For the Drabble requests - taking care of you when you’re having a rough mental health day? Like maybe trader has a panic attack or was randomly triggered during the day and just utter tooth rotting fluff while Az (or any SJM male, I just know you mostly write for Az) tries to take care of you?
Pairing: Azriel x reader
Word count: not sure sorry
A/n: a little drabble, thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy and please ignore any grammar mistakes, this was a very quick little mock up!
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Time had moved in a blur, hazing and fading before you until suddenly everything seemed to catch up.
The mission this morning had been a failure.
The scene you had arrived upon still hovered on the corners of your mind. Seeping into your vision and flitting away, tormenting you as it waited for the moment you finally acknowledged it.
You hadn’t stopped since this morning. Hadn’t allowed yourself a moment to slow, in fear you would have to face the very thing you were avoiding. You had returned from the mission with Cassian, his usual casual demeanour replaced with a solemn look as you both entered the House of Wind. Azriel had been waiting for you, had already heard from Rhys that you and Cassian had been too late to save the village, but you had walked into the house with a look in your eyes Azriel knew all too well.
So he waited.
Waited, while you had taken yourself to the rooftop to train till the ache in your muscles was too much.
Waited, while you clawed your leathers off and rubbed your skin raw in the hot tub.
Waited, while you reorganised yours and his wardrobe, meticulously tidying and cleaning your shared bedroom.
You had closed the door on the closet, time finally catching up to you as your fingers twitched by your side. There had to be something else you could do, something to fill your time.
Glancing around your room, your mind began to speed up. Desperately searching for something to focus on so you didn’t have to think about what you had seen this morning.
Azriel stepped closer, his arms wrapping around you from behind. His head sinking into the crook of your neck as he held you tightly against him.
“No..I need to-“
“There’s nothing you need to do.” he cut you off, steadying you as he felt the tremors of your body begin to take place. “And there was nothing you could have done.” He assured you.
There was silence for a beat.
Then a sob racked from you. A heart breaking cry broke free as you finally had stopped to feel what you had been running from.
Azriel had turned you around then, pulling you into his chest as he held you up. Your body going heavy in his arms as he felt your weight give out, his fingers brushing through your hair as he tried to calm you.
Whispered words and gentle caresses filled your senses for the next few hours before eventually your crying slowed. Your breathing settled to a normal pace and the torments of that morning dulled.
You were in bed now, still held in your mates arms as he comforted you.
“Thank you…” you whispered against his skin, your face remaining in the safe space of the crook of his neck.
“You don’t need to thank me for this, my love. I will always be here for you.” He replied softly, a tenderness in his voice as he craned to look down at you.
Glancing up you gave him a shy smile, “I know, but still, thank you.” You leaned up then, your lips grazing his with a kiss.
Hello, hope you're doing alright. I have a pretty twisted one shot request concerning our amazing Shadowsinger. I was looking at the super natural dark dialogue prompts list and I feel like the #24 and #36 would fit perfectly for my request.
So basically: I was thinking about Azriel capturing the reader. She's a spy from the Spring Court and she was on a mission wandering at the border of the Night Court. When the reader wakes up, she's tied up in Azriel torture room. She also realizes how Azriel seems to be drawn to her. As she tries to find a way to make him untie her, she remembers something about Illyrians obssesion with bargains and deals. She offers to make a deal with him that the first one to make the other cum earn a favor. If she wins he spares her life, and if not he can kill her. And like as they conclude the pack, a tattoo appears on both of them and bla bla bla... and she ends up winning this challenge maybe?
Can't wait to see if you'll be willing to write this! I think it would have a lot of potential if written by you. Anyways, keep up your good work. I love your writing.
Okay, I know I said my next release would be the POM bonus bits, and then I’d be working on my other pieces, but I got this request and had immediate inspiration for it, so here it is!
Thank you to whoever sent this in! I hope I did it justice. It was very fun to write! I hope you enjoy 🫶🏻
The prompts you requested to be included in this will be written in bold.
Note: I haven’t tagged anyone in this because I desperately need to sort out my tag lists and haven’t had the chance. I’ll add them later if I get the time. Sorry!
Warnings: Smut! 18+, minors dni. NSFW. Some details of aggressive behaviour. Azriel being a sore ass LOSER.
Lust is a Losing Game — Azriel x Reader.
You can feel the caress of Night before your eyes open.
Every single court you have trespassed and traversed has its own distinct feel. The Autumn Court feels perpetually — and unsurprisingly — like a stroll through a forest, touched by brisk air and hues of oranges, yellows, reds. Your home court — Spring — has a feeling of renewed hope; like the first rays of sun after a long, harsh winter.
The Night Court is blood-drenched, rippling darkness, and the allure of scandal, of want, of lust.
Night time is for secrets and exploration. It’s for burning the bridge between who you are in the daylight and becoming something…else. It’s exciting, and it’s coaxing, and—
Cold, sharp metal prods beneath your chin. Its point is lethal. Any wrong move, and you’re bleeding.
Perhaps even more lethal is the quiet voice that commands, “Eyes open.”
Slowly, you comply — because you are both intrigued and wise. Intrigued by where you went wrong and where you ended up. Wise, because you know that cold, granite voice.
It doesn’t surprise you in the least to open your eyes and find Azriel the shadowsinger stood in front of you, his blade at your throat.
You know of him, of course — spymaster of the Night Court, a rare species of fae, far more powerful than many realise. You’ve sat across from him during terse meetings between courts and been the target of those guarded, icy stares. You’ve never heard him utter more than a few words at a time; he is spoken for by reputation, by violence and threat and battle.
But you’d know that voice anywhere.
You peer up at him through eyes blurred by some sort of power. And when your lips tilt up into a smile, a subtle tick of his jaw tells you it incenses him.
“Hello, Azriel.” You rasp.
The blade presses into your skin as he asks, “What were you doing at the border of our court?”
“Picking wildflowers. Foraging berries. Making a daisy chain. All the things a lady loves to do.”
A quiet noise sounds in his throat. “Is that what you are? A lady?”
“I’m whatever you want me to be, shadowsinger.”
His answering smile is cruel. A harsher press, and his blade nicks your throat. A drop of warm blood blooms on your skin.
Your eyes, rapidly clearing, take quick stock of your surroundings. The room is dark and damp and cold, empty save for the chair on which you sit — to which you are constrained. You can scent the blood of a thousand previous victims of the shadowsinger, and you imagine the vacancy of the space must have been more intimidating to them, somehow, than if the room were filled to the brim with torture instruments. The lack thereof tells anyone who finds themselves here that the Night Court’s spymaster does not need such things to do his work.
You try to shift in the chair, and find yourself well and truly stuck in place. Your gaze drops to your feet, where shadows act as manacles, as firm and strong and steel. Though your hands are restrained around the back of the chair, the cool touch tells you that a shadow binds them, too.
Azriel follows your gaze. A smug smile graces his mouth as he watches you try and fail to move.
“An impressive little trick.” You offer, nodding to the shadows around your ankles. “Now be a gentleman and untie me.”
“Tell me what you were doing at our border, and maybe I will.”
“Tell me your secrets and I’ll tell you mine.”
“You’re not really in the position to barter, right now, are you?”
“And yet, here I am.” You smile. “Bartering.”
He stares down at you, shrouded in shadows, in night. His aloofness has been perfected over centuries, but you somehow know where to look in order to tell — you’re getting on his nerves.
A slight angling of his head. Shifting on his feet. He drags the tip of that blade up, not pressing quite hard enough to draw more blood, but to make a twisted heat enter your veins. The blade stops at your cheek.
“I don’t know how you do things in the Spring Court.” His breath caresses your face. “But I can’t imagine it’s part of your job description to be a smartass who can’t keep her mouth shut.”
Your eyes flick down to that blade. Back up to his gaze. “I can’t imagine it’s part of yours to lust over me so tirelessly.”
The shadowsinger actually falters.
Something tells you he would never do that in front of somebody else.
His teeth grit. He bites out, “Tell me why the fuck you were at the border—”
“I’ve seen you, you know.” A satisfied smirk curls your lips. You will not give away that your arms and legs are beginning to ache. “I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at me for years.”
A clatter bounces off the walls as he tosses his dagger to the floor. Can’t be one that means much to him, then. You almost laugh, but a scarred hand is gripping your chin to the point of pain. He tilts — yanks — your chin up. “Pray, tell, how do I look at you?”
“With hunger.”
“Hatred.”
“Lust.”
“Loathing.”
“Like you want to touch me.”
“I am going,” he snarls, “to wrap my hands around your throat and—”
“Fuck me?”
“Kill you.”
A mocking pout puckers your lips. “Less sexy.”
"You must be a fool," his fingers bite into your skin, "to laugh in the face of such danger."
"What danger would that be? You've handed me your threats. What are you waiting for, Azriel? Kill me."
He could easily retrieve his blade and gut you then and there. You know it. He knows it.
And yet he doesn't do it.
He clenches his jaw so hard that you hear his teeth clash. He squeezes your chin, calluses and scars grazing you. It feels...good.
But then a growl is ripping from deep within his chest, and he's tearing his hand away and pivoting on the spot. He's confident enough in the shadow bindings to turn his back to you, clearly.
You just smile. He can't do it. Can't kill you.
"I'll do you the courtesy of asking one last time." His voice is strained. "Why were you snooping around our border."
"Perhaps I was hoping you'd find me and tie me to a chair. I'm into that kind of stuff, you know. We could make this fun."
"You think this room is intended for fun?"
"I think you and I could have fun anywhere, shadowsinger."
He says nothing. You watch as he sucks in a deep breath, steels himself. By his command, a shadow dances out and retrieves his blade from the floor. His fist flexes at his side.
Perhaps you can irritate him enough that he'll either kill you or let you leave out of pure exasperation. Or turn on the tears and plead innocence, that you're just a foolish, foolish girl doing her High Lord's bidding.
Or perhaps you can have fun.
You scan your brain for what you know about this court. How you can use it to your advantage — use Azriel to your advantage. An idea knits itself in the twisted avenues of your mind.
"This court has a thing for bargains, does it not?" You watch Azriel's shoulders tense at the sound of your voice. "How about making a bargain with me?"
He chokes on a scoff. "Why would I want to make a bargain with you?"
"Because you want me."
Slowly, he turns. His eyes are narrowed, mouth pinched. He looks two seconds away from using that blade to wipe your head clean from your neck.
But then he smiles, cruelly and coldly. "How very sure of yourself you sound."
You mimic that smile. "I am." Damn right you are. "So here is my deal: you toy with that lust however you like. We tease each other. Coax reactions from each other."
"Where is the bargain in that?" No outright refusal.
"If I make you cum first, shadowsinger," your eyes fall to his breeches. You could swear you glimpse the outline of a bulge. "If I make you cum first, I get to walk out of here with my head still attached to my body. But if you make me cum first...well. You get to know why I was snooping around the Night Court border, and you can send my head back to my High Lord in a pretty little box."
He stares at you for what feels like so, so long. Head to toe, his eyes rake over you. His shadows whisper in his ears, things you don't need nor care to hear.
Because you might not have his shadows, but you are a spy, just as he is. And you know his mind is already made up.
Shadowsinger, spymaster, feared member of the infamous Night Court — but still, a male weakened by lust. Lust for you that has driven him mad for a long, long time.
Still, he tries to keep up a front. He sneers at you, "You'd so willingly barter away your life?"
You smile. Simply, prettily. "It turns me on."
Oh, he's lost to his need. There's a newer scent that has joined the present ones of cedar and night-chilled mist and bloodstains. This one is deeper, smokier. Spicier.
He points his blade at you, the tip glimmering. And the shadow binds fall away as he demands, "Undress."
Your hands fall back to your sides. "Are you saying you agree to my terms?"
"Yes. Now take. Your fucking. Clothes off."
"What way is that to talk to a lady?"
"You are no lady—" His words fall short as, with a snap of your fingers, your clothes disappear. Leave you in nothing but your undergarments. His eyes drink in the brassiere, the silky little fabric that hangs from your hips. He swallows. "And I am no gentleman."
A spy you may be — someone who throws themself into danger and risk and dirt and blood, time and time again. But you never see a reason not to wear pretty underwear while doing so. And gods, in this moment, you're very glad of that choice.
It's the same colour as the siphons that adorn the male before you. The coldness in Azriel's eyes is replaced by intense, raw heat. He takes a step towards you, but you kick out a leg.
"Your turn." You say.
He pauses. Chucks his dagger aside again.
And then his clothes are gone.
He doesn't seem the slightest bit fazed by the fact that he stands utterly naked before you. So much golden, sculpted skin on show. All over, white scars tell the stories of previous injuries. His body is a novel written over time.
That silky underwear of yours is already soaked as you take your fill of him. For a moment, you think you might stumble in your bravado. He's huge and hard and standing to attention. Utterly perfect.
But you sit up straight in the chair and plant your hands on the arms. Your legs part, and Azriel hungrily tracks the movement.
"There is only one rule." You tell him. "We don't want to make this too easy, after all."
His jaw flexes. Eyes don't stray from the growing damp patch between your thighs. "What's the rule."
"You can touch me. You can lick me. You can put your cock in my mouth and my hand and rub it against my skin. But you can't fuck me."
He starts, pupils blowing wide. "But—"
"Not today." Your lips curl up. "But if I win, and I walk out of here? Some other time, Azriel, you can fuck me."
"You are wicked."
"Do you accept my rule?"
"Yes."
You are wicked, indeed. You widen that gap between your legs until you're hooking them over the arms of the chair. Baring your silk-covered cunt to him. His eyes damn near roll into the back of his head at the sight.
"Do you think you can stand to touch me without fucking me?" You hum, your fingers dancing down to that, sweet, sweet spot. You run them over the dampness, biting your lip. "I don't think you can."
"You underestimate me." Azriel growls. "And you're going to cum first."
There is no opportunity for you to volley a response. Not as Azriel surges forward and yanks you out of the chair, his arms securing you. His firm, velvety cock presses against your stomach. His lips slide over yours in a harsh, bruising kiss.
A male of natural elegance and grace, he doesn't even falter in the kiss or his steps as he marches you back, back, until you're pressed up against a cold wall. You nip his bottom lip and reach between your bodies, wanting to feel the pulsing weight of his cock in your palm, but his hands are grabbing your wrists and holding them above your head.
"No hands." He snarls onto your lips. "Just my cock and your cunt. Whoever cums first is the loser."
You almost want to laugh. So, so easy this will be.
But then he's letting go of your hands and pinning you with a knee. And out of fucking nowhere, a slim bottle appears between his fingers. You watch, leaning against the cold surface of the wall, as he pulls the stopper out of the bottle and tilts it towards you.
Oil drips onto your chest. Rolls down your breasts, your stomach. Azriel watches with predatory focus as it floods to where he wants it — soaking your underwear.
The blue silk darkens, sticks to your skin. Showcases everything that Azriel so desperately wants, but everything he will not get — today.
And then so quickly, he's hoisting your leg at his hip. So quickly, his cock is pressing into your soaking undergarments.
He positions his length between your thighs and guides it through your clothed folds. Both of you let out an immediate gasp at the taunting sensation — that a mere bit of fabric separates you from what you both want.
"Is this how you're going to play it?" Your head falls back, teeth digging into your lower lip. "You think thrusting through my clothes is going to stop you from cumming?"
"No." He makes a small noise, slowly rolling his hips. Watches his glistening cock rubbing against the silk. "But I think I'm going to make you cum fast from it."
"And then you get to kill me."
"And then," the head of his cock nudges your clit, "I get to kill you."
The sensation is divine, you can’t deny it. A coiled, aching pleasure that sits tightly in your lower belly. Azriel hears your intake of breath, and he smiles like this will be easy for him. You’re having none of that.
You’re thankful for your refined stealth and balance as you clamp your leg tighter around him, pull him harder against you. His hands press flat against the wall either side of your head, and you both gasp as his cock rubs so torturously against you, up and down and up and down.
“Gods,” He grunts, dipping down to brush his lips against yours. “This is torture.”
You smile. “Does it feel good?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to remove my underwear? You still can’t fuck me, though.”
A suffering groan chokes out of him, and he throws his head back. Because yes, he fucking wants you to remove your underwear. Yes, he wants to feel his bare skin rubbing against your bare skin.
But gods, the temptation to slide his cock into you is going to be unbearable.
But even though he knows that, and you know that, he smiles like this is nothing. He bites out, pleasure wavering his voice, “Why not? It’ll only make you lose.”
“I think you’re giving yourself a little too much credit.” You say, and then your underwear is gone, leaving you naked and dripping with nothing to shield you.
Not expecting it so fast, Azriel’s cock slides easily through your folds — and the head nudges your entrance. Very nearly slips in. He growls and halts the roll of his hips.
“Oops.” You smirk. “Careful, shadowsinger.”
“You’re fucking insufferable.” He bites back, and then he’s kissing you.
The kiss robs you of breath and of words. All you can do is twine your arms around his neck and welcome the sensation of him fucking through your folds, your wetness his pleasure. You’re lost to the feeling of him bumping against your clit, rubbing against it. Your legs are beginning to tremble.
“I want to fuck you.” Azriel moans, dropping his head to take in the sight of his cock against your pussy, never entering, never going deeper.
“I know.” Your fingernails dig into his shoulders. “And you have wanted to for a very long time.”
“Yes.” He can’t even deny it. “Yes.”
“You think about me.”
“Yes.”
“You wonder what it’s like to be inside me.”
“Yes.”
“But not today.” Your hands stroke down his muscled arms, and you moan as he grinds his cock against your clit. “Not today.”
“Nor any other day.” His hand fists in your hair, yanking your head up. “Because I will have your head. Cum for me, lady.”
He kisses you again, and gods, you want to cum. Every single inch of you begs and trembles for it. You’re clenching around nothing, desperate to feel him inside you, fucking into you, spilling into you—
But through your pleasured haze, you remember: you will be victorious. Azriel cannot win.
And so when he’s kissing you and kissing you, moans catching in his throat and landing in your mouth, hips faltering with every thrust, you pull your lips from his and sink your teeth into his neck with a harsh bite. You’ve always imagined he’d like that.
And simultaneously, you lock him between your thighs and roll your hips torturously slow, dragging every last sensation from him.
Azriel’s cock, nestled snugly between the folds of your cunt, spasms and twitches. He slams his hands against the wall and goes still. Tries to pull back the control.
But it’s too late for that.
“Fuck!” He shouts, and then ropes of cum are spurting out of him and landing on your stomach, your breasts, your arms. Beads of it roll down his cock. He trembles hard, panting, groaning, growling.
And you suck harshly at his neck. Suck until it leaves a mark. And then pull away with a smile.
Breathing so, so heavily, Azriel’s gaze drops down to his cock like the damn thing has betrayed him. He’s wide-eyed and outraged. He’s not sure what’s just happened.
A horrid longing still aches between your legs and makes you want to continue until you’re exploding, too. But the triumph of a win is pleasure in itself.
“Well, well, well.” You glance down at the cum now coating your skin. “I do believe I was right.”
“What—” Azriel breathes, shaking out of his lust. “What kind of witchcraft was that?” He touches his neck, where you bit him. As though the answer lies there.”
You shrug. “No witchcraft, though I’m flattered you think so. You simply lost the game.”
“I. Don’t. Lose.”
“You just did.” You pat his shoulder. “There, there.”
He rips away, so fast that you almost fall. “Get the fuck away from me.”
“Gladly.” With a snap of your fingers, you’re squeaky clean and clothed once more. Azriel’s clothes return, too. “And I’ll do so with my pretty head still on my shoulders—
“Get out.”
“Because I won the game—”
“Get. Out.”
“A bargain’s a bargain, after all—”
“I will not tell you again.” His hand grabs the back of your neck, hard enough to bruise, and he marches you to the door, yanking it open. “Out.”
You’re thrown into a dim-lit hallway, your body colliding with a cold brick wall. You throw Azriel a smile over your shoulder, despite your teeth singing at the impact.
“Try not to wank over me too much!” You call, as he slams the door shut behind him. “See you around!”
It’s only once you’ve winnowed back to your own court, and you’re bathing the day from your skin, that you notice the small black band inked into your upper arm. You scrub at it until it’s red raw. It doesn’t budge.
The mark of a bargain. But you had always believed that the tattoos of bargains disappeared once the terms were fulfilled…
But if I win, and I walk out of here? Some other time, Azriel, you can fuck me…
It had all been bravado. And yet…it had unwittingly been woven into the bargain.
Some other time, Azriel, you can fuck me.
That’s the only way you’re getting that mark off your skin.
Maybe this is a bit long and excesive? Maybe, but we love good angst, hurt and comfort. Thank you @marscardigan for your request! Feel free to send anything else. This is places inside the baker!reader universe, but it's independent. You can find other parts here.
Plot: your anonymity makes you a great choice for Rhysand's mission, even if Azriel doesn't agree. But you'll do anything to discover more of Azriel's life, even the worst part. So you decided to take that trip to Hewn City - where nightmares do come true.
Warnings: males being a lil creepy with their comments, Keir, violence.
“Az” you sighed for the third time that afternoon, staring at your stubborn mate. “It’s no big deal. Feyre has done it, Nesta has done it. Why can’t I?”
“They have done it because they have powers. They…” his words died when you raised a brow and dared him to tell you that they could and were different. More capable. “It’s not even about them, don’t change the topic. It’s about us. I don’t want you to do it”
“So, it’s fine when you leave for weeks to the mountains with a target on your back but I can’t accept one dance where you and your brothers will be watching?” you asked, and he finally looked away.
Azriel and you had been arguing about the same topic for two days in a row. Since Rhysand, who you had become fond of in the last years, asked you for a favor. He had been hoping you would come with them to Hewn City and dance with some males while they snooped around. You didn’t even have to carry weapons with you, since you would be introduced as part of their family.
It wasn’t dangerous or risky. It was a favor from your friend because Hew City didn’t know you. An unfamiliar face they would be too preoccupied studying to notice Feyre, Nesta and Mor sneaking into their studies. They would play the hard part. You just had to dance.
And Azriel was having a tantrum about it.
“The fact that you can’t even answer that question is enough. I’m going. And you can’t decide what I do and don’t”
“I can talk Rhysand out of it” he tried, not looking at you.
“Oh, like you haven’t tried that already”
You decided the conversation was finished and turned around to finish decorating the trail of cookies. Azriel was leaning against the counter, his usual place to watch you work in silent adoration. The storm in his eyes died down a little at the familiarity of your movements, at the comfort of the bakery.
Yes, he was mad. Mad at Rhysand because he hadn’t asked him first, mad at himself for considering he was your owner and needed to be asked for permission for you to do something. Mad at you because you couldn’t see how tight his heart became at the thought of you in someone else’s arms, dancing in a room full of vipers.
Half of the citizens of that rotten place had been tortured by Azriel at some point, and the other half had been gently tortured. He trusted Rhysand’s glamour to hide your bonded scent, but his rebel heart seemed to think otherwise.
For a while, he watched you work in silence, hands working your own particular magic with common ingredients. The fire eventually left his soul and he felt guilty enough to leave his spot. When you set the last trail in the oven, he took advantage of the vulnerable position and wrapped himself around you.
His wings created a small cocoon for the two of you, light barely seeping through the thick membrane.
“I’m sorry for being an overbearing mate” he apologized against your earlobe, letting his warm breath make you squirm. “You’re amazing and brave and you can handle everything you want, but I worry because I love you”
“And I’m also too smart and beautiful for your own good” you scoffed when one of his hands sneaked beneath your apron. “We’re gonna burn those cookies”
“Won’t the only thing burning for you tonight”
You bursted in a loud laugh and the rest of his anger faded away, giving up space for the usual love and adoration for you. In his arms, he could hear your heartbeat, smell the faint remains of vanilla from the previous muffins and your shampoo.
Azriel pushed you farther into his arms, and you didn’t complain. One of his arms was settled on your waist, under your apron but with no further intentions. The other one crossed your chest, and you gripped his forearm between your hands.
He was all hard muscles and soft skin. Even under his usual leathers, you could feel the familiar outlines of his arm. You looked up from his chest and saved the height different when you locked your eyes with him. From upside down, he was just as beautiful as ever.
His lips curved into an apologetic smile, although you were certain it wouldn’t be the last time you heard from it. Azriel was just a little less stubborn than you.
“I forgive you on one condition. You don’t bring it up to Rhys anymore. He already feels bad about it, you don’t have to remind him” you gently reprimanded him. “If he could, he would have searched for other solution. And I’m happy to help”
“You’re happy here, but down there it’s horrifying. And Rhysand and Hewn City can fuck – “
“Besides, I like doing things with you. From your other life”
Azriel’s life as the shadowsinger, as the spymaster, was still a bit hidden to you. You had gotten him to open up little by little, and he had shared some details that had you almost regretting your decision. But it was true that, besides doing Rhysand a favor, you wanted to do it with Azriel. Watch him work and be that tough male everyone feared.
That point made him roll his eyes and drop the matter with a brief kiss to your nose. He captured it between his teeth and playfully bit you, which earned him a swift elbow to his groin. Azriel teared apart just in time for the next customer to arrive.
With a sharp look that promised worst thing than an elbow, you left him in charge of the cookies and went to the front door.
-
Azriel hadn’t been allowed to see you before he big night. He had tried, but had received an arguable reason – that he would leave his smell all over you. As if he was a teen with hormone problems that couldn’t control himself. He was still fuming about it as he waited in silence by the throne, still pouting but intimidating.
His shadows were scattered all over the room, and he was purposefully ignoring Cassian’s warning glances. The last thing he could do to show his discomfort was terrorize a little their guests.
Rhysand had been introducing you in the dinner hall, where he hadn’t been allowed in. For centuries, the rules had kept Illyrian out of the finest and most elegant parts of the city, and it was one of the few rules he liked. He avoided pointless and tedious conversations waiting in the throne room.
“I bet Rhys he would wear line for a week you won’t last more than five dances” Cassian muttered under his breath, not looking away from the early guests. “Mor placed it at two”
“Glad my discomfort brings you joy, Cassian” he replied. “I plan to endure the whole night, if only for your troubles. What did Rhys bet?”
“Sex ban for a week”
Azriel rolled his eyes and finished the conversation. He was in for a long night, and he would try to endure it for you. Because you had looked so excited to be part of the plot, so bright and happy, he would never smudge that out.
The remains of your smile warmed his heart, and he relaxed a bit. You had been sitting right by his side as Rhysand went over the last details the previous night, listening to him like a hawk. Where you needed to dance, opposite from the entrance. Who you needed to charm or avoid, what you needed to act like.
He hated all of that, but he couldn’t deny that it made you happy. And whatever made you happy was worthy. The part he couldn’t stand was his absence during the grand dinner, during your introduction. It would raise many suspicions since Azriel never accompanied Rhysand there, therefore he had to wait at his usual spot.
Rotten on the spot with unusual nerves and doubts, he listened with trepidation the incoming steps.
“Don’t make me lose the bet. You don’t want to see me in a sex ban. Or Nesta” his brother announced quickly before the big doors opened.
“Shut up” Azriel hissed.
“A fair warning”
Rhysand walked in with cold indifference, Feyre walking by his side like the queen she was. His high-lord deemed worth the risk shoot him a warning glance, and Azriel thanked him, because it half-prepared him.
You walked right behind them, talking softly with Mor, and you were stunning. Beautiful. Bright. Radiant beyond the stars.
Azriel found the simplicity of your bakery uniform charming and perfect. The constant stains on your clothes, the sunny dresses you wore for your dates. Even training clothes made him stare longingly.
The dress you were wearing was long and dark, hugging all your curves and letting your left leg at plain sight. The cleavage lowered down to your waist, so low he could see the burnt scar you had gotten when you started your bakery. It showed your shoulders, your arms covered by a transparent, thin sheet of stars and bright dots. Azriel was glad he got a moment to digest the sight before seeing your exposed back.
You were so beautiful he stopped breathing, that he lowered his guard for the first time in that place. Someone could have tried to assassinate him from the front and he wouldn’t have seen them coming. Not when you were looking like a dream come true.
Rhysand was by his side before he could tear his eyes away from you, Feyre on his right.
“You may dance and drink and do whatever you like tonight” Rhysand motioned with a vague hand around. “But kneel first at your majesties”
“Lower” Cassian roared when only their heads lowered.
They all fell to their knees, as you and Mor watched by the side. While all their eyes were fixed on the ground, you looked at Azriel for the first time. He tugged frantically on the bond, proving Cassian wrong and behaving exactly like a hormonal teenager. You pulled back with a small smile – so small, so hesitant, that Azriel frowned.
It was different from the radiant one you had gifted him so many times during the last days.
He didn’t have to bother looking at Rhysand to have him speaking mind to mind.
“It’s her first time, she’s just nervous” his voice broke through the mental barriers, wary and full of concern. Azriel forced himself to look away from you, for your safety and his.
“What happened?”
“Nothing”
Rhysand knew him well enough to know he didn’t believe his answer, so he was met with flash of images of the previous dinner. How you had been introduced under predatory eyes, how your smile had died down a bit at the darkness and the coldness in their stares. Azriel’s whole body became alert as he watched through Rhysand’s eyes the dinner, no one daring to come close to you.
It would be different now, he knew, so he steeled his nerves as the first fae rose his head.
They rose up one by one, and when Rhysand just kept mumbling something in Feyre’s ears, they deemed safe to start moving. Music started playing and males started looking for the company of women. Azriel’s neck vein pulsed painfully when a lesser fae walked up to you and Mor, asking for your hand.
From up there, he could smell your hesitance. You would follow the plan, as Mor stepped out with a small vow, Nesta nowhere in side. Feyre would leave shortly too, and you would only have to stay there until they came back. But Azriel had to remind himself to breath when you were taken to the dance floor by another male.
He had to give it to the first one – he was respectful enough to keep his hands your waist and not lower them. Azriel felt his power roaring inside him the whole time, and he couldn’t help but stain his ears to listen to the conversation.
Through the dances you granted, he did that, ignoring the rest of the world and looking without seeing through the room.
You’re beautiful, how is it we haven’t seen you around earlier?
I have a son, he has lands and power. Would you like to know him?
I was hoping to catch you all night. What is such a sweet flower like you doing here?
You smell nice, unbonded
Rumors say you are an unmarried female. Such a pity
The comments grew more unfortunate the longer the night went. Rhysand power was gently holding him in place, reminding him the importance of giving the girls time. The High lord was looking too much at you, for his sake, so they wouldn’t notice Azriel acting like a boiling bull next to him.
And that started to draw unwanted attention, the notice of his High Lord staring at a woman. You were nothing like the female that had walked hours ago into the ballroom. Once you had seen what Hewn City was, what your mate had to work with, you were withering away – and Azriel noticed.
Azriel was seeing every drop of your smile, every muscle you tensed. Blood dripped to the ground behind him from how hard he was clenching his fists. His shadows curled in the edges of the room impatient, ready to attack. He broke every bet they had and then the last male walked up to you.
“May I have this dance?” Keir asked as you were dropped by your last companion. “You are hard to catch, my dear”
You brushed off the last feeling of discomfort from hands on you, all night, and tried to think quick. He had been one of the few males Rhysand had warned you to stay away from, but he had scared off any other options. And your friends weren’t back yet.
“I was hoping for a break” you tried to seem confident. “Sit this one out”
“Pretty things like you shouldn’t be sitting”
You bit your inner cheek, regretting the help you had offered. You had been regretting since you had stepped in the hall, and you had met Azriel’s eyes. The way they shone with worry and concern, the desperate tug on the bond. He had warned you and you felt foolish, because you thought you could handle it.
There were reasons in fate why you worked in a quiet bakery and he spent his life in dungeons.
“Shouldn’t have dance with every male in this room if you’re gonna get scared now” he chuckled, all void and dark. It made the hairs of your arms raise. “I won’t bite. Not too hard”
Apparently out of options, you accepted his hand and kept a straight face when he pulled you closer. If you were honest, you were too close to crying. Your feet hurt, your heart was pounding way too loudly against your chest and you had been touched way too many times. Every inch of your body felt dirty and wrong, and Keir certainly had big hands.
You had avoided Azriel’s eyes all night. You knew Rhysand was looking out for you, maybe to draw attention away from your mate. But that had made more males, the worst type it seemed, to become interested in you.
Keir was the last of a long list you had endured so far. He shamelessly inhaled when he pulled you closer, his nose brushing the space between your shoulder and neck. You convinced yourself it was his nose, not his lips, that traced your pulse point.
“You smell divine. So sweet” he commented, keeping you close to his body. “Have you been taken yet, dear? Has a male unfiled you?”
“That’s not a question I want to answer” you complained. You weren’t sounding confident at all, not with his hand pressing against your waist. It sounded more like another question itself.
“Oh, how I will like to see this city defile you. A little, sweet thing. Didn’t your mother warn you about wolves and rabbits?”
You kept quiet at his words, looking down at your moving feet. That way, he couldn’t see the way your expression broke. You noticed your lip quivering, your body trying to become smaller in his grasp. Just a dance, you reminded yourself. The heat of Azriel’s eyes was still present on your back, Rhysand glamour tight around you.
Keir’s shoes became blurry when your vision filled with tears. So desperately, you wanted to be home, with Azriel. You wanted Rhysand to never need you again, to have Keir moved to another continent along with the rest of that doomed city.
“I wonder if you’ll be as quiet in bed. How much will your father make me pay for you? Maybe we can arrange things for this week” Keir suddenly gripped the edge of your chin and made you look up, with a serious look on his cruel face. “Are you fertile, dear?”
The way he was speaking about you, his fingers gripping your face, was enough to make the first tear roll down. The male actually looked surprised at the sight, but once it had fallen, you couldn’t control yourself.
It could have been like that, you realized, if you hadn’t found Velaris. If Az wasn’t your mate, instead a male like Keir or someone worse. Your eyes searched desperately for him, without need to ask for help.
Azriel had reminded you many times that only one look and he would be right beside you, court matters dammed. He had made you say it out loud multiple times, had gotten you a small bargain tattoo on the back of your ankle. His eyes were already dark and troubled when you met them, his body ready.
He winnowed between shadows before anyone noticed, and then those same shadows were besides you. Keir’s fingers were ripped from you with a sickening crack, and you only saw Azriel’s fighting leathers. His rough hands tucking your face farther into his body, his shadows crawling up to your knees and calves.
They were cool against your sweaty skin, Azriel a calming and safe presence. Your face scrunched in a silent cry as you let your pent-up emotions consume you. You hugged him tight, not looking at the source of the screams.
“Scum” Azriel scoffed at the male in the ground, shooting Rhysand a warning glance.
“This is over. Forever”
“Azriel. They will know”
“Fuck you”
Rhysand could only witness in tense silence as Keir’s body tried to fight off Azriel’s shadows. Always so gentle around your body, they wrecked the male on the ground. They burnt his arms and snapped his fingers, squeezed his throat until his eyes budged. Azriel watched with murderous indifference as he held you trembling.
That was what he had wanted to tell you, to warn you about. You were capable of everything, you were brave and amazing. But that city was filled with trash and they could suck the life out of anyone.
“I want to go home” you whispered against his chest, your knees trembling.
“You have always been stupid, Keir, but you can always surprise me” Azriel growled, so primitive and feral that the room fell quiet. “Let’s see if you can quiet your screams tomorrow”
Feyre running out of one of the many doors was the last thing Azriel saw before winnowing you both away from Hewn City. He let his shadows hide you, but used his wings for good measure of protection.
In a few seconds, you were back in your apartment in Velaris, above your bakery, the sweet scent of summer nights filling the space. It no longer smelt like death and expensive perfume, like rotten flesh and arrogance. Azriel didn’t let you go as you squeezed his middle with a surprising force.
He knew what you needed without explanation. Carefully, he unlaced the dress on your back, his hands brushing any inch of skin those males had touched. Each trembling sigh, each tear he smelt on you, made him physically hurt to go back and kill them all. Pull at their limbs and hang them from their insides.
Rhysand would be hearing for him for a while, everyone in his family would. He squeezed his eyes shut as he listened to your whimpers, that stabbed into his heart like sharped knives. Azriel ripped the sleeves off your dress and could have burned it with the sheer force of his hate.
When you were finally standing with just your underwear, he allowed himself a moment of reassuring. Since the moment he had met your eyes, he was done for. The destiny of the world could have been in risk that he would have had still acted.
His hands were shaking too when he pulled your face away from his chest, cupping your cheeks. They were wet with tears, Keir’s fingers marked on your chin. He watched those beautiful eyes, that had shone at the idea of working with him, carry the burden of that night.
“I’m sorry” you whispered brokenly, your breath speeding up again. “I’m sorry I messed it up”
“You did perfect, darling. You did so good. So good” he assured you with passion, bringing your face closer to him until you couldn’t avoid his burning gaze. “They got out and you did perfect, but you won’t have to do it never again. I promise, Y/N, never”
You cried in his hands, and Azriel broke at the sight. What type of mate allowed their partner to go through that? To have strangers’ hands on them for hours? He hated himself a little bit more for that, but tried to hide it as he kissed your forehead.
He tangled his fingers between your locks as his lips lowered down your face. To your closed eyelids and wrinkles. Azriel kissed every tear, your nose, the edges of your pointed ears. He let his lips linger at the bruises on your chin, and found comfort at having Keir paying for them next morning.
Azriel ended up picking you between his arms, and carrying you to your room. It still held the remains of your excitement – scattered clothes close to the wardrobe, make-up products opened and half-used. He pointedly ignored them as he carefully dropped you in bed. Your arms didn’t unhook from his shoulders, and he didn’t complain.
“I hate them so much” he admitted in a whisper, close to your ear. “I hate them”
He had hated them since he was a child, had wanted to keep them away from you. He considered if moving to another continent with you was far enough, or if he would be forced eventually to kill them for breathing the same air. Those decisions would have to wait until the next morning.
Still on his leather clothes, Azriel let you lay on his chest and draped the sheet over your bodies. He ignored Rhysand’s talons against his mental shields, only hug you closer. He listened to every shaky breath of yours, caressed away with his thumb the last tears you shared.
“I’m sorry I doubted you” you said eventually, almost when Azriel thought you were asleep. Raising your head from his chest, you met his eyes. “You were right. I’m sorry”
“I wish I had been wrong. I… sometimes I wish it was different. That I worked in the Archives or owned a coffeeshop” Azriel talked just as quietly. “Then I could have you with me always. I hate my job, but I love my court. I love Velaris and I want it to be a safe place, so I gotta endure those things”
“I wish that was different too”
It was foolish to wish on things that couldn’t happen. Azriel would die before letting you close to that part of his life again. He wasn’t done by far with Hewn City or his own brothers, but that night he only held your naked body close. Every now and then, he would recall a certain moment of the night and remember the exact point a stranger’s hand had touched – Azriel would caress that same spot, feeling you hug him tighter.
Neither of you slept that night, and you didn’t open the bakery the next day. It took Azriel two days to be able to leave your presence without feeling the need to rip Rhysand’s head off his shoulder, five baths to erase the memories of those hands. Keir rotted in a cell, accompanied only by Azriel’s shadows, in the meantime.
Three days later, when Azriel came back to Hewn City after leaving you in the bakery, Keir couldn’t keep quiet.
Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated
Let me know if you want me to do an Azriel taglist!
I might be writing a huge Azriel one shot for you, we are at 2.7k words and they have only just met amd what can I say, it started as a simple headcanon request💙
Okay I’m in the mood to write and I’ve finally delved into the world of ACOTAR! Currently reading the second book now. I’ve completely fallen in love with Azirel so would love to write something for him.
Please please please send me some requests, I need some inspiration to help with my rusty brain.
P.s. I’m only half way through book 2 so don’t expect anything I write to be accurate to the storylines, this is all just for fun!
