Summary: Azriel and you have been friends for centuries. For just as long, you’ve hid your feelings. But a recent development slowly pushes you to your breaking point. Azriel calls it casual. To you, it’s everything
Warnings: ANGST, allusions to sex, Az is a bit of a bonehead here but we’ll fix it dw.
Azriel rolled off you, landing on the empty spot next to you in the bed. You looked over to him, catching your breath, the rapid rise and fall of his chest matching yours. His eyes met yours, and you felt a blush creeping up on your cheeks, as if he was a small crush in the marketplace rather than someone who had just made you see the heights of pleasure.
“Had fun?” You asked, a smile creeping up on your face.
He looked over at you, rolling his eyes.
”Wonderful, as always.” He teased. His eyes trailed over the length of your body, covered only by a thin layer of your sheets. The sunlight of the late morning crept in from your balcony window, illuminating the twinkle in his eyes. You had to look away, entranced by the beauty of him. Here, in your bed. Lying here with him like this, it was easy to pretend. The world narrowed to the two of you in this room, together. Here, your past no longer haunted you, there was no trauma, no secrets, no pain. If you closed your eyes and focused on the way his bare arm brushed yours and the breathing from right beside you, it was as if all was as you imagined.
“I have a light workload today. I was thinking I could take Elain to the marketplace, or through the River House’s garden for a walk.”
The cocoon shattered. For just a moment, your breath caught in your throat, and a surge of shame and embarrassment rushed through you, down to your fingertips. Quickly, you grabbed a hold of yourself.
“Are you…sure that’s a good idea?” You asked, trepidation heavy in your tone.
“Why not? I’ve been busy recently. I’m sure you’ve noticed,” he justified. “I wouldn’t want her to feel neglected.”
Ugly jealousy coursed through you, and you had the sudden urge to be alone.
You took a deep breath, willing your racing heart to control itself. “It’s just that Lucien will be in the city for dinner in two days.”
Defensiveness filled his expression, and you feared that perhaps you had made a mistake.
“So?” he started. “I’m not afraid of Lucien, Y/N.”
“I know that, but he’ll likely want to see her. You don’t want to start anything. Rhys will be unhappy. Maybe wait until after his visit.”
“Why are you being like this?” He asked. “Lucien can’t force her into anything, and I’m not going to refrain from seeing her just because of her so-called ‘mate’ visiting.”
You forced a teasing tone into your voice, trying to keep the mood light in spite of the knot in your stomach. “Az, he is her mate.”
He was silent for a moment, contemplation heavy in his voice. He rolled over onto his side, facing you. His wings shifted, and the sheet covering him from the waist down moved slightly. You forced your eyes up to meet his.
“What if…what if the Cauldron was wrong? What if he isn’t her true mate?”
Your eyes widened slightly. “Azriel.”
“I know. I know what you’re going to say, Y/N. But I just can’t help but feel like he doesn’t deserve her. She’s a Cauldron-made seer. He’s just an emissary.”
That sent a jolt through you. Just an emissary. In the logical part of your brain, you already knew that you weren’t necessarily special. At least, not in comparison to your chosen family in the Night Court. Feyre the Cursebreaker. Lady Death. The Shadowsinger. The Seer. And you were just an emissary. To your home court of Day that you once fled in fear, no less. You tried not to let that comment simmer in your brain for any longer.
“Doesn’t it make sense that she should be with someone else, someone who’s as exceptional as her?” he continued on. “She deserves better.”
He didn’t even seem to notice the effect those words had on you, the shock they sent through your system. For someone so observant, he never seemed to notice such things about you. Not with the comment he made, and certainly not with the fact that he was lying naked next to you, lamenting about his desire for another woman. You used to think him lowering his inhibitions so fully around you was a sign of his comfort. His innate relaxation in your presence, reflecting your own feelings. Recently, you’ve wondered if it was just a manifestation of how little he cared.
But Azriel loved you. If not in the way you’d hoped for, then as a friend. As a member of this family.
Didn’t he?
”Azriel, she has a mate.”
“I know that, but…”
“But nothing, Az,” you stressed. “You may want her, but it’s not a mating bond.”
Azriel remained still, but his wings shifted slightly. A tell of his exasperation. You always knew of his tells. You knew him better than anyone.
“Y/N, you wouldn’t understand. Mating bonds are difficult,” he sighed. “I should go.”
Azriel shifted up into sitting, silently as ever. The mattress dipped slightly as he turned his back to you, his wings dragging off to the side of your bed. He stood, and the emptiness of the other side of the bed was reflected in your chest.
“You’re right,” you said quietly.
But you knew about mating bonds. Knew them quite well, really. You knew what a mating bond felt like when a mate didn’t want you, and you felt for Lucien. He would take Elain any way he could have her, just as you did for your mate. Even if it hurt, even if it left your insides bleeding and yearning.
He paused his motions just slightly, as if sensing the poorly masked fatigue in your voice. Your gaze fixed on the sheets twisted between your fingers, unable to look up at his form moving about your space.
”I’ll see you later. Family dinner, tomorrow night?” he asked.
“Right. See you then.”
_____
You couldn’t really pinpoint when it started. The physical affair between you and Azriel had been unexpected, and you didn’t know exactly what it stemmed from. Loneliness, maybe. At first, you held out a little bit of hope that it would grow into something else.
“You’re not being serious, you did not.”
“I am not. I spilled wine all over him. It was mortifying!” You burst out laughing, and Azriel followed suit, the drinks flowing between you.
The two of you sat in the House’s study, illuminated only by the hearth in front of the room. The untethered mating bond hummed in your chest, filling you wholly with warmth. On a night like this, laughing with him sitting so close, it almost seemed silly to keep it a secret from him. He felt like home. Like the two of you belonged.
“I’m lucky that the High Lord of Day is such a flirt. He took no offense, and instead offered that I assist in bathing him.”
Azriel let out a barking laugh, inhibitions down in a way that made your cheeks heat. “Of course.”
The laughs died down, and for a moment the two of you just stared at each other, smiles lingering on your face. You couldn’t recall who moved first, but after another breath his mouth was on yours, and his hands wandered in places he had never dared touch before.
Through the haze of it all, a spark of joy burst within you. The mating bond sung within you, and fulfillment took over you in a way you’d never known before. It was happening, you’d thought. Finally.
Afterwards, the two of you lay in his bed, your head on his bare chest. His wing was underneath you, and warmth engulfed you from the tips of your fingers to your toes.
He was with you, and he was happy. It was an unconventional start to a relationship, but nothing about you and Azriel had ever been normal.
“I’m glad we can be like this, Y/N. Some…relief. No strings.”
Something within you broke, and the warmth of the mating bond grew cold.
“What are you thinking about?” A voice came from behind you, breaking you out of the memory.
You turned in your seat in the House’s kitchen to see Rhys approaching.
“Nothing, really.” You replied, taking a sip of the tea in front of you, Rhys taking a seat in the chair to your left. “Just thinking.”
”Hmm.” The High Lord started. “Does this have anything to do with a certain spymaster escorting my sister-in-law to the marketplace?”
You shot him a warning look. That bastard. “Rhys.”
“You can’t keep it a secret forever, Y/N. It isn’t fair to either of you, and I can only warn him off Elain for so long.”
Rhys learning of your mating bond had been a freak incident, the result of him catching onto a longing gaze last Solstice. He had agreed to keep it a secret, and to let you deal with it in your own way. You’ve had more than your share of men taking choice from you, and Rhys was not inclined to add to that list.
However, that didn’t stop him from meddling. He took every opportunity to encourage you to shout your bond from the rooftops, whether mentally at family dinners or through surprise check-ins. More recently, he had been more active in his intervention, barring Azriel from pursuing Elain. He claimed it was to prevent the Blood Duel. But from the moment Azriel relayed those events to you, you had seen right through it.
“I do not need you to warn him off Elain for me, Rhys. A mating bond will hardly change who he wants.”
“How do you know that?” Rhys stressed. “It can change everything. He deserves to know.”
The two of you have this conversation at least once every fortnight. It always ended the same way.
“Things would not change, and there is no point burdening him with a mating bond he will surely abhor.”
”It is not a burden. And you must know Azriel would never see you that way. It is a gift, to be mated to someone who is already so dear to your heart. One kiss, Y/N, could change everything.”
You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath and counting to ten. Letting the silence sit for a moment, you prepared yourself before speaking again.
“We have…done more than kiss.”
A beat passed between the two of you, before you spilled the details of the last eight months to Rhys, who watched with poorly contained shock. His eyes sat wide, and his mouth hung open. For the most powerful High Lord in Prythian, one could observe his ability to resemble a fish.
“This has been going on for nearly eight months,” Rhys repeated slowly, “And still he chases after Elain so brazenly?”
”He has never led me to believe this would grow into a romance. Any hopes are my delusion.”
Rhys covered his face with his hands, letting out a deep sigh, “It is not delusion. It is a natural response to a mating bond.”
“Perhaps, Rhys. But there is nothing I can do.”
Your fingers curled around the warm porcelain of your teacup.
“Nothing I wish to do,” you corrected, tone softening. “I do not want a mating bond that exists solely because he feels obligated to me.”
”You cannot truly believe that Azriel would see you as an obligation.”
”I think,” you said, “that if the Mother had some plan for him to joyously accept our mating bond, he would not leave my bed in the mornings with plans to pursue another female.”
—-
Family dinner was delicious, as always.
The aroma of perfectly roasted lamb and beautifully seasoned potatoes lingered throughout the River House, as empty plates signalled a meal well-enjoyed. Elain’s cooking was wonderful, but an ugly part of you couldn’t help but feel the weight of envy taking root in your chest.
Is there anything she can’t do?
Around the table sat you, Rhys, Amren, Cassian, Feyre, and Mor. Wine flowed generously as you discussed plans for a meeting with Lucien and Eris tomorrow. As a fellow Court emissary, you would be in attendance, so you did your best to focus on Rhys’ talking points despite the wine buzzing in your system. Luckily, your two most likely distractions were not here. Elain had excused herself to bed hours ago, and Azriel had left just moments ago to recon with some spies he had placed in Autumn. The table felt lighter without them here. All night, you had sat through Azriel sitting to the right of you, staring holes through Elain. It had been an effort not to burst out sobbing right there in front of everyone.
Recently, that had become a familiar feeling.
After seemingly hours of listening to Rhys drone on, making mental notes for later, you excused yourself to your room. You opted to crash at the River House, too weary to winnow to the House of Wind. Besides, you figured that a change of scenery might do some good. A futile attempt to chase the peace that had evaded you all week.
It didn’t matter that you’d be down the hall from Elain. You had no reason to be angry with her. Not really. She didn’t control Azriel’s overwhelming indifference to you. If he wasn’t focused on her, it would be Mor. Or someone else who met his standards. Someone special and outstanding and worthy.
Just an emissary.
Walking down the halls of the River House, you pondered on a future for yourself. Would you spend the rest of your life pining after a man who would never view you romantically? Would you ever tell him about the bond, wrecking a 200 year friendship and tying him to you in a way that could only lead to his misery?
The thoughts ruminated in your head until you heard the unmistakable rumble of Azriel’s voice.
Soft and low. Gentle in the way he speaks to you when you lay beneath him and you could pretend.
You looked up, eyes setting upon a slightly ajar door, moonlight filtering through.
Azriel’s room.
Your feet moved before your brain caught up to you. Rushing towards the doorway, you stood in the space of the open door before you truly knew what was happening. There stood Azriel and Elain, his arms just barely grazing upon her waist. They stood close, lips about to touch in a stance that you had been in with him just two nights prior.
Something was tearing in your chest. You tried to keep quiet.
But Azriel was an observant male. It was his job. Maybe not in the sanctuary of your bed, but certainly when he was tasked with protecting something as precious as Elain. His head snapped towards you in the doorway as if a fawn coming upon a faelight. His eyes widened slightly as he met yours.
The moonlight caught the gold flecks in his brown eyes, and the sight of them made your own vision blur with sudden tears. And all Azriel did was stare.
One moment he stood frozen, his form blurry through your watery vision. The next, he jumped back from Elain as if her touch had burned him. His gaze never left yours, though his expression shifted to something raw, something almost terrified. It was a jarring change, especially for a male so stoic and controlled. Some instinct deep within you recognized the strangeness of his expression.
His shadows surged forward from the corner of the room, wrapping around his form. They curled up his back, peering over his shoulders towards you. His gaze never left yours, and Elain’s eyes shot rapidly between the two of you, confusion painting her beautiful face.
It was then that you felt it. A tug deep within your chest, reaching down into a place that you knew all too well. Something strong and ancient thrumming within you. Light surged in your soul. Never in your life had you imagined a fulfillment like this. As if the centuries of your life had been black and white, and now you’d seen the colors of the sky for the first time.
The sensation flooded your body, bright and overwhelming, dimmed only by the absolute fear and shock that spread throughout your body. The look on Azriel’s face matched the war happening within you.
Oh gods. He knew. He knew.
Another tug pulled through you. Then another. The silence of the room was overwhelming, and you willed him to say something. To get it over with. To reject you. To end it. But all he did was stare.
“Y/N,” he rasped out, voice heavy. “You…”
You couldn’t do this. Couldn’t bear the words he would inevitably say. The disgust he would regard you with.
The bond tugged once more in your chest. Azriel’s wide, wild eyes were on you.
You turned and ran.
—-
Two weeks.
You’d successfully avoided Azriel for two weeks before the inevitable confrontation. For his part, he had stayed away from your meeting with Lucien and Eris. Immediately afterward, you had left for Dawn to meet with Thesan. An emergency alliance negotiation.
In your mind, it was a blessing from the Mother. Perhaps a small act of repentance after the stunt she pulled revealing the bond to Azriel.
The journey back to Velaris felt far heavier than the one that had taken you away. Dawn had been bright, orderly, predictable. Everything that Velaris couldn’t be until you had settled this with Azriel.
Winnowing to the House of Wind, you headed straight for the kitchen, intending to grab a cup of tea and hide away in your room.
”You’re back.” The voice came from behind you.
The male had an innate talent for silence.
Mother help me.
You took a slow breath, then another. It was time, you supposed. You turned to look at him, wanting to memorize the exact details of his beautiful face. Once he rejects you, would you ever see him this closely again? Could you bear it?
“I’m back,” you said, keeping your voice light, moving towards the kettle on the counter.
Azriel stared at you intently, unspoken emotion deep within his eyes. As if he too, had been anticipating this moment. Dreading it.
Neither of you spoke. The silence stretched between you, thick with everything that had gone unsaid for two weeks. His eyes stayed heavy on you.
He finally broke the silence, tension laden in his voice. “You knew. Didn’t you?”
Your eyes slid shut “I did. I’ve known for almost a hundred years.”
The memory hit you hard.
“How’s the lemonade?” Azriel asked, taking a sip of his own in the chair across for you.
“You were right, this is delicious. Best I’ve ever tasted,” you took another sip of the sweet liquid, “How did I not know about this place?”
“It’s one of Velaris’ many hidden gems. You could live here for years and not know of every treat.”
“Well, I suppose I have much to learn.”
A laugh burst out of him, and you his eyes. It was full and deep and brought heat to your cheeks. His large form, wings brushing along the floor, seemed almost comical in this small, intimate cafe. For a moment, you just watched him. His beauty.
Warmth filled you, and you felt something snap within your chest. Like a key slotting into a lock, something had slid into place within your soul. Your mouth dropped open slightly, and all you could do was blink.
“You ok?” He teased. “Missing the Day Court?”
Your hands trembled slightly from the shock of the revelation. “I’m fine. Just…enjoying the lemonade.”
You gazed up at him, and his expression held shock, betrayal, a hint of anger. “A hundred years? You have known of this for that long?”
You nodded once, fixing your gaze somewhere over his shoulder.
Azriel leaned back slightly, as if the distance might help him process what you had just said. If anything, it only heightened the tension between you two.
“I-” he paused, swallowing before continuing. “Why have you not told me, Y/N?”
“I wanted to, at first. I didn’t wish for you to be disappointed, I suppose.”
He gawked. “Disappointed?” He took two steps closer to you, a smile barely there on his face. “Y/N, I am far from disappointed. I am…elated. But I cannot understand why you’ve hidden this so long.”
Your breath stopped. He took another step toward you. You tried to calm the panic in your brain. This is not what you were expecting. Not how you’d envisioned this moment at all.
”You don’t understand?” You parroted, a mocking tone creeping into your voice. He stood so close to you now you could see the faint crease between his brows, the tension in his jaw.
Something soft crept into his voice. “You truly believe that I would be disappointed to learn that the Mother chose you for me?”
Your laugh came out brittle. Disbelief flooded through you at his words. “The Mother may have chosen me for you, but you have never chosen me, Azriel.”
”What?”
You laughed again. Surely, anyone walking by would think you mad.
”When this bond snapped for you, you were ready to kiss another female, Azriel!”
”So this is about Elain?” He exhaled slowly. “Y/N, that was a misunderstanding. I believe she might be my mate.”
”She has a mate!” You were shouting now, your voice rising despite yourself. An overflow of emotions betraying you. In the past, you’d always thought this moment would be defined by his anger, his emotions towards such a disappointing pairing by the Mother.
“I understand the timing was awful. I’m sorry.”
”You’re sorry,” you deadpanned.
Azriel shook his head, speaking slowly. “I know…I know that I have failed you in many ways. And I can understand why you wouldn’t have told me.”
He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. It was a stark change from his usual directness. Your hands shook slightly, tears welling up in your eyes.
”Please. Please don’t cry, Y/N.” He sounded desperate, pained.
“So what happens now?” You posed. “Elain is not your mate, which anyone with half a brain could have told you.”
”Now you are my mate. Everything has changed, darling.”
”Don’t call me that.” Gods, why couldn’t you stop the tears? They streaked down your face, staining your cheeks. “Nothing has changed.”
Azriel only gaped at you. “How can you say that? We are mates. Elain does not matter.”
”Doesn’t matter?” It was your turn to stare at him like a fish out of water. “You have no feelings for me. And I am not interested in you pretending to care for me.”
”I- I would not be pretending.” He stuttered.
You stepped back immediately.
“Yes, you would,” you argued, insistence heavy in your tone. “Two weeks ago, you lay with me in bed and told me that you wish to be mated to another!”
You had to shut your eyes before continuing. “Do you think that I don’t know you? I have watched for two centuries how you look at women that you actually want.”
“I want you.”
”Because of the bond,” you shot back.
”No,” he said without hesitation. “Don’t say that.”
A bitter breath escaped you, “What would you have me say, Azriel? For hundreds of years, you have looked at every female but me. And when you finally-“ a sob cut through your words. “When you finally touched me, and I had hope, you broke that trust. Stress relief, isn’t that what you said?”
He flinched at the words. “I did not mean to imply-“
”You implied nothing. You said it quite clearly.”
”I thought you were happy with our…arrangement. You never asked for more.”
”So you assumed that I was happy with just sex while you pined for another?” You let out a scoff at that. You were being petty, you knew. But you found that you didn’t care. This was uncharted territory.
You’d never imagined that you’d be the one with the power in the situation. Here he was, and he seemed as if he wanted you. Desired you. But that couldn’t be right. There was no way. He was only trying to do right by you.
“Azriel,” you continued, “You have never desired me romantically. Physically, clearly. But do not stand here and lie to me.”
His shadows peered at you from over his shoulder, and his brow creased slightly with effort. As if he had to work to hold them back from you. “I am not lying to you. I have never lied to you, Y/N.”
“But you still do not love me.”
Azriel huffed. “How can you say that? You are my mate!”
”But you do not love me!” Your voice raised again. “This is why I never told you about the bond.”
”It isn’t like that,” Azriel tried, anguish heavy in his voice. “Please, let’s sit and we can talk about this.”
”There is nothing to talk about.” You sniffled, hand moving to wipe a tear from your cheek. “And we’re stopping our little…arrangement, if it wasn’t clear.”
”Ok,” he nodded, frantically. He moved to take your hands into his. “How about this? We’ll start over. No past.”
You shook your head, sniffling. “No, you don’t understand.”
His expression fractured. “Tell me then. Help me understand how to fix this. We’re mates. And that means something to me, Y/N. It can mean something to both of us. We just need time. I know I was awful to you. And inconsiderate.” He lowered his forehead down to yours, and you felt a tear drop from his cheek to yours. “Let me fix it. I’ll do whatever you want.”
For years, you dreamed of this moment.
”We cannot be together, Azriel. I won’t be your second choice.”
”You would not be my second choice. Never. We are mates.” He stressed.
”But that is the problem,” you stressed. “The bond has chosen me for you. But you would never do so.”
“That isn’t true, Y/N. The Mother has linked us. And that means something to me. We can figure this out.”
Gods, you couldn’t do this. Couldn’t face him as he attempted to placate you.
Here was Azriel, a male that you had dreamed of loving you since the day you met him. And now he was telling you he wanted you. As a mate. As a lover.
You broke out of his hold, maneuvering your hands away from him, “I spoke to Rhys before I left for Dawn. I’m moving back to Day.”
He froze. A beat of silence passed between you, then another. “What?”
A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think! :)
Summary: It would only ever be you, no matter how much time had passed.
Warnings: fluff, angst, reader described to have the same eyes as Rhys.
A C O T A R M A S T E R L I S T
There had been many times over the course of being chained within the depths of this cave in which you had thought yourself to have officially gone insane but the moment you felt as though the shadows in the corners of this prison began moving was when you had accepted that insanity had taken over you but the moment you began hearing them whispering to you was truly the loss of all hope.
You had long since lost count of time, with nothing but darkness surrounding you and no hope for any light to work its way into this godforsaken pit, days were passing by without your knowledge. It had been years at this point, how many, you didn’t know but long enough for the world outside to be a distant echo and for your presence to have faded into a pitiful whisper.
Years passed by with only the reminders of your old life to keep you company; you often dreamed of those times your brother carved out time in his day to braid your hair or when you would both jump out of the windows late at night to fly over Velaris together. You’d dream of your mother, how she’d let you sit and ‘help’ her make dresses or that time you were so outraged when you were learning how to fly and she pushed you straight from the balcony of the House of Wind so that you had no choice but to fly.
Your days were filled with flashes of them all; your mother, Rhysand, Mor and Cassian.
You wondered how much of life had moved on without you.
Was Rhysand High Lord yet?
If he was, how had your father died?
Had Rhysand found his mate?
Had he made her High Lady like you both always spoke about?
In those extra difficult times that your control slipped even further, those memories of the Shadowsinger would linger the harshest.
You did not like thinking of how much his life had moved on without you.
Rhysand and Feyre stood together in the kitchen of the townhouse, looking through the window into the garden where Elain was tending to the flower garden and Azriel was sprawled out nearby, sunning his wings.
“Do you think the Cauldron can make mistakes with mates?” Feyre asked him, a look of confused anguish on her face.
Rhysand looked towards his mate, surprise dancing in his eyes at her question. “Nobody truly knows what makes the cauldron put two people together. They’re not always perfectly compatible, my own parents were examples of that, they never truly loved each other. Others, like us, are lucky to find love with their mate.”
Feyre continued looking out into the garden. “Why couldn’t the cauldron have made Azriel, Elain’s mate, instead of Lucien. Lucien is good but they look good together,” Feyre pointed out to where the Shadowsinger was still sprawled on the grass.
A pulse of pain pulled through their bond causing Feyre to snap her eyes back to Rhys. She was surprised to see the pain in his eyes, it wasn’t just any pain. It was the sort of pain that lingered and dwelled, a grief that would forever remain no matter how much time passed but there was also a subtle protectiveness in his eyes that could almost be missed.
Feyre was confused.
Rhysand swallowed a lump in his throat before speaking. “Do not mistake Azriel’s kindness towards your sister as affection. He is spending time with her because I ordered him too, to try and understand her powers. You’re reading into something that isn’t there.” His voice was stern but not unkind.
Feyre’s brows furrowed at his words. “It would be an honour for Azriel to find his mate, with anyone.”
“Azriel does not want a mate, Feyre.” The sheer confidence in Rhysand’s words only confused her even more.
“But why would he not want a mate? I thought everyone dreams of having one.” She questioned, looking out at Azriel’s figure in the garden.
She thought Azriel of all people would want a mate.
“Azriel has already had his great love,” Rhysand said. “No mating bond could ever live up to that for him. There are loves that even the cauldron cannot compete with.”
“What?” Feyre asked, shock taking over her face. “Who?”
That pain appeared in Rhys’ eyes again, a quick flash but it was there. “I meant it when I said I have no secrets to keep from you but not all stories are solely mine to tell. I am not going to tell you Azriel’s secrets.”
Feyre nodded silently. She understood, it didn’t diminish her curiosity but she would not pry for answers that weren’t hers to have.
Azriel’s footsteps were silent as always, shadows licking at his heals and fingertips as he walked towards Rhys’ office.
Not bothering to knock, his gloved hand unlatched the handle as he stepped inside. “You called, brother?”
Rhys was sat back in his chair, unsurprisingly dressed in his formals but the conflicted look on his face ruffled his demeanour. “I’d like to preface by saying you haven’t done anything wrong, my mate simply is too nosey for her own good and sees things she hopes are there rather than reality at times.”
Azriel’s face remained at an impasse other than the slight narrowing of his golden, hazel eyes.
Rhysand sighed. “Feyre is under the impression that you and Elain may make for a better match than her and Lucien.”
The control Azriel had on himself immediately slipped as he stepped back, eyes widening in shock, fists clenching by his sides as his shadows fluttered around him. “No. Rhys, I would never-”
“I know” Rhys interrupted. “I am not accusing you of doing anything, Az. I just thought it best to let you know.”
Azriel shifted uncomfortably at his words. “You know there is no one else, there never has been and there will never be anyone else.” He insisted, wanting his brother to believe him.
Rhysand’s gaze softened. “I know. I have never doubted that even though it would be okay if eventually-”
“No!” Azriel’s cut him off, “There will never be another.”
“Okay,” Rhys conceded. “I just wanted to let you know, Azriel.”
Azriel nodded his head, not hesitating in taking his exit, leaving Rhys there in a suffocating silence of loss.
“You’re distracted,” Cassian dropped his stance, looking towards Feyre intently.
His High Lady sighed in frustration, leaning back against the ropes of the sparring ring.
“What’s on your mind?” He asked.
Feyre pursed her lips in contemplation before relenting. “Did you three actually used do things in the same room as each other?”
Cassian barked out a deep laugh at her question. “That’s what’s on your mind?”
Feyre shrugged sheepishly.
Cassian shook his head, a large smirk tugging at his lips. “Well, Rhys and I did. It would be a bit weird and incredibly uncomfortable for us all if Azriel did.”
Feyre tilted her head curiously, “Why?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be very nice for Rhys to see his best friend having his way with the girl he loves more than anything, would it?” He said, as though it was obvious. “Besides, Azriel has way too much respect for him to do that anyways.”
Feyre’s eyes widened in shock but there was also a sickening feeling of jealously bubbling in her stomach. “So, Azriel and Rhys loved the same girl?”
Cassian, way too focused now on stretching to acknowledge how his words had been interpreted. “We all love her but those two always have and always will love her most. She’s their number one girl.”
Number one girl.
Feyre did not like the sound of that at all. She hated it and she hated herself even more because of the jealously that gnawed at her. “They didn’t hate each other for that?” She questioned.
Cassian shook his head, mid lunge. “Azriel had no reason to hate Rhys. It was difficult for Rhys to accept in the beginning and Azriel understood that but Rhys saw how much love was there, it was impossible to miss so who was he to stand in the way of that?”
Feyre stood in thought for a moment. “So, Rhys loved her first?”
Cassian laughed. “Of course he did. It’s not really a competition though, is it?”
She didn’t answer him, she simply stood there, thoughts swirling.
Feyre hated herself, she hated that she could not stop thinking about this girl who must have been something really special for both Rhys and Azriel to both love.
She’s their number one girl.
No matter how hard she had tried to not think about it, she couldn’t help it.
“What’s on your mind, Feyre darling?” Rhys’ smooth voice slipped through the silence of their bedroom.
She looked up at him from her place at the edge of their bed. “It’s nothing,” she stated simply.
Rhys frowned at her dismissal, placing his watch on his bedside table before walking to stand in front of her. He pressed a palm to the side of her face. “Tell me what’s on your mind?”
She sighed, mostly in frustration at herself, partially in his insistence to talk about it. “Where you in love with Azriel’s mate?”
The utter bewilderment that appeared on Rhys’ face made her immediately regret her words and watch to shrink back in on herself. “What!?”
Feyre shook her head. “It doesn’t matter,” she tried to pull away but Rhys kept his hand on the side of her face, steadying her.
“Azriel doesn’t have a mate,” he told her, utter confusion lacing his words.
Feyre shrugged, “Were you in love with the same girl then?”
“I’m so confused, no?” Rhys said, having absolutely no idea where she could’ve gotten this from. “Where have you gotten this from?”
Feyre looked at him, frustration beginning to build within her. “I asked Cassian about how you used to do things in the same room, he said you and him did but not Azriel because it wouldn’t be nice for him to be pleasuring a girl that you loved! He said she was yours and Azriel’s number one girl.”
Rhys pulled his hand from her face and placed it over his mouth. The confusion in his eyes had faded into a an amusing sparkle as his shoulders began shaking with suppressed laughter.
“What!?” Feyre huffed. “What are you laughing at!?”
Rhysand released a full deep chuckle at her frustrations. “Cassian is an idiot and you are utterly beautiful when you’re jealous.”
“I am not jealous!” She argued.
Rhys simply raised an eyebrow at her, completely unconvinced. “You’ve completely misinterpreted Cassian’s words, Feyre darling. It is still not my story to tell but I can promise you that Azriel and I have never been in love with the same girl.”
It had been five centuries since the disappearance of you and your mother and Azriel had never been the same.
Long before he met you, Azriel had learned what it meant to live in loneliness with nothing but his shadows for company but loneliness in response to your absence was never quite something anyone could become familiar with.
It was an endless void of nothing. Normally the thread of silence would at least end somewhere; a place where you simply got used to the feeling of someone not being there; but not with you.
It had been five centuries since your last laugh and that entire time Azriel has spent sleeping in your room. The room that sat right next to his own where your beds were pushed against the shared wall so even in your own beds you would be sleeping as close as you could get to each other.
It remained exactly how you left it, the same books sat on the nightstands, the same jewellery littered across a dressing table and a beautiful dress of deep blue with glittering silver stars on the bodice hung from the door of the closet, preparing to be worn for a day that never came.
Each morning that Azriel woke and got ready for the day, his last words to the House of Wind always remained the same. Leave it exactly how she left it, please.
The House always listened.
Whilst Azriel no longer slept in his own room, it had changed. The walls that were once a basic white had been transformed into a purple so unique it could only reflect the colour of your eyes.
In those rare moments that Azriel was able to relax away from the world, he would lay in his bed and stare at the walls of his room and whilst they could never reflect the light in a sparkle the way your own eyes could, the paint would simply have to do.
The winter chill of the Illyrian Steppes bit harshly into your cheeks as you ran through the thick snow into the forests surrounding the Windhaven camp.
The males were awful here, brutal even but even they knew to leave the daughter of the High Lord alone and so you were free to wander without the risk of your wings being torn from your back.
The trees created sanctuary for you here, as you weaved in between them you thought of your brother, Rhys and how quickly he would lose his mind once he found you gone.
A deep rooted feeling of being watched suddenly stirred in your stomach causing you to pause. It was the most subtle weight you had ever felt and yet you could not help but feel it as it settled into your bones.
You cast a quick glance up into the branches of the trees above you, where their leaves and twigs clashed and combined with one another, it took a moment for you to spot them but eventually you did.
Within a particular tall tree that was shaped in all groves and turns towards the top, deep within the shadows is where you saw him.
A male.
Sitting, observing.
“Hello,” you greeted softly.
No answer.
“What are you doing up there?” You asked.
The shadows fluttered and twitched at first before melting away into a black mist behind the males shoulders, revealing his face.
“Oh,” you whispered, taking in the hard expression of his face. He had hair of a dark midnight sky, eyebrows just a shade lighter that were furrowed deeply, shadowing his eyes that, against his dark features, seemed to glow golden when they narrowed towards you. He was all sharp lines and tensed muscles.
He shifted slightly in his place against the branches of the tree before stepping forward and allowing himself to gracefully drop down in front of you, merely inches away as he stared down into your eyes.
“How did you see me?” He asked, his voice was rough and deep for his age, possibly a couple years older than you, but his tone was steady.
“I didn’t,” you admitted. “I felt your eyes on me.”
It was then that you took notice of just how tightly his wings were pulled in at his back, a complete contrast to yours that were much more relaxed; pulled in just enough to protect them but let out enough that you didn’t have to consciously hold them in all the time, “you’ll get back pain holding them in like that,” you told him, pointing briefly at his wings.
They twitched in response, shadows fluttering wildly around the tips of his wings. It wasn’t a purposeful movement, that you could tell.
“I can’t control them,” He admitted to you.
Your brows furrowed, “what do you mean?”
“I cannot fly,” he said. “I never learned how to control them.”
You stepped back at his words. “You can’t fly!?” You spluttered in outrage. “Why can’t you fly? Are you injured?”
He shrugged in a way that showed this wasn’t a big deal to him, as though it was normal. “I wasn’t allowed outside,” he stated simply.
You frowned, the idea of not being allowed outside was unfathomable to you. “You weren’t allowed?”
“My father didn’t let me,” his words remained even, unaware of the turmoil that was stirring in your gut the more he spoke, a turmoil that you couldn’t quite explain.
“Why?” You asked.
“Because I am a bastard,” he said, his tone empty and detached, as though he had long since accepted that was all he was reduced to.
You did not like how he seemed to convinced that that’s all he was worth.
“You’re a Shadowsinger,” you pointed out, remembering old tales of myths and legends you had read before. “Those are very rare.”
The shadows clinging to him fluttered and preened at the tips of his wings and over his shoulders as though they understood your words.
Azriel nodded in response, feet scuffing into the dirt often forest uncomfortably at your words.
“That’s so cool!” You whispered in awe, the admiration you felt was completely authentic but you were also hoping it comforted him a bit.
He looked at you, the only hint of confusion on his face was the soft crease between his browns and the subtlest tilt of his head. “You’re not scared?” He asked.
“Of what?” You laughed, as though the idea was absurd.
“Of me,” he raised one of his gloved hands, tapping his index finger into his chest.
“Have you given me a reason to be scared?”
He paused at your question, internally baffled at this entire interaction. “I suppose not,” he muttered to himself, the idea of you not being scared simply just from his presence was beyond him.
“What’s your name?” You abruptly changed the subject.
He was silent for a moment, contemplating whether he should tell you or not. “Azriel.”
“Azriel,” you repeated softly, testing how it sounded. “That’s a beautiful name,” you told him.
His shadows twitched, his wings almost flinched at your complement, Azriel shifted uncomfortably.
“Do you want to be my friend, Azriel?”
“I’ve never had a friend before,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t think I’d be good at it.”
You pursed your lips in response, looking around the forest floor before speaking. “I’ve never really had a friend either, there’s my brother, Rhys, but he doesn’t count. Do you have any siblings?”
Azriel tensed at your question, his entire body stiffening, hands clenching in his gloves. “No, it’s just me.”
“Well,” you began, “I’d be honoured to be your first friend, if you’ll be mine?”
You were beyond confusing to Azriel, the first person besides his mother to not look at him with fear or disgust, to look at him and just see a person.
Azriel did not reply verbally but he didn’t need to, you didn’t mind and so he simply nodded in response earning a beaming smile from you.
“Spread your wings out wide,” you instructed softly.
“They’re heavy,” Azriel muttered, wings spreading in stuttering movements, face twisting slightly as he concentrated on holding them.
Your eyes ran along his wings now that they weren’t tucked in painfully right, taking in the large span of them, they fluttered under your gaze, completely against Azriel’s control.
“That’s because your back muscles aren’t used to holding their weight, we’ll need to strengthen them,” you explained, eyes snapping away from his wings, towards his own hazel eyes instead.
“How do we strengthen them?” He asked.
“Exercises, most are trained from babies to use their wings so it comes a lot more naturally but we can do it together.” You smiled at him encouragingly.
You knew this was hard for him, you knew he thought he wasn’t worth your help and you knew that this entire situation was uncomfortable for him but you wanted to help him and you liked spending time with him.
“I struggled with flying at first,” you admitted, hoping it would comfort him in some way.
His eyes stopped glancing to the trees around you, now focused. “Really?”
You nodded. “Yeah, Rhys was flying before he could walk but I was too scared to do it. I didn’t trust myself. I kept imagining my wings just not working one day and falling to my death.”
Azriel shifted subtly, shadows restless. “How did you do it?”
“I had no choice,” you said. “One day my mother and I were looking at the stars from the balcony of our home and she just pushed me off, I had no choice but to trust my wings or fall and I flew for the first time that day.”
Azriel’s eyes widened. “She pushed you off the balcony!?”
You smiled widely. “Yeah, I was so angry, I didn’t speak to her for a week but it worked. I won’t be pushing you off ledges until you can hold your wings properly though.”
You could detect the subtle relief that reflected in the golden hazel hue of Azriel’s eyes, as though he expected you to be able to push him off of any ledge and force him to command his wings that didn’t seem willing to answer him yet.
At some point, you will take great joy in pushing him off a cliff.
Not yet though.
Only when he was ready.
“Where does my starlight keep running off to?” Your mother’s gentle voice filtered through your ears as she brushed through your hair carefully.
You were silent for a moment, contemplating whether to reveal your secret. “I made a friend.”
You felt the comb pause briefly against your head before it continued. Your mother hummed absentmindedly. “Did you? Do I get to meet this friend?”
You pursed your lips in contemplation, an unexplainable feeling of protectiveness surging through your body. “He’s shy, he doesn’t like being around people,” you told her.
You missed the amused smile that appeared on your mother’s face, no doubt intrigued at the strange protectiveness that you had for your age. “He?” She asked, almost teasingly.
You huffed in response but a smile grew on your face that you couldn’t stop. “Yes,” you said strongly before your tone shifted to pride. “He’s my friend, I’m teaching him to fly.”
Your mother paused entirely, turning your body to face her own causing your eyes to meet her own that held the same violet hue she passed down to you and your brother. “Teaching him to fly? How old is this friend?”
Your shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe Rhys’ age. His father never let him outside so he can’t fly.”
Worry clouded your mother’s face at your words. “Is he a good boy?”
A bright smile overtook your face at her question. “He’s the best! He’s very quiet but he still speaks to me and he listens to all of my complaining and his shadows play with my hair!”
“Shadows?” Your mother’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“He’s a Shadowsinger,” you whispered. “Those are very rare.”
“They are,” she repeated. “Don’t tell your father about him, starlight.”
“I would never,” you swore, your voice demonstrating the dramatic outrage of a child who couldn’t fathom sharing information like that to your father. “Mama?”
“Yes, starlight?” She asked, turning you back around so she could start braiding your hair.
“Don’t tell Rhys, okay?” You told her, your brother could get way too protective, it was embarrassing.
“I would never tell Rhys, starlight. Or Cassian.” She promised.
“Definitely not Cassian.” You agreed.
“I’m not ready!” Azriel protested, warily looking over the edge of the cliff you had pretty much dragged him too.
“You are ready!” You argued. “You’ve got great control of your wings and your muscles are as strong as can be!”
Azriel shook his head, shadows darting around him, showing his nerves. “What if I fall?”
“Then I’ll catch you!” You replied simply.
“I’m too heavy for you to catch me!” He protested.
“You are not, I’m strong!” You argued, outraged at his accusation. “I’ll hold your hands?” You proposed, already reaching out towards his own gloved hands.
Azriel looked down at your outstretched hands, hesitation clear on his face, he really wasn’t sure about this but he did really want to be able to fly.
He relented, placing his hands in yours, earning himself one of your bright smiles, stars twinkling happily in your eyes.
Your wings fluttered slowly, not enough to lift you off the ground, just enough to encourage Azriel to copy your actions.
You slowly increased the force at which your wings beat, air building with the crevice of each controlled flap of the membrane.
Azriel copied your movements, his own wings much larger in comparison to any you’ve seen on other children your age, your own were quite big for a female Illyrian so young.
Azriel felt the change in gravity, the way his feet were itching to leave the ground on their own accord, as though his body was fully attuned and aware to what was currently happening even if it was unfamiliar.
“You’re doing it,” you whispered proudly, your own feet lifting off the ground before Azriel’s but your hands stayed in his as you remained stationary in the air, feet just slightly off the ground as you waited patiently for his own body to rise into the wind.
“You’re so close, just a bit more.” You encouraged him.
The second the air swept beneath Azriel’s feet for the first time, it felt as though his entire body was about to fall backwards as he had nothing to stand on but your hands tightened on his own, keeping him straight as he unsteadily rose with you, trying to focus on keeping his wings moving.
“It’ll come naturally the more you do it,” you told him. “You won’t even have to think about it.”
Azriel wasn’t so sure about that but as he felt the wind beneath his wings as he became airborne for the first time, with your hands holding his, he chose to believe you anyway.
“You’re flying Azriel!” Sheer joy and pride filled your face as you looked at him, he thought you looked beautiful like this.
The wind causing your hair to flutter around your face, eyes sparkling at the freedom that flying gave you and your smile took up your whole face as it always did.
Distracted by the sight of you in your element, Azriel lost focus of his wings causing him to quickly drop a few feet but your hands tightened on his just as his heart dropped in his chest out of panic.
He concentrated on beating his wings again, fluttering slightly higher than previously.
But even as he concentrated on flying, his mind was also on something else.
You had caught him, just like you said you would.
Wake. Wake. Wake.
Their hissing little whispers nudged you from unconsciousness. The cold concrete of the cave dug uncomfortably into your back. You groaned, shifting as your eyes opened, adjusting to the thick, clouded darkness you had been forced to endure for five centuries.
Another day it remained the same.
A sharp, slithering coldness nudged against your cheek, and again against your fingertips. You looked down in confusion, taking in the grey-black strands of darkness fluttering around your hands.
You raised your hands slightly, it was hard to see clearly but they resembled beings you had not seen in a very long time. The dark strands fluttered around your fingertips as you stared intently at them and in a movement so sharp, one lone sentient being jumped to your shoulder.
Your head snapped to the side as you looked at it, moving around, nestling into your clothes that had long since been reduced to scraps of fabric.
The beating beneath your chest stuttered as you stared at them.
Shadows.
They were shadows.
Master. Master. Master.
She hears us. She hears us.
They fluttered around you in a way that seemed to portray excitement.
Was that them talking?
“Azriel?” You whispered, broken yet that sick part of you still held a bit of hope.
Many years you had locked out memories of the Shadowsinger yet it never worked too well, you could never forget him and you would never forget the sentient beings that obeyed him either.
No.
They almost sounded like hisses.
“Not Azriel then.” You muttered. It did not surprise you, not really.
You didn’t understand.
“Another Shadowsinger?” You asked, it earned that same excited fluttering dance as before. Yes.
But who? You wondered.
It seemed they knew your thoughts too.
You. You.
Your face contorted into confusion. You weren’t a Shadowsinger.
You allowed yourself to think of Azriel again. Not of him exactly or the feeling of his love that had faded long ago but of his story.
Azriel had not been born a Shadowsinger.
How had Azriel become a Shadowsinger?
He had been locked in a dark cell for eleven years and had no choice but to find companionship within the darkness itself.
Oh.
“You’re my shadows.” You did not question this time.
Yes. They hissed again.
“But the faebane chains?” You wondered aloud.
“Shadows are not magic, they’re simply part of me.” Azriel had told you that before.
You studied them again, more intently this time and whilst they resembled the shadows of Azriel’s so very much there was the slightest hint of a difference; they weren’t just a grey-black, they had the slightest underlying tint of purple.
They truly were yours.
Release chains. They muttered, not to you, to themselves, fluttering around frantically.
“I can’t,” you whispered in long accepted defeat. “They won’t come off, someone else needs to do it.”
Your newly acquired shadows ignored you, muttering to themselves.
Shadowsinger will do it. Spymaster will do it.
But your energy was draining again, conscious slipping into darkness, your shadows slipping through the cracks of the cave without you knowing.
Azriel had been born alone and he would die alone.
He had accepted that was all life was made for him, there were those years he had you, moments were he thought he’d have you forever but you were taken, brutally slaughtered along with your mother in the spring court.
He had never and will never forgive himself for not being there to protect you. Truthfully he did not know how Rhysand could go on with life after that, not that his High Lord and brother didn’t deserve to live, he did, but how had grief not taken his sanity Azriel would never know.
He would never know how Rhys could look in the mirror and not see the shadows of his mother and sister, not when some days Azriel could not look into his eyes and see the very reflection of the young woman he lost, his woman.
It would forever just be Azriel and his shadows.
Another night that Azriel slept in your room alone, beneath your sheets, on the pillows you always hid that ridiculous stuffed bat beneath.
When he awoke this time though, it was different.
His shadows, usually fluttering lazily were muttering and batting around recklessly, their unease settling in Azriel’s chest, having the spymaster looking around the room carefully.
The only thing that seemed wrong were his shadows themselves, it was as though they were fighting each other?
Intruder. Intruder. They hissed, flying into each other as though they were in a sort of disorientated state. Azriel had never seen anything like it before.
Deep down, Azriel understood that there was no intruder in the House of Wind but he did not understand what they could be referring to.
The bond between himself and his shadows was strange. They told him things yes, but a lot of their communication came down to feelings, he felt their unease, their frustration, as though they were participating in an internal battle.
But why?
He sat up in your bed and observed them closely. He too, could see that there was something off but couldn’t quite put his mind to it.
Intruder. But where?
The shadows hissed at each other, floating around the room in distress, it was when the golden rays of the morning sunrise shone through the balcony window that he saw it.
His eyes, always so sharp, caught that difference in his shadows. Not his shadows, he concluded. Eyes widening, he reached out to that invisible thread and called his shadows back to him with a snap.
There it was.
A small cluster that did not return to him, a cluster of shadows that looked just the slightest different to his own. That underlying purple tint was not his.
He tried to reach out, tried to find that tether to them.
Nothing.
They did not seem threatening though.
They fluttered and danced around before him, as though they were trying to communicate with him but could not.
Help. His own shadows muttered.
“Help?” He questioned.
They plead help. They hissed into his ears. Another Shadowmaster. Trapped.
Azriel shook his head, he was the only shadowmaster.
No. They hissed, more stern this time, as though telling him he was wrong.
Azriel removed himself from your bed, pulling on his Illyrian leathers as quickly as possible, not even strapping his weapons to himself. Instead he simply grabbed Truthteller alone into its sheath.
He approached the bedroom door, turning to see if those other shadows would follow, they were.
He let himself out of the room, shadows, his and not his following behind closely, he barged into Rhys’ study causing the High Lord to jump, not that he would ever admit.
“Azriel?” Rhys greeted, looking up from his papers in barely concealed surprise. “A knock would be nice.”
“We have a problem.” Azriel simply responded earning Rhys’ full attention.
“What is it?”
Azriel held out a gloved hand and while Azriel had no means to communicate with these shadows, they understood him and gathered into his palm, fluttering into a rounded shape.
Rhys simply looked at them in confusion. “What am I looking at? New party trick?”
Azriel shook his head, face contorting as he studied them. “They’re not mine, I can’t communicate with them.”
“What?” Rhys uttered to himself.
“There’s another Shadowsinger out there,” Azriel responded, mostly to himself. “They communicate with my shadows but I can’t understand them myself.”
“Another Shadowsinger?” His High Lord mumbled, shaking his head. “No, you’re the only Shadowsinger alive.”
“Not anymore,” Azriel argued, his and the guest shadows beginning to flutter wildly in their own disagreement. “Apparently they’re trapped.”
Chained. His shadows corrected. Caved.
“Chained,” he spoke aloud.
“Perhaps for good reason,” Rhys argued, whilst Azriel was his brother and he trusted him beyond measures, he was well aware just how powerful Shadowsingers were, if this other Shadowsinger was locked away then perhaps it was because it was deserved.
Azriel shook his head, a sort of confused anguish taking over his features as he observed the shadows sitting in his palm. “They don’t feel threatening, or evil. They’re scared, pleading for help, for freedom.”
“How do you know they’re not pretending? That this other Shadowsinger hasn’t sent these here to play a ruse just to get their freedom?” Rhys asked.
The guest shadows in his palm shrunk down in defeat whilst his own fluttered in agitation around his shoulders and the tips of his wings.
She doesn’t know they’re here. She can’t control it yet.
Azriel listened to their whispers with widened eyes before looking at Rhys. “She cannot control them, this ability must be newly manifested, they came here on their own. Besides, shadows don’t work like that, they can’t fake feelings or emotions.”
“She?” Rhys sat up straighter in his chair at the newfound information.
“I can’t explain it, Rhys,” Azriel muttered, deep in thought. “I have this feeling that I need to free her, I don’t know why, it just feels right to.”
Those lone little shadows of yours clung to Azriel in the following days, against your knowledge. Azriel spent that time preparing himself for rescuing you, not that he knew it would be you he was rescuing, trying to gain as much information as he could through his own shadows translating messages back and forth with yours.
It was strange for Azriel, not only that there were sentient echoes of darkness that for some reason he could not communicate with but also knowing that somewhere out there, trapped and alone, there was another like him, another who could communicate with the darkness and melt into the shadows, even if it was a new manifestation.
The cave you were imprisoned in, he learned, was located somewhere in The Middle, because of course it was.
What other place would be sick enough to have trapped a person so long that the shadows had sought them out?
Trapped for centuries. The shadows had told him.
Bound by faebane chains, tormented by memories of a time that had long since faded.
Azriel, in all he had been through and in all his grief and terror over the years, could not imagine being trapped within the same four walls for hundreds of years.
He had barely lasted eleven, Rhys had hardly lasted fifty and yet out there, a poor woman had lasted hundreds of years, alone.
A woman of his kind.
The cave, as Azriel stood before it, was hardly a cave. It was more a carved hole in the ground, hidden by overgrown moss and shrubbery that even he, a spymaster, would have overlooked had he passed by without your shadows leading him to it.
He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to squeeze his overgrown body into it.
Your shadows shot forward like whips, diving into the underground cave, no doubt snapping back to you, even though your lack of control, they were drawn to you, desired to be close to your being.
Azriel crouched down, inspecting the gap in the ground, his own shadows fluttering around in agitation, some even darting ahead into the cave. He peeled off his outer layers that he strapped his weapons to, sending them down into the cave before him.
Risky, no doubt, but he felt no threat towards whatever presence was inside this cave, only an innocently, trapped Shadowsinger.
One that meant no harm, only desiring freedom.
He heaved himself through the gap, the concrete lining the underground cave scratching against his arms and shoulders as he dragged himself through, gravity doing most of the work, allowing him to drop down onto solid stone and rock.
It smelled awful; blood, dirt, faebane and a hell of a lot like someone had long since lost the will to live.
He saw the chains, loads of them, hanging from the ceiling, from the walls, even some bound to the ground with bolts.
Even as someone bound by shadows and member of the Night Court, Azriel could not see clearly in the darkness of this pit but his shadows led the way, they led him to your shadows.
Your shadows that covered just about every part of you, hiding you as though attempting to protect your presence from anyone who could possibly mean harm, leaving you just the image of a darkened, fuzzy blur.
“I will not harm her,” Azriel promised. “I only want to free her, take her back to the Night Court, help her heal and gain control.”
He saw the way they hesitated, how they debated whether they had made the right decision in finding him or not.
She trusted you. They whispered, confessed. His own shadows translating. Long time ago.
Azriel did not know what they meant by that. Had he known her once upon a time?
It was when they finally relented and made the decision to fade away from covering your body that Azriel, despite all the gore and torment he had witnessed in his life, felt like he was going to be sick as his eyes fell upon the battered figure of a young, fae woman.
His fae woman.
No. He shook his head, as though it would shake the sick illusion from his mind.
Yet you remained in his sight.
He knew that figure, that hair, those lashes. It has all haunted his every sleep and movement for the last five hundred years. The colour beneath your eyelids that he had drenched his walls in, that he would look upon every morning and every night.
Even unhealthily slimmer than you had been five hundred years ago, there would not be a single moment or a single version of you in which Azriel would not recognise.
The first person who had shown him grace, who had shown him that kindness and love does in fact exist, the person who had given him the family that he still clings to today in hopes of grasping at every last remainder of you that he had believed was long lost.
Your name was a ghost on his lips as he surged forward, shadows following, your own fluttering at his shoulders now as he unsheathed truth-teller and sliced through the chains binding you to this sick prison.
The dagger you had given him.
The first gift he had ever received.
He collapsed to his knees beside your battered, unconscious body.
Your breaths shallow, wrists and ankles raw from centuries of imprisonment, body all but skin and bones.
He smoothed a marred thumb over your cheekbone, hands shaking as he took you in, your body surrendered to his touch as though finally, it had found something safe it could relax itself in.
And though you were unaware, still in the depths of your mind, your eyes had fluttered open, a deep purple hue that he had missed for hundreds of years.
Azriel choked on a sob as he gazed upon you again, his soul shattering open at the sight of the only person he had ever loved in his five hundred years walking the lands of Prythian.
He felt the moment part of his soul tore from his chest and landed straight into yours, a golden thread deep within him keeping it tethered to himself even though it now sat with you.
Because even though Azriel had never needed the confirmation of the Cauldron to know what you were to him, why had it taken him finding you after so long to finally snap into place?
content warnings: pure fluff with a sprinkle of smut (wingplay, 18+)
a/n: seriously this is pure sap i'm sorry
word count: 9.6k
synopsis: Azriel had spent his entire life wishing for this—for you.
my masterlist
~ ~ ~
When Azriel found his mate, he was terrified.
You were everything he wasn’t.
Sweet. Gentle. Soft.
You wore your heart on your sleeve, and Azriel had never been good at handling delicate things. If he held on too tight, squeezed just a little too hard, he was liable to shatter anything precious in his vicinity. He was still racked with nerves any time he visited his mother, still sick with anxiety every time he held Nyx.
Now there was you, who looked at him with so much hope and unfiltered adoration that he could hardly breathe. He probably should have left you alone, but not even he was strong enough to ignore the way your soul was threaded through his. He still remembered the first time you touched him, the way you were the first to break from the stupor of a fresh mating bond, and gently curled your fingers around his wrist.
Azriel knew then that he was a goner.
Now he was standing next to you on the front porch of his brother’s home, listening to your heart beat erratically in your chest. You were nervous—you had said as much—and he couldn’t blame you. He was nervous.
He watched you for a moment. The way your eyelashes brushed the tops of your cheeks as you closed your eyes, the way your breath curled in the air as you let out a little puff. The flecks of snow that clung to your hair, melting slowly in your warmth.
Azriel felt like one of those snowflakes.
He wished he knew how to comfort you. He seemed to have the annoying tendency to freeze up around you. Any ability to form a coherent sentence seemed to flee his mind when he got too close to you, when he thought about you. He was fortunate enough that you didn’t seem to notice, or, if you did, you never mentioned it.
Azriel was flustered around you.
You were everything he ever wanted, and he was so worried about losing you, about messing this up in some way, that he overthought everything he said and did. He was so used to moving with absolute confidence—not necessarily in himself, but in what he was meant to say and do. He knew what was expected of him, but now, with you? Now he was desperate and infatuated and—
Your hand slid into his, your cold fingers entwining with his scarred ones, and Azriel’s spiral grinded to a halt. Your eyes met his, wide and nervous and eager. Your lips pulled into a small smile, your hand squeezing his as if his touch, his presence, was enough to ground you.
“This is fine,” you said, nodding to yourself as you glanced at the wooden double doors. Your gaze flicked back to him, the warm faelights surrounding the door making your eyes twinkle, and Azriel had to remind himself to breathe. “You’ll stay with me, right?”
Azriel blinked, his mind lagging as he processed your words. One of his shadows bumped into the back of his head, before spiraling down to wrap around your entwined hands, and Azriel felt his entire body turn warm. He squeezed your hand, his heart skipping when your smile widened into a grin. “Of course I will,” he answered softly.
You bit your bottom lip briefly, a nervous habit of yours, Azriel had noticed. He was entirely certain you had no idea how endearing, how alluring, the tiny motion was—how the darkened skin of your lips when you released the delicate skin tormented him. He wanted to kiss you. Every fiber of his being wanted to tug you close and press his lips to yours, but then doubt crept in and darkened the momentary haze that engulfed his senses.
He wanted to go at your pace. He needed to go slow. Azriel had taken plenty of lovers, but he had never had a partner, and he was quickly learning that this came with an entirely new facet of intimacy he was a stranger to. A form of intimacy so vulnerable it left him rattled—gentle smiles and grazing of hands, chipping away emotional walls he had built centuries ago.
Azriel shifted just a little closer, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. Everything about you was intoxicating. Your scent was sweet, like brown sugar and vanilla. Azriel thought at first it was because of the long hours you spent in your bakery, but he had decided that it was just you. Your eyes crinkled at the edges, some of your nerves dulling as the two of you stared into each other's eyes, and Azriel couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his own lips.
Then the door flew open, the hinges creaking slightly with the abrupt motion, causing the two of you to flinch. You curled into Azriel’s side, your hand still clutching his as your arm pressed flush against his, and he had never felt so much pride as he did then, knowing your instincts were to lean on him.
He glared at Nesta, who stood in the doorway with cool and narrowed eyes. Her lips pursed as she took the two of you in, and he felt you go rigid underneath her gaze. “Nesta,” he snapped, his spine prickling with irritation.
Her eyes dragged to his, her lips pulling up into the smallest smirk, and he knew then that this was her version of teasing. “Be glad it was me,” she drawled, stepping back to hold the door open further. She raised her brows expectantly, and Azriel sighed as he glanced at you. Your nerves were back in full force, and yet it was you who smiled hesitantly, and took the first step through the threshold.
Nesta shut the door behind the two of you, the heavy wood shutting with a soft click. Azriel helped you out of your coat, his skin buzzing as your smile turned bashful when his fingers curled around the lapels.
“Cassian is practically chomping at the bit,” Nesta warned, her gaze tracking Azriel as he put your coat and scarf in the closet.
“Wonderful,” Azriel murmured.
When he turned back around, you were still standing there in the foyer, your hands fidgeting at your sides as you took in Nesta. “Hi,” you said, a wide smile breaking out on your face as you gave a small, adorable wave that you promptly dropped. He watched your throat bob, your heart once again pounding in your chest. “I’m Y/N.”
Nesta, thank the Mother, smiled back. “Nesta,” she returned, her icy tone thawing a bit. “We’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N.”
Azriel’s face went hot as you glanced at him. “Oh,” you said, uncertainty lacing your words, “All good things, I hope?”
Nesta scoffed, waving away your worry. “The way Az talks about you—you would think you hung the moon and stars.”
Azriel’s face was molten now, but his embarrassment was entirely worth it to see your shoulders relax and your grin brighten into one unmarred by nerves. It was worth it to feel your joy radiate down the bond, a pulse of euphoria that made his mind fuzzy.
He expected you to follow after Nesta, and he sent you an encouraging smile as you watched her walk down the hall. Instead, you turned toward him, grabbing his hand in both of yours, and you pulled him with you after Nesta.
Azriel felt like he was floating.
~ ~ ~
That night, after bidding his family goodbye and freeing you from their incessant questions, and himself from their relentless teasing, the two of you walked side by side along the Sidra. Azriel had offered to winnow you home—or fly you—but you refused. You always refused those offers, and Azriel never pushed, but part of him wished you would let him, just once.
It was admittedly nice to slow down with you, though. The water trickling along the Sidra was louder in the quiet of the night, at least on this side of the city. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his wings were nestled tight against his back, and he was begging his shadows not to swarm you. You were close enough beside him that your arm brushed his every so often, every accidental graze making his heart leap and his shadows buzz.
Then you stopped, the gentle click of your footsteps abruptly halting. You grabbed Azriel’s arm before he could really even react, dragging him back a couple of steps so he stood in front of you. “Are you okay?” he asked, his heart rate immediately picking up.
You smiled softly, a smile unlike any of the others you had passed around to his family tonight, and he liked the thought of you having a smile just for him. “I’m fine—Az.” His cheeks reddened at the familial nickname you clearly picked up on. “I didn’t know you liked to be called that,” you added softly, a question hidden in your words.
Azriel shrugged. “Rhys and Cas have called me that since I was a boy.”
You nodded, looking out at the water behind him. “Your family is really nice—close.”
Azriel felt like there was something you weren’t saying, something you were holding back, and suddenly all of his earlier anxiety came rushing back. “They are,” he agreed slowly. “They can be a little much at times—I know that. I’m sorry if—”
“Azriel,” you interrupted gently, your hand squeezing his arm. “They did nothing wrong.” Then with a smaller smile, “I had a good night.”
He could feel the ache in his chest radiating through him, and he was fairly certain that at least some of that was coming from you. “Tell me what else you’re thinking,” he urged gently.
You took a deep breath, pulling your hand away to stick both of them in your coat pockets. Azriel hated it.
“I just—” you started, then shook your head. “I know we’ve only known each other for a month.” Another smile stretched your lips, but this time it didn’t reach your eyes, and it quickly fell. “And I know I just sort of dropped into your lap—and that I’m probably nothing like what you expected as you mate—”
“That’s not true,” Azriel hurried out, the words desperate. He was the one to reach for you this time, his hands curling around your arms, and he saw the way you watched him, the way your eyes widened at his touch. “You’re—you—” Azriel hated that he was fumbling this, that he was struggling to give you these words. “You’re beautiful,” he finally said. “I don’t have a better word for it. Inside and out—you leave me in awe. And I’m so grateful I found you.”
Your eyes glistened in the moonlight, laughing half-heartedly as you wiped away a tear. “I’m sorry,” you said, “This is silly.”
“It’s not,” he assured.
You shrugged, your hands still stuffed in your pockets and Azriel’s hands still gripping your arms. “I guess it just rattled me, being around so many people that know you so well. It—well, it didn’t feel great. I know that’s unfair, I know it’s only been a month, but—”
Azriel’s hands cupped your cheeks, startling you. Your eyes stared into his, wide and unblinking, and when you watched his gaze fall to your lips, he felt you relax into his touch. “Azriel,” you whispered, your breath warm against his cool skin. “You don’t have to.”
His thumb brushed your cheek, and you leaned a little more into his hand. You never balked from his scarred skin, and you never pushed for answers either. Azriel appreciated it, more than you likely knew, but maybe it was time he started peeling away some of his layers for you. You shouldn’t have to ask.
His eyes met yours again, and he thought he might like to fall into your irises, let the way they sparkled under the Velaris sky consume him. “I want to,” he murmured.
Your breath hitched, and your hands now clutched his waist, your hands curled tight in the fabric of his coat. “What are you waiting for then?”
That was a very good question.
Azriel pressed his lips against yours, and his entire world tilted on its axis. His blood rushed a little faster, his skin turning warm in the cold, early winter air. The thread twining the two of you together glowed when you pressed up on your toes to get closer, one of your hands reaching up to thread through the hair at the back of his head. You tasted like the glass of wine you had sipped on all night, mixed with a hint of sugar that made him smile against your lips.
The kiss was sweet—tender. It was unlike anything Azriel had ever experienced in his five centuries of life and he never wanted it to end. When your hand slid around to cup his face, when your fingers brushed his cheek, he felt himself melt a little, drops of his heart falling into yours.
You were the one to break away first, falling back onto your feet and wobbling a bit, Azriel quickly steadying you by a hand on your waist. You giggled, sniffing a bit as a cold breeze washed over the two of you, and Azriel was certain he looked like a lovesick fool as a grin spread across his face. Gods, you were perfect.
Azriel couldn’t help but press one more kiss to your lips, your face now flushed with warmth when he cupped your jaw. “You’ve brought out parts of me even I didn’t know existed,” he murmured, eyes stuck to yours again. Your lips parted, awe washing over your face. “This is just the beginning, Y/N.”
You smiled, that soft and special smile again, and Azriel was floating amongst the moonlit clouds. “I like the sound of that,” you murmured.
~ ~ ~
Azriel was in love.
His heart was irrevocably yours, and there was no other life on this planet he would trust to handle it with as much effortless care as you.
You were joy incarnate, and maybe there was some sick and twisted humor behind the Mother’s choice to link his dark and dreary heart to yours—but he was selfishly so grateful that he belonged to you now.
You were fluttering between booths in the market, your hair a little tangled and errant from the wind today, and a smile so soft it immediately disarmed anyone you approached. Azriel was trying to stay back, to let you shop and chatter to your heart’s desire without his intimidating presence dampening your glee.
It was freezing today, a light dusting of snow laid across the cobblestone streets—but you had insisted on visiting the winter markets, saying that today would be the best day for finding bargains, now that Winter Solstice had passed.
His heart was warm as he watched the silver pendant he gifted you glint in the morning sun, a diamond encrusted starburst that sat against the center of your chest. You had worn it every day since Solstice, and Azriel couldn’t deny the pride he felt when he saw the necklace around your neck.
Your head snapped to him, your eyes locking on him from across the street, as if you had known where he had wandered off to this entire time. Your eyes were bright as you hurried through the crowd, your steps light and airy as you ran toward him.
“Azriel,” you said excitedly. You looped your arm through his without a second thought, tugging him close against your side before you dragged him into the throng of faeries. “You have to see this booth. She has peppermint chocolates left over from Solstice, and I was so sad I didn’t find any this year. Oh! She has these chocolate covered cherries too, and I know you don’t love sweets, but you do like cherries—”
Azriel could listen to you talk for days on end. Your voice was like a balm for his soul, and your touch—your touch was enchanting. No matter how much time you spent together, Azriel was unraveled by every one of your touches. It was these casual displays of affection that really did him in. The way you pressed your side against his and held onto him as you pointed out sweet after sweet to him.
The way you didn’t mind the stares his presence garnered sometimes. The way you held on just a little bit tighter when you caught the interested gaze of a female across the table. Azriel loved it.
He loved you.
~ ~ ~
Azriel had done his best to shield you from the gory and unsavory details that came with his job. He hated that you knew he had hurt people, that he was feared. He was terrified you might one day wake up and see the blood on his hands, and finally decide to leave him.
That was why, despite every instinct inside him screaming to go to you, he plummeted on the balcony of the House of Wind, and not on the cobblestone street leading toward your house. He groaned as he pushed himself to his feet, cursing the Autumn Court bastards that had ambushed him at the border. He ought to wring Eris’s neck for letting his father’s minions slip through his fingers.
He should have probably found Madja, but he hated the idea of waking her in the middle of the night, when he knew he would heal—eventually. He just needed to shut himself in his room and lick his wounds for a bit, and he would be fine.
Fine enough to finally see you, after weeks apart.
Azriel didn’t know how he didn’t immediately notice you sitting on his bed, but he nearly fell over when he heard your horrified voice murmur, “Oh gods.”
The door shut behind Azriel with a harsh thud, his body falling against it as soon as it closed. He winced when your hands cradled his face, your skin soft and warm against his clammy and dirty cheeks. “Az,” you breathed, your mounting panic making your hands tremble. “What happened?”
One of his hands came up to wrap around yours, gently pulling it away from his face. “I’m okay,” he told you, voice rough with the obvious lie. He would be okay, though, and that’s what mattered. “Just a little bruised.”
“You’re bleeding,” you argued, sliding his arm over your shoulder. His sweet mate, who didn’t hesitate to shoulder the weight of his body that was twice the size of yours. He did his best not to lean too much on you, but his mind was addled with pain and exhaustion and confusion, and he just wanted to melt into your touch.
You guided him into the bathroom, setting him down on the toilet as the bathing pool behind him started to fill. You brushed the hair from his eyes, one of your hands gliding down to cup his jaw, and Azriel couldn’t help but let his head fall into your hand.
“Sweetheart,” you murmured, and Azriel was practically a puddle on the floor. No one had ever called him something so lovely, so soft. No one had ever handled him with so much care.
“I promise,” he said, meeting your eyes. “I’ll be okay.”
“Well, you’re not right now,” you grumbled. Azriel shouldn’t find it as endearing as he did. He knew it probably hurt you to see him hurt—he didn’t want to even imagine if the roles were reversed.
Azriel flinched when your fingers started working at the buckles of his leathers, making your eyes fly back to his. “Did I hurt you?” you asked, fingers hovering over his abdomen.
“No.” He shook his head. “What are you doing?”
You huffed, going right back to work on his leathers. “We need to get these off of you.”
Azriel’s hand grabbed yours, his eyes wide when he met your exasperated ones. “I am more than capable of—”
“Azriel—” you snapped, fingers tightening around his leathers, making him hiss. You immediately loosened your grip, and a flash of guilt passed through your eyes, making you deflate. “Just let me take care of you?” you pleaded.
Azriel wasn’t going to tell you no. Even if his heart had stopped beating and his shadows had stilled behind him.
So he nodded, and you started undoing his buckles and laces one by one, peeling away the blood soaked fabric until his skin was bare. It was unfair that this was how you were undressing him for the first time.
You tossed his leathers to the side, picking up a cloth and soap then dunking it in the tub. As you wrung the rag out, you glanced at him out of the corner of your eyes, catching him watching you. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
He tracked your movements, his shadows finally breaking from their stupor to circle around you slowly. A drop of water fell to his knee as you let the cloth hover between you, your brows raising expectantly.
Azriel knew he should. He should tell you about his mission—he should be transparent with his mate of all people about the atrocities he faces, and sometimes causes, if you were ever going to accept the bond between your souls.
He knew that, and yet the words wouldn’t form.
Instead, he swallowed hard, his mouth gone dry, and shook his head slowly. “Not tonight.”
He saw the disappointment in your eyes, no matter how carefully you tried to veil it. He felt the twinge of hurt that pushed through the bond, and Azriel hated himself for it.
“I’m not naive, you know,” you said as you pressed the cloth to his abdomen. Azriel flinched, and this time you didn’t pull away. “I know what you do is dangerous. I know the sacrifices you must make are unimaginable. You don’t have to hide it from me.”
Azriel’s brain was short-circuiting as he listened to your soft voice, as you gently cleaned the blood from his skin. It wasn’t until you pulled away that he realized he should really answer you, but he didn’t have a good response.
He supposed if he wasn’t ready to give you one truth, he could give you another though.
You dunked the cloth in the water, ripples of blood curling away from your hands—his blood, and undoubtedly others. You stood up, moving back to him, this time using the pads of your fingers to gently tilt his chin up. You held his face like that as you wiped the dirt and grime and caked on blood from around his eyes, your finger gently brushing his jaw anytime you went over a cut.
You were so beautiful. There were truly not enough words to describe how perfect you were, and Azriel was appalled when he felt his eyes burn and his nose tingle as he watched you take care of him. He was mortified when your eyes met his and your ministrations stopped.
“Azriel,” you said softly.
“I’m scared,” he admitted, voice rougher than he would have liked. “I’m scared you will look at me differently, if you know the things I’ve done—the things I’m capable of.”
Your face twisted, and Azriel immediately wanted to take his words back and shove them down deep inside. You tossed the cloth into the bath, cupping his face with both of your hands, and Azriel felt a tremble go through him. He had never felt so exposed as he did then, sitting on a toilet with bare and tattered skin, his head—and his heart—in his mate’s soft and gentle hands.
You kissed him.
It was just a chaste kiss, a slow and drawn out press of your lips to his, but it dragged the breath from Azriel’s lungs and left him dazed and blinking as soon as you pulled away.
Your eyes were locked on his when you said, “I know you don’t remember this, but you saved my life once—before we met.”
Every whirring and buzzing worry circling Azriel’s head ground to a halt. “What?” he rasped. How could he ever forget—
You smiled, the first one you had given him all night, and your thumb brushed against his cheek. “When Velaris was attacked,” you said, voice so soft in the quiet of the night, “I was cornered in the alley behind my bakery. One of Hybern’s monsters had found me—I’ll never forget its face.” Azriel’s hand came up to circle your wrist, his heart aching as your voice trembled. “I thought I was going to die, Azriel. Blood was raining from the sky and screams were piercing the air, and I was staring in the face of what I thought was my end—and then his head fell to the pavement.”
Azriel shook his head, his chest tight. “I don’t remember—how can I not—”
“Sweetheart,” you interrupted gently, “You didn’t even see me—I mean, you obviously knew someone was there, but you came and went like a breeze. You were a little busy defending your city.” That smile again. “But a shadow stayed behind, curling against my neck like a worried pet—and I knew who saved me. I’ve never been scared of you Azriel, but after that day, knowing I lived in a city under your protection made me feel safe.”
Azriel was crying now. His cheeks were damp from the tears that ran down his face and onto your hands. “I don’t want the darkness that taints my soul to ever seep into yours.”
You hummed softly, brushing away the hair that had fallen into his eyes again. “I quite like the dark,” you said, “It’s gentle in its own way. It knows things that would never be found in the light.”
“I don’t deserve you.”
“You do,” you promised, your own eyes glimmering in the moonlight leaking through the windows now. “And you never have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Azriel—but I’m here if you do, and I will love you through it all.”
~ ~ ~
Azriel had never considered himself to be a jealous male.
Was he occasionally temperamental? Yes.
Did he have a history of pining? Unfortunately.
He was never territorial, though. He could still remember the days Cassian would spar with males in their camp after treading too close to a female, the rage that wafted off them in waves as Cassian’s smug ass smirked at them. Azriel was never like that.
No, he wasn’t territorial, and he wasn’t jealous—he was just protective. He would die for the ones he loved, and now that you were at the top of that list, he was just worried about you. Worried about the way the male at the bar kept inching closer, the way your smile grew tighter when he laughed at one of his jokes, and the way you flinched when his hand touched your arm.
Watching his fingers graze your skin turned Azriel’s vision red.
He shrugged off Cassian’s attempt to sit him back down, rage pumping through his veins as his gaze stayed glued to the hand resting on your arm. He really wasn’t thinking when his hands grabbed your waist, physically pulling you away from the male and inserting himself between you and him. Your eyes were wide when you saw him, startled by his sudden appearance. “Az—” you said, “What’s wrong?”
Azriel picked up the arm the male had touched, his disgruntled jeers behind him blurring with the rest of the raucous throughout Rita’s. He dragged his hand up and down the length of your arm, your breath stuttering at his touch. “Are you okay?” he asked, softening the venom that he had been ready to spew at the male behind him.
You blinked, glancing down at your arm in his hand. “I’m okay,” you answered, with a bit of confusion in your tone. “Are you?”
Azriel was practically vibrating with anger, every bit of his restraint being used to face you and to not turn around and grab that male by the throat. “Great,” he said.
“You’re shaking,” you said, your hand coming up to rest on his chest. “And your heart is racing.”
His hand came up to rest on top of yours, finally dropping your arm from his grasp. “I’m okay,” he said, this time a little more convincing—he thought. “I just—I got worried. When I saw that male…”
Understanding dawned on your face, and an amused grin stretched across your face. “Ah,” you said, patting his chest. Azriel only squeezed your hand. “I see.” You peered around his shoulder, and Azriel begrudgingly followed your gaze, relieved to see the male had turned his attention to a female that was not his mate. “He was harmless. A little touchy, if you ask me—” A lot touchy, if you asked Azriel. “But who isn’t when they’re drunk?”
“He shouldn’t just be touching people—”
“No,” you agreed. “He shouldn’t.” Then mischief lit your eyes, and you stepped in closer, your chest brushing against his. “I bet you’re a cuddly drunk.”
Azriel scoffed, leaning into you a little more. Your scent drowned out the sweat and alcohol of the bar, and he much preferred your sweet smell over the suffocating air in Rita’s. “In your dreams, honey.”
~ ~ ~
“Can I touch your wings?”
Azriel nearly dropped the glass of water he had just filled from the kitchen tap. He blinked, taking in the way you were sitting cross-legged on the edge of your bed, your bottom lip stuck between your teeth again. He could see the curiosity eating at the edges of your eyes, and he wondered just how long you had been dying to ask him that.
“You can tell me no,” you said, drawing him out of his shock. “I asked Cassian—”
“You asked Cassian if you could touch his wings?”
Azriel felt faint.
“No!” you exclaimed, hands shooting out to your sides. “No, of course not. I just—I didn’t know—” You huffed, clearly flustered. Azriel came closer, setting your glass of water on your night stand so he could sit beside you. “He explained that you’re taught to protect your wings as babes—that they’re sensitive, vulnerable—but he said that he didn’t think you would mind if I asked.”
Of course he said that.
“I’m sorry,” you said sheepishly. “That was foolish. I shouldn’t have brought it up—”
Azriel grabbed your hands that were moving around frantically, bringing them down to rest in your lap. Your throat bobbed as you looked at him, your eyes wide and nervous. “Of course you can touch my wings,” he said softly, his words alone making his stomach flip. “But, sweetheart, they’re very…” Azriel felt his face warm. “They’re very sensitive.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Not like that,” he corrected gently.
You blinked, recognition slowly creeping onto your face. “Oh.” Then you winced, embarrassment clouding your face. “Oh. I can’t believe I asked Cassian—”
“It’s okay,” he assured you, and he would make sure Cassian never brought it up again. “Cassian didn’t mind, I guarantee you.”
You nodded softly, your eyes roving over him, your gaze catching on his lips—then his wings splayed out behind him. When your eyes flit back to him, your pupils blown with your heart beating a little faster in your chest, Azriel forgot how to breathe. “Can I?” you asked softly.
Azriel licked his lips, nodding slowly, anticipation clawing at his chest as he waited for his mate to touch him. You slowly untwined your hands from his, shifting so you faced him more, your hand trembling slightly as you let it hover over the inner membrane of his wing.
When your fingers finally grazed the delicate skin, Azriel grappled for every last thread of restraint he possessed to hold still, to let you explore this part of him—months of growing tension and longing to tip over this new edge of intimacy with his mate, and he was wholly unprepared for just how transcendent your touch was. Your fingers dragged up his wing and then back down one of the ridges, your skin soft and warm against him, leaving a trail of unimaginable pleasure in their wake.
When you traced back up the ridge, and your fingers trailed along the arch to the inner membrane again, the shudder that escaped Azriel was inevitable. You paused, your fingers lifting from him. “I’m okay,” he said, his voice embarrassingly rough.
He noticed it then, the shift in your scent—your warm and sugary scent turning hot and intoxicating in an entirely new way. He felt the desire that twirled inside you pulse down the bond, and Azriel’s own arousal intensified ten-fold.
You grabbed his face in your hands, your lips locking with his before he could overthink this, before he could hesitate or flee or even think about slowing down. You had never kissed him like this before, never with so much fervor and white hot desire that it left him spinning and clinging to you just to stay upright.
You tugged him close by the neck of his shirt, stretching the flimsy fabric to the point it ripped a bit at the seam. You only huffed against his mouth in frustration, your hands reached around him to rip open the slats in his shirt, fingers grazing the skin at the base of his wings and forcing another shudder through his body.
Azriel curled into you, his forehead pressed against your neck, his arms looping around you to hold you even closer. His breaths were growing more shallow, his mind foggy with something beyond desire—a sense of belonging and love so potent he thought he might drown in it.
Your fingers slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, dragging over his abdomen as you pushed the fabric up, up, and up, a desperation limning your movements that he had never seen in you—a desperation that made his mind stutter, a kernel of worry nestling inside him as you pulled his shirt over his head—and then yours.
You were truly ethereal, which Azriel already knew, but seeing you like this was…it was an honor. A privilege—one he had no intention of taking for granted. His hands rested on the soft curves of your waist, your body warm and pliant against him.
Then your hands reached out, tracing his wing in delicate patterns that felt anything but—and there was only so much willpower Azriel had when he was in the hands of his mate. He squeezed your hips, holding you away from him just a bit, but you did your best to reach for him again. “Y/N,” he breathed out, voice ragged and trembling when you reached for his other wing. “Honey,” he said, pushing you back a bit, your hazy eyes finally meeting him. “Maybe we should slow down?”
A flash of hurt so raw and visceral passed through your eyes, and Azriel felt like he had been stabbed.
You shook your head, blinking too many times. “I don’t—do you want to stop?”
“No,” he rasped, his body coiled tight with pleasure that was sitting on a dangerous precipice. “But you seem—”
Your eyes filled with a new determination, your hands tracing down his face, his neck, his chest, his stomach. “I want to take care of you,” you whispered, your lips latching onto the skin at his neck before he could really respond.
Then you pulled back, tugging on his arm as you crawled onto the center of the bed. “Come here,” you coaxed, and Azriel was too enthralled by you to do anything but follow.
He fell back into the mountain of pillows you had scattered across the head of your bed, his wings splaying out on either side of him. He watched you carefully, his eyes drinking in every inch of your body, breathing in your scent that left him spinning as you crawled on top of him, your legs bracketing his hips. Your eyes locked onto his, and relief washed over him as he felt you tug on the thread between you, a gentle warmth rushing through his blood that seemed to anchor both of you back to each other.
Your hands roamed his chest, his stomach, your eyes tracking your fingers that tracing every ridge and valley of his muscles that rippled reflexively beneath your touch. “I’ve never felt this way,” you whispered, half to yourself. “You’re so beautiful, Azriel—it makes me dizzy.”
Azriel huffed a laugh, his head falling back into the pillows as he let you explore. “I know the feeling.”
He sucked in a sharp breath when your lips pressed to his chest, trembling as you worked your way over his skin, your tongue laving over his nipple briefly before moving up to his neck. He had never—no one had ever had this sort of access to him. He was always in control in the past, always the one in charge. Never had he just laid bare for someone to inspect and touch and kiss—but he couldn’t imagine not letting you have your way with him.
He would give you the moon if you asked.
He groaned when you sucked a little harder on the skin at his collarbone, and when your mouth dragged over his shoulder and to his arm, your teeth grazing his bicep in a way that simultaneously taunted and begged for more, he had succumbed entirely to your touch. Your hands moved back to his wings, stroking and brushing the membrane with exploratory and reverent touches that Azriel was certain was better than anything he had ever dreamed of.
When your teeth sank against the skin of his bicep, he gasped, the bite unexpected and intoxicating. You kissed the mark you inevitably left in your wake, and finally, finally, you brought your lips back to his. His hips involuntarily bucked against you, desperation creeping in as you kissed him and stroked the arch of his wings. “Honey,” he rasped, your lips sealing his warning away for another second. “I can’t—I’m going to—”
You rolled your hips against him, your lips kissing his jaw, his neck, his ear. “Good,” you whispered. “Let go, Azriel. I’ve got you, I promise.”
Your words electrocuted something inside him, sparking another dormant and fractured piece of him back to life. He fell into the pleasure you had weaved inside him, letting it wrap around him and hold him hostage for so many long and blissful seconds, his entire body trembling as he came undone.
You kissed him through it, your touches slowing and growing more gentle, and Azriel had never felt true euphoria until this moment. His chest heaved as he came down, his eyes never leaving yours. When you smiled softly with a hint of shyness lying in the crinkle of your eyes, Azriel knew that he had found a home in your arms, and he would protect and cherish it until the day he drew his last breath.
~ ~ ~
If a few nights ago was Azriel’s dream come true, today was his living nightmare.
You had been avoiding him since that night, and every second that passed without seeing you only stretched the chasm growing in his chest farther and farther.
He was panicking.
Everything seemed fine when the two of you fell asleep—good, even. Azriel had never felt so at peace as he had in that moment, with you in his arms and his wing draped over you.
You had not let him take care of you the way you had him, but he didn’t want to push. He would never do that. As much as it pained him not to give you the pleasure you had given him, he recognized the vulnerability that had crept into your eyes, that laced your words after you kissed him and said Not tonight.
He knew it was a lot.
It was overwhelming and intoxicating and he could have very well stayed in bed next to you for an eternity if you let him—but you were gone come morning.
The bed was still warm where you had once laid, your scent still potent on your sheets, and the morning sun glittered off the charms and suncatchers you had hanging in your window—it was a perfectly warm and peaceful morning, except you were nowhere to be found.
Azriel would have liked to stay until you returned. He tried. He spent the morning cleaning your kitchen, doing the dishes from last night’s dinner, wiping down the counters and straightening the Solstice decorations you still had out. He picked up your living room—he even folded the pile of laundry you had stacked on the chair in your room.
Hours passed and your apartment was spotless, but you still weren’t back—and well, Azriel wasn’t clueless. He could take a hint.
He started to feel like an invader and less like a guest the longer your absence stretched, and he never wanted to encroach on your space, your privacy. He never wanted to be the reason you were uncomfortable, though it seemed that was exactly what he was.
So he left, the smell of you and your apartment clinging to his clothes as he shut and locked your door behind him, a twinge of guilt in his chest for stealing your spare key, but he would be damned if he left your apartment unlocked and vulnerable.
He really wanted to sit on the roof across the street and wait for you to return, but the odds of you catching him were too high—you always seemed to know exactly when he was near and where he morphed into the shadows. He also didn’t want to scare you, so he settled for a note on your counter and your spare key in his pocket, and possibly a small tendril of shadow lurking in the curtains of your living room.
You came home in the early evening—and that’s all he knew.
He was itching to see you, to talk to you, to understand what went wrong, but you were never home when Azriel stopped by.
Just like you weren’t home now. It was like you knew when he was coming, and fled before he could catch you. He didn’t understand.
He wasn’t angry. Far from it. He would be the biggest hypocrite in Prythian if he was—the Mother only knew how many times he had pushed people away or ran from his feelings. Hell, he was terrified he would do that to you, he just never imagined he would be facing such a role reversal.
A bit arrogant of him, if he was honest. He dropped his forehead to your door, the silence of your apartment weighing him down. He could go to your bakery. He knew he would most likely find you there, but he hated the thought of ambushing you at your place of work. It was important to you, and the last thing he wanted to do was taint it.
And really, it had only been a few days. He was being a tad dramatic. His brothers would tear him apart if they saw him now. He could practically hear Cassian’s taunts—
“Azriel?”
His head flew up, his heart leaping in his chest at the sound of your voice. You were standing there, just a few feet away from him, with your hair a bit frazzled from the day and smudges of flour streaked across your pants. Your scent wafted over to him, the same warm and sugary scent mixed with something new—cherries.
Azriel took a step closer, his eyes raking over you. “You smell like cherries.”
You blinked, a bit stunned, and Azriel wanted to shake himself for saying that of all things. You bit your bottom lip, and Azriel watched the way it curled beneath your teeth and popped back out when you said, “Yeah, I was working on something new. I thought you might like it, but…” you trailed off, seeming a bit dazed. “What are you doing here?”
Azriel ignored the twinge of hurt in his chest, knowing it was a perfectly reasonable question to ask the male who was slumped against your apartment door. “I wanted to see you.”
He saw your grip on your keys tighten, glancing warily at your apartment door. “Oh–”
“Actually,” he said hurriedly, desperate to cling to you now that he found you again, “I wanted to show you something.”
You seemed to relax a bit, your eyes lightening and a soft smile pulling at your lips. “Yeah?” you asked.
Azriel nodded, scrambling to put together this very last minute plan. “I want to take you flying.”
Your eyes widened, your body going rigid all over again. “Azriel—”
“Please,” he begged, taking another step closer. Then, softening his tone, voice pleading, he said again, “Please. I don’t know what I did wrong, but—”
“You did nothing wrong,” you hurried out, your hand wrapping around his wrist. Guilt flooded your face, and when your eyes started to glisten, Azriel didn’t hesitate before he pulled you into his chest. And when the first shudder rocked through you he only held you tighter, his hand rubbing up and down your back.
He reached for the key in his pocket, his other arm holding you to him while you cried, and he fumbled with the key in the lock before pushing your door open and guiding the two of you inside. “Honey,” he murmured into your hair, your face pressed against his neck that was now damp with your tears. He stroked the back of your head, your body only falling into him more.
“I’m sorry,” you rasped. You sniffed, your fingers clutching his shirt tighter before pulling back. You wiped at your face, your eyes swollen and red, and Azriel felt utterly helpless.
“For what?” he asked gently.
You looked at him incredulously, shimmying out of his hold and taking a step back. “For leaving you. I can’t believe I did that. I hate myself for just running away—”
“Hey,” he interrupted gently, his heart hurting for you. “It’s okay to need space.”
“But Azriel—”
“In the future,” he added on, “I would appreciate it if you told me that, though.”
You nodded, your cheeks damp and glistening from the tears that still slowly rolled down your face. “What happened?” he asked.
“I was scared,” you whispered, the words rough as they scraped your throat. “I am scared. I—” You closed your eyes, breathing in through your nose, and then back out. “I’ve never been in love.”
Oh.
Azriel was fairly certain he just felt the world shift a few degrees to the left.
“And I know it sounds ridiculous. I know I’ve been clinging to you since we met, since the mating bond snapped, but the other night, I just—I realized, I was in love with you. I am in love with you, and I think I would die if I ever lost you. And I started overthinking, worrying about everything I did, and I felt like I took advantage when that’s the last thing I wanted to do, and I just, I just spiraled, and I’m so sorry.”
“Take advantage?” Azriel knew that was not the most important thing you had just said, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stand the thought of you feeling guilty when you did nothing wrong, and he was going to fix that immediately.
Your throat bobbed, and he could feel your nerves racing down the bond, pummeling his heart with every wave that emanated from you. “Yes,” you said, voice small. “You decided to share something vulnerable with me and I attacked you—”
“Attacked?”
“Yes,” you argued, and he could see the shame and embarrassment heavy in your eyes. It made him nauseous. You threw your arm over your eyes, and said, “Azriel, I bit your bicep, for Cauldron’s sake.”
“Trust me, I remember,” he said, reaching out to pull your arm away from your face. “I remember liking it—more than that, actually.” He cupped your face in his hands, your skin warm against him. “Sweetheart, you made me come in my pants.”
You bit your lip, your entire face going hot. Azriel brushed his thumb over your cheek, wishing he could erase the last 72 hours of pain you had endured alone. “I’m the last person who would ever judge you—for anything.”
Your eyes fell to his lips, and he waited—waited for you to make the next move, and when you pressed your lips to his, he felt himself melt a bit, his soul somehow melding with yours more than it already had. You pressed a few more gentle pecks to his mouth before pulling away, your eyes searching his for something, a flicker of uncertainty lingering.
“You did nothing wrong,” he assured gently, his hand squeezing your hip. “Mating bonds make everything more intense, it’s natural.”
You nodded. “I guess I knew that in theory, just, experiencing it—” You sighed. “I’m sorry.”
Azriel smiled gently, pushing some hair out of your face. “It’s okay. We’re okay, I promise.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you and his shadows brushing against your cheeks once he finally let them go. “I love you,” he murmured into your ear, and the undiluted joy that rippled down the bond made him smile wider than he had in centuries.
~ ~ ~
Azriel was, in fact, a cuddly drunk.
At least, he was with you.
His mate.
Sue him.
How could he not be?
You were just so beautiful. You were warm and soft and loving. You smelled delicious, like freshly baked cookies. You were his love. His home.
And it was his birthday. If he couldn’t be handsy with his mate—well that would be a piss poor birthday.
Most importantly, you didn’t mind, and your opinion was frankly the only one Azriel cared about. So when you giggled as he tugged you into his lap, your eyes wide and bright as you pressed a kiss to his lips in greeting, Azriel did not give a damn about his brothers’ teasing quips from across the table.
He pressed a kiss to your jaw, and then the corner of your mouth, smiling once his lips finally pressed to yours again. “Az,” you giggled, “I knew you would be a touchy drunk.”
Azriel hummed, his arms circling around your waist as he pressed your back to his chest, his nose nuzzling against your neck. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder where the strap of your dress had fallen down, then fixed it for you. “Just with you,” he murmured. Though, that wasn’t entirely true, given the way he had his arms thrown around Rhys and Cas earlier in the night. He kissed the pointed tip of your ear, smiling into your hair when you sucked in a sharp breath. “It’s okay, right?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t bothering you.
You turned your head to face him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Yeah, baby,” you said softly. “It’s okay.”
Azriel felt fuzzy—floaty in a way he almost never was from drinking. So maybe the alcohol coursing through his blood had dropped some of his usual inhibitions, but he knew that the buzzy and giddy warmth that was unfurling in his chest was entirely because of you.
“I think I want to go home,” he said to you, voice low in your ear.
“Are you sure?” you asked.
He nodded, his arms squeezing you once before letting you go, tapping your ass twice to coax you up and off his lap. He grinned when he watched you grow flustered, your eyes glaring at him playfully as you slid off his lap.
“Heading home already?” Rhys asked as Azriel stood up, swaying a bit on his feet before your arm circled his waist. “Leave it to Az to be the first one to leave his own party,” Rhys taunted, mischief glowing behind his purple irises.
“Leave him be, Rhys,” Cassian said, leaning on the table as his eyes gleamed with anything but innocence. “He’s surely eager for Y/N’s gift to him.”
Azriel snarled at Cassian, pushing you behind him as his wings flared. Apparently, he was also a territorial drunk.
“Knock it off, Cassian,” Nesta growled, swatting his arm.
Your hand laced with his, his eyes snapping to you, who was watching his display with amusement. “Come on, birthday boy,” you said, tugging on his arm. “You can fight your brother another day.”
He cast another glare at a smirking Cassian, then let you lead him by the hand out onto the street. His steps were a little more stumbly than he would have liked, and he was certainly in no state to fly either of you anywhere, but you didn’t seem to mind as you held his hand in yours and walked toward your apartment a few streets over.
“I love you,” Azriel blurted.
You smiled, the moonlight washing your face in a pretty glow that made you look ethereal. “I love you too, Az.” You squeezed his hand, swinging your arms a bit. “I hope you’ve had a good birthday.”
Azriel nodded, a little too eagerly if your widening grin was anything to go by. “The best I’ve ever had.”
You laughed, leaning into his side, the two of your stumbling together before regaining your balance. “I doubt that. I have over five centuries of birthdays to compete with.”
Azriel shook his head, then brought your hand up to his lips to press a gentle kiss to your skin. “There’s no competition. None of them had you.”
He was a sappy drunk too, it seemed.
“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he went on, his words only slightly smushed together. “I love you. I love you so much I can hardly breathe. I cannot wait for the day you decide you want to accept the bond—at least, I hope you do. I want you for an eternity, my love.” The two of you were still walking hand in hand along the Sidra, your apartment building now visible in the distance, but Azriel kept rambling, “We can have whatever kind of mating ceremony you want. However big or small, I just want our friends and family there with us—if you even want a ceremony.”
“I do,” you told him, looking up at him with a smile on your face. “I definitely do.”
Azriel’s stomach fluttered, and he leaned a little more into you, his body relaxing into your touch as you neared your home. “Okay,” he sighed, relief and love and joy making him feel like he was floating. “I do too.”
~ ~ ~
It was entirely too bright, and this bed was entirely too empty. Azriel groaned as he turned his face into your pillows, the silk sheet set he bought you blocking out the sun for a brief moment.
Then he smelled food.
He pushed himself upright, his head throbbing a bit from the movement, and his eyes taking a moment to adjust. He was bare aside from his underwear, but he was still too warm in the morning sun. He shoved the covers from his body, his feet landing on the plush rug beside your bed as he stood up.
He followed the smell of bacon and cinnamon, the sound of pots and pans clattering growing louder as he opened your bedroom door and moved toward the kitchen. You were moving around in a flurry, your feet bare on the kitchen tile—your legs bare, aside from his far too large shirt that draped over your body.
Your knee lifted the oven door after pulling a pan out, your hip pushing it the rest of the way shut as you sat the pan on top of the stove with a clang. You slide the oven mitts from your hands, brushing some hair out of your face as you let out a heavy breath.
“Smells good.”
Your head whipped toward Azriel, your eyes going wide as he walked closer. Azriel’s heart pounded in his chest as he took in the spread of food across your kitchen counters. You were clearly in your element, and Azriel loved seeing you like this—but you had never cooked or baked for him before, for obvious reasons.
“What’s all this?” he asked as he peered at the pan of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls.
Your lips parted, your hands ringing together as you rocked back on your heels once. “Breakfast,” you said. A nervous smile pulling at your lips that made Azriel’s heart stall. “For you.”
“For me?” he rasped. “Y/N—”
“Only if you’re ready,” you hurried out, “but I know I am, and, after last night…”
Azriel’s cheeks went hot as last night replayed in his head, the way he clung to you and gushed about his love for you. He moved closer, crowding your space. “I’m ready,” he murmured.
Your face lit up, and Azriel’s hangover was long forgotten as you reached for the fork on the counter behind him. You scooped a piece of a cinnamon roll right out of the still steaming pan, and when you blew on the hot and doughy piece Azriel’s heart flipped. You were still smiling as you offered it to him, the fork slightly shaking from the nerves he knew were coursing through you.
His hand folded over yours and the fork, helping guide it into his mouth so he could take the first bite of the first meal his mate had made for him. He pulled the fork away from his lips, tossing it on the counter as he pulled you flush to him. “I love you,” he said, the words gravelly and choked with more emotion than he really knew what to do with.
You pulled back to cup his face, pushing up on your toes to kiss his lips. “I love you, Azriel.”
Hi! Can you do one with Azriel finding out your mates with him/ meeting him? 💖
(Photos courtesy of Pinterest)
Authors Note: Love this request! I chose to go down a rom-com vibe, as I absolutely adore scenes like this.
The first snowfall in Velaris always made everything feel softer.
Quieter. Gentler.
The upcoming Solstice celebration usually had the residents in festive cheer, especially with the added knowledge that the High Lady's birthday was also at Solstice. Residents decorated outside their houses and storefronts, the smell of cinnamon and cranberry would waft through the markets and the Rainbow was also bustling with festive cheer and spirit.
You would have appreciated it more if you weren't currently running late.
"Gods, I'm going to be so late-" you muttered under your breath, clutching your coat tighter as you hurried down the street, boots crunching over fresh snow.
Your focus was entirely on getting across the Sidra in time, mentally running through excuses that didn't make you sound completely incompetent to your friend you were currently running late to meet.
All because of the one stubborn section of your hair at the back of your head that you could never get the annoying kink out of.
Which is precisely why you didn't see him.
You hurried down the street and turned a corner too quickly, keeping an eye on the ground to avoid any icy patches-
-and slammed straight into a wall of solid muscle.
"Oh-!"
"Shit-!"
Strong hands caught your arms on instinct, steadying you before you could fall. You were staring at a chest of black leather, a blue siphon glowing faintly. For half a second, you thought you'd be fine.
And then-
Ice.
Your foot abruptly slid out from under you.
His did too.
There was a split second of shared, horrified realisation before everything went spectacularly wrong.
You both went down in an undignified tangle - arms, legs, and wings -snow flying everywhere as you hit the ground hard.
A breath left your lungs in a rush as you landed flat on your back with a handsome stranger above you.
One hand planted beside your head. The other gripping your waist to keep from crushing you completely. His wings flared slightly, shielding you from the worst of the fall, even as snow dusted dark leathery membrane and talons.
For a moment, the world just...stopped.
You blinked up at him.
He was-
Beautiful, in a way that caught you completely off guard. Shadows curled faintly at his shoulders, like they had a mind of their own. His hazel eyes were already on yours, sharp and assessing-
And then they changed as your eyes met.
His eyes dilated. His nostrils flared. His jaw tightened.
Something deep, ancient, and unyielding snapped into place.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't soft.
It was a jolt - like something invisible had reached into your chest, zapped you and tied itself to him.
Suddenly you could feel him.
You were aware of nothing else, but him. The world faded around you. The centre of your universe was this stranger above you.
Your breath hitched.
His did too.
The shadows around him surged, then stilled - before slowly, almost reverently, drifting toward you.
Oh.
Oh.
Well, fuck-
Neither of you moved.
Neither of you spoke.
But you felt it - him - as clearly as your own heartbeat.
And judging by the way his entire body had gone rigid, the way his grip on you had tightened ever so slightly-
He felt it too.
"Well," an amused male voice drawled, "this is one way to meet someone."
The moment shattered.
You froze.
Slowly - slowly - you became aware of everything else.
The street. The snow.
And the two males standing a few feet away, both very clearly trying - and failing - not to laugh.
Your stomach dropped clean out of your body.
The High Lord of the Night Court was watching you, violet eyes gleaming with poorly concealed delight.
Beside him, a male you could only assume was the General of his armies had already given up trying to hide his amusement and was openly snickering.
You stopped breathing.
You were on the ground.
If the High Lord and his General were there, then that meant you were-
Under the Shadowsinger.
In front of the High Lord.
Covered in snow.
"Oh my gods," you squeaked.
The male above you seemed to come back to himself at the same time.
Of course the one person in Velaris you could collide with, like an absolute disaster, was the Shadowsinger himself.
He pushed up slightly, clearly intending to give you space - but his hand hesitated at your waist, like something in him resisted letting go.
That bond - still thrumming, insistent - didn't help.
"Are you hurt?" He asked, voice low, steady - warm and controlled.
You tried to contain the shiver down your spine at the sound of his voice.
You shook your head quickly. "No-no, I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going, I just-"
You stopped.
Because he was still looking at you.
Not annoyed. Not even embarrassed.
He looked...amused, and incredibly focused.
Like he'd suddenly found something he hadn't been searching for.
Your heart did something deeply unhelpful.
Behind him, the High Lord made a soft, thoughtful hum. "Interesting."
"Rhys," The Shadowsinger warned quietly, though he still hadn't taken his eyes off you.
That only made things worse.
"Right," you said faintly. "Yes. Brilliant. I'm just going to...get up and stop lying on the ground in front of-"
You attempted to sit up.
He immediately offered his hand as he - seemingly reluctantly - got to his feet.
You took it without thinking.
The moment your fingers wrapped around his, that bond flared - warm and undeniable, like it was settling more firmly into place. Although his hands were clothed in leather gloves, the warmth as his large hand enveloped yours was almost scorching.
You both felt it.
You both knew you both felt it.
He pulled you gently to your feet with ease.
And didn't let go.
The General snorted. "You planning on keeping her, Az?"
You nearly choked.
The Shadowsinger didn't even look at him.
Instead, he said quietly, "I'm Azriel."
You swallowed.
Your name came out almost breathlessly.
His grip on your hand tightened just slightly, like he was committing it to memory.
"Nice to meet you," you managed, even though your brain was still somewhere on the ground where your dignity still lay.
The High Lord - Rhysand - stepped forward then, smile far too knowing for your comfort. "Well, seeing as fate has decided to be particularly efficient today..."
You had a bad feeling about this.
"...you should join us for dinner later."
You blinked. "I-what?"
The General grinned at you, eyes full of mirth. "You're going to be seeing a lot of us now anyway."
Your face went hot.
"Cassian, shut up," Azriel almost hissed.
You glanced at Azriel - half expecting him to shut this down, to say something sensible-
He didn't.
If anything, there was the faintest hint of something softer in his expression. Something almost...hopeful.
And he still hadn't let go of your hand.
"Only if you want to," he said, voice quieter now. For you alone.
The bond pulsed between you.
You were absolutely, completely doomed.
"...Dinner sounds nice," you said.
Rhys's smile widened like he'd just won something.
Cassian looked delighted.
And Azriel-
He finally, reluctantly, loosened his grip on your hand.
But only just.
Like he already knew, he wouldn't be letting go anytime soon.
Azriel x reader
fluff / domestic intimacy / teasing / hurt-comfort
Tired of watching Azriel run himself into the ground, you storm into Rhys’s office and emotionally blackmail the High Lord into giving your mate a week off.
Azriel returns home exhausted, suspicious, and entirely too amused by the chaos you caused for him.
Rhysand was already annoyed before you even slammed the office doors open.
The sound cracked through the river house loudly enough that Cassian glanced up from the couch with immediate interest, the sharpening stone stilling against the dagger in his hand while Amren sighed over her book like your entrance had personally ruined her morning.
Rhys merely leaned back in his chair with the slow patience of a male who already knew he was about to lose an argument.
“No,” you said immediately.
“Good morning to you too,” Rhys replied dryly.
“No,” you repeated, striding across the office. “You are not sending Azriel back out again.”
Cassian’s mouth twitched.
Rhys folded his hands atop the desk. “There are problems at the Illyrian camps that need handling.”
“That’s not true.”
One dark brow lifted.
“You just want to send your best warrior to glare at everyone until they remember how to behave.”
Amren snorted softly into her wineglass.
Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose. “That is, unfortunately, part of handling the problem.”
“He’s exhausted.”
The amusement faded from his face then, if only slightly, because he knew it too.
Azriel had spent weeks flying between camps and borders and meetings, carrying half the Night Court on his shoulders with that same quiet endurance he carried everything else. He came home later now. Spoke less. Slept less. Even Cassian had started looking concerned.
And Azriel, of course, had said absolutely nothing about it.
“He would never ask for a break,” you continued, crossing your arms. “So I’m asking for him.”
Rhys exhaled slowly. “You know the timing is difficult.”
“Oh, spare me,” you said, throwing your arms in the air.
Cassian outright grinned now.
You pointed accusingly at Rhys. “You’ve worked him into the ground.”
“I have not—”
“You absolutely have.”
Rhys opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Cassian coughed into his fist to hide a laugh.
“So,” you said sweetly, “you are giving him a week off.”
“A week,” Rhys repeated flatly.
“A full week.”
Rhys stared at you. “Do you know how much work he handles in a single day?”
“Yes,” you replied without hesitation. “That’s exactly why I’m asking for seven of them.”
Amren smirked over the rim of her glass.
Rhys drummed his fingers once against the desk. “Do you realize the amount of chaos you’re asking me to deal with while you two disappear into domestic bliss?”
You leaned closer across the desk, crossing your arms with all the confidence of someone about to make a truly unreasonable offer.
“I’ll babysit Nyx for a week.”
For a moment, the entire room went silent before Cassian burst into laughter loud enough to echo off the walls.
Rhys blinked once at you. “You want to keep my son during your vacation?”
“No,” you said immediately, sounding genuinely horrified. “After.”
Cassian nearly slid off the couch laughing.
Rhys looked at you for another long second, like he genuinely could not decide whether to be offended or impressed. “You’re trying to barter childcare for my spymaster.”
“Yes.”
For a heartbeat, he simply blinked at you. Then laughter finally broke from him too, rich and disbelieving enough that even Amren looked mildly entertained now.
“You are unbelievable.”
You smiled sweetly. “And yet deeply persuasive.”
“You’re manipulative,” he informed you, though there was no real irritation left in his voice anymore.
“You raised me.”
“That is not remotely true.”
You waved a dismissive hand. “Close enough.”
Rhys shook his head slowly, still laughing under his breath as he leaned back into his chair. “Five days.”
“Seven.”
His eyes narrowed immediately. “You’re impossible.”
“You owe me.”
That finally made him pause.
Cassian’s grin sharpened instantly.
Rhys narrowed his eyes. “What favor?”
Your own smile turned positively wicked.
“Oh, don’t pretend you forgot.”
Rhys already looked wary enough that Cassian immediately sat up straighter, clearly sensing entertainment.
“You were sixteen,” you said casually, “and you broke one of your father’s study windows sneaking back in at night—”
Cassian barked a laugh.
“—so I told your father it was me.”
Rhys groaned loudly enough to throw his head back against the chair. “Mother save me.”
“You said you owed me.”
“I was a child!” Rhys snapped.
“And now you’re High Lord,” you replied smoothly. “Look how beautifully things worked out.”
Amren was openly smirking now.
Rhys threw up a hand in outrage. “You’ve been waiting years to use this against me.”
“Absolutely.”
“I should have let Uncle kill you for that window.”
“You cried. Like a big baby,” you snorted.
Cassian made a strangled sound somewhere between a laugh and choking.
Rhys looked deeply offended. “I was emotional.”
“You were throwing up from fear,” you said through a laugh.
Cassian collapsed back against the couch laughing hard enough that even Amren muttered, “Pathetic,” into her wineglass.
Rhys glared at all of you with the exhausted suffering of a male betrayed by his own court.
“You are all cruel.”
You smiled brightly. “I want Azriel home by tomorrow morning.”
Rhys held your gaze for another long moment before finally waving a hand in surrender.
“Fine.”
Victory surged through you so fast you nearly laughed.
“You’re the best cousin anyone’s ever had,” you declared proudly.
Rhys stared at you over the edge of his desk with the exhausted expression of a male who had ruled an entire court for centuries only to somehow still lose arguments to you specifically.
“I regret every moment of your existence.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“No,” he admitted dryly after a beat, waving a dismissive hand toward the door. “Unfortunately.”
—
Snow drifted softly beyond the balcony the next morning while pale winter light spilled across the river house in silver ribbons.
You were halfway through making tea when shadows curled suddenly across the balcony doors.
Your heart leapt instantly.
Azriel had barely landed before you were moving toward him.
He only had enough time to straighten before you collided into him hard enough to rock him back a step, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck while cold air and cedar and night clung to him.
A soft laugh escaped him the moment you collided into him, warmer than you had heard in weeks.
“There you are, sweetheart,” he murmured, pulling you tightly against him like he could not quite get close enough fast enough.
Gods, you had missed him.
You clung tighter as his arms slid around you automatically, warm and solid and achingly familiar. His wings tucked close behind him while he buried his face briefly against your hair like merely breathing you in eased something inside him.
Then he kissed you.
Slowly at first, his mouth brushing yours softly before he did it again, deeper this time, exhaustion and relief and quiet longing all tangled together.
When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, one hand firm against your waist while his thumb traced absent circles there.
“What have you done this time?”
You blinked up at him innocently. “Nothing.”
Azriel huffed a quiet laugh. “Sweetheart, that face usually means Rhys is about to develop a headache.”
You gasped softly. “You wound me.”
“I know you,” he replied, warmth threading through his voice in a way that only made your grin worse.
“Rhys said you weren’t needed at the camps anymore,” you said quickly before he could continue interrogating you.
Azriel went still for half a second before one brow lifted slowly. “Oh, did he?”
The amusement in his voice deepened immediately, smooth and deeply skeptical now, but you ignored it completely and grabbed his hand before he could start asking dangerous questions.
“You have a week off.”
That finally made him stop moving altogether.
“A week,” he repeated carefully.
“A full week.”
Now he was openly suspicious, his shadows curling around your shoulders like they too were waiting for an explanation while he studied you with growing amusement.
“You managed to convince Rhysand to give me a full week off,” he said slowly, sounding like he was piecing together evidence at a crime scene, “and I’m supposed to believe you did absolutely nothing.”
“Yes.”
Azriel held your gaze for another long moment before the corner of his mouth finally curved.
“That’s deeply concerning.”
Rhys strode past moments later with a cup of coffee in hand, looking entirely too composed for someone who had been emotionally blackmailed less than twenty-four hours earlier.
“Good to see you home, brother,” he said smoothly as he passed. “Please enjoy your time off with your mate.”
You immediately shot him a warning look that very clearly said shut up.
Rhys’s mouth twitched.
“You’ve been working so hard,” he continued innocently to Azriel, entirely ignoring you now, “I wouldn’t want her to feel neglected.”
Azriel looked between the two of you slowly, suspicion giving way to realization piece by piece.
Then he laughed.
The sound was low and warm and rare enough that your chest tightened painfully at hearing it again, especially when genuine amusement finally softened the exhaustion lingering beneath it.
“You threatened the High Lord for me?”
“I negotiated.”
Rhys snorted loudly into his coffee.
Azriel’s eyes gleamed as he pulled you closer against him, his hand settling more firmly at your waist while his shadows curled lazily around your shoulders like they were just as entertained as he was.
“Remind me,” he murmured near your mouth, “to thank you properly later.”
Behind you, Rhys gagged dramatically.
You didn’t even bother turning around. “Go away.”
Rhys left laughing under his breath, though not before throwing you one deeply entertained look over his shoulder.
The moment Rhys disappeared down the hallway, silence settled softly around the house again, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace and the distant murmur of Velaris waking beyond the windows.
Azriel was still watching you.
He didn’t look suspicious exactly. If anything, the quiet amusement lingering in his eyes was somehow worse, because it meant he already knew you had absolutely caused problems and was simply waiting for you to admit to them voluntarily.
You moved back toward the kitchen with deliberate innocence and reached for the kettle again, though you only got as far as touching the handle before shadows curled around your wrist, gentle and insistent.
You glanced over your shoulder.
Azriel stood a few feet away, snow still dusting the dark shoulders of his leathers while exhaustion lingered beneath the gold and green of his eyes despite the growing amusement there.
“What did Rhys bargain away?” he asked.
You snorted softly. “His dignity, mostly.”
That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, but he kept watching you in that steady, patient way that made lying to him feel almost impossible.
Almost.
You sighed dramatically before turning fully toward him. “Fine. I may have reminded him that he owed me a favor.”
“And what favor exactly did you use to convince the High Lord of the Night Court to part with his spymaster for an entire week?”
You grinned. “Classified.”
His shadows drifted curiously toward you, brushing around your ankles like smoke.
Azriel stepped closer then, slowly enough that you could have moved away if you wanted to.
You never did.
“How angry were you?” he asked quietly.
The humor faded from your face at the softness of the question.
You looked down briefly, fingers tugging absently at the sleeve of your sweater before muttering, “Pretty angry.”
Azriel said nothing after that, and you hated when he did this—this quiet patience, this unbearable way he simply waited until you gave him the truth willingly because he knew eventually you would.
“I know there are actual problems,” you admitted after a moment. “I know your job matters.”
“It does.”
“But Rhys keeps sending you because everyone listens when Azriel shadowsinger walks into a room looking murderous.”
A quiet exhale left him, not quite a laugh.
“And?”
“And I’m tired of everyone acting like you can endlessly carry things just because you don’t complain.”
The room fell quiet after that.
Outside, wind rattled softly against the balcony railings while Velaris carried on below, distant and glowing beneath the snow.
“You shouldn’t have spent your favor on me,” Azriel said at last, the quietness of his voice making your chest ache instantly.
There it was again.
Not embarrassment. Not annoyance.
Something far worse hidden carefully beneath restraint, wrapped so tightly into his composure most people mistook it for strength.
You crossed the remaining distance between you without hesitation.
“I’d spend worse things for you,” you replied softly.
Azriel’s hand tightened around yours so suddenly it almost hurt.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. He simply looked at you with that terrible quiet intensity of his, like he still never quite knew what to do with being cared for so openly.
Then Azriel looked away first.
Your heart ached at the sight.
“You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” you whispered.
Something flickered across his face, quick enough most people would have missed it entirely.
Not you.
Never you.
“I’m alright,” he said automatically.
You stared at him flatly. “You fell asleep standing up last week.”
“That happened one time.”
“Azriel.”
A pause stretched between you before he finally sighed.
“…Maybe twice.”
“You walked into the bedroom door yesterday.”
“It was dark,” he replied with complete seriousness.
“You are literally made of shadows.”
Another pause.
“...It was very dark.”
Despite yourself, you laughed, and the corner of Azriel’s mouth curved faintly at the sound.
Now that he was home, now that the constant tension of duty had loosened even slightly, you could finally see how exhausted he really was. His shoulders remained stiff beneath the leather of his clothes, his wings slower to settle behind him than usual while even his shadows drifted lazily around the room with a strange sluggish softness, like they were tired too.
When your fingers brushed his hair back from his forehead, his eyes closed immediately, his body reacting before his mind could stop it, like gentleness itself had become permission to finally stop holding himself upright through sheer force of will.
That hurt more than anything else.
“You need food before you pass out,” you said quietly.
One eye opened slowly. “I’m not going to pass out.”
“You nearly fell asleep while kissing me on the balcony.”
“That could have been very romantic, my love.”
“It would have been if you weren’t swaying.”
A quiet laugh escaped him then, warm enough to make your chest tighten all over again.
Before he could argue further, you grabbed his hand and started dragging him toward the dining room.
Azriel followed immediately, not even pretending to resist.
Halfway down the hall, you stopped suddenly to grab a blanket abandoned over the back of a chair, and Azriel nearly walked directly into you before catching himself at the last second.
You turned slowly toward him.
“…Are you aware you’re following me around like a particularly dangerous housecat?”
“No,” he replied far too quickly.
“Liar.”
The corner of his mouth twitched while one of his shadows curled smugly around your wrist like it agreed with you entirely.
The dining room was already occupied when you entered, warm light spilling across the long table where Cassian lounged with enough food for six people spread before him, Nesta seated beside him with her coffee while Feyre bounced Nyx lightly on her knee near the far end of the table.
Rhys looked up first, and the moment his gaze landed on the two of you, a deeply entertained smirk spread across his face.
“Oh, this is fascinating.”
You narrowed your eyes immediately. “Shut up.”
Cassian glanced between you and Azriel once before his own grin widened into something outright dangerous.
Azriel had stopped directly behind your chair, close enough that the front of his chest brushed your back when you pulled the seat out for yourself, one hand still loosely holding yours while the other rested absentmindedly against your waist.
He did not seem remotely aware he was doing it.
Cassian absolutely did.
“Did the bond break his survival instincts,” he mused aloud, “or has he always followed you around like that?”
Azriel gave him a flat stare.
Cassian only grinned wider. “You know she’s not going to disappear if you stop touching her for five minutes.”
As though realizing it only because it had been pointed out, Azriel’s hand shifted slightly against your waist, though he still didn’t move away.
You bit the inside of your cheek so you would not smile.
Rhys looked delighted by the entire thing. “Oh, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.”
“Rhys,” you warned.
Feyre was openly laughing now while Nesta hid a smirk behind the rim of her coffee mug.
Cassian leaned farther back in his chair, looking genuinely fascinated. “This is unbelievable. The terrifying shadowsinger returns from weeks of missions only to become—”
“If you finish that sentence,” Azriel interrupted calmly, “I’ll throw you into the Sidra.”
Cassian pointed triumphantly across the table. “See? He means it now because she’s here.”
Nyx giggled loudly at absolutely nothing.
Traitor.
Before the conversation could devolve further, you shoved a plate toward Azriel. “Eat.”
“I can serve myself,” he replied automatically.
“And yet you aren’t.”
Azriel looked down at the plate for a moment before glancing back at you, and then, to the visible horror of everyone at the table, obediently started eating.
The entire room went silent.
Cassian looked genuinely alarmed.
“Who are you,” he demanded, “and what have you done with our Azriel?”
You smirked quietly into your tea while Rhys leaned back in his chair with the air of someone suddenly remembering far too much childhood blackmail material.
“You know,” he mused lazily, “when we were children, she once chased me through the entire house with a fork because I made fun of her braid.”
“It was a very hurtful comment,” you replied.
“You chased me for twenty minutes.”
“And I’d do it again.” You threatened him with your fork.
Azriel glanced toward Rhys thoughtfully. “I believe that.”
Cassian barked a laugh while Rhys looked scandalized all over again.
“You’re encouraging her.”
“Oh, she doesn't need me at all,” Azriel replied smoothly.
You smiled sweetly at him.
Azriel’s hand settled absently against your thigh beneath the table. Not possessive, not deliberate, just there, like some instinct in him needed the reassurance of contact now that he was finally home.
Your heart softened at the feeling.
The conversation drifted around the table after that, easy and warm and mostly filled with Cassian complaining dramatically about training recruits while Nesta ignored him with the patience of a female who had heard this exact speech twenty times before.
Azriel barely spoke after that.
At first, you assumed he was simply listening while the conversation carried on around him, but then you started noticing the smaller things: the slight delay before he answered whenever someone spoke directly to him, the way his eyes kept drifting half shut whenever the conversation moved away from him for more than a minute, the way his thumb had gone completely still against your leg beneath the table.
Rhys noticed a second later, and you saw it happen in the subtle sharpening of his expression as amusement quietly gave way to assessment while he studied his brother more carefully.
Azriel blinked slowly once, then again, exhaustion finally beginning to win its battle against sheer stubbornness.
Without really thinking about it, your fingers slid gently into his hair and brushed the dark strands back from his forehead.
The reaction was immediate.
Azriel’s eyes closed completely beneath your touch, his body softening for the briefest moment like instinct had overtaken awareness before he could stop it.
Silence settled around the table.
Not awkward silence. Not dramatic silence. Just the sudden stillness of everyone realizing at the same moment how exhausted he truly was, because Azriel never relaxed like that around people and certainly never let himself look tired enough for anyone else to notice it.
Your fingers continued slowly through his hair while his breathing deepened almost imperceptibly beside you, his head tipping the slightest bit toward your touch before realization finally caught up to him.
His eyes opened immediately.
Embarrassment flickered briefly across his face, subtle enough most people would have missed it entirely.
You did not.
And judging by the expressions around the table, neither had anyone else.
Cassian was staring openly now while even Nesta’s expression had softened slightly. Rhys looked like someone had quietly punched him in the ribs.
“He’s exhausted,” you said flatly before anyone could speak, your tone making it very clear that you were not inviting commentary from anyone at this table.
Cassian’s expression lost all humor immediately.
Rhys leaned back slowly in his chair, guilt flickering briefly across his face before he masked it again, while Azriel looked vaguely like he wanted the floor beneath him to split open entirely.
So you squeezed his hand once beneath the table before saying with complete casualness, “Anyway. Bath.”
Feyre immediately choked on her tea.
Cassian looked delighted again within seconds.
Azriel blinked at you slowly. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Rhys actually laughed into his coffee while Cassian pointed dramatically across the table.
“See? Terrifying. Absolutely terrifying.”
“You’re all exhausting,” Azriel muttered, though the faint color still lingering high on his cheeks ruined any real intimidation.
Feyre smiled brightly. “You love us.”
Azriel looked at her for a long moment before replying in a perfectly deadpan voice, “…Debatable.”
Nyx giggled loudly from Feyre’s lap like he personally found Azriel hilarious.
You stood, taking Azriel’s hand before he could decide to pretend he was fine for another hour. He followed you from the dining room with very little resistance, though Cassian’s voice immediately trailed after you both.
“If she throws you in the bath fully clothed, blink twice.”
Azriel didn’t even bother turning around. “If she decides to kill me, no one here is stopping her anyway.”
“Noted,” Cassian called back. “I’ll start planning your funeral.”
You rolled your eyes, though Azriel’s fingers tightened briefly around yours, faint amusement flickering down the bond before fading again by the time you reached the sitting room.
Without another word, you reached for the siphons strapped across his chest.
Azriel glanced down at you, one brow lifting slightly as your fingers immediately started working at the leather buckles. “What exactly are you doing?”
“Disarming you.”
“I’m not a threat.”
“You are, the second someone mentions work.”
That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, though he stayed perfectly still while you unbuckled the straps one by one. After a moment, Azriel finally let his arms loosen fully at his sides in silent permission, watching you quietly the entire time.
The siphons glimmered softly as you placed them onto the nearby table beside Truth-Teller.
The second your fingers wrapped around the dagger, his shadows recoiled dramatically like you had personally offended every single one of them.
“Don’t start,” you warned.
One immediately curled possessively around the hilt anyway.
You narrowed your eyes at it. “Oh, so now you care about workplace safety.”
Azriel huffed a tired laugh, low and warm enough that your chest tightened at hearing it again.
You carried the dagger toward the mantel and placed it high enough that he would actually have to make an effort to retrieve it later before turning back toward him with narrowed eyes.
“Upstairs.”
Azriel immediately looked suspicious. “Why do I feel like I should be concerned?”
“Because you should be.”
One of his shadows vanished down the hallway ahead of you both without hesitation, like it had already decided whatever you were planning was an excellent idea.
You pointed after it triumphantly. “See? Even they agree with me.”
A dangerous glint entered Azriel’s tired eyes then, low and warm enough to send heat curling through your stomach despite yourself.
“If your plan involves getting me out of these leathers,” Azriel murmured as he stepped closer, his voice dropping lower while his gaze dragged slowly over your face, “you could have simply climbed into my lap and asked, sweetheart.”
The look in his eyes nearly undid you, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing just how much that voice affected you.
So you rolled your eyes with as much dignity as possible while pushing firmly at his chest toward the staircase.
“Move,” you ordered, even as your face betrayed you completely.
Azriel barely resisted, which honestly worried you more than if he had.
Usually, he would at least pretend to argue.
Instead, he only shot you a slow, lazy grin that said he knew exactly what kind of effect he’d just had on you before allowing you to shove him toward the staircase without further complaint.
His shadows curled lazily around your ankles as you led him upstairs, one occasionally nudging against your heel like it wanted you to hurry up and put their ridiculous male to bed already.
The bathroom slowly filled with steam while you rummaged through cabinets gathering oils, salves, and clean cloths. Behind you, leather hit the floor piece by piece until the room finally fell quiet.
When you turned around, your chest tightened.
Bruises mottled his ribs in deep violet and yellow while thin cuts crossed his shoulders and abdomen, half-healed already thanks to fae healing but still fresh enough to tell their story clearly. His wings hung lower than usual too, not badly injured, only overused in the way muscles looked after being pushed far beyond exhaustion.
Azriel noticed your expression immediately.
“It looks worse than it is,” he said.
“That sentence should be carved onto your grave someday.”
A quiet snort escaped him, though his eyes stayed fixed on you as you crossed the room again, watching the anger flicker briefly across your face before gentleness replaced it entirely.
Your fingers brushed lightly across one of the cuts near his shoulder, the touch so careful it almost hurt to look at.
Azriel inhaled softly at once, his eyes lowering to your face while that familiar look crossed his expression again, the one that always seemed caught somewhere between tenderness and disbelief, as though he knew your softness by heart by now and still could not quite understand how it belonged to him.
You guided him toward the bath with surprising ease for someone handling the Night Court’s deadliest male, and the second he sank into the steaming water, a low exhale escaped him so involuntarily it almost sounded startled, like relief itself had caught him off guard.
“There he is,” you murmured softly.
Azriel opened one eye slightly. “Who?”
“The male I threatened a High Lord for.”
A tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he let his head fall back against the edge of the bath again.
You knelt beside the tub and began gently washing blood from his skin while silence settled comfortably around you, warm and intimate beneath drifting steam and candlelight.
Azriel watched you the entire time, not speaking, just looking at you with that same quiet intensity that always made your chest ache, like some part of him still could not fully understand how someone could love him this gently and mean it.
Your fingers eventually slid through his damp hair, combing the dark strands back from his forehead while tension slowly left him piece by piece beneath your touch.
“You know,” you said quietly, “you’re allowed to rest before you collapse.”
“Mmm.”
A small smile tugged at your mouth. “Use your words, sweetheart,” you teased softly, stealing one of his own favorite lines.
Even exhausted, Azriel cracked one eye open just enough to give you a knowing look, desire flickered low beneath your ribs.
Then, after a small pause, he finally muttered, “I know.”
Something in your chest twisted painfully at the admission.
You moved behind him then, carefully lifting one wing enough to inspect it properly, and Azriel tensed instantly beneath your hands with pure instinct.
Your fingers stilled immediately.
“It’s okay,” you whispered softly.
The tension slowly eased.
Wing membranes shimmered darkly beneath the candlelight, tiny tears and strain visible along the strongest parts from too many hours spent flying without proper rest. Your fingers moved gently while you spread healing salve carefully across the damaged skin, and Azriel’s head tipped back against the edge of the bath, eyes sliding shut again.
The sound that escaped him when your nails lightly scratched near the base of his wing was dangerously close to a groan.
You froze instantly.
Azriel’s eyes opened at once, heat flashing there despite the exhaustion weighing them down.
“That,” he said hoarsely, “is unfair.”
A slow smile curved across your mouth. “Oh? The terrifying shadowsinger finally has a weakness?”
Azriel narrowed his eyes slightly, though the effect was ruined entirely by the way his wings had twitched beneath your hands.
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“Maybe,” you admitted lightly before dragging your nails along the sensitive spot again just to watch his breathing hitch.
Azriel swore softly under his breath.
Your smile widened immediately. “Gods, you’re easy.”
His shadows stirred restlessly around the room while Azriel looked back at you over his shoulder, his expression equal parts exhausted and heated.
“You are enjoying this far too much.”
“You make it very enjoyable.”
A rough laugh escaped him then, low enough to send a shiver down your spine.
“You’re cruel.”
“And yet,” you murmured while smoothing more salve carefully across his wing, “you’re still sitting very still for me.”
That earned you another one of those dangerous looks, slower this time, heavier somehow despite how tired he clearly was.
“Love,” Azriel warned softly, “if I wasn’t half asleep already, this conversation would be going very differently.”
Heat climbed immediately into your face, which only seemed to amuse him more.
Barely.
Because a moment later his eyes drifted shut again almost helplessly, exhaustion finally dragging him under faster than he could fight it.
Your heart cracked quietly at the sight.
So you kept tending his wings while snow drifted softly beyond the windows and the rest of the world faded farther and farther away.
At some point, your wrist began to ache from holding his wing at the careful angle you needed, and you shifted your grip so slightly you barely noticed it yourself.
Azriel noticed anyway.
His eyes opened halfway, heavy and unfocused, but his hand still found your wrist beneath the steam. He drew it gently away from his wing and pressed his mouth to the inside of it, a slow, absent kiss that felt more instinct than thought.
“You’re straining your wrist baby” he murmured.
You blinked at him. “Azriel.”
His eyes were already drifting shut again.
“I’m allowed to take care of you too.”
“You’re barely conscious.”
A faint hum escaped him. “Didn’t stop me noticing.”
The words were so soft, so entirely him, that you had to swallow around the ache rising in your throat before carefully returning your hand to his wing.
“Ridiculous male,” you whispered.
His mouth curved faintly, but a breath later he was gone again, sinking deeper beneath exhaustion as your fingers continued their slow, careful work.
Minutes passed. Maybe longer.
Eventually, you realized Azriel had gone completely still.
You leaned slightly around his shoulder and found him asleep.
Actually asleep.
Your throat tightened instantly.
Even then, even unconscious, his brows faintly furrowed when you shifted beside him, like some stubborn part of him still resisted rest on instinct alone.
Gently, you brushed damp hair from his forehead.
“Finally,” you whispered.
Azriel slept through drying off only halfway gracefully and absolutely refused to fully wake when you guided him toward bed afterward. He leaned heavily into you the entire time, one arm wrapped loosely around your waist while his wings dragged tiredly behind him.
“You’re bossy,” he murmured sleepily against your shoulder.
“You love it.”
“Mmm,” he hummed, eyes still closed. “Unfortunately.”
You laughed softly as he collapsed face-first onto the mattress moments later, wings spreading across nearly half the bed while one arm immediately reached toward where you stood beside him, like even half asleep he was still searching for you automatically.
Beautiful male.
You only meant to grab an extra blanket from the nearby chair, but the second you stepped away, Azriel made a quiet dissatisfied sound in his sleep and reached blindly across the bed after you, brows pulling together faintly when he found empty sheets instead.
Your heart nearly stopped.
“Alright, alright,” you whispered, climbing back beside him immediately.
The moment you settled beneath the blankets, instinct took over completely.
Azriel moved toward you at once, one powerful arm wrapping tightly around your waist before dragging you flush against his chest with surprising strength for someone barely awake. His face buried automatically against your throat while his hand spread across your back, fingertips flexing once against your spine like he needed to physically reassure himself you were there.
Even asleep, he kept pulling you closer.
One leg tangled with yours beneath the blankets while his wings shifted instinctively around the bed, curling slightly toward your side like they, too, were trying to keep you near.
The bond between you pulsed warm and drowsy beneath your skin while snow drifted quietly beyond the windows.
Then, already half asleep again, Azriel pressed a slow kiss against the sensitive spot beneath your jaw before murmuring softly against your throat, “You make me forget I’m tired.”
The words hit like a bruise straight to the heart.
You turned carefully within his arms just enough to press a kiss against his temple.
“Good,” you whispered.
A sleepy hum vibrated against your skin while his fingers slowly traced once along your spine, more instinct than conscious movement now.
Then, voice low and rough with exhaustion, Azriel brushed his mouth slowly against your throat before murmuring against your skin—
“Tomorrow,” he promised softly, “I’m going to pin you beneath me and remind you what happens when you spend an entire evening teasing my wings, sweetheart.”
---
a/n : this piece was so fucking funny to write because i’ve had this exact vision of exhausted azriel for MONTHS 🤭
i don’t know if they’ll become a full series necessarily, but i definitely want to keep writing little glimpses of them because their dynamic has completely taken over my brain at this point.
how do we feel about the idea of Az being super touch averse (esp after being kept alone in the dark his whole childhood and his hands burned by his so called family/half brothers) UNTIL he meets his mate? I feel like she would absolutely respect his boundaries but he’s so touch starved and he loves her sm that he talks to her about starting with small touches and working their way up and then they eventually get to the point that she can touch him wherever and however she wants and she’s always so affectionate and loving and just pours all her adoration for him into every touch and he just smiles like a dork every time. But the first time the IC see her all over him they tense and wait for him to tell her off but he just leans into it and kisses her
loved this idea! i so agree re: him not loving touch/knowing how to accept it or initiate it. i wasn't gonna post this because by the time it was done it felt like it fell flat, but decided to post it anyway; apologies if it didn't hit the way you wanted it to!
Azriel x mate!reader who brings out a different side of him [1.5k words]
CW: fem!reader, dirty jokes, references to sex but SFW, fluff
Feyre hasn’t known Azriel for as long as most of the Inner Circle, and most of what she knows about the notoriously private male comes from the stories shared with her from his family.
But there is one thing Feyre has come to know about the Shadowsinger that no one needed to inform her about.
Azriel has a clear aversion to touch.
For someone whose job can be so physical, he keeps physical contact to an absolute minimum.
Greeting new people usually comes with his gloved hands folded behind his back and a gentle nod, his wings are always tucked tight and elbows kept close to his sides so as not to brush elbows with anyone. Even his brothers—centuries spent in close proximity to one another—seem to know precisely when they can push it, and when they ought to steer clear.
The closest thing she’s ever gotten to a hug from the male was the gentle brush of his shoulder against hers in thanks during a gift exchange last Solstice; she had known him for years at that point.
Nesta—the nosey busybody—once asked Cassian how that (being Azriel’s aversion to touch) works when he used to come home smelling like a female in the mornings following a night at Rita’s.
Rhysand and Cassian shared a knowing look before Cassian mumbled something about Az “running a tight ship” and then offered absolutely no follow up information (not for a lack of trying on Nesta’s part).
So, it’s safe to say that none of them knew what to expect—how to react—when Azriel came home smelling like a bond and announcing—more like reluctantly admitting—that he met his mate.
While Feyre and Nesta can hardly be considered having experienced a normal mating bond (whatever a normal mating bond may be), they’ve heard stories about perfect strangers meeting by chance in a market and embracing each other like…well…like two halves of a lost soul finally reuniting.
But Feyre’s only seen Azriel hug his own brothers a handful of times over the years she’s been here, so she definitely couldn’t imagine Azriel wildly embracing his new mate on a whim in public.
Needless to say, they were all on the edge of their seats, awarding Azriel with the privacy he needed, wanted, and deserved as he navigated his new mating bond while simultaneously itching to see how it might look.
Tonight was finally their chance.
“Does my hair look okay?” Cassian asks the room, running fingers through his wild locks in a show of insecurity rarely ever seen from the brute.
“Why does it matter? It’s not like you’re meeting your mate for the first time,” Amren hums judgementally around the rim of her wine glass.
Cassian narrows his eyes at the ancient being. “This is important, alright? I want to make a good first impression.”
Nesta snorts. “Well I wouldn’t worry then. You’ve never once made a good first impression.”
“You guys are very mean,” Cassian huffs, giving up on the tugging of his hair. “I hope she’s nicer, maybe I’ll finally have a godsdamned friend in this house.”
“Hey,” Feyre laughs. “Come now.”
Cassian softens. “Okay, fine; another friend besides Feyre.”
“Thank you,” she concedes.
The room stills when boots sound on the terrace of the House of Wind, and it’s clearly an effort for the entire family not to stand simultaneously and rush the door to get a peak of you.
The two of you appear in the doorway; Azriel’s wing extended behind your back like a gentle guide keeping you close to him.
“This is my family,” Azriel explains softly, eyes travelling over the group of fae currently holding their breath. “Family, this is my mate.”
Somehow, Azriel’s voice softens around the syllables of your name, making it sound like a note of a song or the gentle hum of a breeze.
“Hello,” you greet quietly, nerves obvious though so is your excitement.
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Rhysand welcomes first. “We’ve been wondering when Azriel might deign to share you with us.”
“I…I feel like I should bow, but Azriel told me it was very important that I keep you humble,” you admit, knees clearly itching to bend when being greeted by the notorious High Lord of the Night Court.
“Oh, thank the Mother,” Cassian sighs in theatrical relief. “I don’t think the rest of us will survive if his head gets any bigger.”
“My head is perfectly sized, thank you,” Rhysand huffs at his brother, softening his gaze when he turns back to you. “But there’s certainly no need to bow; we’re family.”
Your chest rises with relief and pride, and the corner of Azriel’s lips lift in time with it.
“It’s nice to finally meet you all,” you state as your gaze drifts over the entire group, and Feyre can understand why Azriel seems to have a hard time peeling his gaze from you; you’re magnetic, your eyes so soft and so kind that you make every person feel like the most important person in the room just by looking at them. “I’ve heard so much about you all, it feels like I’ve already known you for centuries.”
Mor breaks first.
“Oh, I am so happy to meet you,” she all but squeals, racing towards you.
Feyre isn’t entirely sure what she expected to happen, but she certainly wasn’t expecting for you to step away from Azriel and meet Morrigan in the middle of the room in a tight embrace.
“You must be Morrigan,” you hum happily into her shoulder.
“I’ll be whoever you want me to be, sweetheart,” Mor laughs, pulling away from you. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Alright, my turn,” Cassian announces, all but shoving Mor out of his way to bring you in for his own embrace, though his involves lifting you off of your feet and eliciting a surprised oof out of you. Azriel’s wings twitch in subtle agitation.
“Cassian, I assume?” you giggle.
“You’d assume correct, beautiful. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Alright, out of the way, you big bat.” Feyre swats at Cassian’s arms to release you, only for you to be transferred into her own. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
“Thank you for having me,” you murmur, quieter now, as though meeting her holds some extra weight.
She looks over at Azriel and his soft gaze confirms it: you were worried about meeting her.
“The honour is really all mine,” Feyre assures you, pulling away only to hold you by your shoulders.
She nods her head, really liking you for her brother-in-law. “As I’m sure you know, this is my husband Rhys. That there is my sister and Cassian’s mate, Nesta, and that’s Amren, Rhys’ second in command.”
Azriel finally fully enters the room, moving to step up behind you as though a quiet anchor. Your shoulders subtly loosen at his proximity.
“So, how has it been being mates with Azriel over here?” Cassian asks jovially, returning to his seat in the living room.
“He’s perfect, really,” you tell them earnestly, smiling up at the Shadowsinger who’s turning a beautiful shade of pink. “I truly couldn’t have asked for better.”
“Ah, so you’re a liar too,” Amren drawls with a roll of her eyes.
Azriel looks like he’s trying not to do the same before gesturing for you to take a seat. “Ignore her.”
“I hope she doesn’t lie to you anywhere else, brother,” Cassian continues, smiling when his quip is met with a lethal glare from said brother. “You know, like in the bedroom.”
“Yes, thank you, Cassian,” Azriel deadpans.
“Oh, don’t worry Cassian, he’s perfect there too,” you respond quickly, surprising the room into silence as Azriel joins you on the—rather cozy—loveseat. “If you’d like some tips I’m sure I can convince him to let you watch.”
Rhysand bursts into unrestrained laughter.
“Mother above, where did you find this female?” Cassian sputters.
The corner of Azriel’s lips turn up. “What? You think I warned her about Rhys and not you?”
With this Azriel lifts his arm and places it along the sofa behind your head; Feyre holds her breath as you lean your head back on it.
Except Azriel doesn’t pull away.
He doesn’t straighten, he doesn’t grit his teeth, he doesn’t make a quick excuse to get a drink.
In fact, Azriel’s gloved hand drops from the back of the couch and onto your shoulder where he lovingly caresses the exposed skin near your collarbone.
You turn at the touch, smiling up at him warmly which finds his shadows blooming with joy.
And then your hand lands on his knee.
Feyre braces for impact again.
It doesn’t come.
Well I’ll be damned, Rhysand drawls in Feyre’s mind. He’s a changed man.
But Feyre’s not so convinced; she doesn’t think the softness of his eyes or the adoration in his smile or the dedication of his attention are necessarily new attributes, just largely unseen.
I think she must just have a way of bringing it out in him, Feyre counters thoughtfully.
“Who the fuck is this male and what have you done with Azriel?” Cassian hollers then, not nearly as subtle as the rest of his family.
And who’s responsible for bringing that out of Cassian? Rhysand sighs silently.
