

By the time midnight rolled around, her feet had started aching in the best ways, her thighs felt like they were on fire, and she could feel dobs of sweat beading her brow. She had danced with her fair share of men and women, but no matter how many times Lena shot her a ‘go for it’ look or Mari gave her a thumbs up, she never lingered for more than a dance.

With all her friends occupied, she made her way out the back exit, needing some fresh air and a glance at the stars. Stargazing had always been a source of comfort for her, it was her mother’s favorite thing to do– and Velaris is the best place to do it. The beautiful dark sky was mixed with deep blues and unnerving black hues that made the stars shimmer like diamonds.

She sighed, resting her back against the brick wall of an alley, taking comfort from the cool texture against her bare skin. Her eyes stayed glued to the sky, but she jolted when she heard a small can knock over a little deeper into the alley. She stood frozen, too confused, and a little scared, to do anything other than watch.

Her breath escaped her quickly, though. She watched a small black tendril of smoke slither out from behind the bin, moonlight gleaming on the silver can as more shadows revealed themselves around it.

They made their way towards her, some of them wrapping around her ankles and running the length of her arms, gooseflesh following swiftly after them. She giggled softly, cooing at the adorable things.

“What are you doing here?” She whispered, utterly enamored by the way they moved, the cool tenderness that they left in their wake. She’d blame the alcohol for her utter lack of awareness, despite feeling completely sober, she was sure it was the only explanation for how she missed their master entirely. “You’re quite cute.”

“That’s not typically how people describe them,” a deep, rough voice spoke from behind her. 

She wasn’t proud of what happened next, but, in her defense, she panicked and instinct took over. 

She screeched, her heels spinning swiftly as she threw her fist at the intruder behind her, all of her small, but mighty force put behind it.  

In hindsight, should she have been able to make an informative guess on who it was? Absolutely. If she had taken even a moment to look at her surroundings: the creatures she was speaking to, or even the bar that the alley they currently stood in lay attached to– she may have chosen a better way to react.

Still, she tried desperately to hold onto all of her brothers’ teachings, it had been years since she’d properly trained or had taken part in any sort of physical combat, so she was a little rusty. 

Her fist collided with a skin, hard. She hadn’t realized how tall the male before her was, her head barely reaching his shoulders, her fist vibrating where it hit the palm of his hand. 

He hadn’t even flinched. A small smile tilting the side of his mouth. She stood frozen, her wrist now encased by a warm, calloused hand as he twisted his grip, gently.

Their eyes locked, his warm hazel gaze taking complete control of her being. Her mouth popped open a little, her eyes wide as she took in the beautiful specimen before her. The quirk of his lips disappeared almost immediately, but he still wore a soft look on his face, it was obvious he was doing his best to not be intimidating. He dropped her wrist without complaint and took a large step backwards, his hands clasping behind his back as he dragged his wings in behind him, making them look smaller.

He cleared his throat, the look on his face giving nothing away, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Her first thought? That he could startle her whenever he wanted to because he’s breathtaking. His short curls lay in dark wisps along his forehead, his eyes glazed with a bewitching twinkle, and his clothes clung tightly to his muscles, nothing left to the imagination. She could see the swirls of his tattoos as a few sat slightly in view beneath his sleeves and open collar.

Finally, finally, she found her voice, it cracked, “Wo-ow, you’re beautiful.” His eyes widened and his mouth hung agape for a short moment, shadows dancing along his shoulders as they thrummed with what looked like giddy-delight. 

Cauldron. Boil. Her.

She cursed herself inwardly, why the hell had she said that? She needed to get out of here, fast. 

“I mean– you aren’t– I’m–” words failed to form, and he just stood and watched, mesmerized, as she floundered, as she crashed and pathetically burned. “I’m so sorry, for punching–oh gods– and for the beautiful–” swallow, “–thing… uh– i’m just gonna,” She pointed her thumb to the door she came through.

“I don’t think–” He started, but quickly stopped when she swore, pulling on the door handle that didn’t so much as budge. She pulled harder, over and over again as embarrassment to the nth degree began washing over her.

She groaned, allowing her upper body to fall against the large door, her forehead resting against the cool metal. Why do these things happen to me?

To all his credit, the shadowsinger just stood back and watched as she slowly unraveled, utter amusement dancing in his eyes. He had never seen anyone fumble so entirely when trying to speak to him. It intrigued him. It certainly had him thinking of ways to make that blush bloom across her cheeks again. 

“Are you alright?” He finally asked, cutting off her repetitive mumblings. Her gaze snapped to his, her head still firmly planted against the door. 

“I should have drank more,” she said to herself before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “I’m peachy,” Was how she responded to him, “thanks for not, you know, killing me for punching you.”

He mouthed the word peachy, as if he had never heard it before, his brows crinkling in the most attractive way. Gods, she really needed to quit staring at him.

She started her walk towards the front of the alley, doing her best to sidestep the large male. He merely turned, allowing her to pass him with plenty of room between them, but he did follow her as she made her way to the front.

“I would hardly call that a punch,” he spoke, a teasing lilt to his tone, “Although, you do move fast, so that’s at least something.”

She gawked at him, “You startled me, if I had been ready, I definitely would have hit you.” She proclaimed, her eyes catching on the shadows that had reattached themselves to her. She smiled at them.

She missed the way Azriel stopped breathing, his gaze snatching onto the smile she gave his shadows, the way she looked at them as if they were something amazing, something worth acknowledging.

He regained his composure, doing his best to shove down his growing need to hear her voice, her laugh. And gods, he wanted to see that blush again, too. 

“An opponent isn’t going to give you the time to get ready,” he pointed out, both of them stopping as they reached the edge of the alley, real life a mere step away.

She narrowed her eyes, calculation and mirth swirling around, “Why exactly were you in the alley anyways?”

He shrugged, a casual gesture that made her heart flutter wildly. She watched as his wings shifted with the motion, the moonlight illuminating them in an ethereal glow, she wanted to reach out and touch them.

Nope.

She held her hands tightly to her sides. If she knew anything about Illyrians, it was that their wings were sacred, and people tended to lose limbs when they touched them uninvited. 

“My shadows were curious about something, I merely followed their lead.” He neglected to mention that they’d slithered to the alley with the pull of a hundred Illyrian men–hell bent on getting their master the.

“There wasn’t anything special in the alleyway,” she spoke, confused. Certainly an old garbage can and littered papers wouldn’t have caught the attention of the spymaster's shadows, would it?

His head tilted sideways, taking her in as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. As if he were trying to read if she was being truthful, intentional. Whatever he found seemed to satisfy him, though as he lifted his hand, a shadow weaving its way around him, 

“You’re in the alleyway.”

His voice had a low timbre in it, he spoke quietly but firmly, his eyes never shifting from hers as she swallowed. 

She felt her cheeks heat, the warmth bloom across her chest as he looked at her, not a single fiber of her being going unnoticed by the male. No wonder so many people cowered in his presence.

Shaking her head, “I’m nothing special,” her hand flew to the back of her head, nervously patting her hair down as she awkwardly smiled his way. “Maybe they just needed a change in scenery,” she offered.

He hummed, “May I ask why you were in the alley? You seemed to be having fun on the dance floor.” She balked. He had seen her? Her mind had to be suffering from whiplash because there was no way this was actually happening. 

“I just needed some air, to watch the stars for a bit.” When he hummed again, she realized that he must not be much of a talker, but the silence she found them in wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable, it felt… safe, kind of like a fresh breeze of air on a hot day, or a warm bath after a hard day’s work. And, she supposed it made sense that he would talk much, he was the Spymaster, after all.

“I’m Y/n, by the way,” He repeated her name back, a thick, intoxicating sound as it fell from his lips. His tongue flicked across his top lip as if he were chasing the word. She wanted to chase the movement, her eyes tracking it like a hound. 

“Azriel,” he offered back, though both of them knew it was just a formality. Of course she already knew his name. 

“Would it be alright if I bought you a drink?” Did she hear a nervous pulse in his words? “To make up for startling you and interrupting your star gazing?”

She froze, did he actually just ask her out? Well, not out, but to have a drink with him? These were the kinds of things she needed her friends around for, how in the Mother's name was she supposed to know what to do. 

She thought about Lesa, and what she’d said earlier about asking him to dance. Lesa, despite her alcohol consumption, was usually the most leveled headed of them. It’s what was going to make her a great healer one day. She knew about the kind of men Y/n typically found herself gravitating towards. She knew that it was unlikely she’d ask anyone to dance unless they gave her a reason to. Did she know something about Azriel that she didn’t?

She’d have to remember to bring it up tomorrow, once Lesa had her head on straight again. But, at that moment, she decided that she could do this. She could be spontaneous and have fun. 

“I would love that,”

Besides, it was one drink, what could possibly happen?

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

One drink had turned into two, and two had quickly turned into three the longer the night went on. She and Azriel had danced for what felt like hours. Eventually they’d found their to a table, just the two of them talking and laughing, sharing stories. She did most of the talking, the male drawing words and memories out of her with no problem at all. He always hummed and asked questions at the right times, he listened in a way that made her think he was far too interested in her, but it was…nice. 

She hadn’t even realized how late it had gotten, but as she did a sweep of the room, she realized a lot of the patrons had left for the night. Even Mari and Lesa had waved at her as they left. 

Her gaze locked with her twin’s from across the dance floor, she slowly sipped from a pink drink, Peri sitting at the bar with her as they chatted. Lena raised a brow at Y/n. She didn’t need twin telepathy to know what she was asking, are you coming home with us, or going home with him?

She sent a glare her sister's way, knowing Lena had a preference for which option she chose. Honestly, Y/n knew better, though. Ignoring her sister only spurred her on. Which was why, now, Lena and Peri were making their way to the two of them, a shit eating grin on the former's face.

“Y/n,” She cooed, sitting down on her chair and placing a chaste kiss on her cheek. 

Azriel’s eyes snapped to Lena’s, then quickly to Peri, assessing and putting information together that she’d slowly given him over the past few hours.

“Peri and I are leaving, we have that very important thing to do tomorrow, as you know,” A very ‘subtle’ wink, “We don’t want to leave without you.” She pouted. “It’s so dangerous out there.”

Before Y/n could respond, Azriel cut in smoothly, “I could take you home.” The blush she’d been trying so hard to keep down all night ignited beneath her skin. 

Peri rolled her eyes as Lena clapped, “What a wonderful idea, who better to get her home safely than the Night Court’s Spymaster, himself.” 

She could have sworn Azriel smiled into his drink, clearly catching on to Lena’s antics. She shot an apologetic face towards him. He merely smiled at her, causing her breath to hitch.

“You don’t have to do that, I’m sure you’re busy.” She spoke quietly. Her eyes casting down toward the near-full drink she’d been sipping for the last hour. 

“I’m not. And, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” All three women stared at him, the sheer honesty in his tone casting them in stone. The fact that he wanted to spend more time with her and didn’t care that she and her friends knew. It started chipping away at the obsession, and started morphing into something much scarier.

Lena made a noise mixed between utter fascination and ooey-gooey sweetness. The arm hooked around her shoulders was used to swing her around swiftly, bringing her eye to eye with her twin, the startling gray color of their eyes meeting her own. 

“Make good choices,” She waggled her brows and flicked the zipper of her top down a millimeter more, revealing more cleavage.

“Lena!” She hissed. Hands automatically moving to cover herself. She didn’t zip it back up.

She winked, backing up to a laughing Peri. “good choices” she merely mouthed. 

Y/n looked towards Azriel, afraid of what he’d think of this whole show. Her eyes widened, he had a pink blossoming along his cheeks, a bashful expression briefly taking hold of his face before it turned into something more–deeper. 

As Lena turned towards the exit, her arm grappling Peri’s, she faced Azriel, “If anything happens to her, if she comes back with so much as a scratch,” she spoke cooly, “I’ll gut you from scrote to throat, capiche?”

She tossed a clean napkin at her sister, “I’m fine, go.”  Horrified that she had just threatened the freaking spymaster of the Night Court. One of the most infamous fae warriors in Prythian.

Something like appreciation flashed in his eyes, though. Instead of threatening her back, or using his title against her, he merely reached his hand out–covered in a black leather glove.

“I’ll protect her with my life.” Lena stood straighter, hesitantly reaching for his hand to shake it. Despite the glove, some sort of magic seemed to breathe new life into the world. An ebony vine wrapped its way along Lena’s wrist, bleeding flowers encasing the thin band, a matching one covering his own. 

She stared at their wrists, surprise flickering through her. Weren’t those kinds of promises…permanent? Why in the gods' names would he make a promise like that? He hardly knew her. Then again, she supposed it was sweet and comforting that a member of her home’s Inner Circle cared so much about the safety of their citizens.

Because that’s definitely all this could be about. 

Her sister and friend left quickly after that. And not long after that, Azriel paid the tab– refused to accept any of her money– and had wrapped his jacket around her shoulders. The fabric drifted over her arms, completely engulfing her frame and covering her thighs half-way.

She found herself close to Azriel, clinging to his warmth, as they made their way down the cobblestone street. Moon glimmering against the stone and street signs, casting the area in a deep, evanescent glow. 

Azriel walked at a slow pace, no doubt to keep up with her heeled steps. One of his hands hooked into his pocket, the other one – the one closest to hers– lay still at his side. She had a sneaking suspicion it was in case she decided to hold his hand. Heat blossomed in her stomach at the thought.

Lena had told her to make good choices. She had no doubt that meant to have fun, to allow herself some flexibility. She wasn’t sure of much when it came to this male, but she knew that she liked him and everything she’d learned about him tonight.

She knew she didn’t want the night to end, not yet.

“Will you take a detour with me?” She asked abruptly, effectively ending the calm silence. She could smell the salty air of the Sidra, a cool air rushing its way through the strands of her hair, his shadows stuck to her like sweetgum balls. 

He looked ethereal in the light of the moon, his unmatched beauty enrapturing her wholly. She hadn’t been able to look away from him for more than a moment the whole night.. His canines flashed briefly as he smirked, and then he hooked his pinky in hers, the gloves he had been wearing all night smooth against her skin.

She laughed as he spun her around, her heels clicking against the sidewalk.

“Lead the way,”

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

They walked along the colorful sidewalk, crystal water filling the Sidra, the waves lulling softly in the calm of the night. 

Azriel had started opening up, slowly, telling her about his family, his job– or at least a pg version– and his interests. She clung to his every word, so grateful that he’d been willing to share parts of his private life. Their hands slowly grew closer, fingers finding their way together, his hand squeezing hers when it finally rested in his. 

She smiled softly at him, his eyes catching on her mouth. Thankfully, he couldn’t see the blush that always appeared when she looked at him too long. The whipping wind blasting her cheeks with frigid, frost coated air. 

Looking up at the stars glittering in the sky, “My mother loved the stars,” she spoke softly. She admired a mixture of constellations and a magical aurora– beautiful hues of golden orange, blushing pink, and enchanted, deep purple blending together. 

“She used to say that the stars were proof that the small moments in life are just as magnificent as the big ones.” 

She watched the stars, but he watched her. 

Meeting his hazel eyes, close enough to see the warm, green flecks that dusted his irises, she couldn’t help but move closer. Later, in the comfort of her home, she might say it’s because the wind was brutal, and his body offered her more heat than his jacket ever could. But, right here, right now? She simply wanted to follow that tugging in her chest, a sensation that led her straight to him.

His hand slowly drifted up her, following her outline before it settled against her cheek. He swallowed, “She sounds like a very wise woman,” He finally answered. His thumb lazily rubbed the skin along her jaw, allowing her ample opportunities to stop him if she wished.

She did not wish. In fact, she wanted to feel his skin against hers, and she couldn’t do it by holding his hands.

Instead she raised onto her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her middle, holding her steady against him. “What are you up to?” He murmured, a sweet look on his face as he moved a piece of her hair from her face. “Gods, you’re beautiful,” her body stiffened, he hadn’t meant to speak that aloud, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it, not when she smiled like that.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” He vowed, his eyes glued to her lips, he only waited long enough for her to nod her agreement before his lips descended onto her.

She didn’t have even a moment to freak out, to second-guess, because one second he was leaning into her and the next his lips were on hers and–

 She. Stopped. Breathing. 

His lips were warm and soft, but also firm and perfect. The hand that was attached to the arm not securing her to him found its way to her cheek, cupping her softly. Her hands wound their way into his hair, a sigh escaping her as he kept kissing her, his tongue flicking across her lower lip.

This man didn’t simply kiss, he devoured, he took everything that she offered and more. His tongue danced along her mouth, and when his fingers grappled the ends of her hair, tugging just-so, she gasped, her mouth opening just enough for him to slip in. 

He deepened the kiss.

The small noises she made were consumed by his lips as they bubbled in the back of her throat, her legs somehow winding up around his waist, holding her up so he no longer had to bend so far. And through it all, he kept kissing her. Both his hands holding her back to keep her right where he wanted her. His tongue tangled with hers as his shadows ran along her neck, her exposed back, and her legs. The cool sensations doing unholy things to her senses as they mixed with the pure male heat of him.

Her hands pulled on his silky strands, pressing her chest, somehow, even further into his. Her body angled more above him, as he groaned, a sound she swore she could live off of. His canines flashed, a smirk dancing along his lips before she crashed her mouth back onto his, she wanted to taste every bit of him. His minty breath, the sweat beading his brow, the simple taste of his skin–could be her undoing. 

And oh golly, her skin tingled, her lips dancing with anticipation as he pulled away. His forehead falling against hers, his eyes so dark she wondered if she’d imagined the hazel of them all throughout the night. 

Their breaths came out in soft spurts, the cold night air bringing them to life around them as they stayed close. Her legs still wrapped around him, holding her to him, careful of his wings that seemed to flare whenever he lost some of his undiluted control.

“That was– you are–” He stopped, his lips trailing a path from her neck to her jaw and up her cheek before landing on the corner of her lips. Those glorious teeth scraping along her skin. She wanted him to bite her, to leave marks so she could remember this in the morning.

Maybe tomorrow–or for the rest of her life, let’s be honest– she’d daydream about how she’d turned this man into a puddle of words with just her mouth, gods knew he’d done that to her. But, right now? Right now she wanted nothing more than to feel more of him. To feel all of him.

“Can I take you home?” His voice came out breathy, still pressing sweet kisses along her skin, anywhere he could find. 

“That depends,” she cooed, moving her head back and baring her neck so he had better access. “My home or yours?”

She could feel that smile as it lifted his lips, his soft kisses on her throat making her lose any sense of understanding.

He rephrased, “Come home with me?” 

And how could she possibly say no to that?

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

Azriel’s room was everything she could have pictured it being. Dark, neat, and not a single item that screamed “I’m Azriel, this is my space,” unless she counted the wall of knives and weapons. But she imagined that had more to say about how he was a spymaster, not the man himself.

They’d come in through his balcony, the glass doors pristinely shining as the moonlight cast onto them, giving his room the same aura as its dweller– dark and mysterious, but oh, so sexy. 

His bed lay in the middle, large enough to house someone with wings, and the dark linens neatly placed atop them were calling her name. A crackling fire lit the stone laden fireplace on the far end, books stacked neatly on a desk that was filled with papers and organized writing quills. 

She didn’t have time to dwell further on her surroundings, though. Not as Azriel pressed his front to her back, the evidence of his arousal chanting her name like a prayer. His gloves had come off, his calloused hands tracing the skin on her arm slowly.

“Are you still with me?” He whispered, his teeth grazing the tip of her ear. Shivers ran down her spine as she spun towards him, her hands finding their place on his forearms. 

“Yes,” she whispered, her eyes already on his lips. She had no qualms with what this was. She knew. This was one night. One amazing, probably will ruin sex with anyone else ever again, night. And she was okay with that. Lena had told her to have fun, to make good choices, and she couldn’t imagine what was a better choice than this. Than him.

His lips quirked up, lust pooling in his deep hazel, near black eyes. As he leaned down, his hands found their way to the zipper on her dress as his mouth met her shoulder, a trail of saliva following her bone. 

Her hands trailed up his arms– right over his new tattoo, and then skated down his front, finding the band of his pants, she slipped them under his shirt. A pleased sound coming from his throat as her hands travelled the length of his torso, the beautifully crafted skin hot beneath her needy touch. 

In no time her dress pooled at her feet, leaving her in nothing but a cute deep sapphire lace bralette set– she thanked every god that she had thought to put on a matching set. Her heels were already discarded somewhere she couldn’t bring herself to care about right now. Not as his lips finally made their way back to hers. He tasted her wholly, his large hands touching her everywhere, her back, her arms, her stomach, her ass. She preened at his attention.

“You’re beautiful,” he said again, his lips never leaving hers as her hands finally got tired of their fabric confines. “Fucking gorgeous,” he growled. As he lifted her without absolutely no effort at all, depositing her softly onto his bed as he leaned over her. His dark locks falling over his face, she couldn’t stop her hand from pushing them back, his beautiful face cast in soft golden light from the fireplace. 

He leaned down, his lips brushing hers as his hand found her breast. Her back arched as he plucked her nipple with his fingers through the thin fabric. His other hand massaging her other breast languidly. Then his mouth, his magnificent mouth, fell to the fabric as he sucked her in. She couldn’t stop the noises that came out of her as he continued his ministrations. All she could do was throw her head back, hold his hair in her grip, and hope she didn’t topple off the edge of this world. 

“Azriel,” she breathed, “please,” her eyes blown out with lust as the heat in her belly stirred and writhed with every touch, every look.

He smirked, flashing those canines she had an unhealthy fascination with, “Already begging and I haven’t even touched you the way I’ve been wanting to all night,” His tongue flicked between her breasts as he unhooked the small clasp in front, letting them spill out. 

Any other time she may be embarrassed, or try and cover, but one look at Azriel, and she knew she didn’t need to. He looked at her like he wanted to ravish her, like he could live off of touching her.

“You’re breathtaking, I thought it when I saw you dancing, and the Mother knows I can’t stop thinking it now,” he spoke, such utter candor in his voice–just like when he’d told her there was nowhere else he’d rather be– it made her breath catch. 

She imagined that Azriel was not an easy male to get over. So she’d just need to get under him.

A blush took over her cheeks, but she managed a breathy, “Off,” a plea, really. As she tried to lift his shirt. He chuckled, a sexy, deep sound that went straight to her core. The next moment his shirt was off, and then somehow, his pants. 

She was sure saliva had to be coming out of her mouth because this man. He was a work of art, he definitely bordered on an eight pack, small cuts and scars lined his torso and only made him more attractive. His golden skin looked iridescent in the light, his tattoos swirling all around his arms and chest. Shadows danced along her peripheral vision, not quite touching, but observing as if they wanted to. She wanted them to.

She felt her tongue as it involuntarily flicked her bottom lip, her teeth catching it in the same place. Azriel didn’t miss the motion, his eyes turning a molten color that set every nerve in her body aflame. Her hands were everywhere, running the length of his torso, his sides, she steered clear of his wings, but damn, she’d be dreaming of them for years to come. They splayed out magnificently as he loomed over her, neither of them touching the bed, they cocooned her in a way that made her feel safe, and guarded.

They were both in only their underwear now, “We can stop whenever you want,” he spoke softly, earnestly. His gaze caught hers to emphasize that he meant it, if she wanted to stop–despite being able to feel him against her leg, feel how much he wanted her– he’d back off, bring her home. And well, that gave her the warm and fuzzies, and only cemented how much she wanted this. Wanted him.

Sitting up on her elbows, her hair falling over her shoulders, she hooked one of her legs around his waist, catching him off guard as she repositioned them. Now she sat astride him, her hands landing on his pecs as his hands found her hips. 

She leaned forwards, her breasts flush with his bare chest as she kissed her way down his body. She started near his ear, whispering, “I want to hear more about what you’ve wanted to do to me all night,” she bit down, just slightly, catching his lobe. Then she kissed his jaw, a trail of warm kisses down his neck, his chest, his abs, his navel. Her hand found its way to his boxers, the tight black fabric hiding very little of his very large member. A little part of her wondered how this would work, she was not a virgin by any means, but it had been a good couple of months, and he– gods, he was impressive in all the best ways.

The sound that came out of him was purely male as she continued her movements, his hands tightening enough that she knew they’d leave bruises. Good. She wanted to remember this–in any way she could. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he said it so low she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right, but then he was sitting up, his arms wrapping around her middle to keep her from toppling off of him. 

His lips met hers as he ground into her, their underwear left little to the imagination and she stopped caring about the noises that came out of her. She just let herself go, let him take her fully.

His mouth met her nipple, his teeth plucking softly, but so sweetly. Her back bowed into him, her hands flying to his hair as she held on for dear life. He suckled and nipped and licked her breasts, the heat pooling low in her belly as she continued to grind on him. 

“Oh, gods–Az,” she spluttered, doing her best to hold on to what little scrap of sanity she had left. He didn’t bend, though, no–he flipped her over, her back hitting the plush mattress once more, her ass coming to kiss the edge of the bed as he kneeled on the floor before her.

Her knees fell open on either side of his body, the cool air rushing against her as his shadows locked themselves around her body. One wrapped around waist, and two on her ankles, keeping her in the exact position their master wanted. 

His eyes caught hers, only for a brief moment, he flashed the sexiest grin and then bent down, placing a soft, reverent kiss to her center over her panties. And somehow, despite all that they’d already done, that was the sexiest, most obliterating part of this whole ordeal. 

Her body tried to move, tried to get closer as he chuckled, clearly enjoying her struggles against his helpers as they kept her locked in place. 

“Now, now, pretty,” he cooed, “Be a good girl and keep making all those sweet noises for me,” Oh, she so wanted to be his good girl, she wanted to be his everything right now. 

Slowly, so freaking slowly, he pulled her panties down, baring her fully to him. He didn’t waste any time, and she cried out as his mouth finally closed over her most intimate part. He kissed and licked and suckled her into nothingness. His tongue flattening over her, his lips catching that sensitive nub and sucking, then his tongue was inside of her. He groaned at her taste, his hands splaying across her thighs and holding on. She could feel him grinding himself against the mattress, chasing any sort of friction he could without losing himself entirely.

She was careening towards that edge so swiftly, she truly stood no chance once he started adding fingers. He filled her with one, his tongue never letting up on its pace as he glided his digit in and out of her smoothly. His eyes met hers, and whatever he saw, he must have liked, because then he was adding a second finger, that wicked smile on display as he licked one stripe straight up her center.

Her body tried to buck, to chase the feeling but she couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything except hold onto the mattress for dear life. 

She chanted his name over and over, it seemed to be the only word she could remember. Especially as he added a third finger, and they curled in just the right place, as his tongue swirled around her center, his teeth grazing the flesh. 

She came so hard, her legs were visibly shaking where they lay sprawled apart on the bed. His shadows finally relented as she arched, her hands immediately finding his hair, his shoulders, anything of his she could touch. She thinks he offered one of his hands, the calloused skin squeezing her own soft ones to keep her grounded. 

Then he loomed over her again, his lips shining with her desire as he licked them, then she watched, his eyes never straying from hers, as he sucked each of his digits into his mouth, drinking all of her in. 

She thought she might actually come again just from the sight. Never had a guy gone down on her and seemed to so thoroughly enjoy the process. Gods, this male, he really was going to ruin any other men for her. 

Worth it.

His lips met hers in a harsh dance, his fingers gripping her chin upwards so he could fully devour her. She found herself latching onto the band of his underwear and ripping, she had no time to waste trying to get them off safely. She simply didn’t care, she needed him, like yesterday. 

He chuckled, a sound she was getting awfully familiar with, but didn’t stop her as she just threw the pieces of fabric somewhere in his room. Then her hand found his cock, thick and throbbing as she pumped him once, twice. He groaned, his head falling against hers as she swiped the head, collecting the precum that had already begun leaking.

“Fuck, Y/n,” His lips finding her neck as he latched on, sucking and licking. 

She kept her pace, loving the feel of him in her hand. Then she positioned him at her entrance, their eyes meeting, one final confirmation nod from her and he was moving. 

She tensed for only a moment, the feeling of being so full not something she’s used to. But he went slow, entered her slowly, allowed her to adjust as he went in glorious inch by glorious inch. 

They were both breathing hard, she kept saying his name, he cursed under his breath as he did his best to not rut into her like a teenager chasing his first high. And gods, it was a high because he felt so good inside of her. Nothing could compare to this moment, how she felt.

Then his hips were flushed with hers, his body coming to a complete standstill as he watched her, his fingers pushing her hair out of her face, tracing the outline of her lips, her jaw. 

“You still with me, pretty?” He spoke softly, as if speaking any louder may break whatever bubble they’d built around themselves. 

“Yes, fuck, yes,” she breathed out. Her body doing its best to adjust to the sheer size and girth of him. He kissed her through it, his lips finding space on all of the bare skin he could reach. Even his shadows seemed to caress her softly, cooing and guiding her through the motions. 

“Please, Az, move,” she swirled her hips in emphasis, catching the moan he let out with her mouth as he finally moved. His hips pulled out halfway and then he pushed back in slowly at first, gauging her reaction. When she mewled, her nails scraping his back, he did it again, faster. He kept a steady pace as she felt their liquids combining, oozing out of her in the most delicious way. 

He kept a steady rhythm, their moans meeting in the air and dancing together as they continued to move together in sync. Her legs wrapped around his middle, getting him even deeper, and when she came the second time, it was just a good as the first.

“So beautiful,” he cooed, “So fucking tight, milking my cock so good,” He hit that spot deep inside of her as he cooed her name, his grunts filling her ears in tandem with his thrusts. Her lips found his and he obeyed her request, his tongue meeting hers and tangling, their saliva mixing as one of his hands gripped her waist, the other finding its way to her face. 

When the aftershocks finally started to ebb away, Azriel wasted no time in flipping her over, her knees and hands on the mattress, her ass in the air. She let out a noise of distress when his cock slipped out of her, but it was quickly followed by a moan as he reentered her from behind. 

And holy trinity of all the gods, he was somehow deeper inside of her, she could feel every pleasure inducing inch of him as he lost all of his control. He pounded into her, his hands on her hips as she did her best to meet him thrust for thrust.

She couldn’t believe it, she could already feel that pool of desire growing in her for the third time tonight. Her sounds no more than a slew of moans and expletives as he continued his brutal thrusts. 

“Fuck, you’re doing so good, that’s it–” he praised, his hand pulling her hair away from her neck as his chest became flush with her back. His other hand found that sensitive nub between her thighs, pinching and flicking in the most torturous ways. “You can give me another one, can’t you, pretty?” He asked, his voice a husky sheen in her ear as his thrusts continued to wreak havoc on her. “Just one more, I know you can do it,” she had never been one for dirty talk, but fuck, Azriel could talk about grocery shopping and she’d find it hot as hell.

The praise only brought her closer to that edge, coaxing her on. And when his fingers added just enough pressure to her center, she fell right over that edge for the third time, her orgasm causing her legs to shake so wholly that Azriel had to hold her up as he continued to thrust into her. A cocky, but proud smile lighting his face briefly before pleasure took root and he came inside of her, his cock throbbing and swelling as he spilt rope after rope of his seed into her.

They stayed that way for a long moment, it could have been minutes or hours, Y/n wouldn’t be able to tell even if there were a knife to her throat. His naked, sweat beaded chest pressing against her back as their harsh breathing filled the room’s silence. 

He finally slipped out of her, his hands slowly lowering her onto her stomach, her legs nothing but jelly as he flipped onto his side, careful of his wings. 

Their gazes collided, a sexed-out smile slapping its way to her mouth as she took him in. His own smile found its way onto his face, just a small, intimate one that made her heart do dangerous flips inside her chest.

“That was–” she started, her breathy voice sounded as ruined as she felt.

“Fucking amazing.” He finished, his hand reaching out to push a piece of hair that had fallen over her eyes, behind her ear. Then he kissed her forehead, his arm slinging over her back. 

“Stay.” He murmured, his eyes already closing as sleep began to take him hostage.

Once again, she found herself unable to say no to this man. Her eyelids already heavy with her own sleep, drifted shut. She briefly recognized the feeling of a blanket being dropped over her, maybe his shadows? She didn’t have time to question before sleep finally claimed her.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

Y/n woke to soft beams of sunlight trickling across her face through the balcony doors. The warmth seeped into her skin as her eyes adjusted to the light. 

It took her a moment to remember where she was. An unfamiliar, but comfortable, bed caressed her body. Her body completely naked where she lay against the comforter, a small throw blanket had been placed over her to keep her warm in the night.

And then, there was the weight.

A large, muscled arm thrown over her waist, an even heavier leg pressed between her thighs, their legs tangled. His body was warm and the limbs attached to her only kept her close to the male she found herself facing. His beautiful face somehow less intimidating in sleep, all the smooth lines and fine angles completely at ease. 

Azriel.

The Spymaster of the Night Court.

Her eyes widened as last night's events all came flooding back in troves. Azriel finding her in the alleyway, her sister and friends, Azriel dancing with her, her internship, Azriel and his glorious kissing, his hands, his shadows, and his body. 

Fuck. 

She needed to leave. She wasn’t sure how this was supposed to work, but she was damn sure it’d be awkward if he woke up and she was still here. In his bed. 

She briefly remembered him telling her to stay, but surely he hadn’t meant through the morning. She highly doubted that he was about to invite her to lunch with his family. 

His family.

Oh, gods.

Did they live here? Had they heard them last night? If she hadn’t been so caught up in the shadowsinger, she may have stopped to ask herself about these things, but nope. Instead she fell head over freaking tea kettle and– admittedly– had the best sex of her life. 

She needed to leave, like hours ago.

She ignored the sweet caresses of his shadows as they welcomed her with a morning that, any other time, she’d be thrilled about. But right now she needed to figure out how to get out from under his arm, and his leg, and was that his wing cocooning over them? 

Somehow, an act of the Mother and Cauldron themselves, she managed to disentangle herself from his monkey hold. He really did seem peaceful, and she did her best to remain quiet, not because she didn’t want to speak to him– although that may have definitely been a factor– but because she didn’t want to disturb his sleep, who knew how much he got on a regular basis. In his line of work, she imagined, not much.

Quietly she peeled around the room, grabbing her dress and quickly shimmying it on and grabbing her heels. Fuck putting those bitches back on, last night Y/n was not this morning Y/n, and her feet would thank her for it. 

She slowly slipped out of his room, not sure how she was going to get out of this place. He had flown them last night, brought her in through his balcony. Surely there had to be a front door. The last thing she wanted to be doing was roaming around the Inner Circle’s private dwelling, she imagined that was how one ended up on the wrong side of jail cell. 

She gulped, taking in the hallways around her. There were loads of paintings adorning the brilliant, sophisticated walls. All of the members of the Inner Circle in various positions. There were some of just the General Commander and his mate, Lady Death. There were some of the High Lord and Lady with their adorable son, and even a few of the lesser talked about members. They were beautifully done, and if she wasn’t mistaken, the High Lady had probably painted these herself. 

She had been so caught up in looking at the photos along the hallway, following them unconsciously that she jumped when somebody cleared their throat. 

She flailed, horrendously. Heels thrown in the air, her feet slipping from beneath her as she swiveled around and came face to chest with a very large male. She would have fallen on her ass if he hadn’t grabbed her arm to steady her. Her eyes tracked all the way up his leather-clad chest and to his large membranous wings that somehow seemed slightly different than Azriel’s. Were there scars on his? And, were they smaller? She shook her head, so not important.

“Well, hello there,” he crooned, a crooked grin lighting the General Commander’s features as he used a leather strap to bind his hair in a bun atop his head. 

She cursed herself inwardly, gods, she really needed to work on her observation skills. How had she missed him of all people? He was definitely the largest of the three illyrian men who belonged to the Inner Circle. And, he had always seemed like the most approachable, though that wasn’t saying much. He was still absolutely terrifying.

And here she was, staring at him with her mouth agape like a fish out of water. Perhaps she should take her chances with the balconies after all, maybe a free fall would do her some good right about now.

“Hi,” she squeaked, quickly grabbing her flyaway shoes and holding them to her chest like a lifeline. 

“You must be Az’s…friend,” he said, a knowing smirk on his face. She could feel her blush as it crawled from the tips of her toes to her cheeks. 

She swallowed, trying to take this gift from the Mother. The general had wings, which meant he could probably get her out of here without causing too much trouble, she doubted he’d tell her no. Plus, that meant she really wouldn’t have to face Azriel again, so a bonus, at least, that’s what she told herself. 

“He’s sleeping,” Cassian’s brows rose at that, a look of shock briefly flitting across his face before his easy demeanor was back. 

“That is–interesting. Were you joining us for breakfast?” 

“No–” She calmed herself, reigning in the slight shout she’d let through in all her panic. “I mean– no, I’m not. I just– I’m trying to get home, I’ve got a busy day and I’m not quite sure how–”

“Ah,” he said, that ridiculous smirk still plastered on his smug face. “Too bad, Azriel doesn’t usually have…sleepovers.”

Sleepovers? What were they, twelve? 

She gave her best smile, “Is there any chance you could show me the way out?”

“You’re not going to wait for him to wake up?” He cocked his head, his tone full of confusion, as if this wasn’t something he’d ever had to deal with. 

She shook her head, “He looked peaceful, and I really need to get home, my roommate’s probably worried sick.”

Understanding bloomed on his face, “Well, there are two options then, little ghost,” her brows pinched at the nickname. This male didn’t know her from Adam, and yet, he seemed so incredibly warm and kind. She chastised herself, it didn’t matter, she would probably never speak to him again. “You can either venture down the 10,000 steps to the bottom,” he laughed at the sour look that crossed her face, her poor, poor feet. “Or, I can fly you back home, if you’re comfortable with that.”

“That would be wonderful, as long as it doesn’t put you out,” she said, praying to every god she could remember the name of that he truly didn’t mind. 

His smile was easy. “It’s no trouble, I’ll even tell Azriel you said goodbye.”

“That’s really not necessary,” she blushed as he led her toward an opened foyer, large balconies lining the room. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do,” and she was also sure that Azriel wouldn’t care. They’d had their night of fun, now she needed to get out of here and try and go about her life like normal. Whatever that meant, she really wasn’t sure that’d even be possible. 

He merely smiled at her, something was off about it though, as if he didn’t really believe her.

But, he did as he said and flew her home.

It was time to get back to normal life, she had a lot going for her. And the Spymaster of the Night Court didn’t have anything to do with it.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

Weeks passed in a blur, between her internship starting and her ordinarily chaotic life, she had hardly had time to think about her night with the spymaster. He only ever found her in his dreams, and if she was lucky, her subconscious would grant her some of the memories of that night in dream form. 

She hadn’t so much as seen him in the past six weeks, she tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter, that it was only one night and she should accept that for what it is– and she did. For the most part. But, sometimes, in the wee hours of the morning, when her thoughts were just a little more hostile, she would think about him, and what he’d thought when he woke up that day and she’d been gone. Had he been upset? Or had he been relieved? And why had Cassian seemed so sure that he’d see her again? He had even winked at her when he dropped her off that morning. Weird. 

“Take this twice a day for a week and the rash should clear right up,” She spoke to a short, mousy looking female. The nuclear green liquid sloshing around in the vial as the woman thanked her and scurried away after tossing her a few coins. 

Madja came out of the back room, “Y/n, can you help me in here for a moment?”

Without hesitation, she quickly wiped her hands on her apron and followed Madja to the back. She felt her stomach sink as the older fae led her silently into the main medicine bay. She had asked Madja a few weeks ago about some medicines that could help with stress-induced nausea. It didn’t matter what she brewed, if it was a personal concoction or one out of one of her textbooks, none of them seemed to be helping. She only ever got sick in the evenings, and at this point, she was starting to get worried that something was seriously wrong. So she’d asked Madja, and the older fae had said she’d look into it and make her something that should help. 

Y/n couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what this was about, she had said it wouldn’t take long and that had been only two days ago. But, when y/n found herself in the furthest room in the back of the building, her thoughts quickly emptied out.

A young girl sat on the seat, her arm full of what looked to be glass shards. The other arm, sat gently in medicated water, blood pooling in thin layers as it soaked.

Y/n’s stomach lurched, the girl couldn’t have been older than nine or ten, and the wounds looked awfully painful.

“I need you to apply the salve and wrap this arm while I start working on getting the glass out of the other arm,” Madja spoke, handing a pair of gloves to her as she quickly made her way back over to the young girl. Her mother was pacing back and forth as she watched. Y/n shot her a soothing smile, the best she could manage, the one she’d learned specifically for this reason. It seemed to work, long enough for the mother to sit down, but she kept her eyes trained on them. Y/n couldn’t blame her, she could only imagine what a mother went through when seeing their child in pain.

“Hi,” she spoke softly to the girl, “My names Y/n, you’re gonna feel a cooling sensation when I apply the salve, it shouldn’t hurt, but if it does, just let me know and we’ll adjust,” She smiled, the little girl’s lip wobbled as tears silently streamed down her cheeks. 

As she began applying the medicine softly, her ministrations smooth and practiced, she asked the girl for her name, hoping that talking to her would keep her mind off of Madja, who was currently taking glass shards out of her other arm. 

“Margo,” she spoke, her eyes solely focused on y/n. “I was trying to help momma at her food stall, but I tripped.” She sniffled. 

“Ah,” she hummed, quietly grabbing the wraps, “Do you help out at the food stall, often?” 

“Yes!” Margo lit up, she began babbling on about all the different fruits and veggies her mother grows and how they always wash and prep them for stall day. She asked the young girl about school, her family–her siblings, and anything else she could to keep the young girl’s mind occupied. 

Over the course of the next half hour, Madja and her worked tediously to apply the salves, soak the wounds, and get them wrapped so that they could start healing. With a vial of cream and a lollipop in her hand, Margo danced out of the clinic with her mother, her smile never leaving her face. 

“You did well, keeping her calm.” Madja spoke, her tone even as always as she worked behind the counter. 

“Thanks, I can only imagine what she must have been thinking,”

It was then that Madja handed her a few vials of a pinkish, red liquid. The confusion must have been written all over her face because the older fae prattled on, “That should help with the morning sickness, but I can’t guarantee that it will make it go away entirely.”

Every thought blinked out of Y/n’s head.

Morning sickness?

“It’s not–” Madja stopped when she interrupted, her eyes blinking uncontrollably as she tried to do the math in her head, “It can’t be–” she stuttered.

There was no way, absolutely not. 

She hadn’t been with anyone in months, no one except–

Him. 

“I got your blood work back today,” Madja had taken her blood a few days ago when she had initially brought up the nausea, just in case, she had said. It was standard procedure, something Y/n was very familiar with having worked in all sorts of clinics for the past few decades.

No, no, no.

“You’re pregnant.”

[svearehnn]

a balm for the heart | azriel x reader

Summary: When you're sent to the House of Wind to help baby Nyx recover from a cold, you don’t expect to catch the attention of the brooding spymaster himself. Azriel is quiet, careful, and utterly unprepared for how much he likes Madja’s new assistant healer. As your visits continue, so do the lingering glances, clumsy conversations, and quiet moments that grow into something deeper. In the warmth of tea, laughter, and soft shadows, something tender begins to bloom.

A/N: sorry y'all, i'm in my yearning era. just broke up with my boyfriend of three years so... here we are :)

It was just a cold.

That’s what Madja had said when Feyre had sent for her—Nyx had the sniffles, a little fever, and had refused to eat anything but honey-drizzled bread for two days straight. And since Madja was neck-deep in whatever plague was tearing through the artisan quarter, you were the one sent instead.

Which is why you now stood in the sunlit foyer of the River House, boots dripping melted snow onto the floor, holding a satchel of herbs and an unreasonably tiny jar of eucalyptus balm.

“Upstairs,” Feyre said with a grateful smile, rubbing at her temples like she’d been chasing her son in circles. “Azriel is with him. Good luck.”

You laughed softly and stepped past her, the warmth of the house curling around your frozen fingers like a sigh. You’d only been working under Madja for a few months, but you’d already become her go-to for the littlest patients. Something about your energy, she said. Calm. Gentle. Good with chaos.

You reached the stairs and, at the end of the hallway, there he was.

Tall. Shadows curling lazily over his shoulders like they lived there. Hair mussed from baby fingers, wings half-furled, and eyes—Mother above—those eyes. Gold on brown, fixed on you like you were an echo he wasn’t expecting.

You blinked up at him. “Um. Hello.”

“…Hi,” he said, as if the word was foreign on his tongue. His voice was low and rough and far too intimate for a stranger in a hallway.

“Is it Azriel?” you asked, vaguely remembering Feyre mentioning him.

He nodded once. Still staring.

“I’m here for Nyx,” you added, holding up your satchel like a peace offering.

Azriel looked down at it, then back at you, mouth parting slightly. “Right. The… the healer.”

“Assistant healer,” you said with a grin. “Madja’s too busy saving the rest of the city.”

He nodded again. You stepped past him into the nursery—felt his gaze follow like the sweep of a warm hand—and were immediately accosted by a sticky, pouting, sniffly baby lordling. 

He followed you in as silent as a ghost.

You were halfway through wiping Nyx’s nose and humming a lullaby you barely remembered learning when Azriel cleared his throat from the doorway.

“He’s usually not this calm,” he murmured.

You glanced over your shoulder. “Are you saying I have a gift?”

His lips twitched. Almost a smile. “Maybe.”

You lingered with Nyx a little longer, soothing the stubborn flush from his cheeks with a bit of balm and pressing a kiss to his curls when he yawned into your neck. When she entered, Feyre gave you a grateful smile as you passed him off, whispering, “You’re a miracle.” You slipped through the nursery door again.

Azriel was still in the doorway. Waiting. Shadows curling lazily near his boots.

“I can see myself out,” you said gently, but he shook his head once.

“It’s snowing. I’ll walk you.”

The words were simple. Practiced, maybe. But his voice was soft. Like a page being turned.

The walk ended quietly, a silent exchange of thanks, but it didn’t end there.

You returned two days later with a tincture for sleep, tucked into your satchel next to a few drops of lavender oil and a fresh-knit scarf you’d meant to gift to Feyre. She thanked you profusely, though Nyx was already much improved. Still—she asked you to come again.

And you saw him again—this time through a crack in the door, lingering in Rhys’ personal library. Their voices were hushed, strained, but his eyes flicked to yours as you passed, shadows swirling.

The third time, it was a faint rash on Nyx’s cheek. A harmless thing, more skin sensitivity than illness. You soothed it with salve and coaxed a smile out of the boy by letting him tug on your braids.

Azriel passed through the hall as you were packing up. Said nothing, but left a steaming cup of peppermint tea near your satchel. Somehow he knew it was your favorite, yet you had never said a thing.

You didn’t see him go.

The fourth time, you came without Feyre sending for you at all.

Over your weekly lunch, she had mentioned Nyx wasn’t sleeping well, and you, of course, had suggestions. Warm milk. Chamomile. A storybook laced with faint, calming spells. You hadn’t meant to stay long.

But Azriel was already in the hall when you arrived, leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting.

He didn’t offer tea this time. Instead, he offered a quiet, “You came back.”

You looked up at him, surprised. “Of course I did.”

His shadows curled at your wrist as you passed.

Like they knew your name.

And when you had soothed Nyx to sleep once more with the gentle cadence of your voice, the little lordling finally snoring, the shadow that had curled around your wrist tugged you toward the kitchen.

With Nyx asleep, the River House was finally quiet. You knew Feyre was getting the rest she needed—her exhaustion prevalent the moment you took over and she gave you that small, relieved smile.

You weren’t needed anymore. At least, not by the babe or the new mother. So you let the shadow lead you through the archway, the soft lighting of the kitchen eliciting a yawn from your throat.

You weren’t sure what surprised you more: how awkward he was sitting there, wings tense and back rigid, or how charming he became when he relaxed at the sight of you.

His lips twitched again—not quite a smile, but close enough. A steaming cup of tea kept his hands busy, and one already sat across from him, warm and waiting. You sat, curling up on the kitchen bench, fingers wrapping around the blue mug.

He watched as you took a sip, shadows blanketing his shoulders. They only relaxed when your lips met the rim of the mug for a second taste.

Azriel didn’t say a word. Just sat across from you. Not brooding, but observing, as though taking in the moment. You did the same, a small, amused smirk lighting up your lips.

“I see you made Nyx his honeyed bread today.” You murmured, eyes flicking over his tan cheeks.

He blinked. Brows furrowed. Those pretty hazel eyes of his seemed to darken just slightly.

“You’ve got honey on your cheek,” you said suddenly.

“What?”

“Here,” you leaned across the table, wiped a thumb gently across his cheek, and showed him the smear. “See?”

Azriel stared at you like you’d reached inside his chest and given it a twist.

“You’re blushing,” you added, teasing.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“…It’s warm in here.” His shadows swirled.

You smiled, sipping your tea. “You really don’t have to keep pretending to run into me, you know.”

Azriel stilled.

“I mean, unless you enjoy watching me wrangle a toddler and rub balm on his nose.”

A pause.

Then: “I do.”

Your heart stuttered.

“I do enjoy it,” he said again, voice softer now. “And I like the way you talk to Feyre. And Rhys. Like you’re not afraid of them. I like how you laugh when Nyx sneezes on you. I like… how you feel.”

You swallowed thickly. “How I feel?”

His shadows shifted behind him, curling close.

Azriel leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. Quietly, earnestly, he spoke. “You make the world feel quieter. Not empty. Just… right.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You just looked at him, really looked.

This man who’d guarded a thousand secrets, who wore silence like a cloak and carried the weight of a thousand watchful nights. Who blushed like a boy when you touched his face. Who smelled faintly of cedar and sky.

You reached across the table and took his hand.

It was scarred and strong and trembling slightly in yours.

“Well,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his with a gentleness that stole his breath.

“I might have a balm for that.”

Azriel’s smile was slow. Small. Unbearably beautiful.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

You let go of his hand. His shadows seemed to reach for you. But you stood and rounded the table—leaned against the polished wood right by his side.

He didn’t even have to look up to meet your gaze.

“I think you’ve had enough honey for one night,” you murmured, eyes flicking to his lips.

His throat bobbed.

You reached for the edge of his mug and pulled it from his hands—deliberate, teasing. His fingers brushed yours, and the contact lingered, neither of you letting go right away.

“You don’t have to be so careful with me, you know,” you said, tone light, but your eyes searched his. “I’m not going to shatter.”

Azriel’s voice was rough, unsteady. “I’m not worried about breaking you.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head. “Then what?”

He didn’t answer—not right away. Just stared at you, as if the truth was caught somewhere behind his teeth, held back by old habits and older fears.

But his hand rose, slow and reverent, and brushed a piece of hair from your cheek. It was almost shy, almost questioning.

You caught his fingers in yours.

“Spymaster of the Night Court,” you whispered with a playful smile. “Speechless over a female with peppermint tea and a bit of salve?”

Azriel huffed something between a laugh and a sigh. “Completely ruined.”

“I was hoping so.”

And then, before he could retreat behind those shadows again, you leaned in.

The kiss was soft—barely a press at first, more breath than contact. His lips were warm and hesitant, like he couldn’t quite believe this was real. But when you stayed close, when you didn’t pull away, Azriel tilted his head and deepened it just slightly, as if learning the shape of you by feel alone.

His hand slid to your waist. Yours curled behind his neck. And for a long, quiet moment, there was no River House, no baby lordling asleep upstairs, no world beyond the hush between two hearts finally touching.

You pulled back first, just slightly, your noses brushing.

“Still warm in here?” you whispered, lips ghosting over his.

Azriel’s smile was dizzyingly soft. “Scorching.”

You laughed under your breath, the sound barely more than a flutter between you. Azriel didn’t let go—not of your waist, not of the moment. His shadows twined lazily around your ankles, brushing like silk, as if even they sighed in contentment.

“I should go,” you murmured, though you didn’t move.

“I know,” he said, voice low. “But not yet.”

And when he kissed you again, it was slower this time—deeper, with the confidence of someone who’d been holding that longing in for far too long. You melted into it, into him, your fingers threading into the dark lush of his hair, your smile catching against his mouth.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Madja should’ve warned me.”

You grinned, breathless. “Consider this your final symptom, Shadowsinger.”

He laughed, really laughed, and you decided then that you'd come back tomorrow. And the day after that. As long as he kept smiling like that, you’d never run out of reasons to stay.

[sweet-pea-channie]

Yours, Elsewhere

Azriel x female!reader

Summary: A mission gone wrong hurls Azriel into a parallel Velaris. There, he meets a woman who knew him intimately in her world. As they search for a way to send him back, grief tangles with growing affection. He teaches her how to breathe again; she shows him a version of himself he never knew could exist. But the Cauldron is cracking, time unraveling. He must leave—or risk destroying everything.

Warnings: grief, past death of a loved one, emotional angst, mentions of trauma, memory loss, canon divergence. Bittersweet but healing.

Word count: 11.6k

A/N: I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of soul-deep connection, something that survives even across worlds. Writing this fic was a journey of emotion, comfort, and quiet hope, and I truly hope it resonates with you. Also, English is my third language, so thank you for your patience with any little mistakes along the way. I’m always learning, and I’m just grateful to be able to share this story with you. Thank you for reading 💙

The spell left her fingertips just as he vanished.

The witch’s lips moved in a frantic whisper, the ancient incantation torn from her throat like a last breath, desperate and reckless. Magic sparked blue at her hands, arcing like lightning across the broken altar stones. It twisted into the air, weightless and burning, then launched toward the night sky.

But Azriel was already gone.

He didn’t see the light flare behind him. Didn’t hear the way the wind screamed as it bent around the surge of power.

His wings beat once, powerful and sure, and then the shadows took him.

Velaris.

His destination shaped itself in his mind, rooftops glistening with dew, the scent of citrus and moonflower in the air. The shadows wrapped around him like silk, folding the world inward and then outward until the mountains welcomed him home.

His boots touched stone.

He exhaled slowly, the winnow sliding off his skin like a second breath. Easy. Clean. Just like always.

The balcony beneath him was familiar, high above the Sidra, at the top of the House of Wind. The air was sharp with pine and river mist, a spring breeze curling over the tiles.

He glanced up. And paused.

The stars were wrong.

Only slightly. Barely noticeable. But Azriel had flown these skies long enough to know every constellation, every shift in the heavens, they were old friends, silent sentries. And now, the stars blinked like strangers.

Frowning, he stepped forward, shadows curling idly at his heels. The door was unlocked. Odd. He stepped inside. The House was quiet. Too quiet.

Not in the peaceful way it usually was but empty. Hollow. As if no one had passed through in days. No scent of food, no lingering traces of Cassian’s boisterous laughter or Feyre’s paint-streaked energy. Just silence.

Azriel reached for the bond. Rhysand.

No answer. He stilled.

He pressed harder, pushing through the mental link, summoning the familiar pulse of his High Lord's mind.

Rhys. Come in.

Nothing. Like throwing a stone into water that didn’t ripple.

He tried again Cassian? Mor? but each attempt came back with the same flat silence.

A cold unease began to thread through his chest. The shadows responded immediately, rising like smoke along his shoulders, alert and watchful.

Something was off.

He launched into the skies again, this time gliding silently over Velaris. It looked... untouched.

The buildings were the same. The Sidra still shimmered like liquid silver beneath him. People walked the streets below. But when he dipped lower, he saw the way they looked up.

Saw the expressions that bloomed across their faces. Not awe. Not fear. Shock.

One woman clutched her child tighter to her side, eyes wide as she watched him pass. A group of males at a café stopped mid-conversation, staring. One stood abruptly, knocking over his chair, his mouth falling open.

Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter. He landed in an alleyway behind the familiar stretch of the Rainbow, his feet hitting cobblestone with barely a sound.

He turned toward the street, and froze. A shop window reflected him.

His armor, his blades, his shadows, all exactly as they should be. But behind him, in the glass, Velaris was... different. Too bright. Too sharp. Like the color had been turned up just a little too high.

He blinked. Turned. The illusion held.

No, he thought. Not illusion. Not glamour. This is real.

The truth whispered through him like a crack in the foundation. He was home. But something was wrong with home. The streets felt narrower here.

Or maybe it was the way people kept staring, some openly, some with barely concealed glances over shoulders, as if they’d seen a ghost and didn’t want to be rude about it.

Azriel kept to the shadows. He’d just rounded the edge of the Rainbow when he heard the gasp. A sharp inhale, half-shocked, half-sucked through clenched teeth.

He turned.

She stood beneath the awning of a flower stall, a spray of wild violets clutched in one hand, her other frozen mid-reach.

Human. Or maybe half-Fae. Familiar enough to recognize the expression on her face: recognition slammed into disbelief, then sank quickly into pale, careful confusion.

She didn’t speak at first.

Azriel gave her a cautious nod, not slowing his stride.

She took a step toward him. "That’s not funny."

He stopped. "I beg your pardon?"

She stared. “Who put you up to this?”

Azriel tilted his head, shadows coiling tighter around his boots. “No one put me up to anything.”

Her hand trembled, still gripping the stems. “You shouldn’t wear his, I mean, your armor. That’s... sick. Even for Cassian.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said evenly. “Who are you?”

Her brows drew together, uncertain now, brittle. “This isn’t funny,” she said again, softer this time. “Is this some sort of cruel Solstice prank?”

“I don’t play pranks.”

“No, he didn’t either,” she whispered. “Not like this.”

Something in her eyes shifted. The anger cracked, just a hairline fracture and beneath it, something raw flickered into view. Fear. Or maybe hope.

She dropped the violets.

Azriel stepped forward instinctively, but she flinched, then shook her head, waving him off like she couldn’t bear to be helped.

“This has to be a mistake,” she muttered. “Or... or a glamour. Are you-? No. You can’t be...”

She looked up at him again, really looked, and he watched her decide something.

“You need to come with me.”

Azriel hesitated. “Why?”

She didn’t answer, just turned on her heel.

“I don’t follow strangers,” he called after her.

She paused at the corner. “You’re not following a stranger.”

She looked back. And for a moment, her expression softened not quite fond, not quite grief-stricken, but edged in something that made his stomach twist.

“You’re following a friend of hers.”

Azriel’s wings rustled. “Her?”

“She’ll know what to do with you.” A beat. “Or... what’s left of her will.”

He didn’t like the sound of that.

But the shadows, ever attuned to unspoken truths, whispered go.

So he followed.

────────────

The children were covered in paint.

It wasn’t entirely her fault. The sun was warm, the breeze soft, and after a long week of rain and restlessness, she had promised them something fun. So the easels were out, brushes flying, water cups sloshing precariously on the garden stones.

Y/N knelt beside a little girl with wild curls and green streaks on her cheeks, helping her mix blue and white into a swirl of sky.

"Like this?" the girl asked, tongue between her teeth in concentration.

"Perfect," Y/N murmured, smiling. "That looks just like a cloud before it rains."

Laughter bubbled nearby. The world, for once, felt light enough to hold.

So she didn’t notice the footsteps at first. Or the quiet tension just beyond the garden gate. Not until a shadow crossed her canvas.

She looked up.

Her friend stood there, a strange expression on her face. Breathless, like she’d been running, though the walk from town wasn’t far. And behind her, half in the sun and half in the shade, stood a male Y/N hadn’t seen in a very long time.

Everything stopped.

The paintbrush slipped from her fingers. Her breath caught on the edge of his name, but she didn’t say it. Couldn’t.

He looked the same.

The armor, the blades, the face she’d memorized long ago. The face she still saw in dreams, the one she sometimes whispered to when sleep clung too tightly. But there was something missing. No recognition in his eyes. No quiet pull between them. Just… calm. Measured wariness. And then there were these things... shadows?

He wasn’t hers.

Not really.

Her friend stepped aside, watching her carefully.

Y/N rose slowly, brushing her hands against her apron out of habit, though streaks of dried paint still clung to her palms.

Azriel’s eyes followed the motion.

She didn’t speak. Not at first. She just stared.

And he stared back.

One of the children tugged on her sleeve. “Miss Y/N? Is that the scary man you told us stories about?”

A huff of laughter slipped from her friend, almost hysterical. Y/N managed a breath.

"No, sweetheart," she said quietly. "He’s not scary at all."

Azriel tilted his head. “You know me.”

She swallowed, forcing her eyes to stay dry. “Not you, exactly.”

He looked down for a moment, then back at her, something almost apologetic in the tilt of his brow.

"I'm not supposed to be here, am I?"

She took a step closer, heart pounding, unsure what to do with it all. The sight of him. The voice. The way her body recognized him even if he didn’t recognize her.

"No," she said. "But you're here all the same."

The breeze picked up, rustling through the garden. The scent of lilac and paint and spring.

She didn’t cry. Not yet.

But the world felt suddenly too full, and too empty, all at once. "Come inside," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "We need to talk."

And he followed her, just like he used to. Even if he didn’t know why.

Y/N kept her voice steady as she called over to the other caretaker, a soft-spoken male named Tarian who’d been helping with the younger ones that day.

“Arios, would you mind staying a little longer? I need to step away for a bit.”

He glanced up from where he was braiding daisies into a toddler’s hair, his expression gentle but curious. His eyes flicked briefly to the male standing behind her, then back. He didn’t ask questions. Just nodded once.

“Of course. Take all the time you need.”

She offered a grateful smile she didn’t feel, touched a child’s shoulder in passing, and turned.

“Follow me,” she said without looking back.

Azriel obeyed in silence.

The garden gave way to the winding path toward the cottage she used for art and quiet reading. It was set apart from the others, tucked between climbing roses and silver-barked trees. Each step she took seemed more uncertain than the last, but her posture stayed rigid, collected. Just enough to keep from unraveling.

Azriel’s eyes moved over everything as they walked.

The cobblestones here weren’t the same. Laid in a different pattern, slightly darker in hue, almost as if the rain had never stopped soaking into them. The flowering vines on the archway above them curled in unfamiliar directions, lavender in color where they should have been white. And the House of Wind, though distant, didn’t quite look like itself either. The cliffs cradled it too tightly. As if the mountains had shifted just enough to close their grip.

Velaris. But wrong.

Beautiful still, but subtly off. A painting that someone had copied from memory rather than life. Familiar and foreign in the same breath.

He could feel the magic in the air too. Not buzzing. Not screaming. Just trembling softly at the edges of everything, like a note held too long on a string.

His shadows had quieted, uncertain of what to guard against.

He studied the woman in front of him. She moved like she was trying not to feel. Like her heart had shattered and she'd pressed the pieces back in place with nothing but breath and willpower. She wasn’t crying. But the tension in her shoulders said she could, at any moment.

“Are you alright?” he asked, voice low but clear.

She didn’t stop walking.

“Absolutely not,” she said.

Her voice didn’t shake. It didn’t need to. The words landed like a stone in his chest.

Azriel let the silence stretch. Not empty. Not awkward. Just necessary. He understood grief. He lived in the shadows of it.

But this was something else. This was her past colliding with his present. And whatever version of himself had once belonged to this world, it was obvious that he had belonged to her.

And now, somehow, so did the weight of his absence.

They reached the door to the cottage. She paused with her hand on the knob, inhaling slowly, the breath catching like a thread snagged on glass.

She looked at him, truly looked. Not at the armor or the blades or the shadows, but at his face. Like she was trying to find something in it. Or make peace with the fact that she wouldn't.

Then she pushed the door open, stepped inside, and let the light swallow her.

Azriel followed.

And for the first time since arriving, he felt the world shift slightly again. Not the magic. Not the timeline. Just his own heart. Something had cracked open.

And he didn’t know yet whether it was meant to be sealed again, or stepped through.

The door clicked softly shut behind them.

Inside, the air was warm with the faint scent of paint and clay and something citrus-sweet, orange peel maybe, left out in a little bowl on the windowsill. Children’s drawings lined the walls, some framed with pressed flowers, others curling at the corners from age or love.

Azriel stood just inside, uncertain of the space but unwilling to impose.

Y/N moved slowly. Not towards him, but toward the shelf where the water pitcher sat. She poured herself a glass with steady hands. Didn’t offer one. Didn’t look at him. Just needed something to do.

Azriel let the silence hold for a moment before speaking.

“I don’t think this is my world,” he said quietly.

She glanced at him, then back at her glass.

“I figured.”

He nodded, stepping forward. The wooden floor creaked faintly beneath his boots. He stopped a few paces from her, careful not to cross whatever invisible line she needed right now.

“There was a mission,” he said. “We were tracking a rogue spell-weaver. A witch who’d been bending too many old laws. I...” He exhaled slowly. “I might’ve said the wrong thing at the wrong time. I made her angry.”

Y/N set her glass down but didn’t drink from it. “And?”

“She was casting something. Ancient magic. I interrupted her. I thought I’d stopped her in time.” He gave a small shake of his head. “But something must have hit me. Something… twisted.”

She finally looked at him then, brows slightly furrowed. “You’re saying she sent you here?”

“I think so,” he said. “Not on purpose, maybe. But the spell left her hands just as I winnowed. I landed in Velaris. But not mine.”

He looked toward the window, out at the sky that wasn’t quite the right shade, at the garden path that curved too gently.

“I knew the moment I saw the stars. They’re wrong here. Familiar, but rearranged. Like someone shuffled the sky when I wasn’t looking.”

She said nothing for a long beat. Then, softly, “You’re a Shadowsinger there?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“And who… who do you work for?”

Azriel’s mouth twitched slightly. “Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court. I’m his spymaster.”

Her breath caught. He could hear it, even with the distance between them. She looked down at her hands, fingers curling in against her palms.

He took a half-step closer. “I didn’t catch your name,” he said, his voice gentler now. “May I ask?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Swallowed.

Then, almost to herself, she said, “Your voice is exactly the same.”

Azriel went still.

Her eyes flicked up to his. “The way you speak. It’s like… like he’s standing here.”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t know how to.

She closed her eyes briefly, as if the air itself had become too heavy.

“My name is Y/N,” she said finally. Quiet, but clear. “I used to mean something to you. I mean, to him. In this world.”

Azriel let the weight of it settle between them.

“I believe that,” he said.

Azriel’s eyes lingered on Y/N’s face, on the way she held herself just a little too still, like one wrong move might shatter the fragile calm she’d built around her.

“If you don’t mind,” he said carefully, “could you tell me more about this place? This version of Velaris. Is Rhysand the High Lord here too?”

Something shifted in her expression. Not shock. Just quiet confusion.

“Rhysand,” she repeated, as if tasting the name for the first time. “I’ve never heard that name before.”

That struck deeper than he expected. He kept his face impassive, but inside, a slow ripple of unease moved through him. Rhysand had ruled for centuries. If no one here knew his name…

“Then who rules the Night Court?” he asked.

“Lord Tharanis,” she said. “He’s been High Lord since before I was born.”

The name meant nothing to him. Not even a whisper of familiarity. Another piece of the puzzle that proved it beyond doubt, this world wasn’t just a copy. It was a divergence. A different thread entirely.

Y/N must have seen something in his face, because she stepped away from the table and crossed to one of the nearby shelves, tracing her fingers over the spines of a row of books without reading any of them.

“There’s a witch who lives near the cliffs on the eastern side of the city,” she said. “She studies old magic. Real old. Quiet about it, but good. We could ask her to help. Maybe she’ll know how to get you back.”

Azriel caught the way she said it. We. But the tone didn’t hold warmth. It was kindness, not invitation. She wanted him to leave.

He watched her closely now, the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way her hand paused over a small ceramic sculpture on the shelf but didn’t pick it up. She didn’t want to look at him again.

He took a step closer, his voice soft. “Are you afraid of what might happen if I stay?”

Her gaze stayed fixed on the shelf. “No.”

“Then what is it?”

Silence.

Then she turned, slowly. Her eyes met his, clear and unwavering.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said. “But you’re not supposed to be here. And… part of me keeps waiting for him to walk in.” She didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. “And he won’t.”

Azriel didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Her voice was steady now. Empty of drama, full of weight.

“My Azriel died,” she said. “Years ago. Not in battle. Not in glory. Just a quiet thing. Magic sickness. He didn’t even tell me until it was too far gone. He thought he could protect me from it.”

Her breath shivered at the edges.

“And he’s been gone long enough that I stopped dreaming of him. Until today.”

Azriel exhaled, low and slow. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Y/N gave the smallest nod, then sat down on the edge of a low bench, hands resting on her knees.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” she admitted. “You’re not him. But every time I look at you, my chest forgets that.”

Azriel lowered himself into the chair across from her. No armor between them now, no title. Just two people caught in something too large to name.

“I’ll help you find a way home,” she said again, quieter this time.

But Azriel wasn’t sure if she meant it for his sake, or hers. Maybe both. And maybe neither of them knew what it would cost when the way opened.

────────────

The room was small but clean. Simple linens on the bed, a chipped blue vase on the windowsill with a few sprigs of dried lavender tucked inside. The shutters creaked faintly in the wind as Azriel stood at the window, arms folded, staring out at the river.

The Sidra glittered under the early evening light, silver and shadowed, the current moving slow as syrup. In his Velaris, it danced faster. The curve of it was a touch different too, this one bent around a cluster of buildings that shouldn't exist. The skyline was off by inches, by centuries. He couldn’t stop cataloging it.

His shadows whispered around him, brushing the walls, curling through the corners of the room like restless thoughts. They brought him details he hadn’t asked for. The smell of something baking three floors below. The hushed footsteps of a couple arguing in the hallway. The flick of a candle being snuffed out in a room across the street. And whispers — always whispers — carrying scraps of names, old magic, things his mind could barely catch before they slipped away.

But he couldn’t focus.

He watched the light shift on the water, caught between the golden pull of sunset and the first hints of stars above. Stars that didn’t belong to him.

How many versions of Velaris were out there? How many Azriels? In this one, he had lived. Loved. And died.

He turned away from the window, ran a hand through his hair, let his fingers drag over his jaw.

He’d seen grief in Y/N’s eyes, coiled tight under her calm. But what haunted him more was the way she looked at him, like her heart didn’t know how to tell the difference yet.

He wanted to ask her. Everything. What he had been like. What he’d done. What they’d been.

But some part of him worried that asking would crack her open, and he wasn’t sure she’d ever put herself back together again.

Still, the questions clawed at him.

He needed to know. If not from her, then from someone who hadn’t loved that version of him with their whole chest.

His mind returned to the woman from earlier, the friend who’d brought him to Y/N in the first place. Sharp-eyed. Suspicious. Protective. She knew more than she’d said.

And if he and Y/N were going to visit the witch tomorrow afternoon, then this was his only chance to find answers before everything shifted again.

Azriel strapped his knives back onto his belt, out of habit more than necessity, and cast one last glance toward the Sidra.

The sky was deepening, thick with color. A world of strangers, and one familiar soul. He slipped into the shadows. And went looking for the truth.

Azriel found her near the edge of the old market, tucked behind a row of shuttered stalls. She stood alone by a railing that overlooked the Sidra, arms crossed tightly as she watched the river move in silence. The lanterns from the lower paths cast flickers of gold against her dark coat.

He didn’t try to be stealthy. He wanted her to see him coming.

She did.

“You’re not exactly subtle,” she muttered, her gaze flicking to his armor, his shadows, the stillness in the way he moved.

“I wasn’t trying to be,” Azriel said, stopping a few steps away.

She exhaled, jaw set. “If you’re looking for Y/N, she’s not here.”

“I came to talk to you.”

She hesitated. “Why?”

“Because I need to understand what this place is. What he was.”

The muscles in her arms tightened where they crossed. “You don’t get to dig through his life like it’s a map back to yours. He wasn’t a version of you. He was someone… And that someone was married to her.”

The moment the word left her mouth, her expression shifted, a slight widening of her eyes, as if she’d only just realized what she’d said.

Azriel’s voice was quiet. “Married?”

She flinched but didn’t deny it. Didn’t backtrack.

“Yes,” she said. “Since they were hundred-twenty-four.”

His breath caught. The word sat in his chest like a stone, unfamiliar and too big to ignore.

She watched him carefully. Noticing, perhaps for the first time, the way he didn’t quite stand like the Azriel she knew. How he held tension in his body like it was armor. How the shadows around him didn’t just cling — they listened.

“You really don’t know anything about this world, do you?” she said, softer now.

“No,” Azriel admitted.

And then, slowly, like the weight of his surprise had unlocked something in her, she began to speak.

“They grew up together. Their fathers were old friends, your father was a smith, hers a spice merchant. They were just… always around each other. Always in each other’s orbit. You used to tease her for stealing fruit off your plate. She used to braid flowers into your hair when you fell asleep in the fields behind her house.”

Azriel listened in silence, the image unfolding before him like a story written in a hand he almost recognized.

“He became a soldier,” she said. “Not a Shadowsinger, he didn't have those shadows. Just a fighter. Loyal. Brave. A little reckless, when it came to her.”

Azriel’s hands were still at his sides, but his knuckles had gone pale.

“He loved her,” she went on. “More than anything. He was quieter than most of the other males we grew up with. Thoughtful. Steady. But gods, when he looked at her…”

She trailed off, blinking fast.

Azriel said nothing. There was something raw sitting in his throat, but he didn’t know what name to give it.

“They were married under the spring cherry trees,” she added after a moment. “I stood beside her. I watched him shake when he kissed her.”

He closed his eyes briefly. The breeze off the Sidra caught the edge of his coat, pulling it slightly. His shadows stayed close, hushed, as if mourning someone they’d never met.

“He died nine years ago,” the friend said finally. “It wasn’t his fault. But it didn’t matter. She hasn’t been the same since.”

Azriel’s voice was barely above a whisper. “And now I’m here.”

She looked at him again, really looked, and for the first time, her eyes softened. “You’re not him,” she said. “But you’re not nothing either.”

Silence stretched between them, and Azriel breathed through the ache of it.

“I don’t want to hurt her,” he said.

“I know,” she answered.

And they stood together at the edge of a world where two lives had almost, impossibly, collided.

Y/N shut the door behind her, turned the lock with trembling fingers, and let her back fall against the wood.

For a long time, she didn’t move.

Velaris was quiet beyond the window, the kind of stillness that always came after the children's laughter faded and the lanterns blinked to life across the Sidra. But the city felt foreign now. Tilted somehow. Too sharp in its familiarity. Like someone had redrawn the lines of everything she'd learned to live with.

She pressed a hand to her cheek and felt the tears that had dried there. She hadn't even noticed when they'd fallen.

Slowly, her feet carried her into the room that used to be theirs.

The walls were warm with the same soft blue he used to say reminded him of summer skies. Her fingers brushed the edge of the dresser, skimming over the old glass bottles and the cluster of pressed flowers still sealed in a frame.

She reached for the drawer beneath the bed. It groaned softly in protest. And there it was. The painting.

A small canvas, edges frayed from being held too many times. A portrait, clumsy, rough-edged, painted on a spring afternoon years ago when the breeze kept stealing her brush and he wouldn’t stop laughing. She’d made him sit still for it, half-scowling, half-grinning. His hand was on hers in the picture, even though she’d never meant to paint that part.

She cradled it in both hands now, sinking slowly to the floor, her back against the side of the bed. Her forehead pressed to the edge of the frame.

He looked so young in it. And now he was standing in her world again. Breathing again. Looking at her with the same eyes but none of the memory.

She had told herself she was fine. That she could handle this. That helping him find his way home was the right thing to do.

But the truth hit her like a blow to the ribs. He wasn’t her Azriel. Her Azriel was gone.

Gone in a way that left the world quieter. In a way that had hollowed out parts of her she’d never been able to refill. And now this new one, this stranger who wore his face and spoke with his voice, had stepped into her life like the echo of a dream she’d spent years trying to forget.

It was too much.

Her hand curled around the bottom of the frame, and her breath hitched.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, voice breaking. “I don’t know how to breathe around you.”

A shadow slipped through the crack beneath the door.

She didn’t see it. Didn’t feel the gentle shift in air as it moved, curious, cautious. It hovered in the corner of the room, keeping its distance like it understood grief by instinct alone.

She pressed her face into her knees, shoulders shaking.

“I miss you,” she whispered. “I miss you every day.”

The shadow watched, then slipped back through the wood and stone, weaving between alleys and eaves, past flower boxes and lit windows, all the way across Velaris.

It found him at the inn, standing at the window again, still staring at the stars that didn’t belong to him. And when it reached him, it didn’t speak. It didn’t have to.

He felt the truth curl against his ribs as the shadow touched his shoulder, cold with the ache of her.

She was crying.

And somehow, the sound of it broke something open in him too.

────────────

The sun was warm where it filtered through the trees, casting soft shadows across the cobblestone walk. Azriel stood near the gate of the care station, wings tucked in, hands clasped loosely behind his back as he waited.

He didn’t have to turn when he felt her approach. The shadows told him before her footsteps ever reached the stone.

Y/N’s pace was steady, but her shoulders were a little higher than usual, her chin set with quiet resolve. Her eyes met his as she stopped beside him, and for a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.

Then Azriel offered a soft, “How are you doing today?”

She looked at him for a long moment, then gave a small, honest smile. “Coping,” she said. “But… it’s hard. Seeing you like this. Every time I look at you, my heart forgets, for just a second, and then it remembers all over again.”

Azriel nodded, gently. “That makes sense. I'm sorry you have to go through this all."

She glanced at him sideways, searching. “And you? How are you doing in a world that doesn’t quite know you?”

His mouth lifted slightly. “Figuring it out as I go. Trying not to get too attached to the wrong sky.”

That surprised a breath of laughter out of her, small, but real.

“I thought maybe,” he said, “you’d feel better if I distracted you a little.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” she admitted, her voice softer now.

They fell into step, walking side by side down the shaded street that led toward the edge of the city.

“You mentioned a High Lady,” she prompted after a pause. “You really have one in your world?”

Azriel nodded. “Feyre. She’s my High Lady, and Rhysand’s mate.”

Y/N blinked, eyes wide. “You have a mated High Lady?”

“We do,” he said. “And she earned it. She was mortal once. Human. Fought through war and death to save our kind. Rhysand gave her the title because she earned her place beside him. Not behind. Not beneath. Beside.”

Y/N shook her head slowly, clearly captivated. “I’ve never even heard of a female high ruler. In our court, the males still hold the bloodlines. Always have.”

“Feyre shattered that,” Azriel said with quiet pride. “And she didn’t do it alone. Mor helped guide her. Amren too. Powerful females, each in their own way.”

Y/N’s brows lifted. “You’re surrounded by strong women.”

He gave a faint, rueful smile. “That’s an understatement.”

The wind stirred as they turned onto a narrower path lined with stone lanterns.

“I think I would’ve liked your Feyre,” she said after a moment.

“She would’ve liked you too,” he said. “She sees people. The quiet strength in them. The ache they carry. She would’ve seen yours right away.”

Y/N looked at him then, really looked, and for a brief moment, the weight behind her eyes eased.

Ahead, the path curved upward toward the rise of a mossy hill. At the top stood a narrow building nestled in wisteria vines, its windows darkened with age, a carved raven perched over the lintel.

“She’s in there?” Y/N asked.

Azriel nodded. “I can feel the wards already.”

They stopped at the base of the hill.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Are you?”

She took a breath that trembled slightly. Then nodded.

And together, they climbed toward the witch who might hold the answers, and the thread that would lead him home, or unravel everything they’d just begun to hold.

The climb slowed as they reached the top of the hill. The weight of the city seemed to fall away behind them, replaced by the heavy scent of moss and wildflowers. The air was cooler here, still enough that the faint rustle of leaves sounded like a secret waiting to be shared.

Azriel glanced at Y/N. She stood a few steps ahead, shoulders squared but tension visible in the tight set of her jaw, the way her fingers curled lightly at her sides.

He shifted, shadows flickering softly around his ankles, a quiet reminder of the darkness he carried and the light she tried to protect.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly.

She looked back, surprise flickering in her eyes, but her voice was steady. “I don’t know any other way forward.”

He nodded, stepping closer, feeling the subtle tremor in her breath. “Whatever happens in there, I want you to know...”

She cut him off with a small, sad smile. “You already know. It’s not the witch I’m afraid of. It’s what comes after.”

Azriel’s fingers itched to reach for hers, but he held back. “Then we face it together.”

She swallowed, eyes drifting to the carved raven above the door. “I’m not sure if I’m brave enough.”

“You’re braver than you think,” he said, voice low enough that only she could hear.

They stood side by side, the silence stretching between them like a fragile thread. Azriel’s shadows curled protectively, sensing her fear, her hope, and the impossible bond that held them here, tangled between loss and the chance at something new.

Y/N took a shaky breath, and without another word, she lifted her hand and knocked.

The door creaked open slowly, revealing a dim interior that smelled of damp stone, dried herbs, and something older, the scent of magic that had been rooted there long before Velaris rose around it.

The witch was already waiting.

She stood at the center of the room, pale hair swept into a thick braid, her eyes the color of moonstone. Everything about her felt quiet and vast, like a pond with no surface ripple — but Azriel felt the power gathered beneath her skin like coiled smoke.

“You’re not from here,” she said before they even stepped inside.

Azriel inclined his head. “No.”

She gestured them in, and the door shut behind them with a breathless hush. Y/N hovered just behind him, silent, wary.

“Explain,” the witch said, voice like frost curling up a windowpane.

Azriel took his time. He told her about the mission. The witch he’d cornered. The way she screamed in an old tongue as she’d vanished into shadow. The spell that had struck as he was winnowing away. And the moment he landed in Velaris only to find that the stars were wrong and nothing quite fit.

The witch listened without interrupting. When he finished, she moved to the shelves lining the curved wall, fingers gliding over jars and scrolls like she already knew what she’d find.

“That’s weaving magic,” she murmured. “Time-threading. Ancient. Nearly extinct.”

Azriel’s brow furrowed. “You recognize it?”

“Barely,” she replied. “It’s old enough that even most witches have only read about it in theory. Which means the one you angered was exceptionally trained… or dangerous beyond sense. Or both.”

Y/N swallowed, watching the way the witch’s shoulders tightened.

“So what does that mean?” she asked quietly. “Is there a way to undo it?”

The witch turned, scroll in hand. “Maybe. But not quickly. This kind of casting unravels space around it, rips a hole through layered time. You’re not just misplaced, Shadowsinger. You’re displaced. And you’ve dragged the thread of your world with you.”

Azriel stilled. “What are you saying?”

The witch looked at him like a storm just waiting to form. “The Cauldron can only bear so much. When a being slips through timelines like this, especially one bound to another world, another rhythm, the strain begins to tear at the core of everything. Realms blur. Boundaries weaken. If you stay much longer, the damage could become… irreversible.”

Y/N’s breath left her in a slow, unsteady exhale.

The witch's voice dropped lower. “One wrong soul in the wrong timeline is a ripple that doesn’t end. Eventually, the Cauldron cracks. And if that happens, it won’t be just you or this world that falls. The entire weave could collapse, all timelines, all lives. Every version of you. Every version of you and her.”

She didn’t have to gesture toward Y/N for the words to land like a blade.

Azriel’s voice was quiet. “Can you fix it?”

The witch hesitated. “I can try. I’ll need time. And help. I’ll reach out to every coven that still remembers the old languages. But we’re not talking about days. You have to be ready when the moment comes, and it will come suddenly. We may only get one chance.”

Azriel nodded once. “Understood.”

The witch gave him a long, unreadable look. Then turned her gaze to Y/N.

“I don’t need to ask how much it hurts to see him,” she said. “But I do need you to understand that if you keep trying to hold him here, even with your heart, the cost might not stop with you.”

The silence that followed was heavy. The kind that broke bones.

Y/N didn’t speak as they left the witch’s house. Not at first.

But when they reached the edge of the hill, with Velaris spread beneath them like a world pretending to be whole, she finally whispered, “You really do have to go.”

And Azriel, who had watched the edges of her tremble and steel themselves with quiet dignity, didn’t argue.

He simply said, “I know.”

The sun had shifted lower by the time they made their way down the hill, painting Velaris in a watercolor haze of lilac and pale gold. The path was narrow, flanked by wild heather and whispering grass, the city glittering below like a dream waiting to be remembered.

Y/N walked beside him in silence, gaze flicking to the horizon, her jaw tight with thought.

Azriel didn’t speak. He could feel the tension in her steps, the storm moving behind her quiet eyes. It was a familiar silence, but not a comfortable one. This wasn’t the silence they’d shared in the witch’s house, filled with fear and consequence. This one was quieter. Raw. Human.

“I know it’s dangerous,” she said suddenly, voice low, like she wasn’t quite ready to admit it out loud. “I know you shouldn’t be here. I understand what’s at stake, what could break because of this.”

He glanced at her, but she kept her eyes forward.

“And still,” she breathed, “some part of me was hoping you could stay. Just a little while longer.”

Azriel’s heart thudded against his ribs. He said nothing, waiting.

Y/N shook her head, her voice thinning with guilt. “It’s selfish. I didn’t even think about… Oh gods...” she stopped walking and turned to him, wide-eyed. “Is someone waiting for you back home?”

Azriel blinked. Then slowly, gently, he said, “No. No one like that.”

She looked away, swallowing hard, but not before he saw the flicker of relief that passed through her features. Relief and shame.

“My family,” he added, softer, “my court. They’ll be worried. But they can wait a bit longer… if staying here means I might help you heal.”

Y/N’s lips parted, but the words didn’t come. Her throat bobbed with the effort to speak.

“I won’t force anything,” Azriel went on. “While we wait for the witch to find a way back, it’s your choice. If you want me to stay away, I will. If it’s easier to forget I’m here, I’ll disappear into the city and you won’t see me again until it’s time.”

She looked at him now. Fully. The grief in her eyes shimmered, but so did something else. Something fragile and reaching.

“But,” he said, the barest trace of a smile curling at the edge of his mouth, “if you think maybe… maybe we could spend some time together, even just as strangers, I’d like that too.”

Y/N stared at him, and then, slowly, her lips curved into a faint, wistful smile.

“There were things,” she whispered, “my Azriel never had time for. Little things. I always told him we had forever.”

Azriel took a breath, feeling the tightness in his chest ease.

“Then let me do them with you,” he said. “I have time.”

The city glowed warmer below them now, the river catching the last light of day.

Y/N nodded once, more to herself than him. “He never got to learn how to paint. Or dance without armor on. Or ruin a cake recipe just because he always wanted to.”

Azriel chuckled, a low, quiet sound that made her eyes brighten.

“I’m excellent at ruining recipes,” he said. “That one I’ve already mastered.”

Y/N laughed — and it cracked something open.

They kept walking.

This time, they walked slower.

────────────

The next day dawned pale and bright, the kind of morning that smelled like clean air and promise. Velaris stirred gently to life as Azriel made his way to the care station, a small satchel slung over one shoulder, shadows curling lazily along his collar like drowsy cats.

The children spotted him first.

Cries of delight broke out across the garden as a handful of small figures dashed toward the fence, little hands waving, eyes wide. Y/N stood under the canvas awning that shaded the painting tables, her apron already dotted with a dozen different colors. She looked up, and despite everything — the pain, the weight of yesterday — her smile came easily.

“You came,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

“I said I would,” Azriel replied, glancing around. “Besides, I’m here to ruin your art supplies.”

“You’re about to be in a lot of trouble,” she warned playfully, already handing him a paintbrush.

The table was covered in bright pots of color, paper curling in the corners from the morning breeze, little hands dipping brushes into everything at once. Azriel found himself seated between two wide-eyed children, both whispering about how tall he was.

“Are you a warrior?” one of them asked.

“Sometimes,” he said, lips twitching.

“He’s going to paint with us today,” Y/N said from across the table. “Be nice.”

Azriel dipped his brush into something bright pink and started dragging uneven strokes across his page. Purposefully clumsy, exaggeratedly bad. The kids giggled with delight as his “painting” became a lopsided blob with what might’ve been wings.

“This is terrible,” Y/N said, leaning over his shoulder.

“I warned you.”

“You’re doing that on purpose.”

He didn’t reply.

Her voice lowered. “You’re better than this, aren’t you?”

He looked up, surprised to find her gaze already waiting for him. Calm. Patient. A little amused.

Azriel sighed. “A little.”

“Then paint something real.”

He blinked. “Real?”

“Something that reminds you of home.”

The children were still lost in their own work, but Y/N had settled across from him now, eyes steady, hands stained blue at the knuckles.

Azriel picked up a clean sheet, silent for a long moment. Then he began.

His brush moved slowly, deliberately this time. Thin strokes forming shadows first, not harsh, not frightening, but soft, layered darkness like the kind that gathered under quiet trees. Then came the mountains, sharp and proud, painted in indigo and deep green, rising in the distance.

A sky filled in next. Not just blue, but dotted with constellations, each one placed with careful reverence.

At the center, a single stone balcony, draped in ivy and overlooking a silver river. There were no people. Only light. Stillness.

Y/N didn’t say a word while he worked. She watched, hands folded in her lap.

When he was done, Azriel set the brush down and sat back.

“That’s the House of Wind,” she said quietly.

He nodded once. “It’s where I feel most like myself.”

She looked at the painting for a long time. “It’s beautiful.”

His voice was soft. “Thank you.”

There was a quiet between them, warm and full, not the silence of absence, but of something being gently built. In the background, a child was explaining to another that Azriel’s first painting was definitely a dragon.

Y/N smiled. “Tomorrow, you’re baking.”

Azriel raised a brow. “I’m what?”

“Ruining a recipe,” she said, eyes sparkling. “Like you promised.”

He chuckled, a low sound that stirred something in her chest.

“All right,” he murmured. “But only if you help me clean up the disaster.”

Y/N leaned her chin on her hand, watching him.

“Deal.”

Azriel wiped his hands on the edge of his tunic, smirking faintly at the streaks of paint across his skin. Most of it was probably from the children, but some, he admitted, was definitely from him.

“Should I help clean this up?” he asked, glancing at the mess of paper, drying brushes, and tipped-over jars of color.

Y/N had already started stacking the unused paper. She looked up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“No, you don’t have to. You’re a guest.”

“I insist,” he said simply.

She hesitated, then laughed under her breath. “You’re very stubborn, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

With a small shake of her head, she handed him a cloth. “Fine. Wipe the brushes gently. We try to save them as long as possible.”

Azriel took the cloth, his hands deft and steady as he followed her instructions. They moved quietly beside each other, the easy rhythm of shared work wrapping around them. For a while, it felt almost ordinary. Light spilling in through the awning, soft laughter still trailing across the yard.

Then, suddenly-

“Miss Y/N!”

A small voice broke across the space.

One of the children, a little boy with untied boots and paint on his chin, came barreling up to them. His eyes were wide, worried.

“It’s Lyla,” he panted. “She fell. Her knee’s bleeding. She’s behind the swings.”

Y/N’s face changed instantly — concern replacing ease. She set down the brushes and knelt to the boy’s level, brushing his curls back gently.

“Is she crying?”

He nodded. “A little.”

“Good job coming to get me,” she said, squeezing his shoulder before rising and heading off across the garden.

Azriel watched her go. The way she crouched beside the small, crumpled shape near the swings, her hands soft as she checked the child’s knee, her voice low and steady. The boy hovered near them the whole time, guilt in every line of his little frame. She pulled him close too, one arm wrapping around each sibling as she whispered something only they could hear.

Azriel didn’t know what it was, but both children clung to her like roots to soil.

He didn’t look away.

Not when she kissed the girl’s forehead. Not when she helped them both stand. Not when she walked back across the grass with her braid loose and her cheeks a little flushed from the sun.

“She’ll be all right,” Y/N said as she reached him again. “Nothing serious. A scrape and a fright.”

“You’re good with them.”

She gave him a small smile. “They’re easy to love.”

Azriel’s mouth twitched. “So are you.”

She froze just slightly. He looked away, but the words lingered between them, soft and unthreatening. Like a truth neither of them needed to acknowledge yet.

“I should let you go,” she said gently. “You’ve spent enough of your day here.”

Azriel’s brows lifted. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

Y/N tilted her head. “You really don’t?”

He shook his head once. “Not until the witches find a way home. And even then…” He looked around at the garden, the half-dry paintings, the swing swaying slightly in the breeze. “I don’t mind being here. Not at all.”

Something in her chest eased. Not everything. But something.

“I could tell them a story,” Azriel said then. “If they’re tired. Something from my world. I could… make it sound like a fairy tale.”

Y/N studied him for a long moment. “You know any stories with dragons and starlight?”

He gave her a rare, small smile. “I know one with a High Lady who turned a battlefield into a blooming field of moonflowers.”

The surprise in her eyes turned to delight. “Go on, then. They’ll love that.”

Azriel turned toward the group of children now gathering under the big tree near the edge of the garden. The sun had shifted again, dappling light through the leaves, and as he sat down in the grass, a dozen eager faces leaned closer.

He looked back once, just briefly.

Y/N stood nearby, arms crossed loosely, watching him.

For the first time in a long time, in either world, Azriel let himself settle.

────────────

The wind howled low through the canyons of Velaris, carrying with it something strange, a pulse beneath the air, as if the city had drawn breath and forgotten how to exhale.

In a dim, windowless chamber beneath her ivy-covered cottage, the witch worked.

Scrolls lined every surface. Spellbooks lay open to pages so brittle they nearly crumbled beneath her hands. Runes flickered along the floor in fading gold, ancient symbols drawn in circles of salt and powdered quartz. Candles burned with sickly blue flames, their wax dripping sideways, as if gravity itself was beginning to tilt.

Her fingertips trembled. She had felt it again. The Cauldron.

Not in a dream, not in a vision, but in her own bones, a thunderous crack of power, distant but real. Like a ripple through the ocean of time itself. One timeline brushing too close to another, dragging its weight behind it.

She dropped the crystal she had been scrying with. It shattered.

“Damn it,” she hissed, rising to pace the circle.

Magic swirled in the corners of the room, uneasy. The Cauldron did not like to be tampered with. It hated interference, especially from mortals who meddled with the delicate weave of fates not meant to cross.

And yet… someone had done just that.

A witch. Skilled enough to rip one Azriel from his thread and toss him into the wrong tapestry.

And now, the Cauldron was fraying. Not yet breaking. But it would. Soon.

She raised her hands again, whispering the tracing spell. The map of timelines floated before her, glowing strings dancing in the air. One line flickered, silver and pulsing. Azriel’s.

It crossed where it should not.

“I need more time,” she murmured, eyes scanning a dozen different volumes, trying to remember where she had last seen the binding rite. “Just a little more…”

Outside, the wind shifted again, dry and sharp with something like heat. Magic was unraveling. And if she couldn’t fix it… The worlds would bleed.

In the meantime, Velaris held its breath in quieter ways.

The sun filtered through clouds like gold poured from a pitcher, softening the sharp edges of the city. Along the Sidra, the river murmured to itself, weaving through stone bridges and glass-lit walkways as if it had never heard of timelines or cracking Cauldrons.

At a quiet corner café by the water’s edge, Y/N sat across from Azriel, a half-eaten slice of honeyed pear tart on the plate between them.

Azriel had no idea how she’d convinced him to try it, only that the moment she wrinkled her nose and said, “You’ve never had this before?” he’d already agreed. Her smile had done most of the work.

Now, he sipped warm tea from a delicate mug far too small for his hands, letting the sweetness linger on his tongue. The sun caught in his hair, in the curve of her cheek as she laughed at something he didn’t know he’d said quite that funny.

He didn’t think about the witch’s warning. Or the ripple he felt in his shadows earlier that morning. Not right now.

“You’re staring,” Y/N said, her voice light but not teasing.

Azriel blinked, caught. “Just listening,” he said softly, and her expression flickered with something warmer than the sun.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly shy. “To what?”

“The river. Your laugh. Everything.”

That earned a softer smile. Not the kind she gave the children or her friend or even the strangers in the market. This one was quieter. More uncertain. Like she didn’t quite know where to put it.

Their plates sat between them, a shared little mess of tart crust and berry stains.

Azriel leaned back slightly, watching the boats drift past on the Sidra, their sails bright against the water. His wings were folded, his shadows quiet.

“How do you do it?” he asked after a pause.

“Do what?”

“Live like this. After everything.”

Y/N stirred her tea, eyes on the rippling water. “Some days I don’t. Not fully. But then… the sun still rises. The children still laugh. And someone has to be there to hear it.”

Azriel looked at her for a long time. Then, with a faint smile, he said, “I’m glad it’s you.”

Her gaze met his, steady and unsure at once. “And I’m glad you’re here.”

Azriel set his mug down, fingers brushing the rim once before he leaned forward slightly, voice soft in the lull between river sounds and city life.

“You know, back home,” he said, “Feyre, the High Lady, she painted stars on the ceiling of her house. Said they reminded her of hope. I never really understood that until I saw them in the dark once. Alone.”

Y/N smiled faintly, resting her chin in one hand. “And do they remind you of hope?”

Azriel’s gaze lifted to the river, to the way the light danced like silver thread along the surface. “They did,” he said. “Still do.”

But her eyes weren’t on the river.

They had fallen to his hands, gloved as always, even in the warm air. The fabric was worn, the seams faintly frayed at the knuckles. But where the glove slipped back from his wrist, she could just make out the beginning of raised skin. Scars. Twisting like old fire, etched deep and permanent.

Her Azriel didn’t have those scars.

She wondered how far they went. Up to his knuckles? His fingers? Were they from a battle? A punishment? A childhood that had taken more than it ever gave?

She didn’t ask. It wasn’t hers to know, not yet. And maybe not ever.

But something in her chest ached anyway, because she could feel how heavy it must be. Whatever weight those gloves hid, it pressed into the silence between them like an old bruise.

Azriel had noticed her glance. He always noticed.

But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t shift to hide. He only lifted the cup again, held it steady between those gloved hands.

Y/N looked up quickly, catching his gaze.

“I won’t ask,” she said, the words barely above a whisper. “But… I see you.”

Azriel stilled.

And then, with a quiet breath, like the softest exhale of his shadows, he nodded. “Thank you.”

They didn’t speak again for a while. Not because there was nothing to say, but because something deeper was already being understood.

Y/N sat with her legs tucked beneath her on the bench seat, a smile playing at her lips as she watched a little boy toddle past with a string tied to a stick, his makeshift dragon clattering behind him across the cobblestones.

“He reminds me of my brother,” she said suddenly, gaze drifting.

Azriel looked over from where he was peeling apart a croissant. “You have a brother?”

“I do,” she said, still smiling, though there was a soft melancholy to it. “He's in another court now. Duty called him. But before that, he was a terror. In the best way.”

She turned toward him, chin resting on her hand. “We used to sneak honey cakes from the summer festivals. Hide them in the garden under the old peach tree and pretend we were squirrels storing food for winter. Of course, we’d eat them all by sunset. I always had the crumbs on my face, and he never took the blame. Not once.”

Azriel chuckled quietly. “Did you get caught?”

“Every time. My father pretended not to know, but he’d bring out extra sweets at dinner. Said something about growing appetites.” She paused, her eyes twinkling. “That peach tree is still there. Overgrown and wild, but every year, it blooms just the same.”

Azriel watched her as she spoke — the way her hands moved, how the sunlight caught in her hair, how her voice lightened as the story unfolded. There was something brighter in her now. A part of her that had been submerged in grief when he first arrived, now slowly surfacing.

She didn’t look fragile anymore. She looked real. Whole, in a new way.

He smiled, quiet and genuine. “You loved him.”

“With everything,” she said. Then, after a breath, “Like I loved him.”

Azriel’s expression shifted, softening even more. “You’ve been smiling more,” he said.

Y/N glanced at him, caught off guard. “I have?”

He nodded, his shadows curling lazily along the floor beneath the table. “You laugh more too. The children said so yesterday.”

She leaned back, exhaling slowly. “I didn’t think I would, again. Not like this.”

Azriel didn’t say anything, but his gaze stayed steady on her.

She looked down at the tea in her hands, fingers tracing the rim of the cup. “It’s strange, isn’t it? That you could come here by accident and still... somehow bring light back with you.”

Azriel swallowed, the words landing like a weight and a gift all at once. “Maybe it wasn’t an accident.”

Y/N looked up at him and for a moment, the world around them slowed. The rustle of leaves. The breeze off the water. The soft laughter of someone nearby. It all hushed.

“Maybe not,” she whispered.

They sat in that quiet together, the sun warming their skin, and the scent of fresh bread and citrus between them.

And though neither of them said it aloud, they both knew, something was shifting. Not just timelines. But hearts, too.

The moment the breeze shifted, Y/N knew. It was as if the day exhaled, soft and cool, suddenly too still. The scent of citrus faded, replaced by something ancient and electric, like a storm not yet seen but already felt in the bones.

Azriel noticed it too. His shadows straightened, alert. Then, without warning, she was there.

The witch stepped out of the air beside their table, her robes dark and shimmering faintly with threads of starlight. Her face was as calm as the Sidra behind them, but her presence brought with it something colder. Final.

Y/N’s heart clenched.

She stood quickly, nearly knocking her tea. “It’s time, isn’t it?”

The witch nodded once. “Yes. I’ve found a way.”

Azriel rose more slowly, his jaw tightening as he faced her. “You’re sure it will work?”

The witch’s eyes glinted, old magic whispering in her voice. “As sure as I can be. But there’s no room for delay. The threads of your presence here have begun to fray the structure of this realm. I can feel the Cauldron straining, one more crack, and it won’t be this world that breaks.”

Y/N felt her breath catch in her throat.

It was happening.

It had always been coming, but hearing it aloud, seeing the truth in the witch’s steady gaze, it tore the air from her lungs.

Azriel said nothing for a long moment. Then he looked at Y/N.

He didn’t reach for her. Didn’t need to. The look in his eyes was enough. She tried to hold herself steady. Tried to breathe. But the witch’s words echoed inside her.

It’s time.

He was leaving.

Azriel turned back to the witch, voice rough but steady. “How long do we have?”

The witch considered. “A few hours. Sunset.”

Sunset.

That left so little, and somehow, far too much.

Y/N forced herself to nod. Her fingers trembled slightly at her sides, but her voice was level. “Where do we need to go?”

“I’ll find you again,” the witch said. “I just needed to give you warning. You’ll know when.”

She stepped back into the wind, and with a rustle of her robes and a flicker of violet magic, she was gone.

Silence fell again over the café.

The world kept moving. People still passed by, unaware that anything had changed. But for Azriel and Y/N, the day had shifted on its axis.

The end had a shape now. And it was coming fast.

The sun had begun its slow descent, casting the Sidra in liquid gold. The river flowed gently beside them, quiet and endless, its surface glittering like stardust.

Y/N walked beside Azriel in silence, her fingers brushing occasionally against the edge of his cloak. The breeze tugged at her hair, and for a while, all they did was walk, as if they could outpace time itself, if they didn’t speak, if they just kept moving.

But Azriel felt it in her. The way her shoulders curled inward just slightly. The soft tension in her breath. Her sadness folded itself neatly around her like a second skin.

And he felt it in himself, too. That ache.

Not the sharp pain of battle wounds or the burn of shadows in his blood, but something quieter, heavier. A kind of loss that hadn’t happened yet but had already taken root.

He glanced at her, then away. “You’ve helped me more than I ever expected.”

She looked up at him, lips parted as if to protest, but he kept going, voice low. “I came here thinking I’d just disrupted something. That I’d landed somewhere I didn’t belong. And I did. But it’s not just that.”

The shadows at his back stirred gently, like they, too, were listening.

“You’ve reminded me what gentleness looks like,” he said, his voice a near whisper. “You reminded me that healing isn’t just survival. It’s... softness. It’s letting yourself laugh again.”

Y/N’s eyes shimmered, but she kept walking.

Azriel stopped. She did too, a step later, turning toward him slowly.

“If there was a way,” he said, voice barely above the hush of the river, “I’d take you with me.”

The words hung between them, fragile and impossible.

His gaze dropped, and he exhaled softly. “But I know it wouldn’t work. It’s not that kind of magic. It’s not that kind of story.”

Y/N smiled. Not because she was happy, but because she wanted to give him something kind. Her eyes, though, they told the truth. They ached. They mourned.

Still, she stepped in close. She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.

Her arms came around him, quiet and certain, and she pressed her cheek to his chest. Her hands flattened against his back, holding him there, like maybe she could memorize the feel of him before he was gone.

She inhaled, deeply, taking in his scent, the leather and pine, the faint trace of wind and steel and something only he carried.

Azriel hesitated only a moment before his arms wrapped around her too. Firm, steady, as if he could hold this second in place forever.

Neither of them spoke.

The Sidra flowed beside them, patient and unknowing. The sun dipped lower. And the minutes they had left slipped quietly by, wrapped in silence and warmth and the weight of everything that would never be said.

The witch emerged from the dusk, her presence silent but heavy with ancient power. Her eyes, gleaming with stars and secrets, settled on them both. There was no urgency in her voice, only a steady certainty as she said, “It is time. You must return.”

Azriel’s gaze shifted slowly to Y/N, searching her face as though trying to etch every curve, every unspoken word into memory. The shadows curled protectively around him, but the strength in his eyes softened with something almost like sorrow.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward, his fingers trembling just slightly as they traced the gentle line of her cheek. The skin was warm beneath his touch, grounding him in this impossible moment.

He leaned in slowly, closing the space between them with a kiss oh her cheek, soft and reverent, a whisper against her skin. The kiss spoke of gratitude and regret, of all the stolen moments and all the things left unsaid.

“Thank you,” he breathed, voice raw with feeling. “For everything. For this.”

Y/N’s breath caught, and for a moment the world seemed to hold its breath with them. Her hands twined in the fabric of his cloak, reluctant to let go, desperate to keep hold of this fragment of a life she never thought she’d have.

His eyes searched hers once more, filled with a fierce tenderness, before he stepped back, shadows rising like dark wings around him, cloaking him from the world.

The witch raised her hand, fingers weaving a silent spell, and a pulse of violet light rippled outward, wrapping Azriel in its glow. The air thrummed with the power of the Cauldron itself, fragile and fierce.

In the blink of an eye, Azriel was gone.

Left behind was the fading warmth of his kiss, the faint scent of leather and pine hanging in the quiet evening air, and Y/N — standing alone by the Sidra, holding onto the echo of a goodbye that still felt impossibly too soon.

────────────

The familiar hum of Velaris pulsed all around him—the distant laughter of street performers, the soft murmur of the Sidra’s waters, the gentle clinking of glasses from nearby taverns—but Azriel felt strangely untethered, like a ghost wandering through his own city. The days since his return blurred together, a fog swallowing his memories whole. Rhys and Cassian had told him he’d been gone for over a week, vanished without a trace, only to reappear as if nothing had happened. He couldn't remember what happened. But inside, Azriel knew something had changed.

There was a quiet, steady warmth beneath the surface, something healing, gentle, like a balm on old wounds he hadn’t realized were still raw.

Today, he was helping Feyre move canvases and crates into her art studio, the smell of fresh paint mingling with the scent of spring rain drifting through open windows. Feyre’s laughter was bright and easy, her presence grounding him even as a restless pull tugged at his chest.

His gaze drifted across the bustling town square just as he set down a heavy crate. And there, among the crowd, he saw her.

A fae, standing with an effortless grace that made the sunlight catch in her hair, turning it to molten gold. She was looking not quite at him, but through him, as if glimpsing into places only shadows could reach… a spark of recognition he couldn’t place, like a forgotten song playing just beyond hearing.

Azriel didn’t understand why his heart quickened, why his hand lifted almost instinctively in a hesitant wave.

The fae’s eyes widened, and then a soft, almost knowing smile curved her lips. She returned his wave before slipping quietly into a nearby shop, disappearing before he could reach her.

His hand dropped slowly, confusion settling over him like a shadow.

He didn’t know who she was. He couldn’t remember her.

But the pull, the silent thread connecting them, was undeniable, aching beneath his skin like a promise he couldn’t yet understand.

"You've been quiet all day," she said, her voice low and knowing. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

Azriel blinked, distracted. Across the square, he could see her through the glasses of that shop.

Feyre followed his gaze, then looked back at him, her brow furrowed. "Az?"

"I... I don’t know," he murmured, almost to himself.

"You don’t know what?" she asked.

But he couldn’t answer. The feeling was too strange, too sharp. His heart thudded in his chest, and before he could stop himself, the words left him like a breath, half-formed and distant.

"I need to go."

"Go where?"

But he was already walking away, crossing the street without looking back, the hum of Feyre’s concern fading behind him.

She had disappeared into a shop moments before, but he knew. He didn’t know why. Didn’t know how. But he knew.

The bell above the door chimed softly as he stepped inside. The world quieted, holding its breath.

And then, there she was.

Closer now. Real. Solid. Her eyes widened, the same as before, but now with something else behind them. Something fragile, something infinite.

Azriel felt it again, deep in his chest. That pull. That thread. It trembled between them like spun gold.

She tilted her head, voice tentative, soft. “Do I... know you?”

He hesitated for a breath, then offered a small smile, one that felt strange and familiar all at once.

"I’m Azriel."

A beat of silence. Then she returned his smile, something in her gaze breaking open.

"I’m Y/N."

Their names, shared again for the first time. A beginning carved into the end.

And somewhere, just beneath the surface, the thread between them tightened.

Not remembering. Not yet.

But knowing, somehow, all the same.

[tarotsoulreads]

this was actually incredible oh my god??? You are so incredibly creative with your writings and the way you tell stories is so beautiful!! I adored every moment of this! You have a true talent for emotional warfare, I applaud you bestie 🥲🥲🥲

[sweet-pea-channie]

Thank you!!! 😘 loved reading your feedback! I really enjoyed writing this one ☺️

[bluiela-deactivated20260318]

It’s honestly baffling how antis twist Azriel’s torment over the Elain-Lucien mating bond into a sign that he and Elain are meant to be.

In reality, it’s the complete opposite—and the text makes that clear if you’re actually paying attention.Azriel’s fixation on Elain isn’t born from love, emotional connection, or genuine chemistry.

It stems from symmetry. In his mind, it makes logical sense: three Archeron sisters, three Bat Boys. Rhys with Feyre, Cassian with Nesta… so naturally, shouldn’t Elain be his? That’s how he justifies his desire for her—because it would mean he finally gets a happy ending too. One that fits the pattern, one that makes him feel like he belongs and finally has love that he has been craving for centuries.

We were in Azriel’s head during the bonus chapter—and not once does he express true emotional depth toward Elain. There's no inner warmth, no soul-deep connection, no pull that mirrors what we’ve seen between established mates.

What we do see is a man desperately clinging to logic, trying to make sense of why he’s always left on the outside. It’s not love. It’s longing for belonging. It’s him projecting the idea of happiness onto someone who, by the laws of symmetry, should “complete” the trio.

But love doesn’t work like that.Love isn’t logical. Love doesn’t follow neat little patterns. And this is where Gwyn comes in. Even when Azriel is lost, heartbroken, emotionally guarded—he still begins to feel something real and warm toward her. Something organic.

His shadows, which are an extension of his subconscious, are drawn to her. That’s no accident.And if you compare it to how other mates in the series recognized their bonds—often when they were vulnerable, broken, or in pain—it fits the same emotional pattern. What Az feels around Gwyn is not a calculated idea of happiness; it’s instinctual, surprising, and emotionally driven.So no, his torment over Elain and Lucien’s bond isn’t some deep sign of a lost love. It’s a sign of dissonance.

He’s trying to force a connection where there isn’t one because he’s tired of being the odd one out. But with Gwyn, the connection is quietly building, even without a bond or symmetry to justify it.

That’s how real love works.

[sweet-pea-channie]

Soul Inked

Azriel x female!reader

Summary: Y/N is a gifted tattoo artist whose enchanted ink reveals truths about a person’s soul. When the rest of the Inner Circle have already received tattoos from her, Azriel remains the lone holdoutuntil a trip to Windhaven and a reunion with Y/N force him to confront old scars, both literal and emotional. As they reconnect through ink, memory, and quiet understanding, buried feelings rise to the surface, and Azriel finally allows himself to be seen, not just by her, but by himself. What begins with ink ends in transformation, healing, and one very steamy bath.

Warnings: slow burn romance, emotional intimacy, tattoos, angst, soft boy Azriel, post-canon setting, trauma, mutual pining, emotional healing, mature content (18+), bathtub sex, fingering, p in v, unprotexted sex, multiple orgasms, comfort

Word count: 12.6k

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this story. English is my third language, so please be kind if anything sounds a bit off.. Thank you for being here, and for giving it a chance. Every comment, reblog, or kind word means more than I can say. P.S. I firmly believe Azriel’s tattoo would glow like a love confession every time he thinks of her. That man is made of longing and secrets and I will not apologize.

masterlist

The sun was starting to dip over Velaris, casting long, golden streaks across the House of Wind’s sprawling terrace. Wind tugged lazily at Cassian’s hair as he leaned back in a chair far too delicate for his bulk, booted feet propped on the stone railing, a half-finished bottle of wine within reach.

“I’m just saying,” he said, twirling a goblet between his fingers, “…it’s suspicious that Azriel is the only one of us who hasn’t gotten a tattoo from Y/N.”

Rhys looked up from the report in his lap, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “All of us have been wondering when someone would bring that up.”

“I wasn’t wondering,” Amren said dryly from her perch near the firepit, examining her newly polished nails. “I already assumed it’s because he’s emotionally constipated.”

Azriel didn’t look up. He sat apart from the rest, half in shadow, meticulously sharpening a dagger with rhythmic precision. Shhhk. Shhhk. The sound was oddly soothing.

“I have no need for magical tattoos,” he said simply, tone cool and unreadable.

“None of us needed them,” Mor chimed in, lounging on a velvet chaise with a slice of peach cake in hand. “But we got them anyway because they’re gorgeous and personal and, let’s be honest, Y/N’s magic is incredible. Mine literally glows when I lie. It’s very inconvenient.” She grinned, clearly not sorry.

Cassian held out his arm, twisting it so the black ink shimmered into a pattern of wings and flame across his bicep. “Mine lights up when I’m about to do something reckless. Which is... constant.”

Rhys chuckled. “Feyre’s changes color depending on her emotions. It’s saved us from at least three arguments.”

“Saved you,” Amren muttered.

“I don’t see the point,” Azriel said, still not looking at any of them. Shadows danced around his shoulders like restless birds.

“Oh, come on,” Mor groaned. “She’s been your friend for centuries. She did all our tattoos for free. You’re literally going to Windhaven tomorrow and you still haven’t let her ink you? It’s insulting.”

Azriel’s jaw ticked.

Rhys caught the shift. “You’re avoiding it.”

“I’m focused on the mission.”

“Please,” Cassian said, clearly delighted now. “You’ve been dodging her studio like it’s a battlefield. Is it because her tattoos reflect your soul?” His voice dropped dramatically. “What if it reveals you’re just a big softie under all that brooding?”

Mor howled with laughter. Even Amren smirked.

Azriel set down the dagger. Slowly. Carefully. “I don’t want magic crawling beneath my skin,” he said, quiet but firm. “Especially not magic that... changes.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Rhys said gently, “You trust her, don’t you?”

Azriel met his High Lord’s gaze. His voice dropped even lower. “With my life.”

“Then maybe it’s time you stop hiding behind shadows and let someone actually see you.”

Cassian whistled low. “Damn. Rhys came in therapist-mode today.”

Azriel ignored that. He stood, sheathing the dagger with a sharp motion, wings rustling as he adjusted his leathers. “I’m not afraid of her ink,” he said. “But it’s not a joke. That magic marks you in ways you can’t always predict.”

“She’d never hurt you,” Mor said softly, her laughter gone.

“I know.”

Rhys gave him a look, steady, quiet. “You’ll have a little time before the meeting in Windhaven. She still keeps the studio near the cliffs?”

Azriel nodded once.

“Then go. Get something small. Let her choose.”

Azriel’s throat bobbed. The shadows curled tighter around his shoulders, like they were shielding him from something he hadn’t admitted aloud yet.

“She’ll make something beautiful,” Mor said, smiling now. “She always does. Even when people don’t think they deserve it.”

He didn’t answer.

Cassian, leaning back smugly, raised his glass in salute. “Just don’t cry if it’s a heart with wings or something. Or worse… flowers.”

Azriel moved so fast the others barely saw it. The dagger whistled through the air and embedded itself in the wall just above Cassian’s head.

Cassian blinked, looked at the blade, then grinned. “That was a yes, I think.”

Amren didn’t even look up from her book. “He’s definitely blushing.”

-

The wind in Windhaven had a bite to it. Not the crisp kind he’d grown used to in Velaris, this was harsher, edged like broken glass, still carrying the echoes of bloodied training fields and bone-deep obedience.

Azriel didn’t slow his steps as he passed the barracks, though the scent of sweat and iron clung to the air like ghosts. The males training below barely glanced up. Once, he might’ve stood among them. Once, he might’ve bled here, too.

He tugged his leathers tighter around him, wings shifting as he moved through the narrow streets that wound down toward the cliff’s edge.

He hadn't wanted to come early. And he hadn't wanted to come here.

Windhaven had always sat wrong in his chest, not just because of the memories, but because of what it represented. What it had tried to make of him. Of all of them.

Being Illyrian had shaped him, yes, but it wasn’t something he was proud of. Not like Rhysand’s court. Not like the changes they’d built with blood and sweat and battle cries. He wasn’t ashamed of where he came from, not exactly... but he sure as hell had no desire to celebrate it. To wear it carved into his skin.

That’s why he’d never gotten a tattoo in Windhaven. Until now, maybe. Maybe not. He still hadn’t decided. He told himself he just wanted to see her.

The studio sat perched at the edge of the cliffs, just as he remembered. A modest building of storm-grey stone and high glass windows, its painted sign swinging gently in the wind: INK & SOUL. The door was cracked open to let in the salt air. Faint music drifted from within, a soft, lilting melody played on vinyl. Of course.

His shadows curled tighter around his shoulders, whispering that she was inside. Alone. She always was, this time of day.

He stepped inside quietly, letting the door shut behind him with a gentle click.

The studio hadn’t changed.

Clean lines. Light floors. Ink pots organized by both color and magical resonance. A long workbench cluttered with sketches, half-finished charms, and three cold cups of tea in varying states of abandonment.

And there, seated in the soft, golden light that spilled through the western window, was Y/N.

She was barefoot, legs tucked under her as she worked on something delicately precise, brow furrowed in that way he remembered too well. A smudge of silver ink marred her cheek. Her hair was pulled up in a messy knot, and strands had fallen loose to frame her face.

He didn’t say her name. He didn’t have to. Her head snapped up the moment the door clicked, eyes locking with his across the room. A beat of silence. Then she smiled, not surprised. Not teasing. Just soft. Familiar. Real.

“You’re early,” she said, setting down her stylus. “The meeting isn’t until tomorrow.”

“I know.” His voice came rougher than he meant it to. He cleared it. “Thought I’d walk the cliffs. Check the perimeter.”

“And thought you’d just happen to walk into my studio on the way?” she asked, arching a brow.

“I remembered you make good tea.”

That earned him a snort. “Liar.” But she was already rising, moving towards him to wrap her arms around him. Azriel immediately relaxed as he felt her cheek pushing against his chest. And still, wrapped in Azriel’s arms, she asked, “You still like the cinnamon bark one?”

He hesitated and then let go of her “Yeah.”

A pause.

“Where are your companions?” she asked, turning to the stove as she boiled water with a flick of her fingers.

“They’re outside, keeping watch. They don’t like Windhaven.”

“Neither do I.”

That made his lips twitch, almost a smile. He watched her move with that same fluid ease he remembered, like her body always had one foot in magic and the other in steel. She hadn’t changed, not really. Older, yes. More powerful. More certain of herself in a way he’d always envied. But she was still her.

He’d missed her.

They used to be inseparable. Two ghosts in a court of stars. She was Mor’s friend first, yes, but she had always made space for him. For his silences. For his darkness. And he had clung to that without ever asking why.

“I almost didn’t come,” he said quietly.

She handed him a mug, then leaned against the counter beside him. “Because of Windhaven?”

He nodded once. She didn’t press. Didn’t prod. Just sipped her tea and let the silence settle comfortably between them.

And that was why he had come.

Because she didn’t ask him to be more than he was. Didn’t ask for answers he wasn’t ready to give. And because, even now, centuries later, with magic singing beneath her skin and power laced into every breath she took... she never looked at him like he was broken.

“But I came because I knew I’d get to see you again,” Azriel said, quietly.

Y/N stilled beside him.

Not dramatically. Not like she didn’t know what to do with his words. Just a slow pause, the kind that said she heard them. Felt the weight of them.

Her eyes stayed on the swirling tea in her hands. “It’s been a while.”

He nodded. “Too long.”

She gave a small smile. “You could’ve written.”

“I could’ve.”

He didn’t explain. Didn’t need to. They both knew what letters between them would’ve looked like, all restraint and formality and things neither of them were brave enough to say.

She curled one leg beneath her, shifting to face him more fully. “How have you been?”

Azriel stared down into his tea for a moment, watching the way the cinnamon strands swirled like smoke.

“I’ve been... busy,” he said. “Missions. Court politics. You know how it is.”

Her eyes flicked to him and then softened. “That’s not what I asked.”

He looked at her then. Really looked.

There was a time, long ago, when she had been the only person who ever asked him that. Not what he was doing, or what he’d accomplished, or how useful he was. Just how he was.

“Some days are easier than others,” he said after a pause.

Y/N reached for a jar of honey on the counter and stirred some into her tea, slowly. Thoughtfully. “That sounds like an honest answer.”

“I’m trying.”

“You don’t have to try so hard around me.”

That made his throat tighten. She always knew where to press, not to hurt, but to remind him of what he kept buried.

“I know,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Outside the window, the cliffs blurred with gold and grey as the sun lowered, and gulls called in the distance. The studio had gone quiet again, the record having long since finished its song. But neither of them moved to change it.

“Things have been strange lately,” she said after a moment. “The magic’s been... off. Not dangerous, but different. The inks are reacting stronger than they used to.”

Azriel glanced over. “That’s why you didn’t come to the city?”

“Partly,” she admitted. “And partly because I needed time away. The Inner Circle is a lot of energy, even when I love you all.”

He gave a dry chuckle. “We’re exhausting.”

“Especially Cassian,” she said with a smirk.

That got a real smile out of him, brief, but honest. “He’s gotten worse.”

“I believe that.”

They fell into a companionable silence again, the kind only centuries of shared history could afford. Azriel let his shoulders relax by degrees, drinking in the quiet, the warmth, her.

“You used to sit right there, you know,” she murmured, gesturing to the worn cushion beneath him. “Back when I was learning to charm the inks. You'd come back from training, half-dead, and just sit and watch.”

“I didn’t have anywhere else I wanted to be.”

Her breath caught, barely. But he heard it. And she didn’t look away this time when she said, “I liked having you here. I always did.”

Azriel didn’t know what possessed him then, maybe the fading light, maybe the scent of cinnamon and ink and her. Maybe just that ancient ache that had never really left.

He reached out, brushing his fingers gently against a streak of silver on her cheek.

“You’ve got ink on your face.”

She smiled, soft and amused. “I always do.”

And still, neither of them moved. Not away. Not closer. Just sat there, suspended in a moment too long in the making. And for the first time in months, maybe longer, Azriel felt like he could breathe.

Azriel’s hand dropped slowly from her cheek, but he didn’t lean back. Didn’t retreat like he normally would. Instead, his fingers flexed once in his lap. Then again.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he said finally, voice low and raw. “The tattoo.”

Y/N blinked, surprised, but not shocked. She never was with him. She just... waited.

“I’ve been debating with myself for months,” he went on. “Every time I see the others’ marks, I wonder what mine would be. What yours would see in me. But the thought of letting it happen...”

He shook his head slightly. “I never wanted another tattoo,” he admitted. “Not since I left Windhaven. Not since the ones I earned back then.”

Her gaze drifted, briefly, to his forearms where old Illyrian markings lay half-faded beneath layers of shadows and scar tissue. He didn’t need to explain. She’d seen them before. She knew what they meant.

“They were branding more than art,” he said. “Marks of what I was supposed to be. A soldier. A weapon. Property of a warband that didn’t give a damn about who I was, only what I could kill.”

His voice had gone quiet, nearly lost to the growing wind outside. Shadows stirred around him, flickering like candle smoke, but didn’t lash out. They weren’t angry. Just… present.

“Even after Rhys became High Lord, after everything we’ve changed, I still look at those old markings and remember what it felt like to be nothing. Just another disposable Illyrian bastard they could mold into something obedient. I never wanted anything permanent again.”

Y/N’s tea had gone cold in her hands. She set it aside gently, then looked back to him. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

“You don’t have to be.”

“I am anyway.”

Azriel nodded once, eyes distant. “But when I think about you doing it... It’s different. You’re different.”

A pause.

“I trust you,” he added, like it cost him something. But it was also a truth, the kind carved deep and carefully guarded.

Something flickered in her eyes. Not pity. Never pity. Just something deep and warm and steady.

“If you ever decide you want a tattoo,” she said, her voice gentle but unwavering, “I’ll make you one that doesn’t remind you of Windhaven. Not the barracks. Not the old marks. Not the orders they gave you.”

Azriel’s throat bobbed. He didn’t speak. She leaned slightly closer, her knee brushing his. “It’ll be yours,” she said. “Yours alone. Something that reflects who you are, not what they tried to make you.”

Another breath passed between them. Then he murmured, almost afraid to believe it, “Would it still change?”

“If you wanted it to. If you don’t, it won’t.”

Azriel looked down at his scarred hands. Then, softly: “I think I want something that changes.”

Y/N’s brows lifted just slightly, but she didn’t smile. Not quite. Just said, “Then when you’re ready, you know where I’ll be.”

He met her gaze, and there was something fragile and burning in his chest. Something that had nothing to do with ink or war or shadows. Something that looked a lot like hope.

-

The fire had burned low in the hearth by the time the studio door creaked open again.

Y/N didn’t look up right away. She was curled in the old, paint-splattered armchair near her workbench, sketchbook balanced across her knees, the page half-filled with something wild and winged and still unfinished. The room smelled of ink and wind and lavender oil, the familiar scents of her solitude.

But the shadows told her before he said a word. They slipped in like mist, soft and curious, brushing against her shelves and the worn velvet curtains, pausing briefly at her ankle as if to ask, Is it safe to come home?

And then she felt him. Not his power, not the blade of his strength or the sharp edge of his silence. But the way his presence always wrapped around her like dusk, like the hush before the stars came out.

She glanced up.

Azriel stood just inside the threshold, still in the same leathers he’d worn to the Windhaven meeting earlier that day. His hair was wind-tossed, his jaw shadowed with stubble, and he looked like he hadn’t paused once since flying out from the war camp. There was a smear of ash on his temple, half-forgotten, and his eyes…

Gods.

His eyes were fixed on her with a kind of quiet reverence that made her breath catch in her chest.

“You’re back,” she said softly, closing the sketchbook on her knee.

“I never really left,” he murmured, voice rough around the edges. “Not from here.”

Her heart stumbled, just a little, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she nodded toward the hearth. “You want to sit?”

He moved without a word, crossing the studio in a few silent strides. The stool by the fire was where he always sat when he came, the one with the indents from his weight and the little cracks in the varnish from her leaving her teacup there too often. He lowered himself onto it now, wings folding carefully, his posture taut with something that hadn’t yet settled.

For a long moment, they just sat in the low glow of the firelight, surrounded by the faint hum of old magic and half-finished designs.

And then he said, “I want the tattoo.”

Y/N turned her head toward him slowly.

She hadn’t expected it. Not tonight. Not after everything, not after centuries of him dancing around the idea, brushing it off with a scoff or a shadow or a clipped subject change. But there was no hesitation in his tone. No guardedness in his face.

Only truth.

“You’re sure?” she asked, gently, no teasing, no push.

Azriel nodded, and the motion was as much surrender as it was confirmation.

“I want something that reminds me of this,” he said, and his voice was softer now, vulnerable in a way that was rare from him. “Of you. Not Windhaven. Not the boy I was before Rhys pulled me out of the war camps. Not the ink they forced into my skin when I was barely more than a weapon.”

Y/N’s gaze dropped to his arms, to the faint, rough lines of the Illyrian warband markings, nearly lost now under centuries of scars and shadows. She remembered what they meant. What they had cost him.

“I hated them for years,” he said quietly, his eyes fixed on the empty spot just below the crook of his elbow. “I still do. Those tattoos weren’t art. They were orders. Reminders of how I was made to obey, to fight, to bleed for people who saw me as nothing.”

Y/N’s heart ached with the weight of it. She said nothing, letting the silence stretch, the kind that made space for grief without rushing it.

“But you,” Azriel went on, and now his voice was steadier, warmer, “You make marks that speak. That feel. Every one of theirs was about control. Yours...” He looked at her. Really looked. “Yours are about freedom.”

She swallowed once, hard.

“If that’s what you want,” she said, standing slowly, “then I’ll make you something that belongs only to you.” Her voice gentled as she crossed to him, fingers brushing along the edge of his rolled-up sleeve. “It’ll be yours. And it won’t remind you of Windhaven. I promise.”

Azriel’s throat worked, his gaze following her hands as she traced a pattern on his arm. His shadows withdrew politely, like they knew, like they trusted her just as much as he did.

“I want it somewhere I can see,” he added after a pause, voice quieter now. “A place I can watch it shift. I want to see your magic work.”

She looked up, meeting his eyes. “Then we’ll put it here,” she said, gently touching the inside of his forearm, just beneath the last of the old markings. “Let it overwrite what came before.”

He nodded once.

The room had quieted.

Azriel sat on the low stool near the fire, his wings folded tightly, tension pulled taut through his shoulders like a bowstring. But he didn’t speak again. Didn’t move. Just watched her.

Y/N stood for a moment, letting the silence wrap around her as she looked at him, really looked. The dim light threw golden shadows across his face, softening the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the harsh set of his mouth. There was something vulnerable in the way he was sitting, as if just being here — being willing — had already cost him more than he’d ever say aloud.

So she didn’t rush it. She never did, with him.

“I’ll need a few minutes to set up,” she said, her voice gentle, steady. “And you’ll need to stay as still as you can once I begin. The magic doesn’t like second-guessing.”

Azriel gave a slow, deliberate nod, but his eyes tracked her every movement.

Y/N turned to her workbench and began the familiar process. She lit three candles first, each one a different color, each flame steady and slow-burning. They weren't for light. They were part of the spell, part of the grounding. Gold for clarity, blue for protection, and the deep violet one, her personal signature, for truth.

Then came the ink.

She chose it from the row of enchanted jars, not the showy ones, but a small sealed vessel she only ever used for a few people. It was silent ink, her magic’s oldest blend, the kind that didn’t speak until it touched the skin, until it knew the soul beneath. She popped the lid and let the scent rise: rain, cedar, something like burnt sugar and wind.

Azriel tilted his head. “It smells like the cliffs.”

She smiled faintly. “That’s you, not the ink.”

Next, she rolled her sleeves up past the elbows and moved toward the basin in the far corner. The water was cool, laced with juniper and salt, and she washed her hands slowly, methodically. Not just to cleanse, but to center.

Behind her, she could feel Azriel’s shadows pulling back, not retreating, exactly, but making space. As if they recognized this moment. As if they didn’t want to intrude.

When her hands were clean and dried, she returned to him. “I need to speak the binding words before I touch you,” she said softly, kneeling before him. “They’re not a promise. Just a... permission. Magic works better when it’s honest.”

Azriel didn’t flinch. He only nodded, the firelight catching in his eyes.

Y/N looked down at his exposed forearm, at the bare patch of skin just below the last of his old Illyrian markings. She laid her hand just above it, not touching, but close enough for the heat of him to meet her palm.

Then she spoke. Her voice was low, almost a whisper, the words more felt than heard.

“By ink and spell, by breath and bone, I ask permission to mark you. To write truth on skin, To let magic remember what soul cannot speak. I will not wound. I will not take. I will only give what you allow.”

The moment hung between them, suspended in something deeper than silence. Azriel looked down at her, and nodded. A single word, spoken barely above breath. “Yes.”

It was enough.

Y/N picked up the needle, her old one, carved from shadowglass and silver, humming faintly in her fingers. It thrummed like a string being plucked, her magic waking in response.

She dipped it into the ink. The mixture shimmered immediately, shifting in color as if it already knew him. Already sensed who he was beneath the centuries and the scars and the silence.

Then she looked up at him once more.

“Are you ready?”

Azriel’s eyes never left hers. “With you? Always.”

So she touched the needle to his skin.

The first stroke bloomed into a line of quiet light, not glowing, not screaming, just living. It curled across his skin like breath, like smoke, like something pulled from the heart of the night sky. She worked slowly, deliberately, letting the ink listen, letting it learn.

And as it grew, as the pattern revealed itself in real time, Azriel sat still, utterly still. The only giveaway was the slight parting of his lips, the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed. Awe was a quiet thing on him. But it was there.

She could feel it in the stillness. In his trust. In the way he let her carve beauty into a place that had only ever known war.

When the last curve was finished and the final drop of ink sank into his skin, Y/N drew back just a little, careful not to break the moment.

Azriel looked down. And stared.

The design shimmered faintly, a shifting echo of wings folded in flight, of starfire trailing through dusk, a piece of him, yes, but also her. Her magic. Her knowing. The parts of him she’d always seen and never spoken aloud.

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered.

Her heart ached at the way he said it, like he didn’t think he deserved something beautiful carved into him at all.

“It’s you,” she said gently. “Not the part they branded. The part you never let anyone name.”

The ink pulsed then, just once in time with his heartbeat. And then again, when she said, “It’ll shift when you feel something. When you remember. Or when you forget.”

Azriel’s eyes met hers. “And if I miss you?”

Her throat tightened. But she didn’t flinch. “It’ll show that, too.”

He nodded once, then looked back down at the mark and didn’t look away for a long time. Azriel didn’t speak for a long moment.

His gaze stayed on the mark etched into his skin, the shifting lines and gentle flickers of light, the subtle threads of magic winding through the ink like it was alive. It didn’t glow exactly, but it breathed. As if it was a living memory of the moment it had been made.

Then, quietly like he was afraid of breaking whatever this was, he said, “When does your magic show up?”

Y/N tilted her head slightly. “It already has.”

He looked at her then, eyes dark and steady. “I mean… you. When does your part of it show?”

Her lips curved at that, a small, honest smile. “It depends,” she said, standing slowly to stretch out her legs, then settling beside him on the low cushions, close but not quite touching. “Every fae reacts differently. Mor’s tattoo, for example, it glows when she lies.”

Azriel blinked. “Does it really though?”

Y/N huffed a soft laugh. “Mm-hm. Drives her crazy. She says it flickers every time she tells Rhys she definitely didn’t steal the last piece of cake.”

He let out a low breath that might’ve been a laugh, something warm and tired at the edges.

“I didn’t choose that for her,” Y/N added, more serious now. “That’s what the magic gave her. I only channeled it.”

“She’s always been a white liar,” Azriel murmured.

“I know,” she said, voice gentling. “And she’s also honest in the ways that matter. The magic doesn’t judge, it just sees what’s there. Mor needed something to remind her that her truth was enough.”

Azriel was quiet for a beat. Then: “So what will mine do?”

Y/N glanced down at his forearm, at the dark ink still settling, its edges cooling, the spell binding as softly as silk.

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “It’ll change with you. It listens.”

He stared at the mark like it might whisper to him, even now. “Will it hurt?” he asked, not of the magic. Of what came next. Of being seen.

Y/N shook her head. “No. But it might surprise you.”

Azriel looked up, something raw and open flickering across his face. “And if it shows something I don’t like?”

Y/N didn’t flinch. “Then we’ll cover it with something new. Or we’ll sit with it until you see it differently. It’s not a verdict, Azriel. It’s a conversation.”

He exhaled, almost shakily. Then, slowly, he turned his forearm in the firelight, and the tattoo shimmered faintly, a flicker of red just beneath the linework, like embers banked under ash.

It hadn’t done that before. His eyes widened. “Did you see?”

“I did.” Y/N’s voice was soft. “That’s you. Already changing.”

Azriel went still again. But this time, it wasn’t the stiffness of fear, it was reverence. A silent awe that crept into his posture, quieted the restless shadows around him. Like something ancient and aching had been given shape and for once, it didn’t weigh him down.

It anchored him.

“Thank you,” he said at last, his voice hoarse.

Y/N looked at him, really looked and her own magic thrummed in response, warm and steady. “You trusted me,” she whispered. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

And beside the fire, beneath old stars and older memories, the ink on his skin pulsed once more. Alive. And listening.

The House of Wind greeted Azriel like an old ghost, quiet, familiar, a little colder than he remembered. Not in temperature, but in stillness.

Velaris was always full of life. But here, high above the world, there was space to breathe. Space to think. And gods, after two days in Windhaven, he needed that.

The meeting had gone as expected, tense, brittle, filled with puffed-up Illyrian warlords trying not to choke on the new world they'd been dragged into. Rhys had done most of the talking. Azriel had simply watched. Calculated. Endured.

But it was the moment before he left, her hand brushing his forearm, a soft Let me know if it changes whispered like a secret between breaths, that lingered now, echoing louder than any threat in that war tent.

He didn’t head straight to his room. Instead, he found himself drifting toward the training balcony where Cassian was cooling down, sweat-slick and breathing hard, swords glinting on the rack behind him.

Cassian looked up and grinned when he saw him. “Back already? And here I thought you’d find an excuse to avoid the flight back and hole up in Windhaven.”

Azriel raised a brow. “It’s a miracle I made it out without punching anyone.”

“Pity. I was hoping for gossip.” Cassian slung a towel over his shoulder. “But damn… what’s that?”

Azriel blinked. “What’s what?”

Cassian stepped closer, motioning toward Azriel’s forearm, which was bare where he’d rolled up his sleeve against the wind. “That’s new. That wasn’t there before you left.”

Azriel followed his gaze and froze.

The tattoo. It was pulsing softly, slow waves of light moving through the ink like tides under a full moon. Faint but distinct, like shadows stirred by thought.

Cassian leaned in, brows raised. “Wait, is this what I think it is? Is that Y/N’s work?”

Azriel didn’t answer immediately.

He turned his arm over in the light. Watched how the curves of the ink shimmered and curled like smoke. It wasn’t glowing outright, but it was... active. Breathing, almost. Alive in the way her magic always felt. Like her fingers were still ghosting across his skin.

Cassian’s grin widened. “You actually let her do it.”

Azriel finally nodded. “Last night.”

Cassian let out a low whistle. “And how’d it feel?”

Azriel thought for a moment. The hum of her magic. The way her voice wrapped around him during the binding words. Her touch, not hesitant, not afraid, steady as always.

“Like I was coming home,” he murmured.

Cassian’s teasing faded for a moment. Something softened in his expression. “Yeah,” he said. “That tracks.”

Then, ever the menace, he smirked. “So... what does it do? Mine nearly burns when I’m about to do something reckless. What’s yours?”

“I don’t know yet,” Azriel said, but even as he did, the ink on his arm brightened again, just faintly.

Cassian narrowed his eyes. “Wait. That... that just reacted.”

Azriel stiffened.

Cassian’s smirk deepened. “What were you thinking about just now?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. Try again.” Cassian crossed his arms. “Say I think about Nesta, mine glows red because apparently that counts as reckless and impulsive.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “It’s not that simple…”

“Y/N.”

The name dropped like a stone between them. The tattoo flared.

Not blinding, not loud, just a swell of shadow-threaded light. A silver curl unwinding like breath, the pattern blooming slightly outward. Almost like wings shifting beneath skin. Like longing.

Azriel looked down at it, jaw tight. He hadn’t even said anything. He’d just heard her name.

Cassian blinked. “Well, shit.”

Azriel said nothing.

Because now that he saw it, really saw it, he realized the pattern had shifted even more than before. Where it had been steady on the flight back, now it pulsed gently, as if stirred to wakefulness. Her magic responding to him. To his thoughts. To his feelings.

Cassian was watching him now, all that smugness gone, replaced by something quieter. “It’s her. Isn’t it? That’s what it’s showing.”

Azriel swallowed hard. “It reacts when I think about her.”

“And you’ve been thinking about her a lot.”

The silence said everything he didn’t.

Cassian let out a slow breath. “You know… maybe the magic’s not just listening to you. Maybe it’s trying to show you something you haven’t said out loud yet.”

Azriel didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

The mark on his arm shimmered again, soft as moonlight on water, steady as a heartbeat. Alive. Still changing. Still listening.

And somewhere far from here, he knew, without question, that she could feel it too.

Later that night, long after the House of Wind had gone still and even the shadows seemed to sleep, Azriel sat by the window, the cool breeze threading through his hair, eyes fixed on the city below. But his thoughts... they were somewhere else entirely.

His fingers brushed the edge of the tattoo again. The ink moved faintly, shadows and light dancing beneath the surface like it was breathing. Like it was listening.

He’d been thinking about her all evening. About the way her hands had been steady, deliberate as she cleaned her tools. About the warmth in her eyes as she spoke the binding words. How she hadn’t flinched when she’d asked, "Do you trust me?"

He had. He always had. He hadn’t fallen for her because of magic. Or beauty. Or any one reason, really. It had just... happened. Quietly. Like sunrise bleeding over a battlefield.

One day, she was Mor’s best friend, a steady presence with ink-stained fingers and sharp comebacks, who could drink Cassian under the table and scold Amren without blinking. The next... she was more. A comfort he hadn’t asked for. A warmth he didn’t know he’d missed until she gave it freely.

It wasn’t a bond. There was no thread pulling him to her, no cosmic sign or glowing tether tying their fates together. Just love. Simple. Earned slowly, stubbornly, over years of watching her live, watching her fight for her place, for her craft, for her people.

He loved her because she didn’t ask him to be anything other than what he was. Because she didn’t fill silence with questions. Because she saw past the shadows without needing to name them. And maybe that was why he’d never told her. Because love like that was fragile. It had no magic to anchor it. No bond to make it inevitable. It was something he had to choose.

And gods, he had chosen her again and again in a thousand small, quiet ways. But he’d also let her go. Because Windhaven wasn’t a place he wanted to stay, and she, for all her travels, for all her rebellion, still called it home. Her roots were tangled in its cliffs and pine-slick hills, in the family she’d carved out and the work she’d built with her own hands.

Azriel had spent most of his life trying to escape Windhaven. And he hadn’t known how to love someone who stayed. So he held back. Told himself she deserved more.  Someone whose silences didn’t come wrapped in trauma. Someone who didn’t disappear into missions and shadows.

But when her magic bloomed on his skin, soft and steady, changing shape with every thought of her… He began to wonder if maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe love didn’t need to be shouted, or fate-marked, or promised by the Cauldron to be real. Maybe it just had to be felt. Chosen. Again and again. And maybe it was time he stopped loving her in silence.

Azriel looked down at the tattoo one last time before rising from the window bench, the ink still glowing faintly, not because of magic. But because he was finally, finally ready to stop hiding it. Not from her. Not from the others. Not from himself.

-

Windhaven was quiet tonight. The storm that had threatened all afternoon had passed without incident, leaving the air sharp with pine and the earthy scent of rain on stone. Y/N sat curled up on the worn armchair in her small apartment above the studio, sketchbook balanced on her knee, charcoal smudged across her fingertips. A single candle flickered beside her, casting soft gold across the cluttered desk and half-drawn designs scattered across the floor.

She had been sketching absentmindedly, lines more emotion than intent, when the warmth started. A low pulse beneath her skin, faint but unmistakable.

She stilled. Her gaze drifted to her arm. The tattoo, one of the earliest she’d ever done, a band of intricate sigils and night-blooming flowers, shimmered faintly. Nothing unusual at first. But then… the shadows came.

Dark tendrils, delicate and slow, coiling lazily through the ink like smoke through glass. Not threatening. Not violent. Just… present. Alive.

Her breath caught. It hadn’t moved in decades. Not since she’d inked it on herself during a reckless night of youth and magic, the kind that leaves scars in the best way. It had always been dormant. Her magic, like her emotions, was usually still, precise, controlled.

But now, shadows laced through the design like veins. Her magic stirred with it, humming low in her bones. She didn’t need to guess why. She knew. Azriel.

No one else moved like this. No one else felt like this. His magic wasn’t fire or wind or ice. It was subtle. Patient. Ancient. She’d known it like a second heartbeat for most of her life.

And even now, after all this time, it recognized her ink. Just as she’d always recognized the silence he wrapped around himself like armor.

Y/N stared at her arm, heart thudding softly in her chest. He was back in Velaris by now. She knew that. The meeting had ended yesterday.

She hadn't expected anything more. He had said goodbye the night before, not with words, but in that quiet, reverent way he had of lingering just a little too long at the door. Of looking at her like he was memorizing the way she stood in the light.

And now this. The tattoo shimmered again, the shadows growing bolder, weaving in and out of the petals like breath.

Her pulse sped. She reached for a piece of stationery, inked her name at the top, then paused, fingers hovering above the page.

Was she imagining it? No. Her magic never moved like this without cause. Without a reason. And Azriel had always been the one person it never got wrong.

She dipped the pen again and began to write. She sealed the letter with a practiced flick of her wrist and sent it with a whisper to the wind, the small, enchanted winnow she kept for private post vanishing with a spark of ink and pine-scented air.

And then she sat there in the silence of her apartment, fingers still smudged with charcoal, her heart heavier than she wanted to admit. She didn’t know what she expected. But she knew this: her magic was changing and somehow, so was his.

-

Azriel,

I hope you made it home safely. I was going to give it a few days before checking in, but something… shifted tonight.

One of my tattoos is acting up, one that’s never done anything like this before. It’s moving. Breathing. And there are shadows in it.

Yours, I think.

Don’t worry, I’m not alarmed. Just curious. It’s probably nothing. But I thought I should ask: Are you alright?

Yours, —Y/N

Azriel read the letter once. Then again.

The shadows on his shoulders curled closer, as if reading over his arm, peering at the graceful slope of her handwriting , that neat, elegant script he could’ve recognized with his eyes closed.

He sat in the library of the House of Wind, the fading light of dusk pooling around him. No fire. No wine. Just the hush of parchment and the tattoo on his forearm slowly shifting shape again, coiling into a pattern he hadn’t seen before. One of her favorite flower sigils, if he wasn’t mistaken. Something soft-bloomed, fragile. Gentian, maybe. Or hellebore.

It didn’t matter. They kept changing. Because he kept thinking about her.

He lifted his arm and watched it for a long moment. The way her magic stirred when she came to mind. The way the lines shimmered softly beneath his skin, shadows dancing through them like light through silk.

It hadn’t stopped since he’d left Windhaven.

She hadn’t done it on purpose, he knew that. Her magic was sensitive, yes, and intuitive in a way that still unsettled him. But it didn’t lie. It responded only to what already was. No manipulation. No spell to coax it. Just truth.

And now, apparently, it was responding to him. Or maybe… to how he felt.

Azriel leaned back against the chair, jaw tight. He wasn’t sure if he liked it. The unpredictability. The exposure. He’d always prided himself on being unreadable. Silent. Controlled.

But this thing, this inked window into his thoughts, it wasn’t silent at all. And now hers was acting up too. Somehow tethered. Somehow aware.

He should have expected it. She’d always seen more than he meant to give.

“Are you alright?” she’d written.

No. Not really. Not since the moment he left her studio and realized the only thing he wanted to do was turn around and walk back in. His fingers curled around the letter, thumb pressing into the fold.

He wasn’t ready to explain everything. He didn’t know how to explain it, how her presence had settled into him, how every breath since he'd left Windhaven felt like it carried her name. But he could give her something. A reason to come closer. Not too close. Just close enough.

He reached for fresh paper, shadows quiet for once, as if holding their breath.

Y/N,

Thank you for the letter. I arrived home safely, though I admit I haven’t quite stopped thinking about the studio.

The tattoo you mentioned… might be reacting to mine. I don’t know what that means, or why it’s happening, but my mark hasn’t stopped shifting since I left.

If you’re curious  or if you’d like to see it for yourself,  you’re welcome to come to Velaris. I wouldn’t mind if you looked at it. Or even changed it, if you think that would help.

It’s behaving… oddly.

But it’s beautiful.

—A

He sealed the letter and sent it with a whisper to the wind, not through magic, but through the shadows themselves. They scattered with the message, low and fast, slipping into night like birds toward a familiar home.

Azriel sat back in the empty room, heart steady, gaze on the soft swirl of ink across his arm. He didn’t know what she would say. Or whether she would come. But for the first time in a long while… he hoped she would. And he didn’t dare ask himself why. Not yet.

-

Velaris welcomed her like an old song.

The wind off the Sidra was warmer here, fragrant with summer blossoms and river stone. Even the hum of magic along the city’s ley lines felt gentler, finer like silk pulled tight across harp strings. Y/N stood near the cliffs, close to the House of Wind, one hand gripping the strap of her bag, the other pressed briefly to her chest as if to still the quiet thunder of her heart.

It had been months.

Longer since she'd been here without reason, without a task or meeting. But this… this felt different. Not because of the tattoo. Not entirely. Because of him.

A familiar pulse moved through her magic, low and grounding. Shadows. Soft as a memory. She exhaled and stepped down into the city.

Rhysand was already waiting near the House of Wind, his dark hair swept back, violet eyes kind in the afternoon light.

“Y/N,” he greeted, arms open as she walked toward him. “You’ve been away too long.”

She laughed into his chest as he hugged her tightly. “You’re just saying that because Mor complains every time I miss a wine night.”

“Well, there’s that,” he said, pulling back to look at her. “And because it’s good to have you home.”

Home. She wasn’t sure when Velaris had started to feel like that, maybe always. Maybe because it was the only place outside Windhaven where no one asked her to be more than she was. Rhys had never treated her like a lesser Illyrian. Neither had Feyre or Cassian. Or Mor, of course. And Azriel… well.

She tucked that thought away.

“You look tired,” Rhys said softly, guiding her toward the townhouse steps. “Have you been working too hard again?”

She smirked. “I’ve been tattooing war generals. You tell me.”

His grin turned rueful. “Fair.”

But his gaze flicked to her bag. “Did you come because of the letter Azriel sent?”

Y/N nodded once. “The magic in my mark hasn’t settled. It’s... still moving.”

Rhys studied her for a breath longer, that High Lord stillness settling over his features. Not as a ruler, but as a friend. “You don’t have to tell me more. Just know you’re safe here. Always.”

“I know.” Her voice softened. “Thank you.”

And then she felt it. Before she turned. Before she even looked. A familiar shadow brushed against her ankle, like a greeting.

And when she turned, Azriel was already there, just a step down the path, wings tucked, shadows slinking along his shoulders in quiet arcs. His eyes caught hers like a thread pulled taut.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. She crossed the space between them in three strides.

Azriel folded her into a hug without hesitation, arms wrapping around her as if this was the only place he’d been waiting to be. It wasn’t a hurried thing. Not a polite, passing embrace.

He held her like she was real, like her presence had the power to anchor something he hadn't realized was drifting.

“I see you missed me even after a few days,” she murmured into his shoulder, smiling against the dark leather of his tunic.

“I always do,” he replied quietly, voice just for her.

Y/N pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, to see the soft flicker in his eyes that he probably didn’t know was there.

Her fingers brushed against his arm, just above the cuff of his sleeve. “How’s your tattoo behaving?”

“Unpredictably,” he said with a breath of wry amusement.

Her eyes sparkled. “Good. Then before we sit down for dinner and you all try to fatten me up with wine and cake, I’d like to take a look at my patient.”

Azriel’s lips twitched, a rare, real smile and something in his chest loosened.

Rhys chuckled behind them. “Feyre will be thrilled you’re here. She’s already set the table.”

“I’ll be there soon,” Y/N said over her shoulder. But her eyes were still on Azriel.

The man she had known since she was young. The shadowsinger who had always looked at her like she wasn’t an Illyrian misfit or a magical oddity, but someone worth waiting for.

And this time, maybe… she wouldn’t make him wait so long.

Upstairs, the shadows peeled back from the walls, as if giving them space.

Azriel led her to one of the guest rooms, the one she always used when she stayed at the House of Wind. It smelled faintly of lavender and old paper. Someone had left a vase of wildflowers on the writing desk, her favorites. She smiled at that, brushing her fingers over the petals.

“It hasn’t changed,” she said softly.

“It never will,” Azriel replied, watching her from the doorway, arms crossed. “Rhys said this room is yours for as long as you want it.”

Y/N turned to face him, warmth in her eyes, but she didn’t speak. Instead, she set down her satchel and pulled out a small velvet pouch, supplies. No magic, not yet. Just the tools she always carried with her.

“Let me see it?” she asked.

Azriel hesitated for a second, then moved toward the chaise by the window and sat, tugging off the sleeve of his tunic. The shadows scattered at her approach but lingered close, like quiet sentries. As if they trusted her as much as he did.

And there it was, the tattoo she'd created for him. Only now… it looked nothing like it had two days ago.

The lines shifted in subtle, delicate movements, blooming, curling, re-shaping with a grace that wasn’t hers, not exactly. Her magic had simply responded to something in him. His thoughts. His heart.

Y/N crouched in front of him, elbows resting lightly on her knees as she studied it. “You weren’t exaggerating,” she said after a beat, voice low with awe. “It’s almost… alive.”

Azriel didn’t respond. His gaze was steady, trained on her, not the tattoo. She cleared her throat, looked away. “I could make some changes,” she offered, fingers brushing the air just above the ink. “Dampen the sensitivity. Slow the reaction time.”

Azriel’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t look away. “Do you want to change it?”

She blinked. “What?”

He shook his head slightly, voice quiet. “You made it. With your magic. If I asked you to change it now, would it feel like… rewriting a truth?”

Y/N stared at him. The way he said it, so careful, so reverent. Her heart gave a slow, uneven beat.

“I can make it quieter,” she said finally. “But it will still be yours. Still from me.”

Azriel nodded. “Tomorrow then. After dinner.”

She raised a brow. “You’re sure?”

“I am.” His voice deepened, almost like a challenge. “You’ll need the night off. I heard Mor’s already planning to drag you to that new rooftop lounge.”

Y/N huffed a laugh. “Of course she is.”

Azriel’s smile was faint but real. “I’m not the only one who missed you, you know.”

Her throat tightened a little at that. The honesty in his tone. The affection wrapped in simplicity.

“I missed Velaris,” she said quietly, rising to her feet. “More than I thought I would. Every time I leave, it’s harder to stay away.”

Azriel stood too, and for a moment, they were close enough that their shadows nearly touched.

His voice dropped lower. “Maybe that means something.”

She looked up at him, and the tension between them sparked again, unspoken, steady, ancient. Like something old and soft and waiting. Her fingers twitched at her sides, aching to touch him again, to see what the magic would say if she did.

But instead, she smiled gently, ruefully and stepped back.

“I’ll let Mor steal me for a few hours,” she said. “But tomorrow, I’m all yours.”

Azriel didn’t smile. Didn’t tease. He only nodded once.

“I’ll be here.”

And gods help her, she wanted him to be.

Her fingers hovered just above his skin again, the tattoo alive and quiet for now, though it had flared once when she’d first entered the room, before Azriel had even spoken. Y/N pretended not to notice.

“I take it you’ve figured out what it’s responding to?” she asked lightly. Her tone was casual, like they were just talking about the weather.

Azriel kept his eyes on her hands, on the curve of her wrist where faint ink shimmered under her skin. Her own old tattoo, the one she’d done centuries ago. The one she’d never touched again.

“I haven’t figured it out yet,” he said evenly.

A pause. A half-second beat too long.

Y/N didn’t lift her head. Didn’t call him out. But something in her magic whispered differently.

Because ever since she’d inked him, since she’d poured part of herself into his skin, since his shadows had curled so trustingly around her wrist mid-ritual, her own tattoo had been restless. Not reactive like Mor’s or Cassian’s. But unsettled. Shifting. It never had before.

The first time it moved was the night she got home to Windhaven. She hadn’t been thinking about anything special. Just unpacking her satchel. And then, suddenly, shadows had stirred at her skin. Like they missed someone. Like he had been thinking of her.

So now, when he said, “I haven’t figured it out yet,” Y/N only nodded.

“Interesting,” she murmured. “Sometimes the magic keeps its secrets. It’s not always meant to be understood.”

Azriel said nothing to that.

She glanced up at him, saw the way his jaw tensed, how the shadows pooled a little tighter around him. That tattoo, the one she’d etched into his skin with so much care, flickered faintly again, almost like a heartbeat.

She didn’t call him on it. Not yet. Instead, she smiled and reached for her travel bag.  “All right,” she said, rising to her feet. “Let’s head to dinner. I bet they’re all wondering what we’re up to in here. And once I come back with Mor, you’re mine for a few hours.”

And as she left the room to go freshen up, she placed a steady hand over her own arm, right where her oldest tattoo had started to hum again. The shadows were back. And no matter what Azriel said… she knew.

-

The House of Wind was quiet when Y/N slipped back inside, the distant city lights of Velaris shimmering like scattered stars below. Mor’s laughter still echoed faintly in her ears from their night out, a warm buzz settling in her chest. The wine had loosened her usual careful restraint, made her braver than she expected.

She moved silently through the wide hallways, her footsteps soft on the polished stone floors. The faint glow from the crescent moon filtered through the tall windows, casting silver ribbons across the walls.

She paused at the door of the great bathroom, a cavernous space, tiled in deep blues and greens, with a tub large enough to fit the entire Bat trio comfortably. Through the small opening in the door, she could see the water shimmered quietly, a scattering of bubbles drifting lazily across the surface.

Azriel was there, half-submerged in the enormous tub, water rippling around him, shadows clinging to his skin like living smoke. His dark hair was damp and plastered back, his eyes catching the moonlight with that unreadable intensity she’d known for centuries.

The wine was speaking for Y/N, as it seemed. Her hand found the fancy looking doorknob, pressing the door fully open. He looked up as she entered, brow arched in surprise but with no real surprise in his expression. No defense, no walls raised.

“You’re home late,” he said, voice low, calm.

Y/N smiled, a little wickedly. “And you’re exactly where I thought I’d find you.” She sat down beside the tub, dipping her fingers into the water and playing with the bubbles, watching them burst softly at her touch.

Her eyes met his, sharp and warm all at once. “I think I might know when your tattoo changes.”

Azriel’s gaze darkened, but he said nothing.

“You can be honest with me,” she teased gently, voice soft but firm.

He watched her for a long moment. The shadows around his arm, the tattoo, flickered faintly, subtle ripples of magic that no one but her could see.

“Not yet,” he finally said, voice barely above a whisper.

The silence stretched between them, soft, pulsing, heavy with the kind of weight that wasn’t burden but pull.

Y/N didn’t speak. Neither did Azriel. But his eyes never left her. They traced over her, the edge of her jaw where a strand of hair clung from the night breeze, the way the moonlight kissed her cheekbones, and lower still… the sweep of the midnight dress she still wore from her outing with Mor. It clung to her curves like it had been painted on, riding up her thighs just enough to make his breathing tighten.

Y/N noticed. She saw the subtle twitch of his jaw, the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed. She saw the flicker of movement under the skin of his neck, his pulse, beating just a little too fast.

And gods, she couldn’t stop staring at him either.

The bubbles in the water were beginning to thin. The surface cleared in slow, lazy swirls of disappearing foam, and bit by bit, more of him was revealed. His chest, broad and carved with muscle, shimmered under the shifting water. The tattoo on his arm pulsed faintly, dancing shadows stirring across inked skin.

Y/N’s breath caught somewhere in her throat.

She let the wine speak for her. Without breaking eye contact, she shifted slowly, purposefully, and swung both legs over the rim of the bath. Her dress rode higher as she settled on the ledge, knees bent, feet dipped into the warm water. The silk brushed her thighs, clinging a little too tightly now that the steam was curling around her.

Azriel didn’t look away. Not when her legs entered the water. Not when the hem of her dress hiked higher. Not when her toes bumped gently against his thigh under the surface.

Her voice was barely a whisper when she finally said, “You’re staring.”

His lips parted, not in apology, not in denial. The heat in his gaze was unmistakable now, simmering beneath the careful mask he always wore.

“You walked in here,” he said, voice low and rough, “dressed like that, sat there like that... and you expected me not to?”

Her heart fluttered, no, soared, at the sound of that voice. The honesty of it. The tension curled thick in the air, tighter and tighter, wrapping around her spine like a cord ready to snap. She tilted her head, her voice velvet-smooth. “Maybe I was hoping you would.”

His eyes darkened. The water shifted around him. The tattoo on his arm pulsed once, bright enough that the shadows nearby trembled.

The silence between them stretched taut, every breath crackling with something ancient, something that had lived quietly for centuries in the spaces between glances, in the brushes of hands that lingered a second too long.

Azriel’s gaze dropped to her legs in the water, then back to her face. Shadows curled lazily around him, stirred by something more primal than caution now.

Y/N opened her mouth to speak, maybe to challenge him again, maybe to say his name like a question, but she never got the chance.

Because in a fluid motion, fast and unhesitating, Azriel surged forward and pulled her into the tub.

A sharp gasp tore from her lips as the warm water soaked through her dress, the silk clinging to every inch of skin it touched. She barely had a moment to register the shock of it before she was in his lap, his strong hands on her waist, holding her there like she belonged.

Water sloshed around them, and laughter, real, breathless laughter bubbled out of her chest.

“Azriel,” she choked, batting water from her eyes. “You absolute menace, this dress…”

“Will dry,” he said lowly, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. His voice dropped, thick with heat. “You’ve been driving me insane all night.”

“Oh, just tonight?” she asked, raising a brow, trying, and failing, not to lean into him. Her soaked dress was plastered to her body, but she didn’t care. Not when his hands were sliding up her back like he’d mapped her in another life.

“No,” he said, eyes flicking to her mouth. “Since the Summer Solstice festival. The one where you dared Mor to enchant my boots to squeak every time I walked.”

Y/N burst into laughter, the memory crashing over her like a wave. “I forgot about that!”

“I didn’t,” he muttered, voice full of mock indignation and something else beneath it, something softer. “I had to walk through a High Lord’s meeting sounding like a bloody duckling.”

She was grinning now, utterly undone, water dripping from her hair as she reached up to brush wet strands from his forehead. “You looked so serious, too. Every time someone turned to look, you scowled harder.”

“I was trying to impress Thesan,” he growled.

“You failed so hard,” she giggled, settling more comfortably in his lap, thighs bracketing his hips now. “But I laughed so hard I cried.”

Azriel’s fingers tightened at her waist.

“That’s the moment I knew,” he said quietly, his voice suddenly rawer. “That I was never going to be able to stop loving you.”

The laughter stilled in her throat. Her breath caught.

She searched his face, his golden-brown eyes, the soft parting of his lips, the vulnerability in the way his shadows had gone completely still around them.

“Az…” she whispered.

He didn’t give her time to answer. Just leaned in, slowly, reverently, and kissed her like he’d been waiting centuries to do it. Like he couldn’t bear not to anymore.

And when she kissed him back, drenched in moonlight, silk, and magic, everything inside them both finally, finally quieted.

The kiss deepened, slow and searching, Azriel’s mouth moving over hers like he’d memorized the shape of her want. Water sloshed gently around them, the city lights shimmering through the glass as if Velaris itself was holding its breath.

When he pulled back, it was only to look at her, really look at her. His hands stayed at her waist, thumbs brushing bare skin just beneath the soaked edge of her bodice. His eyes flicked down, lingering on how the silk clung to her chest, her ribs, the perfect lines of her legs still half-submerged. His breath caught.

“Gods, Y/N,” he rasped, voice gone hoarse, reverent. “You’re…” He shook his head slightly, like the words failed him, like his vocabulary had narrowed down to just her name. “I was brooding in here, hoping that no other male would take off that dress of your body.”

She didn’t speak, didn’t need to. Her hands found the collar of his bare shoulders, sliding down the planes of his chest underwater, and when she shifted in his lap, his grip flexed, sharp and possessive at her hips.

“So glad, that it’s going to be me,” he murmured, and before she could answer, his fingers found the hem of her soaked dress and began to lift.

She raised her arms for him, breath hitching, and he peeled the silk up, inch by slow inch. The fabric clung to her like a second skin, reluctant to leave. When it finally slipped free over her head, he cast it to the side of the bath without a glance.

And then he just looked.

She sat there, bare before him, glistening with water and moonlight, her chest rising and falling in shallow, stunned breaths.

Azriel didn’t touch her.

Not yet.

His gaze roamed over every inch of her skin, slow, worshipful, devouring, and shadows curled up his arms like they couldn’t decide if they wanted to join in or give her privacy.

“You have no idea,” he said softly, almost to himself, “how long I’ve wanted to see you like this.”

Her pulse thrummed in her throat. She felt it, felt the way he was holding himself back, barely, the tension radiating from his stillness. Like she was something sacred, something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch, but would gladly spend eternity memorizing with his eyes alone.

“You can touch,” she whispered, emboldened, her voice a little shaky.

But Azriel only smiled, slow, aching, full of something deeper than want.

“I’m not in a rush,” he said, voice gravel and shadow and heat. “You deserve more than hurried hands and stolen breaths.”

And gods, if that didn’t make her heart catch fire.

Her hands started to roam across his chest, her fingertips tracing the pattern of his tattoo. Y/N could feel him shifting beneath her, his heartbeat was rising, pulsing stronger every second her fingers traced lower and lower.

Azriel’s hands wrapped around her wrist right before her hands reached the surface. He looked smug, his hands holding Y/N’s against his chest. She’s messily sprawled across his naked body when he pulls his legs closer, causing her to glide closer to his already hard member.

“You feel this?” he rasped with a smug smile on his lips, shifting until she sat like a fitting peace of puzzle on his hips. “That’s how crazy you’re driving me. And if you let me, I’ll make you feel so good.”

His soft command made her heart flutter and Y/N’s thighs squeezed subconsciously under the water. A rush of anticipation flowed through her veins, wondering what he had in store for her. Azriel pulled at her wrist harder, her breasts pressing onto his chiselled chest until there was no more space in between them

Azriel let go of her wrist and dipped one hand into the water. Y/N watched it disappear under the soapy water until his voice made her look back him.

“Eyes on me, little one, I want to see your pretty face.” He smirked when she let out a pretty little gasp as his fingers glazed over her clothed folds, taking note of the water shifting as her body jolted slightly. Grinning from ear to ear as his fingers found her pretty little clit through her soaked underwear and gave it a few little circles, eliciting soft moans from Y/N.

“Keep those pretty eyes open,” he cooed as her head tipped back.

Y/N’s hand flew to his shoulders, holding on while he was slowly riling her up. She really tried, but it was impossible when this male was rubbing her bundle of nerves sinfully slow, making her mind go berserk.

“Please,” she moaned and gripped his shoulder harder, probably leaving some marks on his that’d be gone in a few minutes. “Just… please take it off.”

“Begging now, are we?” he smirked and hooked his fingers around the delicate piece of clothing. “I really like this little piece on you, if I’m being honest.”

“Azriel,” Y/N warned him as she grinded her hips against his erection. Azriel hissed, holding her down with his hands on her hips. But his eyes were showing no mercy.

A loud moan erupted from her throat when Azriel didn’t waste another second and pushed the panties to the side, sliding two of his thick fingers through her tight walls. Y/N’s right hand gripped onto the edge of the tub as support while arching her back. The water splashing a little as her body reacted.

“This feeling better, love?” he grunted while pumping his fingers in her tight cunt, softly groaning as her walls clench around his two digits.

“Y-yes, oh my-” a moan slipping past her lips when his palm rubbed on her clit. “Gods… Azriel.”

Azriel admired her blissful expression, how beautiful Y/N looked while experiencing immense pleasure, how those full lips of hers formed in an “O” shape, letting out the prettiest sounds ever that are pure music to him. He couldn’t believe that he finally had her right where he always wanted her.

Y/N dropped her head on his shoulder, the pleasure she was feeling almost too much. Azriel reached for her cheek with his free hand that was holding her against him the entire time and made her look back at him. Her forehead was glistening, not only from the warmth of the water.

“I want to see your face when you cum on my fingers,” Azriel whispered sweetly, pulling Y/N closer until his lips were brushing her, grinning at her blissful expression while pumping his fingers.

Y/N softly mewled when he switched from his palm to his thumb, rubbing her clit. The slow, sinful circles on her sensitive clit were driving her insane. She pulled him closer by the shoulders and wrapped her arms around them, needing to feel more, needing to feel him more. All she craved was this beautiful male right in front of her.

“I’m close… don’t stop.“

“Come for me, my love.”

Y/N nodded dumbly, too consumed by the intense pleasure his fingers were providing. That familiar warm sensation in her lower belly approaching fast, a few more pumps of his fingers and flicks to her clit, had her gushing around them with a moan of his name right against his lips, tugging him closer by the neck to smash her lips against them.

Azriel kissed her back with such an intension, he almost forgot he still had his fingers buried inside of her until she began squirming, pushing his hand away from her sensitive spot. “Too much,” she mumbled against his lips.

Their lips collided again, her fingers digging through his soft dark hair then dragged down to his back, close to his wings, while Azriel gripped onto the edge of the tub preventing him from going all berserk on her. He groaned at the addictive sensation of her nails lightly dragging down his muscular back, almost causing him to break the damn tub.

But he couldn’t hold back anymore, not after hearing her soft whimpers and her moaning his name into his ear. The way she was grinding against him, made him crazy. His hands found her hips again and in a fluid motion, he had her turned around. Facing the beautiful night lights of Velaris, Y/N was holding onto the edge of the tub now with Azriel right behind her. She turned her head to take a better look at Azriel and he was standing there right behind her in all of his glory. Wings spread wide with pride, looking down at her with his lower lip between his teeth.

His hands caressed her back, one hand travelling down her spine until it landed on her cheek. He grabbed a handful and squeezed, making her jolt in her position with a tiny squeal. His other hand landed on her hip, holding her tight while he was pumping his hard member.

Y/N licked her lips as she watched him, his cock barely fitting in his big hand, moans slipping past her lips as she imagined him burying that thick cock inside her. He revelled in her pretty moans, using his hand to stroke and line himself up with her cunt. He antagonizingly but carefully pushed his cock through her folds, stretching her open. She winced and gasped slightly when he reached halfway,

"I know it’s a lot, just a bit more, you’re doing so good for me, Y/N.” He stroked her waist with one hand before bringing his other the front of her until it reached her clit, rubbing soft circles on it while he pushed in some more. The pain melted away quickly as the feeling of fullness overwhelmed her senses.

He continued to bottom out and moved deeper as she got accustomed on the new sensations, the feeling of him filling her to the brim by pure size and the gentle pleasure from circling her clit. Her whimper was loud as he bottomed out, the tip of his cock brushing against her cervix, she felt impossibly full from his thick and long cock.

Her hands tried to hold onto the ledge of the tub as he set a slow yet punishingly deep pace at first.

“Love, you are so tight, squeezing me so well.” A groan fell from his lips as he threw his hand back as her warm walls hugged his cock. His slow deep pace settled into a faster more desperate one, pounding her cunt, jerking her forward and backward by her waist. He didn’t care about the water splashing all over the floor.  

“Such a good girl for me, so small but taking me so well,” he grunted, as she let out needy moans, desperate tears falling down her cheeks as she cried out his name. Azriel watched her through the reflection of the window right in front of them with a slight smug grin feeling himself getting even harder.

That delicious heat in her lower abdomen quickly build up as Azriel continued fucking her harder with each thrust. Y/N let out a high pitch moan when a sensation hit her like lightning, making her shake and shiver as she clenched around his cock, her legs trembling, almost giving out as the orgasm hit her hard. Your reaction pushed him to his climax as he pushed one last time balls deep into her tight hole, twitching and filling her with his release to the brim.

Azriel caressed her back gently, before he pulled her up, her back pressing into his chest, holding her close. “You did so good for me, my love” he whispered and left kisses from her neck down to her shoulder. Y/N was too exhausted to move so she closed her eyes as she sank into the full feeling and put her hands on top of his on her stomach. “I don’t think I can move.”

That made his chuckle, leaving another kiss on her neck before he moved them a few steps back, sliding out of her while doing so and sat back down on the step that they were sitting on before. Y/N slumped against him and dropped the back of her head on his shoulder.

The two of them remained in that position for a few minutes, her head resting on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her, fingers caressing her soft skin, relishing in the quiet, peaceful night.

“We should probably get out before we get all pruney.” Y/N broke the silence with a little joke. “And probably clean up the mess we made.”

“The house will take care of the latter,” Azriel replied with a smile on his lips. “But let me take care of you and get you to bed.”

[sweet-pea-channie]

i just read yours, elsewhere and all i can say is hoe did you just stab me. cause that was beautiful and heartbreaking and now i’m sobbing 😭

I‘m sorry? 🥹🥹🥹🥹 glad that you enjoyed it! 😊 After I proof read that story, i was like, damn, that’s gonna hurt 💀 i think it does.

Also, I‘m posting another Azriel fic in a few hours 😍

[pellucid-constellations]

Creature Fear

And if had been clean, if there had been no strings between you, this would have been easy. But, with Azriel, you had never expected the strings to disappear. They would always be there—at least, they would for you.

An angsty piece inspired by Creature Fear by Bon Iver (2.3k words)

~~

With another kick slamming into the muscle along the Shadowsinger’s thigh, you heaved in a breath that assaulted your lungs. It burned and tasted of iron as you panted, but that was simply the natural flow of training.

This was fine. 

Everything was fine. 

You weren’t picturing Azriel with his hands on her waist, swaying to the rhythm of a song you couldn’t recall. You weren’t replaying how his lips touched her ear or how his fingers tilted her jaw to the side. No part of your brain was rehashing the smile she sent him, an expression given just moments before he led her out of Rita’s. 

No, you weren’t thinking of the events the night prior as you swung at the man before you. 

He ducked—a pity, really. 

“Something on your mind?” Azriel asked, words rushed as he moved around your attempted hits. 

You grunted. “No. I’m training. That’s why you dragged me out here.” 

“Right.” 

Another jab at his face. He dodged it. You used your leg to sweep at his ankles. 

“Are you even going to try?” you goaded, frustration creeping into your tone. 

Azriel hopped back in the ring, but when you only followed his escape, he released an impatient sigh and grabbed at your shoulders, flipping you until your back met the ground with a soft groan. 

“What’s the matter?” he huffed out above you. “You’re antsy. Your moves are sloppy and you really seem to want to hit me.” 

“I have hit you.” 

“Y/n,” Azriel warned. 

You ticked your jaw to the side, still out of breath as his chest pressed to yours. This was not an unusual position for the two of you. In fact, it was a position you had found yourself in just last week, only there was far less anger and far more pillows. And it had been dark—quite romantic if anyone had asked you, but no one was asking you. 

Because the relationship between you and the Shadowsinger was not public knowledge, and it certainly was not exclusive. No strings, Azriel had said against your mouth when you had come together the first time. And then it was we’re just blowing off steam and only one more time and we can’t tell anyone. It was unclear why Azriel needed a concrete reason to sleep with you each time he did it, but the underlying message was clear: you were not in a relationship. 

It was just sex. 

And sure, that was fine the first time—maybe even the second and third. But you had been lying to yourself when you agreed to the arrangement in between heavy breaths and rushed fingers. Azriel was not something you could do halfway, and you knew that from the start. You’d been half in love with him from the moment you met him. This had only been the nail in the coffin. 

“Get off of me,” you demanded with forearms pressing into Azriel’s chest. 

He was unrelenting. “No. Tell me what’s wrong with you.” 

“Nothing’s wrong. You’re crushing my ribs. Get off.” 

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, luckily, believing me has nothing to do with your ability to get off of me.” 

Azriel traced his eyes along each dip and high point of your face with a scrutinizing gaze before he finally heaved himself up, landing in a seat beside you. You sucked in a dramatic breath and propped yourself up on your palms. 

“Is it something to do with the information Rhys is having you decode?” Azriel asked, tucking his knee in the crook of his elbow. 

The side of your mouth twitched as heat licked up your throat. “No. Azriel, I told you everything’s fine. I was just trying something new Cassian wanted me to practice.” 

“Cassian wanted you to practice being reckless and untrained?” 

“That was incredibly rude.” 

Azriel breathed out a semblance of a laugh. You heard his wings shift as you kept your eyes trained on the floor, but that reprieve was short-lived as a hand met the curve of your jaw. Azriel pressed at the skin there until your gaze was level with his, and then he continued his search.

You humored him—for a moment—allowing your friend to furrow his brows at the distance you were trying to create between the two of you. 

“Tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Azriel, noth—” 

“Stop lying to me,” he interrupted, sliding his hand back until his fingers wove into the hair at the base of your neck. “I know you. Something’s wrong.” 

Your chest was beginning to feel fuzzy and the heat in your throat had melted into a blissful warmth. It was always so easy to be around Azriel, and it would be just as easy to lean forward and whisper that against his lips. Since that line had been crossed all those months ago, you had been tempted to take what you wanted several times. 

But those liberties were only afforded to you in the dark aperture that was Azriel’s room. He only touched you like this when no one else was around, saving the gentleness of his fingers in the public eye for strangers in pleasure halls and nightclubs. 

You were nothing like the girl he took home the night before. She had probably woken with him wrapped in orange morning light when you were always scampering away in the bleak blues and greys that made up the middle of the night. She was probably soft and delicate and not training for battle at the crack of dawn. 

No, to Azriel, you were only a friend and you were convenient. 

You knocked his hand away. “I told you I’m fine, Azriel. I’m just having an off day. Leave it alone.” 

Azriel, who had flinched when the back of your hand met his arm, opened his mouth to speak without sound to follow. You were already on your feet by the time he could have formulated a response.

~~

You hadn’t spoken to him in three days. 

Three days of avoiding every room he frequented. Three days of avoiding his shadows as they attempted to beckon you to the training ring, the kitchens, and the balcony where he would inevitably get you to go into town with him. Three days of driving yourself insane. 

This was always going to end poorly, but you hadn’t expected you to feel so angry. Hurt, yes, but anger was not something typically in your repertoire—especially not associated with Azriel. 

The way he touched that woman played on a loop in your mind, reminding you how it had been so easy for him to do that in front of so many eyes. That, unlike you, there was no shame accompanied by his lazy fingers. He had touched you with those same hands, with that same tenderness, just the morning after—but no one was around to see it. 

It did hurt, but it was also infuriating. 

Maybe the angry heat was just a placeholder for the pain, something easier to digest, but you didn’t care to parse out the origin.

On the fourth day of stewing in your frustration, you were ending the night in bed with a candle and a book you could hardly focus on, reading and then rereading the same page as your jaw sat sewn together. 

The knock on your door was unexpected and unwelcomed

You didn’t have it in you to speak to him. 

You opened the door despite that. 

The man on the other side looked shocked for a moment, blinking as the wind from your arrival hit his eyes, and then he looked restless, bringing his hands up as if you were about to slam the door in his face. 

“Can I come in?” he asked, eyes darting over your shoulder to your bedroom and then back to you. “I know you’re avoiding me. I miss you. Let me come in.” 

“I’m not—” 

“Please, y/n.” 

His tone, rushed and panicked, made your brows come together. You opened the door a fraction wider to let him in. He stepped forward three times and then remained in place as you turned to close the door behind you. When you turned to face him once more, your senses were overwhelmed. 

Your back was pressed to the wood and familiar hands pressed divots into the skin of your waist. Azriel was kissing you—not hurried as he usually was when you met for these reasons, but almost savoring the feel of you against him. In your shock, your hands had landed on his chest, fisting his sweater between your fingers. Having him here, like this, distracted you for a moment. 

It felt natural. 

It was good. 

When Azriel deepened the kiss, you snapped back to your anger, remembering the sly way he had guided that woman out of Rita’s. You flattened your palms against his chest and pushed, hard. The Shadowsinger stumbled back with wild eyes, and it was then you saw the state of him. His rumpled clothes and the way his hair stood up as if he’d been running his fingers through it. The rings he typically wore were each missing from his fingers and he was completely unarmed, not even the Truthteller strapped at his hip. 

“I—I shouldn’t have done that,” Azriel spoke, clearing his throat as he ran his hand along his jaw. “You’re angry at me. I came in here to ask—I wanted to make it right. I didn’t mean to—” 

“Azriel, stop. I’m not angry at you.” A lie. You were angry at him, but there were no grounds to be. You straightened out your posture and fixed your nightgown where he had wrinkled it with his fingers. “We don’t… do it this way. I come to your room.” 

“I haven’t seen you in four days,” Azriel reasoned. “I miss you. I said that.” 

You ground your teeth together, unable to look him in the eye. “I’m sure I’m not the only woman in Velaris that could warm your bed.” 

Azriel stuttered over his words before replying, “That’s not what I meant. You’re—You are my friend and I miss you because you have gone to lengths to avoid me. I would like to know why.” 

Your gaze flashed up at the crack in his voice. He stood with his palms open to you, his arms hanging by his sides. 

“Friends don’t do what we were doing. Things are different between us now, Azriel.” 

“They don’t have to be. We agreed—no strings.” 

Anger grew and festered. They don’t have to change because he wouldn’t want them to. He would want a woman like the one at the pleasure hall. He would want anyone but you. 

You crossed your arms over your chest, feeling equal parts unfair and justified. “Because the world works exactly how you want it to, doesn’t it, Azriel?” 

He paused, his pleading expressed now dumbfounded. “What?” 

“You just get to have your pick of women each night and if none of them work out you know I’ll be waiting at home for you? That your friend will be available if all of the women you’ll actually acknowledge in front of our family aren’t interested?” 

“No, I—” 

“I’m not some backup plan, Azirel. What, no one else available tonight? Did you happen to round on the Archeron sisters as well? I’m last again, right?” 

As the words spewed from your mouth, you knew you would come to regret them. Azriel looked more and more confused and affronted at each accusation you made, but this was easier than crying and professing your love. Azriel had said no strings attached, and if you couldn’t avoid love, he would have to deal with anger. That was an easier string to sever.

“We’re stopping this, if that wasn’t obvious.” 

Azriel’s breath seemed to escape his lungs in one fell swoop. He took a step forward and shook his head. “Is this about that night at Rita’s? Y/n, I would never have—” 

“No, you said no strings, right?” you bit out. “So you’re allowed to do whatever and whoever you want. This has nothing to do with that. I’m just… I’m just done.”

Gods, you weren’t making sense. Why had he kissed you when he walked in? You felt like you were going to cry and that was not something you wanted to do in front of him. “Okay, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Azriel almost begged. He looked ruined and so tired. “We can go back to how it was before.” The prospect seemed to pain him. “Just—tell me how to fix this between us. I can’t… lose you. Not to this.” 

“There’s nothing to fix,” you lied. “Let’s just—let’s just stop.” 

“Okay. Okay, we can stop and—” 

“And you need to get out.” 

Azriel blinked at you, brows furrowed. “But we still—Y/n, I want to talk about this.” 

There was an incongruence in the way he was looking at you. If it had just been about sex, this would have been simple, clean. For you, it would have hurt, but for Azriel, it would have been a small variable being removed. But he was looking at you as if the world was ending, and you couldn't comprehend that. 

He had been holding another woman earlier this week. 

His hands twitched now. 

He needed to leave before you cried.

“Get out, Azriel.”

[sweet-pea-channie]

Oh god, this is brilliant! I hope there's going to be a part 2! :)

[steveslevis]

can you see right through me?

azriel x mate!reader

summary: after finding out you're mated to the Spymaster of the Night Court, you can't help but feel self-conscious, thanks to the jealous remarks made by patrons at your bookstore.

warnings: mentions of self-hatred and self-sabotage, angst!!!, body image issues, depression, mentions of death, azriel is an idiot but he figures it out ok, mentions of sex & the mating frenzy

word count: 9.5k (oops...)

Ever since finding out that you’re mated to none other than the High Lord’s Shadowsinger two months ago, everything in your life has flipped upside down.

You’re not just some ordinary bookstore owner anymore, you’re now part of the Night Court’s Inner Circle by default. Your status as a citizen in Velaris has completely changed, but you refused to quit working just because of your mate, much to his disappointment. He’d rather you just stay with him in the House of Wind, filling your days reading your favorite books instead of selling them, but you insisted. You wanted to get to know the male better before immediately accepting the bond, moving in and forgetting about your old life, especially after hearing all the things people say about you and your new mating bond when they’re in or around your shop. 

You have to deal with sidelong glances and whispers from almost everyone who comes into your tiny shop next to the Sidra, have to hear the spiteful unmated females who might kill to be in your position. 

“How do you think she got him? Do you think she slipped one of those banned love tonics into a drink or something?” 

“He could be mated to anyone, and the Cauldron picked her of all people?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he already rejected the bond, I don’t ever see them together.”

“She’s definitely just using him for his money and power, she had to have manipulated him somehow.”

“I thought he was with the Morrigan, she’s much more fitting for a male like him, much prettier.”

Every snide remark hits you like a knife to the heart, but still, you keep your composure throughout every single day. It isn’t ever until you’re in the safety of your own apartment above the bookstore that you allow yourself to mull over the comments, to let yourself fall back into old self-loathing habits.

You quickly learn how to contain your sadness to your end of the bond, blocking Azriel from seeing the pain that you endure on a nightly basis. You’re convinced he would be so embarrassed to see you cry yourself to sleep, to see you poke and prod at your skin in front of the mirror, to see you skip over meals in order to appease that incessant hatred filling your mind, to see you become filled with so much disgust in yourself when you replay the remarks over and over and over again.

The comments never seem to die down as weeks pass, and you slowly convince yourself that they’re all right, that Azriel is going to reject the bond because you don’t deserve him. You don’t see him often anyways, as you’re both preoccupied with your jobs throughout the week, which doesn’t help the fact that you’re convinced that he doesn’t want to be around you. 

You’re stuck between trying to change yourself to fit what you think the Illyrian would like in a mate and rejecting the bond before he gets the chance to break your heart. You eventually decide it’s worth a shot to change yourself into the ideal, beautiful mate that you think he wants you to be before being stung with the inevitable heartbreak that comes with rejecting a bond. 

Sundays used to be your favorite day of the week because you get to close shop at mid-day and spend the rest of the day reading at the foot of the Sidra or walking around to the nearby shops. 

For the last few Sundays, you didn’t feel like doing anything aside from wallowing in self-pity in your bed. You never let yourself do just that, though. 

You’d taken it upon yourself to change your lifestyle after thinking long and hard about the women that he’s surrounded by in the Inner Circle. All of them are tall and toned and so strong, more in shape than you’ve ever been in your life. All of them have natural beauty and grace that you could only wish to have. 

Every Sunday for the last month, you’d spent the afternoon running or doing some kind of training in order to “fix yourself”, to look an inkling more similar to those beautiful high fae of the Inner Circle. This Sunday was no different. 

You closed the bookstore around noon and headed up to your apartment, changing into training clothes before deciding to go for a long run after a day of extremely ruthless comments. You slip out the back door of the bookstore to begin your run, but are halted almost immediately when you walk straight into a wall of leather and warm skin, shadows skittering around your shoulders as you take a step back. 

Azriel peers down at you as you frown at him, concern lacing his features when he takes you in. His heart races as you stand in front of him, excited to finally see you after not seeing you for over a week. He swears you look different every time he’s seen you recently, your frame beginning to thin out in ways that concern him, but he knows better than to bring that up. 

“S–Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” you say meekly, tugging at the sleeves of your jacket while avoiding direct eye contact with the male. 

“It’s quite alright,” he says gently, watching you closely as his eagerness extends down the bond to you. “Where are you going?”

“Was just gonna go on a run,” you reply with a shrug, feigning nonchalance as the self-doubting thoughts swirl around in your mind even more in his presence. “Did–did you need something?”

“Am I not allowed to visit my mate whenever I please?” he teases, which makes your eyes widen in fear that he’s actually upset.

“I’m sorry, I–I didn’t mean it like that!” you stammer, shaking your head at him apologetically as you take a step back, backing into the door behind you. 

“Hey, no it’s alright. I was only joking.” Azriel says quickly, one of his hands coming up to caress one of your arms. “I didn’t mean to take you by surprise, I’m sorry. I should’ve made sure it was okay that I stopped by.”

You shake your head again, blinking before looking up at him with a frown. He wants more than anything to ask you what’s bothering you, but can see that you’re obviously already distraught about whatever it is, and doesn’t want to pry. Since he’s known you, you’ve always been closed off, like him, about your emotions. So, he opts to change the subject instead. 

“I did have a real reason for coming over here though,” he suggests and you nod slowly, waiting for him to continue. “Rhysand requests your presence at dinner tonight.” 

“T–The High Lord?” you question, and Azriel nods. “W–Why is he requesting my presence at dinner?”

“Well, we have family dinner once a week, and he claims it’s not a complete family affair if my mate isn’t present.” he explains, the ghost of a smile on his lips, “I tried to tell him to fuck off, because I know you’re typically busy on Sunday nights, but he insists that you come this week, at least this once.”

There’s a pleading look in your mate’s eyes that makes you nearly melt at his feet, and you know you can’t say no to him at that moment. 

“I–I, yeah, I can come tonight.” you say finally, giving him a weak smile as he grins down at you triumphantly. 

“Perfect,” he retorts, his shadows dancing around you with equal excitement, “I’ll meet you here around five? It’s just over at the River House.” 

You nod quickly, forcing a smile onto your face as he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek before bidding you goodbye. The small gesture makes your heart flutter, but you can’t help but wonder how forced it is, can’t help but wonder if inviting you to dinner is a ploy to bring you in and publicly reject your bond.

There’s no way in hell you’re going for a run now. 

You spend the next five hours pacing around, thinking about what you’re going to wear if you want to even come close to looking as good as the other females that will be there. The clothes in your closet are few and far between, but you finally decide on your nicest dress, one that's made of a gauzy navy fabric, adorned with silver embroidered stars littered over the bodice. It’s more revealing than most clothes you wear, but it’s the closest thing you have to the clothes that the Inner Circle wear. It takes you almost an hour to feel presentable in terms of makeup and hair, and by the time you’re done, you hear a knock on the back door of the store. 

You throw your shoes on quickly before making your way down the stairs, mentally preparing yourself for the evening as you do. 

Azriel’s eyes go wide when you open the door, something like amazement and confusion mixed in his gaze as he stares you down.

“I–I’ve never seen you wear anything like this, it’s beautiful,” he starts, unable to tear his gaze from the flowy dress, “You’re beautiful.”

Your chest aches at his compliment as your mind tries to convince you that he’s lying, but you smile up at him weakly nonetheless. He extends his arm for you to take, ready to lead you to the River House across the Sidra.

The two of you are greeted by more people than you’d expect when you enter the High Lord and Lady’s home, but you recognize them all before they get a chance to introduce themselves. You’ve only met Cassian and Nesta prior to this dinner, so the first hour was spent essentially introducing yourself to each of them one-by-one. Azriel stays by your side through each introduction, hand on the small of your back as his shadows swirl around your hands comfortingly. He can tell that something in you has changed since he met you a few months back, that the light and excitement in your eyes when you first found out he was your mate has since dissipated. There’s an unmistakable lump in his throat as he thinks too much into it, wondering if you’re having second thoughts about him. 

Dinner comes and goes as smoothly as you hoped it would. The nauseous feeling roiling in your gut keeps you from eating much, only pushing the food around on the plate while taking miniscule bites to fight off any comments that any of them might have about your hesitancy. You’re only roped into conversations every once in a while, so you’re able to sit back and explore the dynamic between the group a little more without much involvement. Azriel mainly stays silent, only making a few remarks here and there. 

With a snap of the High Lord’s fingers, dessert appears in front of everyone along with more wine in each of your glasses. 

“I propose a toast,” Rhysand suggests after getting everyone’s attention, eyes landing on you finally, “to Y/N, for bringing our Shadowsinger so much happiness.”

A deep blush spreads across your cheeks as you force a smile, raising your glass as the others do too. ‘Cheers’ is mumbled by everyone before they all take a drink, and Azriel reaches over to squeeze your hand that’s sitting on the edge of the table. You turn to look at him, noting an unfamiliar look in his eyes that you nearly mistake for love, before your thoughts are interrupted by a loud laugh from Amren across the table.

“I, for one, am so grateful that Y/N finally came along after all this time.” she says with a sly grin, “because I think if she wouldn’t have, then the Spymaster would’ve continued to pine after Mor for the rest of eternity.”

There’s a collectively uncomfortable murmur from everyone at her words, and Nesta jabs her in the side with a warning glare as she notices the smile on your face falter for a split second. You could feel all color leave your face as your heart plummets to your stomach, the female’s words confirming all of your doubts about your current situation. Azriel shifts his eyes to you then, but you bring back the same composed mask to your face, the same one you’ve held for the last three months any time someone made snide remarks at you, while you try to avoid his burning gaze. You give the female a withering smile, ignoring the worried stare from the male at your side as you do. 

“Truly, I’m grateful the Cauldron deemed me worthy of being a welcome distraction to such a male like him,” you say in response with a laugh, hoping your voice comes out in a joking tone as you try to mask the disappointment in your wavering voice. 

The comment is enough to earn a few chuckles from around the table, pushing away any awkwardness that stemmed from Amren’s comment. You’re able to skate through the rest of the evening without any snide remarks from the Inner Circle, glad that you’re one step closer to getting the hell out of this house as the group finally starts to stand from the table. 

Azriel follows closely behind you as you bid everyone goodbye, exhaustion raking over your bones as you give one final wave to the High Lord and Lady before turning toward your mate.

There’s a look of worry shining in his eyes when you finally peer up at him, shadows skittering anxiously around your wrists in the meantime.

“Ready to go home?” he questions, forcing a smile onto his face as he guides you towards the front door when you nod. 

“You don’t have to walk me home, Azriel.” you start once you’re out of earshot of everyone else, stopping in your tracks to look at him again. The look on your face is almost unreadable, but his shadows whisper to him about your pain and embarrassment as the two of you stand on the outside of the front door to the River House. “I’m truly fine to go by myself, you don’t–don’t have to bother to go out of your way for me.” 

His brow furrows and a frown pulls his lips down at your words, finally seeing the slightest glimmer of sadness and disappointment shining in your eyes as you speak. He only shakes his head, taking a step towards you before he speaks. 

“I–You’re not a bother to me.” he says, unsure of what else to say to you, “If you’re upset about what Amren said, please know that she always says bullshit like that when she’s drunk, I have not thought about Mor in that way for centuries–”

“Truly, Azriel, it’s quite alright.” you interject with a pained smile. “You didn’t ask to be mated to me, I understand if you’re preoccupied with other love interests or if you just don’t want to be with me.” 

The Illyrian opens his mouth to speak, but is downright dumbfounded by your words to the point where he simply closes his mouth again. He very obviously had been reading the situation wrong this whole time, as he thought that giving you space was the right thing to do in order to let you process the very new bond from your end. He realizes then that you needed reassurance and not space, but it could very well be too late now. Before he can protest, you’re taking a step closer to him in order to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek before stepping away.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “I get it, I really do. And–And if you need to reject the bond and never want to see me again after tonight, I’ll understand.”

Oh, fuck. You think he wants to reject the bond. 

Hazel eyes meet yours then, and you swear you see a twinkle of regret and hurt shining somewhere between the bronzy flecks, but it’s almost undetectable. Such a miniscule expression that you tell yourself that you imagined it, that his face never changed and that he truly does not care about what you’re saying to him now. 

He shakes his head as you take another step away from him, as you turn on your toes to walk away from the townhouse, away from him. His chest feels like it’s going to cave in then, as the bond to his heart hums with a sadness he’s never felt before. He can feel the bond quivering in pain between your souls, threatening to wither away if either of you even thinks about truly rejecting the bond. 

But you don’t feel it because you’ve expertly blocked the bond out for the last month, because you truly believe that there’s no way Azriel could ever truly want you, because you’re convinced that he wants this.

There’s no hesitation in your step when you turn your back to the male, walking in swift strides towards the bridge to cross the Sidra to reach your little apartment on top of the bookstore. You refuse to let him see how much it kills you to freely offer up a rejected bond, you can’t let him see how you’re crumbling with each step you take. So you stay steady in your gait, hiding your shaking hands in front of you as you blink back the tears that threaten to spill. 

If you would’ve looked back in that moment, you would’ve seen the tears that spilled down the shadowsinger’s cheeks. If you wouldn’t have blocked out the bond in that moment, you would’ve felt the way you almost tore his heart out of his chest as you walked into the darkness. 

Azriel didn’t follow after you though, he didn’t want to make things worse than they already were. He’d fucked up so badly by not showing you how much the bond truly meant to him, by simply assuming that you needed space. 

So, he simply sent a shadow to make sure you got home safely and sat down on the front step of the townhouse. 

He sat on that step for almost two hours, staring at the stars and cursing himself for all of the mistakes he’d made. 

You only get one mate in your eternal life, and he really fucked it up this badly already?

Memories of the first few times the two of you had met replayed in his mind as he sat there, remembering how your eyes glimmered with the most love he’d ever been shown in his life.

You were shy and quiet, something he wasn’t used to from being around the Inner Circle for so long. After living with the loud, boisterous crown for centuries, he was used to emotions being expressed outright. So, he’d mistaken your meek behavior for disinterest, mistaken your nervousness for distaste. He thought you’d needed space, needed time to get used to his brooding and intolerable presence, needed room to process the sudden bond. But, fuck, was he wrong. 

Everything becomes clearer to the male as as it nears midnight. The ache in his chest becomes more and more painful with each passing minute now, and he realizes that he has to get you back, he has to fight to make you understand how much you mean to him. 

_______________________________________

Nesta Archeron started her Sunday much earlier than usual this week, thanks to her mate’s early morning departure. Cassian woke her by rustling around their shared bedroom before dawn, seemingly flustered as he tried to gather his leathers and put them on in the dark. 

“You’re not very good at being quiet, General.” she remarks tiredly, sitting up in the bed to flick one of the bedside faelights on.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, shooting her a sympathetic smile as he nearly trips over the leathers he tries to step into. “Rhys said there’s an emergency in Windhaven, Az and I are leaving soon.” 

She only hums in response, watching him finish getting dressed in comfortable silence. Cassian stands over her at the edge of the bed after tugging on his boots, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek before heading out for the day. 

Nesta knows then that she won’t be able to fall back asleep, so she decides to reach for her latest read on her nightstand. Once she grabs the book, she realizes that she’d finished the night before and is completely out of books to read. She knows then that she’ll have to make her way into town, deciding to take a trip to your bookstore at the base of the Sidra for the first time. 

She took her time getting ready, slipping into a gray dress and her usual boots before heading downstairs to eat breakfast. It was a little after seven in the morning when she made her way towards your bookstore, basking in the chilly morning air as she walked along the river.

It took her all of thirty minutes to reach the store, where she was met with a locked door and a dark front window. It was well past opening time for the store and there were no other signs on the door to suggest otherwise, but your store was definitely closed. 

“I’m not surprised,” Nesta hears a female say from behind her, giggling to her friend as they pass the storefront, “I’m sure she’s been rotting away upstairs because the Shadowsinger broke their bond or something like that. The store’s been closed all week. A lesser fae store owner like her did not deserve a male as beautiful as him.” 

Nesta turns to see the culprits of the spiteful comments and laughs, and the two High Fae females’ eyes widen upon her whipping her head towards them. 

Their smirks fall immediately, the one who was speaking starts to open her mouth but Nesta only holds up a hand to shut her up.

“I don’t know either of you females–and I’m very glad I don’t–” the sharp-eyed female spat out, “but I do know the Shadowsinger and his mate. And all I have to say is that if I hear either of you coming around here to harass her or if I hear of you spewing more lies about her relationship, I will be sure to mention it to the High Lord and Shadowsinger. I’m sure neither of them would be very happy to hear the rumors flying around.”

The females nod feverishly as Nesta stares them down with that silver fire flickering lowly in her eyes, both mumbling apologies under their breaths as they scurry away.

Nesta lets out a huff, turning on her heels to make her way towards the other bookstore across town, where she only finds two new books for herself instead of the countless romance novels she knew she would’ve found at your carefully curated store. The remarks from the two females about you aren’t lost on her as she makes her way through the city, their spiteful words and evil giggles running through her mind as she replays the scenario. 

Instead of trekking all the way back to the House of Wind after gathering her books, she makes her way to the River House in order to spend the day with her favorite person–Nyx.

The day goes by quickly between reading and rolling around with the toddler and his mother, and it’s evening before she or Feyre even realize it. Three Illyrian warriors clad in leathers make their way into the drawing room where the two females lounge on the couch, looking exhausted from a day of crisis management at the camps. 

“Long day?” Nesta says as she raises her eyebrow at the three males, stroking Nyx’s hair as he sleeps silently on her chest. 

Her mate only grunts in agreement, coming over to press a kiss to the crown of her head in greeting. The High Lord is greeted by Feyre with a loving stroke of his cheek, smiling up at him sympathetically. Azriel only stands at the threshold, looking more brooding and closed off than usual.

“Well, good news is you can tell us all about it at dinner.” Feyre suggests, trying to lighten the sour mood of the three males as she reaches for Rhys’ hand to intertwine into her own. “Nuala and Cerridwen just finished making some delicious stew and I don’t know about you all, but I’m starving.”

Dinner seems to lighten the mood quite a bit for the group, quiet conversation carrying through the dining room after Cassian and Rhysand get their complaints out for the day. Azriel sits on the other side of Feyre, silent for the majority of the meal, only engaging when Cassian involves him. 

A burning question gnaws at Nesta as she takes in the sad, hazel-eyed male, she can almost feel the pain radiating off of him from across the table as he stares intently down at the barely touched food in front of him. It’s hard to read the male, so she’s not entirely sure what the sadness is about, but she has to know eventually.

“How was your day, Nes?” her thoughts are interrupted by Cassian’s words and his elbow nudging hers lightly.

“Great, for the most part. Got to spend it with my favorite nephew,” she jokes, grinning briefly over at the babbling toddler being fed by his mother. “But I did find something very interesting on my trip to get some new books this morning.”

She notes how Azriel’s eyes flicker towards her then, intrigued by the mention of going to a bookstore.

“Oh, did you go to Y/N’s store? I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to take a trip over there to get some new books.” Feyre asks while forking some food for her son. 

“Well, that was the original plan.” Nesta retorts, lips pulling into a half-frown before turning towards the shadowsinger, “Have you heard from your mate lately, Azriel?”

Azriel drops the spoon he was holding into the bowl of stew with a loud clatter, obviously taken aback by the question directed towards him. The room is silent as he finally looks up, seeing four expectant pairs of eyes staring back at him, Nesta’s gaze the harshest out of all of them. 

“No, I haven’t heard from her since Saturday.” he says, willing his voice to be strong as he feels as though he’s going to throw up.

“Hm, interesting.” Nesta hums, eyes sharpening even more, if that’s even possible, “I tried to stop by the store because I finished my last novel last night, but the door was locked and the lights were all off. Then I ran into the most interesting pair of females who I overheard say that the store had been closed all week.” 

“All week?” Feyre questions, a frown on her face now too.

“You haven’t heard from your mate for a week and you haven’t thought to try to contact her?” Rhys interjects, disappointment laced in his tone as he stares down Azriel from across the table, his honed gaze rivaling Nesta’s. 

“She–She hasn’t left her apartment since last Saturday.” Azriel grits out, stopping anyone else from their questioning. “She thinks I want to reject her, to reject the bond. And I’m starting to think I should.” 

Everyone goes silent then, even Nyx’s babbling is hushed as a thick air of tension fills the large dining room. Azriel’s hands are shaking as he stares at his untouched glass of wine, shadows slashing around his wings angrily now.

“Why do you think that?” Nesta’s the only one brave enough to question him, unafraid of facing the upset male. “What makes you think you should reject the bond?”

“I fucked up. I thought she needed space, thought she was overwhelmed by me, by all of this, by being part of the Inner Circle by default.” he says, a pained expression on his face as he finally looks up to Nesta. “I hurt her and I didn’t even realize it. She needed me and I wasn’t there for her. I can’t figure out how to make it better, I–I don’t know how to take away her pain. I’ve been her mate for less than six months and I’ve already lost her trust in me. I don’t deserve such a sweet creature like her.”

“Do you want to reject the bond?” Nesta persists, and he knows she means to ask if he loves you or not.

“I don’t. But–”

“There’s no but, Azriel.” Cassian interrupts firmly, “You either want to, or you don’t. And you don’t want to reject it, I know you don’t. You’ve never been happier than you were when you realized you had a mate and that it was her. You need to get your head out of your ass, stop pitying yourself and start showing her that you want to be with her. If not, you’re going to kill the poor female. You’re gonna fucking kill her from a broken heart.”

_______________________________________

In all honesty, you don’t know what day it is anymore. You’ve sat in the dark in your apartment above the bookstore all alone for Gods know how long, letting yourself wallow in the sorrow that fills your chest every time you breathe. 

You can’t remember the last time you ate, the last time you did anything aside from stare at the wall next to your bed, save for the times that you’ve gone to the bathroom. It truly feels like you’re dying, like you’re withering away into nothing, and you might as well be. You don’t know what day it is, but you do know that Azriel hasn’t tried to contact you since you left the River House on Saturday, you do know that he wants nothing to do with you.

You hadn’t realized how much you had grown to rely on the male’s visits and nervous glances, how much they’d excited you, until they were no more. 

The golden thread in your soul quivers every time you think about him, but you don’t let yourself think about missing him for too long. You always shut down before it gets too bad, and push yourself back into the thoughts of self-hatred, the thoughts of how you wish you’d just cease to exist already. There wasn’t anyone around anymore to check on you, anyone to make sure you made it through this bout of depression like there used to be. Your sister and mother have been gone for years, and now your mate, the one who gave you a sliver of hope for the shortest time, is gone too. 

When the first knock falls on the door to your apartment, you barely hear it over the incessant ringing in your ears. You choose to ignore it, thinking whoever it is will go away eventually if they stand out in the late evening cold for long enough. 

But they don’t. 

They knock, and knock, and knock, and knock for what feels like thirty minutes, each knock getting louder and more insistent than the last. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to fall back asleep to ignore the sound, but it doesn’t work. After what feels like hours, but is probably only a few minutes, the knocking finally stops. 

What you don’t hear–or see–in that moment is the shadows that slip under the door at the bottom of the stairs, quietly unlocking it for their master to slip inside, and the other shadows ahead of their master that report back to him about your state before he makes his way up the stairs. 

Moments later, you hear the creak of the stairs and your heart sinks, but you feel too weak to move, too weak to save yourself, and for a moment, you thank the Cauldron that some intruder has finally come to put you out of your misery in one way or another.

You don’t expect the weak, broken voice of a male at the top of the stairs as you’re laying with your back towards the threshold, the sadness in an all too familiar voice when you hear, “Gods, Y/N. I am so sorry.” 

It takes every ounce of strength out of Azriel to walk over to the bed after taking in the sight of your studio apartment in complete disarray. The place is unkempt and needs plenty of repairs just from what he can see with a quick scan, but that’s not what hurts his heart the most in the moment. You facing the blank wall, staring mindlessly ahead as you’re curled up in a ball at the edge of your bed is what breaks him. He finally makes his way over to the wall that you’re facing, but you don’t look up at him, unable to take the energy to complete the small gesture.

Azriel falls to his knees in front of you, reaching a hand out to stroke your hair. He takes you in fully then–your unkempt hair, chapped lips, red cheeks and heavy eyes–you truly were dying from a broken heart.

“Y/N,” he says gently, trying to keep his voice as strong as possible while choking back tears. You take a long moment to finally look up at him, a look of confusion and then delusion crossing over your face as you do–you had to be dreaming him, right?

“I’m–I’m so fucking sorry, love. Gods, how long have you been laying here?” he says, and you only blink up at him because you’re not even sure of the answer, numb to it all at this point. “Are–Do you want me to help you? Can I help you somehow, please? I–I wanna fix this, I wanna make you better.” 

A strange noise leaves your throat then as your brow furrows at his words, your delusions during depressive episodes have never said anything like this to you before, and that’s when it all feels too real. You slowly realize that this is very much the real Azriel kneeling in front of you with tears shimmering in his eyes, clasping your very clammy hand between his very warm ones. Tears brim in your own eyes now, the weight of the entire situation hitting you like a ton of bricks. You’d ruined yourself before he’d even broken the bond, so now you’ve hurt him by somehow signaling to him of your suffering. 

“‘M sorry, A–Azriel,” you croak out, the first words to have left your lips in days. 

“S–You’re sorry?” he says, voice more stern than before, shaking his head persistently, “No–No, there’s nothing for you to be sorry about, love.” He squeezes your icy hand then, giving you a weak, bitter smile, “I’m sorry for not coming sooner, okay? I’m so sorry and I’ll apologize until the day I die for not being here for you when you needed me. I–I wanna help you now, if you’ll let me. Will you let me help you? Can I take you home with me to get you some help?” 

Despite the confusion and sadness swirling around in your deprived brain, you nod at the male, who jumps up almost immediately after you nod. He slowly peels the covers off your frail form, heart breaking at the sight of you. He pushes the ache in his chest down to be strong for you then, gently scooping you up into his arms. The two of you are engulfed in shadows seconds later as Azriel shadow-walks to the House of Wind as quickly as he can. 

You don’t remember much from your first moments at the House of Wind, other than the fact that there were a lot of people around you in a very short amount of time. You recognized some of them, the High Lord and Lady, along with Cassian and Nesta, but other faces were less familiar. One woman came into the room you laid in, tugging a warm blanket over your body before using what you could only assume was healing power on you. She’d mumbled something to Azriel on her way out before patting him on the shoulder, and that was the last thing you’d remembered before finally falling into a peaceful sleep for the first time in a week.

Sunlight streaming in through the curtains woke you later on, you weren’t entirely sure how long you’d been out for but you’re sure it had been for more than a few hours at this point. You groaned lightly as you stretched your weak legs, eyes fluttering open to take in your surroundings fully for the first time. The room smelled of mahogany and amber, a familiar and inviting scent you knew too well to not understand whose room you were in. 

Though alone at the moment, you know he’s not far, as his shadows skitter excitedly around you as you attempt to sit up in the bed. 

The door opens not even two minutes later, the shadowsinger standing in the doorway with a tray of what looked to be steaming food, a glass of water, and some medications. He nearly drops the tray when he sees you sitting up in the middle of his bed, not expecting you to already be awake and so alert. Without a word, he strides over to the large bed, placing the tray on the bedside table before sitting in the chair he’d positioned on the side where you laid.

“Hi,” he says with a sharp inhale, giving you a weak smile as he searches your eyes for any emotion he can find. 

“H–How long was I out for?” you ask meekly, the full weight of your actions crashing down on you all at once. “How long have I overstayed?”

“What?” he questions, a frown pulling his lips down as his heart sinks. You truly think you’re burdening this male, when all he wants is for you to be safe and to feel loved. “You haven’t overstayed, I brought you here to heal, I wanted you to come here to get better.”

You shake your head then, blinking harshly at him as you refuse to believe what he’s telling you. “N–No, you only came to find me because I’m–I’m stupid and didn’t give you the opportunity to reject the bond before I mourned what we never had.” you insist, looking at him with wide eyes. “I’m sorry you had to deal with all of this, please–please, you can reject it now, you don’t have to pretend anymore.”

The level of self destruction going on in your mind was on another level that Azriel couldn’t deign to comprehend in the moment, but he knew it wasn’t just by your own doing. He can see the internal turmoil you’re going through, can feel your peril down the bond that he now realizes you’ve been shrouding in your own shadows for months, can feel the way you’re tearing yourself apart from the inside out. He reaches for you then, hands coming up to cup your cheeks gently as his shadows rub soothing circles along your back to calm you down, though you continue to babble apologetically about how he should hate you and how you’re the one who should be apologizing for everything.

“Y/N, hey, hey, hey. Look at me.” he coos gently, thumbs stroking your cheekbones softly to bring you back to the moment as you finally lock eyes with him, “I don’t want to reject the bond, I never wanted to reject the bond.” 

You try to shake your head feverishly, but he doesn’t let you as his hands stay on either side of your face. “Nesta told me about some females she heard outside your store on Sunday, who said some pretty foul things about you.” he begins, having to reign his anger in as he speaks about the females, “Is that something that happened a lot at the store? Did females that come into the bookstore say things to you about us often?” 

You can’t even look at him now, dread and self-loathing gnawing at your chest as you think back to all the hateful comments thrown at you throughout the last few months. You shake your head slowly now, brow furrowing as you try to push down the bile rising in your throat. 

“No, it only happened a–a few times.” you lie bluntly, staring down into your lap as you try to pull away from his touch again and this time he lets you, watching closely as you attempt to stand from the bed. “I want to take a bath.” you say, attempting to change the subject to something less painful.

Azriel is there to catch you when you all but fall when trying to stand on your own two feet, hands landing on your waist to situate you back on the edge of the bed, “You’re not supposed to be getting up on your own yet. You didn’t eat for almost a whole week, you’re too weak to stand right now.” he says softly, hands firmly planted on your waist still, “Do you want me to take you to the bathroom? This food will still be warm when we return if you’d rather bathe now.”

You nod wordlessly, brow pinched in frustration at your current situation. Azriel easily picks you up, carrying you bridal style into the en suite bathroom and sitting you on the edge of the large tub as he draws a warm bath. He turns the tap off once it’s nearly full, turning on his heels to leave you alone in the bathroom for some privacy. 

“A–Azriel,” you call out before he shuts the door, making the male stop in his tracks to face you, heart nearly shattering when you look at him with wide, shameful eyes. “Can you help me bathe?”

The male is at the edge of the tub in an instant, nodding at you gently. He looks away as you strip out of the clothes that you’d been in for a week, tossing the dirty pajamas into a pile at your feet before stepping into the tub slowly. He helps you ease down onto the bottom, letting go of your hand he didn’t realize he’d grabbed once you tug out of his grasp to wrap the arm around your knees you pull into your chest. 

You settle into the water, letting the warmth engulf your cold limbs as you lean your head back to dip your hair, up to the scalp, into the water. Azriel gives you a few minutes to relax in the water, watching as your muscles finally relax slightly under the caress of the liquid. He reaches for the bottle of shampoo eventually, eyeing you closely as he pours some into his hands to lather it. You lean your head up as he does, giving him a small nod of invitation before he reaches for your scalp.

There’s nothing but love and tenderness behind his caress, fingers combing through your damp hair to thoroughly clean it. He’s careful with every movement, making sure to not make the wrong move and send you spiraling for one reason or another. 

It’s such a tender moment as he gently tilts you back to rinse your hair with a cup of water that it nearly makes you sob, but hold back for him to continue. 

“Can you promise me that you won’t ever let yourself get like this again?” he says, voice barely above a whisper as he runs conditioner through your hair. “I–I don’t know if I can handle seeing you so sad ever again. I won’t let you destroy yourself over my stupidity, not when I’m the one to blame for this whole situation.”

You tense at his words, chest tightening as you hear his voice crack when he chokes back tears. It takes you a moment, but you finally turn to face him, your own tears blurring your vision as you look up at the hazel-eyed male.

“It’s–It’s not your fault, Azriel.” you say, shaking your head insistently at him, “It’s my fault for making you feel obligated to be nice to me, I–I know you didn’t ask to be mated to a lowly, lesser fae bookshop owner when there’s plenty of beautiful high fae females out there ready to accept your hand in marriage at the drop of a hat. I shouldn’t have tried to pursue you after the bond snapped, I–I should’ve let you reject it then so you could go be happy with whoever you want to be with.”

“It’s you I want to be with, Y/N.” he insists, hands shaking as they fall from your head. He falls to his knees then, pivoting so he’s face-to-face with you when he continues, “I don’t care that you’re lesser fae, I fucking hate that you’re considered that anyways, it’s a disgusting term. I’m not even a high fae myself, I don’t care about title or status or whatever else, I only care that I’ve finally found my mate.” Azriel is trying his damndest to keep himself from falling apart as he speaks, “My mate, the love of my life, the one that I get to spend the rest of my days with. I know you feel like I pushed you away and I know I made you feel unwanted, but I thought you wanted space. I know now that you don’t, and I promise you that I’ll spend every waking moment, from now until we die, showing you that I am so fucking happy that you of all people are my mate. I love you.”

Whether he realizes it or not, Azriel projects his passion and love down the bond in the moment. Your deceitful brain would’ve told you he was lying had it not been for that tug and flow of warmth between your souls, if it had not been for the true, unadulterated ache you felt in your chest when he said that he was happy that you were his mate. 

Tears well up in your eyes once more as you stare at him, really taking him in, in full form, for the first time. He’s so beautiful, and though there’s a little voice in the back of your mind that still tells you that he’s lying, deep down you know that he’s all yours. Something blooms in your chest then, something stronger than you’ve ever felt, something so compelling that you can’t just sit and stare at him anymore. 

You don’t say anything as you continue to stare up at him, reaching your shaky hands out of the water to cup his cheeks. He almost flinches when you do, taken aback by you initiating the touch, but he doesn’t. With the strength gifted to you by the love confession of your mate, you’re able to maneuver onto your knees and tug him a little closer, crashing your lips into his in a gentle, watery kiss. 

“I love you, Azriel.” you murmur against his lips when you finally pull away from the kiss for a short moment. 

He smiles against your lips, pulling you back in for another kiss as his hands grip your forearms to keep you from slipping in the tub. 

“We really need to get you cleaned up before we can finish this conversation, yeah?” he encourages in between kisses, smoothing down your wet hair as it drips on the side of the tub.

You breathe out a laugh, nodding at him before turning to let him continue washing your hair, and then moving on to your body. Each touch threatens to set you on fire, but there’s no sexual intention behind them, only loving caresses meant to wash you clean of the last week of pain. 

After getting you out of the shower, Azriel slowly dresses you in one of his large shirts, mumbling an apology about how he’ll be sure to bring some of your clothes over if you’d like him to. You only smile at him softly, knowing you’ll be bringing more than a few of your items over soon enough. 

He insists that you eat after your bath, bringing you back to the bed where the soup is still steaming hot, likely thanks to the House that Azriel explained was imbued with magic and would do anything you wished it to. You eat the stew after taking the handful of medications and strength tonic that the healer, Madja, had given him for you, relishing the feeling of the warm food settling in your stomach. 

The change in your energy level after the strength tonic is astonishing. You feel as though you can run for days, but know better than to try something like that in front of your terrified mate. But, there is one thing that you feel like you need to do at the moment, something that’s long overdue.

You’re laying in Azriel’s arms when you finally get your burst of energy, sitting up abruptly enough to make him sit up with you. There’s a look of wild concern on his face when he reaches for your hips, steadying you as you pull your legs to the side of the bed. 

“Are you alright?” he questions immediately, brow furrowing when you miraculously stand on your own two feet. “Do you need something? The House can get you whatever you need.”

You give him a small smile, leaning down to caress his cheek before kissing his forehead gently. 

“I wanna get this thing myself,” you state matter-of-factly as he raises a brow at you. “You stay right here, alright?” 

Before he can protest, you’re walking towards the door of the bedroom to swing it open. You shut the door behind you, leaving the male in the room without a word. 

The House is magic alright, you confirm that when you’re on your way down the stairs and it lights the way for you, only letting the fae lights on the direct path towards the kitchen light the way. It knew exactly what you were doing. 

You’re met with a cutting board, a block of cheese, a loaf of bread and a bowl of grapes next to an empty plate when you enter the kitchen, a lone fae light above the counter lighting the area so you can prepare the plate. You make quick work of cutting the cheese and bread, trying to ignore the way your hands are shaking incessantly as you saw into the sourdough. It only takes you a few minutes to lay everything out on the plate and the House takes care of the rest, then you’re on your way back upstairs, on your way to change your life forever. 

Azriel shifts quickly on the bed when you return, sitting up straight as he locks eyes with you. His heart nearly leaps out of his chest when his eyes flicker down to the plate of food in your hand, realizing what you were up to when you left the room. 

You give him a nervous smile, gripping the plate with two hands as you make your way over to the bed, careful not to tip its contents onto the floor as you quiver. You wonder if he can hear your heart beating in the moment, as you feel like it’s about to beat through your ribcage with one more loud thump. 

“Y/N…” he trails as you shakily extend the plate to him when you perch on the edge of the bed, looking up at you with a look you can only describe as certainty. “Are you sure about this? You want to accept the bond right now?” 

“If you don’t eat this food right now, you might as well send me back to my little old apartment so I can try to die of a broken heart again.” you say, voice barely above a whisper as you give him a watery smile and push the plate closer to him.

He takes the plate from you then, but doesn’t grab any food at first, looking back up at you before he does. He leans over, pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss before taking a shuddering breath.

“I promise you that after this bond is accepted, I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you that you are so much more than all of those evil things that those females said about you. I’ll spend every waking moment showing you how perfect you are and making up for the time that we didn’t get to spend together,” he begins, planting a kiss on your cheek, “I love you.”

“I love you, Azriel.” you whisper, “now eat that food, please. I’m tired of waiting.” 

He smiles at you then, leaning back on the bed as he grabs for a piece of bread and cheese, ready to spend the rest of his eternal life with you, with his mate. 

_______________________________________

It takes almost a whole month for the mating frenzy to die down enough for the two of you to be able to integrate back into society. Rhys insisted on letting the two of you stay in the Cabin for your time away, but you opted to spend your time in Summer in a secluded bungalow for the four weeks instead. 

When you do return to Velaris after your time away, Azriel insists on taking another week off from spymaster duties to get your bookstore back on track and to help move your belongings to the House of Wind while the two of you look for your very own home, somewhere closer to the Rainbow where you can continue to run your bookstore. You don’t dare to protest your mate’s wishes, letting him alternate between packing the little amount of things you have upstairs and taking inventory in the store while you run the register. 

It’s a sunny Saturday when you open your doors for the first time after over a month of being closed, and you’re much busier than you’d expected to be in all honesty, though it seems many of the females coming in are just being nosy to see how true it is that you’re actually back in the flesh. 

There are less snide remarks thrown your way now, but still enough that they make you flinch every once in a while. They don’t bother you anymore, though. During your time away, Azriel showed you how much you meant to him and how beautiful he thought you were in many ways, with his mouth, with his hands, with his tongue, with his…

“Do you think she’s single again? Like…do you think he actually rejected the bond?” you hear a high fae female say on the far end of your busy shop, her eyes darting in your direction as she speaks to a friend.

“I hope so, there’s no way he actually–Oh my Gods.” her friend says, eyes wide when they fall on none other than the shadowsinger himself emerging from the back room of your store, a dozen books in hand. 

A satisfied smile spreads across your face as Azriel walks behind the checkout counter to press a kiss to your forehead before placing the books next to you. The sound of the females whispering hastily falls on deaf ears as your mate turns to you, grabbing a small piece of paper off the top of the pile of books he’d been holding. 

“Found six more copies of both of those romance novels you said you were out of, so no need to order more until those are gone.” he says while pointing at the books. “You really need a better inventory system.”

“Hmm, maybe I’ll just hire you to do it for me instead, since you’re so good at it.” you tease, shooting him a smirk.

“As long as I’m compensated fairly, I wouldn’t mind.” he jokes with a wink, pulling you in for an embrace to speak to you lowly. “On another note, you are officially fully moved into the House of Wind. So once you’re closed up for the day, we’ll be able to go home and officially christen the bedroom.” 

“We’ve already christened that bedroom,” you giggle, rolling your eyes at him, “it’s been thoroughly christened, multiple times at this point. And if I remember correctly, it’s the first place that was christened by us.”

“And?” he says, lips quirked up into a smirk, “I plan on christening it multiple times tonight, and the next night, and the night after that…”

“Okay, I get it,” you laugh, slapping his chest lightly as you pull out of his grip, “You’re insatiable.”

“And you’re beautiful and the love of my life.” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

It was safe to say that you’re getting nowhere past the mating frenzy phase of your relationship anytime soon.

And you’re okay with that.

taglist (add yourself here!): @wrecklesssly @slutforwordsfr @georgiadixon @dreamloud4610 @angelbunny222 @bookishbishhh @fanficscuziranout @Buckingforbuckybarnes @thefandomplace

[sweet-pea-channie]

this is a masterpiece! this is absolutely incredible! I loved every second, every word of it 😍 will safe this to my favorites

[gwynrielweeksofficial]

Gwynriel are shimmering in this wonderful piece by @: gdeliarte!

Support the artist here!

[bluiela-deactivated20260318]

honestly i can’t stop thinking about the first time Gwyn really flirts with Azriel. like not shy or blushing or tentative—but sharp, confident, Gwyn.

They’re sparring. blades clashing, her braid a mess, sweat dripping down both their faces. she knocks him off-balance for the first time ever and says with this wicked little grin:

"Careful, Shadowsinger. I might start thinking I can take you."

and Azriel—this ancient, broody, stone-faced Illyrian laughs.

And then Az just looks at her, grin lingering, and says:

"Maybe I want you to''

And Gwyn? She doesn’t miss a beat.Just winks and says,

"You’ll have to earn that"

I'm unwell.