Summary: After several years of marriage, the mating bond snapped between you and Azriel. The shadowsinger can't fathom why you still call him your husband in the presence of a destined connection.
Tags: fluff, smitten Azriel, mates, established marriage, non-graphic mention of sex, some of my issues with mating bonds and philosophies about love lol
Word count: 2300
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“And this is my husband, Azriel,” you were saying as he approached you and the Dawn Court legislator, drinks in both hands.
Azriel offered you a stemmed glass of faerie wine with as much of a smile as he wore in political appearances such as this. He preferred to cling to the facade of the stone-cold spymaster, but it was your job to make friends– friends in high places that would stand by the Night Court in the future.
But even though he maintained a surly exterior, it didn’t stop him from resting a hand on your low back. You were both on official Night Court business, but he was still your mate, and it was expected for mates to be public about their affection. That, and touching you made him feel bubbly inside like the wine he was sipping.
He exchanged brief introductions with the Dawn Court legislator and then left the rest of the talking to you. The wooing, Azriel called it, because he was quite sure that it was your smile and charm that turned enemies to allies and allies into friends. Not that your prowess as an ambassador didn’t help, but Azriel knew firsthand the effect of your pretty smile, your beautiful laughter.
Even as he stood beside you, running a scarred thumb up and down your exposed midriff, your laughter still sent pleasant warmth through him, smoothing his rough edges.
Since the mating bond had clicked into place, it had become more difficult than ever for him to appear dauntingly enigmatic when you brought out a side of him that smiled without realizing, that laughed easily when you whispered in his ear, that wanted to whisper back sweet things or dirty promises he had every intention of keeping.
It took all of his restraint to keep his shadows leashed to his wings, lest they scamper to your body as they did in private.
Though it was well known that you were mated, he liked keeping his romantic life separate from his work. Sometimes the line blurred, since you were a part of both, hence his fingers splayed on your skin.
Across the sparkling parlour, Rhys was displaying far more affection with Feyre, pressing kisses to her cheeks and lips every so often. Azriel didn’t think he’d ever be comfortable sharing that much of your relationship with other people. In the presence of others, he kept his touches to a hand on your knee, the brush of his knuckles over yours, or, when you decided to sit in his lap rather than the empty chair beside him, he would hold you steady.
But in private, he worshipped. His love for you was an artistic pursuit, a craft that he would refine until the day he died. Every kiss was a stroke of a brush, every caress a splash of color.
Azriel had zoned out for a bit because the next thing he knew, the Dawn Court legislator was mingling across the room, and you were smiling up at him, melting his heart.
“That’ll be great, won’t it?” You asked.
He didn’t know what you were talking about– something about Dawn's foreign policy, maybe– but he nodded, one corner of his lip curving up. He opened his mouth to tell you how beautiful you looked dressed in gold, a halo about you like the corona of the sun, but you were already addressing Thesan’s mate, the Peregryn general. Azriel should probably have known his name, but couldn’t seem to remember, not when you were all that he could seem to think about these days.
The mating bond was still so shiny and new in his chest, only a month old. It made tangible your delicate luminosity, magnified it into a powerful beam, and cast your light on his life.
His sun, his partner, and now his mate. How could he be expected to think about anything other than the person that lived in his very soul?
Then your eyes were on him, your hand brushing his shoulder as you smiled at the Peregryn. “I don’t believe you’ve officially been introduced to my husband, Azriel, Night Court Intelligence.”
Azriel greeted Thesan’s lover– you must have said the Peregryn general’s name twice by now, but it had completely bypassed his brain– and exchanged a few polite words with the male who still seemed rather wary of the Night Court’s reputation, even after going to war together.
It was nothing that a few of your sweet smiles and adorable jokes couldn’t remedy. You soon had the Dawn male smiling into his wine.
But Azriel was still stuck on the word you had chosen to introduce him with. He realized that you had used the same word when you introduced him to the legislator from earlier.
Husband.
He didn’t know why it was bothering him when hearing that word from your mouth had always elated him. He had loved being your husband… but now he was your mate. That was how he referred to you in introductions and as a term of endearment.
He raked through his memories as the conversation rippled around him. Yes, now he was quite sure that he’d never heard you refer to him as your mate, except when directly acknowledging the bond. It really shouldn’t have bothered him. Of course, you felt it as intensely as he did... didn't you?
Maybe you used that term sparingly for the same reasons that he kept his affections to a minimum in public. But then again, you didn’t call him your mate in private either.
It could be a force of habit, he told himself. You’d been calling him your husband for years before the bond snapped. Sure, he never made a mistake, couldn’t with the constant reminder in his chest, but maybe it was ingrained in your mind.
Azriel chewed on it as the party burned into the early hours of the morning. While you built and maintained relationships, he tried to focus on what he was best at: sifting truth from lies. But there wasn’t much valuable information shared at a social event like this one, where the focus was camaraderie and cooperation. His shadows had little of value to report, except what they told him about you toying with your wedding band, a habit that you’d had for years. It was something you did when you were socially drained, when it became harder to have vibrant conversations with stranger after stranger, and your hands fell listlessly at your sides with fatigue.
“Time to go” is what it meant to Azriel. He excused himself from Cassian’s side, where he’d ended up after a few hours, snaking through the crowd until he made it to you. His knuckles brushed your arm, even the smallest contact sending a zing through his body.
Your smile was still bright, but he could see the limit approaching behind your seemingly endless hospitality.
“Shall we?” Azriel asked, arm out for you to take.
Relief washed over your face, and you nodded, taking his offered arm and letting him lead you through the beautiful Dawn palace to your guest lodgings. It was a wordless walk; you had used your breath making political friends, and Azriel savored the quiet times when you just existed together.
In that silence, he sank into the bond, feeling you without touching, knowing you without asking, and loving you without restraint.
And when you made it to your quarters, Azriel worshipped. He took his time in removing your jewelry piece by delicate piece and unclasping your intricate clothes as though he’d designed them. Then he loved your body as though it were his masterpiece in the making.
Only once he’d taken you to that dizzying place twice did he pull you snug against his chest, his chin resting on the top of your head.
Though he’d reached his own release, he couldn’t dissolve into the heady air as you did. There was still a nagging question in his mind. It was that damned word that kept getting lodged in his thoughts. Why did it bother him so much?
“Tell me,” you mumbled, half-consumed by sleep already. The afterglow of your lovemaking honeyed your voice. “I can hear you thinking.”
He was certain that you weren’t a daemati, but you still made him doubt. Somehow, you always knew when he was turning something over in his mind. His stoicism worked on everyone but you, apparently.
“It’s nothing,” he said, making your hair flutter with his breath.
You sighed. “You’re my husband, Azriel. I know when it’s something.”
There it was again. Husband.
His thumb explored the skin of your arm, as though that act would make him feel less exposed in front of you. Azriel was not an insecure male, not usually. But the thought that he might feel leagues more for you than you felt for him made his chest clench painfully.
“You still call me your husband,” he said– a question disguised like a curious observation.
He didn’t really know what he expected from you, but it wasn’t the soft “mhm” you answered with. You didn’t say anything after that, and he thought you might have fallen asleep, so he stayed silent, prepared to lie awake analyzing your little hum for hours.
Then you shifted so that you could look up at him. He could see you quite well, even in the darkness.
“Does it bother you?” You asked.
“No,” he lied. A mistake.
You lightly shoved his chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It doesn’t,” he lied again, then decided against digging a deeper hole. He took a deep breath, trying to configure his thoughts. “But we’re mates.”
“We are.”
He had thought he had a point, but now he wasn’t sure. Your sleepy reply was making him doubt why he was even upset. You were in his bed, in his arms, in his life– why did he care what you called him?
Azriel decided to let the issue rest. But he really should have known that you wouldn’t let it go until it was solved, even though you were teetering on sleep’s threshold.
“Would you rather me call you my mate, Az?” You asked, eyes closed.
Yes. No. He didn’t know. If you didn’t want to call him your mate, then it would be worse if you did.
“I was just curious,” he said, evading the question. “Do you dislike it when I call you my mate?”
“I love it,” you said, and everything he thought he knew was new to him again. “I love it because I know what you mean when you say it.”
Azriel didn’t know how to reply. He had no idea what you meant.
Your breathy laughter made his heart hiccup. “Az,” you purred, “You call me your mate because it means the most to you. I call you my husband because it means the most to me.”
The insecurity squeezing Azriel’s heart relaxed its grip at your words.
You nuzzled into the pillow. “Our marriage means more to me than the bond.”
“It does?” He asked.
You nodded, hair brushing his lips. “The Cauldron may have chosen you to be my mate, but I chose you to be my husband. Love– for me, anyhow– is always a choice, not something we fall into by accident.”
The silence that followed was one of perplexity. Azriel’s head was spinning. He’d never thought of it like that. In his mind, to be fated for one another was the highest form of love. But you believed that it was choice– conscious and constant. Love was something you did, rather than something that happened to you.
Azriel loved you because there was no other way to exist. He loved you because he had no choice.
You loved him because you did.
“When I call you my husband,” you continued, a mumbled chain of sleep-ridden words. “It’s because we chose each other as life partners because we believed in each other, not in a force outside of our control. And fated or not, I choose you over and over again.”
Little did you know that Azriel’s world was unraveling before his eyes. He hadn’t known love until Rhys and Cassian came into his life, and now he was realizing that, five centuries later, he’d never really understood it. Not as you did, so sure of yourself as you drifted off to sleep in his arms.
Did you know how profoundly you altered him as you lay there sleeping? He felt that, for the first time, he was really seeing you. For the first time, he truly knew what it was to be loved by you. And Cauldron– he didn’t have the words to describe how it felt. Your sun in his chest chased away the darkness, even in the shadowed corners of his mind.
He pressed his lips to your hair. You didn’t stir.
He couldn’t help loving you. Couldn’t even fathom the choice to do anything else. And he had thought it would destroy him if you didn’t feel the same.
And you didn’t– you had just told him that you didn’t, that for you, loving him was of your own free will, a decision you made over and over again.
And he was still breathing, still alive. Better now than ever. Your love was so vastly different than his, but not any less powerful, any less consuming. It was unique, like you, and magnificent.
Whether or not he understood it, Azriel wouldn't take your love for granted for a single moment.
He was your choice.
You were his destiny.
His forehead dipped to yours. He couldn’t wait for the next time you called him your husband.
Following the events of yours and the Shadowsinger’s tryst, you face a myriad of new revelations: a mating bond and mating frenzy included.
Pairing: Azriel x f!reader
Word Count: 8.8k
Warnings: eventual smut, p in v, fingering, oral (m&f), slight choking, rough sex, wing play, shadow play, lil bit of submissive Az, downright mating frenzy filth
A/N: I didn’t have ANY plans on making a sequel until @garricktavisfanclub requested one and suddenly…the idea didn’t sound so bad. So please enjoy some mating frenzy Az. 🤭
The hot sun beat down on your skin, despite the early hour.
Sweat trickled down your forehead at both the temperature and the fact that you’d been moving your body endlessly for the last ninety minutes.
Training was well underway and you hadn’t stopped since Cassian had started barking out different orders for your warm up exercises. Your three friends had been beside you, doing them with you with just as much determination as you’d felt.
Now, you were practicing strikes with a real blade, running through all the maneuvers of the eight pointed star you’d been taught.
You were still a tad behind Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie, but you were so much more advanced now than you’d been only a month before. Your biggest accomplishment had been nailing each and every maneuver of sword strikes—first with the practice sword and now with the real thing.
It’d taken some time to get used to the weight of the real blade, especially while performing the moves you now knew by heart. But, you’d progressed so much that soon you’d be able to rejoin your friends in their lessons.
“Perfect. Give me a combination of block one, slice three, thrust two.”
Where it had once seemed to be impossible to keep up with the rapid fire commands barked at you, your body now knew the moves before your mind even fully processed them.
You executed the challenging combination absolutely perfectly, the blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. If there’d been anything mid-air to shred, it would’ve been left in ribbons.
“Block one. Slice three. Thrust one.”
Your mind filtered out anything else other than concentration on the moves as your body fluidly hit each and every movement. Sweat slid down your spine, beneath your leathers, but you didn’t let it distract you.
“Block three. Slice two. Block two.”
You performed each and every maneuver that Cassian called out to you, finally lowering your blade when you finished. Your chest was heaving, heart racing and it felt good.
“Good,” Cassian emphasized, pride shining on his face.
You were pushing yourself hard today, harder than usual and you could tell the others had noticed.
Part of it was determination. Part of it was from…other sources.
Nesta had taken a break to watch you—everyone had apparently. The entire ring was filled with your friends and the priestesses watching you. They all looked varying shades of proud, your friends beaming the hardest. You felt the surge of pride in your chest too.
Now, you saw why Nesta had said it felt so powerful to be able to hone such skills.
The female had moved to get you a cup of water and brought it to you, noticing your extremely flushed face, skin slick with sweat. Maybe it was a good idea to slow down a little bit right about now.
“Are you alright?” she murmured to you when she’d approached with the water, “You seem slightly on edge.”
“Fine,” you said tensely, taking the water graciously, slugging it down.
You’d felt the deep seated need—the urge really—to move your body lately. You knew exactly what it was, too. The need to excel energy in a way you weren’t capable of doing right now, even if your body screamed for it.
Your skin felt like it was on fire, buzzing too much, too aware of every sensation. The craving went so deep inside you, you couldn’t have willed it away if you’d tried.
For that was the mating bond roaring in your head making you feel and act half crazy.
Your mate had been gone for nearly a week.
Your mate. It still sounded so odd to you.
You weren’t used to it—still shocked by the revelation. The entire week you’d felt like you could peel the skin from your body.
Three weeks after Nesta’s sleepover invitation where Azriel had rocked your world, life had gone on with no other advancements from the Illyrian. You’d started to feel embarrassed and ashamed for thinking that he had meant his words of next time, afterwards, when it was clear that it was just him talking through the daze of post orgasm.
It was just something that had been said in the heat of the moment and he hadn’t truly had any intention of seeking you out again.
It’d been almost three weeks to the day of the night in question when Nesta and Cassian had kindly invited you to family dinner at the River House. You had accepted, having heard Elain made wonderful dinners—and it sure sounded better than returning to your lonely apartment.
You’d promised yourself you’d try not to act awkward around the shadowsinger, no matter what had happened between the two of you.
After all, you saw him every day at training and he’d managed to remain professional and respectful, so you figured you could offer the same courtesy.
It had hit you like a lightning bolt—the mating bond, that is.
It had been before dinner when everyone was milling about. You’d been sitting next to the fire with Nesta chatting, Az across the room with Rhysand and Cassian, discussing something. It could’ve been court related, it could’ve just been idle chatter, but your eyes had still felt drawn to the shadowsinger, sliding across the room to find him.
You’d felt keenly aware of his presence despite him being a good distance away.
But it was only when your eyes found his, when his hazel ones had lifted to meet yours when you’d felt a zap. Not just from his intense stare, but one that felt like the stone door to your heart had slammed wide open, ready to receive the truth that you were just now privy to.
You still couldn’t describe it, couldn’t explain how suddenly everything in the world made sense, felt right. How it had felt like you’d never been complete until that moment.
Because in that suspended moment, it hit you like a stone to the head.
You were staring at your mate.
Azriel was your mate.
“Notice how you feel like you’re made for me?”
The remark he’d whispered to you while he moved inside you three weeks ago floated through your head as your eyes stayed locked on his.
He’d been closer to the truth than he’d even realized.
You felt like you’d stopped breathing as you were lost in his stare. You weren’t completely sure if he’d felt it too, but you thought you’d seen his eyes widen slightly—it could’ve just been your imagination though.
You had no idea how you made it through the dinner and you barely tasted the food that Elain and the half wraith twins—Nuala and Cerridwen—had prepared. Which was a shame because everything looked and smelled amazing. All you could focus on was the male you were now even more hyper aware of, across the table and down a few seats from you.
You’d gripped your fork so tightly you were amazed it hadn’t bent in half.
When you’d had to call his name—to get his attention and ask him to pass the rolls—you swore he’d almost dropped the glass in his hand at the sound of his name on your lips.
That had only been a week ago. You hadn’t had time to really process or even talk to him before he’d had to head out for a mission Rhysand needed him for, pronto.
In the months following the death of Briallyn, there was stirring activity from the remaining mortal queens and Rhysand wanted intel on them—wanted Az to find out as much information as he could. There wasn’t any inclination that trouble was brewing, but knowing your High Lord, you knew he liked to stay a few steps ahead of others as much as possible.
He’d been gone for six days.
You’d asked Cassian every day when Azriel was coming back and you were sure every day you asked, the more it raised his suspicions.
“You don’t look fine,” Nesta pushed.
You cut her a glare but her brow only raised.
“Is there any reason you’ve asked Cassian every day when Az will be back?”
You had no idea if your friend was aware of what had taken place between you and Azriel—the sex or the mating bond. Likely she knew about the first considering you were significantly glowier the next day, according to her.
But knowing Nesta Archeron, she knew. She was definitely suspicious about what was going on with you recently, too.
You shrugged at her question.
“I’m sure the priestesses miss him.”
“Me and Cassian have been talking about how strange you’ve been acting,” she hummed, folding her arms across her chest.
“Shouldn’t we be getting back to practice?” you asked, still finishing up your water.
“Finish your water and we can,” she said, pointing to your cup.
Meaning it would provide her enough time to ask more questions.
“You’re pushing yourself too hard, like you’re trying to outrun something. I recognize that.”
You gulped down another swallow of water, your friend too close to the truth for your comfort.
“Right after I accepted the mating bond with Cassian,” Nesta continued on, “After we consummated it.”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you muttered.
Nesta just hummed and gave you a knowing look.
“It’s okay. Just know I’m here if and when you’re ready to talk. Alright?”
Her voice had lost the teasing tone to it, turning a shade more gentle, more serious.
You knew good and well you wouldn’t have to tell her anyways, she probably already had figured it out. For some odd reason, you felt on the verge of tears.
Your body was screaming for Azriel—in more ways than one—but most importantly because it felt like you were missing a limb. You’d felt restless, off kilter, uneasy for six whole days.
You were about to go crazy.
Not to mention the more physical urges that’d awoken in you. You’d spent too many nights remembering and picturing your night spent with Az.
Too many instances here lately where you’d found your hand between your legs, thinking of him. Which made you feel ashamed because you didn’t even know if he felt the same for you, if he even wanted this bond.
That was another added complication. You had no idea where you stood.
Right now, crying sounded the best.
But, instead, you looked your best friend straight in the eye, attempting to refocus your attention on the rest of today’s training session. You just nodded your thanks and Nesta’s voice was the softest you’d ever thought you’d heard it when she spoke, taking the empty cup from your hands.
“It’ll get better soon.”
•••
AZRIEL
He’d been on edge for six days.
She was his mate and he hadn’t even gotten to say anything to her, hadn’t even gotten to tell her bye before he was flying off to the continent.
His body buzzed with need so strong it sat his teeth on edge.
He hadn’t seen it coming at all.
It was no secret between him and his brothers that he’d wanted a mating bond, even if he’d never said it aloud. He kind of assumed they’d figured his continued aloofness and distancing himself here lately had to do with being surrounded by mating bonds everywhere.
He hadn’t even noticed her at first when she first started training.
Well, that was a lie. He’d seen her and knew she was a friend of Nesta’s, but hadn’t thought much more past the fact she was another female training with them every morning.
But then he’d started feeling drawn to her—and if he were honest, he had from the very moment he’d laid eyes on her. He remembered a brief, faint flicker of curiosity when he’d first seen the female, but hadn’t much registered it until all these months later.
He’d been too deep in loneliness and self-loathing for it to have as big of an impact on him as it might’ve normally would’ve. He’d even found his eyes finding her every now and then during those early morning training sessions, even as he instructed his own group of females.
She was beautiful, there was no denying that.
Azriel had simply chalked it up to attraction and nothing more.
Until that night a month ago, when he was returning from another mission, similar to today and a nosy little wisp of a shadow had gone snooping. That little bit of information had changed everything and set them on this path.
Az wondered a lot during this week what would’ve happened if they hadn’t acted on that mutual attraction, when and if the bond would’ve snapped as soon as it did.
He’d spent the week trying to keep as busy as possible and tried not to think of all the noises he’d evoked from her. The way she’d writhed and begged, said his name. Just the thought of her had him aching with need, his cock aching just as badly.
Once, he’d practically pumped himself dry to thoughts of her, her name burning on his tongue as he came all over his hand—three times that night.
The worst thing was, he couldn’t just come back and claim her. They weren’t anything, at least he didn’t think. They’d had sex once. Albeit, amazing sex, but did she even want to be his mate?
They had so much they needed to talk over.
He wasn’t proud to say that he’d rather just be buried in her instead but Cauldron damn him, he was about to go insane.
From the moment his eyes had met hers that night a week ago—when the bond had slammed into him like a physical blow—he’d been suffering.
Beyond the normal surety of her—just knowing she was his—all he could focus on was the intense need to claim her. To touch her, smell her, taste her. It was overwhelming.
It was stiflingly hot today and it wasn’t just from his constant state of arousal, but the weather sure didn’t help matters any.
He was nearly home and unsurprisingly the closer he got to Velaris—to the House—the more he felt his body relax. It wasn’t by much, but it was better than how he’d begun his flight.
His wings sounded with steady, thunderous beats as they carried him through the air and he felt his stomach swoop when the House’s training ring came into sight.
He was almost home—to her.
His boots landed with a thud on the stone and he was almost positive she whirled around to face him before he’d even landed.
He felt his heart lighten at the sight of her, much of the tension leaching from him. All he wanted to do was go to her and devour her, but she was in the middle of lessons, he wouldn’t disturb her.
Cassian glanced his way with a smile and a jerk of his chin in his direction.
“Welcome back Az. You look like hell.”
He was sure he did.
He heard another chorus of hellos and turned towards his usual group of priestesses who were offering up their quiet and soft greetings. He gave them a thin smile and dipped his head in acknowledgement as to not ignore them.
But he was so on edge.
Especially when he saw Cass smirking at her before he snapped his fingers in her face.
“Focus, princess.”
A low growl rumbled up his throat and he tried to smother it. But he didn’t want Cassian near her right now.
He walked over, ready to give him a piece of his mind when he heard the thud of another pair of boots from behind him and a smooth, deep male voice.
“Morning, ladies. Working hard I see.”
Az glanced over his shoulder, seeing Rhys approaching him. He’d thought he was supposed to meet his brother at the River House later this evening for the debriefing, but apparently it couldn’t wait.
His jaw clenched, fighting the natural urge to go to her. Something he was itching to do.
His shadows didn’t care about disturbing her, that’s for sure. One shot forward, curling around her ankle like a black cat. He saw her peer down at it, startled for a second before her eyes shot to his face.
“Az?”
Shit. Apparently Rhys had been talking.
There was a soft breeze to cool the hot morning air and her scent blew his way. He had to resist the urge to groan out loud. He tried hard to ignore the way his pants tightened just at her scent in his nose.
“I asked if everything went well,” Rhys repeated, “Have a nice trip back?”
“Yes.”
He offered nothing more, his eyes following his mate all the way across the training ring. Instincts he’d never had before were screaming at him and it felt almost painful to ignore their orders.
He definitely felt frayed at the edges.
“Azriel.”
He turned back to his friend and High Lord, who looked exasperated. Az took it, it wasn’t the first time Rhys had tried to get his attention again.
Az crossed his arms, trying to hide the tension in his body.
“Sorry. What?”
“I asked what you found out.”
“Not much. There hasn’t been any whispers of the remaining mortal queens. I’d say there’s still a slight chance to be worried about Koschei luring them to help him, though.”
He felt, more than saw, Rhys stiffen next to him.
Az tried to keep his eyes off her, but it was damn near impossible.
“And why is that?”
He broke his gaze away from his mate, who was practicing combinations of sword maneuvers that Cass was calling out to her.
“Because if Koschei thinks he can find a valuable ally in Briallyn—especially since she was under his influence most of the time she worked with him—it would be unwise not to consider that he would target one of them. It’s not a huge possibility, but it’s not impossible either.”
“Terrific,” Rhys sighed, “Another thing to worry about.”
“I’ve got spies on it,” Az muttered.
He could feel Rhys glancing at him sideways.
“What’s with you?”
“Nothing.”
Az’s tone was brisk, sharp and left no room for discussion.
“You’re more tense than normal and that’s saying something.”
“Leave it alone,” Az all but snapped.
He watched as she fumbled one movement, making her first mistake since he’d arrived.
“Close, but your hand slid out of position,” Azriel heard Cassian tell her, “Here, let me show you.”
He walked over, hands on hers to reposition them when then snarl broke free from Az’s throat.
“Get your hands off of her,” he snapped to which Cass’s head whipped around, surprised.
His brother looked ready to say something, but Az was already stalking forward.
“I can do it,” he muttered.
She was looking back and forth between him and Cass, hesitantly, like she’d done something wrong. But when he approached her he was gentle, respectful.
“Here,” he said, voice much softer, “You need to slide your hand down to here.”
His hand covered hers and he instantly got chills at touching her again. He tried to push away the overwhelming sensation as he repositioned her hands on the hilt of the sword so she’d have a better grip.
He also tried not to picture her delicate hands wrapped around his cock. But it didn’t help that he was sliding her hands down a very similar shaped object when his mind was already clouded with such intense thoughts, to begin with.
“Holding it like this will help you slice better and keep you from almost dropping it. Just tighten your grip and you’ll be fine.”
He hoped that last part only sounded dirty to just his mind.
Cassian was gaping at him.
Az ignored him as he backed up, with a grumble of, “Carry on.”
Rhys looked equally as baffled when he’d returned to the High Lord.
“What was that?”
Az said nothing, rolling his shoulders to try to break up the tension there, but he was practically vibrating with it. His teeth were clenched as he watched his brother carry her through more maneuvers.
He still didn’t like how close to her Cass was.
When Azriel didn’t answer him, Rhys asked the question he’d been expecting, though he heard the hesitancy in his voice.
“…Is there something going on between the two of you?”
“No.”
It wasn’t a complete lie.
“Then why are you staring daggers at Cass like he’s seconds away from asking for her hand in marriage?”
Az didn’t answer.
Rhys sighed.
“How long have you known?”
“Known what.” Az gritted out, eyes still zeroed in on the threat he perceived.
“That she’s your mate.”
Az’s eyes finally cut from the scene in front of him to Rhys. He didn’t even try to deny it.
“Since two hours before I left for this trip, last week.”
Rhys cursed.
“Cassian said something too about an evening visit last month…”
Az just cut him a look, teeth bared.
His primal senses were heightened from the bond screaming within him so it was hard to rein in the urge to punch something or someone. Preferably Cass.
“Did you fuck her?”
Az snarled in response.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Rhys crossed his arms, shaking his head.
“Let’s just hope Cass makes it through the rest of this lesson in one piece.”
He did. Make it through the lesson in one piece, that is.
Just barely though as Az paced back and forth restlessly waiting for the moment it was over so he could drag her back down the stairs and fuck the ever living sense out of her.
No, no, he needed to talk to her first. He’d have to try to do that first.
He about sprung after her the moment the females started to scatter, heading back indoors—whether into the House or down to the library again, for the priestesses.
He was getting ready to follow her inside, needing to talk to her. To touch her too if he was honest. Mother above, he just hoped he could act like a decent male for long enough as to not completely horrify her.
But then Cass stopped him, a strong hand on his arm.
“You want to explain to me why you nearly bit my head off for simply touching her?”
Az sighed.
He wasn’t going to be leaving the training ring anytime soon.
•••
You were utterly soaked with sweat after the two hours of training.
As you headed down the stairs toward the House, you decided a nice bath would be good for your sore muscles and maybe calm your burning skin.
The moment you’d heard Az’s boots thud on the ground, you’d whirled, unable to help yourself. Your chest had instantly lightened at seeing him.
His gaze had been just as intense on you.
You were taken by surprise when you’d felt the curl of one of his shadows around your ankle. It was sort of sweet, actually.
But then he’d been…weird. The way he kept glaring at Cassian, snarling, even snapping at him for touching you.
You, admittedly, didn’t know much about mating bonds other than that it was a special and desired thing. A connection that fae everywhere revered simply because your soul was connected to another. It was overwhelming. But maybe that was because everything you currently felt seemed amplified greatly.
Az was a good male. A really good male. Fate, the Mother, the Cauldron—whoever was responsible for mating bonds—clearly picked well for you.
That is, if he even wanted it. And with you.
You groaned as you rolled the leathers off your hot, sweaty and sticky skin, the bathtub already filling with warm water and a herbal scent of bath soap. The benefits of living in a sentient House. Apparently, being Nesta’s friend meant you also deserved to be spoiled by the House.
“Bless you,” you mumbled, when you were fully naked, stepping into the warm water.
You sank down with a sigh, luxuriating in the feel.
You’d grown to love and appreciate, even look forward to training, but more times than not, you bathed at the House before leaving for the day. It never seemed to be an issue for Nesta and Cassian that you did so—considering this was their home—and it provided you with some time to unwind and ease your mind.
You tried not to think of the days this week that you’d spent a little extra time in the bathtub, hand slipping between your legs, imagining Az there with you. In the tub with you.
Your cheeks reddened at the thought, embarrassed at even the memories.
It had only been one time. Being his mate might not even mean anything to him.
But gods, had your body been craving him so badly.
You pushed the thoughts of the Illyrian aside, taking the bar of soap, running it over your wet skin.
After thoroughly washing every part of your body, you grabbed a bottle of shampoo that had appeared on the ledge. You took a deep breath, holding it, as you slid under the surface of the water enough to fully wet your lengths of hair.
You’d just resurfaced—shampoo bottle in hand—and nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Azriel standing in the doorway. He was leaning in the doorway, looking tense, arms crossed, shoulder against the doorframe.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” his lips twitched.
“You’re back,” you said stupidly, because obviously he was, you’d already seen him.
“I am.”
You bit your lip, unsure if you should admit how much you’d missed him.
“Would you like some help?” he motioned to the bottle of shampoo in your hand.
You looked down before glancing back up at him.
“I’d like that.”
He walked in the room and you swallowed hard, your body alighting with his powerful, tall presence. You could feel your skin tingling, anticipating the feel of his hands, gentle in your hair.
You were going to lose your mind because of him.
He stopped behind you at the end of the tub and reached down, taking the small bottle in his hands. His fingers brushed yours and goosebumps broke out over your skin, your nipples pebbling just under the surface of the water.
You chastised yourself mentally as you shifted slightly, feeling a familiar ache developing between your legs. All he’d done was barely touch you and you were having this reaction to the male.
Behind you, you heard the cap unscrew as he undoubtedly poured some of the fragrant concoction into his hands, bringing them to your wet locks. He massaged gently, lathering it, fingers gentle against your scalp.
You moaned, head falling back towards his touch.
You heard him shuffle behind you as he kneeled behind the tub to work the lather into your hair.
“Feel good?”
Was it just you or did his voice sound a tad shaky?
“Yes. So good,” you moaned.
You’d been so desperate for his touch that even this had arousal stirring.
“I’m glad,” he murmured, working the shampoo down the length of your hair.
It was then that he bent, close enough that his lips brushed your neck. You shivered at the touch.
“Did the spying go well?” you croaked.
He hummed, nose brushing your damp cheek before he kissed your neck again.
“It did.”
“I’m…glad,” you rasped out, finding it difficult to form words.
Not with his close proximity, with his body so warm against yours, his hands on you, the scent of him—night chilled mist and cedar—filling your senses.
He said your name, low and ragged. You had to bite back a whimper at his gravelly tone.
“Yes?”
He said nothing as he finished running the shampoo through your hair. You made sure to make quick work of dipping under the water again, scrubbing the suds from your hair. When your head broke through the water again, you wasted no time, immediately standing in the large tub.
Water sluiced down your body in rivulets, your wet hair sticking to your torso just enough to cover, but not by much, considering your hardened nipples still poked through your hair.
You were on full display for him and it should’ve made you nervous, self conscious, but instead, it sent a thrill through you. Especially at the way he was looking at you.
“We really need to talk,” you insisted, but it sounded weak to even your ears.
“We do,” he ground out out, eyes taking in your naked form.
“You’re my mate.”
“Yes.”
His eyes didn’t stray from your body, his throat bobbing with a hard swallow.
“And you felt it too.”
“Yes.”
You hadn’t made an effort to move but he stood from where he’d knelt, approaching you. He walked over to the side of the tub, right in front of you, just on the opposite, dry side. Your eyes followed his every movement.
“I realize we really need to talk, but I truly cannot focus when you’re naked.”
His voice was guttural, pained, like he was being tortured by the sight of you like this.
You would’ve laughed at his honesty if you hadn’t felt like you were seconds away from jumping him, yourself.
“We talk later then,” you said, a tad breathlessly.
“Talk later,” he nodded, seeming just as dazed.
With that declaration, he surged forward, not seeming to care if you were still in the tub or that you were dripping wet. Before you knew it, his lips were on yours.
Relief was nearly immediate, the sense of calm and rightness settling over you like a warm cloak as his lips moved against yours. He groaned against your lips, hands gliding along your wet skin giving you goosebumps.
Before you realized what was happening, he’d lifted you from the tub, the splash of the disrupted water sounding loud in the quiet room. Your legs wrapped around his waist, water soaking his leathers but he held onto you tighter, arms hooked under your legs as he walked you back to the bedroom.
Your lips traced his jaw as he walked the two of you to the bed, your hands resting on his shoulders.
“Az,” you whimpered, not even sure why.
“Right here,” he murmured, finally setting you down against the sheets.
They stuck to your damp skin and the cool air chilled you as it hit your bare body.
Your breathing quickened as you watched him join you on the bed, crawling over you. Before you could say anything, his head dipped and his lips were hot on yours again.
You moaned lightly into it, your legs naturally parting for him to lay between.
The kiss was hot, heated, full of desperation and longing. His mouth moved rapidly over yours as he pressed against your body as close as he could get. Your hands clung to his shoulders, moving forward, trying to pull his leathers off him—even if it meant you had to claw through the leather material with your nails alone.
His mouth dropped to your jaw, sucking harshly, moving further south to nip along your throat.
He pressed against you just like he had that night in the hallway, his arousal pressing against your cunt. The only thing between you both being the leather of his pants. You moaned at the touch, hips canting to rub against him continuously.
You were about half out of your mind that you wanted him to take you in every position he could think of. You wanted to rub your naked body against him, against all those strong muscles, wanted to lick, to bite him.
You were positively feral, acting like a bitch in heat if the way you were actually dripping down your thighs was any indicator.
“Az, fuck, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you gasped, arching into him the more he pressed against you.
He growled against your throat.
“Sweet girl, I’ve been thinking of this all week”
“Yeah?” you panted, breathing uneven.
He pressed up against you again and you nearly went breathless. You wanted that cock deep in you until you were screaming.
“It’s—” he panted, kissing down to your chest, “The bond.”
“Wh-What?” you stuttered, trying to breathe normally.
It was almost impossible to breathe with the way he was pressed against you, mouth on you, stoking heat in you. You needed him so badly you were practically drooling—from your mouth and cunt both.
You tugged at the edge of his shirt again.
“Off. Off,” you panted and whined, desperately.
He sat back, whipping it off faster than you could blink.
You were met with golden brown skin and hardened muscle, the dark Illyrian tattoos on his arms swirling and enticing, making you want to trace the patterns with your fingers. Another time though, not right now, that is.
You reached for him, but he was already moving away, his hands coming up to grab your breasts as he kissed down your stomach. You groaned, arching into his palms, the roughness of them providing friction to your puckered nipples and driving you wilder.
“Azriel,” you whined, the emphasis on his name making you sound even needier.
He groaned against your skin, mumbling, “I love how eager you sound for me.”
Eager was probably an understatement.
He wasted no time as his mouth neared your throbbing core, lifting two fingers and pushing them into you without any warning.
You moaned loudly almost sensitive from your prolonged arousal. Maybe because you’d felt like this for six days without much relief.
“Gods, you’re so wet,” he mumbled, licking over your hip bone.
You couldn’t form words in the slightest, your hips shifting to push his fingers deeper. It was like the moment your lips had touched his in the bath just minutes earlier, something wild had been unleashed in you.
Your hips rocked against his hand as his fingers slid in and out of you.
“I told you last time I’d take my time with you, but fuck, sweet girl, I just want to be inside you.”
His tone was gravelly, pained, as if he too had been suffering all week.
“Wouldn’t—” you gasped, hips still shifting, “be—opposed to that.”
You were panting, barely stringing words together. You felt like you’d lost all good sense, your mind spiraling and focused on nothing but Azriel. His fingers inside you, the fact in a few minutes his cock would be inside of you.
His fingers curled and he looked up at you with such a sly, seductive look on his face you tightened instantly around his fingers. He groaned, feeling it.
His eyes never left yours as his fingers left you, only to be replaced by his tongue.
He licked one torturous line along your slick folds, pausing to flick your clit. You cried out, hand flying down to slide into his dark locks.
You probably sounded downright debauched as noisy as you already were.
“As sweet as I imagined,” he mumbled.
His tongue was teasing, licking everywhere but where you wanted him, circling your entrance. You opened your mouth to beg before he plunged it inside you.
Your back nearly bowed off the bed at the feeling—and he hadn’t even brought you to orgasm yet, that was just how wild you were for him right now. A loud, filthy moan fell from your lips as you ground against his mouth.
You had a fleeting thought that you had never realized he would be this talented with his mouth, either.
You felt the vibrations of his moan against your cunt as he licked into you and drove his tongue into you repeatedly. You started when you realized that wasn’t the only sensation you were feeling.
A nearly icy chill roamed your body and you realized it was his shadows as they brushed against your nipples, brushed over your clit just enough to give you even more pleasure. You whimpered, squirming from all their ministrations.
He licked a path from where he’d just been, to your clit, flicking it again. You inhaled sharply feeling two of his thick fingers press into you again as his mouth closed around the sensitive bud.
“Az, gods, Az,” you whimpered, trying to press closer to his mouth.
His other hand pushed your hips down, holding them firmly against the bed.
He was absolutely relentless, fingers pumping and curling, tongue flicking and pressing. You could feel the tingle of release starting deep, rising quicker than you expected as he kept up the deadly duo of movements.
His fingers curled once more in combination with a suck on your clit and you were absolutely exploding beneath him.
Your fingers dug into his hair as your moans bounced off the walls of your room, hips tilted into his mouth, his fingers. Pleasure shot from your core into your whole body and you trembled as he didn’t let up until he was positive he’d wrung every last ounce of your orgasm from you.
You were panting, body still buzzing when he pulled his fingers and mouth from you with a devious smile. He looked ready to eat you alive and you were ready to be devoured.
“You could bring a male to his knees with how sweet you sound when you come,” he murmured.
You sat up as quickly as possible, connecting your lips to his as your fingers busied themselves with removing his pants. As he kissed you, his fingers aided yours until he was pushing his pants down his hips.
Az broke the kiss long enough to stand, ridding of the article and as he stood up, pushing the rest of the clothes from his body. You didn’t even give him a chance to rejoin you on the bed before your hand was wrapping around his cock, sliding along it.
He hissed, hips bucking into your hand but you gave him no reprieve as you leaned down, licking along the length of his cock.
You were out of control, practically pawing at him at this point and you didn’t even care. Clearly he didn’t either as he groaned your name, threading his fingers in your hair,
It was a miracle he gave you all of thirty seconds to move your mouth on his cock, sucking and tongue swirling before he was pulling you off.
You momentarily pouted, wanting to repay the favor but the look on his face had you trembling with anticipation.
“I need to be inside you,” he practically whined.
Fuck, you needed that too.
You were momentarily speechless, nodding emphatically, trying to convey your desire for that too.
You wouldn’t have been exaggerating by much if you said Azriel nearly tackled you back on the bed. One moment he was standing, the next, your back was flush against the mattress again, Az hovering over you—one hand on your cheek, caressing it with a gentleness that his kiss did not convey.
You whimpered into it as you felt his hips press into yours, the head of his cock nudging your entrance. Your legs caged his hips, trying to press him closer as you rubbed against his cock.
He growled, pulling away so he could look down into your face.
Two things happened at once.
First, he pushed into you in one, rough, delicious movement, making you gasp at the sudden and intense intrusion.
Secondly, at the same moment, your hands were pulled from his body. Well, no, it was more like your arms.
You’d felt the cold, biting chill a second too late as your arms were flung over your head, flat against the bed and bound by his shadows.
“Az,” you whimpered, tugging at the restraints.
But it was useless. Not only were your wrists bound together, but his shadows held them to the bed so you couldn’t even lift your arms.
“No fair,” you whined, hips already moving with his.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “You can have me however you want after this, just need you so badly, sweet girl.”
His hands gripped your hips, his pace already hard and relentless from the start. Your bodies rocked with each of his thrusts, each time his cock hitting deeper and making you mewl.
“Gods, fuck,” you panted, already overwhelmed.
But you needed this. Needed more.
It was fast, hard and so incredibly hot.
Az was already groaning, sounding as wrecked as you were. Clearly, you’d both been desperate for this for too long.
One of his hands gripped your thigh, pulling your leg higher on his waist as his hips pistoned into you, his thrusts rough and punishing. You couldn’t have kept quiet to save your life, truth be told.
He was everywhere at once, lips hot against your throat, your head bent back into the pillow, a moaning mess.
“Feel so good, my good girl,” he grunted.
You whined again, tugging at your restraints.
“Az, please,” you begged, “I want to touch you.”
“Not yet,” he ground out, hips grinding down, immediately shutting you up with a moan in place of your complaint.
You both were spiraling quickly, approaching the mind blowing pleasure you knew was soon to come.
The hand not holding your leg slid up your torso, up your chest and settled at your neck, his fingers wrapping around your throat. You could see the heat in his gaze, but saw enough to know he was questioning if this was okay.
You positively whimpered when his fingers tightened just slightly and he growled, hips snapping into yours, harder.
You were completely at his mercy, but you couldn’t help but wish you weren’t bound so you could scratch his shoulders, hold his hand tighter against your throat, anything.
“Az,” you gasped, so overwhelmed, but in the best way.
Every time his fingers tightened, your cunt tightened around him. His guttural groans nearly made your eyes roll back in your head.
Pressure was building within you and you had become a moaning, whimpering mess beneath him, wrists still straining against his shadows.
“Please, please,” you begged.
It felt like each time he pulled out, he thrust back in harder, rocking you—and the bed—with the force of his movements.
“Come on, you can take it, can take me.”
You were rising higher and higher, not sure how much more you would be able to handle of him.
His hand fell from your throat, dipping between the two of you, circling your clit. It took very few movements before you were absolutely screaming as you came around him.
You felt the strain of the shadows as your body arced off the bed—like they were pining you down with all their force—their cool touch almost painfully cold the harder they bound your wrists together. Your body shook as your vision whited and your brain nearly melted by the pleasure that Azriel was provoking.
“Oh fuck, fuck!”
His outbursts were raw and filled with his current blissed out state.
“Az,” you gasped, still amidst your own orgasm, unable to control anything let alone your mouth, “Come for me, Az.”
He didn’t disappoint, his head tilting forward, rogue strands of his dark hair falling over his forehead, his body tensing—something you could feel beneath the legs still wrapped around his waist.
Through your own bleariness you could see his wings twitching behind him before they burst open fully as he came with a growl so deep it had your eyes squeezing shut at the erotic sound. His lips brushed your chest, then your throat as he kept working himself into you, riding out every last bit of both yours and his orgasms as he finished filling you.
The moment he stilled, the shadows dissipated from your wrists, sliding back to their master.
You couldn’t move them for a moment, your body still feeling wrung out, even though you had a deep craving for more. A craving that was getting stronger with each passing second.
Your chest rose and fell and you laid there, under your mate, arms still over your head like you were still bound there. You saw the instant concern in his eyes as he pulled out of you.
“You okay?” he asked, sounding just as ruined as you felt.
You didn’t know if it was because of the overstimulation but your chin trembled—not from impending tears, but the deep ache that wasn’t going away. The way you felt you needed him again, needed to do things to him you couldn’t even express, to even satiate your need.
“You didn’t let me touch you,” you whimpered.
He sat back, pulling you up with him. His hand dove into your hair, pulling you into another kiss.
You’d have thought he was too tired. Hell, you’d have figured you were too tired, but the moment his lips pressed hot against yours, you felt the stirring of arousal almost instantly.
“You’re free to touch me as much as you want, love.”
“Good because I still need you,” you groaned, climbing into his lap.
“Glad I’m not alone.”
Your lips were hot on his jaw and he helped position you. You couldn’t resist the urge to drag your cunt over his quickly hardening cock. He groaned, face falling into the crook of your neck before you’d even sunk down on him.
“Touch me all you want,” he pleaded, “I’m desperate for it.”
Your hands roamed his chest, over his shoulders as he lifted you enough to sink back down on him.
He was immediately groaning at your cunt welcoming him back, even if it had been less than five minutes. You pushed him back, his arms falling from your waist, his elbows landing on the bed to catch himself.
He wasn’t completely laying down, but was laying back enough for you to take complete control like you were dying to. Propped up on his elbows, he watched you with lidded eyes as you moved on him, rising and falling on his cock, your hands balanced on his chest.
“I could get used to this sight,” he murmured, dazed.
“Good because I think it’s time for you to beg,” you bit your lip as your hips moved.
In response, his hips thrust upwards to meet you and your head tilted back with a loud moan.
“I’d beg for you any day, love.”
You groaned aloud at his words.
“Can’t believe you did that,” you ground out, quite literally grinding your hips against his, “Not let me touch you.”
His smirk was devilish and so incredibly sexy that you had to stifle the moan that crawled up your throat at the sight. Balancing his weight on one arm, he reached up with one hand, thumb brushing your swollen and bruised lower lip.
“You’re so pretty when you beg.”
You shivered at his words, a direct repeat of what he’d said last time, too.
“And you’re lethal,” you moaned, still moving on him.
“Never claimed not to be.”
Az looked smug and you slapped a hand over his mouth.
“Shut up and let me fuck you.”
He groaned at your dominance, head falling back. Your hand fell and you took the opportunity to lurch forward, mouth hot on his neck, his throat, nipping. Your teeth scraped over his pulse point and he growled so deeply, you felt the vibrations against your mouth.
Your hips rocked against his, aiding in his cock hitting the perfect spot within you each time. Your thighs were burning and trembling, but you didn’t want to stop. Didn’t think you could.
The hunger for him was so intense that you didn’t know if you could survive it. You lifted up off his cock just enough to slam down roughly, your mind spiraling in the haze of desire and his whimpered moans made you involuntarily clench around him harder.
“Touch me. Sweet girl, touch me.”
His begging made you feel powerful and you bit back a smirk as your hips slowed in his lap and he actually whimpered.
Whimpered.
“I think you can beg better than that,” you taunted.
“Gods, please,” he groaned, “Please, sweet girl.”
You bit your lip, keeping up the slow rhythm.
“Tell me where and maybe I will.”
“Anywhere.”
He tried to sit up and reach for your hips and you slapped his hand away.
“Tell me something or else I won’t.”
His voice was ragged, raspy, so desperate it made your entire body buzz with tension, with desire.
“My—My wings,” he stuttered.
Your eyes lit at the command.
You were gonna have fun with this.
You finally allowed him to sit again, wrapping those muscled arms around you and pulling you close to him. Your eyes took in those powerful wings, the dark black leathery look to them.
You knew from a brief feel last time, they felt like cool silk under your fingertips. The silkiness of them gave you goosebumps—likely as much as it did him when you touched them.
His hands rested on your hips moving you back and forth on him faster and you reached an arm out towards one of his wings.
With your pointer finger, you ran it down the inner edge of his wing and you felt his cock twitch inside you in reaction. You smirked, absolutely delighted at the reaction.
“Feel good?” you murmured sweetly.
“Y-Yes,” he whimpered.
You clenched tightly around him at that.
You got braver, moving inward a few inches, two fingers stroking down the velvety wing. Not only did his wing twitch—and the more obvious, once again, inside you—but his whole body reacted this time.
“Fuuuck,” he groaned out, shuddering, “Sweetheart, you’ll be the death of me.”
You hummed, wanting to send him over the edge, your own release rapidly approaching.
Likely sensing it too, his thumb landed at the apex of your thighs.
“You’re coming with me,” you ordered, more of a moan than a statement.
You were close, could feel the impending release on the horizon as you moved faster, harder on him, his touch matching your movements. With one last stroke of your fingers along the edge of his wing, he was falling apart beneath you.
He came with such a ferocious growl, it inevitably sent you over the edge as you clamped down around him. Your back arched, your body pressed fully against his muscled frame as your cry of absolute pleasure tore from your throat. Your arm was still extended over his shoulder as you kept moving on his cock.
You felt him pulse within you as he spilled into you, the slight warming sensation making you whimper pitifully, enjoying every moment of it. His face dipped, bringing your lips to his as your body finally slowed, his hands sliding from your hips up your back.
When you finally pulled away for breath, your brow coated with sweat, your breathing uneven, you just stared at him in awe.
“Didn’t think you had that in you,” he smirked, voice low, tired.
“I didn’t know you could whimper,” you retorted.
His laughter was soft, his touch even softer as he brushed a knuckle down your cheek.
You felt insanely dazed, trying to regain your senses as you stared at his face, taking in the truth. You felt a strange sense in your chest, sort of like a tether just waiting for its…well its mate. You took him in, the beautiful face, golden brown skin and hazel eyes that were so incredibly soft right now as they gazed back at you. It made you realize something.
You wanted this.
You wanted Az as your mate, wholeheartedly.
Something in the corner of your eye caught your attention and you looked over, eyes widening at the sight.
The numerous pillows that’d started on the bed were now scattered on the floor from all your frenetic scrambling and movement on the bed. The covers of the bed were half on the floor, as well, from the enthusiastic and frenzied way the two of you had devoured one another.
You looked around as you tried to catch your breath, still in his lap, his cock still nestled inside of you.
“I think…we made…quite a mess,” you panted.
“Not sorry,” he grinned, roguishly.
That hunger was still there, deep down, but for the time being was quiet enough for you to catch your breath. You already felt sore in every single muscle, but you’d had worse from training, you knew you’d manage.
Your eyes locked with his and you felt your heart flutter.
“Hello, mate,” you grinned, still a bit disbelievingly.
He smiled, leaning forward to nuzzle your neck, mumbling at how he was the luckiest male alive.
“That’s it. Rhys can find another spymaster, I quit. I’m never leaving again.”
Your laughter was bright, happy, a weight from this last week having lifted from your chest.
His smirk was wolfish when he pulled back to look at you.
“So, can I interest in you in another round, mate?”
Tag List: @harvest-bunny @garricktavisfanclub @kittiness12 @smol-grandpa @bxm-2121 @less-spice @alexof90s @seasonallyapril
“Bye,” you said for the third time that night. You were leaving family dinner, Rhys and Feyre having hosted as per usual. You’d been at Azriel’s side in the front hall for the last ten minutes, throwing jokes Cassian’s way and saying your goodbyes.
“Make sure that one gets home safe,” Cassian joked, pointing a drunken finger in Azriel’s direction.
“Will do,” you said as you finally stepped foot outside. The night air had a chill to it that you weren't prepared for. Your shoulders curled in on themselves with a shiver crawling up your spine. Azriel’s hand gently touched your lower back and warmth bloomed at his touch.
“Winnow?” Azriel asked, his hazel eyes taking in your shivering form.
“Yes, please.”
Both you and Azriel made it a habit not to winnow when you’d been drinking, but the night's cold gusts of wind had sucked out any care for that rule.
Azriel clasped his hand around your own before winnowing the two of you back home.
When you’d mated, Azriel had decided to move into your townhome, a short walk away from the Rainbow.
The warmth of your shared home greeted you as soon as you appeared in your front hall. A sigh escaped you as you shucked off your outer clothes and walked further into the house.
“I'm tired,” you announced, as if Azriel wasn't already aware of the fact.
"Let's get you into bed, my love." Azriel's voice softened with every word as he guided you up the stairs, a gentle hand at your back in case you slipped. (Something that had only happened once.)
"Think Cass will actually win that bet?" You asked. Inside your bedroom, both you and Azriel got ready for bed.
"No, not a chance."
You giggled as you slipped a nightgown on over your head. "My money's on Feyre."
"As is mine." Azriel admitted.
The sheets were cool against you as you slipped beneath them. You allowed Azriel all but a second to get settled into bed before you latched onto him, seeking out his warmth. His shadows flicked against your nose, drawing a sleepy giggle from you as you shoved your face into the crook of your mates neck.
“Goodnight,” Azriel murmured into the crown of your head.
“Goodnight.”
—
You weren’t sure what woke you at first. No chill in the air, no pressure in your bladder like you sometimes experienced in the middle of the night.
And then you heard it. Azriel.
A groan, one akin to pain, slipped past his lips. His body thrashed, like he was fighting something. You sat up, a hand on his arm, gentle and soothing, attempting to coach him back to the world of the living.
“Azriel, wake up.” Another groaned and he curled away from you. You threw the sheets off, the air hitting your naked legs as you made your way around the bed. You didn't want to risk hurting his wings by climbing over his slumbering body. “Azriel,” you cooed, grabbing a hold of his shoulders. You gave his muscles a squeeze. “You're having a nightmare, wake-”
A scream of surprise tore from your throat as Azriel shot up from his sleep. His scarred hands clamped around your throat, ready to squeeze the life from you. You stumbled back, knocking into a vanity table. Azriel followed, his eyes unseeing. You clawed at his hands, wheezing and gasping. “Az-”
His hazel gaze, normally filled with love, was utterly blank. Not a hint of recognition in his eyes. Still, you couldn't find it within yourself to willingly hurt your mate.
Rhys, you thought. Rhys, help me. Please.
Azriel's shadows swam around you both before slipping beneath his fingers. His grasp loosened and you kicked out, hard enough that he faltered.
Please Rhys!
Darkness and night swept wind filled your bedroom before the pressure from your throat has gone. You stumbled, tripping over your own feet. Your knees hit the hard wood floor with a crack, but you didn't pay any mind. Not as you got the sweet relief of air back into your lungs. Your head swam, dizzy. Someone was yelling, and then there were soft hands on you. You gasped, jerking back into the vanity legs as you choked on air. Through blurry vision you saw Feyre crouching in front of you. Her lips drawn down into a concerned frown.
“Hey, it's me. You're okay.”
“Feyre-”
“Shh, you're okay. I'm going to winnow you back to our place.”
“Az-” you said. You couldn't see him, or hear him, but you heard Rhysand.
“-KILL YOUR MATE!”
You wanted to see Azriel, but Feyre collected you up in her arms and winnowed you out of there before you could say the words.
Madja was just arriving at the River House when you were getting situated. Feyre sat you down in her living room as gently as ever. “Madja is going to check on you, I called for her as soon as Rhys got to you.”
“What about Azriel?” You croaked.
Madja tisked you. “Don't speak,” she ordered.
“But-”
“Azriel won't touch you.” Feyre promised.
“No, I want to see him.”
“I said be silent,” Madja ordered, and you couldn't help but obey the older female.
As Madja worked to heal the damage to your throat, you searched inside of yourself for that golden thread tying yourself to your mate. It was pulled taunt, strained with whatever inner turmoil Azriel was going through. You pulled, searching for the end, for Azriel. Instead, you were met with a wall of smoke and shadows.
Madja pulled away, and with it you felt the warmth of her magic leave you. “I can't change the bruising, but the damage is repaired.”
“Thank you, Madja,” Feyre said.
You nodded towards the crone. “Thank you.”
Madja looked at you, her gaze assessing. “Why in the Cauldron's name that male did what he did, I don't know. But, if he wants to make amends, he better grovel for it.”
You said nothing as Madja took her things and left.
“What can I do to help you?” Feyre asked. “Would you like some tea?”
You shook your head. “I want to speak to Azriel.”
Feyre sat beside you. “Are you sure? What happened tonight?”
Rhys winnowed into the front hall before you should answer Feyre. He came around the corner, stepping into the living room as polished as ever, only his eyes held any sign of what he'd been woken out of bed from. “Where's Azriel?” You asked.
Rhys kissed his teeth before responding. “Cassian's with him, keeping an eye on… things.”
Your head fell forward in exhaustion. You were tired and worried and sore. Rhys stepped forward, crouching to be at eye sight with you. “Is he okay?” You whispered.
Rhys tilted his head, you could tell he didn't want to give you too much detail. “He's as expected.” You glared at him for the non-answer. “Has he,” Rhys broke off into a long sigh, as though his next question caused him physical pain. “Has he done this before?”
“No,” you answer quickly. Quickly enough that Rhys raises a brow at you. “Truely-” you explain. “He gets nightmares. Bad ones, but he never,” you shake your head at the feeling of his hands closing in around your neck. “He's never had an episode like this, not violent.” Your gaze looks between Rhys and Feyre. “He's slept walked a few times. I found him trying to get dressed in his gear once, but nothing like this.”
Rhys’ violet eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of a lie, that you were trying to protect your mate from the truth of what goes on behind closed doors. When he looked at his own mate, you knew all he found was honesty. “He asked me to keep you away from him.” Rhys says. He stands back up from his crouched position in order to sit across from you.
“What?” You leaned forward, eyes flicking between the High Lord and Lady. “Why would he do that? What's he-”
“He's scared,” Rhys said, and those two words had you stopping in your tracks.
“Scared?”
Rhys nodded. “He's horrified by what happened tonight,” Rhys gestured to your bruised neck. “He doesn't trust himself.”
“But it wasn't him, not really.”
“While you may feel that way, he's a male that's just attacked and injured his mate. It goes against every instinct we have to do something like that. He's terrified he could do it again and disgusted that it ever happened in the first place.”
“Let me talk to him.”
Rhys shook his head. “I don't think him seeing those marks he's left will help your case very much.”
A long, heavy breath escaped you as you sat back on the couch. You were suddenly very tired, and you thought the night might be finally catching up with you. “He's blocking his end of the bond. I just want to know how he is. Tell him I'm okay.”
Rhys nodded. “I understand, but I think it's best I tell him. You need your rest.” Rhys gestured towards the staircase. “You can sleep here tonight. A room has already been prepared.”
You gave Rhys a small smile. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” Rhys said as he stood.
“Tell him I'm okay,” you asked quietly as Rhys made to leave. “And that I love him.” Rhys gave a dip of his chin before winnowing away.
“Common,” Feyre said as Rhys finally left. “I'll show you to your room.”
—
Despite exhaustion weighing heavily on you, sleep evaded you the rest of the night. A few times you thought the shadows moved within your room, but every time you looked into the darker corners of your room, you were alone.
The bond was still between you and Azriel. Cold–unused, blocked. You'd be lying if you said the silence didn't hurt.
As the sun rose you dressed in one of Feyre's turtlenecks and trousers. You made sure the bruising was covered before going downstairs.
“Thank you for helping me last night,” you said by way of greeting. Both Rhys and Feyre were sitting at the table, eating breakfast.
“Always,” Rhys answered, his violet eyes full of honesty.
“I'm going back home. I need to sort this out.”
“Won't you stay for breakfast?” Feyre asked.
You shook your head. “Thank you, but I need to talk to Azriel.” Your eyes fell to the plates of food on the table. Sliced fruit, tea, and baked goods. “I don't think I can stomach anything until I talk to my mate.”
Both nodded, understanding better than most what you meant.
“We're here if you need us.” Rhys said. You smiled, bidding them goodbye with a wave of your hand before you left their home.
As much as you wanted to winnow away and see Azriel right then, you needed the walk home to gather your thoughts. You hoped he was still there, that he wasn't hiding up at the House of Wind. Otherwise, you'd need Cassian or Rhys to fly you there.
—
Azriel was in the living room when you walked in. His shadows danced around him, restless, agitated, but his head hung low, as though his shame and guilt pulled him down. He didn't lift his head as you walked in, didn't turn towards you. You knelt before him on the floor, grabbing his chin gently and turning his gaze onto you. Whether he wanted to or not, he would see you.
His hazel eyes roamed your body, focusing on your neck, as though he could see the bruising beneath your shirt. You both stared at each other, taking everything in.
Surprisingly, it was Azriel who spoke first. “Are you hurting?” His voice was gravely, as though he'd been screaming.
You shook your head. “No.”
Azriel frowned. “Don't lie-”
“I’m not,” you answered earnestly. “Madja healed me. Nothing hurts.”
Azriel nodded. “I'm so sorry,” his voice cracked, his hands clasped between his legs were white at the knuckles. “I fucking hate myself. I was having a nightmare, and you weren't you, it was the war, and,” Azriel shook his head. “I didn't know what was real, I thought I was on the battlefield, I didn't-”
Your hands cupped your mates' face. “Shh, I know.”
“I swear on everything that I am, on my family and my court, I would never wish to harm you.”
“I know.”
Azriel's chest hitched, like he couldn't breathe properly. “I don't deserve to, but could I hold you?”
You nodded as you stood up. “Of course.”
Azriel scooped you into his arms and on his lap in the blink of an eye. His face buried in the crook of your neck. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I forgive you.” You told him, and you meant it. You knew your mate well enough to know that he wouldn't forgive himself, not right away, and maybe not ever. You knew that he wouldn't trust himself to be in the same bed with you for a while, but it was okay. You loved each other, and you'd work on it. You'd show him that you trusted him, that you forgave him, that you loved him.
Together, you'd put this nightmare behind you.
---
Thanks for reading! If you want behind the scenes of what went on once Rhys got to the house and got to Azriel, comment below!
➳ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | In your struggle to adapt to your new existence, the Night Court's shadowsinger takes it upon himself to offer his quiet comfort.
➳ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 2,537
➳ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Mentions of reader in the Cauldron, Anxiety, Depersonalization, Sweet Az, Fluff, Emotional hurt/comfort, Hints at reader and Az being mates.
➳ 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I’m only half way through the 2nd book so I apologize for any mistakes or inaccuracies. I have a pretty good idea of what happens in the rest of the series, I just haven’t read it yet. Azriel is quickly becoming a favorite, though, so I just had to write something for him. He might be a bit ooc.
masterlist | part two
IT WAS THE TWILIGHT HOUR AT THE HOUSE OF WIND. The atmosphere was dense and strangling, a tension sitting in the air so turbulent one wrong breath could shatter the carefully constructed peace. Azriel and Cassian certainly had their hands full. Neither of the males able to dispel the strain. Rhysand was sequestered away you knew not where, leaving his brothers with the responsibility of navigating the fractured states of you and your sisters.
You sat near the window of your room, your hands curled tightly in your lap, trying to ignore the suffocating weight of everything you couldn’t fix. Couldn’t feel. Couldn’t understand.
Nesta’s sharp voice echoed faintly down the corridor, cutting through the heavy silence that pressed on your ears. Elain’s quiet sorrow was just as palpable, an ache that you didn’t have the strength to soothe, even if you wanted to.
And you? You were drowning. Over and over again, feeling your humanity being ripped from you. Clawed away and shredded into the withering pain that tore across your skin. Never able to take in an easy breath because each intake of air felt like the Cauldron’s scorching water was invading your lungs. It turned to lead inside you, dragging you down down down into the blackened depths.
You had come out transformed into someone, something, you didn’t recognize. You were fragmented, frayed, and whatever pieces were left of you no longer seemed to fit.
The knock at your door startled you, a soft sound, almost hesitant, like whoever stood on the other side wasn’t sure they were welcome. You didn’t respond aloud—what would you say?—but something about the silence must have been answer enough because the door creaked open.
It was Azriel.
Of course, it was him. He always seemed to know when to appear, not with the smooth certainty of someone who could fix everything, but with the quiet persistence of someone who couldn’t walk away. His presence made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t understand, a weight and a warmth all at once.
He carried a tray of food, though his hands, so steady normally, looked almost awkward now. His shadows trailed at his feet, curling along the floor like restless whispers, and for a moment, you wondered if they’d been listening to you earlier. To the broken sounds you hadn’t meant for anyone to hear. Was that why he was here now?
“How are you feeling?” He asked, his voice low, rough, like the question cost him something to ask.
You blinked at him, unsure how to respond. How were you feeling? Empty? Heavy? Nothing and everything all at once? You wanted to laugh at the absurdity of such a simple question when the answer was anything but. Instead, you shrugged, the motion barely more than a flicker of movement.
Azriel shifted, the tray now resting on the table beside you. He flexed his hands at his sides as if he didn't know what to do with them now. His large wings were folded low at his back like he was attempting to make them less noticeable.
Is he doing that for me? To not…frighten me, perhaps?
He didn’t sit, didn’t move closer, but his presence filled the room, steady and quiet and infuriatingly unshakable. His gaze lingered on you for just a moment too long before he looked away, his jaw tightening.
You shifted in place on the window seat, folding your hands in your lap to keep from picking at the skin around your nails. It was a nervous habit you'd had all your human life, and it seemed to have followed you into your new fae existence. To be frank, the habit had gotten worse since your ordeal in the Cauldron. You were antsy, jumpy, and nervous all the time now.
"I'm fine." You finally said in a small whisper. You felt the embarrassment creep in as you spoke. It was only two words, but it felt like it was more than you'd spoken at all since you were shoved into that dreadful, life-altering vessel. Your voice wasn't as strong as it used to be; you weren’t as strong as you used to be. Not even with your newfound abilities. Sure, you were more graceful than before, your now pointed ears could hear a bit better than before, and your skin seemed to shine like starlight, but you couldn't shake the feeling that you were a great deal more fragile now.
Especially when Azriel stood before you. The Illyrian male was the very definition of strength. You couldn't fathom why he was here right now, checking on you. But some deep, deep part of you, a part that felt as if it hadn't been there before the Cauldron, was practically beaming at his presence. It warmed inside you and sang into your mind, telling you to reach out for him. That even brushing briefly against his tanned skin would bring you lifetimes of comfort. It was absurd.
You really are losing your mind.
Azriel shifted, the gentle scrape of his boots against the floor pulling you from the spiraling thoughts threatening to consume you. His wings twitched, an almost imperceptible movement, but you caught it. You’d noticed that before, how you were always so aware of his every movement. You caught everything he did, each subtle sound and flicker of motion. It was overwhelming sometimes, this heightened awareness of him. Yet another thing you didn’t understand.
He cleared his throat softly, drawing your gaze back to him. “You don’t have to say you’re fine,” he murmured, his voice a blend of rough honesty and something more delicate, something that felt like understanding. “You don’t have to say anything at all.”
The warmth in your chest flared again, unbidden and unrelenting. You swallowed against it, against the strange pull that seemed to tether you to him, as if some invisible thread had bound itself around your heart and was now tugging mercilessly. It was maddening. You didn’t want to feel this way—this need, this want for something you couldn’t even name.
Azriel’s words settled in the room like a fragile thread, the kind that could snap with just the breath of the wrong response. He didn’t move, didn’t look at you fully, but you felt his focus anyway, sharp and unwavering. His presence was a steady hum in the background of your awareness, grounding and yet deeply unsettling at the same time.
“I…” you started, the sound so faint it barely carried between you. Your throat felt tight as if you were drowning all over again, your words caught somewhere between your chest and lips. You wanted to speak, to tell him something, anything, to fill the suffocating silence. But you didn’t know what to say. The pieces of yourself that once knew how to converse, how to be normal, felt like they had dissolved into the Cauldron’s depths, leaving you raw and exposed.
He didn’t push. He simply waited, patient as ever, his shadows coiling and shifting in the corners of the room like uneasy sentinels. They didn’t feel intrusive, strangely enough. If anything, they were like him—watchful, protective, and respectful of boundaries you couldn’t yet define.
Finally, you managed to meet his gaze, though it felt like an act of courage to do so. “I don’t know how to feel…or how to be anymore,” you admitted, the words tumbling out in a quiet, cracked rush. You hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t planned on baring even this sliver of yourself to him, but it was the truth. And something about him, about the calm compassion in his eyes, made it impossible not to say.
His expression didn’t change, not noticeably, but something about the set of his shoulders eased. “You’re hurting,” he said gently, as if he’d been expecting your answer all along. “And that is alright.”
The simplicity of his statement made your chest ache, an ache that felt strangely like relief. You turned your gaze back to your lap, your fingers twitching against one another as you fought the urge to fidget further. “It’s just…everything feels wrong,” you confessed. “Like I’m still in there, like I’m still falling, and I’ll never hit the ground.”
You felt him stiffen at your disparaging words. Saw his shadows twist the least bit closer to you, as if even they wanted to offer you some sort of solace. His voice came soft and steady, like the first breeze after a storm. “I’ve felt that way before,” he admitted, the vulnerability in his tone striking like a sudden chord in the quiet. “Like I’d been untethered, and there was no ground left to find.”
His raw honesty caught you off guard, forcing you to search for his gaze again. Nothing could have prepared you for the earnestness you not only saw in his eyes, but it also dripped from him like water. You couldn’t picture Azriel being anything but sure and unyielding. But in the same moment, you felt beholden to him for sharing such a piece of himself just to comfort you.
The continuous tightness in your lungs lessened just a fraction, enough to allow you to take your first easy breath in weeks. “Does it ever go away?”
“Not entirely,” he said almost regretfully. Your heart sank a bit, but before you could fall completely into despair, he added, “But it does get easier.
Your words left you once more, your mind reeling with the idea of fighting this for the rest of your life. A life that would now be centuries long.
It was no surprise that he caught the shudder of dejection that crossed your face. His shadows curled closer to you like a soothing veil of darkness. Their movement was almost hypnotic, easing in the strange way you’d begun to associate with them. Azriel’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes lingered on you in a watchful manner. He glanced at the open cushion beside you. “May I?” he asked softly, his voice low and warm, though it carried an edge of uncertainty like he wasn’t sure if he was overstepping some invisible line.
You didn’t even have to think about it before you were nodding. “Of course,” you murmured, trying not to sound too eager.
Azriel moved carefully, lowering himself onto the seat next to you. The space was narrow, and you became acutely aware of how close he was—his knee brushing lightly against yours, the faint scent of cedar and night air surrounding him. You tried to focus on your hands folded tightly in your lap, but the warmth radiating from him was impossible to ignore.
“It won’t always feel like this,” he said gently, his voice hushed and certain. “The weight you’re carrying—it changes. It becomes something you can hold, something you can live with. You’ll find your footing again.”
The conviction in his words floated to you like a lifeline. The way he looked at you, soothing and steadfast, made you feel like you had no choice but to believe him. You nodded more to yourself than to him. Silence settled in the room again, but with him beside you, it felt easier to endure than before. For the first time you didn’t feel the need to fill the quiet with something. It was simply enough to sit there with him and let his company anchor you.
The wisp of something against your arm pulled your attention. The faint brush on your arm was barely noticeable at first, like the lightest touch of silk on your skin. When you glance down, one of Azriel’s shadows glides towards you, curious and tentative. It swirls near your wrist, its edges soft and flickering like the flame of a candle, before retreating as if it was testing the waters.
You laughed slightly. “Do they always do that?” You asked softly, unable to keep the awe from your voice. The shadow seemed almost alive, sentient in a way that both mesmerized and unsettled you.
Azriel followed your gaze to the shadow, his expression lightened in a way you hadn’t expected. “Not always.” He divulged, his tone carrying something akin to fondness. “They’re curious about you.”
You tilted your head at him, your brows furrowing. “Me?”
“They’re drawn to certain people,” he explained, his voice low and even, as though sharing a closely guarded secret. “They can sense things others can’t.”
The shadow flickered closer again, this time brushing along your hand in a more eager manner. You couldn’t help but smile faintly, the sensation strangely soothing. “They’re not what I expected,” you said, your voice still so as to not scare the shadow.
Azriel tilted his head slightly, his eyes seeming to search you for something. “What did you expect?”
“I’m not sure.” You confessed, glancing at him. “Something harsher maybe.”
“They can be,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “When they need to be.”
You looked at him fully then, the true meaning behind his words sparking comprehension in your mind. There was a deeper depth to his shadows, a duality that mirrored their master. You wondered if he’d been born with them. If he had grown with them. Or if they had been birthed from pain, from the darkness he carried with him that hadn’t always been there. “They feel safe.” The words slipped out before you could think them through.
Azriel’s eyes glimmered with something you couldn’t quite name, some sort of longing. “They’re meant to be,” he said simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. You could hear the unspoken words he didn’t say, though. He was holding something back.
The space between you seemed to get smaller and smaller, his warmth wrapping around you like a second skin. You became dangerously aware of how close you were—of the brush of his knee against yours, the way his wings shifted slightly behind him, almost grazing your shoulder. Your cheeks flushed, and you looked down, suddenly self-conscious.
Azriel took note; of course he did. His eyes lingered on you, his expression bordering on hunger. But it was gone and replaced by neutrality as soon as it came. Though, you could still feel the weight of his attention. His shadows danced along your wrist again, and you wondered if they could sense the fluttering beat of your pulse.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said, his voice rougher now, tinged with something that almost sounded like desperation.
“You didn’t,” you replied quickly, your voice shaky but earnest.
The moment lingered between you, fragile yet thrumming with something so strong. The potency of it forces you to grapple with everything you felt for him. His shadows swirled around you softly, their movements calmer now, almost languid. You thought he might say something, that the weight in his expression would finally take shape in words, but he didn’t. Instead, he shifted ever so slightly, his arm brushing yours. You leaned into him and felt that warmth in your chest thrill at the closeness.
Something unknown, something that could wait to be explored, hummed between you. And you didn’t realize it right away, but the Cauldron’s waters felt farther away than they had in weeks.
Kind of playing with an idea for a part two with some moments leading up to them finding out they're mates.
tw: size kink, bit of dacryphilia, overall this is nastyyy
something about having you under him, squirming and helpless, makes azriel go feral.
it's the way you look so small compared to him, the way you are incapable of doing anything because he's just too strong and you can't fight back even if you want to.
the fact is, that no matter what size you are, he is big. all those hours passed in the illyrian camps training pay off. his hand alone could cover a good part of your back. and his cock... it's a struggle everytime, but oh man if he doesn't take pleasure in seeing you struggling.
the first time you two fucked, he had to strech you out with his fingers first. and when he saw how much you struggled with just one of his fingers, he knew it was going to be a tight fit. your walls barely capable of fitting one single finger, he couldn’t imagine how you could have taken his cock, but you did. you take it like a good girl every time.
"you can take it, baby. yeah..." he groans. "you can fucking take it. just like that..." the room is filled with the thick smell of sex, your little cries overpower the sound of skin against skin. you might almost feel embarrassed by the sounds coming out of your lips, but azriel's cock is fucking you so well it sends your brain to mush. zero thoughts behind your pretty eyes.
and azriel loves fucking you. loves watching as your face scrunches in a mixture of pain and pleasure, his cock stretching you out, breaking you in an half. he mutters praises under his breath, his eyes fixated on your tummy that bulges with every thrust, the line of his cock visible through your skin. "look at us, baby. fuck... look at us." he moans, forcing you to look at where your bodies meet. pretty tears stream down your eyes, overstimulation kicking in. you're so full you can feel him in your stomach.
he watches in wonder, completely intoxicated by you and amazed by how much of him you can take.
azriel is addicted to the power he has over you, too. the way he could throw you around like a toy, holding you in place just how he likes.
"c'mon baby, just a little more..." he whispers, supporting you with those strong arms. your back touches his chest, you can feel the wild rhythm of his heart against your back. your legs tremble, exhausted. "give me one more, just one more... i promise."
every time he says something, even tho your head is disconnected, your body can somehow still register his words, your walls clenching automatically around his girth, making him groan.
his hand presses against your tummy, feeling the bulge makes him twitch inside of you. the pressure causes his cock the hit even deeper, hitting spots that make you see stars. "keep clenching around my cock, sweet girl." you sniff, little incoherent prayers fall from your lips. you don't even know what you're begging for. "gods, gonna ruin you for everyone else. you're fucking mine."
Summary: Azriel had spent centuries mastering control until the moment he saw you. A bond he couldn’t ignore, an act he couldn’t undo— not that he would want to. But now he’s left with the fallout. Political and personal. Because the mate he risked everything to save never wanted saving in the first place.
Word count: 3.5K
Warnings: Violence, abuse, mentions of slurs
The mortal palace was beautiful in the way a predator was beautiful. Striking yet chilling– the kind of beauty you’d rather appreciate from a distance.
Oceans away Azriel thought, wishing he was back in the Night Court. In Velaris under those familiar stars with the rest of his family–away from these traitors.
Azriel hated being here.
Being in this palace, on this land, breath’s away from the queens who almost destroyed everything he held dear.
Every column in the hall gleamed like a polished fang, chandeliers hung with a gaudy display of gold. It felt almost desperate, that all the embellishment of the room was covering up how the mortal queens were actually so far away from any kind of true class, but instead overindulgent, greedy and simply trying to overcompensate for what they lacked.
There was music murmuring somewhere, a quartet playing something meant to sound elegant, but instead sounded wounded and tight. The air was still, the kind that was brittle and had Azriel’s shadows twitching against his back.
Azriel really hated being here.
Rhysand stood at the bottom of the royal stage, Mor to his right while Azriel flanked them on the left. He stood close to one of those pearly white columns. His shadows discreetly moved around him, settling by his feet on the floor and curling over his shoulders slightly displaying themselves just enough to remind his hosts exactly who he was and what he was capable of.
The Night Court was building an alliance– albeit a fake one– but it still went against every instinct Azriel had.
These surviving queens, the ones who had aligned themselves with Hybern and then Koschei, had endangered his entire family. To even entertain this idea, even if it was all a facade made his skin crawl.
Perhaps that was why he felt so on edge. His gloved fingers twitching at his side, jaw clenching. Maybe it was the garish decor, but there was something about this room that made him feel sick.
Rhysand, charming and poised, voice as smooth as silk. Somehow stirred his way through conversation elegantly. Mor beside him, smiling in a way that almost fooled the Shadowsinger that the Night Court truly was in its era of forgiveness.
He didn’t know how they did it. Azriel wasn’t good at fake smiles and false pretences. He guessed that’s why he was the spymaster and assassin, here as muscle not to form political relationships.
“Now while your attendance is noted, and your gifts…” the oldest of the queens sat centrally, glanced over to the large chest of Velaris jewels that sat at the bottom of the stairs. A bribery, perhaps even slightly too obvious, fitted in quite well with the pathetic flash of wealth this room displayed. “Your gifts are appreciated…but the proposition of an alliance isn’t just something that can be bought.” Her tone was cold, and matter of fact. Laced with a wobble that spoke of the years she had lived and where her voice had worn. Yet she didn’t appear weak, instead hardened by her years on the throne.
The other two queens either side of her. The one to the right, dark long unruly hair, fingers covered in jeweled rings with a mundane bored expression that didn’t seem to match her sense of style. To the left was the youngest queen, still a girl really. There was a slight innocence that came with her younger appearance but Azriel noticed her haunting eyes, sharp and sinister as they scaled over their audience.
“Tell me, why should we trust you now, when your kind has done so little for us on the Continent since the war and even before?” The eldest queen spoke again, her voice louder this time, challenging.
Azriel wanted to scoff, these queens weren’t just cowardly– they were delusional. Entitled. Wholey believed that they were deserving of some kind of retribution.
Azriel. Rhys warned him in his mind.
Azriel hadn’t even realised the snarl he was showing. How his gaze had darkened from the shadow he stood in, teeth showing slightly in disgust. Rhysand’s warning wasn’t up for debate. Azriel schooled his expression before any of the queens even noticed.
Azriel could feel Rhys’s smile without seeing it. That particular practiced curl meant he was seconds from saying something convincing and motivating– something that would get Rhys the exact outcome he’d come here for.
“Because, Your Majesties,” Rhys said smoothly, “we’ve learned that cooperation is the only way you and your people can survive what’s to come.”
The room stilled for a moment. Rhys’ words settling across the room.
The younger of the three queens' eyes widened slightly, inexperience pooling her face as she glanced towards her matrons. Rhys had sounded sweet, but the real implications of his words were still clear.
Rhys had threatened them, in a somewhat charming way. But it was still a threat nonetheless.
One of the queens scoffed then, the one sat to the right with the dark wavy hair. She was a ruler of one of the northern kingdoms, her kingdom managed the mines on the Continent, her reign falling over mountainous terrain that made her kingdom especially fruitful. The jewels that were mined there glimmered in the light, stacks and stacks of detailed designs embedded in stone adorned her fingers. Azriel briefly remembered Rhysand mentioning exactly what jurisdiction the queens fell into, one was of the mines, the other– the youngest he thinks managed the prison. But he couldn't recall any of their names. Didn’t particularly care either.
“And what is to come, High Lord?” she then asked, tone lilting and bored. Twisting the ruby red ring on her forefinger. “You speak as though you see the future. Is this one of your many magical abilities Rhysand?”
The question was loaded. These particular queens had only survived due to their pure disdain for magic– despite the mortal queens all aligning with Hybern and Koschei– these three had kept to their kingdoms to avoid physical conflict. It ultimately saved them from their deserved endings.
Magic was not favoured in their realms, they loathed it. This idea that those not of royal blood could be more powerful. They didn’t allow it, had laws and regulations to avoid it, dampen it— even cull it.
The Night Court had taken note of the civil unrest among magic beings on the Continent. Azriel’s spies had been reporting for months acts of rebellion from magic kind, half-fae and mortals against the monarchy.
It was the perfect ploy for Rhys to get what he wanted, he needed access to these queens archives and leveraging that civil unrest to get in the favour of the Queens was a sure way to do it.
Nevertheless, the queens still sported magic relics on their garments and even this palace was dressed in ancient wards.
The hypocrisy wasn’t lost on Azriel.
There was a shift in Azriel’s shadows, as though they were picking up on something happening rooms away.
Something was wrong– no different–no…something was coming. As though instinct and intuituaion was sending a message to Azriel’s very bones.
Mor’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, “We know of the rebellion, the unrest in your kingdoms” she said with a slight smirk, her blonde hair cascading in front of her like an armour.
“You don’t need magic to know that,” the oldest spoke again, “although I wouldn’t call it a rebellion, simply a tantrum.”
It was the youngest queen who spoke next, an eerie tone to her voice “Like a toddler throwing their toys when they don’t get what they want. They just don’t always understand yet…the way the world works. That those smaller, weaker…don’t always get what they want.” She finished her words with a smile. Sickeningly sweet.
Strange girl. Mor thought, her words sharing across to Azriel and Rhys.
Azriel couldn’t agree more. There was something sinister about that queen, perhaps it was why her kingdom managed the prison. You had to be a specific type of evil to run those torture traps. There was something about all of the queens that didn’t sit well with him. Had his shadows wringing round him tightly.
The dark haired queen spoke again then. “You come in here like we need your help…but we can assure you that couldn’t be further from the truth.”
The conversation was taking a turn, politics always did but it was unsettling Azriel tonight. There was this sense of foreboding again, his shadows were nervous. The air felt electric, buzzing with anticipation. He swallowed hard.
And then the doors slammed open.
The sound shattered through the large room.Two guards strided in, dragging a woman by her arms between them.
Azriel’s head turned then, instincts sharpening, every sense focusing. While the guards dragged the limp body to the base of the royal stairs, her legs dragging on the floor behind her.
The mortal queen — the oldest of them — did not so much as flinch.
This was planned Azriel realised as he watched the blood stain smear across the marble floor from the body they dragged in.
The dark haired queen who had seemed so uninterested till now, finally seemed intrigued as she rose from her throne with a smirk. The youngest of the queens raised to join her in their descent down the stairs, bunching her dress up so she could move more swiftly— she was eager.
The eldest remained on her throne.
The guards had dragged the prisoner to the centre of the room. Right between Azriel and the queens.
“Ah,” she said from her throne, her voice gravely. “It seems our special guest has arrived.”
The woman they dragged in— you— was filthy. Blood soaked into torn clothes. A bruise bloomed along your cheekbone, a smear of dried blood at your temple. But even in this state, you somehow managed to hold yourself upright, refusing to bow.
Azriel’s jaw locked.
Azriel had seen worse—had inflicted worse— but there was a tightness in his muscles that was foreign to him. Something about seeing you in front of him had him unsettled.
“Who is this?” Rhysand’s tone was light, but Azriel knew the warning in it.
The youngest queen moved then, glided as she circled you. Every step felt deliberate as though she was eyeing up her prey. That sinister demeanor was settling among her with delight.
“A traitor…” the eldest queen spoke from her throne.
“A nuisance…” the other queen muttered nonchalantly.
“A nobody…” the youngest queen sing-songed.
Azriel was struggling to listen to them though. As he watched you heave against your injuries. The guards had released you. Arms hanging hung limp in front, but still tied together in chains. Azriel could almost feel the ache and pain himself just from watching how your breathing shuddered under your injuries, he watched as your blood slowly pooled by your knees…yet you still didn’t bow. Your head remained upright and strong.
Brave.
It was his shadows that whispered to him. Azriel didn’t know the reasoning for why this female was chained and beaten. She could well be a criminal, but despite that, Azriel struggled to look at the sight before him.
Struggled to understand why it was so hard to look at the sight before him.
He had been on battlefields, been there when the wars settled. When all was left was dismembered figures and soldiers fighting for their lives. But this was hard to look at.
He hadn’t even been able to see your face yet. His gaze staring into the back of this defiant person, who didn’t seem to buckle under royal scrutiny or torture.
It was Mor that spoke next.
That natural confidence she always carried purring out, “A nobody wouldn’t get such a greeting.”
Azriel almost smirked, his gaze looking to his blonde friend for a second at her remark. He swore he saw the corner of your lips twitch too.
But the youngest queen stopped her prowl round the prisoner then, face forming into a scowl at being corrected by Mor.
Mor was right. A “nobody” wouldn’t get such a display, such attention especially from the monarchy. Which begged the question of who you were.
“That is true,” the eldest queen replied. Her gaze steady on the prisoner that had been brought in. “This one isn’t a nobody…oh but she is a traitor. And quite the nuisance. Her and that little rebellion have been a pest for quite some time now.”
Her choice of words were interesting to Azriel. Somewhat downplayed. Everything Azriel had learnt about the rebellion was so much bigger than that— it was more than just mice in your home eating all your pantry— this rebellion was powerful.
What this female was a part of was so much more than just a nuisance. But maybe that’s why you didn’t bow or cower. Maybe that was why you didn’t seem to break under the blows, because you knew that.
Knew you stood for something more, despite it being minimised.
And that was something Azriel could respect—admire even.
The words seemed to urge the queen to stand, slowly and steadily she moved down the stairs. Each step she took had Azriel’s heart beating louder. Every move made closer to you had his shadows stirring more.
This was a performance. All of this, just theater. A play, that even he was partaking in.
The guard tried to shove your head down with the push.
“Bow,” the guard breathed, bringing his lips close to your ears. A sickening gravel scratched along your eardrum as he spat out the command. The notion almost had Azriel move from his place. Watching the guard grab you had him losing composure in a way that was so unlike him.
Your silence was absolute though. You didn’t budge, if anything your back only grew straighter, shoulders more squared as you stared the queens dead on.
“We’ve been after this one for years. Always, somehow managed to slip through our fingers,” there was almost a tone of respect in the queen’s voice as she stepped in front of the you.
The other queen spoke then, twisting her finger around her curly hair bored. “She’s supposed to be some kind of symbol of what was it? Pathetic resistance? A little spark of delusion? The rallying of-“
“—Hope.”
The room stilled.
You had spoken.
Azriel’s breath got caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected you to speak. Hadn’t expected you to sound like that either. Unwavering and strong, slightly pained too…and yet your voice sounded like a soft song to his ears.
A song he was familiar with, a song he had always known but for a brief moment had somehow forgotten the words.
The queens tried to gather their thoughts, their words.
They had this whole thing planned out. As though a script had been written beforehand and suddenly the antagonist, you, was improvising.
Voice calm, you continued. “I believe the word you were looking for is hope…a symbol of hope.”
You were met with silence again. One of the queens mouths dropped open in shock.
“But little spark of delusion definitely has a ring to it,” Azriel could hear your smile when you spoke, wished to see it as his own lips turned alight upwards. There was this dry sarcasm that laced your tone. Made you all the more braver, that even in this moment you were taunting them.
You were goading the mortal monarchy. Azriel was impressed, despite it being completely reckless, he couldn’t help but admire your daring boldness.
The dark hair queen scoffed again in disbelief, clearly agitated but trying to disguise it under nonchalance.
It was the youngest queen who reacted viscerally. That innocence long gone, but inexperience screaming as she couldn’t contain her emotions.
A slap rang out, sharp and echoing.
Azriel flinched. Azriel never flinched.
Rhys glanced at this friend for a moment, a question probing into Azriel’s mind. Was everything okay?
The queen curdled out a slur with such venom that it ricocheted across the room.
Azriel hadn’t heard that particular slur in a long time. That kind of derogatory language wasn’t favoured in Prythian, and the venom in her words had his shadows skittering.
You didn’t fall though. Didn’t flinch beyond a brief jerk of your head.
Azriel’s shadows stilled entirely though.
Because he could see you more now. And Azriel couldn’t breathe.
Something was clawing at his chest.
Azriel’s fingers twitched where they rested on the hilt of Truth-Teller.
Still, he said nothing. Still, he watched.
Until the young queen bent, wrapped a hand in your hair, and yanked your head back.
The motion revealed your face fully.
And the world stopped. Azriel’s world stopped.
Your eyes. So defiant, wild, bright, even through the pain.
And your smile. It was wide, mad, challenging— beautiful.
Azriel tried to swallow hard but his throat was dry. His shadows were whispering but he couldn’t hear.
The young queen was spiralling, power going to her head. Spewing slurs and insults. Your goading had triggered her, perhaps this was the exact reaction you had hoped for.
One of the queens rolled her eyes, now uninterested in this turn of events. The eldest looked as though she wanted to shake her head in disappointment, but began sending a signal to the guards.
You laughed then. Laughed at something the flustered queen had said, it only angered her more.
But your chuckle was soft, taunting, teasing— fearless.
And then you glanced over to your audience, to Rhys, Mor, the guards.
To Azriel. Met his eyes, your smile only wider.
Something deep in his chest snapped.
Not broke. Snapped. Like a bowstring pulled too tight, releasing all at once.
The world rushed in, too loud, too bright. Every sound, every scent, every breath from your lungs was his.
Mate.
Rhys’s voice was a distant hum, he was speaking now. Mor’s breath barely registered. All Azriel could hear was your ragged breathing, all he could feel was the bond unfurling — furious, desperate, alive— and angry.
And when the eldest queen lifted her hand, another signal. One he recognised— execution— your execution. Azriel moved.
Faster than thought. Faster than the shadows could follow.
The hall exploded into chaos.
But it one quick movement, Azriel wrapped his arms around you. Desperately so. And he removed you from danger.
***
Azriel’s mind was spinning.
A whirlwind of chaos and noise- all his own thoughts- and his shadows.
But the one thing anchoring him was you.
His mate.
Here, with him. And safe.
You were safe. He had made sure of that.
Transporting you both to a off-grid location. A place only he knew of.
His shadows began to disperse around you both, Azriel’s hands steadily releasing you from his hold.
Azriel could take a moment to look at you properly now. The lines of your face, curve of your lips that had him swallowing hard. The depths of your eyes had the bond burning so bright he could have groaned.
But there were the bruises and blood. Marks that you shouldn’t have to bare that pained him.
He could see the terror in your eyes, your brows furrowing—
“What the fuck did you just do?”
Azriel blinked. You were shocked. He could feel it, the confusion. Understandable. “It’s okay, you’re safe now” he assured.
“What—“
Azriel tried to ease out a soft smile. Coaxing his shadows to settle as they vibrated off the pulse of the bond that was currently coursing through his body.
He wanted to touch you again. He was desperate to. Desperate to soothe the aches that were evident across your form, desperate to calm whatever nerves you held, desperate to comfort you in a way only a mate could—
Gods. His brothers hadn’t explained how truly consuming a bond was. Sure, to a degree they had. But their words had not truly explained the depth of how the bond burned so viscerally. How it felt as though it could only be tempered and yet ignited by his mates touch.
This felt like a lot…this felt like everything he’d ever wanted. It was everything Azriel had ever wanted.
His hand twitched as they hovered by your sides, but he pulled them away.
“I saved you. We’ll be safe here, they can’t find you here—“
“I don’t understand,”
Azriel let out a breath, “I know it’s a lot to take in, but they were going to kill you, hurt you… and I couldn’t—“
“No.”
You cut him off. Quick and sharp. Your frown turned into something that resembled more of a glare. There were feelings running down the bond that he was so desperately trying to farse out. Too many feeling, and all consuming— and confusing.
He could feel your adrenaline, anticipation, anger— it mixed with his longing and desperation.
“They were not going to kill me.” Your tone was so sure and firm.
“They were,” Azriel struggled to deliver the words. He knew it. Knew if he hadn’t intervened then, that moment would have been the first and last time he saw his mate.
But you scoffed at his words.
Actually scoffed.
The action throwing Azriel off guard for a moment. Not that he had expectations from his mate. He had seen from his brothers experiences, that when a bond snapped there shouldn’t be any expectations.
But Azriel had hoped for some kind of gratitude for saving your life, mate or no mate.
He moved an inch closer to you then, subconsciously- as though the proximity would make you understand. But you stepped back, your tone steady. Not scared, only sure as you looked into Azriel’s eyes.
“You have ruined everything.”
And Azriel felt it. From your words and in the bond. He really had ruined everything.
a/n: well well well…looks whose back starting another fic when she has loads still incomplete 🫢 I’ve had this idea for ages, and I’ve honestly been writing it forever. Ask @illyrianbitch she’s knows how much I’ve struggled to get this out. Hoping posting this first part will get me out of my writing slump! But anyway my loves - enjoy xx
Description: Born in the Spring Court, your magic was all too common. But you were needed in the Inner Circle, even if you feel you constantly have to prove that by taking on missions.
You sit in front of Rhysand, legs elegantly crossed in front of you, notebook open as Azriel paces the office, rambling details and updates his spies from Spring provided.
You used to think it would hurt to hear someone talk so negatively about where you grew up. You used to love everything about Spring, about your ability to heal and revive, you felt like you fit perfectly. You were shown quickly that wasn't the case, no use for your powers in a place where so many others had the same.
The Night Court provides you with purpose, even if 90% of your job is cataloguing information and acting more of an assistant than a true member of the Inner Circle. But you took the opportunity, especially as you didn't have any other options.
"We're talking about a potential biological weapon here, Rhys. With Tamlin out-of-action, rebels can operate unchecked." Azriel finally takes the seat next to you, leaning forward on his elbows across the desk.
"I'm well aware of what this means. It would be ideal if we could collect a sample." Rhys folds his hands over his mouth.
"I can't get a precise location, they're too deep in the woods. I'm not sending anyone out with such unfamiliar terrain."
You feel the thought bubble up in your chest before you brain catches up. "I could go."
"No," Azriel stares at you.
"Rhys, I grew up in those woods. I know exactly what species of plant you're after. I can find them if you give me the chance."
You've always been filled with a need to prove yourself. Everyone around you seems to be slightly smarter, slightly more talented, slightly stronger. You can never catch up. Whether you're proving your capability to your boss or yourself, you're never sure.
"Respectfully," Azriel speaks carefully. You hate when people start a sentence like that. It's belittling. "You haven't been there without the protection of an active High Lord. There are many species of faeries you never would have encountered while Tamlin patrolled his lands."
"Please, we studied all of this in school. I may not have physically encountered them but I sure as hell know how to handle them." You set your notebook down. "Rhys, I can do this. I can be in and out in less than a day, I'll keep myself out of trouble."
"Your knowledge is certainly valuable for this," Rhys drawls.
"You're not seriously considering this?" Azriel stands again. "She's not even been trained yet!"
"I fit right in with the locals, the rebels won't even be able to detect where my alliance lies." And it's true, Azriel knows it. You are a Spring-born faerie, much easier to blend in than a Shadowsinger with Illyrian wings clammoring about.
"She's our best option, Az. You'll winnow her to the border tomorrow morning and bring her back once the plant has been collected."
"I won't let you down." You hide your triumphant smile.
"Az isn't wrong either," Rhys gives you a pointed glare. "Keep to yourself, talk to no one unless you absolutely must. I'll keep my mind open for communication, first sign of trouble and you let me know."
"Absolutely," you nod.
Azriel says nothing as he storms out of the room. You collect your notepad and follow him out.
🦇🪻🦇
The next morning, Azriel is silent as you stand next to him on the balcony.
"Good morning," you greet cheerfully, not expecting him to respond.
He doesn't. He grabs your arm tightly and winnows.
Spring smells the same way you remember. It hasn't been very long since you left, but sometimes the scent will sneak into your more nostalgic dreams. You waste no time in crossing the border, leaving Azriel to brood by himself.
The woods shine charmingly around you, morning sunlight creeping through the leaves. Birds sing from the treetops, waking their furry friends on the forest floor.
You savor it for just a moment, closing your eyes. Suddenly, you're nine again, not a care in the world other than spending every single second soaking up the sun. Even in Velaris, spring is your favorite season.
After several hours of hiking alongside a glittering stream, you finally come upon a clearing. A field of beautiful purple flowers bloom. They look almost as if they're glowing and a strange haze settles around them.
You're in awe for a moment, seeing these rarities in person. They can be brewed into a tasteless, odorless, colorless tea and have varying effects on the consumer from hallucinations to death depending on the species and dosage.
There were stories you were told growing up of stupid teenagers hunting for these plants to achieve some kind of trip. Many were led to a quick death, others driven to insanity.
You pull a piece of fabric from your pocket and tie it securely over your nose and mouth. Even inhalation of the pollen can cause phantom sensations.
You carefully kneel on the edge of the clearing and begin to collect the plants, digging out the roots so they can be salvaged back in the Night Court.
With the flowers carefully tucked away, you make the journey back. You become somewhat aware of strange noises around you. Not completely out of the ordinary for the woods, certainly not this far out. The stream drowns out the soft footsteps following you.
Suddenly, you're pushed to the ground, a rock slicing into your cheek. You turn to see your attacker and find someone completely covered in random fabrics, only their eyes are visible.
You kick a leg up to throw them off balance, trying to stand, but they dodge and step on your other ankle. A sickening crack sounds through the air and your vision blurs.
The assailant reaches for your jacket, where the flowers are stowed, and you roll out of the way.
They pull out a knife and point it at your throat. "Sorry, can't let you take those."
"I'm just filling my stash at home," you lie easily. The pain from your ankle is starting to take up most of your headspace.
"I know you work for another court. I followed you this morning."
You mentally kick yourself for not noticing.
"Let's be realistic. You're clearly from the Spring Court, right?"
You nod.
"You must be lesser fae if you didn't hear me all day. What are they paying you to do their bidding?" The assailant pulls the fabric down from their mouth, breathing hard.
You take the opportunity to scramble out from under the knife, standing and taking a defensive stance. They can easily outrun you like this.
"Wouldn't you like to be able to live like high fae? Have the same positions they do instead of just carrying out their bidding?"
"I am treated as an equal. It's the Spring Court that's behind in that department." You try to buy yourself time as you slip your hand into the pocket with the flowers, grabbing one tight, crushing the petals in the process.
The assailant steps closer, knife at the ready. "We're not true equals anywhere."
You throw the crushed petals into the attacker's face. With their mask pulled down, they immediately breathe in the pollen.
They step back, stunned. They look around wildly, the effects of the flower already kicking in.
You try your best to hop-run further along the stream, keeping within the treeline. The sun is already beginning to set.
You pause, looking at the crushed remnants of the plant on your palm. You glance around to make sure the coast is actually clear before stepping out of the treeline and submerging your hand in the water.
You try to summon your magic, but whether from accidentally breathing in the petals when you threw them or tiredness, your magic refuses to listen.
Once your hand is clean, you continue on your back, the pain in your ankle growing with every passing in minute. But your best chance of getting help is reaching Azriel.
You figure you had to have been at least halfway back by the time you were attacked. You wouldn't make it back by dusk, but hopefully not too long after.
You slowly drag your hurt foot along, placing your weight on the other leg as much as you can. You keep telling yourself just a bit farther, just a few more steps as your vision begins to darken in the corners.
Finally, you can't carry on anymore, tears streaming down your face, stinging the cut you forgot about. Your ankle pulses as you fight off wave after wave of nausea.
You collapse against the base of a large tree. You know you're far too vulnerable sitting here like a waiting duck, but unless you plan to crawl in the dark, the tree at least offers some cover.
The sun fully settles into the horizon, leaving you in only the dim moonlight. Without the sun's warmth, your breath begins to frost in front of you as you shiver. The cold somewhat numbs the pain in your ankle though, for which you are grateful.
You fight to keep your eyes open. With the pain not as intense, exhaustion hits you like a brick. Coupled with your determination and adrenaline disappearing, sleep calls to you.
Something tickles along your arm. You jerk away, pulling yourself backward along the ground when you don't see anything. Awareness finally starts to kick back in and you hear heavy footsteps nearing you.
You try to pull yourself behind a bush, keeping your breathing as quiet as possible.
The footsteps grow louder and you peek through the leaves. You see the moonlit outline of Illyrian wings and almost cry with relief.
You brace yourself against a tree trunk as you pull yourself to stand. Azriel's shadows reach out to you, encircling your ankle immediately.
"Gods damnit, what happened?" Azriel rushes to support you as you stumble.
"Unexpected company." You give him a tight smile.
He says nothing as he slides his arm under your shoulders and winnows.
🦇🪻🦇
Rhys sits, looking rather disheveled, at his desk. Feyre walks around the room, trying to bounce Nyx to sleep.
"You were due back hours ago." Rhys sighs.
You push away from Azriel, careful to make it look like you're completely fine. You pull out the flowers and lay them on the table.
You choose to ignore Rhys's comment. "This should be enough to start a small crop, if you want."
"What happened to your face?"
"Tripped and fell." You focus on your balance and try to ignore the way your ankle screams.
"Azriel, what happened?"
Azriel, half hiding in his shadows, shrugs.
"I'm fine. I brought the samples. I just need to sleep it off," your voice starts to rise, startling Nyx. You clear your throat and take a breath. "I'm going to clean up."
You don't wait to be dismissed like you usually do. You turn on your good foot and walk normally, albeit agonizingly, out of the office.
Of course, Azriel follows you. You feel his presence.
"You need to see a healer," he mutters.
"I am a healer. I'm fine."
"Your ankle is broken."
"No shit. I can handle it." You use the wall as support as you try and distance yourself from him.
He doesn't leave you alone. "You used the flowers, didn't you."
Not a question. So you nod. "A rebel tried to interfere, I did what I had to do."
"You can't go to sleep with it like that. It'll heal wrong."
"I know that, Azriel. If you're going to insist on walking with me, then help me."
A guilty look crosses his face for a moment. You hold up an arm, expecting him to support you, when he picks you up instead.
"Azriel!"
"You told me to help. I'm helping."
You could slap him.
He takes a turn to the left. "Where are you taking me?"
He doesn't respond, doesn't say anything until he opens the door to his own room. He sets you down on his bed.
"Azriel, what are you doing? I'm covered in dirt, why-"
He cuts you off by kneeling in front of your ankle, now swollen and bruised.
You blink. "Hey-"
You scream as he suddenly reaches out and sets the bone without warning.
"Cauldron, Azriel, what the hell!"
"I'm helping."
"I only meant help me to my room!" You're sweating from the pain now. You hear the bath magically start running in the next room.
Without another word, Azriel picks you up and carries you to the bathroom.
"I can move on my own."
He begins removing the outer layer of your clothes, shutting you up. You don't kick back into action until your pants are on the floor and Azriel is carefully maneuvering them around to not touch your ankle.
"I got it." You lightly smack his hand away. He wants to play this game? You can play, too. You start unclipping your bra and Azriel hastily turns around.
You're not sure why you're so compliant with him. It's probably the flower. Probably.
You sink yourself into the tub, feeling the dirt and sweat begin to pleasantly melt away. When you stop moving, fully submerged, Azriel looks at you again.
His eyes are glued to the cut on your face. He grabs a washcloth and wets it, gently wiping away the dried blood. The closeness takes your breath away.
"it's okay not to do everything yourself, you know," he gently guides your head down to the water and begins washing it.
"what's that supposed to mean?" But all the fight from your tone is gone. "Why do you care what happens to me? You don't want me to be a part of this team, anyway."
"I don't want you to be a part of it because I don't want you to get hurt. Exactly like you did." He massages shampoo through your hair and you feel your body relaxing. "And for the record, I care a lot."
I'm beginning to see that. You don't say anything for a few moments, letting this new reality sink in.
"I guess I'm always trying to prove that I deserve to be here," you start softly. "I want to show people what I'm capable of."
"I know you're capable of doing whatever you want. Doesn't mean you need to go running into needless danger to prove it." He begins running the washcloth over your body, not lingering on any spot too long. Just focused on the task at hand.
"Thank you," you say, finally meeting his eyes. "For coming to get me and . . . everything."
"Of course, Angel." A small smile creeps across his face. Your heart does something funny at the word, but you're not ready to unpack that yet.
