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Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 23

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I’m so relieved to finally be getting to this fun part of the story!

word count: 5,699

-Part 22-

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Already there’s a horse and cart in the street, trunks and chests neatly stacked in the back, iron padlocks weighing heavy to keep possessions sealed. Blankets and rugs are tied in bundles, bedsheets and pillowcases that you can still smell, remember the feel of them; the warmth they retained. The heat of bare skin flush to your back. Sleepy golden eyes, sharp even when softened by early morning light. 

There’s a lump in your throat. 

Held between two chests is an open-topped crate, a myriad of personal belongings jumbled about inside: a box you know contains golden rings, his favourite being the one plain band that wraps two hands around his thumb, clinging snugly; a board game you’d tried to play after drinking, back before you’d become closer than friends; wooden goblets with geometric designs burned into their curve; a pair of glasses with circular, coloured lenses. A stack of something wrapped in cloth which must be crockery, ceramic plates with illustrations of crude figures pick-axing ice. A neatly folded quilt is tied down to one of the chests, the one that had been tucked over the back of his armchair, made up of pinks, oranges, magentas, and turquoise. Small tassels hanging off the ends that he’d made himself. 

The door to his house is propped open with a wedge crafted of iron, featuring a rabbit in a coat with carrots stuffed in his pockets. Bas’ figure emerges from the comparative darkness lofting a second, smaller crate in his arms. His eyes find yours but he makes no reaction save for the tightening of the skin at his knuckles. He exits through the waist-high wooden gate, walking to the back of the cart to heft the crate in front of the one your eyes had been previously resting on. “Hi,” you say, stepping closer but pausing a respectful distance away. Bas makes no sign of acknowledgement, muscles in his forearms flexing as he hefts the crate into place, pressing it flush to the back. You consider walking away—he clearly isn’t interested in speaking with you, but… “You’re leaving already?” 

Bas turns, his expression unchanging, still retaining the frown of concentration from transporting heavy objects to and fro but seemingly colder now you’ve appeared. His stature casts a shadow over you. “Something you want?” He asks, tone clipped but not quite sharp enough to be impatient. Softened at the end. You watch him for a moment—nothing seems sufficient enough or appropriate. ‘I’m sorry’, ‘I miss you’, ‘how are you’. Would any of those suffice? You can’t imagine them doing so. Instead you shift on your feet, casting a portion of your attention to the moving wagon standing stationary at the foot of his front garden. “It looks like you’ll be gone soon,” you observe, speaking quieter than normal for an open day. After a beat, Bas folds his arms over his chest. “Either tomorrow or the day after.” Golden eyes shift to the cart, glancing over the trunks, “Ma’s still got a few things to pack, but once those are loaded we’ll be off.” 

Off and gone to the Winter Court, almost entirely out of your reach. You only have six months left to live—do you have enough time to spend on giving him space? You can’t expect him to forgive you so suddenly, so swiftly. People aren’t made like that. But can you risk that time? If you die before seeing him again, or if this is the last time you see him you can’t risk being anything other than honest. But being honest in a situation like this…you need the time to pass to give it the deserved weight. Springing your timeline on him… You don’t want to tell him like this. So instead you look over your shoulder, glancing back into his house. “Got any more boxes that need carrying?” 

“Carrying boxes isn’t going to fix shit,” Bas mutters, the poisoned tone catching you off guard. Have you earned yourself that venom? Apparently so. 

“I just want to help,” you murmur, looking back at him. “I might not get to see you again.” 

“Your sister’s High Lady. I’m sure reaching Winter Court would hardly require a lift of her fingertips,” Bas snaps. His lips press themselves together, like he regrets the outburst. You look down, peering at the cobbles beneath your feet and give a small shake of your head. “I… If you don’t want me there, I won’t visit.” The words sting your throat like bile, hating how they sound on your tongue. “If you want your space I won’t intrude. But it… Obviously I’d like to be able to see you again.” 

A few beats pass without a reply, the quiet resting on your shoulders and you make an effort not to let it ruin the moment. You clear your throat, shaking off the mood and glancing up at him, “So. Any crates I can take?” Your heart quickens—if he denies you here it’s a full stop. You can’t imagine you’d be able to find him again if you lose him. The Winter Court is large, and their ties already strained with the Night Court—there’ll be no strings to pull. But it’s his decision now. It’s in his hands. 

Bas’ jaw works, his eyes narrowing on you in a way they haven’t done in a long time, but it seems he relents, nodding once toward his house, a loc falling across his temple with the sharp movement. “There are two small boxes in the front entrance, one contains shoes and fabrics, and the other contains herbs. Herbs go on top, yeah?” You nod your head, keeping the smile locked up tight. “Herbs go on top.” 

The box full of shoes is surprisingly weighty and you wonder if there are more than a few pairs of boots inside, studded with metal that might be weighing the crate down in your arms. Still you manage, sliding it into place on the last row of space available in the wagon before heading back to collect the box of herbs. You can pick out some of the scents: tarragon, mint, thyme. A hint of pepper and cardamon. The slight warmth of cinnamon and ginger. Rosemary. “I won’t forgive you if you try and make off with my herb box,” a voice calls from further inside. 

You start, gripping the small chest tight. 

Bas is watching from the living room doorway that leads to the hallway, stairs appearing behind him and the kitchen a little further beyond. It’s disturbing in a surreal way, to be standing inside the bones of his home. Gone are the dried herbs and flowers that had been strung along the walls and ceiling beams, rug removed from the floors and furniture sparse of cushions and quilts. Everything that made it a home, every personal detail seems to have been painstakingly stripped away, leaving only that scent of rosemary and freshly tilled earth that has familiarity stretching aching limbs in your chest. 

You summon a huff of laughter, glinting down at the plain chest. “It’s certainly tempting me…” You remember trying foods with him. Things you didn’t have access to in the woods. Dishes you wouldn’t have had access to even if you’d remained in high society. All the different herbs and spices they have here, in Prythian. The range of climates allowing for a variety of taste to grow. You remember the first time he’d soaked chicken in wine among other things, how the meat had tasted a little more bearable, flavoured and soft and tender. Feeling more like meat than leather, without the salty burn to help preserve the food.

“One more upstairs then it’s on Ma.” Bas’ statement cuts through the silent memories washing through, bringing a tremble to your fingertips but you nod. Once you load this chest into the wagon then it’s done on your end. Nothing to keep the conversation going. You manage a small smile but don’t meet his eyes as you turn with the chest in hand, walking it out to the cart and loading it in. From inside you pick out the footfalls of Bas descending the staircase and you stand back to give him room. He slides the box into place and lifts the panels of wood that will prevent any trunks from sliding out on an uphill, latching it in place. Safe and secure. 

For some reason you can’t look at him. As if looking at him will mean acknowledging it’s over, and he’s going away. 

For a moment you simply stand alongside the wagon, neither sure what to say, what to do now the shared task has been completed. Now it’s time for another decision to be made. 

Bas breaks the silence. “Thanks for the help.” You look at him, running your eyes over his expression, trying to gain hints to what’s okay to reply with. Trying to make the right choices. “Thanks for letting me help,” you reply, clearing your throat and glancing back to the wagon. Bas pats his hand once against the wood, shifting to lean his weight against the structure. “We’re going to be heading up northeast first,” he tells you and your ears prick with hope. “Ma’s got a sister who lives around there—near the coast. They haven’t spoken in a long time, but she figured if we’re moving it would be good to let her know.” 

You nod your head slowly. “Have you met your aunt before?” Bas shrugs his shoulders, his eyes skating across belongings piled up in the back, “don’t think so. Not one I can remember, at least.” You nod again, looking toward the cobbles. You should be going. Letting him get on with packing up and moving. “I hope-” Your voice catches and you have to clear your throat, swallowing a breath. Looking up a little to meet his eyes. “I hope things are better for you, wherever you go. For you and your mother.” Is that too far? Have you pushed too much? Bas seems to be asking himself the same questions, and you hope he comes to a different conclusion. 

“Pa mentioned a statue to me once,” he says softly. “One made entirely out of ice, with snakes carved, wrapping around the feet of the first High Lord of the Winter Court. Apparently it’s about the height of one of the Old Pine’s and every scale of the snake’s skin was carved by the same hand.” Bas shifts, his golden eyes locking with yours. “I hadn’t thought much of it, but we’ll be trying to find a spot around that statue since it’s where Pa grew up. Something he remembered from his childhood.” 

Your heart falls numb for a second before skipping into a swift pulse, bumping against your ribs and you take in a subtle breath. You nod your head. Ice statue with snakes. Relief strikes so hard your legs are weakened, having to shift your weight from one hip to the other so a knee doesn’t buckle. “I hope you get to see it,” you manage, sounding strained before you swallow, nodding your head. “I hope you find what you’re looking for there.” 

Bas’ mouth tightens into something that might have been a smile, then he’s nodding his head once in reply and patting the cart again. “I need to check on Ma now—see how she’s managing with packing.” He pushes off from the wagon, and you turn to watch him pass through the waist-high garden gate. He pauses. 

“Give me some time though, yeah? I need…time. Some space. Let me adjust and settle down for a bit.”

You nod your head, happy enough he seems to be allowing you to visit. You can work from there. Earn back his trust. You realise he has his back turned and can’t see you, so offer your reply, “I will.” You want to say more. I’ll miss you until then. I’m sorry. Thank you. 

But, time. 

You still have some of that left to give. 

————

You take your time walking back to the River House, following the Sidra for some way. Affording yourself the allowance to peer in shop windows, gaze at people going about their lives, wondering about what their own stories are. 

You’re happy Bas decided to tell you. Not just about where he would be moving to but about the route he’d be taking to bypass his aunt. You know he didn’t have to tell you. You weren’t entitled to that knowledge, but he decided to tell you anyway. A small piece of forgiveness—a small, tentative first step. After so much darkness in your life it seems like a tiny star twinkling in the sky, clouds parting just long enough to catch a glimpse. A promise that there is good in the world, and if you’re in a bad place now it would be foolish to stop. 

You need to keep going in order to escape it. 

————

The kitchen is surprisingly full when you enter the entry way, discarding your cloak and outer layers to the hooks on the walls, taking care to ease out the ties of your boots before also discarding them alongside other sets. 

Inside there’s no need for jumpers or cloaks, fleeces or scarves. A muffled pop of a log sounds from the living room, honestly sounding closer to someone stepping heavily on an upper floorboard but there’s something about the warmth that tells you the fire’s lit. That and you can make out the faded orange flicker on the wall parallel to the living room’s door where flame light is colouring the cream wallpaper. The smell of heated food catches your attention and your stomach shifts in response, squeezing itself together in complaint as if to remind you of how empty it is. Some warmed bread and butter would be lovely to start the day with. There might even be some chilled clotted cream available in the ice-enchanted larder. 

Rounding the corner, you’re sure you haven’t ever seen the kitchen so full. Glancing at the clock mounted on the wall beside the crockery cabinet however, you realise it’s approaching lunch time. You suppose it makes sense—if Madja’s at ten O’clock and you left after that to visit Bas, then taking your time to walk back will have brought you to lunch. That would explain the business. 

Already there’s crackling from cooking oil on the stove, the smell of heated bread and salt, the slight fattiness of meat mixing with the sweetness of sliced fruit coming from another side of the large kitchen. An egg cracks and you hear the sizzle of it as it hits the pan, the knock of steel as it slices into a chopping board, the smell of chives, onions, and tomatoes greeting you next. On the main table sits sliced bread, baked through with diced olives and rosemary, butter sitting ready for the taking on a platter with a flattened knife propped on the tray’s side. 

Feyre, Mor, and Amren are already seated at the table, each with a plate of what appears to be mashed potato surrounded by steamed beans and thickly cut ovals of tender meat. Amren's plate holds meat more that anything else. Feyre tips a deep boat of spiced sauce over her mash so it drizzles atop the vegetables before passing the boat to Mor, seeming not to care they’re eating in the kitchen rather than the connected dining room. Nesta barks something at Cassian over the loud fritz of the oil and he passes two plates to her side before returning to the chopping board, a few moments later stepping close to her side to slide the sliced chives into the pan with the eggs. A shadow whisks past you into the room, depositing salt and pepper to the side of the stove before hurriedly returning the way it had come. You turn your head quick enough to catch as it scampers back to the upper floors, disappearing through the ceiling. 

At a side along the window-lined wall is Elain, pressing her fork into some well-mashed banana before scraping it off onto some toasted bread, already softened with butter. You make your way over, taking the serrated bread knife from beside her plate to cut a slice yourself, liking the look of the thick crust and seed-scattered bread. Her eyes find you and a smile follows swiftly after, taking in your appearance, “Was it you I heard come in?” You nod, holding the bread firmly as you grind the knife forward to cut the crust, “I forgot to eat breakfast before heading out and lost track of time.”

Pulling a plate down from one of the stacks inside a cabinet with a window in you move the slice from the chopping board, “You’re having lunch?” Elain’s cheeks warm, her lips tightening as she looks guiltily out onto the front garden. “My sleep was troubled,” she admits, “I only awoke around ten thirty this morning.” 

Your brows furrow. “You’re sleeping poorly?” 

“It seems that way.” Elain exhales, pausing the sweep of her knife across the mashed banana. “It’s just the same thing over and over again. I wish the beginning would fade now it’s passed but apparently I must watch the whole sequence from start to finish.” 

She’s still getting the vision? 

You look away from her—down to the side table, “I’m sorry.” But Elain shakes her head, sighing once more before straightening her shoulders. “I’m okay. It’s just a bit of lost sleep.” Before you can ask her anymore however, the sound of footsteps catch your attention, Rhysand and Azriel apparently having finished up whatever had been keeping them from joining the lunch. Elain pushes a smile to her lips then gestures with her eyes to the table, suggesting taking a seat. You follow after her. 

“Finally given up work to grace us with your presence?” Feyre muses, resting her chin atop the smooth skin of her tough knuckles. Rhysand lifts a brow, his mouth curving with a fondness specifically meant for his mate, “I gave you plenty of attention this morning, Feyre.” But your youngest sister doesn’t blush like you would have had a lover repeated those same words for you. Instead her mouth matches his curve, blue-grey eyes alight with twinkling mischief as she inclines her head toward Azriel. “In fact I was speaking to your Shadowsinger. His presence is much more appreciated.” The male in question dips his head by a degree, taking his seat beside Amren as silently as possible while the High Lord and Lady continue their domestic teasing. 

“Is that so?” Rhysand remarks, seating himself in the chair to Feyre’s right, opposite Mor. “Will you tell me what’s so much more appreciated about my brother’s presence than my own?” Feyre arches a brow, her smile widening, “I wouldn’t want to hurt your ego, preening and engorged as it is.” Rhys’ expression shifts to something verging on smug but Mor stabs a thick oval of meat with her fork, lifting it from the plate, shifting it between Rhys and Feyre, “enough from both of you. I don’t want to hear this over lunch.” The compass point of her fork settles on her cousin, Mor’s nose wrinkling, “Az also isn’t a smug bastard, unlike someone else I can think of.”

Elain takes the open seat beside Rhysand and opposite Amren, setting her plate down and drawing her chair back, leaving you to stiffly take the one at her side, across from Azriel. What poor seating choices you’ve all made.

Behind Amren and Azriel, Nesta presses to Cassian’s side who’s holding the plates aloft, keeping them steady as Nesta transfers the four eggs in the pan between them, two soft yolks for the two slices of buttered bread atop each plate. 

“Azriel also remembered to bring me blood more frequently than yourself, Rhys,” Amren drawls from opposite Elain, a wicked croon on her crimson-cut mouth. “Even when he didn’t want information from me,” she adds pointedly. Rhys tilts his head, a plate appearing out of thin air before him on the table along with cutlery and a napkin, “and who’s to say those weren’t gifts sent along from myself?” But Amren doesn’t fall for it, reaching for a glass of red wine, “You won’t fool me, boy.” Rhysand shrugs his shoulders, unbothered by her relaxed attitude. “I suppose if you were still of the inclination to accept bottles of lamb’s blood you’d be receiving a box’s worth. I have a request to make of you.” 

Amren inclines her head, the black cut of her hair slicing along her sharp jaw, faint interest in her silver eyes, “Pray tell”.

Nesta casts salt and pepper over the plates of eggs and chives, then the two of them join the table. As Cassian departed before Nesta, he fills the seat to your right, while Nesta settles in the space opposite him, to Azriel’s left. The only way the current arrangement could be made worse is if Rhysand and Elain were to swap seats. You grimace internally and treasure her presence. 

The High Lord inclines his head to Azriel whose shadows settle a map of Prythian to the centre of the kitchen table. “Cassian and Nesta have already checked through Helion’s libraries. That means excluding the Night Court, there are five other Courts to examine.” As he speaks, thin shadow seeps across the parchment to darken the land of Night and Day, signalling they’ve each been studied.

“Between us,” Rhysand continues, “we can split between those remaining Courts, in turn accessing their libraries. Where I’ll need your help, dear Amren, is translating the books we encounter in the Old Language. I would rather not have to take them all on myself.” Rhysand pauses, lifting violet eyes from the map to the slight female diagonal from his seat, “What do you say?” 

Amren seems to consider his request and you have to fathom how respected she is to so idly take her time considering a request from a High Lord. A few beats pass as her grey eyes trace the island, then blood red lips are cutting into a grin, moon-white teeth flashing in her mouth, “I think I’m going to enjoy opening my Solstice presents this year.” 

Rhysand smiles and you wonder if he was confident Amren would accept or whether this was a gamble on his part. Feyre would probably be able to tell.

Across from the High Lord, Mor clinks her glass with Amren’s, the two females grinning from the other side of the table. There’s a smile on Feyre’s face but you imagine it’s one of those ones that rather than being of your own choice is truly the result of the infectious kind of happiness—seeing people you love enjoying themselves. 

From the other end of the table however, Nesta is studying the map, her silver eyes not even scanning the table before they’re finding Rhysand—suitably distanced from one another. “Five courts and seven of us. I would think you and Feyre would be remaining in the Night Court, leaving us with a court each,” Nesta points out, her tone verging on mild boredom. Steel glints in her hands as cutlery catches the light. “Do you intend for us each to cover the libraries of a court, or do you possess secret reinforcements on hand?” 

The beat of pause that follows her inquiry stretches a fraction of a second longer than it normally would, the tensing as if preparing for a collision to occur as it always feels when those two acknowledge one another. But Rhysand inclines his head to his right and the tension dissipates as swiftly as it had gathered. “I wouldn’t call your sisters secrets,” he muses, slowly. “But yes: reinforcements.” 

You blink. 

From the stiffness of Elain’s shoulders you imagine this is news to her, too, which brings you some level of comfort. More comfort when Elain is the one who meets Rhysand’s gaze, asking, “scouring the libraries for—what?” The relief settles deep. This setting is mildly frightening as it is without the pressure of handling easily observable interactions with others.

Rhysand’s attention settles onto Elain but you get the strange feeling it’s somehow also extending to yourself, “I believe Lucien mentioned the matter of the Prison.” Violet eyes flick over to you. “And that Feyre offered an explanation of the situation last night?” You avoid an answer by diverting your own attention to Elain who is still watching the High Lord. She nods. 

“Would you be willing to help?” Rhysand asks, without much preamble. 

Help? Help how? If it means coming into contact with a single creature that’s supposed to be inside that Prison your answer has to be a firm no. If it means attempting to wield even an ounce of your magic that seems to be sucking the marrow from your bones every passing day your answer has to be a firm no. If it means- 

Your thinking time comes to an end when Elain nods her head, and violet eyes once again flick past her onto yourself. Decision time.

You shift in your seat, unwilling to offer a definite answer, “If I can.” 

The High Lord nods and again you wonder if it was a gamble in relying on your help. As Nesta pointed out, one each to a Court seems an impossible task. But how are two extras going to aid that task? You’d have to pair up, but there would still not be enough of you. This seems to be Rhysand’s next subject matter as he again nods to Azriel, shadows pulling the map closer to the centre of the table so all can see it. Besides you, Cassian’s torso blocks out light as he leans forward, wings casting shadow upon the floor as you each examine the map with new eyes.

“So who’s tasked with which Court?” The General asks, “And who’s taking a solo trip?” 

Instinctively you’d imagine Azriel and Mor would be the two to travel solo—they seem to be the most suited to handling a task like this on their own, but what do you know?

“Well you certainly won’t be visiting Summer Court after obliterating that building,” Mor deadpans. 

“It shouldn’t have been built there,” Cassian replies with a look of mischief.

Leaning closer, Nesta nods her head to the map, “I don’t think Spring Court is a good idea for Cassian and I. I could manage Tamlin but I threatened him the last time I saw him.” Cassian’s smile widens. You guess it makes sense those two would be a pair. “If Summer Court is off the table then we’ll take either Dawn Court or Autumn Court.” 

Right.

Someone’s going to have to scour the Autumn Court. 

Besides you, Elain clears her throat. “I could go to the Spring Court.” She shifts in her seat, nodding to the lower portion of fae-inhabited lands. “I’m sure if I asked, Lucien would be willing to accompany me, and we have an alliance with them, too. I don’t imagine the High Lord of Spring being a great threat to myself but he certainly won’t be to Lu.” It’s a surprisingly sound argument. But if Elain pairs with Lucien than means you’ll be either with Mor or Amren—unless you could remain here and help search any other books in the Night Court with Feyre. 

Just as you’re about to offer the option however, Azriel speaks. “Are your ties with Viviane still sustaining, Mor?”

Mor nods her head though her smile fades almost imperceptibly.

The Shadowsinger nods. “If Mor handles the Winter Court, and Elain and Lucien take the Spring Court, that leaves Dawn, Summer, and Autumn between the rest of us.” Azriel’s shadows shift, further darkening the Courts now with assigned explorers. “Feyre and Rhysand will be staying here, taking care of ruling and the Illyrian texts?” 

The High Lord nods his head, “I’ll be covering the Hewn City, too, and splitting any ancient books between Amren and myself. Feyre will be helping with newcomers.”

“And if Cassian and Nesta are planning to move together that leaves the Summer Court,” Azriel states, hazel eyes find your own set across the table, “which you and I will cover.” 

You try to convince yourself the silence that passes over the table doesn’t stretch like you think it does. 

Hazel eyes hold yours for a second longer before returning back to the map, the Summer Court now tentatively cast in shadow. “That means Cassian and Nesta can take either Dawn or Autumn, but one pair will have to take two courts.” 

At your side, Elain fumbles. “She could come with me,” Elain pushes, “I’m sure she could help in Spring.” 

“Or with me and Cassian,” Nesta presses. 

“She could stay here,” Feyre adds, then turns to Rhysand. “Besides, the Summer Court libraries are part of the Old Temple they have which are deep in the jungle, aren’t they?” Her blue-grey eyes fall to the map, brows pinched, standing from her chair and Mor slides the map along so Feyre can jab her nail to the thick jungle of the Summer Court, an X marked in its middle. “Those jungles are dense, aren’t they,” Nesta adds, glancing to Cassian, a hard look on her face, “no flying overhead.” 

“Which is why we should be the ones to go,” Azriel says, keeping calm but firm. 

Nesta narrows her eyes, silver boring into the male at her side. “The creatures in that jungle are magical, like most of the beasts spread across Prythian. Not to mention poison and venom, and parasites in water streams unless you know which are fresh and safe to drink from. Even the beetles can be lethal, so unless you take a guide which may alert your presence in a foreign court, it will be too dangerous.” 

“Then it’s perfect that she can tell the difference between the poisonous creatures and the harmless ones.”

Azriel holds Nesta’s gaze for a beat before turning to you. “You’ve read about the jungle haven’t you. About the creatures inside?”

You mentioned the spiders the other day.

“I can go with her instead,” Nesta says, eyes sharpening. 

“You won’t be able to protect her as well as I can.” There’s no condescension in his statement, just fact. She’s learning from him and Cassian how to fight, after all. How to wield a blade. 

Nesta’s eyes remain sharp, not straying a second from their target. The temperature seems to rise, air thickening. You swallow, tongue flicking out over dry lips, “I could tell them apart.”

“No. You already have a limited life-span; you aren’t shortening it any further,” Nesta says calmly, her eyes still piercing into Azriel. And yet it’s Elain who shifts again in her seat, sitting straighter, “If she says she can tell the difference, she can tell the difference.” Elain looks over to you, a small smile on her lips. “She’s the best one to send to the Summer Court.”

A muscle flickers in Nesta’s jaw, a few, heavy moments of tension weighing through the room that have your pulse spiking for no discernible reason. Then it ends, and Nesta looks back to the map. “So Cassian and I will take the Dawn Court and the Autumn Court.” 

“You’ll only be taking the Dawn Court.” At the sound of Rhysand’s voice, Nesta’s eyes turn pure silver for a fraction of a second.

She arches a narrow brow, her expression sharper than an Illyrian blade. “So you’ll send Mor instead?” She asks, the hiss of slicing steel underlying her honed tone. “Or do you think you can get Lucien to squeeze his way back into his home-Court?” There’s a dangerous challenge in her silver eyes. 

“Neither,” the High Lord answers, slowly. “Feyre, Amren, and I will remain here. Myself searching the libraries the priestess’ cannot cover, Amren for backup on the ancient texts, and Feyre with helping as we begin a slow evacuation of the towns surrounding the Prison as a precaution and preventative. Mor will cover Winter, Elain and Lucien will cover Spring, and you and Cassian will cover Dawn.”

Even Feyre’s looking at him strangely.

“The Summer Court boarders the Autumn Court,” Rhysand states. “We can’t afford to waste time making extra journeys.” 

So you and Azriel will be taking both the Summer Court, and the Autumn Court. 

Rhysand breaks his gaze with Nesta only to find your eyes further along the table. They’re steadfast. Grounded. “Will you manage that?” 

Why put that decision on you? 

You look across the table to Azriel—why had he of all people volunteered to pair up with you? His logic checks out, but wouldn’t Mor have been able to ward off any magical creatures? Then again, your relationship with Mor isn’t the best… 

Azriel gives no clue to his emotions, other than a subtle incline of his head. 

Your throat rolls, but you force yourself to look back at Rhysand, and offer a nod of your head, “I can manage.” 

All seven Courts are ensconced in shadow. 

————

You sigh as you settle into bed, tucking yourself close between the duvet and mattress. Plumping the pillow beneath your cheek as you curl your knees to your chest. 

You’ll be leaving in three days, but bypassing a coastal town Northeast of Velaris. The condition of you entering the Summer Court jungle was you’d at least have some kind of protection other than Azriel. The sea-town is also the only town outside of Illyria that will sell Illyrian blades, and Illyrian leather from the wild oxen that inhabit the unforgiving terrain of the steppes, its hide significantly tougher to compete with the rocky climate and freezing nights.

You don’t like the idea of having to carry a blade of your own, but you suppose, knowing some of the creatures within, you’d rather be with it than without it. Although you’ve yet to decide whether you’ll be visiting Autumn first or Summer. 

But that’s a decision for tomorrow. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[azziebaddy]

Cassian just needs to use my ass like a stress toy to be honest like, yes babe, grab it after a long hard day of training, I won't say anything.

[azziebaddy]

my girls

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: mentions of child birth, azriel being so grossly protective and loving, tooth rotting fluff

author's note: i'm actually so in love with this. based on this request ♡

Your labour was anything but an easy one. You had been pushing for six hours. You're beyond tired. Madja has been trying to make this as painless as possible for you, but birthing an Illirian's baby with wings was a challenge you weren't ready for. You were shattered, and absolutely drained. Azriel has been nothing but supportive, whispering sweet nothings in your ear for the duration of your labour.

"You're doing so well, angel. You're almost there. Just one more push." he had said, wiping a line of sweat from your forehead, pushing your hair out of your face.

And now, six hours later, your baby girl is born. Arella, the most perfect little girl. You can't take your eyes off of her, even though your mind is screaming at you to go to sleep, get some rest. Azriel notices you fighting sleep and moves over to you, sitting on the edge of the bed, taking your hand in his. "You need some sleep my love. I'll watch her while you rest." You exhale deeply, nodding in agreement. You really could use the rest.

You look up at Azriel, closing your eyes and opening them again slowly, dreadfully tired. "I look like an absolute mess right now. I desperately need a bath, Az." you say, and Azriel's features soften. He takes your hand in his, looking at you with a small smile. "You look as beautiful as ever, my sweet girl." he places a feather light kiss to your lips. Your heart flutters at his words, and you tear up at the gesture. If Azriel did only one thing in all the time you've known him, it would be showing you that you're always beautiful. No matter the day or event. Even after pushing a living faerie out of your body for six hours.

Your eyes flutter closed not long after, and you awaken several hours later. Thoroughly rested and ready for the whirlwind that is motherhood. Azriel is there as you wake with baby Arella in his hands, a protective hold on her. You're pretty sure that she might be the safest babe in all of Prythian. You smile at the two, your whole world.

And you wouldn't have it any other way. Life with Azriel is everything you could ever hope for. And now you'd be sharing it with Arella too.

reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! ★

[azziebaddy]

acotar men + twitter nsfw links.

“uh-huh, come play with my pussy!”

pairing: acotar men x f!reader

summary: visual links of how the acotar men fuck 😉

warnings: nsfw, porn links, squirting, handjobs, blowjobs, rough sex, teasing, spitting, slapping, public sex, messy makeout session

amara’s note: yum and if you can’t see the links, remove safe search on web reader then go back to twitter

azriel

when everyone’s out

spitting before eating you out

backshots pov

breeding aftermath

head game goes crazy!

put it in and let’s watch tv!

fingering turns you into a squirting mess

jerking off inside

hungry!

rhysand

can i suck your tits while you ride?

squirting all over his cock while he fucks you

rubbing your clit every morning

slow strokes hit so deep!

arching just the way he likes it

i’ll stroke you if you finger me, deal?

can’t keep my hands off your cock, sorry

take it off, i want it raw

cassian

i miss you, let’s facetime later

sloppy, sloppy makeout session

drooling for a taste

size difference? yes!

let’s make a movie but you gotta be quiet!

you said you were stressed? let me take care of you

creampie compilation

giddy up cowgirl!

throat grab

eris

gotta tease before entering

couch fun

be my personal fucktoy

think you can take it all?

post argument sex

i really, really wanna suck you off

69 double pleasure

deepthroat training

lucien

cumming on his cock

the size difference is crazy

he fucks roughly when he’s mad

no one loves titty fucking more than him

slow handjobs is the quickest way to get bent

lucien found your toy and uses it on you

facial

late night quickie

[azziebaddy]

Greedy Little Thing

Requested:

Hii just saw your blog for the first time and I'm in love😭😭. Also saw your asks are open and I strongly believe that the needy Az fic deserves a part two with needyyyy reader (begging) please please pleaseeee. We know Az will be brilliant at thissss.

This was so much fun to write. This is really just pure filth.

Technically a part 2 to this request but it’s not required!

Warnings: so much teasing, oral (f receiving), edging/ orgasm denial, some implied cum eating, creampie, p in v sex (18+), dirty talk, praise, Azriel being a little shit.

WC:3.1K

You very rarely got to see your mate dressed up. So used to seeing him in his training leathers that seeing him in anything else had you practically drooling. But seeing him in dress clothes was enough to bring you to your knees, black button down rolled up to his elbows, black dress pants that showed off his glorious thighs and ass. Your mate was hot, more than hot, he was built like a god. 

“Did you need something, doll?” He spoke. You realized you had come into the room for something. You were going to tell him something but all thoughts eddied out of your brain the moment you saw him. 

“You.” The world tumbled out of your mouth without you thinking. He chuckled lightly as he noticed your stare. And just to tease you, he flexed his arms making the veins pop ever so slightly. You imagined running your tongue over them and heat pooled deep in your belly. 

“It seems you’ve forgotten that we have plans tonight.” He was suddenly right in front of you. His finger hooking under your chin to make you look up at him. 

“We do?” Your voice was breathless, needy and whiny as you tried to recall where exactly you had to be that would keep you from climbing Azriel like a tree. 

“Cassian’s birthday party?” He asked more than spoke. Shit. That was what you had come here for. You needed to know where the wrapping paper went. The fancy thick ones that even Cassian had trouble tearing into. 

“What time does it start?” You broke your eyes away from him to peer at the clock on your nightstand. It was just a little past 5.

“Six. And you still need to get dressed.” You felt a pout rise on your face and Azriel’s thumb popped your bottom lip. He leaned down and gave you a chaste kiss. Well it was supposed  to be chaste but you got your arms around his neck before he could pull away. Teeth instantly sink into his bottom lip. He groaned and trailed his hands over your waist. He used his grip to pull you away from him, stepping back until your arms were fully extended around his shoulders. 

“Keep that up, princess, and we won’t go at all.”

‘Is that a bad thing?” 

“Nesta will come get us herself with how much planning she’s done.” You sighed heavily as he stepped out of your hold, your body instantly missing his warmth. 

“Go get ready and I’ll finish wrapping his present. Since that’s what you came in here looking for.” The bastard knew the whole time but had wanted to rile you up. Fine. Two can play that game. You spun on your heel and stomped over to the closet.

The dress you picked was one you had just gotten. Intricately cut patterns of fabric that covered just enough to be decent. It wasn’t your usual color, opting to not get it in your favorite sapphire blue but instead a red so dark it was almost purple. It matched your skin tone so wonderfully and brought out the color of your eyes. You left your hair down, letting it flow naturally over your shoulder, covering the exposed skin the dress left. Grabbing the matching heels, you slipped out of the closet and headed to grab the set of bracelets Azriel had recently gotten you. 

You struggled to clasp them, holding the delicate chain as it continued to slip out of your grasp. You gave a frustrated noise after the third attempt and went to go find your mate to help you. 

“Az.” You called into the house. Not knowing where he was. 

“In here.” He answered from his study. The door was opened so you walked in, still holding the bracelet to your wrist. You held it out for him, not even looking up. 

“I need your help.” You finally looked at him when you didn’t get a response and felt the surge of lust down the bond. His eyes hungirly roved over your figure. The tight dress clinging to the plush of your breast, your stomach and thighs. He licked his lips as he walked over to you. Azriel took your outstretched wrist with a careful hand and managed to clasp the silver bracelet. 

He placed a soft kiss to your pulse point before pulling you against him. A soft grunt leaving you as you crashed against his chest. His free hand rested on the skin of your back, left open with the low cut of the dress. 

“I know what you’re doing, sweetheart.” He said against the shell of your ear. You fought back a shiver as his breath tickled your neck. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You asked me to get ready.” Your words would have been convincing if it wasn’t for the smell of your arousal in the air. Azriel peeled his hand away from you to catch a glimpse of the watch on his wrist. 

“Ten minutes.” Was all he said before he knelt down in front of you. Your hands followed him down, clutching onto him and settling on his shoulders. He was quick to sling your leg over his shoulder. Opening you up to him. He ran the tip of his nose along the center of your underwear, drinking in your scent. 

“You’re drenched for me, sweetheart.” 

“Az-” You mewled as he reached up to tug your panties to the side. Your hands slid into his hair as he flicked the tip of his tongue over your clit. Teasing the bundle of nerves with feather-light strokes. Your nails dug into his scalp, focusing on the hints of pleasure he was giving you. A breathy “please” leaving your mouth was all it took for him to unleash himself. His pace was merciless, the sounds of his lips on your mingling perfectly with your loud cries. Your legs wobbled slightly and he wrapped an arm around you. Giving you leverage to ride his face, your hips bucking in time with his tongue. 

He had you rapidly approaching your peak. Broken version of his name falling over your lips. 

“Az I’m gonna-” And right as you felt that clench deep in your stomach, he was pulling away. 

A loud cry of outrage left you as you stared down at him. Chest heaving as he placed your foot back down on the ground and stood up to his full height again. He smoothed your dress back into place on your hips, squeezing lightly as he did. 

You felt hot all over, pulse thrumming across your skin. Words failed you as Azriel licked his lips, cleaning your glistening arousal off of his face. 

“I-I was so close.” You whined, closing your eyes as if trying to will the feeling to come back. 

“And maybe now you’ll listen to me when I tell you to wait and not try to tease me like a brat.” He tapped your cheek, a silent request for you to open your eyes. “Now you can be frustrated all night while I decide if I’m going to let you cum.” 

Your eyes widened at his words. “Please. I’ll be good. Please let me cum.” 

He placed a small kiss on your forehead before looking at his watch again. He picked up the present and held an arm out for you. You didn’t hesitate, although a little pouty, to grab it as he winnowed you to the venue Nesta had picked out. 

The girls had spared no expense, and it was obvious as you looked around. Cassian normally wasn’t one for big parties but the century birthdays were always a big deal. Nesta had turned the club into an almost intimate setting but the music thumping through the sound system had your pulse skyrocketing again. You felt it everywhere, still so worked up with not being able to cum. Azriel rubbed small circles into your back, encouraging you to relax. 

“I’ll get us drinks.” He said as he placed another kiss to the top of your head. 

The club was still open to the public tonight, Nesta had just reserved the top floor for Cassian’s party. He would still want to dance with Nesta and she was fully aware of that. You looked around the room for the rest of your friends and quickly spotted them. Cassian's wings sticking out among the crowd. He already had Nesta pulled tight against him. You caught her eye and she pulled away from him with a cat-like smile before she focused on you. You extended the present out to her and she took it to add to the growing pile on one of the tables. 

“You made it.” She gave you a smirk that let you know you must not have been as composed as you thought you were. “I’m surprised with you wearing…that.” She covered her laugh as you rolled your eyes. 

“Azriel was very insistent on being here on time.” As you looked for your other friends you felt your anger rising. No one else had shown up yet, you and Az being the first other couple here. Frustration overrode the lust still buzzing below your skin until you felt Azriel join your side. 

He handed you your drink, suddenly very grateful for the cool glass against your hand. 

“How did you convince them to let you decorate?” Azriel asked Nesta who merely shrugged in response. 

“I’m persuasive.” She responded and you felt the urge to laugh at the image of her storming into the club managers office and demanding them to let her essentially redo half of the club. You took a deep sip of your drink as the rest of your family slowly started to arrive. Feyre and Rhys first, with a small mountain of gifts. Mor, Emerie and Gwen arrive next. Elain and Lucien after, and even Amren. 

Eventually rounds of shots were poured as everyone started to get started for the night. Cassian was glowing with happiness as he danced with Nesta, then Feyre and eventually you. He spun you in a large circle as you tipped your head back laughing. He had gotten better at dancing since being with Nesta, a fact she was very proud of. He had two left feet and no rhythm before he met her. 

The song faded into the next and you excused yourself from the dance floor to get another drink. Azriel was right behind you, hands seeming to gravitate towards your waist and back. He had left teasing touches all over skin the entire night and it was enough to have your thighs clenching together as your mind drifted to the unfinished events in his office. 

“You seem tense, sweetheart.” His hands going to rest on your shoulders, fingers rubbing at the tight muscles around your neck. You leaned into his touch, biting back a moan at the feeling of him touching you so intimately. He chuckled as he pulled away, a deep frown on your face. He was still riling you up, hours after and it was working perfectly. Your thighs were sticking with your arousal. 

“Az, please.” You plead, not entirely sure what you were begging for. For him to stop, for him to pull you into the bathroom of the club and finally finish what he started. 

“Behave.” Was all he said as he pulled you to the center of the dance floor, you drink still waiting on the bar top. 

He pulled you tight against him as the song shifted to something slower, something more sensual. His hips dug into yours perfectly, meeting you beat for beat. Your hands were digging into the front of his shirt, clutching onto the fabric to stop yourself from melting into a pool at his feet. His hands ghosting along your waist, over your sides, brushing every inch of exposed skin had you panting against him. You pulled him down to meet your lips, a sigh escaping both of you as you did. His hands went to rest on the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. His tongue parted your lips and he licked into your mouth. Demanding every bit of your attention. 

You didn’t realize he had backed you into a corner until you felt the wall behind you. It gave you leverage to grind your hips against him. A small part of you was satisfied as you felt his rock hard length through his pants. He pulled away from the kiss, eyes dark and pupils blown. He was matching your breathing, chest rising and falling as he fought to catch his breath. 

You reached your hand down before he caught your wrist and pulled you away from his waistband. 

“I told you to behave.” He growled in your ear. The sound was so perfect it made you want to cry out in frustration. You felt it everywhere. Your toes curl in your heels as you whine. 

“Az. You proved your point. I’ll listen.” Your voice is high pitched. 

“Look at you, so needy for me. I bet you would let me fuck you right here?” Your breath hitched in your throat at the thought. He laughed darkly at your response. “You would, wouldn’t you. My little slut, so needy for my cock she’d let me fuck her in a room full of strangers.” He bit the junction between your neck and shoulders had a loud moan falling from your lips. 

“Az-” He silenced you with a kiss. Hips driving into yours, pinning you against the wall. You wrapped a leg around his waist, exposing your dripping core to him. He growled low in his chest and you felt the world moving around you. 

Next thing you felt was the plush of your large bed underneath you. 

“You want me that badly, princess?” He was already unbuttoning his shirt, his toned chest slowly becoming visible. You nodded, your throat suddenly feeling dry. A small slap to the inside of your thigh had you crying out a yes. 

He leaned over you, arms caging in each side of your head. He eyed you up, a smirk plastered on his face as you panted under him. He reached out and flipped you over so you were in his lap. Straddling his hips, your heels hanging off the edge of the bed. Your hand slipped behind you to take them off but his words stopped you. 

“Keep them on.” Was all he said before he started trailing kisses over your collarbone, down to the space between your breasts. You wanted the dress off, wiggling your hips to tell him as much. Azriel didn’t hesitate. Hands coming up the zipper of the dress and pulling it down excruciatingly slow. He pulled away long enough to slip the scrap of fabric over your head, you arms raising and falling against his chest with a loud smack. He leaned back on his elbows, drinking in your figure. Your skin flushed with need, eyes wide and wild. You leaned down and started placing open mouth kisses on his exposed chest. You went to slide off of his lap before a firm hand stopped you. 

“As much as I would love to see your pretty mouth wrapped around me. I want to be inside of you.” You could have cried with relief at the words. But you should have known there would be a catch. He didn’t waste another second before he was slipping inside of you. Hours worth of teasing making it almost too easy for him to fill you. You sniffled as you sunk down completely. Already drunk off the feeling of him. 

His hands found themselves on either side of your hips, urging you to move at the pace he set. You own arms hooking around his neck as you pull yourself closer to his chest. YOur head rolled back until you were looking at the ceiling, body bouncing with each thrust as you could do nothing but take everything he gave you. 

You felt that coil tightening again in your stomach. Your thighs clenching around his waist, trying to take him deeper. 

“You’re taking my cock so well, sweetheart. Look at how pretty you are.” 

You could do nothing but cling to him tighter, your moans mingling with his own groans. The room was filled with the sounds of your bodies colliding. The bed shook across the floor as he continued to drive his hips against yours, again and again. Your whole body clenched as you were about to tip over the edge and right as you went to cry out for him. He pulled out, flipping you over so you were suddenly under him. You cried out again. 

“Az. Please.” He kissed your cheek, trying to sooth you as you reached out for him. He waited a few heartbeats before he lined himself back up with your entrance and pushed in. 

“Are you gonna be good?” He asked. You would have said yes to whatever he wanted, anything to let you cum for him. You were nodding, voice horse from the pitch of your moans. 

He grabbed your ankles and pushed your thighs up to meet your shoulders, driving his hips with his whole body. You felt every wonderful inch of him this way, could feel how tight your walls were pulling him in. His skin was dewey as a layer of sweat clung to both of you. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as your legs started to shake. Your body so exhausted already as you tried to lift your hips up to meet him. 

“Cum for me, my sweet, beautiful, girl.” He pressed his nose into your shoulder, biting down right as you hit your high. You shuddered in his arms, which tightened around you. Letting you ride out your high as his hips slowed down, grinding against you. It was only a few more moments before he was growling into your ear. HIs hips stilling as he pumped you full of his release. You stayed wrapped around him, basking in the afterglow of one of the best orgasms you had ever had. Body finally relaxing against him. He pulled out of you slowly, your releases spilling out and running down your thigh. Azriel’s eyes went right to the mess between your legs and you saw that glint of hunger that told you the night was only beginning. 

He started to trail kisses down your stomach until he laid flat against the bed. 

“I think I owe you more than one, princess.” And brought his lips to your folds for the second time tonight.

[azziebaddy]

Pure Love

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: soft!azriel (this is toothrotting fluff, so yes it's a warning), language, tending to minor wounds

word count: 6.8k

synopsis: You were in love with Azriel. It was inevitable, really. Who could blame you for falling for the kind and gentle male?

or

A series of moments that show your blooming love for Azriel, who was too busy cultivating his own love for you to notice.

my masterlist

~ ~ ~

I love you.

The words swam in your head as you stared at the beautiful male across the training room. His wings were tucked in tight behind him and his shadows were out of sight as he gently coached a tentative priestess. She was the newest recruit from the library, and she was a skittish little thing. It had taken Gwyn months to convince her to join you all for training.

Emerie and Gwyn had balked when Nesta suggested she start her training with Azriel, but you knew there was no one better to coax confidence into the nervous female. You understood Gywn and Emerie’s bewilderment. Really, you couldn’t blame them after watching Azriel and Cassian push them past their limits every day in training. It wasn’t too long ago, though, that you had been in that priestesses shoes, and the very same shadowsinger had helped you grow into yourself. He recognized your strength long before you learned to see it in yourself.

You felt like a fool the first day of training. A naive, fumbling fawn that had wandered into a lion’s den. You were an Illyrian female with no money or skills to your name, and you felt so stupid for thinking you could be like Emerie. Emerie, the Illyrian female from your own camp that had won the Blood Rite, alongside the two other females you admired. She had found you cornered by a group of males just a block from your home, somehow scaring them off. Something inside of you snapped then, and you knew you would do whatever you could to get out of that hell hole.

You begged her to take you with her to Velaris. To ask the General to train you alongside them. You really didn’t need to do much to convince her, for she understood your struggles and desperation better than anyone. Cassian was convinced easily enough as well, and hope had bloomed in your chest at the prospect of training with Valkyries. That hope withered that first day, when you couldn’t even muster the strength to hold a wooden sword, or find the coordination to follow the intricate footwork of sparring.

You had slid out of the training room while everyone was chatting during a water break, and walked blindly until you found a long, dark stairwell that seemed to stretch down for miles. You numbly walked down the stairs until you stopped to slide down against the stone wall, sitting dejectedly on the step. Tears silently slid down your cheeks as your heart pounded and you thought about going back to that gods forsaken camp with those bastard males. 

The door to the stairwell had slowly creaked open, and the sound was followed by slow and heavy footsteps that made your back straighten and skin prickle with nerves. Your stomach twisted once you made out the silhouette of the large winged-male a few steps above you, and your mind fell back to the last time you were alone with an Illyrian male. As if he could read your thoughts, he stayed back, not daring to come any closer, and slowly sat on his own step. Moments of tense silence passed between you, before he finally asked, voice quiet and gentle, “Are you okay?”

You didn’t know how to answer him. You weren’t okay, but you didn’t know if you wanted to admit that to the Night Court’s Spymaster.

Azriel kept speaking, his tone hushed, “I didn’t know how to fly until I was eleven.”

You couldn’t help the shock that roiled through you. Eleven? How could it be possible for an Illyrian boy to go so long without giving into his instincts to fly? You had been able to fly since the age of three, until the males in your camp stole that joy from you a decade later.

“It’s a long story,” he said, his quiet voice bouncing off the stone around you. “But I learned eventually, and now I’m here.”

You still said nothing, prompting Azriel to keep talking. “No one here is going to judge you for trying,” he murmured. “For learning to defend yourself. Everyone starts somewhere, and we all understand that. Better than most.”

“I don’t want to go back to that camp,” you croaked.

A beat passed that seemed to crackle with a new tension, and you wondered if you had managed to say the wrong thing, until Azriel swore, voice hard, “You don’t have to.”

“But if I can’t—”

“You are welcome here in Velaris for as long as you wish,” he cut you off. “You can stay here in the House of Wind however long you need. Emerie is about to move in as well.”

You mulled over his words, and your chest tightened as you thought about training again. “I’m nothing like those females in the training room,” you whispered.

“How so?”

You floundered. “They are all so magnificent. They are brave, and strong, and courageous. They are confident, steady. I am none of those things.”

“You are a female who has survived the horrid treatment of Illyria,” Azriel argued, voice resolute. “You endured that wretched culture and are still here, still wanting to fight. That alone makes you brave. It makes you strong. Don’t let your mind trick you into thinking otherwise.”

You couldn’t believe he spoke of Illyria with such disdain. This fearsome Ilryian male that sat on the High Lord’s court with swirls of Illryian ink snaking up his neck and down his arms spoke of his culture with such hatred you nearly recoiled, and you wondered what happened to make him despise his own culture so much. 

He let out a breath. “I will help you train,” he murmured softly. “We can meet for extra sessions if you would like.”

You had known that you really would be a fool if you passed on his offer, if you jeopardized the freedom he was offering you on a silver platter. You jumped at the opportunity, and that’s how you ended up spending the next five months training with Azriel. He was kind and gentle and respectful with every word he spoke, with every direction he gave to you. He pushed you to your limit every night, limbs wobbly with exhaustion by the time you crawled into bed, but he never asked you for more than you were capable of.

He taught you how to trust yourself. To be sure of your movements and your thoughts. To rely on your instincts in every situation. You carried yourself with confidence now, head held high and back straight when you walked into a room or down the bustling streets of Velaris. He would argue with you, but you knew you owed it all to Azriel.

Yes, he truly was the perfect person to coach the new and timid priestess. You knew of the terrifying reputation he held across Prythian. You had known of it long before you ever met him, but he quickly proved to you that he was nothing like the rumors painted him as. He could be ruthless, yes, and you were sure he was terrifying to whoever ended up on the other side of his dagger, but he never held that persona around you or his loved ones. Never around the citizens of Velaris. Azriel was sweet and gentle, patient and understanding, and could anyone really fault you for falling in love with the male after spending so much time with him?

His hazel eyes locked with yours across the room. Your face flushed at being caught watching him, but you offered a small, sheepish smile, to which he returned. Your heart fluttered, and you dragged your attention back to the females around you, avoiding Nesta’s curious gaze.

~ ~ ~

I love you.

You watched from afar as Azriel crouched down in front of a small girl on the bustling streets of Velaris, his wings creating a pocket of safety around the teary eyed child. She had a scrape on her knee that she was cradling to her little chest, and her eyes were wide as saucers as she stared up at Azriel. You inched closer, hoping he knew you were there if he needed you. If she wanted a female’s help.

He didn’t need your help, of course. You watched him hold his palms out for the little girl, and she slowly placed both of her tiny hands in his scarred ones. You saw her eye his hands curiously as he helped her rise to her feet, but her attention was quickly diverted by the new trail of blood trickling down her shin. Her lip started to wobble, and Azriel looked around frantically. You quickly pulled out the handkerchief you kept in your pocket and held it out to him.

His eyes clung to the embroidered cloth dangling in front of him before they snapped up to you. “Use this,” you murmured quietly. He gently took the cloth from you, dragging his eyes away to look back at the little girl.

He cooed softly, the girl clinging tight to the fingers of one of his hands. He softly told her not to worry, that they would get her all cleaned up in no time as he gently wiped the blood from her pale blue skin. Her cheeks were wet as she watched Azriel in awe, her tiny hand still gripping his fingers.

He stuck the cloth in his pocket, hiding the blood from her sight as he told her softly, “There. Like it never even happened.” He grinned at the little girl, whose cheeks turned a darker shade of blue. He squeezed the hand she still had wrapped around his. “Is your mother around, honey?”

Your insides melted at the sweet term of endearment that he cooed to the little girl. Falling in love with such a kind and gentle male, beautiful inside and out, was inevitable, really.

She shook her head, dark curly hair disheveled from her fall bouncing around. “I lost her back there.” She pointed in the direction of the Sidra, where shops and cafés lined the bustling boardwalk.

Azriel slowly stood up, keeping his hand in hers. He hummed softly, “Let's see if we can find her.”

He briefly glanced at you, and you took that as your cue to follow. Azriel and the girl walked hand in hand down the busy cobblestone street, with you trailing closely behind. “My name is Az,” he told the girl, then he pointed over his shoulder to you. Her eyes followed his motion so that they landed on you curiously. “This is my friend Y/N.”

The girl took you in with wide eyes, and you smiled softly. “You’re pretty,” she said in awe.

Your face flushed, and you caught Azriel’s smirk before you cleared your throat. “Why thank you,” you said animatedly, forcing yourself to accept the young faerie’s compliment. “You are beautiful,” you returned. “You glimmer like the brightest star.”

The little girl bashfully looked away, stepping closer to Azriel to hide behind his arm. Azriel chuckled softly. “Can you tell us your name?” he asked.

Before the girl could respond, commotion in the street made you and Azriel halt. He tugged the girl close to him as you flanked her other side. A female was yelling in the street, frantically moving from person to person. Her eyes were wild and frantic as she scanned the bodies on the street, her pale blue skin glimmering in the sunlight. You looked down at the little girl. “Is that your mother?”

She twisted to look around the towering bodies surrounding her, but Azriel quickly scooped her up in his arms so she could see. She giggled at the dramatic change in height for her, resting her little hand on his broad shoulder. He pointed to the female up ahead, and the girl nodded excitedly, wiggling in his hold.

“Hang on a second, love,” he murmured, holding her in place. The three of you moved closer to the female, the crowd of bodies parting easily around you at the sight of Azriel.

Once you neared closer, the distraught female’s eyes snagged on the Illyrian male carrying her tiny daughter. Her face visibly crumpled with relief as she hurtled to meet the three of you. “Molly!” she cried with her arms outstretched, the girl easily leaping from Azriel to her mother.

The girl stuffed her face in her mother’s neck. “You can’t run away from me like that,” she chided, voice wobbly with fear and relief.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” the little girl whined into her mother. Her mother sighed and ran a gentle hand over her head before her eyes drifted back to Azriel. They went wide.

Azriel shifted on his feet, his arm brushing against yours. You glanced at him out of your periphery and noticed the faint pink hue that coated his cheeks. The female sputtered before stammering out, “Thank you, Spymaster.”

Azriel moved his hands behind his back. “Not necessary,” he said softly. The female was at a loss for words as she stared at him. Her eyes briefly passed over you, and you smiled softly.

“She has a bit of a scrape on her knee,” you told the female after Azriel had grown stiff beside you. “Azriel cleaned her up, but it should probably be washed.”

The female nodded, holding her daughter tight. “Thank you,” she said again, clearly still intimidated by the male beside you. “I’m sorry for the trouble,” she added, and then hastily moved away and disappeared into the busy street.

Your gaze lingered on where she vanished for a moment before you returned your attention to Azriel, who was still thrumming with tension beside you. “Azriel?” you asked softly. “Are you okay?”

His throat bobbed and he blinked a few times before glancing at you. He tilted his head in the direction of the Sidra. “Let’s go,” he said, voice cold. You frowned. “We’re going to be late.”

He stalked off in the direction of the River House, and you had to hurry to match his pace. You watched him closely for a moment, taking in the twitching of his jaw and the agitated shadows that pulsed around him. His hands were clenched into tight fists, and when you reached for his wrist his whole body locked up.

You quickly dropped your hand, and tried to suppress the flare of hurt that erupted at his reaction to your touch. He stopped on the street, looking at you expectantly. You wetted your lips, searching for the words that you had wanted to say. “What’s wrong?” you asked softly.

He clenched his jaw and started walking away again. Your nostrils flared as you followed him, irritation replacing your hurt. “Azriel,” you snapped, voice demanding his attention.

He halted again, and turned to look at you. His eyes were cold and sharp, and you frowned at the absence of his usual warmth around you. “Tell me why you’re upset,” you prodded, voice more gentle.

His eyes bounced between yours, and you braced yourself for his rejection, for him to tell you to fuck off and mind your own business. Instead he shocked you by gritting out, “She was afraid of me.”

Your brows furrowed. “Who? The little girl?”

He nodded tersely. “And her mother.”

“Az,” you said in disbelief, the nickname slipping from your lips. “Of course the girl was scared of you, at first. You’re an Illyrian warrior. You’re naturally intimidating.”

He scowled at your words and you hurried to continue. “But as soon as you showed her kindness, she trusted you. She practically clung to you, Azriel. You made her feel safe.”

He looked down at his hands, at the scarred tissue covering them. “She held onto your hand for dear life, because she knew you were good. She knew you would take care of her.”

His face softened slightly and his shoulders dropped. “Her mother was distraught and frantic looking for her little girl, and then she found her in the arms of a member of her High Lord’s court,” you continued softly, taking a step closer. His hazel eyes locked with yours. “She was shocked, and intimidated, yes, but she wasn’t afraid you would hurt her or her daughter. I guarantee it.”

Azriel’s breath caught in his throat as you took another step closer, only inches separating you. You swallowed your nerves, needing him to hear this, to understand. “You are a good male, Azriel.” Your voice was whisper soft and laced with reverence.

A shadow brushed your hand as his chest moved with his heavy breaths. He looked at you like you were a puzzle, an enigma he couldn’t figure out. He pulled his gaze away, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you.” Then he turned and started walking in the direction of the River House again.

Your shoulders deflated and you let out a disappointed sigh. You trailed behind him, the words I love you swimming in your head, begging to reach the sullen male just a few feet in front of you.

~ ~ ~

A generous slice of chocolate cake appeared in front of you. Your eyes trailed from the cake to the scarred hand that held the plate up the eyes of the male offering it to you. Your brows furrowed in confusion, but you took the cake nonetheless. You glanced from the cake to Azriel again, who folded his hands behind himself as he towered over where you sat in the oversized armchair.

“Thank you?” You smiled softly. “Was my lust for some cake that obvious?”

Pink tinged his cheeks, and your heart fluttered in your chest. Your friends were all chattering loudly throughout the living room of Rhys and Feyre’s house, but it all faded to a dull buzz as you stared at Azriel.

“I may have caught you looking once or twice,” was his quiet response.

You grinned, then picked up the fork he had rested on the plate for you. You stuffed a too large bite in your mouth, relishing in the taste of the chocolate on your tongue. “I also wanted to apologize,” Azriel said quietly, and his voice made you rush to swallow your food.

“Apologize?”

“For yesterday.”

You frowned. “That’s not necessary.”

“It is,” he argued. “I was rude to you, and you didn’t deserve that.”

“Hardly,” you scoffed. Yes, your feelings had been hurt by his cool demeanor and his aversion to your touch, but that was hardly an offense to hold over his head. “You were upset, Azriel. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“But—”

“Nope,” you cut him off before taking another bite of your cake. You gestured to the arm of the sofa you were sitting on. “Sit down and share this cake with me.”

Azriel hesitated, but he relented when you cut him a pointed look. He moved to the other side of the chair, sitting precariously on the arm. He shifted around a bit to get comfortable, and in the process his wing brushed against your own, the feeling sending a shiver up your spine. The two of you froze, and he looked at you with alarm before he stood up hastily, “I’m so sorry—”

“Azriel,” you sighed, feigning nonchalance when your entire body felt like it was on fire. “Just sit down. It’s okay.”

His throat bobbed, his wide eyes staring at you before returning to his perch on the arm rest. His wing brushed your arm this time, and he went rigid. “It’s okay,” you said again softly, his eyes locking with yours. 

His mouth opened and closed, and his cheeks were flushed. “I don’t want to make you—”

“You don’t make me uncomfortable,” you assured him. The tension melted away from his body, but you still added, “You don’t have to sit here if you’re uncomfortable, though.”

“I’m not,” he was quick to say, and he settled in a bit more until he was comfortable enough on the plush armrest. He was tall enough that his feet rested flat on the floor, and you knew it probably wasn’t the most comfortable position, but at least he wasn’t just standing and watching you and his family from the side. His wings relaxed slightly, and they brushed yours again lightly.

He watched you carefully, and you forced your face to stay neutral, to not reveal that there was a torrent of butterflies fluttering in your chest. He reached for the fork in your hand, his fingers brushing yours, and your mind was fuzzy from all the physical contact. Even during your training sessions Azriel did his best to refrain from touching you. You knew it was to make you comfortable, to make you feel safe after coming from the Illyrian camps, but sometimes you longed for his touch. Now you were sitting here sharing a piece of cake with him while his wings gently brushed against you.

He raised the fork to his mouth and then handed it back to you, his eyes crinkling slightly in a smile while he chewed his cake. I love you, you thought, and the words sent a strange warmth through you that seemed to settle in your chest. The feeling was strange, and you stared at Azriel a bit awestruck. Home. It felt like you finally were home after searching for one for half a century.

~ ~ ~

“We know you’re in love with Azriel.”

The words clanged through your intoxicated mind as you stared at Nesta and Feyre in the booth across from you. Feyre glared at Nesta, who was looking at you expectantly.

You stammered out a pitiful, “What?”

Nesta rolled her eyes and Feyre’s soft ones landed on you. “By ‘we’ she means her and me. No one else knows.”

Nesta hummed, “That we know of. But if we figured it out…”

You blanched, and Feyre swatted Nesta’s shoulder. “Ignore her,” she told you. Her eyes were soft as they looked over your slightly swaying form in the wooden booth. The music pounding through Rita’s was making you a little nauseous at this point. The throbbing at your back and the alcohol you had downed also wasn’t doing you any favors. You suddenly wished you could winnow.

“Do you really love him?” Feyre asked softly.

Your hands were clammy as you stuffed them beneath your thighs. Your gaze bounced nervously around the tavern, desperate to escape this situation.

“Y/N,” Feyre said softly, dragging your attention back to her. “We’re not trying to make you uncomfortable.”

Nesta’s eyes had considerably softened as she said, “We just want you to talk to us. We’re your friends.”

You bit your lip, anxiety thrumming through you at the thought of admitting your feelings for the Illyrian male aloud. You blamed the alcohol coursing through your veins for answering with, “I’m so in love with him.”

Their eyes widened, then slow smiles broke out across their faces.

The slightly slurred words tumbled out of you. “It’s pathetic how much I love him. But how could I not?” Your eyes were wide as you flung your arms out in exasperation. “How could I possibly be expected to not fall in love with the kind and thoughtful male that took time out his night to train me for months?” you exclaimed. “He’s so beautiful, and intelligent, and gentle.”

Feyre and Nesta were grinning with amusement as you unleashed the torrent of thoughts you had kept pent up about the male for the last six months. “I love him so much it hurts,” you whined, clutching your chest dramatically.

The two sisters shared a glance before Feyre asked slowly, “Have you thought about sharing this with Azriel?”

Your mouth fell open. “Of course not!” you exclaimed.

Nesta frowned. “Why not?”

You faltered. “Why the hell would I?”

Her frown shifted into a scowl. “Maybe he feels the same, Y/N.”

You scoffed. “As if he would ever love me.”

“Why would you say that?” Feyre asked, bewildered.

“Because I’m me! I’m just a poor Illyrian female that he took pity on because he’s kind.”

Nesta’s glare was icy. “You are far more than that to him, to all of us for that matter. You’re our friend, Y/N,” she snapped. You flinched slightly. “If you don’t recognize that, I don’t know what to tell you.”

A tense silence fell on your table. Feyre eventually decided to break it. “Azriel is a good male who loves his family fiercely,” she said softly. “But I’ve never seen him…soften the way he does around you.” 

Nesta nodded her agreement. “He practically glows when he sees you, Y/N.” Then she added with a pointed look, “And vice versa.”

You flushed. You were done with this mortifying conversation for tonight. You had said far too much in far too little time, and it was time for you to go. You might have to sleep on the stairs to the House of Wind if you left without one of your Illyrian male chauffeurs, but we all had to make sacrifices.

You stood up from the booth, a bit unsteady on your feet. “I’ll see you two tomorrow.”

They both protested as you turned and made a beeline for the door. The cool night air was refreshing on your flushed cheeks, and you giggled to yourself as you walked on unsteady feet down the stone street. Gods, you were really drunk.

In some part of your mind, you knew you shouldn’t be walking by yourself in the middle of the night, especially drunk. You were pretty sure any self defense tactics Azriel had taught you had fallen right out of your head tonight. You would be lucky if you could run in a straight line.

You smiled to yourself at the thought of Azriel. He was so beautiful. You missed him. You loved him. That’s what you had told Nesta and Feyre tonight. The reminder turned your stomach sour.

“Y/N.”

You spun around at the sound of your name, wobbling slightly. Your eyes widened and a grin spread across your face at the sight of the male in front of you. “I was just thinking about you!”

Azriel’s eyebrows went up, and an amused smirk stretched his lips. You bet they were soft. “Sweetheart,” Azriel murmured, taking a step closer. “How much did you drink?”

You shrugged, the motion making you sway a little. Azriel quickly reached to stabilize you. His hand on your waist felt electric.

“You were supposed to wait for me to take you home,” he said softly. “Feyre was a bit frantic that you just walked out.”

You blinked. His eyes were so bright under the light of the moon and stars. “Sorry,” you mumbled.

“Did something happen?” he asked, voice gentle. “Why did you just leave?”

You thought about Feyre and Nesta’s interrogation and the word vomit that spewed from your mouth. Even drunk you knew not to tell Azriel that, so you simply shrugged again. You leaned a bit closer to him, exhaustion creeping in. “I’m tired, Az,” you whined.

He chuckled, and you smiled at the sound. “Let’s go,” he said, tucking you into his side. You leaned heavily on him, and you barely noticed your wing touching his. Azriel didn’t mention it either. “I think we should go to the Town House,” he said. “I’m not sure flying or winnowing is the best idea right now.”

You nodded, mumbling out an agreement. Your eyes caught on the bright blue cobalt of his siphon that adorned the hand on your waist. You perked up a bit, grinning. “Hey!” you yelled, startling Azriel a bit. “Your siphon matches my skirt!” You pointed to the cobalt satin that draped down your legs.

Azriel laughed as he continued pulling you along toward the house. “It’s my favorite color,” you babbled. “I’ve always liked blue, but then I saw your blue, and I knew it had to be mine too.”

Azriel squeezed your hip gently. “I’m flattered,” he teased. You knew you were likely talking nonsense, but you grinned at his indulgence.

You continued rambling about anything and everything, with Azriel nodding or humming his acknowledgment. Eventually you reached the Town House, and Azriel guided you through the gate and up the stairs slowly, holding onto you tight. You fell into him a bit once you stood in front of the door. He managed to open it without letting go of you, and then shut it behind him.

The house was warm and smelled like cedar. “I’ve never been here,” you mumbled.

“We usually go to the River House, now” he explained, guiding you to a staircase that made your head swim. “But I still stay here a lot, to get some peace.”

Azriel. It smelled like Azriel. You clumsily stepped for the first stair, missing it completely. You would have collided with the floor if not for Azriel hanging on to you. “I think I’ll just stay here,” you murmured, moving to slide out of his hold, but he held you up firmly.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” he grumbled. “Let me carry you up?”

You certainly had no protests. Azriel scooped you up effortlessly then started climbing up the stairs. You rested your head on his chest, closing your eyes as you listened to his heartbeat. I love you, you thought, then, remembering Nesta and Feyre’s claims, Do you love me?

Warmth bloomed in your chest, and you nuzzled into his neck. He pushed open a door that led to a bedroom that smelled even more like him. He sat you down on the edge of the massive bed. “Is this your room?” you asked.

He nodded. “You can sleep in here. The other guest rooms don’t have beds as big. I’ll sleep in Rhys’s old room.”

You nodded, a bit dazed. You winced as a particularly sharp pain shot from the middle of your back and through your wing.

“What is it?” Azriel asked worriedly.

Your eyes burned a bit as you started to recognize the pain again. “I think I hurt my wing,” you whimpered.

“What?” he asked, alarm clear in his voice. “When?”

“Today,” you whispered. “I went to the beach and fell down some rocks.”

“Did you clean them?”

You shook your head. “Couldn’t reach.”

“Well then did you go to a healer?” he asked, exasperated.

You grimaced, shaking your head again. “I don’t like healers.” You didn’t like anyone touching your wings. 

Azriel sucked in a sharp breath. A beat passed. “I know healers in Illyria can be…inconsiderate,” he settled on, voice dripping with disdain. His voice softened then, “But Madja, our family healer, is incredibly kind and gentle. Everyone in her practice is. She’s worked on all of our wings many times.”

You were trembling, the idea of him making you go see a healer right now, when you were drunk and vulnerable—you couldn’t. “Please,” you rasped, “please don’t make me.”

His eyes were so soft as he said, “They need cleaned, sweetheart.”

“You can clean them,” you rushed out. His eyes went wide, but you continued on, “Please? I trust you, more than anyone. I just, I can’t—”

He shushed you softly as he reached to wipe a tear from your cheek. “Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll do my best.”

You relaxed instantly, sinking into the bed. “Lay down for me,” he murmured. “I’ll be right back.”

You did as he said, laying down on your stomach with your head resting on Azriel’s pillows that wrapped you in his comforting scent. He returned quickly, the bed sinking as he sat down beside you. “Can I,” he paused, “Can I touch?”

You nodded against the pillows, a mumbled yes escaping your lips. Azriel gently undid the slats of your sweater, his fingertips brushing your sensitive skin at the base of your wings. You shivered, and he stilled. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

“Yeah,” you rasped.

He continued his examination, then said, “I think it’s just the right one. The left looks fine.”

He gently prodded the base of the left and then did the same to the right, the motion making you hiss. He apologized, then told you, “These scrapes are still raw, Y/N.”

“Ever since they clipped my wings,” you murmured, “They don’t heal as fast as they should. I don’t know why.”

Azriel’s silence was loud. He rustled around with whatever supplies he collected, and you heard the light sloshing of water. “I’m going to clean them now,” he murmured softly. “Okay?”

You nodded, and he gently ran a warm, damp cloth over the wounds. You tensed from the burning that spread through your wing, but his gentle movements made it bearable. He then unscrewed a cap from a small tin, and told you, “This is a healing balm Madja gave me. It should speed up the healing and dull the pain.”

You nodded and closed your eyes as his gentle fingers spread the salve over your wounds. You let out a sigh of relief as the salve seeped in, quickly taking effect. “Do you have pain anywhere else?”

“I don’t think so,” you mumbled, mind still swimming from the alcohol and now the relief of your pain.

“Can I check?”

“Be my guest,” you said, voice muffled into the pillow.

Azriel gently skimmed his fingers up and along the ridge of your wing, following it all the way to the talon at the tip. Goosebumps littered your skin and you held your breath as he made his careful ministrations. Never had you let anyone touch your wings like this. The sensations were glorious and vulnerable all at once, and you thought you would stay there forever if you could, with Azriel gently stroking your wing in the comfort of his bed.

His fingers brushed against an especially sensitive area of the inner membrane, and a soft moan escaped you. Azriel froze, and you tensed once you realized what you did. “Did that hurt?” he asked worriedly.

You bit your lip, cheeks hot with mortification. “No,” you choked out.

“Oh.” You swore there was a faint shift in his scent, but your muddled mind couldn’t decipher it. “I think the rest of your wing is okay,” he said, voice strangled. “We’ll check your wounds tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, your embarrassment quickly being overcome with exhaustion.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said softly. “Do you want to change your clothes?”

You shook your head, nestling into the silk covered pillows. You were so comfortable. Your pain was gone, you were surrounded by the scent of the male you loved, and sleep was quickly beckoning to you.

You heard him chuckle softly, and then felt him gently remove your shoes from your feet. He draped a blanket over you, and you thought you might be dreaming as he tenderly brushed your hair behind your ear. “Get some sleep, my love.”

You were definitely dreaming.

~ ~ ~

I love you.

“I love you.”

You went still as death, yanking Azriel to a halt. The music from downstairs continued to flow around you, and your one hand was still resting in his while your other was on his shoulder. “What did you just say?” you asked breathlessly.

He gave you a sheepish smile, his cheeks tinting an adorable pink. He lowered your hands, but didn’t let go, his other staying put on your waist. His hazel eyes reflected the glowing spirits that shot across the sky as he looked at you reverently. “I love you,” he said again.

You shook your head, baffled. “You can’t—”

He lifted your hand to his chest, holding your palm over his heart. “Listen to me,” he said gently. “I love you. This—” He squeezed your hand. “This is yours. My heart is yours.”

Your eyes started to sting as tears pooled in them. You were still shaking your head when he squeezed your hand again, and a familiar warmth flooded your chest. “I need you to listen to me,” he cooed. His breath gently danced across your face as his shadows stroked against your neck. “I need you to feel me,” he begged. Your eyes widened at what he was implying, and he smiled slightly.

His own eyes shined as he continued talking, “A couple weeks ago, I went to Nesta for advice.” He swallowed and took a breath. “I told her I found my mate.” Your head was spinning. The world was tilting. “And that I was in love with her. I asked her–” He let out a shaky breath. “I asked her how to get my mate to fall in love with me.”

Your lip was wobbling as you listened intently, and he lifted his hand from your waist to wipe your tears from your cheeks. He chuckled softly. “She laughed at me. I was baffled, really. I couldn’t fathom what she thought was so funny about my turmoil, until she assured me that my mate was already in love with me.”

His hand drifted back to your waist before slowly curling around your lower back. You leaned in closer, unaware you were even doing it. He leaned down so that his cheek brushed against yours, and he was talking softly into your ear. He started gently swaying the two of you to the music again, as he said, “I didn’t believe her, not at first. I didn’t understand how she could possibly know who my mate was, let alone know that she was in love with me.” You let out a shaky breath. “But last week, when I took you home from Rita’s, and I carried you up the stairs? You were practically shouting your thoughts at me across the bond, and I felt it. I felt your love, and I felt your doubt of mine, and it nearly crippled me.”

Nesta’s little intervention that night made more sense now. Your lingering irritation over that whole ordeal withered away with Azriel’s confession, and it was replaced with gratitude for the meddling female. Azriel’s voice drew you back to him, “I knew I couldn’t say anything then, but I tried to push my love for you down the bond, to ease your doubts and anxieties. Then you let me…you trusted me to take care of you, and I knew I had to tell you how I felt, that I wanted you in my bed, letting me take care of you for the rest of my life.”

A soft sob broke free from your lips, and you leaned back to meet Azriel’s own silver-lined eyes. “I love you,” you whispered. The words you had been thinking for months finally out in the open. Azriel smiled at you in awe. “I love you so much. I never thought—not once did I think you could ever love me—”

He pulled you in close, leaning his forehead against yours. “Please don’t say that,” he pleaded, voice anguished. “You are the most beautiful person, inside and out, that I have ever met in my five centuries on this planet. You make me feel warm, and you make me feel safe. You make me feel at peace, and I’ve never had that.”

“Neither have I,” you admitted shakily. “Until I met you.”

Azriel gazed at you adoringly before his hands came up to cup your face. His eyes flicked down to your lips before returning to your eyes, and you gave the tiniest nod before he pressed his lips to yours. All of the love you felt for each other was put into the kiss, the two of you savoring the taste and feel of each other. Your lips moved slowly against his, relishing in this moment, in the warmth that filled your body. You finally recognized that warmth for what it was, the mating bond tying your two souls together, the glow of your love for each other a living, breathing thing.

You broke apart, chests heaving. You stared into his warm honey gaze, your insides melting at the vision of this beautiful male, your beautiful mate. “I love you,” you breathed.

Azriel brushed his nose against yours, his hands still cupping your face. “I know,” he whispered back, and then pressed another tender kiss to your lips. “And I love you.”

You glanced at the crowd of people dancing down below, then looked back at him. Heat flooded you, and his darkening eyes said the feeling was mutual. “Do you want to go somewhere more private?” you asked quietly, a bit nervous.

He pressed a kiss to the skin below your ear, and you shivered at the delightful sensation. “I plan to keep you to myself for weeks,” he growled into your ear. The next thing you knew, he scooped you up in his arms, flying up and out of the House’s wards, and then winnowed the two of you far, far away from the prying eyes and ears of Velaris.

~ ~ ~

a/n: thank you to everyone who has been supporting my writing and sharing such kind words. I know I don't do well at answering comments, but I do see them, and they mean so much.

I've decided to try taking requests, so if you have an idea for a fic, feel free to send it along. I'm fairly busy and writing is my way to decompress, so I can't promise that I will write it nor that I will write it quickly, but please don't hesitate to send me your ideas.

(I've also been working on another series. It will be mer!reader x Azriel, and it's purely a self-indulgent fic, but if that's something that interests you, be on the look out in the next month)

[azziebaddy]

Fucking beat his ass

[azziebaddy]

douleur part five; questions answered.

✦ azriel x reader ✦ masterlist ✦ warnings: brief mention of abuse and SA.

Despite all else, the chair you decided to occupy was surprisingly comfortable.

The cushions seemed to hug you as you sank into it. It was much better than the one you'd spent the night in, softer and pliable. Deliriously you wonder if they'll let you switch them out.

If they even let you live another night.

"You underestimate me." the Highlord remarked, his furrowed brow relaxing as he looked you over. He no doubt took in how exhausted and defeated you became and decided that you were no longer a threat. You sure didn't feel like one.

"Do what you must." you dully respond, far too empty to continue fighting. It was like someone had snipped your proverbial strings with the way your limbs had suddenly felt like dead weight, the way your mind seemed to just collapse with defeat. Arguing had done nothing but use up any anger and adrenaline you had left. Arguing had confirmed what you already knew.

They were all either woefully ignorant or blindly complacent.

And who were you to convince them?

There's another low growl from your right. The Spymaster was no doubt trying to intimidate you into confessing. His snarl from earlier still rang in your ears and you would be lying if you said you weren't more afraid of the physical pain they could inflict. If the Highlord broke open your mind, would it even hurt? Or would everything just go dark? A quick, painless death.

A knife would hurt though. Knives always hurt.

"No one's doing anything." The Highlady interjected suddenly, but you kept your eyes on the floor.

There was a spot in the marble just a shade darker than the others that glittered every so slightly in the sunlight. This room was like the others you'd so far seen, windowless and spacious, which meant the sun was free to shine as it made it's way over the palace.

You weren't used to natural light and the warmth that came with it. It was ... nice.

The way the clouds cast shade as they passed was a novelty but you couldn't really enjoy it, not like you wanted. So instead you focus on the floor, trying to soak up as much of the sunlight as you could. You hear her approach and don't so much as twitch as she comes to stand next to her husband.

"Why wouldn't Rhysand find anything?"

You want to smile again. The mask of the Friendly Highlady was certainly entertaining. You wonder if it pained her to stoop down to your level, to pretend to have empathy and compassion for you.

Internally you weigh the pros and cons of talking. Of confessing, of telling them everything. By now it wouldn't matter. No harm could come to your family so long as they disappeared as they were meant to.

Pro, you could potentially avoid painful and agonizing torture. Con, it would keep you with them longer. Pro, the chair you occupied was heaven. Con, you'd have to actually speak to the lot of them. Pro, you could sit in the sun awhile longer.

It was a rather quick decision.

"Because I know about as much as you do. Maybe more, but it's all ultimately useless."

You raise your head and catch the flicker of surprise on the Highlady's face.

"Why?" she pressed and you sigh, straightening your back.

"Because that's how it was all designed. They come and then they go. I do not know where they end up."

"Designed?" echoed the Highlord, and you gaze shifts to him.

"Yes," you continue, bringing your hands to your lap. You wish you had your knives. Without them your hands felt empty and restless.

"They come to me when they want out. Or rather, came to me I suppose." You inhale a steadying breath and the Highlady nods at you to continue. Shifting your head farther to the right, you keep talking as your gaze finds the same spot on the floor again.

"Women, men, children. Husbands and wives. Daughters and sons. They would find me when they wanted to escape and I would help them. As for information on their whereabouts, I know nothing. I designed it that way so if I ever got caught ..."

You trail off with a shrug and the Highlady exhales as she catches on.

"We wouldn't be able to read your mind to find them."

A confirming nod. You refused to look at her.

"But how did you move them out of the city? You said "we," who else is involved? Why do they want to leave?"

A lump in your throat. Stinging in your eyes. You fight back the tears and continue.

"A couple of others as far as I know. I was meant to be the figurehead, the one to whisper and spread rumor about. Those who needed me knew who I was, what I did - or they would find out somehow. Once they came to me I would collect the necessary details to begin moving them. I would bring the others their names and they would figure out the rest. New identities, spots in different courts - all completed and funded without my knowledge."

You swallow against the dryness in your throat.

"As for why, well ... many reasons. To escape an arranged marriage. To leave an abusive household. There are those in Hewn who have," you pause as you struggle with your words, jaw working against the sudden burst of passion you felt for the fae that you saved, "certain tastes. Mothers would come to me begging for their children's lives. The last one, the merchant's wife - he's hurt her every night since her father sold her off. She found out she was pregnant and it was finally enough for her to seek me out. They'd already ..." you pause again, fighting back the wave of disgust shuddering through you, "made plans for the baby girl."

The Highlady inhaled and beside you the Spymaster shifted. In discomfort over what you'd said? Or fury that you were admitting involvement? You continue on, voice shaking with emotion.

"They want to leave because they need to leave. Keir doesn't allow anyone to go, not unless they're doing his bidding or in his circle. As for "we" - it was me and two others. They're long gone now. I've given them enough time to escape."

Out of the corner of your eye you see the Highlord cock his head. You pause and turn your head to face him.

"You knew you were walking into a trap."

He sounded almost impressed. You nod in response. The new angle allows you to see the Highlady and you can't help but be surprised at the obvious disgust on her face.

"You said plans. What kind of plans?"

There was no mistaking the furious shake in her voice. You frown and meet her gaze.

"The exact kind you're picturing now."

Everyone seemed to exhale throughout the room and you glance around, confused. Surely they weren't sympathizing. Surely they didn't agree with you.

It had to be a trap.

"Something like this, something this big can't just be the work of three people."

Morrigan was talking now and you closed your eyes in a bid for patience.

"You're right," you respond, tone turning to ice without your permission. "But I have no idea who else knows, who else helped. They could be citizens of different courts for all I know."

Silence followed and you start to feel the exhaustion creep back in. Thinking of the merchant's wife and her swollen belly had you feeling empty. Drained. You got her out, she was safe, but somehow Keir found out and now the system was ruined. You had no idea if there were backups, who else needed help, what would happen to everyone else. You were so tired and your shoulders began to sink as you fought to stay upright. It had been days since you last slept. Gathering what was needed to move such a high profile fae had meant a couple of sleepless nights. After that you received Keir's invite and stayed awake, planning. Last night you remained in the same chair and counted down the seconds waiting for death, the Highlord, or the Spymaster to find you.

A smoky tendril caught your eye as it moved across the floor toward you. It stopped at the chair and circled the leg and your foot before zipping back as if it had been yanked. You followed it's trail, only to freeze when it disappeared underneath the Spymaster's boot.

Shadows. They were shadows.

You turn your head to your lap and twist your fingers, wanting nothing more than to sleep. To be left alone. You can feel the Spymaster's eyes on you, intense and never wavering. His gaze is heavy, haunting, and you want to leave.

"So, you've been what? A distraction?"

The smaller woman was questioning you. You didn't like her. Before you can respond, an unfamiliar male voice interrupts.

"More like bait."

You blink as the Lord of Bloodshed walks around to stand next to the Highlord. You'd forgotten all about him behind you and his presence is startling.

The half grin on his face is even more so.

"I have to say, I'm a little impressed." He turned to look at his Highlord and Lady, grin widening. "She designed this around you, Rhys."

The Highlord hummed in agreement and continued to stare at you, his gaze calculating. Evaluating. The Highlady's face softened.

"You were helping them." she states and you shrug once again.

"I did what I could."

Her lips tug into a frown and she looks down before catching your eye again.

"The other woman. She had wanted to come to me, to seek an audience."

You nod slowly. She sighed.

"Why didn't she? Or any of you?"

This time you do smile. It's self deprecating and sarcastic and you shake your head as you decide how truly honest you wished to be. There was a difference between confessing what you had done and outright insulting the pair in front of you.

"How could we?" you began, fingers beginning to twist and fumble together, picking at the loose stitching of your dress.

"We couldn't risk it. I couldn't risk it. If we exposed ourselves and then ended up being taken down, who would step forward in our place? I was in Hewn when your mate inherited his title. I was there when Morrigan was appointed. I was there when there was hope of change in the air, only to watch as nothing happened. It's no secret that you all despise us. Why should the Highlady be different?"

"You could have come to me." Morrigan near whispered and you whipped to face her again.

"And risk everything? Even now, I don't know what your intentions are. I don't know why you've brought me here, I don't know why you care, and I don't know what you plan to do with me."

Your outburst douses the room in silence once more and you sink back into your chair, shoulders beginning to shake. Gods, you were tired.

"So you started this ... process." the Highlady said after a beat and you closed your eyes, moving your arms to grip the chair.

"Yes." you murmur, letting your head fall into your hand, elbow resting on the chair's arms.

"For how long?"

The Highlord spoke this time, voice quieter than before. You shrug, eyes still closed behind your fingers.

"I don't know. Over three hundred years? Maybe four?"

"Did you say three hundred years?" the Lord of Bloodshed asked and you confirmed with a nod of your head. He let out a sigh and ran his fingers through his longer hair. Your eyelids were growing heavier and heavier.

"That's ... a lot of fae."

You hum, dragging your hand down your face. There's a shifting of wings next to you that causes the Highlady to glance towards the Spymaster before quirking her brow.

Another wordless conversation. She then turns to you, clasping her hands together.

"Thank you, for telling us. You've given us a lot to think about."

Blinking at her in confusion, you can't help but frown. She answers with a kind smile.

"For now, you need to rest. Please, get some sleep. We'll have food sent to your room and we'll call on you again soon. To discuss all of this."

The doors behind you creak open but you don't move, completely disoriented now. You ... you were supposed to die. To be dead by now. Why ... why were you still alive?

It's the Highlord who speaks next, gentle but firm.

"In the meantime, you're safe. No harm will come to you. You have my word."

A Highlord's word. Did it mean anything when it came from him?

You stand slowly, knowing that you've been dismissed but still not believing it. The twins appear on either side of you, no doubt ready to guide you back to your room.

Suddenly the Highlady lifts her hand, causing you to freeze. She then smiles again, this time wider.

"I'm so sorry, I completely forgot ... we still don't have your name."

You stare at her unabashedly and fidget with your fingers before giving it to her. She nods and thanks you as you turn and follow the twins out, still confused and light headed.

Nothing was going like it was supposed to and you feel like you can't get your footing. You hadn't planned for this, hadn't ever dreamed of talking to the Highlord and Lady like this and living.

Regardless, you remained suspicious. What were their intentions? What did they need to discuss? The Highlady had been visibly disturbed by what you'd said. What did they need to keep you for?

You square your shoulders as you walk back to your room and inhale a deep, slow breath. Whatever the next day would bring, whatever they had planned, you would endure. You would calculate the risks versus the rewards and move forward as you've always done. This was no different than the games you played in Hewn.

And you'd been good at those games. So for now, you'd play.

And then ... well. You guessed you'd find out soon enough.

[azziebaddy]

Yes BUT Rhysand in jodhpurs.

[azziebaddy]

gay sex

Yes baby yes

[azziebaddy]

@yourlittlebunnyy yes queen

mdni!

sub!azriel gets so pussydrunk too<3

first taste of your cunt and he literally lose it. his head empties the exact same moment he can feel that sweet cunt of yours all over his face, or his cock, or whatever. that man doesn't care how, he just needs you.

after all, he's just your desperate little thing that begs you to cum and gets rewarded with a little taste<3

main masterlist

[azziebaddy]

mdni!

perv!azriel who can't stop thinking about you. he doesn't even feel guilty anymore for breaking in your house and wait for you to come back from a night out, only to watch you shower.

perv!azriel who can't tear his eyes off of you while you undress, a hand already inside his pants. it's a delicious torture watching while you take off your cute mini dress.

perv!azriel who realizes that you are drunk and the only thought invading his mind is that he can finally steal your panties without being caught.

perv!azriel who waits for you to enter the bath. you let out a small moan of satisfaction when you sink into the warm water, making his cock jump.

perv!azriel who continue to fuck his fist at the imagine of you wet and naked, your tits covered in bubbles and your nipples barely visible. you're teasing him without even trying.

perv!azriel who can finally order one of his shadows to take the little piece of lace and bring it to him when you close your eyes and lay your head on the board of the tub.

perv!azriel who almost cum when he brings the pair of lace underwear on his face, sniffing your sweet scent like the perv he is.

perv!azriel who can't resist and quickly undo his belt as silent as possible, just to free his red and angry looking cock and wrap the lacy pair around his girth.

perv!azriel who cums the exact same moment you get out of the tub, the imagine of you naked and wet and shiny is too much for him to handle. he paints your cute little panties of white before he quickly put them back, taking advantage that you turned around looking for a towel.

perv!azriel who gets hard again after seing your round and peachy ass, but orders himself to go back home.

perv!azriel who feels pleasure when he realizes you will find the pair of panties and wonder what got them so dirty.

main masterlist - perv!azriel part 1

[azziebaddy]

sins & shadows

Pairing: Azriel x Beron’s youngest daughter!reader 

Word count: 6.0k

Summary: Kidnapped by Azriel, the daughter of the High Lord of the Autumn Court is held captive as leverage to force her father into agreeing to the Night Court's demands. Trapped and powerless, you’re left with Azriel and his dark intentions. 

Contains: smut, dubcon, knife play, implied abduction/kidnapping, unprotected p in v, mild pain (scrapes) & discomfort, light pain play, bondage/light bdsm, power play, crying, dacryphillia, oral (m receiving), face fucking, slapping, fingers in mouth, humiliation & degradation (use of ‘bitch’, ‘slut’, ‘whore’), az is lowkey a perv, overstimulation, forced creampie, lemme know if i missed anything else, no use of Y/N. 

Your eyes fluttered open, consciousness slowly making home again in your hazy mind. Blinking the fuzziness away, it was hard for your eyes to adjust to how dim it was in—wherever it was you were. When you tried to move, you found that your wrists and ankles were bound, and you weren't even standing, or sitting down. You were simply suspended about two feet above the ground, with your ankles being held apart by a sort of invisible force, as were your wrists, stretched out on either side of your head so that your elbows were forced straight. There was a dull throbbing in your head as your vision slowly adapted to the darkness of the room. 

The strangest part? You couldn’t recall how you ended up here. Swallowing to soothe your dry, scratchy throat, you called out weakly, "Hello?" 

There was a soft hum of acknowledgement, nothing more than an exhale, coming from some part of the windowless room that you couldn't make out. The sound was unnerving, making you wonder if it was some sort of creature.

With that being your main worry, you tried to work free of the binds around your wrists and ankles. They didn't bite into your skin like how shackles would, instead, they were...soft? They weren't soft, exactly, but they weren't biting into your skin like normal shackles would, which you silently thanked the Mother for. At least your captor was being nice, right? 

But your gratefulness didn't last, now when you found out they were supernatural binds. Which meant that you wouldn't be able to escape from them unless you somehow killed the person who was sourcing the magic, and did that with your limbs bound. Impossible. 

The restraints were cold, but unlike metal and more like the chill of an autumn breeze. The temperature of the windowless room was just slightly higher than the binds, your thin gown doing nothing to shield you from your surroundings. 

The room smelled slightly musky too, but not in an entirely unpleasant way, but in a way that did add to the neglected atmosphere in the room. 

Giving up on trying to escape—there was no possible way you could right now—you decided to try and recollect your scattered memories. Except that there was absolutely nothing to recall. You'd just been sleeping and woke up here. No memory of being taken or transported. Perhaps it was another one of your brothers' silly pranks.

But they didn't have this sort of magic. And they wouldn't leave you bound and alone. So, no, it couldn't be them. 

Huffing, you tried to take inventory of wherever it was you were. Three walls, none with windows, and no bars or doors you could catch a glimpse of. Ahead of you, you couldn’t see where the next wall was. Your arms were getting tired of being above your head to either side of you, and when you relaxed them fully, your phantom binds caught the weight and kept them up. 

Suddenly, there was a low chuckle that made something stir low in your belly. Mocking and belittling, like you were the little insect caught in a spider's web. Which was, quite literally, the case. 

You felt your cheeks flush. You were being used for someone's entertainment, you were sure of it. 

“Show yourself,” you ordered, trying your best to straighten even in your situation. As the princess of Autumn, you know how to carry yourself, after so many court sessions with your father and elder brothers.

“You’re not in any position to be making demands.” The voice was cloyingly rich and smooth, sounding less like a captor and more like a male who would spend his nights murmuring filthy things in your ear. 

"I am the daughter of the High Lord of the Autumn Court," you began slowly, about to continue only to be cut off by the voice replying in a condescending manner. 

"And what can you do with that title here? It won't be getting you very far," it drawled.

"My brothers are, in fact, coming to retreive me now." 

"According to who?"

You gritted your teeth. "I know they are." 

Another hum, in a tone that implied that the person didn't agree with you but decided to humor you anyway. 

When you tried to kindle the fire usually ever-present at your fingertips, it seemed the binds around you had snuffed your ability out, making the attempt pointless. The other person—well, you assumed it was a person—in the room only chuckled once more at your feeble attempt. 

"What did you do?" You cried out, trying again to no avail. 

"Well, we can't have you escaping, now, can we?" 

"Who's 'we'?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Why am I here?" 

"So that things go smoothly." His tone was indifferent. 

Out of nowhere came a sharp ringing noise, making you flinch when something cold brushed the shell of your ear, barely for a splinter of a second. The sound of the object whizzing past you had barely registered in your mind before it hit the wall behind you and clattered to the ground. 

"What was that?" you asked shakily, trying to turn to see where the item had landed. 

From the shadowy side of the room, wisps of smoke crawled across the floor, crawling on the floor around you. When they pulled back, they held up the item they retrieved: a dagger. 

You shrieked.

"What was that for?" the male asked with an amused huff. 

Fear still lining the edges of your words, you countered, "What was that for?" 

"For fun. Rhys said I could do anything I wanted with you, as long as you made it out alive. And I've been bored recently..." he trailed off, possibly imagining what he could do with you. 

You, on the other hand, had panic flare bright in your chest. But you quickly suppressed it—now was not the time to let fear or irrationality cloud your mind. 

Rhys? You wondered silently. It must've been the one this person was reporting to, or...

Rhys. Rhysand. The High Lord of Night.

Oh. 

"Am I in the Night Court?" You tried the question, unsure if you would receive a reply. 

"Wouldn't you like to know." 

"I would, actually."

No response.

"You know, you're a coward for hiding," you scoffed, faking confidence. "Maybe it's because if I knew how you looked, it'd be easier to overpower you because of how pathetic you really are." 

"I'm anything but."

"Prove it."

The constrictions around your wrists tightened uncomfortably, squeezing before it loosened again.

"Hardly proves anything," you said through gritted teeth. The pressure was enough to leave twin bruises on your skin.

"No, I suppose it doesn't," the voice mused. "Not the matter. What shall I do with you? We have as much time as it takes for your father to agree to our terms." 

"You mean, as much time as it takes for my brothers to get here.”

“No. They wouldn’t find you.”

Gradually, the shadows waned to reveal a figure. Only once the majority of the shadows had been cleared did the room seem to get slightly brighter, allowing you to make out stone walls, and realize that your binds were shadows. Which meant the smoke that collected the dagger just now wasn't smoke, but shadows as well. 

And the figure was the one controlling the shadows. 

It was the Night Court's infamous Shadowsinger. 

"Oh, shit," you found yourself saying before you could stop yourself. 

It was still too dim to see his face, but you could see a muted blue glow near his hands and on the center of his chest. You didn't stop to wonder what they were, because your mind was focused on one thing and one thing only—you had to get out. 

Because if the stories were true, that meant you weren’t only in danger. You were under his control, at his mercy; your life was in his bloodstained hands. 

The remaining shadows parted to reveal Azriel lounging in the chair you would’ve been tied to if you weren’t being bound in the way that you were, legs spread and elbows resting on the arms of the wooden chair.

A surprised gasp escaped your lips. He was stunning, but not in the usual way a fae male was beautiful. He was more…sinister. An intense sort of beauty, sharpened by the harsh lines of his face and haunted eyes, framed by shadows. 

Oh, gods. The absolute last thing you had to be doing right now was thinking about how attractive your abductor was. 

And now that you could see him fully, you could also see the way he raked his gaze over you in a way that made you shiver. There was a lethal sort of glint in his eye that twinkled when they landed on certain parts of your body. His arousal was nothing hidden, not when he was blatantly palming himself over his trousers at the sight of you in nothing but a lacy black nightgown, body on display as his shadows held you up. 

"Stop that," you moaned, squeezing your eyes shut and angling your head away in disgust. 

His smirk only widened. You'd inadvertently exposed the slender lines of your neck to him, only fueling the explicit images in his mind. 

"You know,” his liquid-gold voice began, “You’re lucky you’re a pretty thing. If you weren’t, I’d have used a blade to cut you open just to feel something. But you’re prettier than the girls at the pleasure hall—probably tighter, too—so I’ll use your holes instead. Besides, don’t you think it’ll be so much more fun to return you back to your father after I’ve tainted you?” 

You squirmed in place, biting out, “You’re sick.”

“I’m aware.” 

The shadows pooled beneath your hovering toes began to slink up your calves, and you suppressed a shiver at the chill. 

Shakily, you said, “Stop it.” 

“Stop what? I’m hardly doing anything.”

At his words, his shadows danced around your upper thighs tauntingly. Feather-light and ticklish, as if they wouldn’t do you any harm. Which you knew they would, at the Shadowsinger’s command. 

You tried to close your legs, to stop his shadows from brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, but the shadows wound around your ankles kept your legs slightly open. 

"You look so frightened," murmured Azriel. His shadows rubbed up against your soft thighs, as if feeling you on his behalf. “Pretty.”

You didn't reply, your throat too tight. 

Eventually, his shadows inched just a tad higher up, hovering beneath the lacy hem of your nightgown, waiting for his command. You could nearly feel the way his shadows pulsed with life, with magic. 

Slowly, he rose, his approach feeling predatory. The remaining shadows trailed behind him, following his footsteps like loyal pets. Your body instinctively shrank back, but you could barely move. 

The temperature of your surroundings seemed to drop the nearer he got. Perhaps it was your fear heightening, or the icy shadows growing thicker around you. 

Even though you were suspended above the ground, he was nearly eye-level with you—only reminding you how much bigger he was than you, and eliminating all ideas of being able to run away. 

At his hip, you could see the way the jewel in his dagger sparkled in the dim lighting. The blue stone set in the hilt matched the color of the siphons on his wrists. He noticed the way your gaze caught on the weapon, and a corner of his mouth nicked up. 

“Stop,” you said before he could get any ideas, but you knew you were too late. 

“Why should I?” 

With that, his shadows raced up your skirt eagerly. He paid no mind as you sobbed out, jerking against the restraints as cold darkness brushed against you. His shadows were thorough in their actions, cocooning you to feel your skin. It would’ve been comforting if it wasn’t so invasive. It was like they were greedy, wanting to touch as much of you as they could, slithering across your torso and upper thighs. The more daring ones slid across the curves of your breasts and in between your legs. 

"Stop," you cried out again, your teeth sinking into your chapped lower lip. 

"But we're having so much fun," he argued, watching with malice in his amber eyes. 

With a flick of his wrist, shadows gathered in the space between your thighs, and sharp, ghostly fingers broke the thin straps of your nightgown. They wasted no time in pushing your dress down, revealing the swell of your chest and nipples peaked from the chill of the cell. 

“No-” you protested as you tried to curl into yourself. “Stop, please!”

You felt your cheeks get wet, as did the cotton of your panties as the shadows rubbed against it. No matter how hard you squirmed, the shadows didn’t loosen their hold on you. Tendrils of darkness alternated between tugging at the buds of your breasts and swirling around them. Silent tears spilt down your cheeks at the violation, leaving trails that shined on your cheeks. 

“Fuck,” Azriel groaned, His shadows traveled to other parts of your body when he reached out to palm your breast, enjoying the way you fit in his hand and giving the flesh a harsh squeeze. “So pretty like this.”

Your back arched in an attempt to get away from him, but the action only made Azriel chuckle when you pushed your chest out further. A whimper left your parted lips when he tugged on your taut nipple to leave it stinging, and tears trickled from the corners of your eyes when you squeezed them shut. 

“I can smell your arousal, gorgeous. Does this make you wet?” He slapped your tits, eyes glued to the way it bounced. “Hm? Answer me.” 

You shook your head. “No, you’re sick-” 

His scarred fingers swiped the bottom of your chin where tears collected, and he brought them to his mouth. Sucked it off his fingers like a delicacy. “I wonder what we could do to make you cry harder?”

The sweet, heady scent of your arousal permeated the damp smell of the room. A curl of shadow swirled over your clothed clit slowly, making you slightly dizzy and left reeling. You didn’t want this, but he was manipulating your body into wanting it when your mind didn’t. 

Azriel took pleasure in grabbing your nightgown, bunched at your ribs, and easily ripping it down the center despite your protests. Goosebumps raised on your skin as he discarded the fabric. 

A shadow pulled at the bow on your panties, snapping it against your abdomen lightly. Azriel’s gaze was appraising as he raked it over you, making you squirm uncomfortably. 

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can,” came his simple response. Then his eyes darkened. “I have a fun idea.” 

“No, no, please-” 

“You haven’t even heard it yet, darling.” 

You scrunched your eyes shut so as to not see his dangerously beautiful face, causing more tears to leak from the well behind your lids. “I don’t want to.”

“I don’t recall giving you a choice.” 

A shadow pressed down on your core, making your hips buck involuntary and pulling a whine from your lips. The shadows at your hips turned sharp again, slicing through the soft material of your panties and letting them fall unceremoniously to the stone beneath you, but not before a single shadow curled around the material and swiftly moved to tuck it into Azriel’s pocket. A sob broke free, your body shaking as Azriel took his time to appreciate the view.

Autumn’s daughter, bare and bound at his mercy, cheeks and cunt wet. Could there be anything more sightly?

Azriel arched a brow. “Should I tell you what I’m about to do? Or-”

“N- no.”

“I haven't finished speaking, but if you’ve made your decision, so be it.” 

You sobbed as his hand slid along your drenched folds, rubbing idly until you were soaking his hand. “You’re so fucking wet, it’s embarrassing. This turns you on, huh?” You jolted when he slapped his fingers down on your clit. “Fucking filthy, aren’t you?”

Your body mourned the loss of his touch when he pulled his hand back, but your attention was quickly drawn to the dagger sheathed at his hip when his gleaming, sticky fingers wrapped around the hilt and pulled it out. He noticed your panicked expression, his grin only widening. The blade caught the faelights uncovered by shadows and lining the walls, and you released a shaky breath. 

Shadows were quick to wrap around the blade of the knife when Azriel held it out, until the reflective part was wrapped in swirling shadows and the hilt was facing upwards. You flinched when it was pointed at you, shaking your head quickly. 

Azriel reminded you, “Like I said. You have no say here.” 

You shuddered when the cold pommel was dragged from your navel to your clit. At your whine, he pushed two fingers past your lips, and you bit down defiantly. He hissed but didn’t withdraw. You could taste your own slickness off him, silently cursing your body for reacting in such a way. Forced to suck on his fingers, you could feel spit dripping from your lower lip. 

His shadows began to use the end of his dagger to circle your clit, and your noise of protest was muffled by his fingers. "Why'd you stop crying? We can't have that happening now, can we?" 

You were going to wring your neck with how often, how harshly you were shaking it, legs trembling as they were kept held open. The hilt of the dagger was brought further down until it reached the wetness that clung to you, rubbing up against your entrance slowly. 

Clearly, Azriel had achieved what he wanted when another wet path snaked its way down your flushed cheeks. You tried to clench your thighs to conceal yourself, but the shadows around your ankles didn’t shift. The ones holding the blade of the dagger did, however, pressing the pommel into you and making you mewl. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, wiping your spit on your breasts. 

“Stop,” you gasped, feeling the cold metal press up against your soft inner walls. The grip of the dagger wasn’t thick—it was relatively slim, but the feeling was intrusive no less. Your walls clenched as it slid in further, down to the guard of the knife. Azriel watched as his dagger slid into you easily, his own arousal growing. 

“No-” you said again, but your voice came out breathy in a way that you disliked. 

“Do you know,” Azriel paused, “how many lives have been taken by that blade? You could be the Truth Teller’s next victim.”

Truth Teller. The name registered in your mind, and you knew how the weapon was something near-sacred. A worshiped, prized weapon of the Spymaster’s. It withdrew slowly, revealing the hilt gleaming with your slick, which Azriel’s darkened eyes drank in greedily before it pushed into you again, drawing another soft sob.

“Do you think I could make you come with it? What a feat that would be. I’d be sure to tell your family of it.” 

The shadows increased the pace of the hilt driving into you, angling to make the feeling more pleasant, much to your chagrin. You whimpered, wrists straining against the shadowy cuffs that held your arms up. Your hips jerked when the shadows pressed against your clit, stimulation to the bud of nerves from both the inside and outside. 

Arrogance and amusement shined in Azriel’s gaze as he did nothing but watch. Your hips were beginning to grind down on the hilt of the weapon and the shadows, but as much as you didn’t want it to happen, pleasing pressure began to build up in your lower stomach and between your legs. Quiet huffs left your parted lips as your head fell forward, something bitter tugging at your consciousness at the sight of the Shadowsinger’s magic and item bringing you to climax. But at the same time it was a curious turn on, because of how explicit, how forbidden it was. 

“Stop, I…” your head tipped back, and shadows raced up to twirl around the expanse of exposed skin at your throat. The wonderful friction of the carvings and stones set into the grip of Truth Teller rubbed against your slippery walls, and the pommel met the spot inside of you that made your head spin. 

“Are you sure you want me to stop?” Azriel’s voice was hardly enough to draw you out of the headspace he’d created. 

“No, no-” You weren’t sure what you were saying no to anymore, but you did know that you needed the release dangling right in front of you. 

“You’re enjoying this too much,” he grumbles, slapping your tits again before pinching down on your nipples. Instead of inflicting the pain he wished to, the contact brought you over the edge instead, your gasps and moans echoing around the cell as pleasure blinded you for a handful of counts. Suddenly, you were thankful for the binds that held you up, or your knees would’ve given out and landed you on the cold floor. 

He didn’t wait for your high to fade before his shadows were pulling away, and before you could even register what was going on, the now-warm metal of his dagger slipping past your lips. 

“Clean it,” he ordered. It was thrilling, having the knife so close to you. Your tongue dragged from the cobalt jewel inset in the hilt, until the pommel when it was pulled past your lips and returned to the sheath at Azriel’s hip. You could still feel your release slowly sliding down your soft inner thighs. 

All of a sudden, your restraints dissipated, dropping you onto your knees with a yelp. You winced as your knees scraped against the floor, but at least it gave you a moment to let your achy muscles relax. The floor didn’t seem dirty, 

Surprisingly, escape wasn’t your priority. Not like you could’ve, not when Azriel’s large hand threaded itself in your hair and you found yourself eye-level with the tent in his leather trousers. Your eyes widened as you peered up at him, only to be met with a cynical smirk.

“I’m going to fuck your throat now, and you’re going to take it,” he said coolly as his other hand undid the laces of his pants. He readjusting his grip on your hair, wrapping the fiery strands around his fist and tugging to make sure it was tight. 

Once again, the shadows had solidified around you, ensuring that you couldn’t move away. Kneeling, you were rooted to the ground. 

You were given no time at all to even register Azriel’s size before he was slapping you across the face, sliding himself past your lips when you gasped. Not only lengthy, he was wide, too, making it nearly impossible to fit the entirety of him in your mouth. But he made sure you took him anyway, tugging your head down until you were sputtering around his girth and your nose was pressed against his pelvis. He tasted musky and slightly salty, the weight heavy and unfamiliar on your wet tongue. 

Azriel could feel the way your throat convulsed around his length, which further added to his sick enjoyment. Holding you roughly by the hair, he continued to jerk your head back and forth, hitting the back of your throat each time and making sure that you had no time to breathe between drags. Your eyes were rimming red, tears pooling with each choke. And yet, more wetness gathered at your heat, dripping onto the floor beneath you. 

You placed your hands on his thighs where his trousers were pooled, trying to pull away—but his shadows caught you by the wrists immediately and brought your hands behind your back, cuffing them. And when you tried to use your body to pull away again, Azriel held your head down at his base until you were sobbing around him. 

“Stupid little bitch,” he muttered with another slap to your cheek. You could feel tears wetting your cheeks again as you drooled around his cock. Eventually, Azriel quit pulling your hair, instead slapping his cock on your cheek while you gasped for air. Just when you thought he was finally about to stop, he plunged himself back into your mouth and started fucking your face. Hard. 

“Fuck, you’ve got a perfect little mouth,” he groaned. Tears and drool dripped from your cheeks and chin onto your breasts, making you into the ideal wanton view. As if reading your mind, Azriel said, “Imagine what your father would say if he saw you like this. With my cock down your perfect little throat, fucking your mouth like a toy. And you’re letting me do it, you’re fucking pathetic.” 

He was right, though—you were powerful enough to have not let this happen, yet it was happening anyway. And what more, it was turning you on. Pathetic was certainly the right word. 

“You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth. Maybe I should keep you. You like choking on my cock, slut?”

It wasn’t as if you could reply, not with the way he was thrusting into your mouth so roughly. It was suffocating, the way he filled your mouth completely. Tears blurred your vision until you could barely see, and the only thing you could feel was his tip hitting the back of your throat and the throbbing of your clit. The sound of your gags and cries bounced off the walls mockingly. 

“Look at me. Wanna see you cry.”

You raised your lashes, looking up at him with teary eyes that had him repeating a string of profanities. 

“Fucking hell,” Azriel grumbled, spilling his release into your mouth in thick ropes. “Swallow.” Then he pulled out, and a string of spit and cum connected your swollen lips to his tip, then broke as it dropped onto your lap. Azriel worked his fist around his shaft until he spurted white onto your collarbones. “Show me.”

Mortified by your own actions, you opened your mouth, tongue prodding at your lower lip as you showed him you’d swallowed. He tasted nice—not that you’d admit that to him, or even yourself. 

His shadows around you eased right before he yanked you up by the hair and dragged you to the chair he was previously sitting in. Your thighs were wet as he sat and tugged you onto him, until you were straddling his lap, wetness smearing against his trousers. You wiped the back of your hands along your cheeks, clearing off the tear marks on your face. From there, you could see the way the fabric of your panties stuck out from his pocket like a prize he was proud of winning. 

“You’re going to fuck your pretty pussy onto me now, yeah? And then you’re going to thank me when you come on my cock,” he taunted, his hands rubbing his release from your clavicle into the soft flesh of your chest. 

His tip rested on your lower abdomen, rigid and red and wet and throbbing. He was so huge that you doubted you could take all of him. Reality seemed to hit you like a punch to the gut. He’d violated you without your permission. You should’ve been out of here by now, not letting him use you like this. 

You flinched when he rubbed his fingers through your folds, the slick sound meeting his ears. “Stop,” you snapped, trying to shift away, but his hand and shadows clamped around your hips.

“But you’re enjoying yourself.” He tapped the head of his cock against your slick entrance, and your traitorous inner walls fluttered. “Aren’t you?”

“No-” 

“You don’t want to sit on my cock? That’s really too bad, because soon I’m going to have you riding me like a cheap whore. Not cheap pussy, though.” He slid the head of his girth into your entrance, and your nails dug into the material of his shirt at his shoulders. It’d been so long since you’d slept with someone, and had never had someone close to his size inside of you. 

“You can’t- make me…” His shadows held you in place when you attempted to shift your hips to stop him. 

Just then, he pulled the Truth Teller from the sheath at his hip and held it to the damp skin of your neck. Your pulse spiked, eyes widening in fear as tears began to well in your eyes again. 

“Ride my cock,” he slapped your behind, “or I’ll take my time to slit your pretty throat.” 

Your thighs shook as you sank down onto him slowly, squeezing your eyes shut and gasping out in pain at the stretch. When you paused, the blade pressed into your skin, not hard enough to draw blood but to remind you of the threat he held over your head. You sank further until your bare ass was seated on the material of his shoved-down pants, teeth clamping down on your lower lip to stop yourself from crying out. 

Azriel’s shadows secured you as he pressed his left hand down on your lower belly, making you whimper. “You feel that?” 

You nodded, dragging your hips back up when the knife pressed harder again. “F- fuck you.” 

“You’re doing that right now,” he drawled, leaning back in the seat and easing the pressure on your neck. You could feel the way he was buried so deep inside you when you moved back down again, the biting sting of his width stretching your walls. 

“Shit, you’re so tight. Squeezing me so fucking good. So wet, too. This gets you off, huh?” his fingers pressed into your hips, guiding your movements to pick the pace up. Your movements were careful, though, making sure not to cut yourself on the razor-sharp dagger held to your throat as your breath caught. 

“I hate you.” The words turned from an offense in your mind into a needy whine when it fell past your lips. 

“I know, darling. Yet you’re strangling my cock with that sweet little cunt of yours, godsdamn.” He let his hand travel from your hip to your breast, groping roughly. 

Eventually the pain faded, your movements becoming smoother. Azriel’s gaze dropped to where you two were connected, watching with rapt attention as his shaft gleamed with your slick when you moved up, and as your pussy swallowed his cock and you pressed flush against him when you moved down. Your heavy breaths timed with the rise and fall of your chest, muscles aching as you continued to swirl your hips over him. 

You slowed, tired, and he made good on his threat. You felt the bite of cold metal into the skin of your neck, making you gasp and tense. 

“Did I say you could slow down?”

Shaking your head, you returned to your earlier movements, but shakier. It satisfied him, though. The way he rubbed against your walls, you could feel the entirety of him inside you, and it was making you near dizzy with arousal. When you glanced down to look, the flat of the knife pressed against the bottom of your chin to raise your head. 

“Look at me.” 

Your eyes were still slightly wet when you locked eyes with Azriel. He pinched your nipples, and in retaliation, you dug your nails further into his shoulders. He was still clothed, but you could feel the tense muscle under your hands. 

The change was unexpected when your own arousal drove you giddy, and you suddenly flipped from riding him under his command to riding him for your own pleasure. It was addictive, the way he pressed so deep inside of you, the way you were stretched out around him. 

Against your better mind, you came, moaning when your body locked tight and your high washed over you. Azriel hissed when you gripped him tightly, jaw twitching. The dagger was returned to his side by his shadows. 

He frowned, “Cumming again? You’re fucking pathetic. Are you enjoying this? Because you shouldn’t be, you’re here to get me off, not the other way around.”

Azriel effortlessly picked you up, your walls clenching around nothing as he pulled out, spun you around, and grabbed you by the hips before sheathing himself back into you. Still coming down from your previous climax, you gasped, body leaning forward as he tugged your hips back to meet his. 

Your forearms found the rough wall, leaning against it as he pounded into you from behind. Your legs kicked up in overstimulation when he kept going, pushing you past your orgasm, and forcing himself into you when you clenched your walls. 

“Stop- no, I can’t- oh-” You reached behind to grab his hip to slow him down, but he didn’t. If anything, he went harder, and you cried out. “Too much!” 

“Not my problem.” His hand was brought down on your ass with a sharp sound before it returned to the noise of skin slapping resounding in the cell. 

You came again, far too quickly, but Azriel didn’t stop, continuing to push himself into you. Little did you know your desperate pleas were what he wanted to hear; he indulged your struggle. 

“I can’t, I can’t,” you sobbed, trying to squirm out of his grip. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, stop-” 

He continued to use you to get off, dragging your cunt back and forth on his shaft. Broken whines fell from your lips, head hung forward as he shoved into you with each thrust. Heat built in your lower region again, and you found yourself pushing back onto him to reach that sensation again. 

“Going dumb on my cock like the pretty little slut you are. Does it feel good?” 

It was a blatant lie, the way you shook your head. But you didn’t want to admit it to him. For that, you received a smack to your clit that had you flinching. 

Azriel leaned down to speak into your ear without slowing his pace. “You’re a little fucking liar. You’ve come on my cock twice, pretty. When you cum on my cock again, you’re going to thank me this time, understood?” 

He took your little whimper as an answer, standing back again to snap his hips into yours. His thrusts got more frenzied, and from behind, he could hit that perfect spongy spot inside of you that had your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Heat flared in your core. 

It was filthily wet, you could feel it with each thrust of Azriel’s hips, the way he was sliding so smoothly in and out of you, the way wetness snaked down your inner thighs, how wet it sounded. You were a mess. 

You went completely silent as you came for the fourth time, stilling as your orgasm hit you and your vision went dark. Azriel also stilled inside of you with how tight you were around him, and you could feel the way his cock twitched while his cum painted your insides. You were far too blissed out to argue, but surely you would later. Now, you could only appreciate the warmth of his release, and the buzz lingering in your veins. 

When Azriel pulled out of you, he stuffed his fingers into your cunt and pushed all his cum back in until he was satisfied, then wiped his fingers on your hip. With how weak your legs were, his shadows had to hold you upright. 

He pulled his trousers back up, glaring at you once again as he made his way to the door of the cell. “Rhys is returning soon. I’ll find you some clothes. Try not to look so fucked out.”

The shadows wrapped around you once more as the sound of the bars swinging shut echoed. 

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[azziebaddy]

A proper girls’ night

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; You and Azriel have been mates for some time now, and between managing the males, training, missions, raising a child, and fulfilling duties as High Lady, you haven’t had the chance to enjoy a proper girls' night with your closest friends. But tonight is supposed to be all about you and the girls—or is it? ;)

word count ; 7.2k

warning; SMUT ;p, alcohol, drunk sex

notes; Yoo everyone, here I am again for a one shot. I'm not the best for smut so I hope that you will enjoy it. I got the idea of this story after a small party with some of my best friends so I hope that you will like it ! With love <3333

---

I was lounging on my plush couch, admiring the final touches I’d added to make this apartment truly feel like home. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the Sidra, and soft, warm lights created a comforting ambiance. This place was everything I’d hoped for—a fresh start, a new chapter.

I had just finished arranging the last decorative pillow when a knock echoed through the apartment. I grinned, already knowing who it was.

“Come in!” I called out.

The door swung open to reveal Feyre, Nesta, and Mor. Feyre carried not just one, but two bottles of wine, Nesta had a stack of board games tucked under her arm, and Mor, of course, arrived with an enormous grin and—was that three bottles of spirits?

“Are we throwing a party, or did I miss something?” I laughed, taking in the sheer amount of alcohol they had brought with them.

Mor dropped the bottles on the counter with a flourish. “What? It’s not every day we christen a new apartment, Y/N! We needed to make sure we had enough… well, more than enough.”

Nesta smirked, adding, “You know how things go with us. We start with wine, then move on to something stronger. And just in case, I thought we’d better bring a little extra.”

“A little extra?” I echoed, raising an eyebrow as I counted the bottles. “This looks like enough to keep us going for a week.”

Feyre chuckled, setting the wine down. “Consider it insurance. We’re not leaving until we’ve had a proper girls’ night.”

Mor waved a hand dismissively. “No boys, no responsibilities, and a whole lot of alcohol. That’s what tonight is about. We’re here to have fun, relax, and forget about everything else.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I started pulling out glasses. “Well, if that’s the case, then let’s get started.”

The girls settled in, each finding a spot on the couch or one of the oversized chairs. Mor was already opening one of the wine bottles, filling up our glasses generously.

“We’ve spent too many nights at Rita’s,” Nesta said, her tone teasing but sincere. “It’s nice to just relax here for a change.”

Feyre nodded in agreement, raising her glass. “Especially with the company. I could get used to this.”

Mor clinked her glass against Feyre’s. “Here’s to our host, for letting us invade her beautiful new home. And for not skimping on the drinks.”

“I didn’t realize I had a choice,” I teased, holding up my glass before taking a sip. The wine was rich and full-bodied, the perfect start to what promised to be a wild night.

“Tonight is all about us,” Mor declared, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she leaned back in her seat. “No boys, no distractions, just us girls and more alcohol than we know what to do with.”

“Agreed,” Nesta said, holding up one of the board games. “Let’s start with something easy. Then we can see where the night takes us.”

The night was still young, and the four of us had already settled comfortably into my new apartment. The alcohol was flowing freely—perhaps a bit too freely—and the conversation had naturally turned to gossip. It was inevitable when we got together, especially after a few glasses of wine.

We were sprawled out on the couch and chairs, each of us with a drink in hand. The warmth from the alcohol had already loosened our tongues, and the atmosphere was buzzing with the excitement of shared secrets.

Mor, never one to hold back, was the first to dive in. “Alright, ladies, I’ve got some tea. And I’m not talking about that herbal nonsense.” She leaned in, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Did you hear about the sparring match Cassian had the other day with Devlon?”

That got everyone’s attention. “No,” Nesta said, her eyes narrowing. “What happened?”

Mor grinned, clearly enjoying the anticipation. “So, apparently, Devlon thought it would be a good idea to challenge Cassian in front of all the Illyrians—like, really make a show of it. Cassian, being Cassian, accepted, but he didn’t just beat him. He absolutely humiliated him. We’re talking flat on his back, wings pinned, can’t even move. And to top it all off, Cassian just stood up, dusted himself off, and said, ‘Next time, try harder.’”

Nesta snorted, trying to hide her amusement. “Serves him right. Devlon’s been asking for it.”

Feyre nodded, her eyes wide with delight. “I wish I could have seen that.”

“Oh, but it gets better,” Mor continued, her grin widening. “Devlon’s been walking around the camp like a wounded animal ever since. The other Illyrians are having a field day with it. They’ve even started calling him ‘the Fallen Commander’ behind his back.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Cassian really knows how to make an impression.”

“Not as much of an impression as Rhys made when he was caught singing in the bath the other day,” Mor added, her tone dripping with amusement.

Feyre blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, what?”

“Oh, yeah,” Mor said, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “I happened to be passing by when I heard it. He was belting out some old Prythian ballad—badly, might I add—and I swear, for a second, I thought a cat was dying.”

Nesta burst out laughing. “Please tell me you have some sort of recording.”

“I wish!” Mor exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “But trust me, the image is seared into my memory forever. The High Lord of the Night Court, all serious and stoic by day, and an absolute disaster in the bathroom.”

Feyre groaned, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. “I’m never letting him live that down.”

“And then there’s Azriel,” Mor said, shifting her attention to me with a wicked grin. “I’m surprised he hasn’t broken anything with those late-night visits to your place.”

I blushed instantly, caught off guard. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” Mor teased, her eyes glinting with amusement. “We all know that shadowy lover of yours can’t keep his hands off you. I mean, with the way you’ve been glowing lately, it’s not hard to figure out why.”

“Azriel doesn’t talk much,” Nesta added, smirking, “but I bet he more than makes up for it in other areas.”

Feyre was giggling, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “Spill, Y/N! We need to know—does he really keep the shadows around, or does he prefer a more hands-on approach?”

My face was burning by now, but the alcohol had loosened my tongue enough that I couldn’t help but join in. “Let’s just say, the shadows aren’t the only thing that’s always… active.”

That sent Mor into peals of laughter, nearly spilling her drink as she doubled over. “Oh, I knew it! Azriel’s got that dark, broody exterior, but underneath… he’s a beast, isn’t he?”

I could only laugh in response, covering my face with my hands. “I’m not saying anything else!”

“Come on,” Nesta urged, leaning in. “We won’t tell a soul. Just a little more.”

I peeked out from behind my hands, giving them a sly grin. “Let’s just say, he’s very… thorough.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Mor cheered, holding her glass up for a toast. “To thorough lovers and late-night visits that leave you glowing!”

We all clinked our glasses together, the laughter bubbling up again. The night was filled with stories that grew more outrageous with each passing drink. Feyre even confessed to sneaking up on Rhys one morning with a bucket of cold water, just to get back at him for something he’d done weeks earlier.

“I’ll never forget the look on his face,” she giggled, eyes bright with mischief. “He didn’t speak to me for half the day—until he figured out how to get me back.”

“Did he manage to one-up you?” I asked, curious.

“Oh, he tried,” Feyre replied, a smirk playing on her lips. “But he should have known better than to start a prank war with me. I’m still two steps ahead.”

“You two are impossible,” Mor said, shaking her head but unable to hide her amusement. “But what about Cassian? Does he know about all of this?”

“Cassian,” Nesta said, still grinning, “is too busy preening in front of the mirror these days. He’s been obsessed with perfecting his ‘battle-ready’ look. You wouldn’t believe how much time he spends adjusting his armor to make sure it’s just the right amount of ‘ruggedly handsome.’”

Feyre rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness in her voice. “Typical. He’s worse than a peacock.”

“Speaking of peacocks,” Mor added, leaning in again, “I heard that Tarquin’s been parading around the Summer Court with his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. Apparently, he thinks it makes him look ‘mysterious and approachable.’”

Feyre snorted. “More like ridiculous.”

As the conversation began to wind down, Mor suddenly jumped to her feet, a wild look in her eyes. “Alright, ladies,” she declared, “enough sitting around. It’s time to take this party up a notch.”

The night had taken a turn, a wild, exhilarating turn. What started as a simple girls' night had quickly evolved into something far more chaotic and, quite frankly, downright ridiculous. The ridiculous part might have had something to do with the copious amounts of alcohol, but that was beside the point.

It all began after the third bottle of wine was emptied, and Mor, in her infinite wisdom, declared that the night was far too young to end with just drinking and talking. The suggestion to turn the apartment into our very own private club was made, and, well, it didn’t take much convincing.

I don’t know where Mor had pulled it from—whether it was some hidden magic or just her unrelenting spirit—but somehow, my apartment transformed. Soft lights gave way to pulsating club lights, shifting in colors that matched the beat of the music that now blasted through the room. The furniture was pushed aside, making space for what had effectively become a dance floor.

“I didn’t even know you had this in you,” Feyre shouted over the music, her eyes wide with delight as she took in the scene.

“Neither did I!” I shouted back, laughing as I twirled around in the flashing lights. The wine had long since turned my limbs to jelly, and I felt lighter, freer than I had in a long time.

Nesta, who had been initially reluctant, was now completely immersed, her usually stoic expression replaced with a flushed grin as she sipped from yet another drink. “I’m not even sure what’s happening anymore,” she admitted, before bursting into laughter at the absurdity of it all.

Mor, of course, was in her element. She had Feyre by the hand, pulling her onto the makeshift dance floor. “Come on, Feyre! Show us those moves!”

Feyre, not one to back down from a challenge, joined in with gusto, the two of them dancing wildly, their laughter filling the room. It was infectious, and soon, we were all moving to the beat, lost in the moment.

The alcohol flowed freely, and it wasn’t long before we were all well beyond tipsy. Nesta, usually the most reserved of us, was now draped over the couch, clutching her drink and singing along to the music—though the words were more slurred than sung. Mor had taken it upon herself to DJ, switching between tracks with the enthusiasm of someone who was enjoying every second of the chaos she had created.

As for me, I was somewhere in the middle of it all, dancing with Feyre and Mor one minute, then flopping down next to Nesta the next, my head spinning in the best possible way.

“This was the best idea ever,” I declared, holding up my drink in a toast to… well, everything. The lights, the music, the ridiculousness of it all.

“I told you!” Mor shot back, barely managing to avoid spilling her drink as she twirled around. “This is what girls’ night is all about!”

Feyre, who had given up on dancing in favor of lounging on the couch with Nesta, nodded vigorously. “We should do this every week.”

“Yes!” Nesta agreed, raising her glass—though she missed her mouth when she tried to take a sip, spilling a bit of her drink on herself. She didn’t seem to mind, though. “Every week!”

We all dissolved into laughter, the kind that made your stomach ache and tears stream down your face. It was a night of pure, unfiltered joy, the kind of night that reminded me just how lucky I was to have these incredible women in my life.

At some point—who knows when—the music was turned up even louder, and we all found ourselves back on the dance floor, moving in a way that was far more about having fun than it was about looking good. Not that any of us cared. This was our night, and we were going to make the most of it.

As the night wore on and the drinks continued to flow, the line between reality and whatever madness we had created blurred even further. The lights, the music, the alcohol—it all mixed together in a haze of color and sound, until it felt like we were in another world entirely, a world where nothing mattered but the here and now.

At some point, Mor pulled out a bottle of something stronger—something that definitely wasn’t wine—and poured shots for everyone. We downed them without hesitation, the burn in our throats a reminder that we were alive, that we were here, that this night would be one we’d never forget.

And it was. By the time we finally collapsed in a heap on the floor, the world spinning around us, I knew that this was a night I’d look back on and smile. We were drunk, we were ridiculous, and it was perfect.

As we lay there, catching our breath and trying to stop the room from spinning, Feyre turned to me, her eyes heavy with exhaustion and alcohol. “You know,” she said, her voice soft, “this was exactly what we needed.”

I smiled, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “Yeah,” I agreed, my voice barely a whisper. “Me too.”

Tonight was one for the books.

The night had taken a wild, exhilarating turn. What started as a simple girls' night had quickly evolved into something far more chaotic and, quite frankly, downright ridiculous. The alcohol was flowing freely, and the atmosphere was buzzing with energy as the room transformed into our very own private club.

But just when I thought the night couldn’t get any crazier, Mor clapped her hands together, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Alright, ladies, let’s up the stakes. Who’s up for a game of ‘Never Have I Ever’?”

Feyre groaned, though her eyes were gleaming with mischief. “Oh gods, this is going to get dangerous.”

“Exactly,” Mor said, grabbing a fresh bottle of something strong and pouring shots for everyone. “We’re already half-gone, so let’s see who can survive this round.”

Nesta eyed the shot glass suspiciously but took it anyway. “Fine, but let’s keep it reasonable.”

“Reasonable?” Mor scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Where’s the fun in that?”

With everyone armed with a shot glass, we settled onto the floor, forming a loose circle. Mor, as the instigator, went first. She smirked, lifting her glass. “Never have I ever… kissed someone with the intention of getting free drinks.”

Feyre immediately took a sip, as did Mor, who winked at me. “What can I say? Sometimes, charm gets you a long way.”

"When the person buying your drinks is Rhysand, it doesn't count Feyre" I said laughing at her.

Nesta, surprisingly, didn’t drink, but she gave a small smile. “I prefer to pay my own way, thank you very much.”

Next, it was Feyre’s turn. She narrowed her eyes in mock concentration before grinning. “Never have I ever… gotten out of trouble by flirting.”

Mor and I immediately took our shots, causing Feyre to raise an eyebrow. “Come on, you two, spill.”

Mor grinned, clearly eager to share. “Alright, so there was this one time in the Summer Court… I was supposed to be at a formal dinner, but I got a little sidetracked with a rather charming advisor. We were caught by one of the palace guards, and let’s just say, I had to turn on the charm full blast to avoid a very awkward conversation with Tarquin.”

Feyre shook her head, laughing. “Only you, Mor.”

I couldn’t help but join in. “For me, it was during a mission. I needed to get past a rather stubborn gatekeeper who wasn’t interested in letting me through. A little flirting and a lot of batting my eyelashes later, and suddenly I was the most important person on his list. I got what I needed, and he never even knew what hit him.”

Nesta looked at me with a smirk. “I’m surprised Az didn’t handle that for you.”

“Oh, he would’ve,” I admitted with a laugh. “But sometimes, a girl’s got to do things her own way.”

Feyre shook her head, still smiling. “Rhys would’ve been so jealous.”

“Please,” Mor scoffed, “Rhys would have encouraged it.”

Nesta chuckled, lifting her glass. “Alright, next one. Never have I ever… sent a dirty thought to your partner to see their reaction.”

Feyre and Nesta immediately took their shots, while Mor and I exchanged surprised looks, our glasses untouched.

Feyre’s cheeks flushed as she laughed. “I did it to Rhys once during a meeting—he nearly choked on his drink. I thought I was being subtle, but apparently, his reaction was… noticeable. I think I almost caused a diplomatic incident.”

Mor burst out laughing, her eyes wide. “Oh, I would’ve paid to see that.”

Nesta, surprisingly, offered her own story, her voice more subdued but with a hint of amusement. “I sent Cassian a… vivid thought while he was training the Illyrians. He dropped his sword mid-swing and nearly took out an entire row of recruits. They didn’t know what happened, but Cassian spent the rest of the day giving me death glares.”

The room erupted into laughter, the image of Cassian flustered and distracted by Nesta’s thoughts too much to handle.

“Well, I’ve never done it,” I said, still giggling. “But now I’m tempted. I wonder how a certain shadow singer would react.”

“Knowing you, Y/N” Feyre said with a grin, “he would probably drop everything he is doing to go join you.”

“Oh, definitely” I agreed, taking a sip of my drink anyway. “But let’s keep going, shall we?”

The game continued, the questions growing bolder, the shots more frequent, and the laughter louder. By the time we were on the tenth or eleventh round, there was no turning back.

“Alright, my turn,” Nesta said, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Never have I ever… had someone walk in on me during sex.”

Mor and Feyre both took a sip, while I hesitated before taking mine. “Let’s just say, it was awkward,” I said with a cringe, though I couldn’t help but laugh at the memory.

Mor, however, was not about to let it go. “Oh, no, no. You can’t just drop a bomb like that and not give us details. Who walked in?”

I smirked, taking another sip of my drink for courage. “Rhys. And let’s just say, I’ve never seen him retreat from a room so fast.”

That sent Mor into peals of laughter, nearly spilling her drink as she doubled over. “Oh, I can just picture it! Poor Rhys, walking in on you two… I bet Az didn’t even bat an eyelash.”

Nesta snickered, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “And I’m sure Azriel was just as composed as ever, right? Or did he actually look guilty for once?”

I rolled my eyes, unable to keep the grin off my face. “Let’s just say, Azriel wasn’t too happy about the interruption. But once Rhys was out of the room… he made sure to make up for lost time.”

Feyre choked on her drink, laughing as she wiped her mouth. “I bet he did! Azriel’s got that silent intensity… but I’m sure he can be anything but quiet when he wants to be.”

“He’s very… intense, in more ways than one.”

Mor grinned wickedly, holding her glass up for a toast. “To very intense lovers who know how to get the job done—and then some!”

The night had taken on a life of its own, with the alcohol flowing and inhibitions flying out the window. We were deep into the game of "Never Have I Ever," and it seemed like nothing was off-limits at this point.

Feyre, clearly feeling the effects of the drinks, leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “Alright, ladies, last one from me. Never have I ever… tried the ‘Moonlit Arch’ position.”

There was a pause as the question hung in the air. Mor immediately downed her shot, as did Feyre. Nesta hesitated, then took hers as well. Meanwhile, I just sat there, my glass untouched, staring at them with a raised eyebrow.

“Wait… what?” I asked, feeling completely out of the loop. “What’s the ‘Moonlit Arch’? Are you sure you didn’t made that up ?”

Feyre’s grin widened as she set down her glass. “Oh, sweetie, you’ve been missing out. How do I explain this?”

Before I could protest, Feyre had jumped up from her spot, a bit unsteady but determined. She sauntered over to me, her eyes gleaming with tipsy mischief. “It’s easier to show than tell.”

The next thing you knew, Feyre was pushing me back onto the ground, her hands on your shoulders. “Relax, this is educational,” she teased, as she gently pushed me down and straddled my lap.

“Feyre, what are you—” You began, but was cut off as she leaned down, bringing her lips close to your ear.

“It’s all about the angle,” Feyre whispered, her breath warm against your ear. “You lie back, just like this…”

She gently guided me into position, her hands on my shoulders as she demonstrated. Before you knew it, Nesta was there too, her eyes gleaming with the same mischief as she grabbed Feyre’s hands and placed them on either side of your face.

“It’s all about guiding the energy,” Nesta murmured, her voice low and sultry. “Make sure your partner knows exactly where to focus.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it was tinged with nervousness and the absurdity of the situation. “You’re both insane.”

“Insanely helpful,” Mor chimed in, a grin spreading across her face as she sauntered over. She took Feyre’s hands and moved them down to my chest, giving a light squeeze. “And don’t forget about the importance of… other areas.”

“Mor!” You gasped, my face burning as you tried to squirm away, but the alcohol had made me sluggish, and the three of them had me pinned in place.

“It’s all in good fun,” Feyre said with a laugh, her eyes twinkling as she gently patted my cheek. “Now, the trick is to—”

—

It was nearly dawn, and the soft light of morning was beginning to creep through the windows of the townhouse. One by one, the guys emerged from their rooms, each of them groggy and slightly disoriented, but with a nagging feeling in the back of their minds.

Rhysand was the first to step into the hallway, his brow furrowed in concern. “Is it just me, or is something off?” he muttered to himself.

Cassian’s door creaked open next, and he stuck his head out, his hair a wild mess. “Where the hell are they?”

Azriel appeared a moment later, his eyes shadowed with worry. “They’re not answering,” he said quietly, though his voice was tinged with concern.

The three of them exchanged glances, the same thought running through their minds: their mates weren’t back yet, and none of them had responded to the bond.

Cassian scratched his head, still half-asleep. “You think they’re okay? Maybe they… got distracted?”

“Distracted?” Rhys repeated, raising an eyebrow. “By what, exactly?”

Azriel sighed, trying to remain calm. “It’s just a girls’ night. They’re probably just… having fun.”

Cassian leaned against the wall, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah, but still… it’s nearly morning. Shouldn’t they be back by now?”

Rhys glanced toward the window, watching as the sky began to lighten. “They should be. I can’t get through to Feyre.”

“Same with Nesta,” Cassian added, his worry finally starting to show.

Azriel’s expression darkened slightly as he nodded. “And Y/N’s just giving off this… contented feeling. But nothing else.”

The three males stood in silence for a moment, the unease growing between them. Finally, Cassian huffed and pushed off the wall. “Alright, that’s it. We’re going to check on them.”

Azriel hesitated, glancing between the other two. “You’re all overreacting. They’re perfectly capable of taking care of themselves.”

“Sure they are,” Cassian agreed, a glint of concern in his eyes. “But aren’t you just a little curious about what they’re up to?”

Azriel hesitated, glancing out the window at the faint light of dawn creeping over the horizon. “Maybe… a little.”

Rhys grinned, clapping Azriel on the back. “Then let’s go. If nothing else, we can make sure they get home safe.”

The three of them headed out, taking to the skies with ease. It wasn’t long before they spotted your apartment building, and as they landed on the rooftop across the street, they were greeted with an unexpected sight.

Bright, colorful lights were flashing from your windows, pulsing in time with the faint thrum of music that could be heard even from outside. It looked more like a nightclub than a place where anyone would be getting a decent night’s sleep.

Cassian stared at the windows, his mouth slightly agape. “What the hell…?”

Rhys raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. “I didn’t know Y/N had a nightclub setup in her apartment.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. “She doesn’t. Or at least, she didn’t.”

Cassian shook his head, his concern deepening. “Come on, just a peek. I’ve got to see what kind of chaos they’ve created.”

They descended to your apartment door, and as they approached, the music grew louder, the flashing lights spilling out from under the doorframe, casting strange, colorful shadows in the hallway.

Rhys knocked, but there was no response. He knocked again, louder this time, but the only sound was the thumping music and muffled voices from inside.

Cassian glanced at the others, a serious expression on his face. “You sure they’re alive in there?”

The three of them exchanged worried looks, and before anyone could suggest otherwise, Cassian stepped forward, bracing his shoulder against the door. “Alright, let’s find out.”

With a firm push, they forced the door open—and were immediately greeted by the sight of complete and utter chaos.

The apartment was a mess, with bottles and snacks strewn everywhere. But what caught their attention was the scene in the living room: Mor and Nesta were on the floor, laughing uncontrollably, while Feyre was perched on top of you on the ground, pinning you down and demonstrating something with far too much enthusiasm.

Mor had one hand on your chest, playfully squeezing your breast, while Nesta’s hands were on either side of your face, her touch light but clearly part of the explanation Feyre was giving.

The moment the door flew open, all four of you turned your heads in perfect synchronization, staring at the doorway with wide, startled eyes.

The guys froze in the entrance, their faces a mix of shock and utter confusion. It was as if they had just walked into another world, one they couldn’t quite make sense of.

Feyre, still on top of you, blinked in surprise, her hands frozen in place. Mor and Nesta, still in their positions, were too drunk to even try to move, their eyes fixed on the three males standing in the doorway.

For a long moment, there was complete silence, the only sound the faint thrum of the music and the distant hum of the lights.

“What the hell…?” Cassian finally managed to mutter, his voice laced with disbelief.

Rhys, his usually calm demeanor shattered, shook his head slowly. “I think we interrupted something… very strange.”

Azriel, for his part, could only stare, his mind trying to process the chaotic scene in front of him. “Should we… come back later?”

The sudden absurdity of the situation hit you all at once, and you burst into laughter, the alcohol-fueled hysteria too strong to resist. Feyre, still on top of you, collapsed onto your chest, shaking with laughter, while Mor and Nesta lost it completely, both of them rolling on the floor as they tried to catch their breath.

The guys, however, remained rooted in place, their expressions still a mix of shock and confusion as they watched the four of you dissolve into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

Cassian was the first to recover, though his voice was still laced with disbelief. “What in the world is going on here?”

Feyre, still laughing, finally managed to roll off you, her face flushed as she wiped at her eyes. “I guess we got a little carried away.”

“A little?” Rhys echoed, his voice flat as he glanced around the room. “This place looks like a warzone.”

Mor, still struggling to sit up, waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, please. We were just having fun!”

Azriel, who had finally managed to close his mouth, walked over to you, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress. “Let’s get you home.”

You looked up at him, your smile turning into a confused frown. “But this is my home, Az.”

Feyre, catching your words, let out a snort before dissolving into another fit of laughter. Before long, you were both on the floor, laughing so hard that you could barely breathe, the absurdity of the entire situation hitting you all at once.

Mor, still perched on the floor, threw her head back and screamed with laughter. “This was better than every night at Rita’s I’ve ever had in my life!”

Nesta, who was trying her best to stay composed, finally gave in, collapsing onto the floor beside Mor as the two of them giggled uncontrollably.

The guys, still standing in the doorway, could only watch as the four of you descended into a drunken, giggling mess, their shock slowly giving way to resignation.

Rhys sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Cassian, finally managing a grin, shook his head. “We’re going to have to carry them out of here, aren’t we?”

Azriel, who had gently lifted you to your feet again, just nodded, his concern still evident. “Probably. But at least they had fun.”

---

The chaos of the night had finally started to wind down. Mor and Nesta, still giggling, were being helped out by Rhys and Cassian, who looked more than ready to get everyone home and into bed. But you, still tipsy and more than a little giggly, had managed to cling onto Azriel.

He lifted you effortlessly into his arms, your face nestled against his neck, legs wrapped tightly around his torso. The cool night air hit your skin as he carried you out of the apartment, but you barely noticed, too focused on the warmth of his body and the comforting scent of him surrounding you.

Azriel walked steadily, his wings twitching slightly with every step. You could feel the muscles in his back flex as he held you close, his grip firm yet gentle. Despite how drunk you were, a playful smile tugged at your lips as your breath fanned across his neck.

“You know,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing, “you’re really strong… and warm. Like, really warm.”

Azriel’s chuckle rumbled through his chest, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Good to know,” he replied, his voice taking on a huskier edge. “Are you comfortable?”

You nodded, snuggling closer to him, your breath warm against his neck. “Mmhmm. This is nice. I could stay like this forever.”

He smiled, adjusting his hold on you slightly as he continued walking. “I wouldn’t mind that either. But we should get you home. You had quite the night.”

You sighed, closing your eyes as you rested your head against him. “Yeah… tonight was fun. I think we broke the apartment, though. Sorry about that.”

Azriel shook his head, his smile growing. “Don’t worry about it. It’s your place—you can do whatever you want. And it’s nothing a little cleaning won’t fix.”

There was a brief pause before you giggled, the sound light and airy. “Do you think… do you think Rhys was mad? I didn’t mean to make a mess.”

Azriel’s lips brushed against your temple in a soft kiss. “No, I don’t think he was mad. Maybe a little surprised, but that’s all. He knows you were just having fun.”

You hummed in response, your fingers idly tracing patterns on the back of his neck. “Good. I wouldn’t want to get in trouble… But you know what’s funny?”

“What’s that?” he asked, his tone indulgent as he continued walking.

“I kept thinking,” you whispered, your voice a little more serious now, “that I was so happy tonight… because you weren’t just my mate, but also my best friend.”

Azriel’s heart swelled at your words, and he tightened his grip on you slightly. “I’m happy to hear that,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re my best friend too, you know. I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You smiled against his neck, feeling a wave of affection wash over you. “You’re so sweet, Az. The best.”

He chuckled again, the sound low and warm. “I’m just being honest. Now let’s get you home, so you can get some rest. You’ve had a long night.”

“Mmhmm. This is very comfortable. I think I’m enjoying this a little too much.”

Azriel’s grip on you tightened slightly, and you could feel the tension in his muscles as he tried to maintain control. “Is that so?”

“Mmm,” you hummed, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the side of his neck. “I’ve always liked being this close to you… feeling you.”

He sucked in a breath, the sound a mixture of surprise and desire. “You’re drunk,” he reminded you gently, though there was a strain in his voice as if he was trying to convince himself more than you.

“Maybe,” you admitted, your lips brushing against his skin as you spoke. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.”

Azriel’s steps faltered as you reached the townhouse, his heart hammering in his chest. You could feel the way his pulse quickened under your touch, and it only made you more bold. “And what is it you want?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

You smiled against his neck, your teeth grazing his skin ever so lightly. “I want you, Az. Always.”

His breath hitched as he carried you inside, the familiar darkness of the townhouse wrapping around you both. Without a word, he started toward his bedroom, the tension between you crackling like electricity.

He pushed the door open with his foot and crossed the threshold, finally setting you down on the edge of his bed. But before he could step back, you grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down to you, your lips crashing against his in a fierce, hungry kiss.

Azriel groaned into your mouth, his hands sliding up your thighs to grip your hips, pulling you closer as you leaned back onto the bed, dragging him down with you. His wings flared out behind him, twitching as your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan again.

He pulled back slightly, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he looked down at you, your face flushed, eyes dark with desire. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice thick with need.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him down to you as your hands slid under his shirt, feeling the hard planes of his chest. “I’m sure,” you whispered against his lips, your voice a sultry invitation.

That was all the encouragement he needed. Azriel’s lips crashed back onto yours, his hands roaming over your body with a possessive hunger. You could feel the heat of his skin against yours as he tore at your clothes, desperate to feel you, to have you.

His hands slid up under your shirt, fingers brushing over your bare skin, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as he kissed his way down your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

He paused at the hem of your shirt, his eyes dark with desire as he looked up at you. You nodded, and he pulled the fabric over your head, tossing it aside before his mouth descended on your chest, his tongue tracing a path down to your breasts.

You gasped as his lips closed around your nipple, his hand sliding down to the waistband of your pants. With a quick tug, he had them off, leaving you bare beneath him. Azriel’s eyes raked over your body, taking in every curve, every inch of skin as if he were memorizing you.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice reverent as his hands slid down your sides, his lips following the path of his hands.

You reached for him, pulling him back up to you, needing to feel his skin against yours. “I need you,” you whispered, your voice breathless with anticipation.

Azriel shuddered at your words, his lips capturing yours in another searing kiss as he positioned himself above you. He hesitated for just a moment, his gaze searching yours for any sign of doubt, but all he found was desire, love, and a deep, unyielding trust.

With a soft groan, he slid into you, the sensation drawing a gasp from both of you as your bodies finally connected, fitting together perfectly. He moved slowly at first, savoring the feeling of being with you like this, but it wasn’t long before the tension between you became too much to bear.

You moved together, each thrust deepening the connection between you, your moans and gasps filling the room as the pleasure built to a fever pitch. Azriel’s hands roamed over your body, his touch sending shivers of pleasure down your spine as he whispered your name like a prayer.

As you neared the edge, you tightened your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer as you felt the wave of pleasure crashing over you. Azriel followed soon after, his movements becoming erratic as he buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he reached his climax.

For a moment, the world stood still, the only sound the ragged breaths of you and Azriel as you held each other close. Then, slowly, the tension ebbed away, leaving you both in a state of blissful exhaustion.

As you both lay there, catching your breath and basking in the afterglow, a soft giggle escaped your lips. Azriel, still holding you close, raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What’s so funny?” he asked, his voice low and affectionate.

You shifted slightly, a playful glint in your eyes as you rolled over, pushing him onto his back. Azriel let out a surprised laugh, his hands instinctively moving to rest on your hips as you straddled him, your hair falling around your face in a soft curtain.

“What do you have in mind, love?” he asked, his voice filled with a mix of curiosity and desire.

You leaned down, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “Something the girls showed me earlier…”

Azriel’s eyes darkened with intrigue as you began to move your hips in a slow, teasing rhythm, your hands sliding up his chest. He sucked in a breath, his fingers digging into your thighs as he tried to hold on to the last remnants of his control.

“Is that so?” he murmured, his voice rough with anticipation.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, your lips trailing soft kisses down his jawline as you continued to move against him, the friction sending shivers of pleasure through both of you.

Azriel’s hands roamed over your body, his touch growing more desperate as you began to pick up the pace, your hips rolling in a way that had him groaning your name.

“Y/N…” he rasped, his eyes locked onto yours as you took control, guiding him deeper inside you with each movement.

You bit your lip, a mischievous smile playing on your lips as you leaned down to kiss him, your tongue teasing his as your movements became more intense. Azriel’s grip on your hips tightened, his wings flaring out behind him as he struggled to keep up with the pleasure you were giving him.

“What did those girls teach you?” he managed to say between gasps, his voice filled with both awe and amusement.

You just grinned, moving your hips in a way that had him arching off the bed, a deep groan escaping his lips. “Just a little something they thought you might enjoy.”

Azriel’s eyes fluttered closed, his head falling back against the pillow as he surrendered to the sensations you were giving him. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmured, though the smile on his face told you he wouldn’t have it any other way.

You chuckled, leaning down to kiss him deeply as you pushed both of you closer to the edge. “Then let’s make it worth it.”

With that, you moved even faster, your bodies moving in perfect sync as the pleasure built to a crescendo. The room was filled with the sound of your moans and gasps, the intensity of the moment taking you both higher and higher until finally, you both shattered together, the waves of pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave.

As you collapsed onto his chest, both of you breathing heavily, Azriel wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you both came down from the high.

“That was…” Azriel began, his voice trailing off as he tried to find the words.

“Amazing?” you offered, your voice still breathless as you snuggled against him.

“Amazing,” he agreed, his lips brushing against your forehead in a tender kiss. “But also… unexpected.”

You giggled, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “Just trying to keep things interesting.”

Azriel smiled, his hands sliding up and down your back in a soothing motion. “You definitely succeeded. But now, I think it’s time for some sleep.”

You nodded, feeling the exhaustion starting to catch up with you. “Yeah… sleep sounds good.”

With a contented sigh, you let your eyes drift closed, still wrapped in Azriel’s warm embrace. And as you drifted off to sleep, a satisfied smile on your lips, you knew that no matter what surprises the night brought, you and Azriel would always find a way to enjoy them together.

---

don't hesitate to comment, I read them ;)

[azziebaddy]

*walks towards the bar*

Ummm can i please a

Neat Espresso Martini with salt and sugar rim

it’s givinggggggg fuckbuddies to lovers 🤭

[ “kiss me like that again and I’ll start thinking you’re in love with me” + smut/fluff + azriel ]

-> BLURB BAR <-

Everything starts out casual—just a little fun.

Heated make out sessions with Azriel’s tongue rubbing against the roof of your mouth. His hands cupping at the fat off your ass, squeezing; prying it open to make room for the middle finger that nuzzles between a clothed cunt.

It’s the perfect arrangement for mutual stress relief and you weren’t exactly complaining if the byproduct involved earth-shattering orgasms from a hot male with stamina to spare. “You’ve been avoiding me.” He mumbles into the curve of your neck, palms groping at the softness of your hips, thumbs digging into the crease where waist meets thigh.

“I’ve been busy working, insatiable boy.” It’s instinctive to lean into his touch; body plaint under his command. “Not all of us live in mansions atop mountains with shadowy servants to do our bidding.”

“Do you want to? All you have to do is ask—already got an empty drawer with your name on it.”

You struggle to ignore that and the many other mindless proclamations that begins to roll off his tongue once your tits are bare in his face. Every time without fail, Azriel catches you off guard with the sly comments of how you’d never have to wait so long for him if you’d just lived together. “If I did that then how else would I keep you so desperate for me?”

He groans, answering your question with the rut of his cock along your abdomen. He’s rock solid in his breeches and you’ve barely even touched him—a physical testament to his uncontrollable desire for you. “Somehow, I doubt that will be an issue.” Nowhere in his features do you find embarrassment, only a controlled confidence that allows him to be so fucking crude as his tongue explores places you forget is attached to your body.

Love bites are suckled into the swell of your breasts, teeth biting their imprint along your ribs hard enough that it makes you yelp. It was going to leave a mark but for some reason you figure that’s Azriel’s whole plan. There’s no inch of skin he leaves untouched and it’s not until your thighs are trembling with want does he work his way back up.

The gusset off your panties are ruined and Azriel remains perfectly content with his mouth slotted against your own. Manicured nails take through the thick of his hair, palms grazing against the neat taper along his nape. “Keep kissing me like that and I’ll start thinking you’re in love with me.”

“Good, I thought I’d been obvious enough before.” He’s down bad, that much is clear when his cock fucking throbs at the girlish giggle you let free. “Truly, would that be so awful?” The line of his nose drags along the length of your neck as he takes a greedy inhale of you, memorizing body oils and lotions, perfumes and the lingering of incense—committing it to memory for if this were to be his last time with you then he wanted every moment of it branded in his brain. “You and I?”

There’s a brief bout of fear that churns his belly but it’s gone as quickly as it came. Worry and strife have no residence here in your presence. Not when you cup his cheek so tenderly, thumb stroking along the line of his jaw as if he were fine china to be treasured. “No, wouldn’t be awful at all.”

[azziebaddy]

(For the blurb bar thing)

*sits on one of the bar stools and leans against the counter)

Can I have a frozen vodka cran with a sugar rim, and add lime please

Oh and here *slides a ten dollar bill across the counter*

oops, i may have added too much lime 😭🫣but it’ll still taste good i swear😬, bottoms up 🍹 alsooo idk what cave you cassian girlies crawled out of but when i tell u my inbox is flooding with cass requests. here yall, you get a beefcake, you get a beefcake, everyone gets a batboy beefcake

[ “why do you even care?” “because i do” + fluff / angst + cassian ]

-> BLURB BAR <-

It is what it is.

That’s the only phrase that keeps you going after countless hours spent hunched over bloodied bodies with their entrails held in their hands. Deep slashes from sharpened blades that leave skin flayed and muscle severed, tendons plucked out of place until sensitive nerves are screaming in agony. “I know it hurts,” You croon softly, care oozing out of every pore as healing magic pulses from you. “I’m sorry, it’ll be over soon.”

Dab with disinfectant there. Pressure to staunch the bleeding. Fire to cauterize. Magic to smooth it all over.

It’s an exhausting process, one that leaves you aching and has your head swimming as you shut the curtain for patient privacy but this isn’t the place to complain about that—not around all of these tortured souls as they endured a pain you couldn’t dare comprehend. “You should get some rest.”

You can’t fight the roll of your eyes at the sound of his voice. “And you should go back to your friends.”

Cassian keeps up with your stride with ease and while you refuse to acknowledge it, you walk a little slower when you catch sight of the neatly wrapped dressings around his thigh. “My friends are fine. You made sure of that. Azriel wouldn’t have made it if you weren’t there.”

“Yeah, well that’s my job.” You don’t bother hiding the irritation in your tone. It’s not normal for exes to be this present. But, you’re certain you catch the scent of him by your window every morning; sandalwood and eucalyptus, crackling embers and oak. A perfectly annoying blend of masculinity and comfort. It haunts you—follows you around the shops when collecting groceries for the week and lingers in your blind spots when treking home after a little too much to drink. Quiet but constant; an unspoken rule that Cassian was definitely breaking. “Something I really need to get back to so if you’re finished—“

“Don’t think I’ll ever be finished with you, peach.”

You hate that charming cadence. Despise the handsome grin that’s flashed your way because he knows how much you (love) loved it. “What do you want Cass?”

“Want you to take better care of yourself.” That’s a lie. At least partially because Cassian knows that what he really wants is to be the one to care for you. He knows he’d do it well—dedicate himself to the roll because there had been a time where it had been his only desire. But Rhys had come back after fifty years and Cass had a High Lady to protect now; had duties to uphold—responsibilities that wouldn’t allow the freedom necessary to take you on picnics in flower fields or to remember anniversaries. “You haven’t been eating enough and you’re always working. You barely even sleep.” He says it oh so gently but you can hear the underlying worry there. Can see it in the way his wings rustle and gaze scans the length of you, most likely noticing the way you resemble a deadman walking.

“You stalking me or something?”

“You promised.” His stance straightens out a little, syllables carrying a little more conviction as he tries to get his point across. “After everything between us, you at least promised that you’d be safe and take care of yourself.”

“You left me, Cassian.” His throat rolls under the shame, chest constricting as he’s forced to witness the way your eyes go glassy. “You walked out on me so what I look like without you shouldn’t matter.” Emotion holds thick in your voice and it takes true effort not to let tears fall down your cheeks. This was too confusing, the back and forth too exhausting, the hope too draining. “Why do you even care?”

A million possible answers claw to the forefront of Cassian’s mouth. Ones that scream, ‘because I love you! Because you’re everything to me.’ So badly he yearns to just let it out and confess how your safety was everything he thinks of when suiting up for battle and drenching himself in the blood of others with no regard for his own life. “Because, I do.” He says instead and he knows it’s not enough—can see the way the light in your eyes die out when you’re left hanging yet again. “Please peach, just get some rest. For me.”

He almost wishes you’d resist; to give him another reason to seek you out and darken your doorstep even if meant just a glimpse at you.

Your shoulders fall too low to be gearing up for a fight and the furrow of your brow wobbles with the effort it takes to keep you from crumbling all together.

Gauze patches at your battered heart. Dab with disinfectant there. Pressure to staunch the bleeding. Fire to cauterize. Magic to smooth it all over. “Fine.” You nod stiffly, the picture of professionalism. “And thank you, General, for your service.”

It is what it is.

[azziebaddy]

Just need Cassian to slowly fuck me, thrusting deeply whilst stroking my hair, telling me-

'Everything is gonna be alright now princess'