Summary: Azriel had been pulling away. You thought it was from stress. His busy schedule. From being tired. Anything but what you assumed you saw in the street that evening. Anything but that.
Word count: 3.2k
Warnings: Angst!!, mentions of cheating/infidelity, miscommunication (you guys have to trust me here)
a/n: Hiiii angsty time :p More parts to come if you're interested hehe love you thank you for reading!!!! mwah :* (happy ending also)
Part 0.5 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Alt ending (angst) | Epilogue
Main Masterlist ♡
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You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to ignore the sweltering ache in your head. He hadn’t meant that—you were sure. Tears were dried on your cheeks and your chest hurt and you were sure Azriel hadn’t meant that.
A shaky breath escaped the constriction of your throat. Just ten minutes ago, you’d felt fine. Happy, even. Azriel had told you he’d be home for dinner, and you spent hours on the meal. He’d been busier lately, tasked with more work than he should have been with Rhysand’s son just being born. So, you spent hours on dinner and hoped he’d be able to relax after.
He hadn’t.
He hadn’t even eaten the dinner.
The shift in him had been so sudden it was startling. You leaned against the counter with your hand against your chest, remembering how he’d snapped at you. Remembering the flicker of… vitriol that clashed with his usually adoring features. He’d never looked at you like that.
“I was thinking, after, we could take a bath together. Maybe we—”
“I will not. Don’t even suggest that.”
The words still rang in your ears. His expression shifted to confusion, and then anger again. He’d stood abruptly, knocking his freshly poured glass of wine across the tablecloth, and took one step towards you. And then stalked away and left the house.
It was the stress. It had to be. Azriel had been your mate for decades—promised you lifetimes full of devotion. He’d lived up to every promise, and you acted in tandem. You just needed to pull more weight now. To shoulder the relationship as he struggled.
You cleaned up the kitchen and the dining room. You tossed the tablecloth, not wanting the reminder even if it was salvageable. You took a bath—alone—and then lay in bed as the clock in the sitting room ticked on, and you remained alone.
He probably stayed in the House of Wind.
Everything around you felt cold, but you ignored it.
The next morning, you were tired and felt like a hollow version of yourself, but you pressed against it. The day continued as it always did, and you worked as you always did. There were no tugs across the bond, but you had come to expect that recently; when Azriel was as busy as he was, it was often a simple livewire between you—untouched, but present.
You ran your thoughts along its flowing energy, only for them to bounce off the glowing air.
Fine. That was fine.
Sometimes, Azriel closed his side of the bond entirely. It was a distraction for him, he had told you once. He loved you so much that he needed to close it off when he was working. Only when he was deep in work. And then he would open it back up and make up for lost time.
Your lips trembled slightly as you pressed them into a tight line.
This was temporary.
He was stressed, and you were not.
The probability that Azriel would come home tonight and apologize and hold you close was unfathomably high. Even when you had small arguments—even when you were the one in the wrong—you always made up in the same way. He always assured you that there was never anything that could come between you. You were never mad at each other for more than a day.
Was he mad at you?
You couldn’t trace a reason back. Azriel had been busy, yes, but you hadn’t said anything—hadn’t pushed him to come home sooner or give you more attention. You didn’t have to, because these periods were always temporary.
But, unlike the typical busy seasons of your life, Azriel had never looked at you like he had last night.
You released another aching sigh and tapped your fingers against the archive shelves. Your job was peaceful, and you enjoyed the extended alone time, but it also gave you far too much time to overthink. Staying locked up in the small space with no windows and too little ventilation probably didn’t help your racing thoughts, either.
Mor would help.
Azriel wouldn’t be home right now to solve this, anyway.
You locked up the archive and dusted yourself off. The air struck your face as you ascended the stairs. It was chilling and invigorating all at once, and it mixed with the melancholy feeling inside of you, causing nausea to form.
Mor would definitely help. She would tell you you were being ridiculous, remind you of how sickening Azriel acted around you, and ply you with alcohol. And then you would go home, and Azriel would be there. Everything would feel okay again.
The walk to your friend's home was cut short by the sound of laughter. It had been a while since you heard the sound so robust, but there was no mistaking the tone of your mate’s joy. It made your heart skip several beats, and your feet felt lighter as you chased the sound. Your mind had forgotten the strife associated with him as you rounded the corner and saw Azriel leaning casually against the apothecary shop’s wall, his wings flared slightly.
You blinked, and your mouth formed a smile without your knowledge. It had always been easy to smile around him. Easier, too, when he looked so happy.
Your lips parted to speak when a second sound trickled through the air. There was someone beside him. You’d completely missed her upon first glance, too enraptured by the gleam in your mate’s eye. By the spark of ease he had lost over the past few weeks.
She was unmistakably beautiful, with dark hair glittering past her shoulders and framing the smock covering her chest. Her eyes were a striking green that remained trained on Azriel as you stood hidden by the corner of the street. She laughed, and he laughed back as she lightly touched his shoulder. His wings flared out again.
You’d seen her once, you thought. She owned the apothecary that they stood before now. She’d offered you a serum for Azriel’s wings at the time, remembering who your mate was even as you’d entered the shop seeking a remedy for something completely unrelated. You’d declined gratefully, and that was the end of it.
You hadn’t been back, and you couldn’t remember Azriel saying he needed to go to an apothecary.
Another laugh, and you snapped your gaze back to the pair in the street. Brick and stone indented Azriel’s shoulder as he leaned just an inch closer to her, and all good feelings—everything that had made you feel lighter at the sound of his laugh—instantly evaporated. You bit hard into your bottom lip as Azriel’s siphons shone against the waning evening light, watching his shadows seem to pull back. They strained against his feet on the ground, and he lazily ticked his fingers and made them inch back.
The apothecary owner giggled and knelt down, entranced by their antics. They didn’t move towards her, and that was the only thing to bring you a sliver of comfort tonight.
You swallowed back the rising thickness of your throat, spinning on your heel and heading…somewhere. The route to Mor’s was murky now, and you weren’t even sure you had the words to express how you felt.
He’d been so angry last night, so abrasive. And then, with that stranger, he was calm. Laughing. Enjoying himself. He’d closed his side of the bond. He wasn’t even working. He’d closed it simply because he hadn’t wanted to feel it.
The thought struck you, and you had to pause. Your jaw trembled as the familiar burn of tears entered your eyes.
What was happening?
There were no signs leading up to this. Nyx had been born only three months prior, and things had just started to settle. Azriel’s workload was still heavy, but reportedly dwindling by Rhysand’s account. Just last week, Azriel had come home from several days of work in a row and kissed you and asked if he could make dinner beside you. He had whispered in your ear how much he missed you and stayed up with you even though he was exhausted.
And now…
You briefly considered that you were going to be sick.
You stared down at your shoes and tried to focus on how the breeze felt against your skin. Carrying more weight in the relationship was still the goal, wasn’t it? Maybe you were being too hasty. That beautiful woman hadn’t done anything inherently wrong, and neither had Azriel.
They were only talking, right?
You ignored the twinge in your chest that echoed cautions about lying to yourself, and looked up to the orange-reflecting clouds, willing the tears to dry in your waterline.
You’d follow your original plan—go to Mors, feel better, go home.
Your plans were squandered again when Mor caught you before you made it to her house.
“Y/n! This is great. I was going to call for Azriel to get you from that tiny, hovel of an archive and bring you to the townhouse. We’re all getting together for dinner now that Feyre feels up for it.”
Your smile felt off as you offered it, but Mor was too focused on linking her arm with yours. “My archive is not a hovel,” you remarked, unsure if those were the first words you had spoken aloud today.
Mor rolled her eyes and shot out a laugh. “Not even a window in there. Azriel worries about your lack of sun, you know. When you first got together, he asked Amren countless questions about the feasibility of adding natural light to that place. She insisted it would ruin the artifacts.”
“It would. I don’t have candles down there either. Or too much wind.”
Mor tsked. “A wonder you don’t shrivel up.”
Mor was working. She was making you feel better, and you desperately tried to overwrite the joyful laughter from earlier with her witty recount of her trip to Summer last week. It worked. A little. Until you followed her into the townhouse to see that Azriel had already arrived, his posture relaxed once more as he sat beside Cassian.
When you walked into his line of sight, you felt temporary relief when he looked at you as he usually did. His expression softened, he leaned forward as if to get up, and then his face tinged a bit somber as if remembering the fight last night. His eyes were open for that small moment, but then they soured just as quickly. He looked you up and down and leaned back against the cushions, wings pressed in tight.
No one else seemed to notice. Mor dragged you across the room to pour you wine—a small mercy—and Cassian continued his tale of something you couldn’t focus on.
You needed more time. He was still upset about last night. Maybe at you, maybe at himself. Maybe he thought you were angry at him and wanted to give you space.
You thought about the apothecary owner touching his shoulder and soured yourself, sinking into the chair Mor had placed you in and gulping down your wine.
And then—dinner.
Azriel did not sit beside you. Cassian and Elain had taken the chairs on either side, each offering to give their place up for Azriel, but he gave them a small smile and waved them off. “I’ll see her all night,” he had offered, ignoring the strange looks he received around the table.
You focused your attention on Feyre. On the baby held in her lap. On Rhysand and the adoring smiles he was offering his family. The High Lord and Lady offered another thank you to the room, promising time to relax and extra gifts for winter solstice that everyone pretended to deny and claim they didn’t need. You acted normally and pretended not to feel Azriel’s gaze on you throughout the meal.
It was reassuring at first. He watched you openly as you spoke, looked for your needs as he always had, and responded in kind with each observation—he passed you the water, informed you what plates had the things you didn’t like, shot his gaze to you eagerly when you laughed. He stared at you like he loved you still, and that made sense to you. That was meaningful.
But, sometimes, he looked at you like he was confused. You would say something about your day, about the archive, and he would look lost, brows furrowed as he squinted his eyes. He would look around, bored. He would grimace and hide it. You were sure no one else knew Azriel’s expression as you did—and no one was looking as closely as you were.
The entire time, the bond remained closed.
You couldn’t feel what he felt to understand him more.
Maybe he was still angry at you. Maybe he was going through the motions of the night to not be suspicious. Maybe… he just wanted to say he was sorry, and you were freaking out.
You considered closing your side of the bond halfway through the night, a stroke of pettiness flaming in you as he looked confused again. As he confused you.
You closed it for only a second, but Azriel had shot wide eyes in your direction so quickly that you broke down the wall you formed without a second thought. He let out a breath when you did, but looked away.
And kept his side locked away.
When you went home that night, Azriel held your coat out and guided your arms through it. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head that lingered longer than usual, and squeezed your hand in his as he held it. He kept it against him, cradling it against his chest as he led you out of the townhouse and onto the street. He said goodbye to everyone and kept you in his hand, against his heart, as you left together.
And, still, your bond remained empty.
There were a few minutes of silent walking as you were led home. The sound of your feet on stone echoed against his shadows as they looped around your figure and glued themselves to you, needy, even as you ignored them in favor of the pit forming in your gut.
“I—I’m sorry we fought,” Azriel said, sounding as if his teeth were gritted as he spoke.
The sound shocked you. You blinked up at him to find his features hard. “Um, it’s okay. I’ve… just been worried about you, Az.”
Azriel closed his eyes and breathed out of his nose. He kept walking. “I’m fine.”
“I know that. I know that things have been busier and you’ve been stressed. I get it—”
“You don’t get it,” he relayed abruptly. The tone was reminiscent of last night. The muscle in his jaw jumped. “You can’t understand.”
“Okay,” you replied slowly. You’d come to a stop in the street now, facing him and hands still intertwined. You stared up, searching him, but his eyes were unopened. “I don’t get it, then. That’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. I can’t—”
You reached up for his jaw, but he rushed out of the touch, turning his head.
Panic crept along your lungs. “Help me get it,” you quickly demanded. “I want to get it, Az. I—we’re always here for each other. Even if… if you’ve done something you feel like you can’t tell me.”
You wanted to throw up as soon as you said it. In all honesty, the thought of Azriel being unfaithful was something you couldn’t handle. You said you’d always be there, but the memory of him on the street earlier cut through you like a knife, and you weren’t sure how you’d react if he laid something bare right now. You weren’t even sure if you were strong enough to form the thought fully, so the fact that you’d voiced a version of your worries out loud surprised you.
Azriel winced, but his eyes remained closed.
“Look at me. Please,” you practically begged. Your hands swung uselessly at your side, shadows replacing where Azriel’s fingers once were, and you begged for something so simple. Your next thought escaped your mouth. “Are you with someone else?”
That had his eyes blowing wide the way they had been when you closed the bond. He was shaking his head as if you were insane, fingers twitching as if to reach for you, but not closing the distance. “Of course not. How could you—I would never.”
You bit into your lip, the skin there raw. “Well, I just… you were so mad at me last night. You were mean. You’re never… mean, Azriel.”
His hands spasmed between you. “I know. I’m sorry. I—” Azriel sighed until his shoulders slumped. He moved his flexing fingers up to the bridge of his nose. “I wish I could explain this to you. I just—I can’t.”
“What? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I’m trying to figure this out. Just, please, give me time, angel.”
The soft way he said the word made your chest ache. You went to touch him again, and something flashed on his face. He tore back and caught himself with an ungraceful step. You watched as he stared down at his trembling hands, and you watched him look back up to find your obviously hurt expression.
“What is going on?” you stressed. “What do you need to figure out? Is it… is it me? Are you—does this have to do with that apothecary?”
“Don’t—” he snapped, eyes flashing. He calmed himself, and you felt yourself break. “I told you I need time. Please, give me time.”
“It is about her,” you whispered, fingers covering your mouth. Your lips trembled and the tears you’d been fighting off all day betrayed you as they streaked down your cheeks. “Oh Gods, you—you’re not sure about me anymore. That’s it, isn’t it?”
It felt as if your body was caving in on itself. You took a step back, and then another. Your heel caught on something and you jerked yourself away when Azriel reached out to steady you. Breath was leaving you somehow, but the only thing you were aware of were the deep, unsteady inhales that hurt as they entered your body.
Azriel said nothing. You looked up at him with a blurry gaze, his face marred by the tears in your eyes, and he looked as broken as you felt. But he said nothing. His mouth opened and his shadows swarmed you, but he said nothing.
“I—I can’t be here,” you gasped out. “I can’t—I have to—”
“Please,” Azriel desperately called, but you didn’t know what he was asking for. He said your name and it hurt, but he didn’t move towards you as you ran. And ran. And ran.
Summary: When Reader fakes an orgasm Azriel has no choice but to teach her not to lie to him, but not with words.
Warnings: smut | 18+ | pwp | dom!Az / Brat!Reader | Brat tamer/taming | cunnilingus | slight impact | slight breathplay | creampie | p in v | overstim | controlled orgasm | clit sucking | slut shaming | slight dollification | there’s so many ts freaky
Word count: 6.5k
A.Note: Please read the warnings!!! This is nasty, literally all smut, mdni.
I should have known better.
Should have known that Azriel, with all his centuries of honed observation and razor-sharp instincts—his ability to read people down to the slightest flicker of emotion—would notice.
I thought I had hidden it well, that he had been too lost in his own pleasure to realize I hadn't unraveled beneath him the way I usually did. That the tremor in my voice, the sharp edge of my cries, hadn't quite matched the ones before. I told myself he wouldn't catch the fleeting moment where my body had tensed but never truly shattered, where my release had been nothing more than an illusion painted for his sake.
I don't even know why I did it. Azriel had always been so attuned to me, so devoted to my pleasure. Maybe it was the exhaustion weighing down my limbs, the ache of an endlessly long day pressing against my bones. Maybe it was the way he had looked at me tonight—so desperate to bring me over the edge with him. I hadn't wanted to bruise his pride.
But he knows.
He doesn't say anything. Not as he cleans me up with steady, reverent hands, the warm cloth dragging over my skin with the same care he always gives me. Not as he helps me into my nightgown, his touch lingering a little longer than necessary. But I feel it. Feel it in the way his hazel eyes darken, their golden flecks burning as they study me in that quiet, unreadable way.
Still, he says nothing. Not when he turns off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into a cocoon of darkness. Not when I turn to him, pressing a soft kiss against his lips in an attempt to quell the unspoken weight between us.
He kisses me back, slow and deep, but his shadows betray him. They curl tighter around his frame, restless like they are whispering secrets meant only for him—secrets I cannot decipher.
He doesn't say anything for a long while. Holds onto the knowledge, lets it simmer beneath his quiet exterior, tucked away where I almost believe it will stay.
For a moment, I think I've gotten away with it.
But when morning comes, the silence finally fractures.
"Why did you fake it?"
The question lands like a stone in my chest, sending my heart into a frantic rhythm. His voice is steady—too steady. Like he's been awake all night just waiting to ask.
I blink at him tiredly, feigning confusion. "What?"
Azriel doesn't waver. "You didn't come. Why'd you fake it?"
Blunt. Direct. The weight of his stare alone is enough to pin me in place. He's clearly been sitting with this, turning it over in his mind, dissecting it in that way only he can. And now, he wants answers.
"I—I didn't—"
He tilts his head slowly, and my breath catches. Not a word passes his lips, but the movement alone is enough of a warning.
"Try again, love." His shadows swirl around us despite the morning light filtering through the curtains.
I stay silent.
Azriel exhales, his grip on my waist flexing. "I've been up all night trying to figure out why you'd feel the need to fake something like that. Especially with me." His voice is soft, but it cuts through me all the same. "And I can't. So tell me—why?"
"I didn't want you to feel bad," I murmur, barely above a whisper. "You treat me so well, all the time. I didn't want you getting hung up on this one night."
But here we were—doing exactly that.
His jaw tightens, tension carving sharp lines into his face. The early morning light filters through the curtains, soft and golden, but there is nothing soft about the way he's looking at me. Still, his hands find mine, fingers intertwining. The roughness of his scars against my skin is familiar. Comforting.
"Do you think so little of me?" The words are quiet, but no less devastating.
"No." I snap my gaze to his, panic flickering in my chest. "No, never, Az."
His thumb skims over my knuckles before he brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss there. "Then why lie?" he asks, the warmth of his breath lingering. "Do you not trust me to take care of you? Do you not want me to?"
His voice dips lower, and my stomach clenches. He truly had to be thinking about this all night to draw up these conclusions.
"I do," I rush to reassure him. "Of course I do. I was just—I was tired, that's all." I lean closer, brushing my lips against his in a gentle kiss.
He doesn't pull away. Doesn't let go of my waist. But when he tilts his head, the look in his eyes shifts into something sharper. Something hungry.
"You tired now?"
His mouth finds mine again, deeper this time. Slow, deliberate, teasing.
I exhale softly. "No."
Azriel mirrors my smile, but there's something different about his. Something sharper. More feral.
"Good."
And before I can react, he's got me beneath him, arms pinned above my head, a wicked gleam in his hazel eyes.
A gasp catches in my throat as Azriel moves, fast and fluid, flipping me beneath him before I can so much as blink. My wrists are pinned above my head, his scarred fingers wrapped firmly around them, the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress.
His wings flare slightly, blocking out the golden slant of morning light, leaving nothing but the two of us in the shadows. His shadows.
They curl around his frame like living threads of darkness, writhing in time with his slow, deliberate breaths. The way he looks at me now—hazel eyes molten, jaw tight, lips slightly parted—sends a shiver down my spine.
"You really thought I wouldn't notice, didn't you?" His voice is low, rough, but not angry. No, the way he says it—the way he watches me squirm beneath him—is something else entirely.
I swallow hard. "Azriel, I—"
"You were exhausted." He hums as if considering my excuse. "Didn't want to hurt my feelings." A soft scoff leaves him, his nose brushing the shell of my ear. "What a sweet little lie."
I shudder, my fingers flexing uselessly beneath his grip. "It wasn't—I just—"
"Didn't think I could handle the truth?" He trails a hand down my side, fingers whispering over the thin fabric of my nightgown, tracing every dip, every curve. "Or did you think I wouldn't take care of you properly?"
I shake my head quickly, but he catches my chin between his fingers, forcing me to look at him.
"You know I don't like being lied to, love," he murmurs, voice silken and dark. "Especially not about this, you forgot though."
His thumb drags over my bottom lip, and my breath hitches. He watches me, eyes burning, gaze sharp enough to cut.
"Let's fix that, yeah?"
His grip on my wrists tightens just as his free hand moves lower, skimming over my stomach, my thighs—slow, teasing, deliberate.
"You're going to be honest with me from now on." A soft kiss, barely there, pressed to my throat. "You're going to let me take care of you the way I always do." Another kiss, lower this time, lingering over my pulse.
"And you, love," he whispers, teeth grazing against my skin, "are going to learn exactly what happens when you try to keep something like that from me."
His shadows coil around my ankles, holding me in place, and then—
I lose the ability to think.
"Az," I breathe, my body arching instinctively beneath him, trying to chase the warmth of his touch. But he holds me still, his fingers barely skimming where I need him most, his shadows curling tighter around my wrists and ankles like they, too, are in on his cruel game.
Azriel hums, amused. "You sound a little desperate, love."
I glare at him, but it's hard to make it convincing when I'm squirming beneath him, my pulse racing, my breath coming too fast. "You're being cruel."
His lips curl at the accusation. "Am I?" His fingers dance along the edge of my nightgown, slipping just beneath it before retreating just as quickly, his touch featherlight. "Seems to me I'm just teaching a valuable lesson."
"You're insufferable."
Azriel chuckles, the sound low and sinful, sending a ripple of heat through me. "You weren't saying that last night."
Heat floods my face. "Maybe because last night, you weren't tormenting me."
His brows lift, feigning innocence. "And yet you didn't come. Seems to me you like the tormenting." He dips his head, kissing a slow, searing path along my collarbone. "But if you'd prefer, I could stop."
A smirk plays at his lips as he starts to pull away as if testing to see just how desperate I really am.
I scowl, tightening my legs around his waist, locking him in place. "Don't you dare."
His laughter is warm against my skin, and the next thing I know, his fingers are on my thighs, tracing slow, torturous circles. "That's more like it," he murmurs approvingly. "Now, tell me, love—" his lips ghost over the shell of my ear, his voice nothing but a delicious rasp, "—you going to fake it again?"
My brows furrow as I peer up at him through my lashes.
"No," Azriel grins, wicked and knowing. "I'm not going to stop until you're too wrecked to even think about faking it again."
A sharp inhale. A rush of heat.
His hands tighten, and his voice drops to a whisper, his words dripping with sinful promise.
His fingers move with calculated precision, unbuttoning my top one slow pop at a time. I help him shed it, my own hands sliding beneath his shirt, mapping the warm, golden skin stretched over taut muscle. The ink of his tattoos shifts under my touch as he pulls the fabric over his head and tosses it aside.
I lean in, capturing his lips, but he meets me halfway, claiming my mouth with a hunger that steals my breath. His tongue sweeps past my lips, exploring greedily, and I moan softly into him.
Then, suddenly, my wrists are pinned to the mattress, bound by the whisper-soft strength of his shadows. A gasp catches in my throat, my body instinctively tugging, but it's futile. Azriel merely smirks, his fingers skating down my sides, toying with the band of my panties, the heat of his touch sending sparks across my skin.
I lift my hips in a silent plea, urging him on, but he only chuckles, slow and deep. "Patience, love," he chastises, his fingers hooking beneath the fabric.
"Please," I whisper, desperate.
Azriel hums in approval but moves achingly slow, peeling the lace from my body like he has all the time in the world. His knuckles brush against my thighs as he drags them down, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.
"I want you to feel everything," he murmurs, lips ghosting over my collarbone, where a faint mark from last night still lingers. A reminder. A promise.
"Az," I whine, shifting against the restraints, needing more, needing him.
He tsks, dark amusement glittering in his hazel eyes. "I know, I know," he coos, dragging his mouth along my skin, teasing me with every slow, lingering kiss. "But you can be patient can't you?"
I nod, breathless, eyes locked onto his as he trails lower.
"Good," he praises, but his voice dips into something more commanding. "And you understand I can't reward your bratty behavior?"
"Yes," I whisper.
His brows arch. "Yes, what?"
"Yes, sir."
Azriel's smirk is wicked, his satisfaction rolling off him in waves. "There's my girl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my stomach before lowering himself further between my thighs. "Now stay still for me, yeah?"
I nod, back arching as I ready myself.
His breath is warm against my skin, teasing, taunting, and when his lips ghost over where I need him most, a helpless whimper spills from my lips. I tip my head back into the pillows, unable to watch, unable to handle the way he's taking his time, savoring the way I fall apart beneath him before he's even truly touched me.
"Sweet girl," he murmurs, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "So needy. Just couldn't get off, could you?"
I shake my head pitifully. "No," I manage, my voice barely above a breath.
He clicks his tongue, pressing a featherlight kiss to my inner thigh. "It's okay, love," he murmurs, and then his grip tightens on my hips, holding me still as he finally, finally drags his tongue through my slick folds.
A choked moan tumbles from my lips, my back arching further off the bed, but his shadows keep me grounded. He hums in approval against me, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat coiling low in my stomach.
"Azriel," I moan, writhing, tugging uselessly at the darkness binding my wrists. "Please."
He smirks against me but doesn't answer, just hikes one of my legs over his shoulder, deepening his assault. His tongue flicks over my clit with precision, his mouth sealing around the sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking just hard enough to have me keening.
I can't move. Can't grind against him, can't chase the pleasure building inside me—because he's making sure that my release comes entirely from him.
That realization has me spiraling even faster.
"Az—Azriel, please," I gasp, my thighs trembling as the coil tightens, winding impossibly tight.
His grip on my hips bruises, his scarred fingers pressing into my skin as his tongue circles my clit again and again.
"Go ahead, love," he rasps against me, his voice thick with satisfaction. The vibrations of his words against my swollen, aching cunt are all it takes to send me over the edge.
I shatter, a sharp cry tearing from my throat as my orgasm crashes through me, my body locking up before melting into the mattress. My vision whites out, pleasure consuming me in wave after relentless wave.
Azriel doesn't stop. Doesn't let up. He guides me through it, slow and deliberate, savoring every aftershock.
"There it is," he murmurs, his lips pressing a final, lingering kiss to my sensitive folds before glancing up at me, utterly wrecked beneath him. "My girl looks so pretty when she comes."
The flat of his tongue gathers my arousal on his tongue, cleaning me. A soft, broken whimper is the only response I can manage.
But Azriel isn't done. Not yet. Not until I've learned my lesson.
I panted softly, still trembling as he kissed his way back up my body, his mouth hot and unrelenting against my flushed skin. Every inch of me is still humming from the waves of pleasure he's wrung out of me.
His lips trail over my breasts, pressing a kiss to one before he takes the stiff peak into his mouth, his tongue swirling in slow, torturous circles. The same tongue that had just shattered me now teases and soothes in equal measure, and I bow into his touch, a soft gasp spilling from my lips.
"Azriel," I rasp, tugging against my dark restraints.
His shadows hold firm, but he lifts his gaze to me through his lashes, those hazel eyes molten with desire. My breath catches, and I swear I feel the heat of his stare everywhere. His tongue flicks against my nipple, sharp and purposeful, and my thighs instinctively fall back open for him.
He smirks, releasing my breast with a wet pop before kissing his way up, up, until he finds my lips. He swallows my soft whimper as his tongue slides past my lips, letting me taste myself on him. The intimacy of it makes my head spin, and I kiss him back greedily, nipping at his lower lip when he pulls away.
His breath is warm against my mouth as he murmurs, "Inside?"
"Yes," I breathe, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I need you inside me."
His lips quirk up in a lazy, knowing smile. "Yeah? You need it?"
"Please," I whimper, my desperation laid bare.
Azriel hums, kissing me again, slow and deep, before pulling away. The sound of his belt unbuckling, the rustle of fabric as he shoves his pants down—it sends a thrilling pulse of anticipation through me.
I was so attuned to him, his sounds, the feel of him. The heat of him between my thighs, the way he strokes himself once, twice, teasing me with the promise of what's to come.
Then he's there, pressing the thick head of his cock against my slick entrance, and I nearly sob with need.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice dark with satisfaction as he teases me, sliding just the tip inside before pulling back. "So wet, so ready—"
"Az," I whine, my hips tilting, seeking him.
His hand presses down on my stomach, holding me still. "You take what I give you, love. Nothing more."
I moan at his words, at the sheer dominance in his tone, and then he pushes in, stretching me inch by inch until he's seated fully inside me. He takes his time, driving me wild in the process, each slow thrust pulling a desperate sound from my lips. My walls flutter around him, trying to draw him deeper, but he holds himself back, teasing, torturing.
By the time he finally sinks to the hilt, I'm panting, trembling beneath him, my body molded perfectly to his.
A low groan rumbles through his chest, his head dropping to the crook of my neck as he rolls his hips once, dragging a sharp gasp from me. "Fuck," he breathes, his voice wrecked. "So tight. Always so fucking perfect for me."
I whimper, my body adjusting to the delicious burn of being so completely filled, stretched to the limit around him.
Azriel pulls back slowly, almost entirely, before thrusting forward again, his pace agonizingly slow, like he's savoring the way I squeeze around him.
"You feel that?" he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear, his voice dark, wicked. "How deep I am?"
"Yes," I pant, my wrists straining against my restraints, desperate to touch him, to claw at his back, to do anything other than lie there and take it.
But that's exactly what he wants.
He rolls his hips again, dragging himself against that spot inside me that has my toes curling, my back arching off the bed.
"You lied to me, love," he reminds me, his tone thick with amusement, with something darker, more possessive. "So now I get to decide how long you last."
A whimper slips from my lips, and he chuckles, low and satisfied.
"You'll take what I give you," he murmurs, his fingers digging into my hips, holding me still even as I writhe beneath him. "And you'll thank me for it."
Then he pulls back and thrusts into me hard, setting a punishing rhythm that steals the breath from my lungs.
He grips my thighs, spreading me wider, fucking into me so deep I swear I can feel him everywhere, in my bones, in my blood.
"So good, you're always so good for me," he groans, his voice rough, barely held together. His restraint is a fragile thing, and gods, knowing I could break him with a single plea makes me throb around him.
"So cruel of me," he muses, his thrusts slowing, dragging out my torture, "to come inside this pretty pussy last night without making sure my girl got her release, hm?"
All I can do is whimper, my head tipping back, body trembling as he fucks me slow, deep, each deliberate roll of his hips making me feel every inch of him.
The rhythmic sound of the bed slamming into the wall and his low, guttural grunts fill the room, the air thick with heat, with the wet, obscene sounds of him driving into me. I bite into my lower lip to stop myself from sounding so damned desperate, but we both know—Azriel knows—just how wrecked I am.
The proof of it is between my thighs, soaking his cock, dripping down onto the sheets.
His hand slides down my stomach, his fingertips ghosting over my clit, not quite touching, just enough to make me sob in frustration.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice full of wicked delight. "Fucking dripping for me." His thumb swipes through my slick folds, pressing teasingly just above where I need him most. "So messy, love. So needy."
I whimper, arching into his touch, desperate for relief.
Azriel tuts, shaking his head. "Oh no, sweetheart. You don't get to come yet."
I whine, a broken, desperate sound, and he just chuckles, pulling his hand away entirely.
"You wanted to lie to me," he reminds me, his lips brushing over my jaw as his cock twitches inside me. "Now you get to feel what it's like to be left aching, desperate, needing."
I sob, my head thrashing against the pillow, but he just keeps fucking me, slow and deep, making me take every inch of him without giving me a single ounce of relief.
I fucking love it.
Azriel smirks against my throat, dragging his lips down the column of my neck, his cock still buried deep inside me, thrusting slow, deep, controlled. My body is writhing beneath him, my nails digging uselessly into my palms as his shadows keep me bound.
"Poor thing," he murmurs, nipping at the spot just below my jaw, his tongue soothing over the sting. "You sound so fucking desperate."
I whimper in response, my thighs trembling, my cunt clenching down around him in a futile attempt to pull him deeper, to coax him into fucking me the way I need.
He chuckles, low and dark, dragging his cock out so slow before sinking back in, every inch stretching me open again, every movement meant to drive me insane.
"You said you'd be good for me," he muses, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Said you understood why I had to punish you."
I nod frantically, my breath hitching as he rolls his hips again, the angle perfectly devastating.
"Then why," he murmurs, his lips brushing over my ear, "are you whining like a slut, love?"
A full-body shudder rolls through me at his words, and he laughs—a wicked, pleased sound—because he knows exactly what that does to me.
"Oh?" His grin is evident in his tone. "You like that?"
"Azriel," I rasp, my voice ruined, my body burning.
"Sir," he corrects smoothly, his hand wrapping around my throat, applying just the lightest pressure.
"Sir," I breathe, and fuck—I shouldn't be this turned on, shouldn't be this gone just from the way he's talking to me.
He hums in approval, dragging his nose along my cheek before whispering, "That's my girl."
And then he stops moving.
I let out a cry, bucking my hips, desperate for anything, but his grip on my throat tightens just slightly as a warning.
"Ah, ah," he tuts, shaking his head. "You'll take what I give you, remember?"
"Yes, sir," I whimper, my head falling back.
His thumb brushes over my lower lip. "Such a good girl." He tilts his head, pretending to consider something. "Maybe I should make you beg for it properly."
"I—" My voice catches as he barely rolls his hips, just enough for me to feel him inside me without giving me any real relief.
"I think I will," he murmurs, his thumb pressing against my lips. "Go on, love. Beg."
"Please, sir," I whisper, my voice barely audible.
He tuts, shaking his head. "Oh, sweetheart, you're not even trying. You know you can do better than that."
He pulls out entirely, making me sob in frustration, in unbearable, aching need.
"Again," he commands, his tone all silk and steel.
"Please," I gasp, my back arching, my legs trembling. "Please, sir, I need you so bad, I—fuck—I can't—"
He groans, his cock twitching against my entrance, and finally—finally—he slams back inside me, knocking the breath from my lungs.
"That's it," he praises, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm that has my nails digging into my palms, my mouth falling open on a soundless moan. "That's my fucking girl."
I'm ruined beneath him, my body alight with pleasure, with torment, with the unbearable need to come. And he knows.
His hand drops between us, his fingers finding my clit, and I wail, my body bowing off the bed as he circles the swollen bud with just the right amount of pressure.
"You wanna come, love?" he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin.
"Yes, sir," I sob. "Please, please, please—"
His pace falters, just for a second.
"Fuck," he rasps, his cock twitching inside me. "You sound so pretty when you beg for me."
"Then please," I cry, the pleasure coiling so tight I can't take it anymore.
He presses his forehead against mine, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate.
"Come for me, love," he breathes. "Now."
And fuck—I shatter.
My orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave, my body seizing, my back arching, my walls fluttering wildly around him as I scream his name.
But Azriel—he doesn't stop.
Not even for a second.
"That's it," he growls, his fingers still working my clit, dragging my pleasure out, making my body shake, making me wail. "Give me another one, sweetheart. I know you can."
My body jerks, as my breath stutters and my thighs tremble violently from the sheer intensity of my release, he just keeps going.
"Too much," I gasp, my body writhing beneath him, every nerve ending alight with unbearable pleasure. "Sir—"
His hand tightens around my waist, his hips still slamming into me, his cock dragging against that spot inside me that makes my vision white out.
I sob, my body tensing as another wave of pleasure builds, impossibly fast, impossibly sharp.
"What's wrong, love?" he murmurs, his lips brushing over the shell of my ear. "You were so eager for it just a moment ago."
His fingers press against my clit, rubbing tight, devastating circles, making my body twitch beneath him.
"I—fuck, I can't—"
Azriel just grins, leaning down to kiss my temple, so mockingly sweet.
"You can," he purrs, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. "You were just begging for it, I know you can."
I whimper, my head tossing to the side, my brain too fogged to even process anything beyond the ruthless way he's using me.
"Look at you," he muses, his tone full of wicked amusement. "Fucked so dumb you can't even think straight."
I moan at his words, my legs trembling around his waist.
He laughs, low and mean, his fingers still ruthlessly working my clit, even as my entire body shakes from the overstimulation.
"What was that, love?" His teeth graze my jaw, sending another shudder down my spine. "You like being used like this?"
I sob, my head tossing back, unable to form words, unable to do anything with my hands and ankles bound. I loved it, he knew I loved it.
"Fuck," he groans, his thrusts growing erratic, his grip on my wrists bruising. "You're so fucking perfect like this—just my little plaything to fuck as I please."
I wail, my body burning, pleasure suffocating me as another climax threatens to rip through me. The pleasure was wringing me out dry.
His fingers press against my clit, merciless, relentless.
"You gonna give me another one, sweetheart?" His voice is taunting, his lips brushing over my ear. "Gonna come on my cock again, even though it's too much?" He mocks.
I nod frantically, tears slipping down my temples, my body convulsing from the unbearable pleasure.
He smirks, so fucking smug.
"That's what I thought," he murmurs. "My perfect little slut."
I gripe, clenching around him tightly.
Azriel moans, his cock twitching inside me, his thrusts growing sloppier, more frantic.
"One more," he growls, his hand wrapping around my throat, squeezing just right. "Give me one more, love. Be good for me."
I don't even have the breath to scream. And then he snaps his hips forward, his fingers moving faster, and I fucking lose it, another orgasm ripping through me, dragging me under, drowning me in white-hot bliss.
I just shatter, my body breaking apart, my vision going dark at the edges as pleasure obliterates me.
And Azriel—he fucking laughs, still thrusting, still pushing me, ruining me.
"That's my girl," he purrs. "Always so good for me."
Azriel pulls out slowly, almost tenderly, and I slump against the mattress, my body wrecked, trembling with the aftershocks of everything he's done to me. My wrists ache from pulling against the shadows, my legs barely responding to me as I try to catch my breath.
I think—finally. He's done.
But then his hands are on me again, flipping me onto my stomach in one fluid, effortless motion, his strength overpowering.
"Didn't think I was done, did you sweet girl?" he murmurs, his voice like a dark promise as he hauls me up onto my knees.
I barely have a second to process before his hand presses against my back, forcing my chest down, stuffing my face into the pillows.
I gasp, my arms pinned uselessly beneath me, my body still twitching from overstimulation as I feel him behind me—feel the hard press of his cock sliding between my soaked folds, teasing, not yet giving me what I know he's about to.
"Azriel," I mumble, my voice muffled against the pillows, wrecked and pleading.
He tuts at me, his grip tight as he spreads my knees wider, forcing me open for him.
"You think you can take another round?" His voice is full of mockery, his hand running slowly over my hip before gripping me there, holding me in place. "You've been so good for me, taking everything I've given you—you wouldn't let me down now would you?"
"No sir," I moan softly, my body already shuddering with anticipation as he lines himself up, the head of his cock nudging against my entrance.
I barely have time to pant out a desperate, "Sir," before he thrusts inside me, deep, the new angle making me see fucking stars.
I scream, my fingers clenching uselessly into the sheets as he fills me completely, pressing so deep it makes my entire body tremble.
"Fuck, that's better," he groans, his hands sliding up to grip my waist as he pulls out almost entirely before slamming back in, his pace instantly ruthless.
My mouth drops open in a silent moan, my mind blanking as he uses my body, fucking me like he owns me, like he's never going to stop.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he murmurs, his voice dark, smug. "To be bent over like this, my cock so deep inside you, you can't even think?"
I sob against the pillows, my body already climbing toward another release, my overstimulated nerves sparking with unbearable pleasure.
Azriel just laughs, his hands gripping my hips as he forces my legs to stay open, refusing to let me close them, refusing to let me hide from how utterly ruined I am.
"You're so fucking perfect like this," he breathes, leaning down so his chest presses against my back, his teeth grazing my ear. "Taking me so well, love. My perfect slut."
I keen, my walls clamping down around him, my entire body melting under his words, his touch, his fucking torment.
"That's it," he purrs, his fingers sliding down between my legs, finding my clit, rubbing it in cruel little circles. "Come for me again, sweetheart. I want to feel you break on my cock."
He keeps his pace brutal even as I flutter around him, his grip on my hips unrelenting as he fucks me into the mattress, each thrust shoving me deeper into the pillows, like he's trying to mold me to the shape of his cock.
And all I can do is take it. Take the way he ruins me, the way he stretches me open again and again, making me feel so fucking full I can't even think.
"You hear yourself, sweetheart?" he taunts, his voice dark, drenched in amusement as he listens to the wrecked little sobs spilling from my lips. "Crying for me while you drip all over my cock like a good whore."
I sob again, pleasure and overstimulation making my body shake, making my mind fog over with nothing but him.
"F-fuck, Az," I whimper, my fingers clawing uselessly at the sheets.
His hand cracks against my ass, making me jolt forward on a choked-out cry.
"Sir," he corrects again, his tone firm, his free hand sliding up my back, tracing the arch his thrusts are forcing me into.
My walls clench around him so tight it drags a deep, filthy groan from his chest.
"You like that?" he purrs, smug as sin, rolling his hips in slow, torturous circles, making sure I feel every inch of him. "Like knowing I could fill this pretty little cunt up—watch you swell with my seed?"
I whimper, my toes curling at the thought, at the absolute filth pouring from his lips.
And then his hand is sliding down, pressing to my lower stomach—right where he's buried deep inside of me.
A guttural groan rumbles from his chest, his fingers flexing as he feels where he's stretching me open, where he'd fill me up if he let himself go.
"Fuck," he breathes, his grip tightening on my hip as he thrusts again, shoving deeper just to feel the bulge of himself inside me. "So fucking deep, love. You feel that?"
I nod weakly, my eyes rolling back, my body trembling as another broken sob leaves my lips.
He laughs, wicked and cruel.
"Already so fucked out, aren't you?" he taunts, dragging his palm over my stomach, pressing harder just to make me feel how deep he is. "Poor little thing—just a dumb, desperate mess on my cock."
I keen, my legs shaking, my body completely wrecked and at his mercy.
He twitches, my body arching as he presses into a spot that makes my vision go white, my mouth falling open in a pitiful pant. "Sir, feels, so good," I whimpered.
"Yeah? Greedy girl, going to come again?" He taunted, lips brushing against my shoulder, his sweat-slicked chest kissing my bowed back.
"Please—can I?" His pace didn't slow, even if I knew he was getting closer, he grew more and more sloppy but he did not slow.
"Wait f'me, I'm almost there," He whispered into my skin.
I clenched around him, unable to help myself, wanting to help him get there. My arms shook, near to giving out as I panted into the bed sheets, gripping the pristine white cloth in my fist to stop myself from moving up on the bed.
He twitched inside of me again, growing eager. "Inside," I breathe softly. "Fill me," I beg.
"Yeah? Want me to claim this cunt?" He whispered, lips grazing over the shell of my ear.
"Please, sir," I beg, bottom lip wobbling.
"Okay love, come—come f'me," He chokes slightly, consumed by his need for release. I doubted I could hold onto that edge for much longer, and the sound that left me during that final orgasm was louder than the rest, primal in a way. He twitched once more, and as I clenched tightly around him from the cresting of my orgasm, he came too, painting my walls white with his thick release.
He thrust slowly, gently, easing me down from the white-hot high that still had my body trembling. My whimper was soft, and breathless, as he finally pulled from me, his release spilling from me, warm and slick against my thighs. If not for his steady hands cradling me, guiding me down onto the mattress, I might've collapsed completely.
"Not too much?" His voice was hushed, rough around the edges, like he was just as wrecked as I was, despite that Illyrian stamina keeping him upright. A calloused hand brushed through my likely tangled hair, tucking it behind my ear so he could see me clearly.
I tried to form words, but all I could manage was a breathless, "No." A slow inhale, then, "Felt s'good." My voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, and even that much effort felt like too much.
He hummed softly, pressing a lingering kiss to my temple. "You did so good," he murmured against my skin before slipping his arms beneath me. I barely had time to react before I was in his embrace again, lifted with ease. "Let's get you cleaned up."
I nodded weakly, my limbs boneless, and let him carry me into the bathroom. The cool marble of the counter met the flushed heat of my skin, soothing, grounding. I watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, admiring him in this quiet aftermath. The way his jaw clenched in focus as he wrung out a damp cloth. The tenderness in his touch as he wiped me down, extra careful between my thighs. The contrast of his rough, battle-worn hands moving with such exquisite care.
He combed through my hair next, untangling the knots his fingers had left earlier, his motions steady, unhurried. Every stroke, every pass of his hands over my body, was reverent. Devotional.
He kissed me softly then, tasting of cedar and salt, of something uniquely him. His hands skimmed my sides, his touch a whisper of heat against my skin.
"Six times." His voice was smug, but quiet, like he was half-talking to himself.
I blinked up at him, dazed. "Hm?"
"You came six times." His lips quirked into a knowing smirk, his fingers tracing idle patterns along my thigh.
Heat flooded my already flushed cheeks, my stomach twisting with something like mortification and pride all at once. If he knew so easily, then surely he knew immediately last night when it wasn't real.
"You were counting?"
He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Had to make up for last night."
I huffed a small, breathy laugh. "You did."
His smirk softened as he kissed me again. Slow. Deep. A promise.
"How do you know?" I murmured against his lips, pulling back just enough for our noses to brush. "When I come?"
His gaze darkened, and something in his expression made my stomach flip. "You make this pretty face," he said, voice dropping, thumb tracing my bottom lip. "You couldn't fake it if you tried."
I swallowed hard, heat pooling low once more.
"And you always moan my name," he continued, pressing a slow kiss to my throat. "Every single time." His lips dragged over my pulse, felt the way it jumped. "Without fail, it's always my name on your lips."
I could feel my blush creeping lower, my skin burning everywhere he touched.
"You didn't last night," he murmured, voice a lazy drawl like he was enjoying my embarrassment. "Wasn't hard to figure out."
I groaned, dropping my forehead against his shoulder, but I couldn't help but laugh at myself. He chuckled too, the sound a warm rumble against my skin.
I pressed a kiss to his temple, letting my hands roam down his back, enjoying the feel of his muscles beneath my touch.
"So," I mused, still breathless, still utterly spent. "Breakfast?"
Summary: Azriel's shadows have always been loyal, always obeyed him without question. Until now. Until they start misbehaving whenever another man so much as looks at you.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 1,066
Notes: This is my first fic, I hope you like it! :)
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The first time it happens, you don't think much of it.
You're at Rita's with the Inner Circle, nursing a drink at the bar while Cassian and Mor dance somewhere among the crowded space. The music thrums through the air, and the conversation hums around you when a male slides into an empty seat beside you.
"Didn't think someone like you would be sitting alone," he says, flashing a grin.
You don't even get the chance to respond before a flicker of something moves between you.
The male frowns, swiping at his hair, which has suddenly transformed from being neatly styled to sticking up in wild angles, as if an invisible force had run its hands through it... aggressively.
You blink in surprise.
He mutters a curse, trying to fix it, but the moment he smooths it down, the strands spring right back up. His frustration grows, hands swiping over his head repeatedly.
"I- what the hell?" he grumbles. "Is this air cursed or something?"
You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting a laugh.
And then you feel it.
A cool, familiar brush against your wrist.
Slowly, you glance down—just in time to see a shadow curling around your fingers before slipping away.
Your stomach flips.
You don't even need to turn around to know exactly where Azriel is.
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The second time it happens, it's harder to ignore.
You and Azriel are training in the House of Wing, and the session has drawn some attention—mainly from a visiting group of Illyrians who very clearly wanted to spar with you.
One in particular, a cocky warrior named Dain, is relentless. He lingers, circling the ring as Azriel corrects your stance, his gloved hands light against your arms.
"You sure you don't want a real sparring partner, sweetheart?" Dain calls, grinning. "I promise I'll go easy on you."
Azriel stills.
His fingers tighten ever so slightly before he steps back, shadows slithering at his feet. "She's training," he says evenly, but there's an obvious warning beneath the words.
Dain chuckles. "Training is nice and all, but I'd be happy to teach her a few things myself."
Something cold coils around your ankles.
Before you can react, the shadows yank. Not hard. Just enough to make you stumble backwards, right into Azriel's chest.
Your breath catches.
His hands steady you, fingers gripping your waist for a fraction of a second before he forces himself to let you.
You glance up at him, about to ask whether or not that was intentional, but his jaw is tight, hazel eyes locked on Dain.
Azriel's shadows have started to shift.
Not the lazy, fluid movements they usually have—but sharp, possessive flickers that wrap around you. One curls over your shoulder, while another drapes across your wrist, looping around like a claim.
You shiver, pulse skittering.
Dain seems to notice, too. His smirk falters, his eyes flicking between you and the swirling darkness. "Uh-"
The shadows snap toward him.
Not touching—just close. Close enough to make him step back.
You swear you hear them hiss.
Dain swallows hard. "Right. I, uh, should probably-"
Azriel doesn't blink. Doesn't move.
Dain takes the hint. He all but scrambles away, muttering under his breath.
And just like that, the shadows slip away, leaving you cold.
You whip around, crossing your arms. "What was that about?"
Azriel frowns, too casual. "What was what?"
"Oh, I don't know," you say dryly. "Maybe terrorizing a man into running for his life?"
His brow furrows, like he truly doesn't know what you're talking about. "I didn't do anything."
You narrow your eyes. Then one last shadow curls around your wrist before darting away like a child caught misbehaving.
Azriel glares at it.
Your lips part. "You have got to be kidding me."
His expression darkens as more shadows flick around you, playful now.
Azriel sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose. "They don't usually-"
"Get jealous?" You finish for him, holding back a smile.
Silence.
His throat bobs.
And then—quietly, almost too quiet—you hear his shadows whisper something.
A name.
Your name.
And you realize—maybe it's not just his shadows who are jealous.
Your breath hitches. Azriel's wings rustle. And he looks like he's about to bolt.
Which is just unacceptable.
You cross your arms, tilting your head back to study him. "You know, I think your shadows like me more than they like you."
Azriel exhales sharply. "That's ridiculous."
"Is it?" You smirk, glancing down as a shadow curl lazily around your wrist. You give it a little wiggle, and the shadow clings tighter.
Azriel scowls at it. "Traitor."
A laugh bubbles out of you. You can't help it.
The great and terrifying Shadowsinger, bested by his own shadows.
"Oh, this is too good," you say, beaming up at him. "All this time, and they've secretly been on my side."
Azriel mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a curse. His wings twitch again. His shadows flick in annoyance—except the ones still clinging to you, moving to curl around your waist like they never want to let go.
You bite back a grin. "I mean, it makes sense." You gesture vaguely at them. "They probably just think I'd be a much better master."
Azriel gives you a deadpan stare. "That's not how this works."
"I don't know," you hum, pretending to consider it. "They seem pretty happy right now."
As if to prove your point, one shadow playfully loops around your fingers.
Azriel glowers. "You're encouraging them."
You give him an innocent smile. "Would I do that?"
He sighs, but you catch it—the way the corner of his mouth twitches. The way his gaze softens, just a little.
And then, so softly you almost miss it, he murmurs, "They have good taste, at least."
Your breath catches.
Your teasing falters for half a second before you recover. "So, you admit they like me more?"
Azriel exhales, shaking his head. "You're impossible."
You grin. "And you love it."
He doesn't answer. But the way his shadows linger—curling, warm, content—tells you everything you need to know.
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Cassian walks in moments later, takes one look at Azriel's shadows practically cuddling you, and immediately points.
"I knew it!" He boasts.
Azriel pinches the bridge of his nose. His shadows flick toward Cassian, clearly unimpressed.
And you?
You just laugh.
Because really—Azriel might deny it all he wants, but his shadows?
Following the events of yours and the Shadowsinger’s tryst, you face a myriad of new revelations: a mating bond and mating frenzy included.
Pairing: Azriel x f!reader
Word Count: 8.8k
Warnings: eventual smut, p in v, fingering, oral (m&f), slight choking, rough sex, wing play, shadow play, lil bit of submissive Az, downright mating frenzy filth
A/N: I didn’t have ANY plans on making a sequel until @garricktavisfanclub requested one and suddenly…the idea didn’t sound so bad. So please enjoy some mating frenzy Az. 🤭
The hot sun beat down on your skin, despite the early hour.
Sweat trickled down your forehead at both the temperature and the fact that you’d been moving your body endlessly for the last ninety minutes.
Training was well underway and you hadn’t stopped since Cassian had started barking out different orders for your warm up exercises. Your three friends had been beside you, doing them with you with just as much determination as you’d felt.
Now, you were practicing strikes with a real blade, running through all the maneuvers of the eight pointed star you’d been taught.
You were still a tad behind Nesta, Gwyn and Emerie, but you were so much more advanced now than you’d been only a month before. Your biggest accomplishment had been nailing each and every maneuver of sword strikes—first with the practice sword and now with the real thing.
It’d taken some time to get used to the weight of the real blade, especially while performing the moves you now knew by heart. But, you’d progressed so much that soon you’d be able to rejoin your friends in their lessons.
“Perfect. Give me a combination of block one, slice three, thrust two.”
Where it had once seemed to be impossible to keep up with the rapid fire commands barked at you, your body now knew the moves before your mind even fully processed them.
You executed the challenging combination absolutely perfectly, the blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. If there’d been anything mid-air to shred, it would’ve been left in ribbons.
“Block one. Slice three. Thrust one.”
Your mind filtered out anything else other than concentration on the moves as your body fluidly hit each and every movement. Sweat slid down your spine, beneath your leathers, but you didn’t let it distract you.
“Block three. Slice two. Block two.”
You performed each and every maneuver that Cassian called out to you, finally lowering your blade when you finished. Your chest was heaving, heart racing and it felt good.
“Good,” Cassian emphasized, pride shining on his face.
You were pushing yourself hard today, harder than usual and you could tell the others had noticed.
Part of it was determination. Part of it was from…other sources.
Nesta had taken a break to watch you—everyone had apparently. The entire ring was filled with your friends and the priestesses watching you. They all looked varying shades of proud, your friends beaming the hardest. You felt the surge of pride in your chest too.
Now, you saw why Nesta had said it felt so powerful to be able to hone such skills.
The female had moved to get you a cup of water and brought it to you, noticing your extremely flushed face, skin slick with sweat. Maybe it was a good idea to slow down a little bit right about now.
“Are you alright?” she murmured to you when she’d approached with the water, “You seem slightly on edge.”
“Fine,” you said tensely, taking the water graciously, slugging it down.
You’d felt the deep seated need—the urge really—to move your body lately. You knew exactly what it was, too. The need to excel energy in a way you weren’t capable of doing right now, even if your body screamed for it.
Your skin felt like it was on fire, buzzing too much, too aware of every sensation. The craving went so deep inside you, you couldn’t have willed it away if you’d tried.
For that was the mating bond roaring in your head making you feel and act half crazy.
Your mate had been gone for nearly a week.
Your mate. It still sounded so odd to you.
You weren’t used to it—still shocked by the revelation. The entire week you’d felt like you could peel the skin from your body.
Three weeks after Nesta’s sleepover invitation where Azriel had rocked your world, life had gone on with no other advancements from the Illyrian. You’d started to feel embarrassed and ashamed for thinking that he had meant his words of next time, afterwards, when it was clear that it was just him talking through the daze of post orgasm.
It was just something that had been said in the heat of the moment and he hadn’t truly had any intention of seeking you out again.
It’d been almost three weeks to the day of the night in question when Nesta and Cassian had kindly invited you to family dinner at the River House. You had accepted, having heard Elain made wonderful dinners—and it sure sounded better than returning to your lonely apartment.
You’d promised yourself you’d try not to act awkward around the shadowsinger, no matter what had happened between the two of you.
After all, you saw him every day at training and he’d managed to remain professional and respectful, so you figured you could offer the same courtesy.
It had hit you like a lightning bolt—the mating bond, that is.
It had been before dinner when everyone was milling about. You’d been sitting next to the fire with Nesta chatting, Az across the room with Rhysand and Cassian, discussing something. It could’ve been court related, it could’ve just been idle chatter, but your eyes had still felt drawn to the shadowsinger, sliding across the room to find him.
You’d felt keenly aware of his presence despite him being a good distance away.
But it was only when your eyes found his, when his hazel ones had lifted to meet yours when you’d felt a zap. Not just from his intense stare, but one that felt like the stone door to your heart had slammed wide open, ready to receive the truth that you were just now privy to.
You still couldn’t describe it, couldn’t explain how suddenly everything in the world made sense, felt right. How it had felt like you’d never been complete until that moment.
Because in that suspended moment, it hit you like a stone to the head.
You were staring at your mate.
Azriel was your mate.
“Notice how you feel like you’re made for me?”
The remark he’d whispered to you while he moved inside you three weeks ago floated through your head as your eyes stayed locked on his.
He’d been closer to the truth than he’d even realized.
You felt like you’d stopped breathing as you were lost in his stare. You weren’t completely sure if he’d felt it too, but you thought you’d seen his eyes widen slightly—it could’ve just been your imagination though.
You had no idea how you made it through the dinner and you barely tasted the food that Elain and the half wraith twins—Nuala and Cerridwen—had prepared. Which was a shame because everything looked and smelled amazing. All you could focus on was the male you were now even more hyper aware of, across the table and down a few seats from you.
You’d gripped your fork so tightly you were amazed it hadn’t bent in half.
When you’d had to call his name—to get his attention and ask him to pass the rolls—you swore he’d almost dropped the glass in his hand at the sound of his name on your lips.
That had only been a week ago. You hadn’t had time to really process or even talk to him before he’d had to head out for a mission Rhysand needed him for, pronto.
In the months following the death of Briallyn, there was stirring activity from the remaining mortal queens and Rhysand wanted intel on them—wanted Az to find out as much information as he could. There wasn’t any inclination that trouble was brewing, but knowing your High Lord, you knew he liked to stay a few steps ahead of others as much as possible.
He’d been gone for six days.
You’d asked Cassian every day when Azriel was coming back and you were sure every day you asked, the more it raised his suspicions.
“You don’t look fine,” Nesta pushed.
You cut her a glare but her brow only raised.
“Is there any reason you’ve asked Cassian every day when Az will be back?”
You had no idea if your friend was aware of what had taken place between you and Azriel—the sex or the mating bond. Likely she knew about the first considering you were significantly glowier the next day, according to her.
But knowing Nesta Archeron, she knew. She was definitely suspicious about what was going on with you recently, too.
You shrugged at her question.
“I’m sure the priestesses miss him.”
“Me and Cassian have been talking about how strange you’ve been acting,” she hummed, folding her arms across her chest.
“Shouldn’t we be getting back to practice?” you asked, still finishing up your water.
“Finish your water and we can,” she said, pointing to your cup.
Meaning it would provide her enough time to ask more questions.
“You’re pushing yourself too hard, like you’re trying to outrun something. I recognize that.”
You gulped down another swallow of water, your friend too close to the truth for your comfort.
“Right after I accepted the mating bond with Cassian,” Nesta continued on, “After we consummated it.”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you muttered.
Nesta just hummed and gave you a knowing look.
“It’s okay. Just know I’m here if and when you’re ready to talk. Alright?”
Her voice had lost the teasing tone to it, turning a shade more gentle, more serious.
You knew good and well you wouldn’t have to tell her anyways, she probably already had figured it out. For some odd reason, you felt on the verge of tears.
Your body was screaming for Azriel—in more ways than one—but most importantly because it felt like you were missing a limb. You’d felt restless, off kilter, uneasy for six whole days.
You were about to go crazy.
Not to mention the more physical urges that’d awoken in you. You’d spent too many nights remembering and picturing your night spent with Az.
Too many instances here lately where you’d found your hand between your legs, thinking of him. Which made you feel ashamed because you didn’t even know if he felt the same for you, if he even wanted this bond.
That was another added complication. You had no idea where you stood.
Right now, crying sounded the best.
But, instead, you looked your best friend straight in the eye, attempting to refocus your attention on the rest of today’s training session. You just nodded your thanks and Nesta’s voice was the softest you’d ever thought you’d heard it when she spoke, taking the empty cup from your hands.
“It’ll get better soon.”
•••
AZRIEL
He’d been on edge for six days.
She was his mate and he hadn’t even gotten to say anything to her, hadn’t even gotten to tell her bye before he was flying off to the continent.
His body buzzed with need so strong it sat his teeth on edge.
He hadn’t seen it coming at all.
It was no secret between him and his brothers that he’d wanted a mating bond, even if he’d never said it aloud. He kind of assumed they’d figured his continued aloofness and distancing himself here lately had to do with being surrounded by mating bonds everywhere.
He hadn’t even noticed her at first when she first started training.
Well, that was a lie. He’d seen her and knew she was a friend of Nesta’s, but hadn’t thought much more past the fact she was another female training with them every morning.
But then he’d started feeling drawn to her—and if he were honest, he had from the very moment he’d laid eyes on her. He remembered a brief, faint flicker of curiosity when he’d first seen the female, but hadn’t much registered it until all these months later.
He’d been too deep in loneliness and self-loathing for it to have as big of an impact on him as it might’ve normally would’ve. He’d even found his eyes finding her every now and then during those early morning training sessions, even as he instructed his own group of females.
She was beautiful, there was no denying that.
Azriel had simply chalked it up to attraction and nothing more.
Until that night a month ago, when he was returning from another mission, similar to today and a nosy little wisp of a shadow had gone snooping. That little bit of information had changed everything and set them on this path.
Az wondered a lot during this week what would’ve happened if they hadn’t acted on that mutual attraction, when and if the bond would’ve snapped as soon as it did.
He’d spent the week trying to keep as busy as possible and tried not to think of all the noises he’d evoked from her. The way she’d writhed and begged, said his name. Just the thought of her had him aching with need, his cock aching just as badly.
Once, he’d practically pumped himself dry to thoughts of her, her name burning on his tongue as he came all over his hand—three times that night.
The worst thing was, he couldn’t just come back and claim her. They weren’t anything, at least he didn’t think. They’d had sex once. Albeit, amazing sex, but did she even want to be his mate?
They had so much they needed to talk over.
He wasn’t proud to say that he’d rather just be buried in her instead but Cauldron damn him, he was about to go insane.
From the moment his eyes had met hers that night a week ago—when the bond had slammed into him like a physical blow—he’d been suffering.
Beyond the normal surety of her—just knowing she was his—all he could focus on was the intense need to claim her. To touch her, smell her, taste her. It was overwhelming.
It was stiflingly hot today and it wasn’t just from his constant state of arousal, but the weather sure didn’t help matters any.
He was nearly home and unsurprisingly the closer he got to Velaris—to the House—the more he felt his body relax. It wasn’t by much, but it was better than how he’d begun his flight.
His wings sounded with steady, thunderous beats as they carried him through the air and he felt his stomach swoop when the House’s training ring came into sight.
He was almost home—to her.
His boots landed with a thud on the stone and he was almost positive she whirled around to face him before he’d even landed.
He felt his heart lighten at the sight of her, much of the tension leaching from him. All he wanted to do was go to her and devour her, but she was in the middle of lessons, he wouldn’t disturb her.
Cassian glanced his way with a smile and a jerk of his chin in his direction.
“Welcome back Az. You look like hell.”
He was sure he did.
He heard another chorus of hellos and turned towards his usual group of priestesses who were offering up their quiet and soft greetings. He gave them a thin smile and dipped his head in acknowledgement as to not ignore them.
But he was so on edge.
Especially when he saw Cass smirking at her before he snapped his fingers in her face.
“Focus, princess.”
A low growl rumbled up his throat and he tried to smother it. But he didn’t want Cassian near her right now.
He walked over, ready to give him a piece of his mind when he heard the thud of another pair of boots from behind him and a smooth, deep male voice.
“Morning, ladies. Working hard I see.”
Az glanced over his shoulder, seeing Rhys approaching him. He’d thought he was supposed to meet his brother at the River House later this evening for the debriefing, but apparently it couldn’t wait.
His jaw clenched, fighting the natural urge to go to her. Something he was itching to do.
His shadows didn’t care about disturbing her, that’s for sure. One shot forward, curling around her ankle like a black cat. He saw her peer down at it, startled for a second before her eyes shot to his face.
“Az?”
Shit. Apparently Rhys had been talking.
There was a soft breeze to cool the hot morning air and her scent blew his way. He had to resist the urge to groan out loud. He tried hard to ignore the way his pants tightened just at her scent in his nose.
“I asked if everything went well,” Rhys repeated, “Have a nice trip back?”
“Yes.”
He offered nothing more, his eyes following his mate all the way across the training ring. Instincts he’d never had before were screaming at him and it felt almost painful to ignore their orders.
He definitely felt frayed at the edges.
“Azriel.”
He turned back to his friend and High Lord, who looked exasperated. Az took it, it wasn’t the first time Rhys had tried to get his attention again.
Az crossed his arms, trying to hide the tension in his body.
“Sorry. What?”
“I asked what you found out.”
“Not much. There hasn’t been any whispers of the remaining mortal queens. I’d say there’s still a slight chance to be worried about Koschei luring them to help him, though.”
He felt, more than saw, Rhys stiffen next to him.
Az tried to keep his eyes off her, but it was damn near impossible.
“And why is that?”
He broke his gaze away from his mate, who was practicing combinations of sword maneuvers that Cass was calling out to her.
“Because if Koschei thinks he can find a valuable ally in Briallyn—especially since she was under his influence most of the time she worked with him—it would be unwise not to consider that he would target one of them. It’s not a huge possibility, but it’s not impossible either.”
“Terrific,” Rhys sighed, “Another thing to worry about.”
“I’ve got spies on it,” Az muttered.
He could feel Rhys glancing at him sideways.
“What’s with you?”
“Nothing.”
Az’s tone was brisk, sharp and left no room for discussion.
“You’re more tense than normal and that’s saying something.”
“Leave it alone,” Az all but snapped.
He watched as she fumbled one movement, making her first mistake since he’d arrived.
“Close, but your hand slid out of position,” Azriel heard Cassian tell her, “Here, let me show you.”
He walked over, hands on hers to reposition them when then snarl broke free from Az’s throat.
“Get your hands off of her,” he snapped to which Cass’s head whipped around, surprised.
His brother looked ready to say something, but Az was already stalking forward.
“I can do it,” he muttered.
She was looking back and forth between him and Cass, hesitantly, like she’d done something wrong. But when he approached her he was gentle, respectful.
“Here,” he said, voice much softer, “You need to slide your hand down to here.”
His hand covered hers and he instantly got chills at touching her again. He tried to push away the overwhelming sensation as he repositioned her hands on the hilt of the sword so she’d have a better grip.
He also tried not to picture her delicate hands wrapped around his cock. But it didn’t help that he was sliding her hands down a very similar shaped object when his mind was already clouded with such intense thoughts, to begin with.
“Holding it like this will help you slice better and keep you from almost dropping it. Just tighten your grip and you’ll be fine.”
He hoped that last part only sounded dirty to just his mind.
Cassian was gaping at him.
Az ignored him as he backed up, with a grumble of, “Carry on.”
Rhys looked equally as baffled when he’d returned to the High Lord.
“What was that?”
Az said nothing, rolling his shoulders to try to break up the tension there, but he was practically vibrating with it. His teeth were clenched as he watched his brother carry her through more maneuvers.
He still didn’t like how close to her Cass was.
When Azriel didn’t answer him, Rhys asked the question he’d been expecting, though he heard the hesitancy in his voice.
“…Is there something going on between the two of you?”
“No.”
It wasn’t a complete lie.
“Then why are you staring daggers at Cass like he’s seconds away from asking for her hand in marriage?”
Az didn’t answer.
Rhys sighed.
“How long have you known?”
“Known what.” Az gritted out, eyes still zeroed in on the threat he perceived.
“That she’s your mate.”
Az’s eyes finally cut from the scene in front of him to Rhys. He didn’t even try to deny it.
“Since two hours before I left for this trip, last week.”
Rhys cursed.
“Cassian said something too about an evening visit last month…”
Az just cut him a look, teeth bared.
His primal senses were heightened from the bond screaming within him so it was hard to rein in the urge to punch something or someone. Preferably Cass.
“Did you fuck her?”
Az snarled in response.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Rhys crossed his arms, shaking his head.
“Let’s just hope Cass makes it through the rest of this lesson in one piece.”
He did. Make it through the lesson in one piece, that is.
Just barely though as Az paced back and forth restlessly waiting for the moment it was over so he could drag her back down the stairs and fuck the ever living sense out of her.
No, no, he needed to talk to her first. He’d have to try to do that first.
He about sprung after her the moment the females started to scatter, heading back indoors—whether into the House or down to the library again, for the priestesses.
He was getting ready to follow her inside, needing to talk to her. To touch her too if he was honest. Mother above, he just hoped he could act like a decent male for long enough as to not completely horrify her.
But then Cass stopped him, a strong hand on his arm.
“You want to explain to me why you nearly bit my head off for simply touching her?”
Az sighed.
He wasn’t going to be leaving the training ring anytime soon.
•••
You were utterly soaked with sweat after the two hours of training.
As you headed down the stairs toward the House, you decided a nice bath would be good for your sore muscles and maybe calm your burning skin.
The moment you’d heard Az’s boots thud on the ground, you’d whirled, unable to help yourself. Your chest had instantly lightened at seeing him.
His gaze had been just as intense on you.
You were taken by surprise when you’d felt the curl of one of his shadows around your ankle. It was sort of sweet, actually.
But then he’d been…weird. The way he kept glaring at Cassian, snarling, even snapping at him for touching you.
You, admittedly, didn’t know much about mating bonds other than that it was a special and desired thing. A connection that fae everywhere revered simply because your soul was connected to another. It was overwhelming. But maybe that was because everything you currently felt seemed amplified greatly.
Az was a good male. A really good male. Fate, the Mother, the Cauldron—whoever was responsible for mating bonds—clearly picked well for you.
That is, if he even wanted it. And with you.
You groaned as you rolled the leathers off your hot, sweaty and sticky skin, the bathtub already filling with warm water and a herbal scent of bath soap. The benefits of living in a sentient House. Apparently, being Nesta’s friend meant you also deserved to be spoiled by the House.
“Bless you,” you mumbled, when you were fully naked, stepping into the warm water.
You sank down with a sigh, luxuriating in the feel.
You’d grown to love and appreciate, even look forward to training, but more times than not, you bathed at the House before leaving for the day. It never seemed to be an issue for Nesta and Cassian that you did so—considering this was their home—and it provided you with some time to unwind and ease your mind.
You tried not to think of the days this week that you’d spent a little extra time in the bathtub, hand slipping between your legs, imagining Az there with you. In the tub with you.
Your cheeks reddened at the thought, embarrassed at even the memories.
It had only been one time. Being his mate might not even mean anything to him.
But gods, had your body been craving him so badly.
You pushed the thoughts of the Illyrian aside, taking the bar of soap, running it over your wet skin.
After thoroughly washing every part of your body, you grabbed a bottle of shampoo that had appeared on the ledge. You took a deep breath, holding it, as you slid under the surface of the water enough to fully wet your lengths of hair.
You’d just resurfaced—shampoo bottle in hand—and nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Azriel standing in the doorway. He was leaning in the doorway, looking tense, arms crossed, shoulder against the doorframe.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” his lips twitched.
“You’re back,” you said stupidly, because obviously he was, you’d already seen him.
“I am.”
You bit your lip, unsure if you should admit how much you’d missed him.
“Would you like some help?” he motioned to the bottle of shampoo in your hand.
You looked down before glancing back up at him.
“I’d like that.”
He walked in the room and you swallowed hard, your body alighting with his powerful, tall presence. You could feel your skin tingling, anticipating the feel of his hands, gentle in your hair.
You were going to lose your mind because of him.
He stopped behind you at the end of the tub and reached down, taking the small bottle in his hands. His fingers brushed yours and goosebumps broke out over your skin, your nipples pebbling just under the surface of the water.
You chastised yourself mentally as you shifted slightly, feeling a familiar ache developing between your legs. All he’d done was barely touch you and you were having this reaction to the male.
Behind you, you heard the cap unscrew as he undoubtedly poured some of the fragrant concoction into his hands, bringing them to your wet locks. He massaged gently, lathering it, fingers gentle against your scalp.
You moaned, head falling back towards his touch.
You heard him shuffle behind you as he kneeled behind the tub to work the lather into your hair.
“Feel good?”
Was it just you or did his voice sound a tad shaky?
“Yes. So good,” you moaned.
You’d been so desperate for his touch that even this had arousal stirring.
“I’m glad,” he murmured, working the shampoo down the length of your hair.
It was then that he bent, close enough that his lips brushed your neck. You shivered at the touch.
“Did the spying go well?” you croaked.
He hummed, nose brushing your damp cheek before he kissed your neck again.
“It did.”
“I’m…glad,” you rasped out, finding it difficult to form words.
Not with his close proximity, with his body so warm against yours, his hands on you, the scent of him—night chilled mist and cedar—filling your senses.
He said your name, low and ragged. You had to bite back a whimper at his gravelly tone.
“Yes?”
He said nothing as he finished running the shampoo through your hair. You made sure to make quick work of dipping under the water again, scrubbing the suds from your hair. When your head broke through the water again, you wasted no time, immediately standing in the large tub.
Water sluiced down your body in rivulets, your wet hair sticking to your torso just enough to cover, but not by much, considering your hardened nipples still poked through your hair.
You were on full display for him and it should’ve made you nervous, self conscious, but instead, it sent a thrill through you. Especially at the way he was looking at you.
“We really need to talk,” you insisted, but it sounded weak to even your ears.
“We do,” he ground out out, eyes taking in your naked form.
“You’re my mate.”
“Yes.”
His eyes didn’t stray from your body, his throat bobbing with a hard swallow.
“And you felt it too.”
“Yes.”
You hadn’t made an effort to move but he stood from where he’d knelt, approaching you. He walked over to the side of the tub, right in front of you, just on the opposite, dry side. Your eyes followed his every movement.
“I realize we really need to talk, but I truly cannot focus when you’re naked.”
His voice was guttural, pained, like he was being tortured by the sight of you like this.
You would’ve laughed at his honesty if you hadn’t felt like you were seconds away from jumping him, yourself.
“We talk later then,” you said, a tad breathlessly.
“Talk later,” he nodded, seeming just as dazed.
With that declaration, he surged forward, not seeming to care if you were still in the tub or that you were dripping wet. Before you knew it, his lips were on yours.
Relief was nearly immediate, the sense of calm and rightness settling over you like a warm cloak as his lips moved against yours. He groaned against your lips, hands gliding along your wet skin giving you goosebumps.
Before you realized what was happening, he’d lifted you from the tub, the splash of the disrupted water sounding loud in the quiet room. Your legs wrapped around his waist, water soaking his leathers but he held onto you tighter, arms hooked under your legs as he walked you back to the bedroom.
Your lips traced his jaw as he walked the two of you to the bed, your hands resting on his shoulders.
“Az,” you whimpered, not even sure why.
“Right here,” he murmured, finally setting you down against the sheets.
They stuck to your damp skin and the cool air chilled you as it hit your bare body.
Your breathing quickened as you watched him join you on the bed, crawling over you. Before you could say anything, his head dipped and his lips were hot on yours again.
You moaned lightly into it, your legs naturally parting for him to lay between.
The kiss was hot, heated, full of desperation and longing. His mouth moved rapidly over yours as he pressed against your body as close as he could get. Your hands clung to his shoulders, moving forward, trying to pull his leathers off him—even if it meant you had to claw through the leather material with your nails alone.
His mouth dropped to your jaw, sucking harshly, moving further south to nip along your throat.
He pressed against you just like he had that night in the hallway, his arousal pressing against your cunt. The only thing between you both being the leather of his pants. You moaned at the touch, hips canting to rub against him continuously.
You were about half out of your mind that you wanted him to take you in every position he could think of. You wanted to rub your naked body against him, against all those strong muscles, wanted to lick, to bite him.
You were positively feral, acting like a bitch in heat if the way you were actually dripping down your thighs was any indicator.
“Az, fuck, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you gasped, arching into him the more he pressed against you.
He growled against your throat.
“Sweet girl, I’ve been thinking of this all week”
“Yeah?” you panted, breathing uneven.
He pressed up against you again and you nearly went breathless. You wanted that cock deep in you until you were screaming.
“It’s—” he panted, kissing down to your chest, “The bond.”
“Wh-What?” you stuttered, trying to breathe normally.
It was almost impossible to breathe with the way he was pressed against you, mouth on you, stoking heat in you. You needed him so badly you were practically drooling—from your mouth and cunt both.
You tugged at the edge of his shirt again.
“Off. Off,” you panted and whined, desperately.
He sat back, whipping it off faster than you could blink.
You were met with golden brown skin and hardened muscle, the dark Illyrian tattoos on his arms swirling and enticing, making you want to trace the patterns with your fingers. Another time though, not right now, that is.
You reached for him, but he was already moving away, his hands coming up to grab your breasts as he kissed down your stomach. You groaned, arching into his palms, the roughness of them providing friction to your puckered nipples and driving you wilder.
“Azriel,” you whined, the emphasis on his name making you sound even needier.
He groaned against your skin, mumbling, “I love how eager you sound for me.”
Eager was probably an understatement.
He wasted no time as his mouth neared your throbbing core, lifting two fingers and pushing them into you without any warning.
You moaned loudly almost sensitive from your prolonged arousal. Maybe because you’d felt like this for six days without much relief.
“Gods, you’re so wet,” he mumbled, licking over your hip bone.
You couldn’t form words in the slightest, your hips shifting to push his fingers deeper. It was like the moment your lips had touched his in the bath just minutes earlier, something wild had been unleashed in you.
Your hips rocked against his hand as his fingers slid in and out of you.
“I told you last time I’d take my time with you, but fuck, sweet girl, I just want to be inside you.”
His tone was gravelly, pained, as if he too had been suffering all week.
“Wouldn’t—” you gasped, hips still shifting, “be—opposed to that.”
You were panting, barely stringing words together. You felt like you’d lost all good sense, your mind spiraling and focused on nothing but Azriel. His fingers inside you, the fact in a few minutes his cock would be inside of you.
His fingers curled and he looked up at you with such a sly, seductive look on his face you tightened instantly around his fingers. He groaned, feeling it.
His eyes never left yours as his fingers left you, only to be replaced by his tongue.
He licked one torturous line along your slick folds, pausing to flick your clit. You cried out, hand flying down to slide into his dark locks.
You probably sounded downright debauched as noisy as you already were.
“As sweet as I imagined,” he mumbled.
His tongue was teasing, licking everywhere but where you wanted him, circling your entrance. You opened your mouth to beg before he plunged it inside you.
Your back nearly bowed off the bed at the feeling—and he hadn’t even brought you to orgasm yet, that was just how wild you were for him right now. A loud, filthy moan fell from your lips as you ground against his mouth.
You had a fleeting thought that you had never realized he would be this talented with his mouth, either.
You felt the vibrations of his moan against your cunt as he licked into you and drove his tongue into you repeatedly. You started when you realized that wasn’t the only sensation you were feeling.
A nearly icy chill roamed your body and you realized it was his shadows as they brushed against your nipples, brushed over your clit just enough to give you even more pleasure. You whimpered, squirming from all their ministrations.
He licked a path from where he’d just been, to your clit, flicking it again. You inhaled sharply feeling two of his thick fingers press into you again as his mouth closed around the sensitive bud.
“Az, gods, Az,” you whimpered, trying to press closer to his mouth.
His other hand pushed your hips down, holding them firmly against the bed.
He was absolutely relentless, fingers pumping and curling, tongue flicking and pressing. You could feel the tingle of release starting deep, rising quicker than you expected as he kept up the deadly duo of movements.
His fingers curled once more in combination with a suck on your clit and you were absolutely exploding beneath him.
Your fingers dug into his hair as your moans bounced off the walls of your room, hips tilted into his mouth, his fingers. Pleasure shot from your core into your whole body and you trembled as he didn’t let up until he was positive he’d wrung every last ounce of your orgasm from you.
You were panting, body still buzzing when he pulled his fingers and mouth from you with a devious smile. He looked ready to eat you alive and you were ready to be devoured.
“You could bring a male to his knees with how sweet you sound when you come,” he murmured.
You sat up as quickly as possible, connecting your lips to his as your fingers busied themselves with removing his pants. As he kissed you, his fingers aided yours until he was pushing his pants down his hips.
Az broke the kiss long enough to stand, ridding of the article and as he stood up, pushing the rest of the clothes from his body. You didn’t even give him a chance to rejoin you on the bed before your hand was wrapping around his cock, sliding along it.
He hissed, hips bucking into your hand but you gave him no reprieve as you leaned down, licking along the length of his cock.
You were out of control, practically pawing at him at this point and you didn’t even care. Clearly he didn’t either as he groaned your name, threading his fingers in your hair,
It was a miracle he gave you all of thirty seconds to move your mouth on his cock, sucking and tongue swirling before he was pulling you off.
You momentarily pouted, wanting to repay the favor but the look on his face had you trembling with anticipation.
“I need to be inside you,” he practically whined.
Fuck, you needed that too.
You were momentarily speechless, nodding emphatically, trying to convey your desire for that too.
You wouldn’t have been exaggerating by much if you said Azriel nearly tackled you back on the bed. One moment he was standing, the next, your back was flush against the mattress again, Az hovering over you—one hand on your cheek, caressing it with a gentleness that his kiss did not convey.
You whimpered into it as you felt his hips press into yours, the head of his cock nudging your entrance. Your legs caged his hips, trying to press him closer as you rubbed against his cock.
He growled, pulling away so he could look down into your face.
Two things happened at once.
First, he pushed into you in one, rough, delicious movement, making you gasp at the sudden and intense intrusion.
Secondly, at the same moment, your hands were pulled from his body. Well, no, it was more like your arms.
You’d felt the cold, biting chill a second too late as your arms were flung over your head, flat against the bed and bound by his shadows.
“Az,” you whimpered, tugging at the restraints.
But it was useless. Not only were your wrists bound together, but his shadows held them to the bed so you couldn’t even lift your arms.
“No fair,” you whined, hips already moving with his.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “You can have me however you want after this, just need you so badly, sweet girl.”
His hands gripped your hips, his pace already hard and relentless from the start. Your bodies rocked with each of his thrusts, each time his cock hitting deeper and making you mewl.
“Gods, fuck,” you panted, already overwhelmed.
But you needed this. Needed more.
It was fast, hard and so incredibly hot.
Az was already groaning, sounding as wrecked as you were. Clearly, you’d both been desperate for this for too long.
One of his hands gripped your thigh, pulling your leg higher on his waist as his hips pistoned into you, his thrusts rough and punishing. You couldn’t have kept quiet to save your life, truth be told.
He was everywhere at once, lips hot against your throat, your head bent back into the pillow, a moaning mess.
“Feel so good, my good girl,” he grunted.
You whined again, tugging at your restraints.
“Az, please,” you begged, “I want to touch you.”
“Not yet,” he ground out, hips grinding down, immediately shutting you up with a moan in place of your complaint.
You both were spiraling quickly, approaching the mind blowing pleasure you knew was soon to come.
The hand not holding your leg slid up your torso, up your chest and settled at your neck, his fingers wrapping around your throat. You could see the heat in his gaze, but saw enough to know he was questioning if this was okay.
You positively whimpered when his fingers tightened just slightly and he growled, hips snapping into yours, harder.
You were completely at his mercy, but you couldn’t help but wish you weren’t bound so you could scratch his shoulders, hold his hand tighter against your throat, anything.
“Az,” you gasped, so overwhelmed, but in the best way.
Every time his fingers tightened, your cunt tightened around him. His guttural groans nearly made your eyes roll back in your head.
Pressure was building within you and you had become a moaning, whimpering mess beneath him, wrists still straining against his shadows.
“Please, please,” you begged.
It felt like each time he pulled out, he thrust back in harder, rocking you—and the bed—with the force of his movements.
“Come on, you can take it, can take me.”
You were rising higher and higher, not sure how much more you would be able to handle of him.
His hand fell from your throat, dipping between the two of you, circling your clit. It took very few movements before you were absolutely screaming as you came around him.
You felt the strain of the shadows as your body arced off the bed—like they were pining you down with all their force—their cool touch almost painfully cold the harder they bound your wrists together. Your body shook as your vision whited and your brain nearly melted by the pleasure that Azriel was provoking.
“Oh fuck, fuck!”
His outbursts were raw and filled with his current blissed out state.
“Az,” you gasped, still amidst your own orgasm, unable to control anything let alone your mouth, “Come for me, Az.”
He didn’t disappoint, his head tilting forward, rogue strands of his dark hair falling over his forehead, his body tensing—something you could feel beneath the legs still wrapped around his waist.
Through your own bleariness you could see his wings twitching behind him before they burst open fully as he came with a growl so deep it had your eyes squeezing shut at the erotic sound. His lips brushed your chest, then your throat as he kept working himself into you, riding out every last bit of both yours and his orgasms as he finished filling you.
The moment he stilled, the shadows dissipated from your wrists, sliding back to their master.
You couldn’t move them for a moment, your body still feeling wrung out, even though you had a deep craving for more. A craving that was getting stronger with each passing second.
Your chest rose and fell and you laid there, under your mate, arms still over your head like you were still bound there. You saw the instant concern in his eyes as he pulled out of you.
“You okay?” he asked, sounding just as ruined as you felt.
You didn’t know if it was because of the overstimulation but your chin trembled—not from impending tears, but the deep ache that wasn’t going away. The way you felt you needed him again, needed to do things to him you couldn’t even express, to even satiate your need.
“You didn’t let me touch you,” you whimpered.
He sat back, pulling you up with him. His hand dove into your hair, pulling you into another kiss.
You’d have thought he was too tired. Hell, you’d have figured you were too tired, but the moment his lips pressed hot against yours, you felt the stirring of arousal almost instantly.
“You’re free to touch me as much as you want, love.”
“Good because I still need you,” you groaned, climbing into his lap.
“Glad I’m not alone.”
Your lips were hot on his jaw and he helped position you. You couldn’t resist the urge to drag your cunt over his quickly hardening cock. He groaned, face falling into the crook of your neck before you’d even sunk down on him.
“Touch me all you want,” he pleaded, “I’m desperate for it.”
Your hands roamed his chest, over his shoulders as he lifted you enough to sink back down on him.
He was immediately groaning at your cunt welcoming him back, even if it had been less than five minutes. You pushed him back, his arms falling from your waist, his elbows landing on the bed to catch himself.
He wasn’t completely laying down, but was laying back enough for you to take complete control like you were dying to. Propped up on his elbows, he watched you with lidded eyes as you moved on him, rising and falling on his cock, your hands balanced on his chest.
“I could get used to this sight,” he murmured, dazed.
“Good because I think it’s time for you to beg,” you bit your lip as your hips moved.
In response, his hips thrust upwards to meet you and your head tilted back with a loud moan.
“I’d beg for you any day, love.”
You groaned aloud at his words.
“Can’t believe you did that,” you ground out, quite literally grinding your hips against his, “Not let me touch you.”
His smirk was devilish and so incredibly sexy that you had to stifle the moan that crawled up your throat at the sight. Balancing his weight on one arm, he reached up with one hand, thumb brushing your swollen and bruised lower lip.
“You’re so pretty when you beg.”
You shivered at his words, a direct repeat of what he’d said last time, too.
“And you’re lethal,” you moaned, still moving on him.
“Never claimed not to be.”
Az looked smug and you slapped a hand over his mouth.
“Shut up and let me fuck you.”
He groaned at your dominance, head falling back. Your hand fell and you took the opportunity to lurch forward, mouth hot on his neck, his throat, nipping. Your teeth scraped over his pulse point and he growled so deeply, you felt the vibrations against your mouth.
Your hips rocked against his, aiding in his cock hitting the perfect spot within you each time. Your thighs were burning and trembling, but you didn’t want to stop. Didn’t think you could.
The hunger for him was so intense that you didn’t know if you could survive it. You lifted up off his cock just enough to slam down roughly, your mind spiraling in the haze of desire and his whimpered moans made you involuntarily clench around him harder.
“Touch me. Sweet girl, touch me.”
His begging made you feel powerful and you bit back a smirk as your hips slowed in his lap and he actually whimpered.
Whimpered.
“I think you can beg better than that,” you taunted.
“Gods, please,” he groaned, “Please, sweet girl.”
You bit your lip, keeping up the slow rhythm.
“Tell me where and maybe I will.”
“Anywhere.”
He tried to sit up and reach for your hips and you slapped his hand away.
“Tell me something or else I won’t.”
His voice was ragged, raspy, so desperate it made your entire body buzz with tension, with desire.
“My—My wings,” he stuttered.
Your eyes lit at the command.
You were gonna have fun with this.
You finally allowed him to sit again, wrapping those muscled arms around you and pulling you close to him. Your eyes took in those powerful wings, the dark black leathery look to them.
You knew from a brief feel last time, they felt like cool silk under your fingertips. The silkiness of them gave you goosebumps—likely as much as it did him when you touched them.
His hands rested on your hips moving you back and forth on him faster and you reached an arm out towards one of his wings.
With your pointer finger, you ran it down the inner edge of his wing and you felt his cock twitch inside you in reaction. You smirked, absolutely delighted at the reaction.
“Feel good?” you murmured sweetly.
“Y-Yes,” he whimpered.
You clenched tightly around him at that.
You got braver, moving inward a few inches, two fingers stroking down the velvety wing. Not only did his wing twitch—and the more obvious, once again, inside you—but his whole body reacted this time.
“Fuuuck,” he groaned out, shuddering, “Sweetheart, you’ll be the death of me.”
You hummed, wanting to send him over the edge, your own release rapidly approaching.
Likely sensing it too, his thumb landed at the apex of your thighs.
“You’re coming with me,” you ordered, more of a moan than a statement.
You were close, could feel the impending release on the horizon as you moved faster, harder on him, his touch matching your movements. With one last stroke of your fingers along the edge of his wing, he was falling apart beneath you.
He came with such a ferocious growl, it inevitably sent you over the edge as you clamped down around him. Your back arched, your body pressed fully against his muscled frame as your cry of absolute pleasure tore from your throat. Your arm was still extended over his shoulder as you kept moving on his cock.
You felt him pulse within you as he spilled into you, the slight warming sensation making you whimper pitifully, enjoying every moment of it. His face dipped, bringing your lips to his as your body finally slowed, his hands sliding from your hips up your back.
When you finally pulled away for breath, your brow coated with sweat, your breathing uneven, you just stared at him in awe.
“Didn’t think you had that in you,” he smirked, voice low, tired.
“I didn’t know you could whimper,” you retorted.
His laughter was soft, his touch even softer as he brushed a knuckle down your cheek.
You felt insanely dazed, trying to regain your senses as you stared at his face, taking in the truth. You felt a strange sense in your chest, sort of like a tether just waiting for its…well its mate. You took him in, the beautiful face, golden brown skin and hazel eyes that were so incredibly soft right now as they gazed back at you. It made you realize something.
You wanted this.
You wanted Az as your mate, wholeheartedly.
Something in the corner of your eye caught your attention and you looked over, eyes widening at the sight.
The numerous pillows that’d started on the bed were now scattered on the floor from all your frenetic scrambling and movement on the bed. The covers of the bed were half on the floor, as well, from the enthusiastic and frenzied way the two of you had devoured one another.
You looked around as you tried to catch your breath, still in his lap, his cock still nestled inside of you.
“I think…we made…quite a mess,” you panted.
“Not sorry,” he grinned, roguishly.
That hunger was still there, deep down, but for the time being was quiet enough for you to catch your breath. You already felt sore in every single muscle, but you’d had worse from training, you knew you’d manage.
Your eyes locked with his and you felt your heart flutter.
“Hello, mate,” you grinned, still a bit disbelievingly.
He smiled, leaning forward to nuzzle your neck, mumbling at how he was the luckiest male alive.
“That’s it. Rhys can find another spymaster, I quit. I’m never leaving again.”
Your laughter was bright, happy, a weight from this last week having lifted from your chest.
His smirk was wolfish when he pulled back to look at you.
“So, can I interest in you in another round, mate?”
Tag List: @harvest-bunny @garricktavisfanclub @kittiness12 @smol-grandpa @bxm-2121 @less-spice @alexof90s @seasonallyapril
summary - you and azriel are going through the mating frenzy [ 18+ WARNING ]
word count - ~1k
🦇•🤎•🦇•🤎•🦇•🤎•🦇•🤎•🦇•🤎•🦇•🤎•🦇
“I-I can’t.” You whimpered as Azriel pulled you up and onto his lap, his cock still snug inside of you.
“You can and you will.”
Azriel tried to sound demanding and strong, but in reality he was falling to pieces no thanks to the mating bond that was alight between you and him.
You panted heavily as your arms wrapped around his neck, scrunching at the wisps of hair on the back of his neck to exert some of the tension your body was feeling.
Azriel’s arms sat tight around your waist, keeping you firmly where he wanted you - together.
“Fuck.”
His forehead dropped to your chest and you felt him breathe in heavily, drinking in the scent of you and the bond. It was utterly overwhelming and completely intoxicating.
Neither of you could get enough of each other - not even for a quick drink or rest.
If you and Azriel died because you couldn’t stop consummating the mating bond then it would be a lovely way to go.
You kissed his forehead as he shifted his hips up slightly. Your mouth dropped open at the feeling of him pushing further into you. This angle was neither new to you nor your favourite, but it felt all too consuming in that moment that you never wanted it to end.
Azriel pushed his hips up again and you started to understand the rhythm and pace he wanted, so you helped him by moving your body in tandem with his.
Your chest glided against his - bodies sticky and hot after being with each other for hours and hours now.
One of Azriel’s hands travelled down to your hip, pushing your body down with force as he moved down.
It was so overwhelming. You felt like you’d lost your mind.
Azrie untucked his head from your chest and nudged your face down to meet his. Your teeth clashed together in a messy kiss, both of you fighting for dominance even though you both knew he’d win in the end.
The room became hotter than it already was, the glow of many a candle burning as hot as your skin.
Your pace increased. You moved up and down quicker whilst your kisses became more and more urgent.
You whimpered as Azriel kept hitting the spot you knew would eventually be your downfall. You didn’t need to say anything for Azriel to know that he was doing things just right and to keep going. He’d learnt everything about your body and continued to with every stroke.
“Mother above…” Azriel muttered, his lips moving away from yours messily and head moving backwards as he came close to his release.
The feeling of your breasts moving up and down his chest was so erotic that you couldn’t form a single coherent thought. It was just pure bliss.
“Az…”
“I know, I know.” He said softly.
Because Azriel knew you so well he knew you’d not be able to reach a climax in this position without a little bit of help - not that he minded at all.
One of his hands moved from your hip to your clit, thumbing over the right spot well enough to make your toes curl and your mouth drop open as you tried to catch a breath.
Azriel noticed how quick your breathing was, his own a very similar pace, and took the opportunity to dive his teeth against your neck to kiss the tender skin there.
He’d already marked a few spots on your neck - bruising them nicely - but there was always room for another. You weren’t present enough to stop him, even though you’d shout at him for it in the morning.
“I’m…”
“Yeah…”
“Please.. Az….”
“I’ve got you. So… good.”
You and Azriel came together.
It was a pleasure like no other. Your body so heightened you thought you might visit heaven.
Azriel was tucked so far inside you, you could feel him come inside of you and claim you once again. The grunting sound he made when he came was so animalistic it almost made you want to come again.
Your body quickly slumped into his as your high started to lessen. Your eyes - which went starry - started to focus on the room again and on him. Your mate.
His arms were still tucked around you, holding you close.
“Will it ever stop feeling so good?” You chuckled breathlessly into his neck, finding home there for now as you came back to life.
“Probably not.”
“You’re literally dripping inside me and I already feel like we need to go again.”
It was Azriel’s turn to chuckle this time, “Fine by me.”
He flipped you onto your back and started kissing down your body ready to - as you put it - start again.
summary: After Amarantha is defeated, someone returns home to Velaris.
word count: 4.4k
warnings: angst but fluff, war-mongering Hybern, reader described as something like an assassin/spy, reader is Rhys’ sister, no use of Y/N (I think), guilt, Azriel is a simp for his mate, mating bond, more fluff, allusions to smut-time
author’s note: I missed writing for Az. I should do that more often. I'm not all that happy with the end, but we have to deal with that (sorry). Dividers by @chrisssiren
He had been pacing all month long.
He had grated everyone’s nerves, too.
Ever since Rhys had returned from Under the Mountain, Azriel had been restless, impatient, almost bordering on being rude on some occasions. They knew why. Everyone knew why the spymaster was barely consolable, why his eyes snapped toward the horizon every once in a while, why his attention drifted off during council meetings, family dinners, and sparring sessions. They knew why he threw himself into work more than he had already done in the past, why he barely stepped across the threshold of the rooms he occupied in the House of Winds, why he looked as if sleep evaded him at any given moment.
They all knew, and no one could do a single thing about it but to… wait.
Feyre watched the shadowsinger, too. She had found her place within this beautiful city, within the tight-knit group of friends and family—she herself found a family within—had even found love without being destroyed, and yet, worry still gnawed at her whenever her eyes landed on Azriel. She recognized the longing and fear written in his eyes for what they were, but did not understand the cause of it. No one would tell her because, as Rhys had spoken quietly one night in front of the fireplace, “It is his life and story to tell, Feyre darling.”
And she could accept that, not wanting to push anyone, and especially not the male himself, when he already hung by a mere thread.
But then, in one of the council meetings she now sat in on herself, Cassian let something slip, causing a reaction from the spymaster. “No one has heard of her so far. Mor?” The blonde shook her head with worry written on her forehead. “Not yet. Perhaps she went into hiding? Or she is…” Her voice softly trailed off, a careful glance thrown across the table at Azriel, whose face was a blank canvas except for his eyes, burning like embers. His hand, flipping through the pages of reports, was now balled into a fist, knuckles almost turning pale. “She is not dead,” he growled, a warning lingering in his voice.
Feyre watched on, watched the way his shoulders stiffened, how his breath hitched ever so slightly, before he ripped his gaze from Mor and the others, staring out the window toward the horizon, eyes growing distant as if he were searching for something within. With worry, she looked at Rhys sitting at the head of the table next to her, who himself watched his brother and best friend with slightly furrowed brows, contemplating, thinking, weighing.
“I will try to reach out to one of our…—” Azriel’s eyes snapped to the High Lord, silencing him immediately. “She is our only spy in the region; you know that as well as I do because she was already there before everything. And she has not answered.” Deafening silence settled over the council, and Feyre watched her mate swallow hard, color draining from his face, and now, she knew something was very much wrong.
Hours later, she sank into his open arms without hesitation, feeling them wrap around her tightly, and a sigh as deep as the ocean left Rhysand when he settled deeper into the couch. She looked up at him and softly touched his cheek, making him look away from the fire and down at her. “Tell me what worries you and everyone else so much, please.” She hated to be left out of it, reminding her of her time at the Spring Court—Rhys seemingly noticed it too, because another sigh left him before his fingers started to caress her hair.
“You know I have a sister.” She nodded slowly. “I’m still wondering when I’ll finally meet her, to be honest.” Rhys smiled softly, sadness etched into his features. “I wish I could tell you, darling. See, before everything happened, before Amarantha, she was a spy just like Azriel and many others. She was—is—one of our best. She has ties to Summer because she is friends with Tarquin, their new High Lord, and knows her way around the courts. But when Amarantha trapped us and I had to protect Velaris, she was on a mission in Autumn and locked out of the city after the protective barrier was reinforced.” Feyre slowly sat up. “And she has not returned,” she finished quietly, making him nod, fear swimming in his eyes. “No one knows where she is or what happened. Perhaps she is on her way already, or is waiting for something, maybe she has a task yet to fulfill. We don’t know—I don’t know. And that worries me.”
Shadows moved against the menacing castle as if they had turned sentient, crawling across the bone-colored stones, growing darker and deeper as soon as patrolling guards passed, torches flickering in the approaching dimness of nightfall. No one seemed to notice, no one paid attention, heeding it no mind.
A pair of brilliant eyes emerged from the shadows behind a towering war tent, glancing around the outermost pole of the structure and watching men in armor and uniforms pass along the many winding paths throughout the war camp. Boots stomping in mud, torches flickering in the gusts of wind, clouds slowly closing in for yet another rainfall, slightly obscuring the setting sun. She watched, counting silently in her mind, tracking faces and bodies, brows slightly furrowed underneath her black hood. When the clearing in front of the war tent was void of any Fae or being, she slid toward the flapping covers of its entrance, slipping inside it without being noticed.
Quietly, she went to the large table in the middle of it, leaving no trace of trespassing. Gloved fingers started to flip through the many notes and letters, eyes jumping across information upon information, memorizing most of it with a glance. She would need to take a parchment roll or two just to have proof, despite knowing her family would never question her—but this was bigger than just her court. So much bigger, it almost transported her back to yet another brewing war, forcing memories into the light of day she had tried to forget as best as she could.
The intruder shook her head, gloved fingers choosing the most important notes as if she would choose a book in the library—covered fingertips almost lazily moving across the many rolls, skillfully and carefully picking the chosen ones without disturbing the surrounding letters. Her trophies entered the hidden pocket in her long black coat, protecting them against the weather during her travels, and after scouring a chest to the right of the wooden table, she even pocketed a map of Hybern and Prythian, strategic points of interest, possible allies, and Hybern’s standing forces drawn on it with blood-red ink.
How fitting, she thought with a snarl hidden in the shadows of her hood and mask covering the lower half of her striking face.
She was just done folding the map to fit it in the hidden pocket alongside its treacherous companions when voices drew closer to the tent, making her still for a fraction of a second, head snapping up and eyes staring toward the entrance. The flaps of the tent were drawn back, allowing a general and his escort to enter, servants piling in behind them, carrying glasses and carafes on tablets, and no one noticed the missing documents nor the figure vanishing underneath the tent’s fabric walls. Not even a patrolling group heard running feet across the already damp ground as the storm started to howl, while a female body jumped off the deep-diving cliffs and a pair of mighty wings carried her on the stormy winds across the sea, guiding her home.
Her steps were quiet in the halls dusted in the gold of dawn when she arrived on one of the many balconies, her wings aching from the long travel, but she could not rest—not with the longing grown to immeasurable depths. She had followed the golden band guiding her home after so many decades of lost time, guilt eating at her.
But he would understand.
They all would because ever since stepping into her roles all these centuries ago, everyone knew she would never start a mission and abandon it halfway through.
With a soundless sigh, she let her wings draw back underneath her skin, allowing them to rest, her feet carrying her across the familiar stone floor and through familiar hallways, until voices echoed through them. Her lips tucked into a smile she rarely had reason to show ever since leaving her home, but she would do better now. Now, she finally would have reason again to laugh until her belly ached and tears threatened to spill. Now, the nights wouldn’t be so lonely and cold anymore.
“Tarquin has not seen her for over two decades—at least that’s what he is telling.”
Quiet as a shadow as she was, the female leaned against the open double door with crossed arms and crossed legs, watching the council debate. The familiar sight made her heart ache in the best possible way, and she could scold herself for not coming home sooner. But things had to be done, and they would profit from it. Perhaps it would be enough for a head start in the war to come.
“Well…,” she began in her soft voice, making everyone freeze before turning all at once with filled cups being the bearer of the surprise, some tipping and falling, “I hope he better tells the truth. If not, I would question his sanity.”
No one dared to move, as if seeing a ghost, with the exception of one male. Her gaze was immediately forced to watch him, to watch his tall form rise from his chair with so much urgency, the poor thing toppled over behind his strong thighs, wings rustling and flexing, long strides carrying him toward her in a matter of seconds. Without so much as a word, Azriel’s strong, familiar arms wrapped around her smaller body and swooped her up in his embrace, feet dangling several inches above the floor, before they crossed themselves over each ankle, bending her knees and arms wrapping around his neck to pull her closer against him without being a wet sack of grain just hanging off of him, face burrowing into his shoulder.
His smell enveloped her within heartbeats, making her head dizzy and her lungs take one greedy, deep breath at a time, almost moaning at how good it felt to be held close by him again. Her still gloved fingers buried themselves in the short dark hair at the nape of his neck where it had always slightly curled and still kept doing so, as if no time at all had passed. She felt his warm face pressed into the crook of her neck, just where it had always rested so perfectly, felt his lips on the sliver of skin peeking out from under her assassin’s attire, as he loved to call her get-up for missions. Azriel’s hands moved softly, adjusting their hold, until one arm was wrapped tighter around her waist, and his other hand moved up to her neck, holding her face closer to his shoulder and, subsequently, his neck.
“My love,” traveled along their bond, and finally hearing his voice within her mind again made the female almost cry. But she kept her composure—for now. She knew she would break down the moment they would finally be alone again when she begged him for forgiveness for staying away longer than necessary after Amarantha had been vanquished, for locking herself away from their bond. “Az,” she whispered against the skin of his neck, followed by a soft kiss pressed to it.
A throat was cleared behind them, but neither of them moved, still clinging to each other, still breathing each other in. Then, she felt Az’s muscles tighten when a hand found his back, softly patting him. “Azriel,” Rhysand spoke gently, but in warning, making the spymaster growl deep in his throat, but it moved him to put her down with aching slowness nonetheless. She didn’t mind, of course. She would prefer staying wrapped up in him for the next ten or so years, but she knew this wouldn’t be possible, not with the knowledge she held.
The moment she had both feet on the ground again, Azriel rounded her, pressing himself against her back, molding his chest against her, a hand possessively tightening its grasp around her right hipbone. She threw a glance over her shoulder, a brow slightly lifted, and couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his brooding features, displeasure clearly evident for everyone to see. She also knew that he wouldn’t have any of it for much longer, ready to throw her across his shoulder to carry her off.
Certainly not against her own wishes for the foreseeable future.
Rhys stepped closer, observing the hand resting on her hip and clearly looking unimpressed at Az looming above her shoulder. “Don’t be like that,” she warned him, making her brother stare down at her in mock offense. “Like what? I do not know what you could possibly mean by that.” Eye rolling, she was now the one looking unimpressed at him, humor concealed. “Don’t make a fuss about him because I can assure you we won’t be staying all that much longer if it goes my way.”
A soft chuckle was ripped right out of the High Lord, then before his hands both found her shoulders, squeezing them, and his face turned serious. “We were worried. I was worried,” he dared to admit his weakness when it came to her. She knew Rhysand was no one who admitted to having soft spots and weaknesses, especially not when it came to other courts, but that was why she cherished those moments even more. “I know, and I am sorry for not coming home sooner.” Her eyes drifted across her shoulder back to where Azriel kept his watch, trying not to force her all-consuming guilt across the bond and probably failing miserably because he already shook his head slowly, his hand at her hip, squeezing in reassurance.
“But I had to see it for myself,” the High Fae added, and Rhys watched her with interest. She smiled and beckoned him closer, kissing his cheek and disheveling his hair with a hand and a giggle, “I promise, I am alright. No bruises, no broken bones, everything where it should be.” It was a promise to him, Azriel, Cassian, and Mor. She knew Amren wouldn’t care if she had a dislocated shoulder for all she knew, but the other four? They would be devastated—and would hit her until she admitted being reckless and forcing her to spend the next decade merely at home, wrapped up in blankets and pillows.
Rhysand nodded and made her step up to the table while lacing her fingers with the quiet Azriel behind her, tugging him along. When she stood next to Mor, she pulled her friend into her side and smiled at the blonde, both kissing each other’s cheeks. “I am so glad to have you back home in one piece,” the other female whispered and gave her wrist a squeeze. “I know. Breakfast at the Sidra sometime next week?” The spy knew a certain spymaster would never let her leave their rooms for the entire rest of the week. Mor smiled, nodding, and then she turned and smiled at the female standing across from her she had heard so much about ever since finding herself in the Spring Court as a human. “Do you might want to come along? I would love to know how someone as capable as you has gotten herself tangled up with my buffoon of a brother.”
Immediately, she knew she had said the right thing because Feyre’s entire face morphed from insecure and almost scared into a wide, perhaps a bit shy smile. “I would very much like that,” she agreed with a chuckle while Rhys rolled his eyes at his sister’s antics. “You have been back for only a minute, and already you’re inciting unbecoming behavior.” Showing him her tongue, the High Lord sighed in defeat, mumbling about it while she let go of Azriel’s hand for only a moment, turning the male into something restless. His hand immediately searched for her body, anything to hold onto her, and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side until she was tightly pressed against him.
She did not mind in the slightest. Quite the opposite—she reveled in it. A warning glance was thrown across the table toward Cassian, whose mouth was already opening to make a quip about it. “Do not make me warn you verbally, Cass.”Both hands rose, and she nodded, pulling out her prized possessions.
The second Azriel had gotten a better look at the map she just unfolded, he took a deep breath, his fingers flexing against her side, his entire body becoming rigid. A finger under her chin made her look up at him in his slightly widened eyes, cheeks paling under his sun-kissed skin. “Do not tell me you were where I think you were, love,” he whispered, pure terror etching into his face. One of her hands cupped his cheek within a blink of an eye, softly shaking her head. “It is not the way you think it is. They did not see me, did not catch me. I am hard to catch if you recall, especially if I do not want to be found. And I did not want to be found with my hands in their war-mongering correspondence.”
Turning back to the table, she flattened the map and unrolled the three letters she had decided to take with her. “Hybern plans a war and we may have an upper hand, at least at this point. I only took so much that they would not suspect anything amiss, and if they do, they perhaps might think the letters merely misplaced. I have more information, but I couldn’t take everything with me, so you will receive a written recollection as soon as I find the time for it, brother dearest. But these… these might help convince everyone else. And I will start with Tarquin myself if you do not mind, Rhys.”
Her High Lord stared unmoving at her, making her almost uncomfortable in his scrutiny, while Cassian lowly whistled and Mor swallowed hard. Azriel continued to be rigid beside her, watching only her.
“Remind me again to never be placed on your bad side, sister,” Rhys spoke, making her grin in delight. “Don’t try to find yourself there, and everything will be fine, Rhy.” The familiar name from their youth—because she had long struggled with the letter s and the sound of it—made him almost smile before nodding toward the door. “Go on. We will discuss this tomorrow if you could both arrange it. And don’t be too… loud.” Something resembling disgust crossed his face, and he had to physically shake himself, making her laugh in more delight before a squeal was ripped out of her throat when Azriel just… took her by her hips and hoisted her on his broad shoulder with astonishing ease, leaving the council room with purposeful strides, her bright laugh echoing off the familiar hallway walls.
Grey morning light kissed the vanishing darkness of night, few stars clinging to their places across the sky as she watched the change of colors from their bed, a soft smile dusting her lips. Being home felt good, rejuvenating in a way the female had stopped hoping for in order to suppress the longing growing inside her heart. Now, she almost felt foolish for not returning sooner, perhaps before she would have gone to Hybern, just for a day or two—not that Azriel would have allowed her to leave again so soon in those circumstances.
Quiet steps padded across the wooden floor and the plush carpet before the bed softly groaned under the Illyrian’s trained form, making the mattress dip slightly. A heartbeat later, she could feel his soft lips against her shoulder blade, his skilled fingers caressing the bare skin of her exposed side, following the curve of her hips and waist up to her shoulder. When he pressed his warm, bare chest against her unclothed back, his fingers cupped her chin and made her head turn in his direction, blindly searching for his lips, which he oh so happily offered up for her.
“I could hear you think across the room, sweetheart,” Azriel mumbled against the plumpness of her lips after so many hours of kissing and debauchery. “I did no such thing.” It was followed by a giggle when his arms enveloped her body anew, making her turn and pulling her flush against him, gazing at her face as if to memorize it yet again. “You admit having no thoughts whatsoever after what I did to you, love? Oh, you know how to stoke a male’s ego,” he chuckled, smile morphing into that rare, wide-spreading grin she loved so dearly after slapping his shoulder. She would spend every gemstone in the vaults to have that grin immortalized in a portrait. But Az would never allow her such things, not when it came to him, at least.
The female had stopped counting how many portraits there existed merely of her and merely for his enjoyment.
She obviously did not mind.
She might mock him for his obsession, but she would also melt at the feeling of the soul-deep love he held for her.
A hand cupped his strong jawline, a thumb started to caress the warm skin of his cheek, eyes staring into his. She felt his relaxed body relax a bit more, felt him melt into her without having to think about it. Not anymore. They were past that particular point ever since she had defended him against a group of Illyrian men, only for him to pull her behind him and shout at her for being so reckless after they went home. She could still hear Rhys’ deep chuckle when he had found them still arguing and shouting insults at one another—only for them to share their first kiss after being left to their own devices.
Their naked bodies pressed against each other, no leaf fitting between them. And then, she felt the tears gather, felt her breath hitch ever so softly, alerting Azriel, who was so in tune with her, it was impossible to hide anything from him.
“I am sorry,” she dared to whisper, forcing a sob down, not allowing it to escape. He kissed her right then and there, silencing her for a moment or two. “We have lost so much time,” the female continued, finally allowing her to consider the many lonely decades lying behind her. It almost broke her heart thinking about what Azriel might have thought when she didn’t return home. Had he doubted her? Himself? Had he thought she had abandoned him for someone else?
The possibility almost killed her.
Az made her look at him, foreheads almost touching, and his shadows gathered closer, one smoky tendril gently started to caress her hair while his fingers flexed against her back, holding her tight. “There was not a single minute I existed where I thought you wouldn’t have wanted me any longer, my darling. I never thought you abandoned me, never thought you found someone better. Perhaps there was a moment filled with fear when I stared across the city, wishing, beseeching you to appear at the horizon, and perhaps thought I lost you. That perhaps you had been caught, shutting me out in order to protect me, and that someone has killed you.” She watched him with wide, fearful, and teary eyes when he had to pause for a moment, staring unblinkingly at her, reminding himself that she was safe in his arms, still breathing. “I was not good company in those weeks,” he dared to mumble. “Cass had to lock me up for a day or two because I wanted to leave. I wanted to leave and find whoever had done you wrong. But then… Well, Mor got through to me, to put it mildly. And I knew you were out there, somewhere, hiding, waiting. Waiting to come home.”
She quickly nodded at that because she had wanted to come home so badly, it had physically hurt.
“We may have lost five decades, my love, but it is not the end of the world. Whatever is coming our way, we will survive that too, just as we have survived the last war. And when all is over, I want to fulfill your dream of a cottage at a river, little wings flapping around and tiny feet running us into the ground every day of our existence—and we will fall into bed at night, exhausted to the bone, but feeling a happiness few can claim to have ever experienced,” Azriel promised in soft words, making her realize something of utmost importance. “We indeed shared a dream.” The Illyrian showed her favorite grin, silver brimming his hazel eyes. “I think we did, and I hope for it to happen more often.” She giggled through tears, holding onto him for dear life before she peppered his cheeks with whispers of kisses and took him in, breathing him in. “I love you like the air we breathe, Azriel. Ever since stumbling into you and forcing you to carry my books like the spoiled little Fae I was, I knew I would grow to need you to be able to live. And I was right because a world without you is a cruel one,” the female dared to whisper, meaning every word.
If he were injured or worse in their fight against Hybern… The High Fae wasn’t sure what she would do to herself.
Azriel kissed the tip of her nose gently. “I think I remember that particular encounter a bit differently. I seem to recall how smitten I was and how much I egged you to let me carry them.” The same unchanged grin found its place on his face, making her realize yet another thing:
Azriel was the one the Mother above had created for her, and she would thank her for all eternity as she melted against his strong chest, where she had always found her peace.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed this one for Azriel. Thank you for reading my silly little writings. Please consider leaving a reblog, a comment, and a like ♡
Summary: Azriel bumps into his tipsy mate on a night out. The IC don't know she exists.
A/N: I am 100% picturing the blumarine dress of my dreams... also apologies to anyone with purple hair....
Azriel had stopped listening to the conversation at the table the moment you twirled into peripheral view. One second you were laughing with one group, the next you’d somehow folded yourself into another like you’d been with them all along. You move through the dancefloor collecting people as you go, hands flying as you recount wildly animated stories one after another.
Cassian pushes back from the table mid-argument with Mor about whose turn it is to get drinks. “She’s going to notice you staring eventually.” He mutters into Azriel’s ear on his way past.
“I’m not staring” Azriel responds flatly.
Cassian snorts in disbelief at the lie. “You are absolutely staring!”
Mor leans over Nesta, peering through the crowd until she spots you. “Go say hi. She’s hot… I might go introduce myself if you don’t” she wriggles her eyebrows at Azriel as if that will encourage him to talk to anyone.
Azriel finally drags his attention away from you just long enough to shoot her a look. “You wouldn’t survive five minutes.”
“Rude.” Mor says, offended but delighted with herself at getting such a reaction out of the Shadowsinger.
“I love her dress!” Feyre remarks enraptured by the sequin number.
As if on cue, you turn mid-sentence, mid-gesture and spot him in the crowd. Your entire face lights up as you lock eyes with him. You disentangle yourself from the group without missing a beat, patting someone’s arm, giggling at something else, then immediately setting your sights on the booth like it’s your next destination.
“She’s coming here.” Amren says eager to see if this is a complete disaster waiting to happen.
“I don’t think we have time for a lesson on how to flirt.” Rhysand giggles into his glass as he watches you weave through the crowd towards their table.
You arrive slightly breathless, instinctively latching onto the edge of the booth to disguise your slight sway. Your eyes are bright and unfocused in a way that even if you weren’t unstable on your feet, it’s clear you’ve been drinking.
“Budge up.” you mumble, already climbing into his space before he has a chance to move. Azriel shifts automatically, one hand finding your waist to steady you. He’s seen you drunkenly slide off of too many chairs to trust it won’t happen again.
“Who died?” you ask far too loudly. “Seriouslyyy, why is it so serious over here? Did someone start a war without me?”You look between them all for an answer as you lean further into Azriel.
Mor blinks, giving you a look of pure confusion as she asks, “Do we know you?”
“No but I feel like you’re already deciding if I’m worth the headache.” you grin totally unserious before you zero in on Azriel. “You definitely think I am, so, why do you look like the fun police?”
“I don’t disapprove of fun.” He says quickly, raising his hands in mock defence.
“Right… So, it’s a lifestyle choice not to engage?” You ask, nodding to yourself like that makes total sense.
You poke his chest, a smirk tugging at your lips like you’re about to say something you shouldn’t and absolutely will anyway. His hand comes up automatically to steady your wrist before you can jab him again, thumb brushing absentmindedly over your skin. He exhales softly through his nose resigned to your teasing.
“I’m just trying to work out if this is your personality or your current blood alcohol level.” Rhysand states leaning back in his chair while glaring at you like you’re under investigation.
“I wish I could blame the alcohol, but this is a combination of the two I’m afraid.” You wave a hand over yourself like it’s obvious before your attention drifts right back to Azriel as if Rhysand has already been dismissed.
“I didn’t expect to see you h-” Azriel starts.
“Ugh I know!” You cut him off with a shout right into his ear. He tenses instinctively as you lean closer, as if your tone isn’t already deafening.
“This place is overrated. I say it every time. And I’m totally right about that by the way. But Dean is flirting with the bartender like it’s a full-time job and it’s honestly painful to watch…like physically painful but yeah Rita’s was out of the equation which sucks because her food is amazing… Anyway long story short I’m here. You’re welcome.” You ramble as if this is a reasonable summary of your night so far.
Azriel’s mouth quirks as he looks over to the bar intrigued, “Which bartender?”
That earns him immediate reactions from his family.
Nesta slowly turns her head toward him and stares like he’s lost his mind for encouraging you to go on.
Feyre lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Is this what happens when you remove him from silence? Pure chaos.”
Rhysand leans forward, squinting between the two of you. “Wait is he actually invested in the bartender situation?”
“Is it the one with all the earrings?” Azriel asks you for clarification, giving you so much attention that it seems like this is genuinely important intelligence he needs to gather.
“Purple hair… I mean, that alone tells you everything you need to know about their life choices” You mutter making him laugh.
Your gossip is cut short when Cassian walks over with a tray full of drinks. “I left for five minutes and Azriel is laughing with a beautiful stranger.” Cassian says, staring like he’s witnessing an alternate reality. “Did he have a personality transplant while I was gone? And, sorry, did we acquire a new member of the Inner Circle in my absence?”
You smile innocently at him, “Don’t worry about that, Az said he doesn’t want to babysit another drink, so you can hand it over.”
“I did not say that!” Azriel says immediately as you down the shot that was meant for him. “You’re incorrigible - do you know that?”
“Whatever happened to what’s mine is yours?” You laugh, slipping a hand into his hair to smoothing it back absentmindedly like you’ve done it a hundred times before.
Everyone is so distracted by your audacity to touch Azriel that they don’t register your words. Feyre freezes mid-breath, already preparing damage control. Rhys leans forward. “Did she just…”
“You’re either very brave or very stupid.” Nesta mutters as they all watch Azriel for a reaction that never comes. Instead, he just looks at you entirely unbothered like nothing about this is strange.
You clutch a hand to your chest dramatically as you look to Nesta, “that’s genuinely, actually is one of the nicest things anyone’s said to me tonight.” Your laughter cuts off as quickly as it starts, as you rush to add “Also I actually get that A LOT!”
Rhys huffs a laugh. “Somehow, I can believe that.”
“I’m surprised you’re here; This isn’t really your scene.” you say to Azriel.
“Cassian gets antsy if we don’t let him out the house.” Mor supplies making you giggle.
“Totally off topic but your shoes are incredible.” Feyre remarks.
“I thought you liked the dress?” Mor asks quickly.
“If there’s one thing about this group we can appreciate a good outfit.” Amren comments to which they all nod.
“So many people have said that to me but if we’re being honest, I think they’re starting to cut off my circulation! Wait - do you think that can actually happen?” You ask looking to Azriel for an answer.
Refraining from saying he told you not to wear them, Az shakes his head at the question. “No, I don’t think you have to worry about that just yet.”
“Are you having a good night?” Azriel asks wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him to hear your answer over the music.
“Yeah, but I’m tired. Is that what happens when you get old?” You ask supressing a yawn.
Azriel exhales through his nose. “I’m two months older than you!”
“Don’t tell people how old I am, I have a terrible reputation to uphold Azriel!” you scold him before breaking into a fit of tipsy giggles and curling even closer into his side like it’s instinct.
“Oh, you’re very drunk y/n” Azriel mutters.
You laugh again. “It’s the two-month age gap… it makes me less responsible.”
“I’m not sure that’s how it works.” He says wrapping an arm around your shoulders.
“Oh, trust you to find him but lose your jacket” Dean mutters walking up to the table and throwing your jacket at you.
“My hero!” You yell back catching it without looking in his direction.
“Wait. No. This is wrong; why are there so many sleeves… ugh.” You struggle with it like it’s a puzzle for all of two seconds before Azriel quietly helps. “Thank you. I’ve gone super cold.”
“First my drink, now my jacket.” Azriel remarks looking at the familiar fabric drowning you.
“Next your dignity.” you mumble, smiling sleepily as you slump back into him.
Feyre laughs.
“She’s efficient, I’ll give her that.” Cassian says proudly.
“She has no survival instinct” Amren comments. You grin at her like that’s a compliment.
“Anyway the purpose of the drop by is that Luna’s having an afterparty. Are you coming?” You ask Azriel.
Rhysand clears his throat to get your attention before he can answer. “Sorry, how exactly do you know each other?” Rhys pries.
“Please don’t tell us she’s one of your spies.” Amren mutters.
You open your mouth ready to say something flippant and deflective, but Azriel beats you to it. “She’s not a spy” he says, glancing at your glitter-covered outfit. “Look at her.”
He can’t look away.
“I feel a bit dizzy.” You admit abruptly. “So, is that a yes or a no Az? Because snacks are calling me.”
“Drink this.” He says suddenly holding a glass in front of your face.
“Is this water? See what I mean about the fun police now?” You remark humouring him by taking a sip.
“Trust me, you’ll thank me in the morning.” He counters.
“If I say no to Luna’s, will you go?” Azriel questions with a yawn of his own.
You shrug. “Yeah! If you go back to brooding in a booth while pretending you’re having fun, I’ll go to Luna’s and tell everyone I tried to save you from yourself.”
“What time did she want us there?” he asks.
“So, you’ll come?” you clarify.
“I can’t have you judging people without me, can I?” He asks much to your delight. You beam up at him, practically glowing, like that was the correct answer all along, and Azriel feels his heart go giddy in his chest.
“So what time are we leaving?” He repeats.
“Oh! She wanted everyone about an hour ago but…” Your eyes glance back to the bar for a second before you look back to Azriel. “Dean’s still flirting, so we have time. Wow he moves slow!” You sigh like he’s a personal disappointment.
“I think you should give him some tips Az. Like I said, this is fucking painful to watch!” you add seriously.
Azriel shakes his head, amused despite himself. “I am not giving him tips.”
“I didn’t say you have to flirt with him! Just go diffuse that situation… That’s your thing!” You instruct him, crossing your arms expectantly.
Cassian’s wheezes. “You cannot be serious. Azriel is not the guy you go to if you need help flirting.”
“Why? He’s good at it!” you shoot back immediately, offended on Azriel’s behalf.
Rhys slowly looks between the two of you. “He is?”
Cassian points at Azriel like he needs confirmation. “This one? This exact male? The one who avoids eye contact like it’s a sport?”
Feyre tries and fails not to laugh. “I’ve known him for years. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen him flirt.”
You frown at them, confused. “What are you talking about? He flirts with me all the time!”
You practically feel the entire table collectively wince on your behalf. “Oh sweetheart… That does not help your case.” Cassian smiles at you giving you a look of pity, like you’ve said something you’ll regret in the morning.
Then Azriel leans down, close enough that his mouth is just by your ear as he mumbles, “Careful. You’re going to give away all my secrets.”
“You’re so cute it’s unreal.” You giggle smushing his cheeks together.
Rhysand expects his brother to bat your hand away instead Azriel takes your hands gently prying them off his face but not letting go.
“What if we blew off Luna’s and went home?” he asks quietly, giving you a look that practically shouts he’s ready to leave.
You watch him grab his jacket and call him out on what this really is. “Are you tired Az?”
“Yes. Don’t forget I am older” He winks at you like it’s a lie.
“Mm… Do we have snacks?” You ask him urgently.
His mouth twitches for a second before he answers “Yes. I’ll even make you something before you sleep so you’re not totally miserable tomorrow.”
“Okay. You’ve sold me!” You respond with a yawn.
Azriel reaches for the jacket already hanging off your shoulders, tugging it properly into place and smoothing it down like its habit. “Right then, I’m taking her home before she forgets how to walk. I trust you’ll all survive without me”
“He says that like he won’t pass out the second we get home. It’s bold of you to assume I’m the only liability here.” You dramatically roll your eyes.
Cassian chokes. Mor nearly spits her drink.
“You’re… going home together?” Feyre asks slowly.
Cassian points between you both. “As in the same home?”
“That’s usually how living together works, yeah…” You glance at them with a raised eyebrow.
Mor’s jaw visibly drops to the floor. “You’re together?” She asks quickly.
Summary: Azriel had been pulling away. You thought it was from stress. His busy schedule. From being tired. Anything but what you assumed you saw in the street that evening. Anything but that.
Word count: 3.7k
Warnings: Angst!!, mentions of cheating/infidelity, miscommunication, depictions of depression (it gets worse before it gets better)
a/n: You guys are gonna freak but againnnn pls trust me :) I promise it's good :) just give me one sec for the last part :) angst time :)
Part 0.5 | Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Alt ending (angst) | Epilogue
Main Masterlist ♡
~~
After two days of avoiding Azriel, you put a name to the dizzying nausea that had become a permanent fixture in your gut.
Resignation.
This had all felt so sudden, yet the finality of the situation rose above all else. Azriel hadn’t opened his side of the bond, even as you knew your sadness seeped through the wall you’d hastily thrown up. He hadn’t sent shadows to check on you in place of the connection. He hadn’t come beating down Mor’s door, begging to speak with you, begging for you to at least yell at him.
It had just been… silence.
After some ruminating, you figured that maybe this wasn’t sudden. Maybe Azriel had been contemplating your relationship for a long time and was just good at hiding it.
Resignation cemented in your gut on the third day, and it was then that the blur of living began. Like seeing underwater, everything became difficult to understand—simple things, like Mor asking you if you wanted breakfast and making out the shapes of sunlight pooling in from the window. Everything felt heavy, but at the same time, nothing felt heavy enough.
You were floating in a vat of immovable liquid, and the memory of Azriel’s inaction was another wall closing you in.
You could tell Mor was concerned. In another life, maybe a week ago, you would have reassured her. Now, you could only count the hours since your life last made sense.
“Maybe a walk?” Mor gently offered. She sat next to you, timid, a gentle hand on your knee. “Not a long one. I would winnow us to the border and we could take in the nature.”
You knocked your head against the window and took in an effortful breath. “Tomorrow.”
The hand on your knee squeezed. “You said that yesterday. You—you’ve barely even moved since then. What if we just sit outside for a while?”
“I know you think I’m being ridiculous.”
“I don’t. I’ve never said that.”
“But you don’t have to say it. I can tell because you aren’t more freaked out by all of this. You think I’m wrong—that Azriel isn’t actually second-guessing our entire relationship.”
Mor sighed, reaching for your shoulders and turning you to face her. “I won’t call you ridiculous. I wasn’t there, and I can’t possibly understand what the thought of betrayal might feel like for a mate. But I just… I can’t imagine a world where the two of you aren’t together. To Azriel, the sun rises and sets with you. He’s—he’s told me that himself. He told me that his life only really began after he met you. It’s difficult for me to reconcile that man with the one you’re explaining.”
If you had any tears left—if the numbness wasn’t setting in—you might’ve started to cry. You clenched your jaw and finally met Mor’s gaze. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see how he looked at me. How he looked at her. He didn’t even want me to touch him, Mor. I don’t even—I thought he was just busy.”
Mor brushed your hair from your face and scrunched her expression into something of conflict. “I believe you. Just… maybe there’s something more. He loves you so much. I’ll call for him, and you can speak.”
“I’m sure he already knows I’m here.”
“You haven't—you didn’t tell him to stay away?” Mor faltered, pausing in her rise from the window seat.
Her surprise sent a pang of something harsh through you, but it washed away along with the warmth she took with her. “No,” you drawled, head back against the window. “He just didn’t come.”
Mor stood by you for another beat, contemplating, maybe realizing, then turned on her heel and left. As her feet padded down the hall and the front door opened, you tried not to let the hope swell. The pretty words Mor had been spewing these last few days were muddying the memories of Azriel’s newfound disdain for you, and hope was growing where it shouldn’t.
You tried to remind yourself of that as footsteps changed in Mor’s quaint apartment, shadows soon swarming you in haste. They flitted through your hair and found each place your body ached, and you let a huff of a laugh escape you before the footsteps got closer and Azriel was in the room.
You looked up from the shadows, and he was there.
He took in your form curled against the window, and something in his features fractured. He tapped his thigh with his fingers, the knuckles trembling. They shook often now, you thought. His hands never shook before.
It was silent between you. Mor must have left—given you privacy you didn’t need.
“I would have come sooner,” Azriel began, looking lost in a place he’d been countless times. “I just didn’t know how much time you’d need.”
You pressed your lips together to stave off the frown. “It’s fine.”
The mock indifference was blocky in your mouth. Azriel blinked. And then he repositioned his stance.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
The threat of being sick returned. You gripped the window seat cushion and turned to face him fully. He looked tired, disheveled, but that felt wrong because he was doing this to you. The wall against your side of the bond chipped.
“‘S not like I would know how to help you,” you dragged. “I’ve been barred from understanding you for a couple of weeks now. I don’t even really understand what’s happening right now.”
“I know,” Azriel gasped, the sudden shift in the air disorienting. You flinched back as he rushed a step forward. “I know, I’m sorry. I wish there was more I could do. Something to make this easier.”
You raised your brows and wanted to scoff, but couldn’t find it within you. “This would be easier if you were just honest.”
“I can’t be with you anymore,” he blurted, wincing as he let the words free. “I—I think we need time apart.”
You knew it was coming, but that didn’t stop it from hurting. You swallowed thickly and nodded just to have something to do. “Okay. Can I ask why?”
“There are—We should try new things. We should find ourselves,” he gritted out.
“You aren’t yourself with me?”
He closed his eyes. He closed his eyes last time, looking at you, apparently, too unbearable. “There may be versions we don’t know about. That we can’t find unless we grow.”
“Growing, then. That’s why you want to leave me after decades.”
He could hear the resignation leaking into your tone, you were sure. Azriel’s eyes flashed open, and you were surprised to find them glassy. The tears never fell, much like your absent ones. But yours were gone because you’d run out. You weren’t even sure if he’d cried at all.
“Please, try to understand,” he pleaded with you. His knees shook uncharacteristically as he stepped forward again. A tremor to match his hands. “I will—I will never stop—loving you.”
He choked out each word as if they were glass in his throat. His hand spasmed as his knee hit the floor, and with great effort, he clasped your hand in his and let out a breath that resembled relief.
Relief to have this done with, maybe.
Relief that he could finally move past his silly, codependent mate.
“I think I understand just fine,” you whispered, nose burning. Azriel’s jaw ticked to the side. He brought his forehead to the back of your hand, but you swiped it away, leaving a trembling touch to fall against the cushion. “Don’t touch me again.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“You aren’t. If you were, if you really cared about me, you wouldn’t have let me accept the bond. If your love had an expiration and you wanted to—to grow, you should have let me go before we made vows. Before you tethered me to you.”
You paused, angry as he kneeled before you and begged for nothing.
“Perhaps there is a way to sever it. I can start researching what with all the free time I’ll—”
“No!” Azriel shouted. It was loud and abrupt and stunned you into silence. “No, please, don’t try. We just need—time. It’s just time. And then we can… I can—”
“Azriel, I refuse to do this. I refuse to let you find yourself with another woman while I wait at home for you to hopefully return one day. You don’t get to have both. You have to pick one, and you haven’t picked me.”
“I would always pick you,” he whispered, the sound so strained and quiet that you chose to ignore it. He was playing with your feelings, confused as he always seemed to be now, and it was up to you to make this final. To sever whatever this was to save yourself from more hurt.
“I think you should leave now.” Azriel looked up at you through damp lashes. His tears still refused to fall, but they lingered. “We can figure out the logistics of the house later. I’m sure you have enough money and resources to find somewhere to stay. Maybe I’ll move back home and start researching there.”
“Home?” he croaked out. “You mean Summer?”
“It would be for the best.”
Everything felt painfully stiff. You were speaking, but the words weren’t really yours. If he had come to talk to you just yesterday, you would have been an inconsolable mess. Today, you were automated. Protecting yourself.
“What about your work for Rhys?”
“We both know my place in the court is superfluous. I got it for being your mate. To have a role as your mate. Now…”
“Now, you won’t be,” he said. Just to be cruel, maybe. But he sobbed after saying it, so you weren’t sure what to make of that.
“I suppose I won’t.”
Another sob punctuated the room, the first of the week to not be yours. You bit into your cheek and fought off the instinct to comfort him.
This felt like derealization—like you were here, but none of it felt real. You were stuck in the vat still, but now the world was swirling past you in an array of fake colors and sounds. Azriel was crying, hands shaking but refusing to touch you, and you couldn’t make sense of any of it.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” you heard yourself say.
Azriel wiped his hand down his face and stood on trembling legs. His face conveyed pain as he gritted out, “I won’t.”
~~
Days continued to blur with sights and sounds droning together. You’d made Azriel move out, but couldn’t return home, instead camping out in Mor’s living room and ignoring the world. You humored her at times, allowing her to guide you around the makeshift garden she seemed to have thrown together amidst your crisis.
This probably would have been easier if he had stayed mean. Maybe if he hadn’t said he loved you still, hadn’t reached for you like you were connected to his dying breath, this would have been cleaner. The strikes of anger you felt were fast and simmered out quickly, leaving only numbness and melancholy in their wake.
It was hard to be angry when you still felt so blindsided.
Cassian came sometimes. He tried to be on your side, furious for you, but he belonged to Azriel. Mor belonged to Azriel, too, in all honesty. You hadn’t thought to separate friends this way. You’d known them for decades and thought they would know you for the rest of your life. But Azriel had known them longer, and he would continue to know them as you moved on.
You didn’t have the mind to conceptualize an entirely new life right now.
The bond within you felt dead in a way that chafed. In your free time, which was always, you fortified the mental wall that blocked it. You hoped the remnants of its spark would fade with time. That you would grow used to its feeling until it dimmed to nothing in your subconscious.
That didn’t seem very likely.
After another two weeks of nothing, Mor stepped lightly into your commandeered bedroom to find you picking at a loose string listlessly. She opened the curtains with a swift flick of her finger and gracefully landed on the bed beside you. The mattress bounced and settled before she spoke.
“You are going out today,” she announced.
Your eyelids felt heavy as you glanced up. “Am I?”
She nodded with enthusiasm clearly meant to rouse you. “Yes. It will be fun. And with people. And we won’t talk about anything you don’t want to.”
“Is this about me staying here? Because I’m going to leave, I just need—”
Mor rolled her eyes and gripped your arm. “It’s not. You could move in forever, and I’d be delighted. You know that I detest the notion of you returning to Summer. This is because I am your friend and I’m worried about you. As are others. So just come to lunch and try to remember how it feels to talk to people, yes?”
You clicked your back teeth as you considered. “Who are the people?”
“Me, Cassian, Feyre, and Nyx. An easy group.”
You groaned slightly. “I don’t want to expose Nyx to this.”
“Expose him to what? He’s not even aware he has eyes yet; he’ll be fine.”
“But what if—”
“Y/n, please,” Mor interrupted. She looked at you earnestly. “This has been unbelievably hard for you, and I can’t help but feel guilty for reassuring you when that prick was proving me wrong and ruining the only good thing he had. Let me help fix it. Even just a little.”
You stared back at your friend, weighing the options, but knowing that she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “I don’t want to be pitied. I… I don’t think I can handle that right now.”
“They’ve already been briefed.”
“I don’t want to know what he’s doing. Or how he’s doing.”
“He won’t even come up.”
“I’m going to tell them I’m returning to Summer.”
Mor paused at that, uncertainty hazing her eyes before she offered a reluctant nod. “Whatever you want.”
You wanted a small lunch in a busier venue to make things less awkward. Mor chose a cafe on the main strip of downtown Velaris, and you sat outside. Cassian greeted you with a too-tight hug you’d grown accustomed to. Feyre held the back of your head while she hugged you, which made you feel like you were dying. But Nyx’s screech of delight when he was plopped into your lap was the saving grace.
Having him present was a clear and very welcome decision by the group. Nyx was the distraction when you didn’t want to speak. He got to stay in your lap.
“I heard there was a delivery to the archive,” Feyre called, tearing your attention away from Nyx’s slobbery fingers.
“Oh, um, I haven’t really been in. I figured there wasn’t much of a point.”
“Why’s that?” Cassian got out through a mouth full of food.
You curled a hair over Nyx’s pointed ear. “Well, I’ve been unsure about my role here in Velaris. I’ve been considering going back home. I figure there are others who could fill the position here.”
“What? There most certainly are not. You are the best,” Feyre rushed, swiping her napkin on the table. “If you want to go back home—of course, that is your choice—but don’t let the… choices of others decide your career. Or your place here.”
Nyx tugged on your collar. “But, I’m not really part—”
“Yeah, don’t finish that,” Cassian slyly demanded. “I know ‘you know who’ has something up his ass right now, but you’re not getting brushed aside. You’ve been with us for most of your life. That’s not going away.”
“But what if—”
“You can let us worry about things,” Mor concluded, leaning over to play with Nyx’s fingers. “I knew they would agree with me on this. It’s why I made you come.”
A small weight lifted from your chest—one you weren’t even aware was there. The conversation continued to flow around the table, and you had almost forgotten that this was going to be something you missed. Having friends who belonged to Azriel was a reality you simply accepted, but they hadn’t been ready to accept that.
Nyx cuddled against your chest, and you leaned back in your chair, the streets of Velaris bustling behind Cassian’s back. Mor was going on about the garden she was attempting from scratch, and Feyre was nodding encouragingly. This felt sustainable. Not optimal, but certainly long-term.
“Oh, hello!”
The voice came from behind you. Feyre stilled from across the table, and you knew then who it was. No one had told you, you didn’t have any other clues, but you just knew.
You always knew when it came to Azriel.
He was your mate.
“I’m Vanessa. I’ve heard so much about you all.”
You clutched Nyx tighter. Vanessa—that rang a bell. It was inscribed on her nametag when you visited the apothecary. You hadn’t thought to remember it at the time.
Feyre, ever the High Lady, raised a brow and cleared her throat gently. With any other citizen of Velaris, she would have simply smiled and offered a greeting, but Vanessa seemed to get the hint. You heard her stutter slightly, and then her voice was lower as if in a bow. “Sorry, High Lady. So very nice to meet you. I apologize. Az just talks about you like family, so it slipped my mind.”
“Az?” Cassian echoed.
You flinched when he spoke. “It’s my name.”
Cassian scoffed. “The hell is your problem? Actually?”
Nyx squirmed on your lap with the change in tone. You pressed a kiss to his head to soothe him and bounced him on your knees. A breath in, and a breath out.
You’d seen this already. You’d expected it.
You didn’t think he would go out with her like this. So soon.
“Some nerve,” Mor muttered under her breath. And then louder, “Perhaps you should continue your walk elsewhere, Azriel.”
A sudden hand on your chair bumped your spine. You sucked in a breath and knew it was his. He clutched the wood between his fingers until it groaned. “We were—going to eat here.”
“Fine,” Feyre huffed. You caught her suspicious eye trained on your mate—ex-mate. You weren’t sure how that worked. “We can leave then.”
You rose to stand when the others did, moving as if tired to a string. Your chair moved with too much ease, alerting you to the motion Azriel was acting out—pulling out your chair, letting his knuckle brush your spine. Your lashes fluttered, and you spun around to avoid his touch, but the alternative made you ill.
Azriel stood with his other hand on Vanessa—the apothecary’s—back. His eyes flitted across your face when you turned, drinking you in when he didn’t have the right. He looked lost again, breath shallow as he found familiarities in your features. The hand still on your chair splintered the wood.
Vanessa cleared her throat, and Azriel blinked away. He looked to Feyre. “I’ll be bringing Vanessa next week.”
“I’m sorry?” Feyre stamered out. You squeezed Nyx in and hushed his tiny grunt of surprise. With enough space and distraction, you shuffled behind Cassian and bounced Nyx on your hip as the Illyrian spread his wings out to cover you fully.
Nyx was a good distraction. He giggled and touched your nose.
“I understand that you may disagree with my choices, but I want her to meet my family. It’s—important to me. I’m asking for this.”
Vanessa’s glimmering hair echoed in your memory. You lifted Nyx and relished in his laugh.
“Azriel, do you really think this is a good time for that?”
A pause. A shadow had slithered away from Azriel and wound its way around your ankle. You thought to shake it off, but let it stay.
“I’ve made a decision, and I want to see it through. This is… I love her.”
“Huh,” Mor practically scoffed. “Well, I know where I won’t be.”
“Maybe another time then?” Vanessa asked, sounding so meek you almost forgot the intensity of Mor’s wrath.
“Yeah. Maybe.”
You realized your eyes were closed when Cassian bumped into you. You stepped forward in surprise, and Cassian shot his hand back to steady you.
“Just go the other way. Think you’ve done enough today,” Cassian said, defeat lining his tone.
It seemed everyone thought this was a temporary lapse of judgment.
Everyone was wrong.
“Just let me—”
“Let you what? Azriel, just go the other way.”
Nyx touched a wet patch on your cheek and moved to nuzzle his head into your neck. You were crying again, then. You weren’t sure if that was a good sign.
Azriel sounded desperate as he said, “I—Please. I didn’t want her to see this so soon. Let me talk to her.”
Cassian didn’t budge. Azriel tried again. “Do you know she’s leaving? She wants to go back to Summer. I need to talk to her before that. I still care about her, Cassian. She’s my family.”
He was speaking loud enough for you to hear. His words were steadier than they had been just moments ago.
“Let it go, Az. You made a decision—that’s what you said, right?” Cassian countered. The finality of his voice had shifted to something lighter. More searching. He said everything like a statement, but it seemed like he was asking questions.
“Let me look at her again,” Azriel whispered.
Cassian faltered. “What—”
You could feel the air change when footsteps approached. Azriel stopped pleading. Cassian straightened, and the shadow retreated from your ankle
“Azriel, let it go. We can go around,” Vanessa smoothed out. Her voice hit your ears and burned.
“But I—”
She must have pulled him away. You thought that might have been the last thing you’d ever hear him say.
