#acosaf

[shadowdaddiesclub]

When the Shadowsinger rests

Azriel x reader fluff / domestic intimacy / teasing / hurt-comfort Tired of watching Azriel run himself into the ground, you storm into Rhys’s office and emotionally blackmail the High Lord into giving your mate a week off. Azriel returns home exhausted, suspicious, and entirely too amused by the chaos you caused for him.

Rhysand was already annoyed before you even slammed the office doors open.

The sound cracked through the river house loudly enough that Cassian glanced up from the couch with immediate interest, the sharpening stone stilling against the dagger in his hand while Amren sighed over her book like your entrance had personally ruined her morning.

Rhys merely leaned back in his chair with the slow patience of a male who already knew he was about to lose an argument.

“No,” you said immediately.

“Good morning to you too,” Rhys replied dryly.

“No,” you repeated, striding across the office. “You are not sending Azriel back out again.”

Cassian’s mouth twitched.

Rhys folded his hands atop the desk. “There are problems at the Illyrian camps that need handling.”

“That’s not true.”

One dark brow lifted.

“You just want to send your best warrior to glare at everyone until they remember how to behave.”

Amren snorted softly into her wineglass.

Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose. “That is, unfortunately, part of handling the problem.”

“He’s exhausted.”

The amusement faded from his face then, if only slightly, because he knew it too.

Azriel had spent weeks flying between camps and borders and meetings, carrying half the Night Court on his shoulders with that same quiet endurance he carried everything else. He came home later now. Spoke less. Slept less. Even Cassian had started looking concerned.

And Azriel, of course, had said absolutely nothing about it.

“He would never ask for a break,” you continued, crossing your arms. “So I’m asking for him.”

Rhys exhaled slowly. “You know the timing is difficult.”

“Oh, spare me,” you said, throwing your arms in the air.

Cassian outright grinned now.

You pointed accusingly at Rhys. “You’ve worked him into the ground.”

“I have not—”

“You absolutely have.”

Rhys opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Cassian coughed into his fist to hide a laugh.

“So,” you said sweetly, “you are giving him a week off.”

“A week,” Rhys repeated flatly.

“A full week.”

Rhys stared at you. “Do you know how much work he handles in a single day?”

“Yes,” you replied without hesitation. “That’s exactly why I’m asking for seven of them.”

Amren smirked over the rim of her glass.

Rhys drummed his fingers once against the desk. “Do you realize the amount of chaos you’re asking me to deal with while you two disappear into domestic bliss?”

You leaned closer across the desk, crossing your arms with all the confidence of someone about to make a truly unreasonable offer.

“I’ll babysit Nyx for a week.”

For a moment, the entire room went silent before Cassian burst into laughter loud enough to echo off the walls.

Rhys blinked once at you. “You want to keep my son during your vacation?”

“No,” you said immediately, sounding genuinely horrified. “After.”

Cassian nearly slid off the couch laughing.

Rhys looked at you for another long second, like he genuinely could not decide whether to be offended or impressed. “You’re trying to barter childcare for my spymaster.”

“Yes.”

For a heartbeat, he simply blinked at you. Then laughter finally broke from him too, rich and disbelieving enough that even Amren looked mildly entertained now.

“You are unbelievable.”

You smiled sweetly. “And yet deeply persuasive.”

“You’re manipulative,” he informed you, though there was no real irritation left in his voice anymore.

“You raised me.”

“That is not remotely true.”

You waved a dismissive hand. “Close enough.”

Rhys shook his head slowly, still laughing under his breath as he leaned back into his chair. “Five days.”

“Seven.”

His eyes narrowed immediately. “You’re impossible.”

“You owe me.”

That finally made him pause.

Cassian’s grin sharpened instantly.

Rhys narrowed his eyes. “What favor?”

Your own smile turned positively wicked.

“Oh, don’t pretend you forgot.”

Rhys already looked wary enough that Cassian immediately sat up straighter, clearly sensing entertainment.

“You were sixteen,” you said casually, “and you broke one of your father’s study windows sneaking back in at night—”

Cassian barked a laugh.

“—so I told your father it was me.”

Rhys groaned loudly enough to throw his head back against the chair. “Mother save me.”

“You said you owed me.”

“I was a child!” Rhys snapped.

“And now you’re High Lord,” you replied smoothly. “Look how beautifully things worked out.”

Amren was openly smirking now.

Rhys threw up a hand in outrage. “You’ve been waiting years to use this against me.”

“Absolutely.”

“I should have let Uncle kill you for that window.”

“You cried. Like a big baby,” you snorted.

Cassian made a strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and choking.

Rhys looked deeply offended. “I was emotional.”

“You were throwing up from fear,” you said through a laugh.

Cassian collapsed back against the couch laughing hard enough that even Amren muttered, “Pathetic,” into her wineglass.

Rhys glared at all of you with the exhausted suffering of a male betrayed by his own court.

“You are all cruel.”

You smiled brightly. “I want Azriel home by tomorrow morning.”

Rhys held your gaze for another long moment before finally waving a hand in surrender.

“Fine.”

Victory surged through you so fast you nearly laughed.

“You’re the best cousin anyone’s ever had,” you declared proudly.

Rhys stared at you over the edge of his desk with the exhausted expression of a male who had ruled an entire court for centuries only to somehow still lose arguments to you specifically.

“I regret every moment of your existence.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“No,” he admitted dryly after a beat, waving a dismissive hand toward the door. “Unfortunately.”

—

Snow drifted softly beyond the balcony the next morning while pale winter light spilled across the river house in silver ribbons.

You were halfway through making tea when shadows curled suddenly across the balcony doors.

Your heart leapt instantly.

Azriel had barely landed before you were moving toward him.

He only had enough time to straighten before you collided into him hard enough to rock him back a step, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck while cold air and cedar and night clung to him.

A soft laugh escaped him the moment you collided into him, warmer than you had heard in weeks.

“There you are, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling you tightly against him like he could not quite get close enough fast enough.

Gods, you had missed him.

You clung tighter as his arms slid around you automatically, warm and solid and achingly familiar. His wings tucked close behind him while he buried his face briefly against your hair like merely breathing you in eased something inside him.

Then he kissed you.

Slowly at first, his mouth brushing yours softly before he did it again, deeper this time, exhaustion and relief and quiet longing all tangled together.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, one hand firm against your waist while his thumb traced absent circles there.

“What have you done this time?”

You blinked up at him innocently. “Nothing.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh. “Sweetheart, that face usually means Rhys is about to develop a headache.”

You gasped softly. “You wound me.”

“I know you,” he replied, warmth threading through his voice in a way that only made your grin worse.

“Rhys said you weren’t needed at the camps anymore,” you said quickly before he could continue interrogating you.

Azriel went still for half a second before one brow lifted slowly. “Oh, did he?”

The amusement in his voice deepened immediately, smooth and deeply skeptical now, but you ignored it completely and grabbed his hand before he could start asking dangerous questions.

“You have a week off.”

That finally made him stop moving altogether.

“A week,” he repeated carefully.

“A full week.”

Now he was openly suspicious, his shadows curling around your shoulders like they too were waiting for an explanation while he studied you with growing amusement.

“You managed to convince Rhysand to give me a full week off,” he said slowly, sounding like he was piecing together evidence at a crime scene, “and I’m supposed to believe you did absolutely nothing.”

“Yes.”

Azriel held your gaze for another long moment before the corner of his mouth finally curved.

“That’s deeply concerning.”

Rhys strode past moments later with a cup of coffee in hand, looking entirely too composed for someone who had been emotionally blackmailed less than twenty-four hours earlier.

“Good to see you home, brother,” he said smoothly as he passed. “Please enjoy your time off with your mate.”

You immediately shot him a warning look that very clearly said shut up.

Rhys’s mouth twitched.

“You’ve been working so hard,” he continued innocently to Azriel, entirely ignoring you now, “I wouldn’t want her to feel neglected.”

Azriel looked between the two of you slowly, suspicion giving way to realization piece by piece.

Then he laughed.

The sound was low and warm and rare enough that your chest tightened painfully at hearing it again, especially when genuine amusement finally softened the exhaustion lingering beneath it.

“You threatened the High Lord for me?”

“I negotiated.”

Rhys snorted loudly into his coffee.

Azriel’s eyes gleamed as he pulled you closer against him, his hand settling more firmly at your waist while his shadows curled lazily around your shoulders like they were just as entertained as he was.

“Remind me,” he murmured near your mouth, “to thank you properly later.”

Behind you, Rhys gagged dramatically.

You didn’t even bother turning around. “Go away.”

Rhys left laughing under his breath, though not before throwing you one deeply entertained look over his shoulder.

The moment Rhys disappeared down the hallway, silence settled softly around the house again, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace and the distant murmur of Velaris waking beyond the windows.

Azriel was still watching you.

He didn’t look suspicious exactly. If anything, the quiet amusement lingering in his eyes was somehow worse, because it meant he already knew you had absolutely caused problems and was simply waiting for you to admit to them voluntarily.

You moved back toward the kitchen with deliberate innocence and reached for the kettle again, though you only got as far as touching the handle before shadows curled around your wrist, gentle and insistent.

You glanced over your shoulder.

Azriel stood a few feet away, snow still dusting the dark shoulders of his leathers while exhaustion lingered beneath the gold and green of his eyes despite the growing amusement there.

“What did Rhys bargain away?” he asked.

You snorted softly. “His dignity, mostly.”

That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, but he kept watching you in that steady, patient way that made lying to him feel almost impossible.

Almost.

You sighed dramatically before turning fully toward him. “Fine. I may have reminded him that he owed me a favor.”

Azriel’s brows lifted slightly. “A dangerous thing.”

“Very.”

“And what favor exactly did you use to convince the High Lord of the Night Court to part with his spymaster for an entire week?”

You grinned. “Classified.”

His shadows drifted curiously toward you, brushing around your ankles like smoke.

Azriel stepped closer then, slowly enough that you could have moved away if you wanted to.

You never did.

“How angry were you?” he asked quietly.

The humor faded from your face at the softness of the question.

You looked down briefly, fingers tugging absently at the sleeve of your sweater before muttering, “Pretty angry.”

Azriel said nothing after that, and you hated when he did this—this quiet patience, this unbearable way he simply waited until you gave him the truth willingly because he knew eventually you would.

“I know there are actual problems,” you admitted after a moment. “I know your job matters.”

“It does.”

“But Rhys keeps sending you because everyone listens when Azriel shadowsinger walks into a room looking murderous.”

A quiet exhale left him, not quite a laugh.

“And?”

“And I’m tired of everyone acting like you can endlessly carry things just because you don’t complain.”

The room fell quiet after that.

Outside, wind rattled softly against the balcony railings while Velaris carried on below, distant and glowing beneath the snow.

“You shouldn’t have spent your favor on me,” Azriel said at last, the quietness of his voice making your chest ache instantly.

There it was again.

Not embarrassment. Not annoyance.

Something far worse hidden carefully beneath restraint, wrapped so tightly into his composure most people mistook it for strength.

You crossed the remaining distance between you without hesitation.

“I’d spend worse things for you,” you replied softly.

Azriel’s hand tightened around yours so suddenly it almost hurt.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. He simply looked at you with that terrible quiet intensity of his, like he still never quite knew what to do with being cared for so openly.

Then Azriel looked away first.

Your heart ached at the sight.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” you whispered.

Something flickered across his face, quick enough most people would have missed it entirely.

Not you.

Never you.

“I’m alright,” he said automatically.

You stared at him flatly. “You fell asleep standing up last week.”

“That happened one time.”

“Azriel.”

A pause stretched between you before he finally sighed.

“…Maybe twice.”

“You walked into the bedroom door yesterday.”

“It was dark,” he replied with complete seriousness.

“You are literally made of shadows.”

Another pause.

“...It was very dark.”

Despite yourself, you laughed, and the corner of Azriel’s mouth curved faintly at the sound.

Now that he was home, now that the constant tension of duty had loosened even slightly, you could finally see how exhausted he really was. His shoulders remained stiff beneath the leather of his clothes, his wings slower to settle behind him than usual while even his shadows drifted lazily around the room with a strange sluggish softness, like they were tired too.

When your fingers brushed his hair back from his forehead, his eyes closed immediately, his body reacting before his mind could stop it, like gentleness itself had become permission to finally stop holding himself upright through sheer force of will.

That hurt more than anything else.

“You need food before you pass out,” you said quietly.

One eye opened slowly. “I’m not going to pass out.”

“You nearly fell asleep while kissing me on the balcony.”

“That could have been very romantic, my love.”

“It would have been if you weren’t swaying.”

A quiet laugh escaped him then, warm enough to make your chest tighten all over again.

Before he could argue further, you grabbed his hand and started dragging him toward the dining room.

Azriel followed immediately, not even pretending to resist.

Halfway down the hall, you stopped suddenly to grab a blanket abandoned over the back of a chair, and Azriel nearly walked directly into you before catching himself at the last second.

You turned slowly toward him.

“…Are you aware you’re following me around like a particularly dangerous housecat?”

“No,” he replied far too quickly.

“Liar.”

The corner of his mouth twitched while one of his shadows curled smugly around your wrist like it agreed with you entirely.

The dining room was already occupied when you entered, warm light spilling across the long table where Cassian lounged with enough food for six people spread before him, Nesta seated beside him with her coffee while Feyre bounced Nyx lightly on her knee near the far end of the table.

Rhys looked up first, and the moment his gaze landed on the two of you, a deeply entertained smirk spread across his face.

“Oh, this is fascinating.”

You narrowed your eyes immediately. “Shut up.”

Cassian glanced between you and Azriel once before his own grin widened into something outright dangerous.

Azriel had stopped directly behind your chair, close enough that the front of his chest brushed your back when you pulled the seat out for yourself, one hand still loosely holding yours while the other rested absentmindedly against your waist.

He did not seem remotely aware he was doing it.

Cassian absolutely did.

“Did the bond break his survival instincts,” he mused aloud, “or has he always followed you around like that?”

Azriel gave him a flat stare.

Cassian only grinned wider. “You know she’s not going to disappear if you stop touching her for five minutes.”

As though realizing it only because it had been pointed out, Azriel’s hand shifted slightly against your waist, though he still didn’t move away.

You bit the inside of your cheek so you would not smile.

Rhys looked delighted by the entire thing. “Oh, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.”

“Rhys,” you warned.

Feyre was openly laughing now while Nesta hid a smirk behind the rim of her coffee mug.

Cassian leaned farther back in his chair, looking genuinely fascinated. “This is unbelievable. The terrifying shadowsinger returns from weeks of missions only to become—”

“If you finish that sentence,” Azriel interrupted calmly, “I’ll throw you into the Sidra.”

Cassian pointed triumphantly across the table. “See? He means it now because she’s here.”

Nyx giggled loudly at absolutely nothing.

Traitor.

Before the conversation could devolve further, you shoved a plate toward Azriel. “Eat.”

“I can serve myself,” he replied automatically.

“And yet you aren’t.”

Azriel looked down at the plate for a moment before glancing back at you, and then, to the visible horror of everyone at the table, obediently started eating.

The entire room went silent.

Cassian looked genuinely alarmed.

“Who are you,” he demanded, “and what have you done with our Azriel?”

You smirked quietly into your tea while Rhys leaned back in his chair with the air of someone suddenly remembering far too much childhood blackmail material.

“You know,” he mused lazily, “when we were children, she once chased me through the entire house with a fork because I made fun of her braid.”

“It was a very hurtful comment,” you replied.

“You chased me for twenty minutes.”

“And I’d do it again.” You threatened him with your fork.

Azriel glanced toward Rhys thoughtfully. “I believe that.”

Cassian barked a laugh while Rhys looked scandalized all over again.

“You’re encouraging her.”

“Oh, she doesn't need me at all,” Azriel replied smoothly.

You smiled sweetly at him.

Azriel’s hand settled absently against your thigh beneath the table. Not possessive, not deliberate, just there, like some instinct in him needed the reassurance of contact now that he was finally home.

Your heart softened at the feeling.

The conversation drifted around the table after that, easy and warm and mostly filled with Cassian complaining dramatically about training recruits while Nesta ignored him with the patience of a female who had heard this exact speech twenty times before.

Azriel barely spoke after that.

At first, you assumed he was simply listening while the conversation carried on around him, but then you started noticing the smaller things: the slight delay before he answered whenever someone spoke directly to him, the way his eyes kept drifting half shut whenever the conversation moved away from him for more than a minute, the way his thumb had gone completely still against your leg beneath the table.

Rhys noticed a second later, and you saw it happen in the subtle sharpening of his expression as amusement quietly gave way to assessment while he studied his brother more carefully.

Azriel blinked slowly once, then again, exhaustion finally beginning to win its battle against sheer stubbornness.

Without really thinking about it, your fingers slid gently into his hair and brushed the dark strands back from his forehead.

The reaction was immediate.

Azriel’s eyes closed completely beneath your touch, his body softening for the briefest moment like instinct had overtaken awareness before he could stop it.

Silence settled around the table.

Not awkward silence. Not dramatic silence. Just the sudden stillness of everyone realizing at the same moment how exhausted he truly was, because Azriel never relaxed like that around people and certainly never let himself look tired enough for anyone else to notice it.

Your fingers continued slowly through his hair while his breathing deepened almost imperceptibly beside you, his head tipping the slightest bit toward your touch before realization finally caught up to him.

His eyes opened immediately.

Embarrassment flickered briefly across his face, subtle enough most people would have missed it entirely.

You did not.

And judging by the expressions around the table, neither had anyone else.

Cassian was staring openly now while even Nesta’s expression had softened slightly. Rhys looked like someone had quietly punched him in the ribs.

“He’s exhausted,” you said flatly before anyone could speak, your tone making it very clear that you were not inviting commentary from anyone at this table.

Cassian’s expression lost all humor immediately.

Rhys leaned back slowly in his chair, guilt flickering briefly across his face before he masked it again, while Azriel looked vaguely like he wanted the floor beneath him to split open entirely.

So you squeezed his hand once beneath the table before saying with complete casualness, “Anyway. Bath.”

Feyre immediately choked on her tea.

Cassian looked delighted again within seconds.

Azriel blinked at you slowly. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Rhys actually laughed into his coffee while Cassian pointed dramatically across the table.

“See? Terrifying. Absolutely terrifying.”

“You’re all exhausting,” Azriel muttered, though the faint color still lingering high on his cheeks ruined any real intimidation.

Feyre smiled brightly. “You love us.”

Azriel looked at her for a long moment before replying in a perfectly deadpan voice, “…Debatable.”

Nyx giggled loudly from Feyre’s lap like he personally found Azriel hilarious.

You stood, taking Azriel’s hand before he could decide to pretend he was fine for another hour. He followed you from the dining room with very little resistance, though Cassian’s voice immediately trailed after you both.

“If she throws you in the bath fully clothed, blink twice.”

Azriel didn’t even bother turning around. “If she decides to kill me, no one here is stopping her anyway.”

“Noted,” Cassian called back. “I’ll start planning your funeral.”

You rolled your eyes, though Azriel’s fingers tightened briefly around yours, faint amusement flickering down the bond before fading again by the time you reached the sitting room.

Without another word, you reached for the siphons strapped across his chest.

Azriel glanced down at you, one brow lifting slightly as your fingers immediately started working at the leather buckles. “What exactly are you doing?”

“Disarming you.”

“I’m not a threat.”

“You are, the second someone mentions work.”

That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, though he stayed perfectly still while you unbuckled the straps one by one. After a moment, Azriel finally let his arms loosen fully at his sides in silent permission, watching you quietly the entire time.

The siphons glimmered softly as you placed them onto the nearby table beside Truth-Teller.

The second your fingers wrapped around the dagger, his shadows recoiled dramatically like you had personally offended every single one of them.

“Don’t start,” you warned.

One immediately curled possessively around the hilt anyway.

You narrowed your eyes at it. “Oh, so now you care about workplace safety.”

Azriel huffed a tired laugh, low and warm enough that your chest tightened at hearing it again.

You carried the dagger toward the mantel and placed it high enough that he would actually have to make an effort to retrieve it later before turning back toward him with narrowed eyes.

“Upstairs.”

Azriel immediately looked suspicious. “Why do I feel like I should be concerned?”

“Because you should be.”

One of his shadows vanished down the hallway ahead of you both without hesitation, like it had already decided whatever you were planning was an excellent idea.

You pointed after it triumphantly. “See? Even they agree with me.”

A dangerous glint entered Azriel’s tired eyes then, low and warm enough to send heat curling through your stomach despite yourself.

“If your plan involves getting me out of these leathers,” Azriel murmured as he stepped closer, his voice dropping lower while his gaze dragged slowly over your face, “you could have simply climbed into my lap and asked, sweetheart.”

The look in his eyes nearly undid you, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing just how much that voice affected you.

So you rolled your eyes with as much dignity as possible while pushing firmly at his chest toward the staircase.

“Move,” you ordered, even as your face betrayed you completely.

Azriel barely resisted, which honestly worried you more than if he had.

Usually, he would at least pretend to argue.

Instead, he only shot you a slow, lazy grin that said he knew exactly what kind of effect he’d just had on you before allowing you to shove him toward the staircase without further complaint.

His shadows curled lazily around your ankles as you led him upstairs, one occasionally nudging against your heel like it wanted you to hurry up and put their ridiculous male to bed already.

The bathroom slowly filled with steam while you rummaged through cabinets gathering oils, salves, and clean cloths. Behind you, leather hit the floor piece by piece until the room finally fell quiet.

When you turned around, your chest tightened.

Bruises mottled his ribs in deep violet and yellow while thin cuts crossed his shoulders and abdomen, half-healed already thanks to fae healing but still fresh enough to tell their story clearly. His wings hung lower than usual too, not badly injured, only overused in the way muscles looked after being pushed far beyond exhaustion.

Azriel noticed your expression immediately.

“It looks worse than it is,” he said.

“That sentence should be carved onto your grave someday.”

A quiet snort escaped him, though his eyes stayed fixed on you as you crossed the room again, watching the anger flicker briefly across your face before gentleness replaced it entirely.

Your fingers brushed lightly across one of the cuts near his shoulder, the touch so careful it almost hurt to look at.

Azriel inhaled softly at once, his eyes lowering to your face while that familiar look crossed his expression again, the one that always seemed caught somewhere between tenderness and disbelief, as though he knew your softness by heart by now and still could not quite understand how it belonged to him.

You guided him toward the bath with surprising ease for someone handling the Night Court’s deadliest male, and the second he sank into the steaming water, a low exhale escaped him so involuntarily it almost sounded startled, like relief itself had caught him off guard.

“There he is,” you murmured softly.

Azriel opened one eye slightly. “Who?”

“The male I threatened a High Lord for.”

A tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he let his head fall back against the edge of the bath again.

You knelt beside the tub and began gently washing blood from his skin while silence settled comfortably around you, warm and intimate beneath drifting steam and candlelight.

Azriel watched you the entire time, not speaking, just looking at you with that same quiet intensity that always made your chest ache, like some part of him still could not fully understand how someone could love him this gently and mean it.

Your fingers eventually slid through his damp hair, combing the dark strands back from his forehead while tension slowly left him piece by piece beneath your touch.

“You know,” you said quietly, “you’re allowed to rest before you collapse.”

“Mmm.”

A small smile tugged at your mouth. “Use your words, sweetheart,” you teased softly, stealing one of his own favorite lines.

Even exhausted, Azriel cracked one eye open just enough to give you a knowing look, desire flickered low beneath your ribs.

Then, after a small pause, he finally muttered, “I know.”

Something in your chest twisted painfully at the admission.

You moved behind him then, carefully lifting one wing enough to inspect it properly, and Azriel tensed instantly beneath your hands with pure instinct.

Your fingers stilled immediately.

“It’s okay,” you whispered softly.

The tension slowly eased.

Wing membranes shimmered darkly beneath the candlelight, tiny tears and strain visible along the strongest parts from too many hours spent flying without proper rest. Your fingers moved gently while you spread healing salve carefully across the damaged skin, and Azriel’s head tipped back against the edge of the bath, eyes sliding shut again.

The sound that escaped him when your nails lightly scratched near the base of his wing was dangerously close to a groan.

You froze instantly.

Azriel’s eyes opened at once, heat flashing there despite the exhaustion weighing them down.

“That,” he said hoarsely, “is unfair.”

A slow smile curved across your mouth. “Oh? The terrifying shadowsinger finally has a weakness?”

Azriel narrowed his eyes slightly, though the effect was ruined entirely by the way his wings had twitched beneath your hands.

“You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Maybe,” you admitted lightly before dragging your nails along the sensitive spot again just to watch his breathing hitch.

Azriel swore softly under his breath.

Your smile widened immediately. “Gods, you’re easy.”

His shadows stirred restlessly around the room while Azriel looked back at you over his shoulder, his expression equal parts exhausted and heated.

“You are enjoying this far too much.”

“You make it very enjoyable.”

A rough laugh escaped him then, low enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“You’re cruel.”

“And yet,” you murmured while smoothing more salve carefully across his wing, “you’re still sitting very still for me.”

That earned you another one of those dangerous looks, slower this time, heavier somehow despite how tired he clearly was.

“Love,” Azriel warned softly, “if I wasn’t half asleep already, this conversation would be going very differently.”

Heat climbed immediately into your face, which only seemed to amuse him more.

Barely.

Because a moment later his eyes drifted shut again almost helplessly, exhaustion finally dragging him under faster than he could fight it.

Your heart cracked quietly at the sight.

So you kept tending his wings while snow drifted softly beyond the windows and the rest of the world faded farther and farther away.

At some point, your wrist began to ache from holding his wing at the careful angle you needed, and you shifted your grip so slightly you barely noticed it yourself.

Azriel noticed anyway.

His eyes opened halfway, heavy and unfocused, but his hand still found your wrist beneath the steam. He drew it gently away from his wing and pressed his mouth to the inside of it, a slow, absent kiss that felt more instinct than thought.

“You’re straining your wrist baby” he murmured.

You blinked at him. “Azriel.”

His eyes were already drifting shut again.

“I’m allowed to take care of you too.”

“You’re barely conscious.”

A faint hum escaped him. “Didn’t stop me noticing.”

The words were so soft, so entirely him, that you had to swallow around the ache rising in your throat before carefully returning your hand to his wing.

“Ridiculous male,” you whispered.

His mouth curved faintly, but a breath later he was gone again, sinking deeper beneath exhaustion as your fingers continued their slow, careful work.

Minutes passed. Maybe longer.

Eventually, you realized Azriel had gone completely still.

You leaned slightly around his shoulder and found him asleep.

Actually asleep.

Your throat tightened instantly.

Even then, even unconscious, his brows faintly furrowed when you shifted beside him, like some stubborn part of him still resisted rest on instinct alone.

Gently, you brushed damp hair from his forehead.

“Finally,” you whispered.

Azriel slept through drying off only halfway gracefully and absolutely refused to fully wake when you guided him toward bed afterward. He leaned heavily into you the entire time, one arm wrapped loosely around your waist while his wings dragged tiredly behind him.

“You’re bossy,” he murmured sleepily against your shoulder.

“You love it.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, eyes still closed. “Unfortunately.”

You laughed softly as he collapsed face-first onto the mattress moments later, wings spreading across nearly half the bed while one arm immediately reached toward where you stood beside him, like even half asleep he was still searching for you automatically.

Beautiful male.

You only meant to grab an extra blanket from the nearby chair, but the second you stepped away, Azriel made a quiet dissatisfied sound in his sleep and reached blindly across the bed after you, brows pulling together faintly when he found empty sheets instead.

Your heart nearly stopped.

“Alright, alright,” you whispered, climbing back beside him immediately.

The moment you settled beneath the blankets, instinct took over completely.

Azriel moved toward you at once, one powerful arm wrapping tightly around your waist before dragging you flush against his chest with surprising strength for someone barely awake. His face buried automatically against your throat while his hand spread across your back, fingertips flexing once against your spine like he needed to physically reassure himself you were there.

Even asleep, he kept pulling you closer.

One leg tangled with yours beneath the blankets while his wings shifted instinctively around the bed, curling slightly toward your side like they, too, were trying to keep you near.

The bond between you pulsed warm and drowsy beneath your skin while snow drifted quietly beyond the windows.

Then, already half asleep again, Azriel pressed a slow kiss against the sensitive spot beneath your jaw before murmuring softly against your throat, “You make me forget I’m tired.”

The words hit like a bruise straight to the heart.

You turned carefully within his arms just enough to press a kiss against his temple.

“Good,” you whispered.

A sleepy hum vibrated against your skin while his fingers slowly traced once along your spine, more instinct than conscious movement now.

Then, voice low and rough with exhaustion, Azriel brushed his mouth slowly against your throat before murmuring against your skin—

“Tomorrow,” he promised softly, “I’m going to pin you beneath me and remind you what happens when you spend an entire evening teasing my wings, sweetheart.”

---

a/n : this piece was so fucking funny to write because i’ve had this exact vision of exhausted azriel for MONTHS 🤭

i don’t know if they’ll become a full series necessarily, but i definitely want to keep writing little glimpses of them because their dynamic has completely taken over my brain at this point.

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANNA JOIN THE TAGLIST 💙

Main taglist : @sjejejjej @theyouthfullmoon @maplesdapperthoughts @jaziona92 @lilah-asteria @chillinini @itsraininghyunebuckets @xlosttdreamss @nyxmoretti

[lady-of-tearshed]

Outdated Traditions

Pairing: Eris x Reader

Eris week 2025 Day 1: Powers/Passions

@erisweekofficial

Summary: The night that Eris’ first flame manifested still haunts him. Now, in the middle of the night, it’s his son’s turn to have his first flame manifested. Will the story repeat itself?

WC: 1.6k words

Warnings: House fire, brief violence, angst

Dividers made by @tsunami-of-tears

Eris was six when he manifested his first flame. 

It was an accident, it jutted out of his fingers before he could understand what was happening to him. 

He remembers calling for help, crying in his bedroom. His bedsheets, along with his most precious belongings, caught on fire. 

Eris just scrambled out of bed, tears streaking down his face. He was panting, and coughing, trying to escape the terrifying disaster of his own actions. 

“Stop it,” He yelled, running to the door as fast as he could. A wall of fire rose from the ground, blocking his path. 

Eris stumbled and fell on his back when he felt the burn of the flames, too close to his face. He cried, all alone, desperate and afraid. Where were his guards? Why was no one coming to his rescue? 

“Mama!” 

Eris’ anxiety only briefly ceased when he saw his mother stumbling through the door, before she was reined back by three guards. 

“The High Lord's instructions were clear, My Lady. Lord Eris must learn to control his flame on his own,” the guard on his Mother's left said, before forcing his Mother to her knees and keeping her in place. 

“Eris!” 

“Ma!” Eris cried out, echoing his Mother's desperate call. 

“Don't be scared baby,” his mother cried out, her eyes boring into his. Eris held her gaze, anchoring himself to her presence. Like a solid rock breaking through the tide. “Breathe. Welcome the fire. It's a part of you, my beautiful boy.” 

Eris, even in his distressed state, managed to put the panic aside only to attempt to follow his mother's instructions. 

His lungs burned with every breath, but he did it anyway. Welcome the fire, he repeated to himself, like a mantra. 

When he opened his eyes again, the raging wild fire that had conquered his bedroom had died down. Only warm piles of ashes stayed behind, as a reminder of the mess he's caused. 

When he looked up to where his mother had been, he just found a closed door. Again. 

He tiptoed toward it, hissing when his fingers reached the knob of the door. Instinctively, he yanked his fingers away, and put them in his mouth to soothe the burning ache. He tried again, tugging his sleeve to protect his little hands this time. 

When the door opened, his mother was nowhere to be seen. Only the tall, intimidating presence of the two armored men guarding his bedroom. 

“Go back to sleep, little Lord,” one of the guards ordered coldly, shoving Eris back inside his bedroom and closing the door with his metal boot. 

“Ma!” 

Eris wakes up, covered in sweat, at the sound of his child's voice. Everything around him is spinning. He's still drowsy from sleep, his mind still half in his dream—memory—and half back to reality. 

Eris doesn't have time to come back to his senses before he feels the sheets being thrown out of bed. In a matter of seconds, you—his mate—are up and running, already out the door in your half tied nightgown when Eris finally gets back to his senses. 

And he's running. He's just one step behind his mate. His bare feet fly through the halls of the Forest House, the smell of smoke filling them. 

“LET ME IN YOU MORONS!” He hears you scream just as he turns the corner. 

A guard is holding you back as you claw his arms without your nails, drawing blood as you fight to reach your child's door. 

“High Lord,” a guard—one Eris should've fired ages ago—steps to stand before him and block his path. “It's tradition that-” 

A grunt echoes through the halls as Eris’ knee collides into the male's genitals, sending him to the ground gasping for hair. 

“I'm your High Lord. You obey me. And this tradition? It died with your past High Lord.” Eris sees red. He has half a mind to murder the man on sight, but he sees you moving in his peripheral vision. 

You're bolting through the bedroom, the door falling off its hinges as it's pushed open. “Rowan!” 

“Watch out!” Eris yells, wrapping his arms around your hips and pulling you back against his bare chest before a wall of flame can burn the skin off your face. 

Rowan's cries intensify as he watches his mother being almost burned alive by his fault. His flame answers by roaring even louder, devouring everything on its path at an alarming pace. 

“Baby, it's okay. Mama's safe. Dad is with her. We're both right here,” Eris yells over the crackling sound of the flames. 

A yelp escapes your lips as the large window on your right explodes from the intense heat. The flames grow bigger, feeding off the wind outside and Rowan's emotions. 

Eris holds you tighter against him, but he's not retreating. He won't give your child up and let him deal with this on his own, like his own father would've liked him to. 

“Rowan. Rowan, can you hear Dad?” Eris speaks, trying to find Rowan's shadow behind the wall of flames. 

“Dad I'm here! Help me! Please, help me!” 

Eris’ heart crumbles at the desperate plea. He feels your shoulders jolt against him with every sob. 

“I know, baby,” Eris fist clenches, wanting nothing more than to be able to jump through the flames and hold his child. “I'm right here. Mom is right here with me, too. You're okay, but you have to listen to me very carefully, okay Rowan?” 

“Dad- I can't- I can't stop it! It won't stop! My flame-” 

“Shh, baby. Take a deep breath for me, okay?” Eris tries to calm him down, holding onto you as tightly as you are. 

“Eris,” he hears you sob into his arms. Your grip tightens around him. “Eris please, make it stop!” 

“I can't do that love,” he says, voice low against your ear so only you can hear him. Now is not the time to let his panic show, for Rowan's sake. “Only he can control his flame.” 

He turns back to the wall of flames, which has diminished half its size in a matter of seconds. 

“That's it, baby. Keep breathing, just like that,” Eris says, then recalls his mother's words. “Feel the fire travel through your veins. It’s warm, isn’t it? Welcome it, it's a part of you.” 

Eris stares, amazed, as the wall of fire keeps going down, clouding the room in thick clouds of smoke. He sighs in relief when finally, after what felt like a torturous long time, a tuff of curly red hair and a pair of eyes that look just like yours comes within sight. 

“Rowan.” Your voice trembles, as is your hand when you extend it toward him. 

“Hi, baby,” Eris says, voice soft and low. He steps closer to the remaining flames with you, careful as to not get yourself burned. “You did so well. We’re almost there, just take a few steps– Careful, don’t rush it. Think about pushing the flames away, tell them to let you step out in your head. Acknowledge them, but remind yourself that you’re in control here.” 

On shaky and unsteady legs, Rowan does as he’s told, carefully taking a step, then two. Then the fire is completely gone, and so is the fear that was clinging yours and Eris stomach. 

Rowan throws himself into both of your arms, tears and sobs muffled in the comfort of his mother’s chest. His little hands curl into fist, gripping the soft fabric of your nightgown so tightly it could tear. Not that you cared. 

“Good job bud,” Eris praises, guiding the three of you to the ground. His arms a shelter for his family, protecting his boy like he dreamed to be when he was about his age. His fingers thread to the boys curl, massaging his scalp as you wipe his tears away, kissing the stressful events of the night away. “You did great. I’m proud of you. The first time is always scary. It’s okay to be scared, but trust me, the other times won’t be as scary. I’ll teach you how to make it less scary, to make you feel more in control. We’ll learn together, okay baby?” 

Rowan nods sleepily, trying to fight the sleep away. But Eris can see his eyes fluttering shut already. 

“Can I sleep with you tonight..?” Rowan whispers, mumbling against your skin so low Eris almost misses it. 

“Of course, sweetie.” You smile down at him, your own cheeks wet with tears of relief. 

With a quick flick of his hand, Eris winnows the three of you directly into bed. By the time yours and Rowan’s head hit the pillow, sleep has already win you over. 

Eris shifts slowly, unwrapping his arms from around you two to pull up the sheets and cocoon you in them. He settles back down, moving closer and pressing his face against your back. He lifts his arm from under the sheets, and extends it above your hips. After a few instants of patting the sheets, he finally finds Rowan’s curled up form. 

A soft, tired smile lifts the corner of Eris’ lips as he nuzzles closer to you, inhaling your scent as his fingers trace lazy patterns on his son’s arm. “Our beautiful boy…” He whispers through the night, no one but him there to witness this tender moment.

Eris is soon lulled to sleep by your breathing, knowing that right now, here, his family is safe. And he will fight to make sure it remains this way as long as he lives. Even; especially if it means undoing millennia of barbaric traditions. 

Eris Vanserra Taglist:

ACOTAR general taglist: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @acotar-lover @paige0103 @princesssunderworld

[surielstea]

Dancing With Fate - 11

Read part one here.

Pairing: Nyx Archeron x TamlinsDaughter!Reader

Summary: Reader and Nyx meet again, this time exploring Velaris—and much more about their fates are revealed.

Warnings: Minor conflict, protective parents, forbidden love, and some kissing 👀

A.Note: I haven’t posted since last yearrr I am so sorry to all of you, but part two is finally here!! I hope you guys enjoy, it’s a little bit more fast paced but I wanted to speed it along so I could get to the actual good stuff. Make sure you read part one prior to this!

Word count: 7.1k

I was in my bedroom, rereading a book for the sixth time. It was the least favorite on my shelf, worn only from idle desperation rather than love. Father didn't often take me out to buy new books; when he did, it was always after much coaxing. I could go without him, but only with a sentry trailing me. And I hated inconveniencing them with what he called my "silly hobby." So, I waited until my father needed something from the town, and then I'd quietly slip a purchase into our errands.

It had been a week—exactly seven days—since the ball at the Dawn Court. Since I'd talked with a stranger until sunrise. It was strange, missing someone whose name I didn't even know. But I did. I missed the way he teased me, the way I could be me with him—unguarded and, for once, unjudged. My chest ached at the memory, yet I forced my attention back to the book in my lap, pretending not to notice how hollow the words felt tonight.

"I could take you to the bookstore, you know."

I jolted upright at the sudden intrusion in my mind, my breath catching at the unfamiliar—yet eerily familiar—cool tone.

"Who's there?" My whispered words sounded absurd even to me, as I scanned my empty room for a presence that couldn't possibly be real. My pulse thundered, but no one appeared.

"In your head, princess," the voice replied smoothly, amusement curling through every syllable.

My breath hitched. That voice... his voice.

"How are you doing that?" I whispered, my grip tightening on the book.

"Daemati powers," he answered, as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

Daemati. My thoughts raced. Only a few could wield that kind of power, and even fewer had the skill to enter a mind from such a distance, wherever he was. The realization sent a shiver down my spine. "Get out of my head."

"Let me take you to the bookstore, and I will."

"I can't go out." The words came out sharp, though I wasn't sure whether I was speaking to him or to myself. "My father would—"

"Your father isn't home, is he?" he interrupted, his voice dipping into a dry hum. "Come now, are there wards locking you in?"

"No," I admitted, frowning, disliking that he already knew that fact.

"Chains on your doors or windows?"

"No, but—"

"Then you can leave."

"It's not that simple," I snapped, then clamped my mouth shut, wincing at my own volume.

A quiet pause. Then, softly, "What happened to the girl I met at the ball? The one who wasn't afraid to sneak away and stay out until dawn?"

"This is manipulation," I grumbled, though my chest fluttered at the memory of that night.

"Is it working?" he purred, smug.

"Yes," I muttered under my breath, hating the warmth that pooled in my stomach.

"Good. Meet me at the Spring and Summer border."

Before I could argue, the connection snapped, leaving me alone in the quiet, moonlit room. I stared at the book in my lap, then closed it with a sharp thud and tossed it onto the bed.

I shouldn't do this. I couldn't do this.

And yet, I was already moving—slipping into boots, shrugging on my satchel, and inching my window open with careful fingers. The night air kissed my skin as I hoisted myself onto the sill, every creak of the frame sending a thrill of nervous energy through me as my feet planted on the roof below me.

The climb down the flower-covered lattice was agonizingly slow, the wooden structure groaning beneath my weight as I scaled the two-story descent. By the time my feet touched the ground, my heart was racing. I pressed myself into the shadows, my movements silent as I made my way past the lingering, half-awake sentries and through the edge of the wards.

Once outside, I winnowed. The magic tugged at my ribs, spinning me through space until I landed at the Spring and Summer border.

It wasn't hard to spot him. He was already there, leaning casually against a sunstone pillar, his wings catching the moonlight like black silk. Shadows played along the sharp lines of his face, accentuating the curve of his mouth as he smiled—a sharp, knowing thing that made my steps falter.

"Evening, princess," he drawled, pushing off the pillar with an ease that made everything about him look so effortless.

"You know my title, but I still don't know your name," I replied, crossing my arms in a poor attempt to mask the way my heart stumbled at the sight of him.

His grin widened, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Let's keep it that way for now. Mystery suits us, don't you think?"

I rolled my eyes, but before I could retort, his hand shot out, plucking something from my hair. He held it up between two fingers—a small, pale pink rose. "You've got a knack for dramatic entrances," he said, twirling the flower.

"Must've fallen when I climbed down the lattice," I muttered, taking the rose from his hand, though my fingers brushed his for a beat longer than necessary.

His brow arched in mock surprise. "You mean to tell me flowers don't just grow from your hair? And here I thought you were a goddess in disguise."

"Don't be ridiculous." I snorted, very un-goddess-like. "This, however, I can do." I cupped the rose in my palm, letting a sliver of my magic flow into it.

The transformation was instant. Vines sprouted from the stem, curling down my wrist in an intricate dance, tiny buds blooming along their length. The rose gleamed in the moonlight, glowing faintly with the life I'd breathed into it.

His smirk faltered, replaced by wide-eyed wonder. The silver light of the moon reflected in his gaze as he leaned closer, studying the vines with an intensity that made heat crawl up my neck. "Impressive," he murmured, his voice softer now. "What else can you do?"

I met his gaze, a grin tugging at my lips. "I'll tell you when you explain how you're able to read my thoughts."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Touché," he said, the smirk returning as he straightened. He extended a hand toward me, his wings shifting slightly as if preparing for flight. "Shall we?"

"Go where?" I asked, tilting my head.

"To the bookstore, of course."

"At midnight?" My disbelieving laugh echoed in the quiet night. "They're all closed."

"Not in the Night Court." His grin turned wolfish, his wings flaring just enough to cast long shadows. "Come on, I'll show you."

I froze, my stomach twisting at the mention of his court. My voice dropped to a whisper. "The Night Court? I'm not allowed to go there. My father forbade it."

"Well," he said with a pointed glance at my boots, "he also forbade sneaking out, and yet, here we are."

His smile was the very definition of trouble, but it faltered when he caught the hesitation in my eyes. The sharp edges of his expression softened. "We don't have to. If you want, I'll winnow you right back to Spring. No harm done."

My lips parted to refuse. To tell him I couldn't, I shouldn't. But the way he watched me, that glint of challenge in his gaze, made something reckless and wild spark to life in my chest. Against every ounce of better judgment, I stepped forward and slipped my hand into his.

"No," I said softly. "I want to."

His fingers tightened around mine, warmth spreading up my arm. "Just one question before we go," I said, my voice light but curious.

"Anything," he replied, his tone low and almost teasing.

"Are there monsters in the libraries there? Creatures made of nightmares?"

His chuckle was deep and smooth, like a shadow curling around the edges of my thoughts. "Bryaxis?" He grinned. "They're a friend."

I stared at him, horrified and awed all at once. "You made friends with a nightmare?"

He tugged me closer, a wicked gleam lighting his face. "Oh, princess," he murmured, his voice dipping into something darker, more thrilling. "You have no idea the company I keep."

Before I could say another word, the world dissolved into darkness.

—

The Night court wasn't the stories my father had told me as a child at all. Tales of monsters crawling from the shadows and winged creatures coming to steal me away. Rather, it was breathtaking, even at first glance. The scent of night-blooming jasmine filled the air, mingling with the soft hum of laughter and music drifting from nearby streets. Lanterns hung in the air like suspended stars, casting a warm, golden glow over the cobblestone paths and vibrant market stalls.

I stumbled slightly as we landed, but Nyx's hand tightened around mine, steadying me. "Easy there, princess," he murmured, the warmth of his voice grounding me.

I glanced at our joined hands, but he made no move to let go, so I didn't pull away.

"This... this is the Night Court?" I whispered, my voice a mix of awe and disbelief.

"Velaris," he corrected softly, his gaze flicking over the streets like it was a lover's touch. "The City of Starlight."

I didn't know where to look first. Everything was alive, vibrant, yet somehow soothing, like the city itself was breathing. The Night Market stretched out before us, a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds. Vendors called out to passing patrons, their stalls brimming with everything from exotic spices to delicate jewelry and hand-woven silk.

"You live here?" I asked, glancing up at him.

"Sometimes," he said vaguely, a shadow of a smirk tugging at his lips.

We began to walk, and almost immediately, heads started to turn. A merchant at a nearby stall beamed when she saw him. "Haven't seen you in weeks, boy!" she called, waving a hand towards us.

He shot the vendor a look, though it wasn't unkind. "Evening, Mrs. Fowley," he said quickly, guiding me forward before I could ask more questions.

But then another vendor spotted him. And another. Each one greeted him like an old friend, their faces lighting up as if his presence alone had brightened their evening.

"Back again, lad?" one called.

"Nyx, come here," Their voice cut through the chatter of the market. His steps faltered, his head turning toward the sound.

"Nyx?" I asked, my curiosity piqued as he guided me toward the voice, his hand still warm and steady in mine.

His eyes flicked down to meet mine, a grin tugging at his lips. "Cat's out of the bag, I suppose."

"Bat's out of the bag," I quipped, gesturing to the wings folded neatly behind him.

He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Well, aren't you clever," he said dryly, though the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying his amusement.

"Who's this pretty girl?" a female asked as we approached, the same one who had called him over. She held a tray of pastries, her expression kind and curious.

He—Nyx—looked at me then, really looked, with an intensity that made my cheeks warm. Before he could answer, a group of giggling girls stumbled down the path, one of them brushing past me and bumping me forward into his chest.

"My girlfriend," he said smoothly, his arm curling around my waist, pulling me closer.

I blinked up at him, startled by his words, but as I caught the wide-eyed, dismayed looks from the group of girls, understanding dawned.

"Ah, careful with this one, love. Just like his father with the ladies," the baker teased her tone light and amused as she gave me a playful wink. Nyx's arm tightened slightly around my waist at her words.

"Here, take a sweet. For whatever trouble he puts you through," she said, plucking a chocolate-covered croissant from her tray with a pair of tongs and holding it out to me.

I hesitated for a moment before accepting the pastry, a blush creeping up my cheeks. "Thank you, Miss," I said softly, my fingers brushing hers as I took the treat.

She waved me off with a warm smile. "Call me Ressina. I run this stand for his aunt's bakery, and I have a feeling I'll be seeing more of you."

I nodded, smiling. "I hope so," I said sincerely, her kindness making the bustling market feel a little less overwhelming.

"Go on, then," she said, shooing us away. "Don't let me keep you."

Nyx didn't need to be told twice. His hand remained firm at my waist as he steered me back down the path, away from the stand.

I glanced up at him, raising a brow as I bit into the croissant. The pastry was perfect—flaky, buttery, and rich with chocolate that melted on my tongue. I made a quiet, appreciative sound before speaking. "You're popular, aren't you?"

He cleared his throat, quickening his pace as though trying to escape the conversation. "They're just friendly here."

"Friendly?" I teased, a mischievous lilt in my voice. "You must be their favorite customer—or maybe something more. Should I be jealous?"

His wings twitched, and a faint blush crept up his neck. "Are you jealous, princess?"

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Hardly," I grumbled before taking another large bite of the delectable pastry.

"The baker is a family friend," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "She seemed to like you."

"Plenty seem to like you," I muttered under my breath, finishing the last bite of the pastry. "Boyfriend?"

He cringed slightly, his expression sheepish. "Sorry. Those girls have been following me for weeks. I didn't want you to have to deal with them."

I grinned, delighting in his discomfort. "You know, if you wanted to keep a low profile, you're not doing a very good job of it," I mumble, finishing off the croissant and debating licking my fingers since it was so delicious.

He shot me a sidelong glance, his smirk returning with a wicked edge. "Jealousy looks good on you, princess."

I rolled my eyes, but the warmth spreading across my cheeks betrayed me.

We turned a corner, the bustle of the market fading behind us as we approached a cozier part of the street. Nyx slowed his pace, guiding me toward a small building nestled between two larger shops. A golden sign hung above the door, marking it as a bookshop.

I paused, taking in the sight. The windows glowed softly, and through the glass, I could see shelves upon shelves of books, their spines glinting like hidden treasures. My heart swelled at the sight.

Nyx pulled the door open, motioning for me to step inside. "After you."

The scent of parchment and ink greeted me like an old friend, mingling with the faint aroma of spiced tea. The warmth of the shop wrapped around me, inviting and comforting, as though it had been waiting just for us.

I turned to him, my lips parting to thank him, but he spoke first. "Go on. Find something you like."

His voice was softer now, the teasing edge replaced by something gentler. I hesitated for only a moment before stepping further in, my fingers trailing over the spines of books as I wandered through the aisles.

Nyx followed at a distance, his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze steady on me.

"You brought me all this way for a book," I said over my shoulder, smiling. "You're either very kind or very strange."

"Can't I be both?" he replied, his smirk resurfacing as he leaned casually against a nearby shelf.

I shook my head, letting myself get lost in the rows of stories, their endless possibilities calling to me.

-

I let my fingers dance along the spines of the books, tracing gilded titles and worn leather bindings. Each shelf seemed to hum with stories waiting to be told. A soft sigh escaped me, my heart swelling with quiet contentment.

Behind me, Nyx's footsteps were faint, his presence unobtrusive but unmistakable. I could feel his gaze, watchful and steady, as I explored.

"Find something?" he asked after a while, his voice softer now, almost reverent in the quiet of the shop.

"Not yet," I admitted, my fingers pausing on a particularly beautiful hardback, still pristine and painted gold along its edges. I tilted my head, reading the title.

A smile tugged at my lips. "This seems interesting."

Nyx stepped closer, his warmth brushing against my back as he peered over my shoulder. "Good choice," he murmured, his breath stirring the hair near my temple.

I turned slightly, catching his gaze. "Do you read?"

"Of course," he said, mock offense coloring his tone. "What, do I not seem the type?"

I bit back a grin, holding the book against my chest. "You seem like the type to skim for interesting bits and skip the rest."

His grin turned wicked. "What can I say? I’ve never been one for small talk,"

I rolled my eyes and turned back to the shelves, but his laughter followed me.

"Here," he said after a moment, reaching past me. His arm brushed mine as he plucked a slim, leather-bound book from the shelf. He held it out, his eyes gleaming.

I took it from him, studying the worn cover. Lost Letters Between Lovers. I shot him a look, heat creeping into my cheeks.

His smirk deepened. "Thought it might be useful for you. In case you needed inspiration."

"For what exactly?" I asked, raising a brow.

"Winning me over," he said smoothly, his wings giving a small flick.

I laughed, shaking my head. "You've got it all wrong. I'm the one who needs convincing."

"Is that right?" he drawled, his voice low and amused.

I turned back to the shelves, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing the flush that had spread down my neck.

After a few more moments of browsing, I found another book that caught my eye. I tucked it under my arm, satisfied.

"Done?" Nyx asked, his tone deceptively casual.

"For now," I said, turning to him. He tilted his head toward the counter, gesturing for me to follow.

The shopkeeper, an elderly male with spectacles perched on the end of his nose, greeted us warmly. "Nyx, my boy. Bringing someone special to the shop, I see."

I froze, suddenly hyperaware of Nyx standing beside me. His hand brushed against mine as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a few coins.

"Just passing through, Mr. Tylan," he said smoothly, though there was a faint pink tinge to his cheeks.

Mr. Tylan chuckled knowingly. "Well, it's about time you brought a girl around, the missus and I were beginning to grow doubtful you’d ever meet the one.” He breathes through his nose as he speaks, expert hands wrapping the books in brown paper. “She has excellent taste."

Nyx handed over the payment before I could even think to rummage through my bag, his voice a touch gruff as he replied, "She does."

I glanced at him, startled by the sincerity in his tone. He didn't meet my gaze, instead picking up the small stack of books and tucking them under his arm.

"Come on," he said, inclining his head toward the door.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Tylan,” I say with a soft smile as Nyx ushers me out the door.

“See you around, dear,” He gives me a simple wave.

It was odd, how anxious Nyx seemed in a place as welcoming as this. Everyone was friendly, and everyone knew him, perhaps he was afraid we’d run into the wrong set of people.

The cool night air greeted us as we stepped outside, the lively sounds of the market drifting faintly in the distance. Nyx fell into step beside me, the books still cradled in one arm.

"You didn't have to buy these for me," I said softly as he held them out to me, though he seemed more than willing to continue carrying them for me.

He shrugged, his wings shifting slightly as I took them and stuffed them into my bag. "I wanted to."

I studied him for a moment, the quiet confidence in his stride, the way the moonlight danced across his features. "You're not as insufferable as you pretend to be," I said, smiling.

His lips twitched. "Don't let it go to your head, princess."

We walked in comfortable silence for a while, the books pressing against my side with a comforting weight. Finally, I glanced at him, curiosity tugging at me.

"Why did you bring me here?"

He hesitated, his steps faltering for just a moment before he recovered. "You seemed like the type who'd like it. Thought it might make you smile."

I stared at him, warmth blooming in my chest. "You thought right."

His smirk softened into something gentler, something more real. "Good."

As we reached the edge of the market, I found myself wishing the night didn't have to end.

"Nyx," I called softly, stopping in my tracks.

He turned, dark brows lifting in question, the moonlight catching in his vibrant blue eyes.

"Thank you. For tonight," I said, the words carrying more weight than I expected.

His gaze held mine, something unspoken flickering between us. Then he smiled, and it felt as if the stars themselves had leaned in to listen.

"You think it's over already?" he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.

I tilted my head, curiosity piqued. "What else could you possibly have planned?"

He glanced skyward, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he slid his hand into mine, his grip warm and steady, and winnowed us away.

The world shifted. The cool night air nipped at my skin, sharper here, and I realized we were higher—much higher. Thin air filled my lungs as I took in our new surroundings.

"Where are we?" I asked, turning in place. Encircling us were jagged rock formations, a barren beauty carved by time.

"Look up," he said simply.

I frowned but obeyed, tipping my head back. My breath hitched as the heavens unfolded above me, brighter and closer than I'd ever seen them. The stars weren't merely distant pinpricks of light—they blazed like fireflies caught in an eternal dance, constellations shimmering with unmatched clarity.

"Beautiful," I whispered, unaware the word had even left me.

"Indeed," he murmured.

I turned to him, startled to find him already staring at me. His gaze held the same reverence I felt for the stars, and my heart skipped.

I managed a soft smile, then let my eyes drift back upward, unable to tear myself away from the galaxy stretched endlessly above.

"Come here," he said gently, tugging my hand.

Only then did I realize we were still connected, his touch grounding me even as my mind reeled at the beauty around us. He led me to a rocky outcropping, the path winding into a shallow cave. For a moment, the stars disappeared behind the jagged stone ceiling, and I frowned.

But then we emerged into an open chamber, a perfect circle carved into the roof. It was as though someone had reached into the earth and torn a hole, desperate to preserve this view of the night sky. The chamber's walls cradled us, offering shelter without stealing the stars.

Nyx guided me to a makeshift bench—a cluster of smooth, square stones—and sat. I followed, still entranced, my gaze drawn skyward as if bewitched.

"I used to come here when I was younger," he said after a moment of quiet. His voice was low, intimate in the stillness. "I'd forgotten about it until tonight. You reminded me it existed."

I tore my eyes from the sky to glance at him, curiosity tugging at me. "How could anyone forget a place like this?"

He smiled faintly. "It was my escape from, everything. My family. Expectations. I needed somewhere I could breathe."

I nodded, turning my attention back to the stars. "I get the feeling."

He bumped his shoulder against mine, drawing my gaze once more. "No one else knows about it. But I thought maybe you'd need a place like this, too."

Warmth bloomed in my chest, his words wrapping around me like a soft blanket. I glanced at him, and again, he was already staring at me.

I arched a brow. "You have a staring problem, you know."

His lips curved into a smirk. "Do I? I hadn't noticed."

I rolled my eyes, chuckling as I leaned my head against his shoulder.

Together, we gazed upward. He traced the constellations with his words, his voice soft and steady, while his thumb brushed gentle circles over the back of my hand. Each star above felt like it had been hung there just for us, as if the universe had paused to watch this quiet moment unfold.

For the first time in a long time, I felt peace.

"Nyx?" I asked softly after a few beats of silence.

He tensed ever so slightly at the sound of his name, a shiver rolling through him. I told myself it was because of the chill in the air.

"Hmm?"

"Who are you, really?"

His breathing slowed at my question, as if he were recalibrating, regaining control of a situation he hadn't anticipated losing.

"I have a feeling," I began, "that the power you used to peek into my head knows my lineage. It's only fair I know who you are, too."

He glanced at me, a cocky, almost childish smirk playing on his lips—a look that said, I'm not telling.

"Come on," I groaned, throwing my free hand out in frustration. His other hand still held mine, warm and steadfast. He hadn't let go, and I didn't want to, either.

"Don't you like a bit of mystery?" he teased.

"It's not a mystery when you already know who I am," I countered, arching a brow.

"Fair point, Princess."

Heat crept up my neck at the nickname, one he'd used since the beginning—since before he'd seen into my thoughts.

"You knew," I murmured, realization dawning. My voice wavered, the words trembling like brittle leaves in the wind. "You've known I'm a High Lord's daughter all along. That's why you're entertaining this, isn't it?"

I pulled my hand from his and stood abruptly, my heart hammering in my chest.

His brows furrowed as he looked up at me, confusion—and something like hurt—flashing in his eyes. "What?"

"Don't play clueless now." My voice rose, a mixture of anger and humiliation bubbling to the surface. "You've known exactly who I am. That's why you're showing me the stars, why you're charming me. You're trying to secure a seat on my father's throne."

"You think I'm charming?" he quipped, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

I spluttered, words dying on my tongue. "That's not the point—"

"Look," he cut in, his tone steady but laced with urgency. "Yes, I've known who you were from the start. I won't deny that. But, Princess, believe me when I say the last thing I want is your father's throne."

"Why should I believe you?" I snapped, crossing my arms. "You've done nothing but lie to me since we met. Why should I trust anything you say now?"

"Because I didn't want you to see me differently," he admitted, his voice quieter now, raw. "Because of who I am."

I froze, my anger wavering. My voice softened. "And who, exactly, is that?"

"The heir to the Night Court," he said, the words falling from his lips like a confession he'd carried for too long.

The ground seemed to slip out from under me. My vision blurred for a heartbeat, but I blinked hard, willing myself to stay rooted in the moment.

My father had warned me relentlessly about the Lord of Night—engraved the warning into my mind until it became part of me. The Night Court was treacherous. Its people were dangerous.

But he lied about the court. About its beauty.

Perhaps he lied about its people, too.

"Gods, I’m sure a fool.” I sighed, putting everything together. “Nyx Archeron," I said slowly, his name foreign and familiar on my tongue.

He nodded, watching me intently. "When I approached you on the balcony, I didn't know who you were. I swear it. But as we talked, I got comfortable, let my power stretch a bit further. Halfway through the night, I realized who you were. But I... I didn't want to ruin it. I didn't want our parents' feud to dictate—this."

"This?" I asked faintly, though I didn't need clarification.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't want you to find out like this. I can take you home, if you'd prefer."

Disappointment weighed in his tone, a stark contrast to the teasing arrogance I'd grown used to.

I wasn't mad at him for his lineage—he had no control over that. I wasn't even mad he'd lied. I was mad he hadn't told me sooner. Mad that it cast a shadow over everything we'd shared tonight, turning our conversations into something that felt artificial.

My shoulders slumped, the fight leaving me as quickly as it had arrived. I lowered myself back onto the bench beside him.

"I want to start over," I said, my voice hesitant but firm.

Relief washed over his features, and he relaxed slightly, though he kept a cautious distance. "I'm sorry for lying," he said, his words softer now, more earnest. "I was, nervous."

Something told me that wasn't an emotion he felt often.

"I know," I said, surprising myself with how much I meant it. Perhaps I was the only person who could.

Taking a steadying breath, I turned to him. "It's nice to meet you, officially, Nyx," I said, a tentative smile tugging at my lips.

"Likewise, Princess," he replied, mirroring my smile.

And in the silence that followed, we both silently agreed to leave the past behind us, if only for tonight.

Nyx leaned back, resting his arms on the bench as he looked up at the stars. "You know, I've never interacted with someone who’s an heir too. Should I be bowing?"

I smirked, tilting my head as I looked at him. "Oh, absolutely. A bow is essential. Maybe even throw in a grand speech. Something like, It is my great honor to meet the Princess of the Spring Court."

"That's a tall order," he said, his lips curving into that infuriatingly smug grin. "Would a wink and a smile suffice?"

I scoffed, leaning forward and propping my chin on my hand. "You'd probably trip over your own feet if you tried to bow."

"Is that a challenge?" he asked, one brow arching in amusement.

"It's an educated guess," I shot back, crossing my arms.

He leaned in, his voice lowering conspiratorially. "You know, for someone who called me charming earlier, you're being awfully cruel."

Heat flooded my cheeks, but I refused to look away. "I said no such thing."

"Oh, you definitely did." He grinned, leaning even closer. "You think I'm charming. Admit it."

"Nyx—"

"Say it, Princess."

I narrowed my eyes, pretending to deliberate. "You know what? Fine. I think you're charming, in the same way a stray cat is charming when it's begging for food. Annoying, persistent, but kind of hard to ignore."

He chuckled, his shoulders relaxing fully, the tension leaving the both of us. "Fair enough. But if I'm a stray cat you're certainly a rabbit."

I blinked, caught off guard. "A rabbit?"

He nodded, his grin widening. "Cute, curious, and way too confident for your own good."

"Confident?" I repeated, laughing. "This coming from you? The heir of the Night Court who decided to winnow me across Prythian on a whim?"

"That was a calculated risk," he said smoothly, though the glint in his eyes gave him away.

"Calculated risk, my ass." I shook my head, unable to hide my grin. "You're lucky I haven't punched you yet."

"Oh, Princess," he drawled, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur. "If you wanted an excuse to get your hands on me, you could've just asked."

I opened my mouth to retort, but the words caught in my throat. His proximity was... distracting.

The air shifted, the playful banter giving way to something quieter, heavier. His gaze locked on mine, and I swore the world shrank to just the two of us, the stars above fading into the background.

I cleared my throat, trying to ignore the way my heart was suddenly racing. "You're ridiculous."

"I offered to take you home," he said softly, his thumb brushing idly over the back of my hand and I wasn’t sure when they intertwined again, "and yet here we are." His tone was teasing, but there was something else beneath it. Something real.

I didn't answer, my throat suddenly tight. He was too close now, his presence overwhelming in a way that wasn't entirely unwelcome.

Before I could overthink it, his hand moved, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. His fingers lingered at my temple, his touch featherlight.

"Nyx..." I breathed, not even sure what I was about to say.

But he didn't answer—not with words. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing mine in the gentlest, softest kiss.

It was tentative, as if he wasn't sure if I'd pull away. But I didn't. I couldn't help but kiss him back. It was foreign, but filling me with a warmth similar to the sun's morning rays.

When he pulled back, his eyes searched mine, his expression unreadable. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

I shook my head, my thoughts a tangle of emotions. "We can't," I blurted, though my voice betrayed me with its lack of conviction.

"I know," he replied, his voice heavy with something that felt like regret—but also determination.

Our eyes remained locked, mere inches apart. We really couldn't, not with who we were, not with who our parents were.

Neither of us seemed to care at that moment, and I don't know if it was me or him who moved first, but suddenly his soft lips were back on mine.

This time, there was no hesitation. His hand cupped my jaw, pulling me closer as his lips claimed mine. It wasn't soft or shy anymore—it was raw, urgent, as though the world might end if he didn't kiss me harder.

I felt myself melt into it, my hands tangling in his hair as he deepened the kiss, his free hand moving to my waist to hold me steady. The air around us seemed to shift, thickening, crackling with an energy I couldn't place.

Then it happened.

A snap, like a tether locking into place.

I gasped against his lips but didn't move away, the sensation overwhelming as something warm and ancient bloomed deep in my chest, spreading through me like wildfire. It was hard to put into words, but suddenly I felt connected to the male against me, connected to his emotions, his thoughts, his very soul. Tethered. Bound.

Nyx pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine as his breath came in quick, uneven bursts. His eyes were wide, filled with equal parts wonder and disbelief.

"You felt that too," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

I could only nod, my own breath shaking as I tried to process what had just happened.

The mating bond.

The realization settled between us like a living, breathing thing, as though it had been waiting for this exact moment to make itself known.

"Nyx," I began again, but he silenced me with a small, disbelieving chuckle.

He leaned in again, kissing me softly, the smile on his lips brushing against mine like a whispered secret. It was almost as if he couldn't stop himself, as if the bond was drawing him closer with every passing second. When he pulled back, his amusement lingered in his expression, though his eyes were heavy with the weight of what we'd just discovered.

"The gods have a cruel way of amusing themselves," he murmured, his voice laced with irony.

I sighed, our noses brushing as we remained impossibly close. "What are we supposed to do?"

"We'll figure it out," he reassured, his tone soft but certain. His hands, strong and steady, cradled my face, grounding me amidst the whirlwind of emotions coursing through me. "It doesn't have to change anything."

"But it will," I argued, my voice trembling.

"Yeah," he said quietly, his thumb tracing a soothing pattern against my cheek. "I know."

The ache in my chest was something new and raw, a longing that pulsed in time with the bond, an unspoken promise tying us together. It was overwhelming and comforting all at once. My eyes fluttered shut as I tried to sift through the torrent of thoughts crashing over me.

After a moment, his demeanor grew more serious, though his thumb continued its soothing path along my cheek. “We’ll need somewhere safe to be when we accept the bond.”

I tilted my head, my eyes fluttering open as I frowned at him

In confusion. “Safe?”

His lips quirked, a knowing look in his eyes. “I’ve heard stories of what happens to couples during The Frenzy. It’s, intense.”

A shiver ran through me at his words, not from the cold, but from the vivid images that his tone—and my imagination—conjured.

Nyx raised a brow, clearly catching the direction of my thoughts, but I quickly stammered, “Just cold.”

“Cold?” His smirk returned, though it was softer this time, laced with something tender. “Here.”

Without another word, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. The warmth of it enveloped me immediately, carrying his scent—fresh air, cedarwood, and something uniquely him.

“Better?” he asked, his voice low as his hands lingered for a moment, making sure the jacket sat snugly around me.

I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too widely. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Princess,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on me for a beat longer than necessary before he settled back, his hand casually brushing against mine.

And just like that, the air between us shifted again—lighter, easier, yet still charged with something deeper.

“We’ll figure this out,” Nyx said softly, his confidence unwavering.

Looking at him now, his jacket around my shoulders and a small, reassuring smile on his lips, I knew he meant it.

And then, as if he couldn't resist, he kissed me again.

This one was gentle, hesitant, but filled with so much care it nearly unraveled me. His lips lingered on mine, soft and warm, making it impossibly hard to focus.

"Lucien," I blurted out, pulling back suddenly.

Nyx blinked, his brows furrowing at my abrupt shift. "What about him?"

An idea began to form, one I clung to like a lifeline. "Lucien—you know him, don't you?"

"He's married to my aunt," Nyx said cautiously, his tone laced with curiosity.

I nodded slowly, the pieces falling into place in my mind. "My father lets me visit the Day Court now that Lucien is ruling there. Maybe... maybe I can convince him to let me stay with Lucien for a while. You could find a reason to be there too."

His lips pressed into a thin line, his mind clearly racing through the implications. "And when you have to return to the Spring Court?" he asked, his voice measured.

"We'll figure it out then," I said, shaking my head. The thought of leaving him made my chest tighten painfully, but I pushed through the discomfort. "I just... I want this. I want us."

His answer was immediate, the conviction in his voice struck a chord deep within me. "I do too."

"Good," I said, a small, tentative smile forming on my lips. "Then tomorrow, I'll talk to my father. In the meantime, you can talk to me using your Daemati powers. Can't you?"

He nodded, his sapphire eyes softening as they roamed over my face.

"We'll be fine," I said, my voice steadier now, the words carrying a newfound determination.

Nyx mirrored my smile, and for a moment, it felt as though the world narrowed to just the two of us. This male—who had teased me, infuriated me, and unraveled me in the span of a week—had somehow wormed his way into my heart. And now, with the bond tying us together, I couldn't imagine life without him.

"Are we okay with Lucien and your aunt knowing?" I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper as the thought hit me.

"They'd be the first people I'd tell out of my entire family," he said without hesitation.

"Me too," I agreed softly.

His thumb brushed against my cheek again, his touch both soothing and electrifying. "We'll be fine," he repeated as if trying to convince us both.

But as he said it, I believed him.

The warmth between us lingered as we sat on the bench, the conversation flowing back into the easy rhythm of banter. He teased me about my lack of subtlety in staring, while I reminded him that he was the one who practically glowed under the moonlight, making it impossible not to.

But the night was growing late, and the weight of reality began to creep in.

"I should get you back to Summer's borders," Nyx finally said, his voice tinged with reluctance.

I sighed, not wanting the night to end, but I nodded. "You're right."

He stood and offered me his hand, which I took without hesitation. "Three days," I said as we began walking out of the cave. "Meet me in Day."

He smiled, a flash of teeth and mischief. "Three days."

—

When we reached the border, the air seemed heavier, more final. I turned to him, feeling the pull of the bond even as I prepared to leave. I shrugged off the jacket he had draped over my shoulders and held it out to him.

"Here," I said. "Take it back. If my father sees it, he'll have questions."

He crossed his arms, smirking. "Keep it."

I frowned. "Nyx—"

"Nope. You keep it. Hide it if you're worried about your father. Or don't. Either way, it gives me an excuse to see you again."

I gave him a flat look, but his smugness only deepened.

"Nyx," I repeated, more firmly this time, shoving the jacket into his chest.

He caught it easily but didn't take it. Instead, he stepped closer, his voice low and teasing. "Princess, if you give it back, I'll have no reason to track you down. And that would be such a shame."

I stared at him, torn between exasperation and amusement. His logic was infuriatingly charming, and the grin he wore told me he knew he was winning.

"Fine," I relented with a dramatic sigh, clutching the jacket back to my chest. "You win."

His smile softened into something warmer as he leaned down, brushing a kiss against my lips. It was quick, light, and left me wanting more.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice like a caress.

I huffed a laugh, shoving his shoulder lightly. "Don't push it."

But he kissed me again, this time slower, deeper, his hands sliding to my waist as he pulled me closer. I melted into him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as his lips moved against mine.

"Nyx," I whispered against his mouth, the word half a chuckle. "I have to go."

"One more," he murmured, his voice husky with need.

I hesitated, but the bond between us tugged insistently, and I found myself nodding. "Fine."

This time, he kissed me like he wanted me to remember it, to carry the taste of him back with me to Spring. His hands framed my face as his lips claimed mine, the kiss lingering, searing itself into my memory.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his breathing uneven. "Three days," he whispered.

"Three days," I echoed, my voice soft, but my resolve firm.

With one last lingering glance, I winnowed back to Spring Court Manor, the taste of him still on my lips and his jacket clutched tightly in my hands.

My father was going to kill me.

Read part three here.

Comment to be added to the DWF taglist! <3

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[heraklesse]

🎨 : catrineslibrary

[janearts]

First six chapters of A Court of Steel and Flame are up on AO3... and I needed to immediately plot out Cassian's house that has lived in my head and only in my head. Emerie & Devlon are of course canon, but Perendiya is my first non-canon character introduced in my foefic.

I'd like to give kudos to Tiny Glade for helping me test out different design ideas while being able to pet sheep and listen to very soothing music. 10 outta 10 would recommend.

[mortalfae7]

Elain:

Everything canon btw

[lavenderandturpentine]

Feyre: *breathes*

Rhysand: Thank the gods and the heavens above for blessing me with this beautiful woman to be my mate.

[lunaatthezoo]

𝑰 𝒔𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕- 𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓.

✨I am so delighted to share this incredible portrait (part 1 of 2 👀) of Elain and Azriel by @m0onyfairy. I wanted a piece that conveyed the absolutely stunning beauty of Elriel, but also the delicate possessiveness I think they will both feel for each other. 

✨When their love finally blooms, the rest of the realm better be watching their backs, because neither of Prythian's Prettiest ™️ will tolerate anyone looking at their lover the wrong way. 

🦇🌸 Art by: @m0onyfairy 

🦇🌸 Commissioned by: @lunaatthezoo

🦇🌸 Characters by: @sarahjmaas

@elriel-month