Summary: Azriel’s shadows have always been an extension of his soul, but none more than the one that refuses to leave your side, even when he’s away. It watches, protects, and lingers in the darkness, whispering promises of the mate who would burn the world to keep you safe.
The first time you noticed it, you had woken in the middle of the night, the dim moonlight casting long, jagged shadows along the walls of your bedroom in the House of Wind. You had reached for Azriel’s side of the bed, only to find it empty and cold. Gone on a mission, as he so often was.
But you weren’t alone.
A whisper of darkness slithered along the edge of the mattress, coiling in the space between you and the emptiness he had left behind. Not touching, not pressing—but there. Watching.
Your breath caught, but not in fear.
Because you knew it. Knew the way it moved, the way it pulsed and trembled like it was breathing. Like it was alive.
Like it belonged to him.
Azriel’s shadow. His favorite one, or so you teased him. And it never left you.
You lifted a hand, letting your fingers brush the air near it. It stilled, almost as if leaning into the phantom touch.
It wasn’t enough.
Azriel was gone. And though he’d promised to return soon, though he had murmured against your lips that he’d be back before you even had the chance to miss him, you had. Gods, you had.
But this shadow…
It stayed. It curled around the bedpost at night, keeping silent vigil over your restless dreams. It hovered at your back in the training ring, tensing whenever Cassian’s strikes got too close, or when another male lingered in your proximity for too long.
It coiled tighter, closer, when you walked through Velaris at night. A soft, slithering promise that if anything, anyone, dared to so much as breathe the wrong way in your direction, they would not live long enough to regret it.
And you had never felt safer.
"You know," Cassian said one evening, perched lazily on the balcony railing, "you might be the first person in history to be shadow-kissed."
You scoffed, tossing a grape at him. "I am not shadow-kissed."
Cassian caught it in his mouth, grinning. "Tell that to the one wrapped around your ankle right now."
You glanced down, and sure enough, a tendril of darkness was coiled there, looping loosely around your skin in a way that felt less like protection and more like possession. Like it needed the contact.
Like it needed you.
Heat licked up your spine.
Cassian smirked, watching the way your expression shifted, how your fingers clenched slightly in the fabric of your dress. He exhaled dramatically, shaking his head. "Gods, he’s so far gone for you, it’s painful to watch."
Your stomach flipped. "He doesn’t even know."
Cassian snorted. "Doesn’t know? You think Azriel doesn’t notice where his shadows go? Pa-lease. That male probably feels every damn movement it makes."
You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but a familiar shift in the wind had your pulse stuttering.
The scent of cedar and cold night air curled around you before you even saw him.
Azriel landed with a predator’s grace, his wings rustling softly as they folded behind him. His gaze, sharp as a blade, golden as molten amber, went straight to you. Then to the shadow coiled at your feet.
Something flickered in his expression.
A quiet storm.
Cassian, ever the instigator, let out a low whistle. "Told you," he muttered, before clapping Azriel on the back and striding inside, leaving the two of you alone beneath the stars.
Silence stretched. Taut. Heavy.
Azriel was still watching. Unmoving.
And then, voice like rough velvet, he murmured, “It won’t leave you alone.”
It wasn’t a question.
You swallowed. "I don’t mind."
His jaw tightened. "It should listen better."
A tremor rolled through the shadow, as if in protest. You glanced at it, then back at him, searching his face for the truth beneath his words. "You told it to stay, didn’t you?"
Azriel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. He said nothing.
Didn’t need to.
The truth was in the way his hands flexed at his sides, like he was restraining himself. It was in the way his wings tensed, the way his breathing was just a little too controlled.
You took a step forward. His shadow curled tighter around your ankle.
"You knew it was with me," you murmured, "this whole time."
A slow, shallow exhale. "Yes."
Your heart pounded.
"You told it to protect me."
"Yes."
Another step. "Why?"
A muscle in his jaw ticked.
His wings flared just slightly, his control slipping. His shadows twined around his fingers like they, too, were struggling to hold him back.
"You know why," he rasped.
Say it.
The words hung between you, unsaid.
Azriel stared at you like he was already bracing for impact. Like he was preparing for rejection, for the inevitable unraveling of whatever fragile thing had built itself between you.
You reached for him. He stiffened, but didn’t pull away.
Foolish, foolish male.
Your fingers traced the ridges of his scarred knuckles, the calloused tips of fingers that had done unspeakable things. And yet—he trembled beneath your touch like he had never been touched before.
Like you were something sacred.
You lifted his hand. Pressed it to your chest, just above your racing heart. "Say it."
His throat worked around the words. His shadows curled around you like they could say it for him.
But then, barely a whisper, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it—
"You’re mine."
Your breath hitched.
A shuddering exhale left him, his control finally, blessedly breaking. His other hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward him. His thumb brushed over your cheek, soft. Reverent.
"I will always protect you."
Your lips parted, your hands sliding up the hard planes of his chest, over the rapid thrumming of his own heart.
"You already do," you whispered.
He made a sound, half relief, half something darker, and then his mouth was on yours.
And gods.
It was devastating.
Azriel kissed like a male who had spent centuries wanting and never having. He kissed like he was dying and you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth.
His hands mapped the length of your spine, pulling you against him, until there was nothing—nothing—but him. His warmth, his shadows, the soft, quiet tremor of his breath as he whispered your name like a prayer against your lips.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, and he let out a sound that was almost a growl.
"Az," you murmured, tilting your head back, baring your throat to him. An offering.
His lips traced the sensitive skin there, his breath warm, unsteady. "You’re mine," he said again, this time with certainty, with possession. "And I'm yours."
And gods help anyone who ever dared to threaten what was his.
Because Azriel’s shadows had always been an extension of himself. But none more than the one that had never left you. The one that had sworn, just as he had, to keep you safe.
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✧.* fluff ⋆ | ˚꩜｡ series | ⚠︎ angst | ✪ g's star reads | 18+ below the cut
@illyrianbitch
˚꩜｡ Are We Still Friends?
You and Azriel have been best friends for centuries.
⚠︎ Breathe
Azriel has a panic attack. You help him through it.
@dumb-ster-fire
✧.* Just a dress ✪
While shopping with Mor, Y/N is asked to model a beautiful wedding dress for a bridal shop in need of a last-minute replacement. She agrees, enjoying the fun of it—until Azriel, her mate, sees her. His shadows tighten, his gaze dark and intense. It’s just a dress… so why does it feel like something deeper?
✧.* His Unholy Voice ✪
Cassian dares Azriel to call Y/N a “good girl,” and the River House descends into chaos.
@miryum
✧.* You've Got Stars in Your Eyes so Let's Paint the Sky ✪
Azriel “mourns” his wife
⚠︎ A Lovely Person
Y/n loses their memories and instantly clinging to someone. Problem is, it’s the wrong person. It’s actually their enemy.
@surielstea
✧.* Undercover Affection
While on a mission with Azriel, you must pretend to be a couple. During which it’s revealed that Azriel and you are mated.
@prythianpages
✧.* Take Me Home
When Azriel gets drunk, he forgets he has a wife.
✧.* Kiss It, Kiss It Better
Even the strongest need a little extra loving sometimes.
@tarotsoul
✧.* Loving You (Loving Me)
In the five centuries of his life, Azriel has never had someone take care of him the way that Y/N does, and he can't seem to stop those dark, unworthy thoughts from resurfacing.
@velarisdusk
✧.* Something Precious
Azriel has always been steady, unwavering—but the way you look at him makes something shift. Small moments, fleeting words, a tension neither of you acknowledge… until it’s impossible for him to ignore.
@heirofshadowsingers
✧.* Wanna be yours
When you fall asleep on his shoulder, Azriel does not know what to do, and everyone are being so damn loud.
@azsazz
✧.* All's Well That Ends Well
You would wear Azriel's jersey over your dress any day if he wanted you to.
@pellucid-constellations
✧.* Against the World
Azriel learns that loving a human means loving the uncoordinated and the injury-prone and the acceptance that he can't save you from it all.
✧.* Knowing you
Azriel was intimidating, scary—a menacing presence in almost every setting. But not to you. Never to you.
⚠︎ I got you babe
when Azriel collapses from his fever while you're on vacation, you, the only person he'll accept help from, hurry home to nurse him back to health
@cyberlanes
✧.* Shadowing Affections
Azriel's shadows seem to have a mind of their own, when it comes to you.
@azrielbrainrot
🔞 After the Show
Azriel invites you to another of his concerts and you can't stop thinking about how hot he is the whole time.
🔞 An Exercise in Patience
Your plan to bother Azriel while he's working fails, or maybe it doesn't.
🔞 After the Show
Azriel invites you to another of his concerts and you can't stop thinking about how hot he is the whole time.
🔞 An Exercise in Patience
Your plan to bother Azriel while he's working fails, or maybe it doesn't.
🔞 The Offering
Two spymasters of different courts get sent on the same mission. What could go wrong?
🔞 Drunk on You ✪
You and Azriel were just friends. Then came the dancing. The kiss. The night you stopped pretending.
@cosmic-whispers
🔞 In the Shadows
When Rhysand forces you and Azriel on a mission in Hewn City, you find yourselves in a pleasure hall with lowered inhibitions and rising tensions.
@krymawrites
🔞 a loving touch
Azriel had spent his entire life wishing for this—for you.
Summary: Anon Reqs: destination-unknown I still cannot let this one go, the best thing I’ve ever read on this app 😭 I wish he would choose us in another part // Writing this to notify you about the urgent need for pt2 of the following Rhys fics: waiting for the creation of Destination unknown
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 1967
(Part 1)
Notes: It's been over 2 years since part 1 😅 If any of the OG's are here, you're troopers! ily 💙 breaking my own heart with this one too
_________________________________________
“The girl that saved us. She’s my mate.” The words rattle in your head again and again and a-godsdamned-gain.
The crinkle of the paper in your hands draws your attention to the present. You sigh, dropping the paper to the familiar deep cherry desk. The one that you’ve been sitting at for the last fifty years while the man you loved was trapped by a vicious witch under the mountain.
This place—Rhysand’s office within the House of Wind—had once been your place of solace. Your beacon of hope. You and the High Lord of the Night Court had spent a healthy amount of time in this room of the house, first as his second in command, and then as his lover. It had been one of the places you swore you could still feel him when he was prisoner beneath her reign.
You had taken over like any second would, made sure that Velaris stayed hidden and safe. There weren’t many executive decisions to be made in the last fifty years, menial things like the agreement to build a new wing of the Rainbow, making sure that the city could still deal and trade without being snuffed out.
Now, this office serves as a reminder. A reminder of what you lost. The male that you gave your heart to, the same one who’d survived the horrors of Amarantha’s reign, made it back to the Night Court safely, with another woman’s name on his lips.
Feyre, he’d admitted, violet eyes wide and haunted with not only the horrors he so desperately tried to lock away, but with shock and surprise. He found his mate, the voice in your head rings again.
As much as it tears your heart to shreds, Rhysand deserves nothing more. You’ve always had an inkling that you weren’t his mate. He’d occasionally make offhanded comments about dreams he had, visions, he’d sometimes call them. Listening to the horrors he’d been through, surrounded by the rest of his Inner Circle, those sights had made sense.
It’s been two weeks since Rhysand has been back. Recovering. Mor had taken it upon herself as caregiver to her cousin. Cassian and Azriel visited the High Lord in his wing of the house often. Amren, too. The side you couldn’t bring yourself to pay visit to.
He’s asked for you. You can’t count the number of times Mor has barged into this very office—the one you rarely leave these days—and demanded that you come see him. That you’re hurting him worse by staying away. Now that Rhysand is back, that Amarantha is gone for good and the city no longer has to hide, there are things to do, cities to check in on, damage that needs to be assessed, and courts that need correspondence.
It's given you an escape. You can’t muster up the confidence to go visit Rhysand just as he can’t do the same to visit you. You’re terrified of what he’ll say, the very thing you’ve been trying to wrap your head around since the night of his return. To accept the inevitable.
That he’s no longer yours.
You smooth the wrinkled paper out on the desk, trying to refocus. It’s late. A gentle breeze sweeps in through the balcony doors, a chill that skitters down your back. The stars and moon shine brightly in the sky, and for a moment, you envy their light, their happiness. It seems that they’re even brighter since the return of the High Lord.
You can’t help that your mind wanders. To her. You wonder what she looks like, how she acts. She must be confident, strong-willed. She must be beautiful. You hope more than anything that she’s kind. She must be, for a human to give her life to save the Fae, the same ones that have abandoned the human-realm for their own selfish reasons.
In a way, it makes sense. Of course, the female who could take down someone as powerful as Amarantha would be Rhys’ mate.
There’s a soft knock on the study room door. One that makes you freeze. It’s not Mor, because she wouldn’t have knocked, she would have stormed into the room, he bouncy, blonde hair swishing behind her shoulders and a fire in her eyes. The both of you have leaned on each other for fifty years, you consider her one of your closest friends. But not even she could convince you to see Rhysand.
You’ve tried, too. Tried to make it to that side of the house, to where, admittedly, you’d slept in his bed the entirety of his time away. When you could sleep, that is. Surrounded by the night-chilled scent of him, lingering on the pillows.
The abrupt change from not sleeping there at all has been taxing.
You stand when the door cracks, busy yourself with the papers scattered around the desk. They’re organized perfectly, but you leaf through them again. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, not even when he enters the room fully and the doors snicks behind him.
Your name is a mummer. Relief? Maybe. Sorrow. Yes. The. Sound makes your throat tighten. You never thought you’d hear your name on his lips again.
The papers in your hands crinkle again.
You don’t know what to say. Your throat is clogged with emotion and your heartbeat is a racing mess. Your knees are seconds from giving out. Your fingers are trembling. You’re not ready for this, not ready to face him again.
You can feel those violet eyes on you like you have a thousand times before. Can feel the way he’s drinking you in. Or maybe he’s comparing you to how you looked the night he left, the same disheveled hair but for a much different reason. You’re sure you look worse with the dark circles under your eyes and the way your shoulders sag like there’s a hundred pounds draped across them.
Suddenly, you feel underdressed. You should have cleaned up your appearance, taken a shower, ran a brush through your hair.
Tears sting your eyes when your sabotaging mind tells you that it no longer matters.
You stack the papers together and tap them on the desk. “I’ve kept everything as much of the same as I could.” It’s difficult to admit, but talking about what’s been going on in the City of Starlight is a safe topic. Surely, he will want to know, will want to visit soon, show that he’s still the strong and in charge High Lord he was. “You’ll read about it in my reports.”
You say it like you’re ready to resign your position. You’d hate it if you could no longer help the city that you’ve loved and spent the last fifty years managing. Your heart breaks a little in your chest.
You’ve spent every moment since Rhysand’s come home writing the report. Spent every day of the last fifty years writing it, to be honest. In case there was a day that he’d come back. You haven’t left out a single detail.
The past two weeks have been spent refining it, removing some of the more inappropriate stories and comments now that he’s found his other half.
He says your name again, louder this time. You can hear the hurt in his tone, but he doesn’t move closer.
You continue to brush him off. Your head is spinning and you can barely breathe. You don’t know what to do. It feels as if the two of you are strangers. “Now that you’re back, I need to check on all of the other cities and camps within the Court,” your voice is tired. You don’t know what to think. He’s back, and he has a mate. Someone he’s destined to fall in love with. It hurts. “I’ve sent missives. I’m headed out in the morning.”
“Please,” he begs, and the emotion in his voice gives you pause. Makes your heart break. You know it isn’t easy, to be so vulnerable after having to be so strong for half a century. Tears sting your eyes. The tips of Rhysand’s shoes enter your line of vision. “Please, look at me.”
You shake your head and swallow thickly. If you look at him, see the devastation in his eyes, worse, the hope for his mate, it will destroy you. You know it will.
“Autumn has written, too,” you continue, but your voice trembles so much you’re not sure you can continue. You can gallivant all around the continent, but it won’t change the fact that the male you love is back, and has a mate. Eventually, you’ll come home, and when you do, maybe she’ll be here, maybe they’ll be joyous and in love and— “They’re asking for resources, to help rebuild.”
This time, he doesn’t hesitate. An unknown force drives him around the edge of the desk, and before you know it the papers in your hands are hitting the wood and you’re facing him, your chin tilting up by his gentle hands.
Tears leak from the corners of your eyes and you clamp them shut before they latch onto those violet pools you know so well. You don’t want to see the heartbreak in them. You don’t want to see the remorse. You can’t. You’re not ready to give him up, because he’s all that. You’ve ever loved and—
“Please,” he says brokenly, so helplessly that you can’t help yourself.
You peek open your eyes.
And Rhysand looks utterly crushed.
His own eyes are filled with tears. Fingers trembling as his thumbs stroke your cheeks, catching the unstoppable rivers.
He looks almost exactly like he had the night he left. Older, somehow. His violet eyes aren’t lit with excitement and arousal, but burnt out with the horrors of what he’s been through. You can’t even imagine what happened to him in those fifty years, but you know Rhysand well enough to know that he would have done anything to protect his people, to help in any way that he could.
There are no words to be exchanged. You and him have always been like this, on the same page. You know exactly what he’s thinking, and you know exactly what he is.
You sob into him as he presses his mouth against yours. You cling to his arms, digging your nails into his skin. It’s a desperate kiss, too harsh and your teeth clack together in a disjointed plea. It feels nothing like you know. It feels final.
Like this is the last taste of him you’re ever going to get.
“Darling,” his voice breaks when you part. In this moment, you know. That this is all real. Rhysand is back. He’s back and he has a mate.
“I know Rhys,” your words are a wet whisper, and the smile that you try to force onto your face wobbles and falls. You clutch his arms tightly. You don’t want to let go but you know that you have to. “I know.”
Warnings: High angst, drama, fluff, injury, Tamlin
Synopsis: After your abrupt exit from the night court you return to your worldly travels but the rising threat of war with Hybern has Rhysand seeking out his favourite weapon once again
Synopsis: You were gifted with the ability to mirror other fae's magic with a simple touch and your free spirit nature leads you to cross very close to the borders of a hidden city, where your future best friends and soulmate snatch you out of the sky to protect their border.
Inspired by Who's Afraid of Little Old Me & My Tears Ricochet by Taylor M.F Swift
A/N: Welcome to part two of this dramatic guy! Sorry for the lil wait! Let me know what you think friends!
You passed through the mist like the shadows of the night that swaddled you, deep south in Prythian, practically in the Mortal Realm. Spring Court had crumbled to the weeds and whims of the High Lady of Night, your mortal enemy that you never met. You drifted from the face of the earth like the ghost Rhysand’s neglect had turned you into, banished to exile from the world that broke your body before breaking your spirit. You adjusted to the loneliness with surprising ease, melting back into the solitary figure you were when taken from the skies above Velaris, your free spirit exchanged for a shattered one. The events of the budding war with Hybern came to your knowledge through the ever-winding grapevine of gossip and tales. The very escapades of your former family and its new members provided you with equal amounts of amusement and worry.
“Bad dog!” You flung your shoe playfully at the great towering beast at the entrance of the cave you were currently occupying, the green-eyed beast released a growl as he dropped the carcass of the freshly slaughtered deer on your doorstep, tracking blood all over the rock.
“How I love your visits dear YN” He growled before tilting his head slightly and returning to the wild. You and Tamlin now had a shared interest in your hatred of the Night Court’s leadership, his welcome of your travels through the shell of his court for the first time in centuries gave you the flicker of a homily feeling you’d banished from your heart. You used the Spring Court as you had The Middle, as a base of operations before travelling to see every inch of the world you could. He offered to bring you to the countless run-ins he had had with the Court of Dreams as a new war with Hybern began to threaten the peace. You weren’t really sure if it was so much because of Rhysand that it was because of Azriel that you hadn’t returned, the shattered friendship too much to think of. You watched an onyx shadow leak from your knotted knuckles, the last trace of Azriel you had to hold on to. Your shadows pulled along the carcass of the animal, the sight turning something in your stomach. You shuddered slightly, a sense of alarm growing in you at something in your world being tampered with.
You winnowed to the ruins of the Tamlin’s residence, the shell of once reviled power and grace much like the owner. Traipsing up the steps of the crumbling house, the sound of a male you hadn’t heard from in such a long time rocketed through your system.
“Rhysand?” You heard your voice speak without making the conscious decision to, Tamlin lifted his head from his hands as he sat at the rotting table, Rhysand spinning with unusual unease at the sound of your voice.
“YN-” He took a step towards you instinctively, you following your own intuition, stepping back from him. “-You’re here?”
“No need for the personal visit High Lord, if you wanted me dead you should have just said”
“YN, I can’t believe you’re really here” He wasn’t sure why he was so surprised, his best had tracked your movements to the discarded court.
“Funny, I was going to say the same thing to you. Why are you here?” You chewed out, the ghost of a smirk passing Tamlin's face.
“Just visiting the High Lord of Spring”
“Why? Need him as a weapon? Find value in him now you need him for war games?” Your icy words plummeted the temperature in the room, Rhysands wings slumping.
“YN, don’t be like that”
“You can leave, Tamlin like many others, do not need you to faux interest in our lives for them to hold value” You circled around the table, running parallel to him across the dissolving oak to land next to Tamlin as he sat back in his chair, quietly smug.
“So, are you in love?” You laughed at his question, Tamlin matching the sound.
“No, I think you took any ability for me to feel that from me” Rhysand searched your eyes for the way you used to look at him, for any semblance of the female who’d cleave the world apart for him, for any leverage he might still have with you.
“You’ve made your request Rhysand, go” Tamlin found some ounce of long-dead confidence in him to shun the Lord of Night.
“Hm” Was all he replied, moving to dissolve but stopping to witness a small shadow leak from your fist, a sign you had potentially seen Azriel recently, not the truth which was that you had kept the shadows with you since you fled, the last connection to a feeling of home. He nodded his head, a small laugh leaving him before vanishing. You pushed the back of Tamlin's chair to turn him to face you in his seat.
“What request?”
“Hybern is preparing to rage a war, he needs further assistance” He practically whispered before standing again and crossing the ruins of the dining room.
“So I was right, he did just want you as a weapon”
“Actually-” his hand landed on the heavy door “-He wanted you” Tamlin melted into his beast form once again, leaving you to think through the words, your eyes looking down to the scars the last Lord of Night had left you.
—--------------------------
You winnowed to a high mountain top you hadn’t graced in some time, your eyes looking upon your formerly beloved home of Velaris, the word home like acid in your throat. You looked towards the Town House, the once monument to your love, a mausoleum to it now. You sighed aloud before turning towards the House of Wind, something calling out to you through the night air, an idea growing in you. the sound of your feet hitting the stone gently filled the library. The dark shrouded you with unnatural warmth as you called quietly into the hollow pit for an old friend of yours.
“Little mirror, you have returned”
“Bry, don’t be coy with me” You could hear the creature of nightmares smile through the shadows.
“What do I owe this long overdue visit my little mirror?” You could feel its energy swirling around you but keeping enough distance so as not to risk you mirroring it.
“Hybern is planning to attack and I wish to know what side of the aisle you find your wonderful self on” You had thought of your old friend as the perfect addition to a team you had no plan on being directly involved with.
“They have not yet asked my little mirror” The chill of its voice met your skin with a flush of contrasting warmth, inspecting you for any trace of harm.
“When they do, bargain for something of little matter to you that they can’t refuse and then once you have completed your task, go free”
“Indeed-” he hummed at your self-assured tone “-why bother trying to help them little mirror?”
“Let's say it’s out of habit” you laughed lightly, the wisps of dark air feeling as though a grin could be felt in them. You looked up to the mouth of the pit above you, the faint outlines of bookshelves shrouded in darkness haunting above.
“Ask for a window Bry, you deserve to see the world you will once again grace” Energy graced over your hand in thanks so easy for you to capture and yet it had no value to you T when compared to the sentiment of what you had at your finger tips. The sound of footsteps up above had you jolting slightly, retreating further into the dark so as not to be seen.
“Be safe friend” You whispered softly before winnowing out of the depths.
—-----------------------------------------
Shadows sank into the cobblestone as you manifested on the singing streets, your feet felt light along the heavy rock, practically levitating towards your old haunt. You stood at the gate of the Town House, the shadows of the residence dancing across the candlelight in the window, happy fae dancing in the streets as if not in the presence of the creature they turned you into.
The Town House was decorated to within an inch of its life, banners and streamers flowing freely from every corner as music sang through the house to the garden where the majority of the party was revelling in the moonlight. You followed the radiate path to the garden you’d spent years cultivating, willingly ignoring the changes to decor made by the new Lady of Night.
You watched the Inner Circle at the bottom of the garden, your former family rejoiced in celebration of the birthday of a fae you only knew through stories of the Hybern War. Nesta glowed in the moonlight. You looked among the now expanded Inner Circle, Azriel noticeably missing as you took another step down the path, Cassian swirled Nesta around, you smiled genuinely at the sight, so happy to see him happy. The smile faded as Rhysand did the same to Feyre before they walked hand in hand to the other side of the garden, your once favourite spot, the perfect view of the Sidra.
You found your feet taking you in their direction, slightly secluded from the rest of the Inner Circle. The sound of your steps on the soft grass made a silent sound that sent shivers down Rhysand’s spine as he turned to see you standing on top of the slope, staring down at them.
The music seemingly stopped dead, your appearance at the party stopping the revelry like a record scratch as you spoke-
“Doesn’t look much like a war is nigh right now, now does it?” You clasped your hands in front of you, eyes burning into the former love of your life.
“YN-I-”
“This is YN?” Feyre stepped from behind her mate, her beauty illuminating the path up to you and you hated her for it, you looked around at the world you believed she stole from you but realised as quickly it was Rhysand who had committed the theft. Feyre moved to close the distance between you both, stepping from her mate's grasp to practically square off to you. You could feel the power radiating from her, so tempting to take but would replace the last scrap of Azriel you had access to. Still, you enjoyed the thought of rattling Rhysand.
“Ah, Feyre, Rhysand’s lovely High Lady of Night, I don’t think we’ve had the displeasure of formally meeting” You outstretched a hand, she instinctively went to take hold of it, and Rhysand immediately pulled her back.
“Don’t let her touch you!” He ordered, some fae looking in your direction at the disturbance to their antics.
“Who’s afraid of little old me?” You laughed again, it reverberating off Feyre’s chest
“Don’t go near her”
“Where is this hostility coming from Rhysand, I seem to remember it was you who made the first act of aggression” You lifted the small cuff of your sleeve, the hint of a small arrow-shaped scar still marking you centuries later.
“Leave YN”
“You sought me out, I’m returning the visit” Feyre’s head darted towards her mates at the revelation.
“Oh? He didn’t tell you? My my always one for secrets Rhysand” you tsked, circling them as Rhysand’s father once had done to you, a hunter and her prey.
“YN, I’m am celebrating with my family, if you could extend some courtesy and-”
“Courtesy!?-” You scoffed loudly “-You crossed out the good years with me, cursed me the moment I treated you with the same respect you’d given me for years, banished me to the same solitude you used me to escape from! So you don’t deserve courtesy! And now, even when you are mated to pure power, I can tell you wish I stayed, you curse my name wishing I stayed! Your favourite fucking weapon!” Years of repressed anger flooded from you to the space between you and the mates, Rhysands face greying as he clutched onto Feyre’s hand like you may steal her away forever.
“I-I didn’t do anything to you YN, I just fell into this world, this was hard on everyone” Feyre rattled out, your heated gaze landing on one of the most powerful fae to grace Prythian. You took a deep breath in before speaking again-
“Oh boo freaking hoo-” "You found yourself laughing coldly “-Figure out the Hybern thing by yourselves, I’ve already had enough” You span on the ball of your foot, striding up the very path you had designed to get the best view of the garden.
“And those new curtains look horrific!” You called back over your shoulder to the mates before reentering the house you wished to burn to the ground with your vitriol.
-
You returned to the now suffocating air of the Velaris streets, feet bouncing off the cobble as you walked down the hill, your muscle memory bringing you down the way to one of your favourite spots in the city. The moment your mottled shaking hands met the cooling brick of the Sidra’s boundary wall, the tsunami of tears you fought every day since leaving flooded your atmosphere.
“YN?” Azriel crossed the same bridge you said goodbye to him on those years before, the paper bags containing Mor’s favourite alcohol smashed to the stone floor. The stream of oak-coloured liquid flowed to your shoes. Shadows darted around you like dogs flocking to their owner after a long time apart. You laughed at the feeling of them swirling around you, lightly nipping at your face in their own form of pecks to the cheeks, banishing tears. You managed to open your eyes between their displays of affection to find Azriel standing with pure shock on his face, arms hanging by his sides and wings dipping to match.
“Am I hallucinating?”
“No Az-” You smiled wide through tear-stained cheeks “-I came back to take another strip off of your dear brother” You watched him pinch his arm to ensure he was truly awake. Azriel then flew at you in a similar fashion to his shadows, wrapping his arms around you to practically crack your bones.
“Az-You’re-suffocating-me” You managed, laughing again once he gave enough of a release to allow your lungs to expand.
“Why is it every time I find you on this bridge you’re crying?” He wiped a thumb across a stray tear, your crooked hands holding his to your face before they could move back away.
“I love the drama” you laughed through fresh tears.
“Why are you back YNN?”
“Well, Rhysand came to visit me in Spring Court-” an almost growl left Azriel in response “-and he’s in need of his favourite weapon again” A definite growl left him this time, his hands dropping away from you as he turned to look back up the direction of the Town House.
“I told him to leave you alone, I didn’t track you down for you to be used as-”
“You what?” He turned back to your slightly tilting head.
“Well…you went radio silent on me, I had to make sure you were okay-” a shadow clipped his ear somewhat sharply “-We, we had to make sure you were okay. You left us” The last three words tinged with undeniable heartbreak, heartbreak you had felt yourself.
“Az, I had to leave”
“But you didn’t have to leave without me” an element of anger leached from him.
“Az”
“No, you left! Rhysand might have broken your heart but you obliterated mine! Chipped away at it over centuries” A sharpness never reserved for you cut into your skin with similar pain to what Rhysand’s father had dealt you.
“Azriel I’m sorr-”
“-It broke me every time you chose him and all he did was tolerate you! Tolerate the love I so desperately wanted! And now I watch as he gives Feyre even a fraction of everything you deserved and I hate that I didn’t fight harder for you! I hate it! Hate how he weaponised and ruined the love of my life!” His raised tone bounced off the flowing waters of the Sidra, the sound of his century's worth of repressed resentment tumbling out of him like the small waves hitting the boundary wall.
“YOU SAID YOU WANTED ME TO BE HAPPY EVEN IF IT MEANT RUNNING AWAY FROM ALL THIS!”
“BUT I THOUGHT YOU’D TAKE ME WITH YOU”
“I SHOULD HAVE! I FUCKING SHOULD HAVE!" You roared back, an onyx shadow of your own making curling around your vibrating fists, Azriel’s eyes shot towards them, his hand taking a gentle firm hold on your wrist before you could bolt out of his life again.
“You’re still mirroring me” he whispered so softly you thought you imagined it.
“Yeah… it was all I had left connecting me to you, to my home, to someone who would always do more than just tolerate my love” You returned the words with equal tenderness, eyes fixating on your shadows swirling into his, your eyes illuminating like they hadn’t since first landing on Azriel’s. His hand slipped from your wrist to your hand, chasms and fissures of equal cruelty knitting into one another so the skin may feel whole again.
“YN! You don’t get to leave like that!” Your heads moved in unison to look up towards an enraged Rhysand, you released Azriel’s hand on sight.
“You don’t control where I do and don’t go anymore Rhys” you chewed back.
“I am regretful for what happened and how it happened but don’t let the little incident that happened between us stop you from defending your people!”
“Little incident?” Your chilled laugh returned, a shiver running down Azriel at the sound.
“YN, be sensible here” Rhysand has his arms out as though trying to corral an animal as he steps towards you, Azriel instinctively standing between the two of you.
“YNN is entitled to spend the rest of her life how she wants to, she owes us nothing” His hardened stare cut through his brother, shadows swirling around his feet.
“Az, we need her power to-”
“-We need her to be happy, Rhysand. That’s what we always should have needed of her, we owe her everything. You took no issue in me destroying those who destroyed me, she should be given that option, even now” Azriel spoke with clear conviction, the words causing Rhysand to purse his lips in thought.
“If she doesn’t join then she will succeed in destroying us by not helping us” He looked around Azriel to you, your thoughts racing at the words. You stepped back from the two brothers, your shoes crushing the glass of the smashed bottles.
“Follow your own past decisions Rhys and don’t follow me” You dissolved in front of the two as they began to argue once again.
That day you watched Tamlin ready what little forces he had, the thought of your former family defending your homeland without your intervention ultimately being your deciding factor to join. That and the thought of giving Rhysand any semblance of moral high ground.
You transversed the battlefield in a shielded shadow, blasting the enemy as you flew alongside the Illyrian-winged warriors. A blood-curdling call of a female you didn’t know drew your attention downward as Cassian flew down past you towards her, too fueled with adrenaline to notice you follow closely as sudden strikes of pure cauldron power shot down and destroyed the warriors you had just flown alongside. You landed on the battlefield with such force it split the soil, Cassian’s head turning towards you rapidly locking eyes on you as you both found yourselves smiling at one another.
“YN, you came!”
“I miss you Cass, stay alive” You called back before bolting back into the now-cleared skies as more and more warriors rose to replace the fallen. From above, you covered Feyre unbeknownst to her, the collective goal having more importance in this moment. You watch as she reaches the cauldron with Amren allowing you to double back and continue your onslaught. Rhysand’s true beast form rises from the ground and you feel a bolt of fear at the pure sight of him. You swoop down to meet his side as he tears into the enemy, Helion dashing to join his side as he reforms himself into his beastly counterpart.
“YN!!!” Rhysand roars down to you as you sprint around him, you leap on top of a razor-sharp talon as he shoots towards the sky, your knotty hand pressing into the scales of the High Lord. The feeling of familiar pure unadulterated power coursed through your veins, never did you think you’d mirror the High Lord again, the traces of betrayal tinging the power as it blasted from your outstretched hands to mist a sizable amount of enemy forces. Bryaxis coursed around you, shielding you from any retaliation as Rhysand and Helion unleashed on the battlefield.
“I have to get to Feyre!” You hear Rhysand screech out as you cover him along his way towards his mate, the shift in the air undeniable as Amren is released from her bindings. You defend the space the cauldron occupies, allowing Rhysand to rush to Feyre’s side. Something cracks deep in you as you hear the High Lady of Night shriek in pure pain, fearing Rhysand has taken his final breath. You winnow to Tamlin as he sinks tendrils of power into some stragglers of the Hybern arm.
“Tam! With me!” He has no hesitation in taking your hand, you winnow with him to where the cauldron claimed its price, Feyre begging for help from the High Lords. A chill shoots up your spine, rattling your bones. Your face hardened before you reached for Helion’s hand, mirroring his energy before you sank back into the shadows, following your own thread to land alongside Azriel, his wings in tatters as you dropped to his side.
“YNN” he writhed out in pain, your arms encapsulating him, you feel Helion's power course through you as you attempt to heal him back to whole, your own body crying out in pain from the events of the war.
“It’s okay Azriel I’m here, I’m here” Your tears fell into his hair as you clung his head to your chest, his own heartbeat struggling to match yours. The light flowed across your disjointed digits, stitching the centuries-old wounds together as it poured into Azriel.
“I wish I didn’t let you leave that night YN”
“I wish I didn’t leave you that night” You cried out, gently rocking him back and forth, his hand landing on your forearm to hold you closer.
“I wish to carry a piece of you with me forever YNN”
“You can have all of me Azriel” You stretched down to meet his lips before he used what little energy he had to lean in, fully surrendering to every dream he dreamt of you from the moment you pulled the knife from his wing centuries ago. The glow that radiated from your energy returned and Azriel once again wished to bask in it for the rest of his days. His torn flesh stitched together as the healing energy flowed between the two of you. The feeling of home you never thought you’d have again blazed through every cell until it was just you, Azriel and shadows of onyx mirroring one another's endless hope for the future.
Hello! So, this is my very first fic that I'm posting on Tumblr. I hope somebody is going to enjoy it, I honestly just like writing little things and felt like finally posting it on here after being just a reader for the longest time. I would love some constructive criticism if anybody reads this and feels like giving some!
Also this felt kind of like a part one thing for me, I will most likely write more parts to this story!
part two part three
Summary: Reader is a handmaiden working for The High Lord of the Night Court and The High Lady. When she gets accidentally injured, Azriel, the High Lords spymaster, feels the mating bond snap into place.
Warnings: Slight mention of blood, mention of parents dying
Word count: 2.013
As a handmaiden for The High Lord of the Night Court your life wasn't all that bad. On the contrary, he was a very generous employer, making sure you always had enough food on the table, clothes on your body and enough free time to enjoy the vibrant life pulsing through Velaris.
Your only job was to keep the house clean and the family cared for. While the High Lady already had handmaidens caring for her, you mostly saw to the guests staying at The Town House, but mostly The High Lady’s sister Elain.
You had only been working here for a couple of weeks. Your father was one of the countless artists that lived and worked in Velaris, he was a musician, making sure the streets were filled with exquisite melodies. He passed away suddenly, following your mother who lost her life just a few years prior. You were alone now, no family left. Unfortunately, you were not as gifted as your father was, art never ran through your veins. You were still trying to figure out where your life was going to lead you when tragedy struck and everything changed. A small sum of money was left in a vault, enough to keep you going for a month or two, but you couldn’t rely on that. So, you asked your friend Cerridwen for help. Cerridwen and her twin sister Nuala had been working for The High Lord for a very long time and since the two of them were the only friend's you had, they quickly came to mind. They promised you they would keep their eyes open and ask around for work. You never expected to end up with them at The Town House, serving the inner circle of The High Lord, but you were glad your friends were able to get you solid work with a pay, that was probably way more than any other household in Velaris was able to pay their workers.
This morning you were lost in your own thoughts, not paying enough attention. While tidying up the sitting room you hit your shin on one of the ostentatious end tables, a wine glass from last night's gathering falling over, shattering on the floor. The wine also splashed on one of the luxurious white cushions that were placed on the sofa. Panicked, you took the cushion to the kitchen, scrubbing it what felt like hours. The stain just wouldn’t budge. You could have sworn it was laughing at you. When your hands started to get sore, you decided to give up, you would just have to throw it away. Maybe one of the twins would be able to tell you where to get a new one.
Even though The High Lord always treated you with the utmost respect, you were very shy around him. The power he gave off was almost frightening. Growing up in a family of fae, not high fae, you always felt like less than these beautiful creatures wandering Prythian. As a child you were dreaming about becoming one of them, even though you knew that was impossible. If you were high fae, you could probably just fix this mess by snapping your fingers or simply thinking about it.
You turned around to leave the kitchen, you still had to clean up the spilled wine and the glass shards from the floor. Kneeling down, you were lifting your skirt up a little bit so it wouldn’t get soaked and leave permanent stains. Carefully, you picked up all the glass, holding it with your left hand while wiping the wine away with a cloth you pulled out of your right skirt pocket. Suddenly, you heard commotion coming from the direction of the entrance to The Town House, “Stop shoving me!”, “How about you stop whining, you’ve been so sensitive all day!”, “Shut up, both of you, right now!”.
Oh no, they are here, you thought. From the sound of it, you were pretty sure that Cassian, Azriel and Morrigan were in front of the door. You got up quickly, tucking the cloth back into your pocket, holding the glass tightly in your hand. You really didn’t want to face them, you have been able to avoid anyone but The High Lord, The High Lady and her sisters since you started working for them. Mainly, you just didn’t know how to talk to them. They seemed so much larger than life, all of them. And what would they even have to say to me? You never really thought too highly of yourself, confidence was never your strong suit.
You swiftly tried crossing the hallway that was between you and the safety of the kitchen, from there you could easily slip into one of the homely guest rooms that were still waiting to be restocked. After a few steps, when you were next to the front door it unexpectedly and harshly swung open, clashing with you. You lost your balance, falling, landing roughly on your right side. The three members of the inner circle, that you were already expecting, entered the house. Although you’ve never met them properly, during your work you were able to catch a glimpse every now and then, sometimes even catching parts of their conversations. So, while they certainly had no idea who you were, you definitely knew them. The first one to notice you on the floor was Azriel. The High Lords spymaster.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you!” he knelt down, softly touching your shoulder. You have to admit, you had always liked to admire him from afar. He was the most handsome male you had ever seen. You were too stunned to speak, only able to stare into his hazel eyes. “Are you alright?”, he asked.
“Yes, I think so, no worries.” You barely got the words out, still mesmerized by him, completely forgetting the other two standing in the entrance.
“Shit, you’re bleeding!” The strikingly beautiful woman, Morrigan, said as she looked down to your hands. The glass shards, you thought as you opened your hand. You must have closed it out of reflex during the fall.
“It’s fine, it’s nothing, I’ll just go get it cleaned up.” You stammered, but Azriel grabbed your hand, taking a closer look at it.
“The cut looks pretty deep and it looks like there’s some glass in there. I’ll bring you to our healer.” Azriel said.
“That’s really not necessary, I can take care of it.” You tried one more time, but the handsome Illyrian was already pulling you up from the cold tiles. He completely ignored your request to tend to your wounded hand yourself and scooped you up in his arms.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking you to the healing quarters.” He said calmly. Before you were able to protest you were already up in the sky. Instincts made you hold on to his neck as tightly as possibly. You hated heights, in fact, you have been horribly afraid of them ever since you were a little child. Azriel must have noticed your discomfort, asking “are you okay?”.
“I’m really afraid of heights.” You got out with a shaky voice. It was almost not noticeable, but you were sure you felt his hands grabbing you just a little bit tighter.
“We’re almost there, don’t look down.”
After about a three-minute flight, you landed smoothly on a balcony that was just as impressive as the white building with golden decorations, that it clung to. He placed you gently on your feet, holding on to your elbow to stabilize your body.
“I think I’m going to be sick”, you said, determined to keep the contents of your stomach where they were, but it was too late. You turned to the railing, throwing your upper body over it and retching into the brisk morning air. Azriel seemed a bit startled at first, but he quickly caught himself and without even thinking about it, he held back your hair with both hands.
“I’m so, so sorry”, you pled, after you were done.
“Please, don’t be, it’s not your fault. I should apologize, I didn’t even ask if it’s okay to fly you here.” He looked at you, it was impossible to read his elegant face. You looked around and for the first time you noticed the shadows that were dancing around him gracefully.
He must have noticed the look you threw at them, as they suddenly disappeared behind his muscular body. “Sorry, they can be a bit frightening,” he said with a quiet voice.
“Oh no, I think they’re quite fascinating!” The words left your mouth way too eager and you immediately scolded yourself for it. He didn’t say anything, but he gave you a tender smile and goosebumps started forming on your body. Keep it together Y/N, you warned yourself.
“Let me get you to Madja.” Madja, the healer, you thought. You had seen her a couple of times at The Town House, tending to injured members of the inner circle.
You stepped into the quarters, Madja already walking towards you.
“She cut her hand pretty badly on some glass”, Azriel said. The healer took your hand and inspected it for a few seconds.
“I’ll take care of it.” Was all she said. She started guiding you away from Azriel and suddenly you felt a pull deep inside of you, that made you want to stay with him. Your heart started beating faster and you felt your cheeks flush as you took a look at him.
“Thank you”, you said in a shaky voice. Azriel stared at you, different than he had before, his eyes were wide open and he looked as if he’d seen a ghost. You gave him an unsure smile and turned away as he blurted out “Wait!” Madja stopped in her tracks, still holding your bleeding hand. “What’s your name?!” He jabbered.
“Y/N”, you answered.
“You’re welcome, Y/N.”
He still looked shocked, almost afraid. Before you could say anything else, he walked briskly towards the balcony, spreading his impressive illyrian wings and flew off.
Azriel
He flew through the cold, calm morning sky. It was supposed to wake him up, but the adrenaline was still pumping through his body. How was this even possible?
He went through the last few minutes in his head, he couldn’t believe it. But he had felt it, he could still feel it now, it was clear as day. When Madja took your hand to get you to another room, he suddenly felt it. It ran through his body like lightning struck him, it had almost brought him to his knees. And then he saw it, the mating bond. So clear, so golden, so pure. Right there in front of him, a bond flowing from him to you. He had never seen you at The Town House before, how long had you been working there? His heart was aching, he wanted to go back, talk to you, see you, make sure you were alright, try to make sense of this. She’s my mate, he thought as he shot down towards The Town House. He was so shaken that he stumbled a bit during the landing, crashing into the front door just like he did earlier today, when you were hit by it. The thought of your body hitting the hard floor suddenly made him cringe. Mor and Cassian were lounging in the sitting room, waiting for his arrival.
“That took forever”, Morrigan said as he slowly walked in, eyes still open in utter disbelief.
“What’s going with you?” Cassian asked.
“She’s my mate.” On his flight to the house, he swore to himself not to tell, but as soon as he was asked it felt so wrong to contain it. Somebody had to know.
“What? Who?” Mor got up from her seat.
“Y/N” Azriel mumbled as he sunk into the sofa.
“Who’s Y/N? What are you talking about?” Cassian started to get annoyed.
“The handmaiden. The one I just flew to Madja. Her name is Y/N and she’s my mate.”
As the morning lights filters in through the window, you begin to stir. When you open your eyes you notice the wings that are wrapped around you, as well as the dark haired man in front of you. A blush spreads across your cheeks as you think about the night you shared. Rhys notices your movements, and pulls you closer to him. You tilt your head up and place a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose, smiling to yourself. Rhysand mumbles something that sounds like, "g'morning darling." "Good morning my love," you say while giggling.
Rhysand's eyes fully open as he looks down at you, a warm smile taking over his face. "Shall we head down for breakfast?" With a flirty look on your face, you respond, "How about a bath and then breakfast?" He nods his head in agreement and then rises out of the bed. You take a moment to look at him, his wings stretching out before they come to rest against his back. He turns and reaches out to grab your hand, walking towards the bathroom with you.
Entering the bathroom, you lean down to turn on the faucet and jump as he gives you a playful smack on the rear. "Bubbles?" you say while looking back at him. "Of course," he smirks and reaches down under the sink. "We have lavender, vanilla, and a citrus blend. Which would you prefer?" You sigh and say, "Hmmm. You choose." "Lavender it is." He pours the bubble mixture into the faucet and you both watch as the tub fills with bubbles.
You are the first to step into the tub, pulling him in behind you. He sits down and spread his legs so that you can sit between them. You plop down and hand him the shampoo. "Can you wash my hair for me?" He grins, "Lazy woman." You playfully smack his arm. "It's your fault for taking such good care of me." He squeezes the bottle and rubs his hands together to lather up the shampoo before running it through your strands. His nails gently scrape along your scalp before he cups water in his hands and rinses out the shampoo. You two switch places and you wash his hair.
He opens the drain and you both step out to get dressed for the day. You wear your favorite dress, deep blue in color and silky to the touch. He selects a pair of black pants and a form-fitting shirt that accentuates his wings which are currently tucked behind him. You place a gentle kiss on his lips and you both head downstairs to spend the rest of the morning together.
authors note: this is my first time writing anything, so i'm sorry if it's too slow or if i didnt add enough dialogue. i was scared to write smut but might be open to it in the future. constructive criticism is definitely appreciated :) <3 send in requests!
Summary: Azriel had spent centuries in the dark, wrapped in silence and solitude, convinced that touch, real, unguarded touch, was not meant for him. Then he met you.
Azriel had never been touched without reason.
Every brush of skin against his had been purposeful, wounds being stitched, a sword being passed, a hand yanking him out of the wreckage of war. Even among the people who called him brother, who claimed to love him, touch had always been a rare thing. A clap on the shoulder from Cassian after a battle. A quick squeeze of his forearm from Rhysand before a mission.
It had never been more than that. Never just because.
So the first time you touched him, it had nearly unraveled him.
It had been so casual. Unthinking. The kind of touch people gave without realizing they were giving it. You had been standing beside him in the House of Wind’s training ring, sweat still damp on your brow, laughing at something Cassian had said. And as you turned toward Azriel, still grinning, you reached out—just a small thing, a fleeting press of your fingers against his wrist, your thumb brushing over his pulse like it was natural, like it was nothing.
It was everything.
Azriel had gone still. So still it was a wonder his body hadn’t shattered from the force of it. His heartbeat had slammed against his ribs, his throat tightening as his mind scrambled to make sense of what had just happened.
You had touched him.
Not because you had to. Not because you needed something from him. Not because he was bleeding out or being dragged from the wreckage of a battlefield.
You had touched him because you wanted to.
And that terrified him.
Because the moment it happened, the moment your fingers met his skin, Azriel knew—he would want more.
It only got worse after that.
Because you kept doing it. And worse, you didn’t seem to realize what you were doing to him.
The way your hand found his forearm when you spoke to him, grounding him in the moment. The way you brushed your fingers over his back when you passed him in the halls. The way you linked your pinky with his beneath the dinner table when the conversation turned too dark.
Azriel wasn’t used to it.
Gods, he wasn’t used to it.
For centuries, he had believed he did not need touch, that it was something other people craved—people who were not made of knives and shadow. He had convinced himself he was fine without it, that his body did not miss something it had never truly had.
He had been wrong.
Because now that he had it, now that he had you, he didn’t know how to go without it.
It was a sickness, the way he hungered for it. The way he would find himself inching closer to you when you were near, his body gravitating toward yours like you were the sun and he was something desperate for warmth. The way his hands would twitch at his sides when you hugged Cassian, when you looped your arm through Feyre’s—jealousy, raw and sharp, at the way they could take your touch for granted, while he still ached at the very idea of asking for more.
Because that was the worst part—he didn’t know how to ask.
He didn’t know how to reach for something he had spent centuries pretending he didn’t want.
So he suffered in silence. Let himself drown in the feeling of your hands against his skin, your fingers brushing his, your body pressed against his when you leaned into him without hesitation.
He let himself starve, even as the feast was right in front of him.
One night, as the city slept and Velaris shimmered beneath the moon, you found him standing alone on the balcony of the House of Wind.
You had been looking for him, he could tell by the way you didn’t hesitate, by the way you stepped into his space as if you belonged there.
"Az," you murmured.
He turned, shadows curling at his feet. "Couldn’t sleep?"
You shook your head. "I could ask you the same."
His lips twitched, but he said nothing.
For a moment, there was only silence. Only the sound of the wind through the cliffs, the distant murmur of the Sidra below. And then—then, you reached for him.
Not just a brush of fingers this time. Not just a fleeting, casual touch.
You placed your hand against his chest, right over his heart, and stayed.
Azriel stopped breathing.
"Az," you whispered, your voice softer now. "Why do you always let me touch you, but you never touch me back?"
His hands clenched at his sides. "Because I don’t know how to stop."
The words left him before he could think better of them. Before he could bury them beneath his usual silence.
You exhaled, something flickering in your eyes. And then, to his utter ruin, you reached for his hand.
Not just to hold it. Not just to offer comfort.
You brought his palm up, pressed it against your own chest, against the steady, steady beat of your heart.
"Then don’t," you said simply.
Azriel made a sound, a broken, desperate thing. His fingers curled against you, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your shirt, as if memorizing the shape of you beneath his touch.
"I don’t know how to ask for it," he admitted, voice barely more than a breath.
You smiled, something unbearably soft. "Then don’t ask."
And you leaned forward, wrapping yourself around him.
Azriel broke.
His arms came around you fast, crushing, as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t hold on. His face pressed against your hair, his shadows curling around your waist, twining with you like they knew. Like they had been waiting for this moment just as long as he had.
You held him just as tightly, your fingers tracing slow, soothing circles against his back, grounding him, anchoring him.
"I’ve got you," you whispered. "Always."
Azriel squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling the scent of you, the warmth of you, the realness of you in his arms.
And for the first time in his long, long life, he allowed himself to believe it.
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Summary: When Azriel finds himself drawn to her warmth, her curves, her unapologetic softness, he knew he didn't stand a chance; and once he finally gave in, he'd never crawl back out of her arms, or her bed, again.
Azriel had spent five centuries mastering silence.
He could slip through shadows, read a room with one flick of his cold golden eyes, and kill a man before his target ever heard a footstep.
And yet none of it prepared him for you.
None of it protected him from the way your laughter—bright, unfiltered—sank under his skin like sunlight in a place he’d long since left dark. Or the way you walked into a room with curves that refused to be quiet, hips that swayed like they knew his eyes were on them, thighs that whispered promises in the cradle of his dreams.
You were soft where others were sharp. Loud where others tiptoed around his silence. And you were kind to him. Kind. You looked at him like he wasn’t a weapon. Like he was a man.
And gods, he was fucked.
It started with glances.
One night at the River House, your thigh had brushed against his under the table. Just a second. Just a spark. But Azriel had spent the rest of dinner sitting stone-still, sweat between his shoulder blades, trying not to glance down at where the curve of your legs pressed so innocently against his. Like you didn’t know what you were doing.
He knew. Or hoped.
He went home that night and fucked his hand with your name on his tongue.
Over the following weeks, it only got worse.
His shadows told on him. Whispers of you undressing, fingers brushing lotion over your skin. Your voice, singing softly in your room when you thought no one was listening. The bond—Cauldron, the bond—was growing louder, insistent now, humming in his bones every time you walked by.
He began to crave you like blood. And it made him sloppy.
Sparring with Cassian? He caught a glimpse of you stretching on the sidelines and missed a block, got knocked on his ass. Mission debriefing with Rhys? Azriel didn’t hear a word—because you’d walked in wearing a dress that hugged the dip of your waist and the swell of your hips like a sin.
But he couldn’t touch. Not yet.
He didn’t know if you felt it. The bond. The way it pulled on him like a hook in his ribs, dragging him closer to you with every breath. You deserved more than a man who didn’t know how to be soft. A man who burned and bled and broke.
But then… you smiled at him.
That day in the training ring, your face flushed, thighs trembling from the workout, sweat glistening between your breasts—he snapped.
"You alright?" you asked gently, blinking up at him as he stalked toward you, dark and silent.
"No," he said hoarsely. “No, I’m not.”
You looked up at him with that wide-eyed kindness, a little confused, a little wary. “Az…?”
“I need to show you something.”
He didn’t give you time to overthink. Just took your hand and led you through the House—past the halls where his shadows curled and listened, past the tension thrumming in his chest—to the bathing chamber. Quiet. Private.
Sacred.
When the door shut behind you, you stood very still. “Is something wrong?”
Azriel turned to you, heart in his throat. “I think you’re my mate.”
Silence. Thick. Shocking.
You blinked, once. Twice. “You think—?”
“I know,” he said, stepping forward. “I’ve known for months. Since the moment I saw you. The bond—it’s been screaming at me, and I’ve been pretending I can ignore it. But I can’t anymore. Not when you look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m yours.”
The bath steamed behind him, sweet with oils and magic. And you—beautiful and wide-eyed and so damn soft—stood before him like a vision.
He raised a scarred hand. Let it hover near your cheek. “Say something. Please.”
You stared at him, lips parted, and then whispered: “Why me?”
Azriel exhaled, voice thick. “Because your laugh sounds like something I want to protect. Because when you walk into a room, I don’t see shadows—I see a future. Because your thighs drive me insane, and when you smile at me, it hurts. And because I would burn the world if you asked.”
Your eyes shimmered.
“Let me show you,” he said. “Please.”
And you nodded.
He undressed you slowly.
Azriel had never gone to war with trembling fingers, but he did now—unlacing the front of your tunic, pushing the fabric down your arms, eyes drinking in every glorious inch you revealed.
Your breasts spilled free first, soft and full and gods, he wanted to mouth at them for hours. Then your waist, the slight dip of your belly, the luscious curve of your hips.
You reached to cover yourself, instinctive.
“Don’t,” he rasped. “Don’t you dare hide from me.”
And when you dropped your arms, vulnerable and trembling, Azriel fell to his knees like he’d been commanded by the gods themselves.
You gasped as he kissed the inside of your thigh, his voice shaking with reverence. “I’ve dreamed of this. Every damn night.”
Then his mouth was on you.
Azriel worshipped you like a prayer—his tongue seeking, finding, devouring the sweet bundle of nerves that made you moan and buck against his face. He gripped your thighs with reverent hands, spreading you open wider for him, shadows caressing you like a second touch.
When your thighs clamped around his head, he groaned—groaned—like it was the only place he’d ever belonged.
“That’s it,” he whispered against your slick. “Use me, sweetheart. Let me feel you fall apart.”
You came for him like a breaking wave. Then again. And again. Until your legs shook and your voice was hoarse from moaning his name.
When he finally rose, your eyes were glazed, your lips kiss-bruised from his.
“Bath,” he murmured, lifting you easily into the water.
You curled into him, back to his chest, the warm water cradling you both. His hands never stopped moving—palming your belly under the surface, stroking the curve of your hip, dragging lazy circles along your inner thigh.
“You drive me mad,” he said, lips against your ear.
“I didn’t mean to.”
He smiled. “I think I was waiting for someone like you. Someone who wouldn’t flinch when I said I’m broken. Who would still want me when I got like this—desperate and wild.”
Then he kissed you.
Not fierce. Not possessive. Just full. Devout. Like a man finally drinking water after years of thirst.
Later, as he dried you off with his own hands—slow, careful, utterly in love—he murmured: “You're mine now.”
You smiled up at him. “And you're mine?”
Azriel lowered his head. Rested his brow against your belly.
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