Summary: Elain felt buried beneath the pressure of confronting the behemothous elephant that is her mating bond. Nor the sporadic, unreliable trysts with Morrigan or Azriel that left her gaping, physically and emotionally. It was all too much.
Gwyn, however, seemed perfect.
A/N: for @sjmsapphic! snippet below the divider, full fic (7.5k) on ao3!
She was tired of male company, of Rhysand and Azriel and their strange possessive tug-o-war, of Lucien and his awkwardly gentle kindness that wore like rain-soaked socks.
Elain quaked with irritation as Nesta watched on vigilantly, looking to figure out the problem of Elain’s new character. Attempting to piece together the images of her once joyous self and modge podge them over the tattered mess that she’d become.
Nuala and Cerridwen tried to be near Elain lots but they reminded her of the incessant chitters of her mind. The few days they were present out of the month, typically necessary for Night’s spy work, Elain found herself wanting to escape the room within a couple of hours, the only bridge of their friendship was cooking.
It was the all-knowing sense to the two of them and their connection to the intimidating Illyrians that drained her social battery like the Cauldron.
And Feyre. She had been the most inexplicable drift that had occurred involuntarily, and despite all the ‘gifts of vision and knowledge,’ Elain couldn’t understand why she began feeling so distant from her youngest sister. She wished it wasn’t so but she wanted even more distance.
As she was contemplating her emptiness, eyes shut and body sandwiched by silk, she decided she would carve out some solace. Tomorrow.
Gwyn needed a kaleidoscope worth of fresh perspectives.
She was so, so grateful to Nesta and Clotho and Emerie and all of the precious females she’d met in the library for caring and loving her.
But she needed new, more than the people who kept her close to baseline or the winged warriors she’d accepted in a camaraderie sense. The Nymph part of her was unnerved by their Otherness.
It was that fawnish fae epitomizing soft, feminine beauty that called her horizons to expand. Gwyn hadn’t felt a spark like the igniting visions of Elain during her long life.
As Gwyneth prepared for another dinner at the River House, she couldn’t stop but imagine the younger female speaking sweetly, or her hips moving hypnotically.
Read the rest on AO3! 🪿😌💗
Thank you so much to @sjmsapphic for the opportunity to dedicate some time to yuri, I loved getting to simp for these characters 😌🧎♀️
Dividers by the lovely and multitalented @olenvasynyt 🧎♀️
My loves 🪿🧎♀️💗 @the-darkestminds @astro-h0e-4azris @thesourcabbage @jules-writes-stories @mistandmemories @buffy-vanserra @eatsbooks @plumita-d-la-sangre @theiudices @lizzo78 @bloodyplunder lmk if you’d like to be tagged for more wlw 😌😚💗
Jealous Azriel x Reader. Angst/fluff (the usuaaallll)
Summary: A drunken game of spin the bottle with the rest of the IC makes Azriel a grumpy boy. (But it’s actually pretty romantic).
Word count: 2.1k
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This was stupid. Stupid stupid stupid.
You looked up from where the bottle had finally stopped spinning. Flecks of red wine having splattered on the floorboards from what little remained in the deep green bottle, it’s long neck now pointed directly at your High Lord.
It was the eighth bottle of the night, or perhaps the ninth? It hardly mattered, you and your friends were stupidly drunk, so much so that when Cassian had suggested a childish game of spin the bottle with a wiggle of his eyebrows, you had snorted and excitedly agreed.
It had taken a variation of tactics to get the rest of the Inner Circle to play along.
Feyre had giggled, whispering something to her mate who merely winked back at her as they both took a place by the fire.
Mor had clapped in delight, poking fun at Amren who clung to Varian, but when her partner agreed, so had she.
Nesta rolled her eyes at Cassian, but a smirk was set at her lips as he hauled her over his shoulder to the circle that was beginning to form. Even Elain hadn’t given much fight, blushing as she shrugged “If it’s only a kiss.” You had pecked her hands and gave a squeal of delight, pulling her to sit by your side.
That only left the amused, yet still brooding Shadowsinger.
Azriel kept his arms crossed, shaking his head with a stubborn smirk as each of you tried your own way to convince him to play, Some begged, some insulted, and some bargained with unfulfillable promise – all of which rendered useless against the Spymaster.
He leaned against the arm of the chase, dark hair falling in front of his honey-brown eyes. Despite his stubborn front, his wings were slouched and relaxed, Azriel’s tell-sign he was just as tipsy as the rest of you.
“C’mon Az,” you drawled, uncaring that you spoke with a slight slur. “You’ll be the only one not playing.” Dark shadows began to curl in your lap.
Azriel smiled tightly. “You’re all drunk.”
“Oh, and you’re not?”
Calling the shadows back from the distance they had gained towards you, Azriel’s eyes narrowed on you playfully. His smile grew, yet he remained unmoved.
“Leave him be,” Cassian spoke, a hand covering one side of his mouth as if to tell you a secret, but with a volume high enough to ensure everyone would hear. “He’s just brooding because he lost the snowball fight yesterday.”
Azriel stiffened immediately, and spoke with lethal cool. “I did not lose.”
Rhysand grinned, chiming in. “You certainly did.”
“I only lost to a pair of cheats. You’re not supposed to work as a team.”
“Why not give me a big smooch and prove you’re not a loser at this game too, then?” Cassian boasted, arms wide and beckoning, his lips comically puckered.
The rest of you howled in unison, tears forming in your own eyes as you wiped them away. Azriel finally took a place in between you and Feyre, and as far away from Cassian as he could get.
The rules were simple – spin the bottle and kiss whoever it pointed at. If the bottle was to land on a relative, it would automatically direct to the first on their right.
And so the game began. Cassian declared the first round his, the bottle landing swiftly on Varian who merely chuckled. Cassian had grabbed both sides of his face, planting an enthusiastic kiss on his mouth that sounded with a smack of his lips.
“Mmm, tastes like blood,” he teased at Amren, who merely scowled back. The rest of you were in hysterics, and you had to clutch at your stomach to stop it from hurting.
Mor was up next, the bottle reeling to a quick stop on Elain. The kiss was swift, but gentle, and had Elain thanking her with an shy giggle. Mor winked back at the blushing Archeron before returning to her spot.
Feyre had spun the bottle enthusiastically, and tipped her head back and laughed when it landed directly on her mate.
“C’mere darling,” he said smoothly, moving to dip her head back and plant a sensual kiss on her neck before slipping his tongue into her mouth. The group whooped and cheered, before Nesta declared she was to be sick and the couple finally broke their kiss.
Azriel was up next, and Cassian had roared with a cheer as the bottle landed in his direction. ‘Come here big guy!” Azriel had let him kiss him for all of two seconds, and kept a firm hand planted on his brother’s chest to ensure some distance was kept. You were sure you had never laughed harder in your life.
And so it was your turn. You were yet to be kissed, and felt a silly flutter of nerves as you crawled towards the bottle. It slowed to a stop. It’s long neck pointed directly at your High Lord.
“Well well,” Rhys mused, his violet eyes sparkling as a feline grin grew. “Try not to be too jealous, Feyre darling,” he winked at his mate. Feyre laughed, raising her hands in surrender. “I’m only glad it’s not Cassian,” she joked, earning a shove from the General.
Rhys was crouched in front of you now, his face relaxed yet playful. There was no denying his handsomeness – you certainly weren’t unhappy to be kissing him.
Rhys reached to cup your face, and as his long fingers found where your jaw meets your neck, you heard a sharp breath being sucked in from beside you.
Flicking your eyes over to Azriel, you saw his brow pulled in fury, his body completely stiffened and shadows nowhere to be seen. You hadn’t a second to process before Rhys’s lips found yours in a gentle kiss.
A kiss that lasted a mere second, before a cold, harsh voice spoke.
“Stop that.”
You and Rhys both broke away from the kiss. His hands were still on your face as you looked up at Azriel who now stood towering over the two of you, wings spread and chest fuming.
You couldn’t help but gawk at his erratic behaviour. “Azriel, what–?”
“Let go of her.” Azriel was practically growling at his High Lord.
Rhysand didn’t question him, instead he dropped his hands from your face immediately. “I’m sorry,” he said with a hushed voice. “I had no idea.”
The rest of the circle fell silent, each of you stunned by the Shadowinger’s outburst.
With a final fume from his chest and flare of his nostrils, Azriel folded to a winnow, vanishing from the room entirely.
“Well that was unexpected,” Mor spoke with a pull of her brow.
“I’ll say,” Feyre added.
Bringing a hand to your lips, the sensation of Rhys’s lips on yours lingered, and twinge of guilt cast through your stomach.
“Any idea of where he went?” you asked quietly, no longer amused with the game’s antics.
“The Sidra,” Rhys answered shortly, offering you a sorry smile before casting a long look at his mate, an obvious sign of their mind-to-mind exchange.
————
Velaris was freezing this time of year, and even your layers of wool, scarves and a heavy coat couldn’t protect you from the icy bite that blew from over the cold of the river. You found Azriel at a docking pier, solemnly leaning against the railing as the water sloshed below the planks.
There was no sneaking up on the Spymaster, yet he continued to ignore you as you approached.
“Care to explain yourself?” you spoke from some distance, making your way closer to him. His wings twitched at your words and knuckles whitened at their clutch on the railing, but Azriel kept his gaze on the night’s horizon.
You folded his coat over the railing, a small sign for a truce you were unsure was needed. When Azriel left it untouched, you sighed, folding your arms. “Put the coat on, Az.”
Without turning his head, Azriel cast a sideways glance before pulling the large black coat over his arms and wings. He was already a large and broad male, but the coat refined him further. It was quite a handsome look on the Shadowsinger.
“What happened back there?” you poached again.
There was a moment of silence before he spoke. “You wanted him to kiss you.”
Frowning, you were quick to defend yourself. “Not necessarily.”
“You did. I heard your heart fasten. I scented your excitement.”
“It was a game Azriel, one we all agreed to play.”
“I didn’t want to.”
You rolled your eyes then. “Alright Az, I’m sorry we forced you–”
“I didn’t want to play because I can’t stand the thought of anyone else kissing you.”
You gawked at your friend. “Excuse me?”
Azriel had finally turned to face you, his eyes wild and swirling with gold, his frown deep and chest moving fast. You could hear his own heart then, beating far too fast.
“When Rhys looked at you like that, and touched you, and then h-he kissed you… Gods Y/N. You don't understand. It took everything I had to rip him off of you.”
You blinked at Azriel – never had he shown such vulnerability. “Is this an Illyrian thing?”
Azriel shook his head tightly, wild eyes still fixed on you, nostrils flaring yet again.
“Are you jealous?” you collected.
Azriel ignored your statement. “I ache to be the one to kiss you like that, Y/N.”
Your heart skipped a beat then, and you were forced to take a gulp of quick air. “Do you desire me, Azriel?” Something in your core throbbed at the thought.
“Tonight I realised it’s more than that. You have a certain…pull on me,” he said, moving to step closer. “Every time you’re in a room, I feel the need to be near you. And when you leave, something beyond my will begs for me to follow. I feel anxious when you’re away, and unfulfilled if I haven’t seen you or even scented you in hours.”
Your were deadly still, eyes wide as Azriel continued to move closer, drawing a breath through his nose, claiming the smell of you he so desperately needed. A deep hum sounded from him, before scarred hands moved to grasp either side of your arms.
“You have no idea how much control you have over me. You rule me Y/N, dictate my every move, just by simply existing.”
Guilt, confusion, passion and a small glint of hope overwhelmed you as his words sunk in. Could it be? Something so rare sparked by a ridiculous exchange of puppy-love? Your hands moved on their own accord, seeking his to hold. And when your cold fingers slid over his scarred ones, Azriel’s touch ignited a current of warmth through your veins, heating you from the inside out. Your own eyes widened to find his softened, earnest and pleading.
“I never meant to hurt you by kissing Rhys.” Your voice was a whisper.
“I know. Gods, of course I know that. I’m acting rash, I’m aware.” Azriel kept your hands in his, but looked down now, shaking his head. “Mother above, this is insanity!”
“It’s not insanity,” you said softly, stepping closer and bringing a hand to cup his chiselled cheek. “It’s the mating bond.”
Azriel froze then, his eyes locked on yours. “You feel it too?”
“I do now,” you said with a faint smile.
Azriel brow pulled in painful relief. “I heard it snap the moment Rhys’s lips found yours,” he admitted.
You cringed at the thought. “Gods, what an awful way to find out.” You pulled him closer to you, instincts igniting as your body begged to be closer to him, pressed against him bare if you could. “I’m sorry.”
Azriel was silent as he moved to entwine himself with you, strong arms encompassing you, protecting you. For a moment you held each other, savouring the feel of a perfect fit, two pieces of a puzzle having finally interlocked. Your kept your check pressed to his chest, listening to his heartbeat that was now a melody to your ears.
Looking up, you trembled in awe of his beauty, gingerly stroking his cheek before rubbing your thumb gently over his bottom lip. A deep sound left his chest then, and it thrilled you – you were tuning him with your touch.
“Be mine?” he asked, biting back his own urges as you leaned on your toes, reaching closer to his face.
“Only yours,” you whispered before pressing your lips against his, indulging in the euphoric sensation of the eternal tether binding you to your mate.
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A/N: Look, I truly believe not all fics have to end with a mating bond. But this one does, ok? Hope you enjoyed, thank you to @aroseinvelaris for the request!!
Also did you spot the slightest Mor x Elain crackship?? If you blink you might have missed it.... but I got excited lol.
Summary: Set after the events of the Datura Series, Rhys x Reader return to the Night Court and meet the Inner Circle in the Moonstone Palace. Part I of a multi-part epilogue following their healing journey post!UtM
Content Warnings: Mentions of trauma, Reader has a brief panic attack, suggestiveness
Author's Note: This has been finished for like two weeks now, I spent the rest of the time deciding how I wanted to break this chapter up. Pls enjoy some fluffy Rhys x Reader
Previous Chapter/ Masterlist
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You hadn’t expected leaving the Mountain would make you feel so… different.
Flying into the Night Court in your mate’s arms feels like a dream as his sprawling court comes into view, the snow kissed mountains a sight to behold. He gives you a brief summary of the settlements you pass, of the people who call this place home, but banks away from any major cities, promising to take you there personally once you’re settled in. He’s being very cryptic about it, but you’re just happy that he’s happy and don’t push. He takes you instead to the Moonstone Palace, a sprawling estate carved into a mountain face. The sight of another mountain is the first unexpected response your body gives you, hands shaking as Rhys sweeps down onto an ornate balcony overlooking a cliff’s edge. There are tables and lounge chairs, all empty, the doors leading inside thrown open, white silk curtains snapping in the breeze. There’s some sort of ward over the open doors that keep you from seeing anything other than darkness inside and your whole body locks up as Rhys sets you down on your feet.
“Darling?” He asks, the bond flooded with concern.
You can’t do this again. You can’t go back underground, into the dark!
Before you can tell him as much, something red comes shooting out of the darkness and your claws tear through your nail beds as you ready yourself for a fight that never comes.
The red thing, is in fact, a very well cut dress, on a blonde female, who is very much not the threat your body seems to think it is; a female who sobs into Rhys’s chest as he wraps her arms around her.
Cassian and Azriel slam into the deck beside you, faces solemn as the reunion plays out.
It is an effort for you to put the claws away, even as you keep them tucked behind your back.
“Mor,” Rhys says softly, hands soothing down her back, tears in his own eyes.
A second female emerges from the darkness, the smallest of the bunch, her dark hair cut sharply at her chin. Silver eyes appraise you for a very long moment, before she turns them to Rhys. “What were you thinking? Leaving me here with these idiots?”
Rhys laughs as he pulls away from Mor, using the back of his hand to wipe his eyes. “It’s good to see you too, Amren.”
She frowns at that. “What did you bring back with you?”
Rhys turns to you, grinning again as he says, “My mate, Y/N.”
Mor lets out something between a squeal and a sob as she throws her arms around you too. It’s as awkward as hugging Cassian had been and you don’t really know what to do with your hands other than pat her on the back, thankful that your claws aren’t still out. Still, you have to look over her shoulder, through the thick locks of blonde hair falling in your face to avoid looking at her dress. You might throw up right here on the deck if you do.
“How did this happen? I want all the details!” She insists.
“Mor don’t squeeze the life out of her,” Azriel warns.
“Yeah, she’s already died once,” Cassian mutters.
It’s that that gets Amren to leave the doorway where she lurks to come appraise you, silver eyes inspecting every inch of you as if she can see right through your skin and bones to the power that lies beneath.
“What?!” Mor says, head whipping back to look at Rhys, who’s very meticulous in removing some lint off his shoulder.
“I wasn’t really dead,” you stammer, running a hand over your scarred throat. “Well, at least I don’t think so.”
“Inside,” Mor declares. “For wine and details. All of them.”
Cassian leads the way, Azriel quiet, clinging to the shadows behind him as you’ve begun to notice him do. His shadows relax over his broad shoulders, as if they’re taking a breath now that they’re home.
Amren remains staring at you, nose crinkling as she sniffs at you like a dog, even as Mor reaches for your hand to pull you in. There is something about her that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand, despite her stature, and you shrink closer to Mor as she continues to appraise you.
“You smell like death,” Amren muses.
You glance at Rhys for help as Mor says, “Don’t be rude, Amren!”
She pulls you inside as if she means to spare you from anymore of Amren’s appraisal but you can’t think past the roaring in your ears as the darkness of the palace closes in around you. There are fae lights in the ceiling, bobbing on a phantom wind, giving the hewn walls a soft glint; a far kinder light than the torches of the Mountain had ever been, but her grip on your wrist feels too much like iron biting into your skin.
You’re trapped.
You can’t get out.
There’s no way out.
Mor has no idea that your fangs are tearing through your lip, body shifting beneath you as you lose control, a bit of dark mist seeping from your skin.
There’s more light at the end of the hallway; how far you’ve gone you have no idea, you don’t even remember moving your legs, it’s just suddenly there, bright and blinding ahead of you and gods there’s going to be another monster waiting for you, another leering crowd around a mud covered pit and…
Strong hands settle on your shoulders, pulling you out of your thoughts. Rhys’s breath is warm on your flushed skin as he puts his lip to your ear. “Breathe,” it’s the command of a High Lord, the dominance in it making all the irrational thoughts spinning in your head still. He brushes a mental talon over your mind, making you shiver at the suddenness of it. “You’re safe.”
Mor waits in this new doorway, more silhouette than anything against the lights. “Come on! I want to hear your stories!”
“Give us a minute,” Rhys says softly and that is all she needs to hear before turning to follow the boys inside.
Amren slides past Rhys, still eyeing you warily as she follows after the promise of wine.
Tears stream down your cheeks as you press yourself into his chest. “I’m sorry,” you whimper. It’s too much at once. You aren’t sure what you expected when you got here, but this isn’t it.
He runs his hands through your wind swept hair, making soothing sounds as he holds you tight. “It’s ok. You’re ok. Just breathe for me.”
It’s his scent that calms you, the citrus and jasmine that invades your senses. No mirthroot. No incense. Not rot and decay.
“We’re out,” he whispers, hands still stroking your hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you. I should have.”
It’s not his fault he lives on the side of a mountain, you honestly should have expected someone with wings to live somewhere accessible by flight, but it hadn’t occurred to you it would be like this.
“Do you want to go back outside?” He offers.
You never heard the door close behind you, if you strain your ears enough you can still hear the fluttering of the curtains on the breeze--still a way out. You close your eyes and lean further into his chest, letting the evenness of his own breathing calm you as you focus on the sound of the fluttering curtains. There’s a door, you’re not trapped, you have a way out.
“N-no, I think I’m ok,” the way you're clinging to his shirt might say otherwise, but you can breathe again, so maybe you’re somewhere in between.
He kisses the top of your head, the bond warm with the soothing thoughts he projects down it.
“Are you ok?” You’d been Under the Mountain a couple of months, how is he this calm after fifty years?
“Having the walls this close makes me feel a little itchy,” he confesses, “but the doors are open. We can sit somewhere with a view. We’ll be ok.”
You nod and slowly pull yourself away from him, using your shirt sleeves to dry your eyes.
“Tell me if it gets too much, we can go somewhere else,” he assures.
You take his hand in yours and let him lead you into the room where they all sit around a blazing fireplace. All the couches and chairs are built with someone with wings in mind. Cassian sits with his draped behind the couch, booted feet propped up on an old coffee table. Azriel sits in a chair in the corner, where the fire light doesn’t quite reach him, already drinking from a glass filled nearly to the brim with red wine. Mor’s pouring everyone a drink, each glass filled to the brim; it takes two bottles for everyone to have a glass, and judging by the dust along the green glass, it’s a nice reserve too.
Behind them, as Rhys promised, is a long set of windows, all overlooking the snow capped mountain ranges you’d crossed to get here. With a slight flick of the wrist, he uses a bit of magic to push one of the windows open.
“Why’s it so stuffy in here?” He says as if that’ll make the gesture less suspicious.
“I don’t know, maybe because you’ve been gone for fifty years,” Cassian retorts. His glass is already half empty, though you suspect he says things without thinking about them even when sober, if the way Mor sucker punches his arm is anything to go by.
“Shut up!” She hisses.
Rhys lowers himself onto the couch on the opposite end of Cassian and Mor, pulling you along so he can tuck you into his side against the plush cushions.
Amren downs her entire glass in one gulp and holds it out for a refill before saying, “He does not lie, I don’t know why you always berate him for being honest.”
“‘Cause some of us don’t like to be an ass about things,” Mor hisses as she refills the glass with a third bottle.
“Well I just assumed you’d all be using the place, since most of my good wine is here and it appears to be dwindling,” he teases.
“We waited until the Townhouse ran out of your good whiskey,” Cassian says with a grin as he finishes off his own glass and steals the bottle from Mor for a refill.
You take the glass left out for you and take a sip, careful not to spill it all over the couch.
Mor rubs her hands together, now that she’s free from holding the bottle, and says, “So tell us what happened. I want to hear how you two met!”
You take a big swig of the wine, savoring the way it helps settle your frayed nerves. It’s still hard to look at her without seeing someone else, but your body begins to relax under the alcohol whether you’re ready to or not.
“Well,” Rhys starts, realizes what he’s about to admit to his family, and then downs half the glass for the liquid courage he’s going to need to face the needling they’re going to give him.
“That bad, huh?” Azriel asks.
“There was a lot more trickery and blood than one would expect from Calanmai,” you say and Cassian snorts so hard a bit of wine comes out his nose.
“What?!”
Mor smacks him again. “You always make a mess when you get wine drunk!”
“I’m not drunk!” He insists through a cough.
Amren huffs and rolls her eyes from the other side of the room as if this is something she’s been dealing with for a long, long time.
“Calanmai, huh?” Mor asks once Cassian has recovered himself, her perfectly manicured brows wiggling teasingly across her forehead.
Rhys takes another drink. “Not as fun as it sounds.”
“I started having these visions of these flowers a couple years ago, and I ignored it for a while until one night I couldn’t and it led me to him,” you recall.
“Flowers, huh?” Mor teases. “What kind?”
You take another sip of wine as you glance at Rhys, hand absently going to your chest, where that same flower should have still been inked. “What was it called again?”
“Datura,” he says softly. The moonlight streaming in from the open windows bathes him in a soft, ethereal glow. The violet of his eyes seems so much brighter here, like they’d been carved from starlight and plopped into his head.
“Flowers and an orgy, romantic,” Cassian laughs.
“Poetic,” Azriel says, raising his glass in salute.
“We didn’t have an orgy,” Rhys sighs like he knows he’s never going to hear the end of it.
“Just a kidnapping,” you say with a shrug.
Rhys takes another long drink as Mor starts yelling at him about his choices.
“It was a little rocky in the beginning,” you add to spare him further injury.
“KIDNAPPING, RHYS?! YOU MEAN TO TELL ME YOU LURED HER OUTSIDE TO A SEX PARTY AND THEN KIDNAPPED HER?!”
It’s your turn to take a long drink from your glass.
“I was trying to get her out of the Spring Court, everything just went horribly wrong!” He counters.
“There are marriages built on worse,” Amren says with a shrug.
It takes a good five minutes for Mor to calm down enough for Rhys to explain further what had happened, and by that point, your glass is mostly empty and the wine has made you feel nice and warm and relaxed. There’s a slight breeze coming in from the window and you tilt your head back against Rhys’s shoulder to enjoy the kiss of it against your skin. For all the pain that the beginning of this journey had caused you, it had led you here in the end.
“By the Mother,” Mor whispers in disbelief when he finishes telling the tale. Her eyes flick back and forth between the two of you, unsure which of you to address over the chaos of the story. There’s a blend of pity and awe in that gaze and you can’t help but glance at your mate; how much more pity would there be if he’d told her the full truth? He had not shirked away from the pain he’d caused you, the ass he had been in the beginning in an attempt to keep you at arms length, but he never once mentioned the things he’d endured before meeting you. He’d made it sound as if this was the whole tale, the years of abuse and darkness before were irrelevant, they were nothing to speak of at all.
“I’ve got a lot to make up for,” he says as he presses a gentle kiss to your temple.
“Oh I’d be wielding that promise over him for a while if I was you, Y/N,” Mor says teasingly, her eyes gleaming in challenge.
And just like that the relaxed feeling is gone. “It’s over,” it takes all your restraint to not snarl out the words, teeth aching from how hard you have to hold back your fangs. It’s not their fault they don’t know what he’s been through, but it’s not your story to tell either. If he doesn’t want them to know, you can’t force him. Still, the mere implication of holding anything over Rhys’s head, wielding any power over him for what he had to do to survive the Mountain makes you want to start tearing at your skin. “There’s nothing to make up for.”
“A classic case of Stockholm Syndrome,” Amren says and you’re pretty sure it’s supposed to be a joke, but Rhys stiffens behind you all the same.
“Now who’s being an ass?” It’s from Azriel, who’s stayed mostly silent in his dark corner, wreathed in his shadows, during the story. You’re pretty sure he is the only one who’s noticed that your fangs have torn through your gums and you’re grateful for the interjection. Mother knows what you might have done if no one had butted in.
You swallow down the rest of your glass, trying not to shatter it against your fangs.
“You’ll have to forgive, Amren,” Rhys says smoothly, the mask of pure ease still adorning his features, though you still feel a flicker of pain down the bond regardless. “She never really learned her manners.”
“They’ve gotten worse since you’ve been gone,” Cassian says. He’s on his third glass now, slumping further into the worn couch.
A part of you envies his ability to relax. The other curses him for being so focused on the damn wine that he doesn’t see his brother is lying through his teeth about how he feels. The bond roars at you to defend and protect, cover every wound and sting as fast and efficiently as possible. Your powers pull at your bones, aching to be released in his defense. How are they so blind? Can they not see his mask for what it is?
Mor refills your glass for you, then offers more to Rhys, who declines despite his glass being empty. He hasn’t relaxed into the couch behind you, body still rigidly upright. He’d vanished the wings sometime in between entering the house and sitting, only a bit of darkness drifting from his shoulders in their absence.
“Is this a senior moment, Amren?” Rhys croons. “Forgetting the basics already?”
That earns a chuckle from his brothers and a snort from Mor, even more so when the ancient female flashes a perfectly manicured middle finger at him.
Perhaps this is just how they talk to each other. Mother knows that you’d never lived anywhere long enough to have a close knit group of friends, let alone a family, but still, the bond aches and rages over the quiet suffering he still endures. Is it not enough what strangers and the other High Lords say to and about him? Is he supposed to endure it here too?
You take another drink of wine, trying to hide the scowl you still feel pulling at your features. It’s once again Azriel’s hazel gaze that sweeps to you, one dark brow raised in a question you don’t know how to answer. This is all so different compared to what you know--compared to who you used to be. No matter how many times you’d moved, you’d always tried to make friends, had fallen into smooth and easy conversations with people. It had been easy. But this feels like pulling teeth. It feels like…
You almost break the glass as you bring it to your lips again. It feels like being the uncontrolled monster Amarantha had unleashed in her fighting pit all over again. All your powers want to do is rage and scream and break things. It's angry and miserable and it’s different. You are irreparably different from the girl that went Under the Mountain.
Rhys, somehow, starts directing the conversation away from the Mountain and back to what his family has been doing in his absence. It’s a lot of joking and needling and Cassian is half way through a fourth glass and starting to hiccup every time he answers. Amren continues to sneer from her seat, even as she too starts in on her fourth glass, though she certainly handles it better than the Illyrian. Mor, to her credit, tries to draw you into the conversation, but as the hours start to tick by, you find yourself slipping deeper and deeper into the darkness of your own foul mood and even the wine can’t save you. It’s bitter in your mouth, more and more with every sip.
Rhys still hasn’t relaxed anymore, his glass still empty on the coffee table. The mask never comes off, he is so outwardly smooth and unbothered that every time he speaks it makes your heart clench and your mood worsen.
By the time Azriel suggests you all continue the conversation over breakfast, you’ve lost track of the last time you spoke at all. It might have been hours.
Cassian, fumbling over himself, hugs Rhys again, large hands slapping him hard on the back as he slurs, “It’s good to have you back, brother.”
Rhys returns the sentiment as Azriel dutifully drags him upstairs to his room, promising to see you both in the morning.
Amren disappears without a word.
Mor hugs you tight, her grip so firm you can’t help but wonder what kind of training she’s had. Even a little tipsy, her eyes still shine when she tells you she’s so glad you’re here. After kissing Rhys’s cheek, she winnows herself, presumably, to her own room.
It’s impossibly late, the moon full and shining through the open window. Rhys yawns as he stretches his arms above his head. “So, Darling, can I persuade you to join me in my chambers tonight? Or would you like to have a little privacy?”
“Trying to get rid of me already, huh?” The words are out before you can think better of them and he’s sweeping you into his arms and kissing your forehead in apology immediately.
“Hardly,” he assures. “I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to.”
The thought of trying to sleep without him sounds as appealing as cutting off one of your limbs after all the nights you’d spent trying to stay warm in a cell. “As long as you know you don’t have to if you don’t want to either.” You have not established any boundaries in your relationship, or even discussed what you plan to do other than eventually you want to fully accept the bond. You’re not really sure what any of this is supposed to look like and after everything, you don’t want him to feel like he has to drag you along.
He grins as he winnows the both of you into his bedroom. “I’d prefer you to always be within reach, but I realize that’s asking for too much.” He raises a hand to touch your damaged throat, eyes dark as he traces the still raised and pink skin, clearly thinking of what happened the last time you’d left his sight.
“Why didn’t you tell them what happened to you?” You drift your hands absently over his chest, thankful that there is no bruising or blood on him any longer. “What I did to you? Or what…” you can’t bring yourself to say her name. Not here, in his bedroom, in the house with his family that he fought so hard to get back to.
“It’s over,” he says as he pulls away. “There’s nothing more to talk about.”
You want to argue, but there’s circles under his eyes and a yawn on his lips, and for the first time in months you’re in a room you can sleep in safely and maybe this isn’t the time to push him.
“I don’t know about you, but I want a bath and then I want to sleep for a week,” he says, changing the subject as he heads to the attached room, candlelight flickering to life behind him as he moves.
The bedroom is massive, the centerpiece a bed large enough to accommodate someone with massive wings. The far wall, like the living room, is framed with floor to ceiling windows, a world of glittering star light and snow capped mountains on full display. The attached bathroom is equally as big, equally as luxurious as the silk sheets and expensive wallpaper the bedroom sports. The tiled floors are a smooth, polished stone, dipping ever so slightly into an in-ground tub that’s big enough to be a pool. On Rhys’s command the water bubbles and steams, a couple bottles of soap and oils flittering off the shelves to empty themselves in the water, until the whole room smells like lavender and night blooming jasmine. A scent so distinctly Rhys it makes you pause in the doorway as he peels off his shirt and tosses it into a hamper. Nothing in the room is dusty, the air isn’t stale, it’s pristine and inviting, as if the palace had been waiting eagerly for its Lord’s return. Everything about the place feels like a piece of him, something etched and carved into the essence of the High Lord. The title has always been there, but this is the first time you understand it, the first time you really feel it.
“I’ll happily give you a show, Darling,” he teases, hands undoing the ties of his pants, even as his violet gaze remains transfixed on you. “But the tub is big enough for two.”
Despite the fact that you’ve slept with him, that you’re mated to him, this feels very intimate, enough to make a blush creep its way up your cheeks. “This tub is big enough for eight,” you reply.
“Plenty of room for activities,” he says with a wink as he pushes his pants down his hips.
The shift in conversation to this is a pleasant distraction, but you know he’s doing it on purpose. He’s very good at shifting conversations away from things he doesn’t want to talk about and this thing between you that’s been there from the beginning is so much easier to slip into than the honest, brutal truth of the last fifty years. You bite down on the need to push him. He has been giving you an out to avoid your own pain all night, the least you can do is give him one in return. He will talk when he is ready. So you peel off your own shirt and pants and climb into the bubbling water after him--pretending you aren’t staring at his ass the entire way in.
Rhys settles into the built in seat along the edge of the tub, lythe body leaning back against the cool tiles with a sigh of relief.
You take a seat opposite him, fingers digging into the lip of the tub as you focus your attention on the feel of the tiles against your bare skin. You haven’t been fully submerged since your trip into the Cauldron and the bubbling hiss of the water sets you more on edge than anticipated, but focusing on the tiles helps. As long as you can feel some sort of bottom, as long as you can claw your way out, you’ll be fine. And once your body starts to calm under the delicious heat, the lavender and jasmine filling your senses, your body blissfully begins to relax.
“Why are you so far away?” Rhys whines after several long minutes of comfortable silence.
“Didn’t feel like swimming laps,” you retort.
A tendril of shadow slithers along the water’s edge, dipping between your shoulder blades in a gentle caress before it twines around your hips and spins you across the open space between you two. It’s a blink and you’re suddenly straddling his waist, his large hands settling on your hips, nothing but a bit of water between your bodies.
You, instinctively, wrap your arms around his neck, fingers playing in the damp strands of his hair.
He grins lazily at you, nose brushing over yours as he nuzzles into you. “Much better.”
“You know you can talk to me about… everything--anything--right?” You can give him a distraction, but you can’t act like you don’t see that pristine mask for what it is. It makes your chest ache.
“Mhhm,” he says absently, distracting himself as he dips his head and places a kiss along your throat.
You shiver despite yourself. “It doesn’t have to be now.”
“Ok.” Another kiss, following the jagged pink skin that will forever decorate your throat, a twin to the mark slashed across your palm from ripping your hand off the Cauldron.
“Or tomorrow.”
He brushes your hair off your shoulder to reach more of you, humming like he’s listening but you’re not entirely sure he is.
“I just need you to know that I’m here for you.”
He only stills when he reaches your shoulder, the marks from the chimera somehow the least devastating scar out of the three. “Thank you,” he says softly, the bond flickering with emotion.
You drag your hands through his hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp and he shivers under your ministrations as he resumes his exploration of your skin. This is nice, gentle amidst several months of stress and misery. It’s the first you’ve felt him relax all night and you’ll do anything to give him more of this.
There’s a dip in the floor behind his head, a little alcove that holds bars of soap and bottles of shampoos and you reach a hand out and grab the first one you can reach. You lather up the citrus scented shampoo in your hand while he’s still distracted and bring it up to start washing his hair before he can stop you.
“What are you doing?” He asks, lips still roving over your skin.
“Washing your hair,” you retort.
He tilts his head back to look at you, a lazy grin still cutting across his candlelit features. Everything about him glows like moonlight here, and you don’t stop yourself from gently placing your lips against his, even as you finish thoroughly getting the soap all leathered in his dark hair.
“Why?”
“Your hands are full,” you return, fighting the urge to grind yourself down on his lap for emphasis. This is about him, you want to focus on taking care of him.
His fingers kneed your hips teasingly as you reach around him and grab a bar of soap next.
“And maybe I like taking care of you,” you admit.
“You don’t need an excuse to touch me,” he returns, eyebrows raised teasingly.
You get the bar wet and run it gently over his tattooed chest, tracing the swirls of dark ink over his tan skin. He’s still so pale from being underground for so many years.
“No but I think you still have some blood on you,” there’s a particularly stubborn stain of something between his pectorals and you focus your attention on getting it off. In the days it had taken you all to get the Cauldron hidden and fly here, there hadn’t really been time to do anything other than magic away the gore and dirt and keep moving. Now that you have time, you want to clear away the feel of the Mountain from both of you. Even if no amount of soap will ever really do that.
Rhys watches you closely as you give all your attention to tending to him, taking your time to make sure you don’t miss an inch of skin. His body relaxes more and more under your minstriations, finally allowing his head to lean back against the tiles, eyes closing as he sighs in contentment.
This draws a grin from you as you continue your path upwards to a smear of dirt across his shoulder, still following the ink. The bond hums with its own contentment, as if this is what it had been looking for all night.
“I didn’t think we’d get this,” he admits so quietly you almost miss it over the bubbling of the water.
You keep scrubbing, hands tracing over his arms, his wrists, even his hands, every bit of him you can reach before attempting to scrub the parts of him submerged under the bubbles. The water and the soaps he’s already thrown in the tub will do most of the work for you, but you’re not ready to stop. Your mate, relaxed in your grip after all your hands have done to him feels both like penance and a gift you’re not sure you deserve, but it is here in your hands and you’d be damned if you didn’t take every opportunity you could get.
He swallows audibly as he continues, “It sounded too good to hope for. It still feels… too good to be true and I’m scared that I’ll wake up tomorrow and it will all have been nothing but a dream.”
You pause your scrubbing to take his hand and bring it to your chest so he can feel your heartbeat beneath his palm. “I’m real. This is real. We got out.”
He sits up so he can nuzzle his forehead against your own, a smattering of bubbles dripping from his hair. “We got out,” he repeats once, then twice, as if he needs to ground himself in it.
“We’re free and alive and we have the rest of our lives ahead of us,” you affirm as you resume your scrubbing, a little more rushed now as the heaviness of the day starts to wear on you. It’s time the two of you tumble into bed and get some much needed rest.
“I want to show you my home,” he says as you start rinsing the soap from his hair.
“Is this not your home?” You ask.
“It’s one of them,” he replies. “But it’s not as spectacular as the others.”
One. Sometimes you forget that being High Lord comes with a lot of luxuries. “Well you’ve piqued my interest, High Lord.”
His eyes flash playfully at the title and you’re sure, under other circumstances, that kind of teasing might get you into trouble, but he’s too tired to act on it tonight. You’ll have other nights for that. “Tomorrow? If you’re up for it.”
You place another quick kiss to his lips as you finish rinsing the soap from his hair and skin. “Tomorrow.”
Rhys carries you out of the tub as soon as the soap is gone, all the water dripping from your bodies gone in a quick flash of night chilled magic, before depositing you into the center of his very large bed. He doesn’t bother with pajamas for either of you, just slides under the warm sheets and pulls you flush against his chest.
This is familiar, grounding amidst all the change that has followed you here. It’s only a matter of minutes before you’re drifting off to sleep, the stars keeping watch through the window.
Also @classykittypersona’s request for a fic of Azriel with a secret sweet tooth
Azriel x ofc
None of the Inner Circle could believe it when Azriel brought a girl to their weekly family dinner. Of course, the shadow singer had asked Rhys if it was okay ahead of time, who had subsequently told his mate, but none of the other fae in their company had any idea that they were about to receive a new addition to their close knit group.
Admittedly, all of them had noticed Azriel's odd behavior the past couple months; the way he would disappear for hours on end without anyone knowing exactly where he had been; losing focus during usually easy tasks or even in the middle of a conversation, little smiles appearing on his lips; a small hop in his step on the certain mornings after he had been unaccounted for; a twinkle in his eyes when he is seemingly spacing out. In fact, his family noticed this so much that they had all placed bets on what it could be to make him so jovial.
Only Cassian had said that it was a girl.
The two fae walk into the dining room of the House of Wind just a little late, very unusual for Azriel. Almost everyone's eyes go immediately to their intertwined hands, Azriel’s touch seeming to calm and reassure the timid girl next to him. She enters the room with wide eyes and small steps, knowing that this is not where she belongs.
Rhys, Feyre, and their circle of advisors are an extremely exclusive group and had been even since Lucien and Elain had finally joined over a hundred years ago. The whole of Prythian knew that this group is a force to reckoned with, made up of fae with some of the rarest gifts of all fae-kind. It is immediately clear that Azriel's mystery girl had heard of their reputation, but Az continues to gently tug her forward, then pulls out her chair for her before finally sitting beside.
He grabs her hand, places it on the table between them, and then meets each other table’s occupants stare with his own. It is then that they notice the delicate smile playing on his lips, full of pure happiness. They also notice that there are absolutely no shadows swirling or lurking around him. "Good evening, everyone." He greets. "This is my girlfriend, Livana." Said girlfriend waves shyly, a friendly smile appearing on her face.
"Hello, thank you for letting me join you tonight." She says, her voice soft and sweet. No one has the ability to say anything as they examine her; the long brunette hair that just brushes past her hip bones, the striking blue eyes and soft pink lips; the slight round to her cheeks; perfectly straight teeth; arched eyebrows; and nimble bone structure.
Amren is the first one to regain any semblance of her voice. "Huh, never thought I'd see the day." She muses, earning a playful glare from the Illyrian.
Rhysand swats her arm, receiving a snarl, and then smiles genuinely. "It is a pleasure to have you, Livana." He finally murmurs. "Unfortunately, it seems that Azriel has neglected telling us anything about you beforehand."
Livana blushes, glancing at Azriel with an accusing glare, along with half of the rest of the table, and then shrugs. "What do you want to know?"
"Where the hell did you come from?" Nesta bluntly blurts out, earning her a sharp look from her sisters and mate. "What? We're all thinking it."
Feyre sighs, turning to Livana and giving her a soft smile. "Please forgive my sister for her poor manners. What she means to say is how did you meet Azriel?"
The girl, who had shrunk back after Nesta's remark, straightens a bit, looking at her boyfriend with a loving gaze, making most of the company look away by the sheer intimacy it seems to hold. Azriel adoringly smiles back at her. "Well, I work at one of the bakeries in the Palace of Bone and Salt, and Azriel came in one day to buy some dessert-"
"Wait," Cassian interrupts. "Azriel eats sweets?" Mor and Cass share a confused look.
Livana's eyebrows crease and Azriel rolls his eyes. "Um, yes, he likes them very much actually, at least mine." She giggles, thinking of an inside joke, most likely.
"Well look at that, the guy who insists that he never eats anything with sugar in it, deliberately going into a confectionary and then dating a baker!" Cassian exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air dramatically.
Azriel grins. "Livy's sweets are the only ones I eat, she's helped me discover a sweet tooth I had no idea I had."
Feyre and Elain 'aw' at his nickname for Livana, before the food is suddenly being served. Once they each have their plates full of dinner, some more piled than others, Rhys speaks. "I'm sorry, we've been terribly rude in not introducing ourselves. I'm Rhy-"
Livana interrupts him with a chuckle. "Forgive me, High Lord, but I definitely know your name. Besides, even if Az didn't tell you about me, he's told me plenty about all of you."
"Has he, now?" Lucien murmurs, raising one eyebrow at the shadow singer. "Like what?"
The baker waves a hand. "Oh, nothing drastic or life changing, just that he's really excited for me to meet all of you, along with some warnings about Cassian and Amren." This earns a laugh from the group and Azriel's smile widens as he sees his girlfriend visibly relax.
"I suppose that's justified," Amren says, at the same time Cassian mutters, "I am not that bad."
Feyre glances at Mor, who has yet to say anything, but has a contemplative expression on, blatantly inspecting the girl who is obviously avoiding her gaze. It's been eight decades since Mor told Azriel about her true feelings, and they have all watched him go through the process of accepting, forgetting, and moving on. Feyre supposes this could be considered the final nail in the coffin for both of them, a final sign that Azriel has completely gotten over his five century long crush. Feyre thinks that this is a good thing, but is unable to get a read on Mor's feelings on this new addition.
So, she decides to change the subject. "Well, Livana, before you were so rudely interrupted by my brother-in-law," She shoots a playfully menacing glare at Cassian, who grins around a full mouth of food, "You were telling us about how you and Azriel met. Would you care to continue?"
Livana swallows her bite and shrugs, "Sure, but he tells it a lot better than I do, right Az?"
The Illyrian raises an eyebrow at her. "I don't believe I have ever told it before."
"Will someone please just tell us?" Amren asks, sounding bored, but has a faint glimmer of curiosity in her gray eyes.
And so, adorably, Azriel and Livana trade off telling their sides of the story of how they met: Azriel walking into her bakery, buying a dark chocolate brownie-type thing of Livana's own invention, and Az immediately falling in love with her as soon as he tasted it. He had used many tactics to get her to say yes to going out with him, including some of Cassian's old pickup lines, but she had refused him. He came back everyday for a week, buying a new item from her case each time, and then trying to convince her to go on one date. Finally, she had relented, and they had been together for about three months now.
Elain, Feyre, and even Nesta had cooed just a bit at the cuteness of their story, Amren remaining a passive listener as always, but Mor's expression had been kept at a careful poker face. Feyre is struck utterly confused at her friend's silence, and feels a bit guilty for not warning her beforehand that Azriel was bringing a girl home.
When dinner is over, and Rhys asks what dessert is, Livana suddenly stands, drawing all eyes to her once again. "I brought some stuff from work that I thought you all might enjoy." She explains, "Azriel, where did you put it?"
"In the kitchen," He replies, rising from his chair. "I'll help you get it." They exit the room, Livana much more confidently than when she entered, and Azriel still with a soft smile gracing his features.
As soon as the door shuts behind them, the table erupts into conversation.
"I can not believe it, our little Az, with a girlfriend." Cassian practically gushes to Amren, who rolls her eyes.
"I like her, she seems really nice and sweet." Elain comments.
Lucien smiles down at her. "I agree, I think you and her could be really good friends." His mate nods in agreement.
"I have rarely seen Azriel smile so much, or talk so animately about something. I think she's good for him." Feyre voices, earning an agreeing hum from Rhysand, but a continuously guarded look from Mor. "Okay, what is your problem?" The High Lady confronts, pulling the attention to her and her best friend. "You haven't said a word since they got here, and if you don't stop staring at Livana, I will strangle you."
Mor shrugs. "I'm feeling her out, it's what I do."
"You didn't do that to me." Feyre counters.
"That's because I already knew you were Rhys' mate, and he had told us all about you. Azriel has been keeping her a secret for months, and why?" She wonders, probably the question that has been circling through her head for the last hour.
It's Feyre's turn to shrug. "I don't know, but Azriel always has his reasons, you know that. And if he didn't want to tell us about this one thing in his life, something that obviously makes him so happy, then that is his right and you cannot take that away from him."
Mor is about to respond, though her face had lost a lot of it's earlier conviction, when the door opens again and Azriel and Livana come strutting in, the former carrying small dessert plates while the latter holds a large confection box. "What did you bring us, Livana?" Elain inquires.
"You can call me Liv if you want, Elain," The girl replies with a polite smile, causing the seer to grin back. "And I brought you one of my specialties that I learned while on my trip to the continent." She carefully takes the cover off the box and tips it so everyone can see the little tubes stuffed with different colored fillings. "It's called a cannoli. The shells are made of red wine, flour, and cinnamon, shaped and fried to form the tube. I've been experimenting with the fillings the last couple years, and from what Az has told me about you, I picked certain kinds that I think you will like."
She takes her time, pulling each cannoli out, placing it on a plate that Azriel supplies her, and giving directions to her boyfriend for who each cannoli goes to. "Pudding to Lucien, cherry to Elain, amaretto for Nesta, and vanilla dipped in chocolate and sprinkles for Cassian."
"Yes!" Cass exclaims, taking the food eagerly and comparing it with his wife's, who is admiring her own alcohol-refined confection. "I love you already!"
Liv blushes in response, continuing to dole out the desserts. "Almond for Rhysand, and hazelnut for Feyre, currants for Amren, chocolate for my Az," Cassian lets out a whoop at the phrase, "And vanilla for me, and then, for Mor..." Feyre glances at her best friend as Liv extracts a shell filled with a pink filling. "Okay, so I have to admit that when Azriel told me about you, I wasn't really sure what to make, and in anticipation for tonight, I have been messing around with different ingredients all week to try and make something perfect."
Feyre watches as a hint of guilt flashes through Mor's eyes at the sincerity in Liv's voice, and Azriel's suddenly pleading face behind her, silently begging Mor for a good response. "It's lemon and strawberry," Livana finally says, thrusting the plate towards Mor. "I hope you like it."
After a couple seconds of deliberation in which the entire room is tense, Mor finally smiles just a bit, taking the plate. "Thank you, Livana, I love strawberry lemonade."
The resulting victorious grin that lights up Liv's face is beautiful, and Az must think so too because as she sits down again, he cups her chin gently and places the barest of kisses on her lips. Feyre smiles at the exchange, trying to make eye contact with Mor who is again thoughtful, but this time towards the cannoli.
Cassian and Amren take bites of their own first, the latter forming a wicked smile as she ponders the taste. Everyone else eagerly tries their own, various moans and exclamations of delight erupting across the table.
When Mor finally bites at one end of hers, her eyes go wide. "Oh my," She murmurs, looking up to Livana who is now watching her closely. They hold eye contact for a few seconds, a silent conversation passing between. Mor eventually looks to Az, who's as tense as can be, small shadows appearing for the first time tonight, circling around his wrists. "Don't lose this one, Azriel, because you would be a damn fool to let go of someone who can make something this good." And with that, Mor plants her figurative stamp of approval on the baker.
The shadows vanish completely, and the shadow singer smiles grandly, snaking an arm around a blushing Liv and pressing a kiss against her temple. "I wouldn't dream of it."
Summary: After months as his prisoner, Hybern has hijacked your mind, turning you into an enemy of your home, your family, and your mate, Azriel.
Warnings: Violence, torture, injuries
Words: 1,472
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Part 2 ∇
“Oh my word!” Feyre ran towards the Spymaster while he waded through the grass of the camp ground, your unconscious body still close to his chest. “Is she alright?”
Azriel didn't answer as he stalked past, his eyes focused forward as he geared for his tent – your tent. Rhys caressed his mate’s face, catching her up mind to mind.
As promised, Madja was already inside, preparing the cot and supplies she may need. She hurried over to the Shadowsinger as soon as he burst through the entrance, not waiting for him to set you down to make her initial observations. While you were limp in his arms, Madja pressed her fingers to your wrist and placed the back of her palm against your clammy forehead, tutting under her breath.
While he didnt dare speak, Azriel’s golden eyes swirled with desperation, his gaze begging her for good news. His shadows hovered around you, doing their best to keep away as Madja assessed you. Drawing her hands back across her chest, she let out a quick breath.
“She’ll live,” she said plainly, Azriel’s figure sagging in relief for the third time that night. “She’s severely malnourished, dehydrated, and she’s fighting an infection. There’s also something else I can't quite place.”
“It’s poison.” Rhys spoke from behind Azriel, he and Feyre having entered the tent. “I can see how it plagues her mind.”
Azriel couldn't help the twang of jealousy he felt at his brother’s deamati abilities. To be able see into your mind and ease your pain, to help you sleep – these were things he would sell his soul to provide for you.
“I can feel it too, through the bond,” Azriel added gruffly. “And smell it in her scent.”
Madja nodded. “We’ll need to find the exact source for the right antidote.”
“We’ll arrange for Cassian to search the prison,” Feyre said calmly, her eyes distant as she reached the General through his mind.
Madja ushered Azriel towards the cot, directing him to place you down. It took a quiet moment to fight his own instinct to ever let you go, but your mate set you down gently, bringing a soft hand to caress your cheek. Your skin was greyish, lacking sunlight, blood, life… Azriel hoped the pain he felt at the sight of your disheveled state couldn't be sensed down the bond.
“What of her pain?” he asked helplessly, crouching at your side. Rhys’s hand rested on his shoulder, Azriel refusing to turn from you.
“I’ve blocked her pain and willed a dreamless sleep,” Rhys reassured him.
“Good,” said Madja. “Keep it that way. She needs to fight the infection.” Rhys nodded tightly and Azriel sighed, noting the beads of sweat that formed on your face. Reaching for a nearby cloth, he dotted the sweat away.
Madja shooed Azriel away from your cot, working to clean the visible cuts and aid the bruises that spotted your body. Rhys took the opportunity to pull his brother to the side – his shadows lingering back, soothing you while you slept.
“Az, you need to prepare yourself for when she wakes.”
Azriel frowned, folding his arms over his chest, blue siphons flaring. “Why? What’s wrong?”
Feyre looked between the two males before placing a gentle hand on Azriel’s forearm. “Y/N was not herself when Rhys and Cass found her,” she said softly, her eyes full of sympathy for the Shadowinger.
“What are you saying?” Azriel's jaw ticked, his usual stoic demeanour replaced with irritated impatience and concern.
“She didn't recognise who we were,” Rhys said. Azriel’s eyes darted between his High Lord and Lady, now panicked. Rhys spoke quickly. “It’s likely the poison had caused her delirium, but she was violent Az, completely feral if I may speak plainly.”
Azriel pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “I can feel her down the bond. She’s still there, she’ll remember.”
“Good,” Feyre said with a broken smile. “That’s good. Keep reaching out, keep her grounded.” She rubbed her hand up and down his arm now, attempting to soothe him.
Azriel nodded, looking past the couple as your limp state. Overwhelmed by relief, regret, and fear of the unknown, tears began to sting at the Shadowsinger’s eyes. Burying his face in one hand, he tried to hide the evidence of his emotions, but his friends were too perceptive.
‘It’ll be ok, Az,” Feyre soothed.
“She’s here now brother, try not to fret,” Rhys added.
Now that he had found you, Azriel finally allowed the shame he had been burying for all those months to surface. “She’s my mate,” he said quietly, his husky voice breaking as his tears flowed freely. “She’s my mate, and I let this happen to her.”
Feyre and Rhys exchanged a pained look, agreeing down their own bond that if it had been the other, they would likely blame themselves too.
Ever so thoughtfully, Feyre guided Azriel to a seat next to your cot. Azriel slumped into the chair, his face buried in his hands as he tried to control his emotions. His shadows found him again, building around his frame – hiding, concealing.
“Stay with her brother,” Rhys patted Azriel on the shoulder. “Help her find her way back.”
Azriel nodded stiffly, mumbling a thanks to his High Lord and Lady as they left you to sleep, and him to agonise in privacy.
————
You stumbled through never ending void of complete white. No sound could be heard, and the air was still. Your heart pounded as you looked around you – sensing danger was near, but you just couldn't see it.
This wasn't a dream, no, it was far too painful, but it wasn't reality either. It was a trance of types – one meant as a message or warning. One you would be sure to adhere.
You whirled, searching for any signs of life. Walking was becoming more difficult, your limbs heavy as if something plagued you, dragging you down.
Finally, you reached the edge. The edge of nothingness. Peering down, you could only see depth. One more step would send you careening into the white abyss, falling forever into nothingness, never to be found again. Your head ached as you tried to remember anything beyond this place. A world, a face, even a sound. The pain was blinding, even just to think.
It was then that you saw the shadows, the unmistakable peaks of wings blocking whatever light and warmth as they cast over you. Gasping, you spun, your stance instinctively defensive.
The male grinned down at you, his wicked smile lethal as his hazel eyes swirled. A long, serpent-like tongue glided over his teeth – no, fangs. You didn't know what he was – a devil, a demon, perhaps an angel of death. Every part of your screamed at you to take that jump of the edge, begging you to choose the infinite free fall than to be surely killed by this thing.
His figure grew then, elongating and towering over you as his eyes changed from honey gold to a vicious red. Shadows swarmed you, pinning you to the ground. It was too late to run.
“Leave me alone!” you managed to scream, fighting against the shadows. It was hard to hear your voice over the roar of panic in your ears. Little light remained as darkness filled your vision, the creature lowering his gaze, preparing to attack. Hands turned to talons before a snarl ripped from him, his bright eyes fixed on your throat.
The snarl grew to a roar as he launched, a piercing sound escaping you as you screamed for your life.
————
Azriel jumped as you jolted awake, flying upwards as you clung to your chest, gasping. With frantic eyes you scanned the room, clutching at your filthy tunic and running a shaky hand through your hair. Azriel’s heart broke at your panic, before quickly pounding in anticipation. This was the moment he had ached, dreamt and killed for – the moment he got his mate back.
“Y/N?” he said softly, his voice just above a whisper. Frantic eyes found him then, widening, then darkening as they fixed on his face.
He slowly raised a hand to his chest, the other extending to your cot. “Y/N, my love, I’m so sorry.” Azriel’s eyes swelled with despair, his guilt consuming as he reached for you. You remained unmoving, your gaze shifting to where his hand now rested, almost touching you.
“It’s alright. You’re safe now,” he said in attempt to reassure you. Your chest moved up and down with breathy pants, your eyes trailing his strong arm back to his face as you studied him.
There was a beat of silence between you, just the sound of your breathing filling the tent. Your expression was unreadable as you stared at him blankly.
“Y/N, it’s me, Azriel.”
Despite Rhys’s warning, Azriel was unprepared when you launched for him, knocking him to the floor.
Eyes wide, he clawed at your hands that were tightly wrapped around his neck, your own eyes dark as you slowly choked the air out of the Shadowsinger.
--------
Part 3 >>>
AN: 👀 I hope you liked Part 2!!! 💕
Comment if you’d like to join the series or general tag list, and thank you always for reading!
Summary: You’ve been kidnapped by Hybern’s army, and Azriel gets injured during the mission to rescue you.
Thank you lillithathecat for requesting 24. Soulmates - one risks their life for the other + 26. Tending to injuries.
Day 4/5 for 500!! Enjoy! 💗
Warnings: Violence, injuries
Words: 1,963
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“Azriel!!” you screamed, thrashing against the arms of the soldiers that held you back.
He had come to save you – just as Hybern had expected. Like an angel of the night, he swooped at the army below, slitting throats with his sword and choking others with his shadows. You tried to scream for him, to warn him this was a trap, but it was already too late.
Azriel spotted you then, hovering in the air for just a moment before making for your direction. He didn't get far as a quiver of arrows shot through the air, piercing his wings.
You knew those arrows would be laced with Faebane, and your eyes widened in terror. Azriel roared as he flapped against the pain, blood now spilling from multiple wound sites. You screamed his name again, watching your angel fall from the sky.
Cassian appeared in front of you then, and Feyre close behind him as she winnowed into place. He looked past you, grunting as he swung his sword at the guards, not giving them a chance to fight back as they fell to the ground. You heard more yelling, and turned to see Feyre’s water wolves unleashed onto the rest of Hybern’s men.
Your heart pounded in your ears as you tried to spot Azriel amongst the fight, panic rising in your throat as you could no longer see the troughs of his wings. On instinct, you launched into a sprint, heading straight to where he had fallen – before a strong hand caught your wrist.
“Hey! Are you alright?” Cassian’s ran his eyes over you with concern, his chest heaving from the fight.
“Azriel!” was all you could shriek as you pulled against his hold.
“I know, it’s alright. Rhys has winnowed him back to the camp.”
You stopped pulling, your eyes darting between Cassian’s as you tried to process through your panic. “Take me to him.”
Cassian flicked his eyes down to your bloodied lip and bruised face – Hybern’s army had showed you little mercy as their bait. “You’re injured.” was all he said.
“I’m fine,” you growled. “Take me to Azriel, please.”
Feyre appeared beside you both, and she placed a firm hand on your shoulder. “The wolves will finish the rest of them. Let’s go.” Air and wind ripped around you as she winnowed you back to the base camp.
The moment your feet hit the ground, you were running to find Azriel. You could scent his blood, bile rising in your throat as you raced against the clock.
Bursting into the medical tent, you saw him sprawled on his stomach, his grunts filling the tent as his body jerked in pain, the Faebane spreading. You broke at the site of his wings, the skin of them shredded and withered as the poison worked fast. Rhys was beside him, holding his brother’s hand as he spoke softly, likely working to ease his pain.
“Azriel,” you rasped, your face crumpling as you rushed to him. Closer now, you could see the way his brows pulled as he panted and sweat. “Y/N,” he gasped, trying to raise his head.
“Shh, don’t try to speak,” you said, eyeing his back and watching his wings twitch another time. Something snapped in you then, and instinct took over as you fetched ointments and bandages and got to work.
Your hands shook as you hovered over the first of many arrows you would need to remove. “This is going to hurt,” you warned, before pulling on the wooden stem, clenching your teeth as Azriel sounded a yelp. You cried for him as you discarded the arrow, pressing on the wounds to stop the bleeding and rubbing ointment to halt the spread of the poison. Sweat stung your eyes as you tried to focus, doing your best to ignore the voice that questioned if it would be enough to save him.
“Where is Madja?” you gritted, pulling another arrow which caused another jerk from Azriel. He had stopped yelling now, and you knew he was slipping further into exhaustion.
“She’s on her way,” Rhys said tightly, his eyes glowing as he continued to manage Azriel’s pain from his mind. Feyre stood beside you, replacing the bandages and dressings you needed as she watched your handiwork with a pained expression.
You didn't respond as you ground your teeth, pulling out the last of the arrows.
“There,” you said, moving to crouch at Azriel’s face, his eyes blinking in and out of sleep. “They’re all out.” You couldn’t help the instinct it was to softly stroke the side of his face. “Madja will be here soon.”
“Thank you,” Azriel said, his voice weak. ‘A-are you ‘k?”
“I’m fine, Az,” you said softly with a broken smile. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Good,” was the last thing he said before finally giving in to exhaustion.
Stepping back, your ran shaking hands over your face as you tried to breath. You were riddled with worry as you paced the tent. What if Madja doesn’t have the right antidote? What if she doesn’t arrive in time, and he dies in his sleep? What if his wings never heal?
“Hey, hey,” Rhys caught you then, steadying your shoulders. “It’s going to be alright.”
You broke then, falling to your knees as the events of the past day caught up with you. You had been snatched from your own tent and beaten by Hybern’s army. They had used you as bait, promising to kill anyone you would try to retrieve you. You begged Rhys mind to mind for him and the rest of the circle not to come – you would rather have died than risk their lives. But they had come anyway – Azriel now at death’s door because of it.
Rhys’s and Feyre were on you then, rubbing your back and reassuring you softly. You couldn't hear them over the sound of your own cries.
“He might die,” was all you could get out, your voice strained and broken.
Feyre held you close, as Rhys took your hands in his. “You’ve done an excellent job at removing the arrows, Y/N. Azriel is stronger than you think. Madja will be here soon, he’ll survive this.”
You looked back at Rhys, your expression longing, desperate to believe him.
Feyre pulled you up gently, her arms firm around your shoulders. “You’re injured too Y/N. Why don't we have you checked by a healer, hmm?”
She wasn't wrong, your body ached with bruises, blood crusted at your lips and nose, and you were sure you had a few broken ribs. But panic rose at the thought of leaving Azriel’s side, and you shook your head stubbornly. “I won't leave him.”
Feyre exchanged a look with her mate before nodding. “I understand,” she said gently.
Madja arrived shortly after, bustling over Azriel’s back while he slept. She came with a specially brewed liquid, and asked you to feed it to him while she reapplied his patches. You felt awful waking him from the rest he needed, but Azriel had grunted in acknowledgement, swallowing the liquid as you bought the vile to his lips. You gently placed his head back down on the cot, stroking his hair as you hoped painless sleep would find him again soon.
The rest of the Circle had come to the tent to hear Madja’s update – Azriel was stable, and she credited your work to remove the Faebane as soon as possible. His wings would take months to heal, but he would be able to fly again. Your body sagged in relief, tears falling once again as you glanced at the large Illyrian who slept through the quiet conversation.
You refused to leave his side, watching him take deep breaths in and out, each one a blessing. He was so brave, so selfless, and it shook you to think he had risked his own life to save yours. You were rather new to the Inner Circle – and Azriel, while polite, had always been quiet and reserved. While you had previously considered him a friend, the extent of his sacrifice showed you he meant so much more.
Slumped in a chair beside his cot, you finally nodded off to sleep in the early hours of the morning. You don't know how long it was before you jolted awake at the sound of Azriel stirring. Leaping up, you immediately went to him, crouching at his side.
“Y/N?” he coughed, voice hoarse.
“I’m here.”
Azriel blinked at you, trying to focus after hours of sleep. “You’re alive?”
“Alive and safe, thanks to you.”
“Thank the Cauldron,” he said gruffly, before trying to raise himself. A grunt escaped him, and he fell back down in his cot, not yet strong enough to sit up.
You bought a soft hand to his arm, rubbing it gently. “How’s your pain?”
“I’m alright,” he answered, an obvious lie.
“Madja says you’ll make a full recovery.”
Azriel hummed at that. You couldn't believe he was concerned with your wellbeing before his own.
“Azriel,” you said, blinking upwards to try and stop the tears that brewed. “I’m so sorry.”
He frowned at you then. “Whatever for?”
“You risked your life for my own. Your wings” you waved a hand to his back. You were glad he couldn't yet see the splatter of dressings and dried blood that covered them.
Azriel sighed, closing his eyes. “I had to get you back.”
You blinked at him, one slow tear rolling down your cheek. “I asked Rhys for you not to come.”
“I know,” he replied, opening his eyes again, their hazel glow boring into yours. “You’re a fool to have asked.”
You laughed then, clutching at the sharp pain at your ribs. Azriel smiled back softly.
“You’re smiling,” he said gently. You finished your laugh, returning his smile as you nodded. “You have a beautiful laugh.” You were sure it was the exhaustion that willed him to say it, but never the less, a blush tinged your cheeks so quickly you had to look away. Azriel reached for you then, and you clasped his scarred hand between your own.
“I was so worried about you,” you admitted, pain returning to your eyes. He closed his lids again, a hint of his smile still there. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
You frowned now, pulling your hands back to wrap around your stomach. “I couldn't stand the thought of you dying for me.”
“It’s my duty.”
“I know. But, what a waste.”
Azriel’s eyes snapped open. “Don’t ever say that again.”
You swallowed, guilt working its way through you. “Promise me you won't ever do something so reckless again.”
“No,” he said tightly. “It wasn’t reckless, Y/N. It was necessary.” Azriel took a quick breath before continuing. “You’re very important to me.”
You sighed at his response, shaking your head and placing one hand atop of his. “You’re important to me too Az.”
Azriel’s eyes bored into yours as you shared a silent moment. He cleared his throat then, flicking his gaze to your chest. “You need to see a healer,” he remarked, eyeing the way in which you clutched at your ribs.
“No,” you said quickly. “I’m fine right here.”
Azriel nodded, before a painful cough racked through him.
You blinked, realising he might like some privacy. “You should rest some more” you said shyly, straightening yourself as you got up to leave.
A scarred hand caught your wrist.
“Don't go.” Azriel’s voice was soft, and it was the most vulnerable you had ever seen the Shadowsinger. “Please, stay here with me.” he added, eyes pleading.
You smiled now, once again stroking his face. “Always.”
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✨Comment to join the ACOTAR tag list ✨
Tag list:@kennedy-brooke @cosmic-whispers @jazmin2211 @psychobookaholic @fieldofdaisiies @marina468
🥲This is not a request. But have you ever imagined Az with a sociable person, and she often makes everyone around her laugh because she's funny, and partly because she's clumsy. Like she was talking to Cassian and the conversation was cut off because she tripped over something and fell. And she's the type who falls but laughs at herself because she finds it funny too
Sounds like drabble time to me!! (my first one!)
Do people name drabbles? Anyway, this one's called Salad:
Azriel was walking through the house to find you, his ears pricking as a rumble of laughter sounded from the kitchens
Pausing at the doorway, he found you with Cassian and Mor, retelling of your recent mission, your hands raised with dramatic flare
Finding a stray carrot on the cutting table, you held it pointed to your neck like a dagger, explaining how you escaped your "near death", clearly embellishing for their benefit
Cassian's booming laughter filled the room again, and Mor clutched at her stomach
Azriel stayed by the door, leaning on its frame as he folded his arms, a small smile resting on his face as he watched you entertain his friends. He was always in awe of your natural charisma, of how you could light up a room.
And as you swung the carrot as if it were a mighty sword, you lost your footing, shrieking as you tried to clutch at anything for balance
Landing on a large bowl of salad, your fingers grazed the side as you fell, sending cut vegetables flying through the air and the wooden bowl flipping before landing directly on your head
Raising the bowel over your eyes, you saw Mor and Cassian clinging to each other in hysterics, Mor wiping away her tears as Cassian clutched at his pecs, howling
Heat tinged your cheeks more pink than the radishes stuck in your hair, before laughter erupted from you too
A husky chuckle sounded from the doorway, and you whipped your head around to see Azriel shaking his head, an adoring smile planted on his handsome face
"My mate, ever the graceful emissary."
Palming for your mock-sword, you flung the carrot straight for your mate's face, which he caught smoothly before quirking his brow at you, igniting butterflies in your stomach
That look said you'd be paying for that later, so you stuck out your tongue for good measure
Summary: After the birth of Nyx, you celebrate with lots of family time. With everyone watching, you and Azriel keep your distance – that is until you're left alone in the House of Wind...
Family time followed by smut!! 🌶️ 🌶️ 🌶️ 18+ (Minor DNI)
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5* | Part 6* | Part 7* | Part 8 | Part 9* | Part 10 | Part 11* | Part 12* | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15* | Part 16* | Part 17* | Part 18*| Part 19* | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22
Warnings: SMUT, p in v, swearing, 18+ only (Minors DNI)
Word count: 2,172
The celebration of Nyx’s birth lasted a full week.
The whole of Velaris came together to rejoice with a festival, during which you made many public appearances alongside your family. There was music, food, gifts and of course drinks, and it was deemed an annual celebration of his life.
Your heart was full of gratitude and immense relief that Rhys and Feyre had survived. You and Azriel exchanged smiles from a distance – with all eyes on you, it was not a time to risk getting caught.
And of course, you spent almost all of your free time at the River House, dotting over your nephew. You coddled and rocked him when he stirred, admiring his tiny wings. You couldn't wait to teach him to fly.
When he was tired, you sang him a melody your mother used to sing to you.
“I haven’t heard that song in many years,” Rhys smiled from behind you, leaning against the doorway of Nyx’s nursery.
“Ah well, I hear it in my dreams sometimes,” you admitted, not meeting his eyes.
Rhys walked over and watched as you settled Nyx into his cot, his blue eyes now blinking with sleep.
“Sister,” Rhys said, placing a hand on your shoulder.
“Brother?” you replied, waiting for what he really wanted to say. You turned and faced him.
“I wanted to apologise again for the promise I made to Feyre. We never intended for anyone to be hurt by it, especially you. I’m sorry.”
“I know you are,” you smiled tightly back at your brother, placing your hand atop of his.
“But we should perhaps discuss the reality of the situation at hand,” Rhys continued. “Should we… find ourselves in danger again.”
You swallowed as your gut lurched. “We will always be in danger, Rhys.”
Rhys nodded, agreeing with your statement. “Should anything happen to us before Nyx is of age, you are next in line to lead the Night Court until he is an adult.”
You frowned. “Even as a female?”
“Yes, of course.”
You shook your head, not wanting to think about what he was saying. You couldn’t imagine stepping up as High Lady of the Night Court, especially not while mourning Rhys and Feyre. “I suppose we’ll have to be particularly cautious from here on.”
Rhys kept his eyes on you as you turned back to Nyx, stroking the baby’s dark hair gently.
“You would make an incredible High Lady,” Rhys said to you.
You flicked your eyes over to him, and saw his face was one of pride.
“Those are kind words brother, but I’ll be doing everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” you sighed, turning to face him fully. “What I mean is, you’re a father now Rhys. And for every risk you take, the consequence is tripled.”
Rhys frowned at you, his expression serious.
“You need to lean on me brother,” you continued. “The dangerous missions, the selflessness and ongoing sacrifices, you need to trust me to make them, instead of yourself. Velaris needs you, and I will not let Nyx grow up without his parents.”
Rhys nodded slowly. “I appreciate your offer sister, but–“
“It’s not an offer,” you cut him off. “It’s not an offer, nor is it a suggestion. I will be the one who makes those sacrifices from here on. I will keep you safe.”
Rhys sighed, looking down at his son as he took in your words. He smiled softly as his violet eyes found yours again.
“My brave, selfless sister,” he said. “You have grown into such an admirable female.”
You rolled your eyes on instinct. “Well, I am your best sister.”
Rhys laughed, swatting you with a gentle hand.
“I love you, Y/N,” Rhys said, his arm encompassing you as you both admired Nyx who was now fast asleep.
“I love you too, brother,” you said, savouring the relief that your brother was safe and alive, and standing next to you – for now.
————
The next night was your first back at the House of Wind. And after a long day of paper work, you were searching the corridors for some company to join you for dinner.
“Hello?” you called out to an empty house, padding through the hallways. You knew Mor was away on business, but where were the others?
You reached one of the sitting rooms with large windows that faced the city, windows frosted slightly from the cold. The fireplace lit up, and you whispered a thank you to the house before making your way to the windows to admire the view.
Something in you told you that you weren’t alone.
“Beautiful view, isn’t it?” you asked out loud, knowing who would answer.
“It is,” Azriel replied.
You turned to look at him, and his eyes were already fixed on you. You wondered if he was talking about the view at all.
Azriel wore blank slacks and a tunic with the sleeves rolled up. You smiled, it was nice to see him relaxed and out of his leathers.
“Staying in tonight?” you asked.
“I think I will.” Azriel was more stiff than usual. You guessed it had to do with the weeks you had spent ignoring your affair. “And yourself?”
“I’m too cold to go anywhere,” you chuckled, pulling your sweater higher on your neck.
Azriel nodded, hands behind his back. You heart stirred at his handsomeness, the way his broad figure filled the room, his wings tucked in while his hazel eyes bored into yours.
You both stayed silent, neither of you moving.
There was a perfectly good lounge set, a plush rug on the floor, and a fireplace to keep you warm. You cursed the part of your brain that noted that detail.
You saw Azriel eye the lounge too. More silence. You cleared your throat.
“We… shouldn’t. Right?” you dared to ask, hoping he knew what you meant. Your insides throbbed at the idea.
“No, we shouldn’t.”
“Not in the middle of the house,” you nodded.
“Where anyone could walk in,’ he agreed.
“Especially when we shouldn’t be doing… what it is that we do,” you waved your hand between the two of you.
Azriel went quiet. Did he not agree?
“What you’re saying, Y/N, is that I shouldn't take you right now, up against the glass, entering you from behind and pushing into you again and again until you cum?” he asked, eyes lighting up with lust.
Your cheeks flooded with pink at the vision.
You gulped. “No, you shouldn’t.”
Azriel took a few steps closer. “And I shouldn’t lay you down here on this rug, filling you slowly before fucking you so hard you scream my name?”
Oh gods. You couldn’t help the wetness that leaked from you, and you knew your scent was filling the room. Azriel’s eyes darkened as he caught it.
“No, you shouldn’t.” Your voice was a mere whisper, completely unconvincing.
“Alright then,” Azriel said, cocking an eyebrow at you. You looked down, noticing the outline of his cock in his pants, your knees weakening at the sight.
Azriel turned to leave without saying another word.
Stop him! Your heart said. One more time, your brain countered. This would be your last, you willed, before calling his name.
“Azriel.”
He stopped in his tracks, turning his head over his shoulder.
“Please, fuck me.”
He turned, a cocky smirk already planted on his beautiful face. “Well get over here.”
You ran at him, leaping into his arms and wrapping your legs around his waist.
He gripped you from your ass, his not mouth on yours in animalistic heat as your ground against him.
Azriel walked you over to the glass, setting you down before ripping off your sweater. You worked just as fast to unbutton his tunic, looking up at him through your lashes with desire.
With your chest now bare, Azriel stopped and admired you, eyebrows scrunching as if in pain. He bought his mouth down to your chest, his mouth enveloping your beast as he sucked, before moving to the next one.
“You are delicious,” he growled.
You bought his mouth back up to yours, one hand around his neck as you palmed him through his pants.
Grunting from your touch, Azriel spun you around as he gently pushed you against the glass. The cold hit your nipples, making you whimper at the sensation.
“I told you I would take you against the glass, sweetheart.”
You quivered at his filthy words. “You’ve always been true to your word,” you said cheekily. Azriel chuckled as he kissed the back on your neck, before pulling your leggings down.
He ran his hands down your arms lovingly, before pushing your palms again the glass. “You’re going to want to brace yourself, baby girl.”
You felt Azriel cup your sex from behind, your body jolting in pleasure. It had been weeks since you had sex, and you were beyond needy.
“Always so wet for me,” Azriel murmured as you felt him rub his hard tip along your slit.
Your breasts and face were pressed further into the glass as he slowly entered you, your moan creating a fog against the cold window.
“That’s it, take my cock,” Azriel growled, lost in his own lust.
He had only just got the head in when he pulled out of you and pushed back in, building a rhythm and entering you a little deeper each time. He ground his hips against your backside, stretching you and you writhed and moaned against the glass.
Azriel gripped your shoulders while he picked up his speed, thrusting into you again and again.
“I want the whole of Velaris to see how I fuck you,” he grunted. You could only in response.
You reached back, desperate to touch his face as his mouth met yours, tongues swirling together while you fucked. The room was filled with the slapping sounds of your bodies.
The weeks without sex meant it only took you a few minutes to reach your climax, your clutch on Azriel tightening as he continued to rock you at a steady speed.
“That’s it sweetheart, let go for me.” It was all you needed to hear as you contracted, falling back against his chest as he held and coached you through your pleasure.
Azriel withdrew from you, snaking one arm under your knees as he picked you up against his chest, walking you over to the fireplace.
“A man of my word, did you say?” he teased with a male smile, laying you down gently on the rug. The plush fibres filled between your fingers as Azriel spread your legs and re-entered you.
You whimpered at how much he filled you, still sensitive from your orgasm not moments before. Azriel kissed you through your sounds.
“Oh baby, you take me so well. Look at how I fuck you.”
You looked down, watching Azriel enter you over and over, filling your depths. He placed a hand against your lower stomach, pushing down to feel himself in you. You jerked at the sensation, the extra pressure sending your mind into a sensual frenzy.
You began to rock back, desperate for more friction, more of him. Azriel chuckled at your panting before giving in and fucking you fast, his head buried in your neck.
“Yes, Y/N, that’s it, take me,” he grunted, his voice deep and breathy.
“Yes Az, please, harder, fuck me harder!” you moaned, unable to control the volume of your voice. You didn't care if anyone came home, didn't care if they heard. You just needed Azriel deep within you.
Azriel did not disappoint, bringing his knees up to create a new angle, reaching even further in your depths. You twitched at the feeling of him hitting your hilt, your second release not moments away.
“Gods, Y/N, I’m going to finish deep in you sweetheart,” Azriel panted, his strong movements rocking you both back and forth.
You were unmade at those words. A cry ripped from you as you screamed his name, rippling around his shaft as you milked him deep into your sex.
Azriel cursed, teeth gritting as he thrusted a few more times before tilting his head back in a lust-filled roar. He jutted inside you, filling you up as you felt his seed seep from you, spreading to the insides of his thighs.
“Oh Gods, Az,” you moaned, coming down from your high as you cradled his face.
Azriel kissed you between his pants, unable to find his words as he softened.
You laid together for a while, the fire crackling as you shared the warmth between your naked bodies.
But the time came when laying about naked turned from sensually stupid to risky, and the gnawing feeling of guilt and regret returned to you again.
You lifted yourself off the rug and found your clothes, preparing for what you needed to say to Azriel.
This was your last time.
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Part 24 >>>
AN: Ah it's good to be back!! I hope you liked this chapter, we've got just 2 more until the series wraps up 😭Thank you for all your support so far – each like, reply and reblog means so much 💕
