azziebaddy

[azziebaddy]

loving you softly

Azriel x reader - masterlist

Summary: After a bad day at work, your Azriel is always there to help you.

Warnings: none, just pure fluff!

W/c: 2,5k

The door closes behind you with a quiet click, but the sound seems to echo in your bones. It’s been a day — that kind of day. One of those days where everything felt a little too sharp. Where your chest felt too tight, your voice too small, your light too dim.

You’re not even fully inside before the tears sting your eyes, blurring your vision as you set your keys down with trembling fingers. You don’t want to cry. You’ve been holding it together all day — through the clipped tones, the impossible demands, the exhaustion you’ve been swallowing like poison. But now…

Now you’re home. And something inside you just gives.

You don’t even make it to the couch. You just stand there, frozen in the middle of the hallway, head hanging, breathing in ragged, shaky gasps.

And that’s when you hear him.

Soft footsteps. The familiar rustle of wings. And then his voice — deep, quiet, and gentle, like the first stars rising at dusk.

“Sweetheart?”

You can’t look up. You don’t want him to see you like this. Not after how hard you tried today. Not when your makeup is probably smudged, your heart cracked open, your hands clenched so tightly they tremble.

But Azriel doesn’t need you to look up. He’s already crossing the room, already gathering you into his arms, already holding you like he’s been waiting to do it all day.

You fall into him like a tide hitting shore.

There’s no judgment in the way he wraps you up — only warmth. Only strength. His wings curve around you protectively, shielding you from the world you just escaped. His hands cradle the back of your head, one gloved thumb brushing your cheek as your tears soak his shirt.

You don’t speak, and he doesn’t ask.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “You don’t have to do anything now. Just let me hold you.”

And you do.

You don’t know how long you stay there. Minutes blur together. But Azriel never moves until you do. When your sobs finally soften to hiccups, when your trembling eases just enough, he presses one last kiss to your forehead and pulls back.

His gaze finds yours — those deep, fathomless hazel eyes, full of moonlight and shadow and love.

“Let me take care of you,” he says, and his voice is so tender it makes you cry all over again.

He lifts you without asking, one arm beneath your knees, the other curled around your back. His shadows swirl like they’re worried, nuzzling at your cheeks and brushing your hair with barely-there touches, as if trying to help.

He carries you down the hall, past the warm flicker of faelight, past the soft scent of bergamot he always keeps burning in the evenings. When you reach the bathroom, it’s already warm — lit in low, golden hues. The bath is drawn, steam rising in lazy spirals, the scent of lavender and vanilla curling in the air.

“How did you…?”

“I heard your breathing change before you even opened the door,” he says simply. “You sounded tired.”

You try to laugh, but it cracks halfway out. He doesn’t push it.

He kneels before you as he helps you undress, his movements slow and reverent. Like you’re something precious. Something breakable. He meets your eyes each time he peels away a layer, searching for any sign of resistance. There is none. Just exhaustion. Just the quiet, unspoken need to be held, to be cared for.

He guides you into the water and settles behind you, fully clothed, sitting on the edge with his sleeves rolled up. You lean back against the porcelain wall, sighing as the warmth wraps around you.

Azriel’s hands are in your hair next. Strong hands made for war, made for shadows and flight — now massaging lavender-scented soap gently into your scalp like he’s trying to coax the pain right out of your bones.

He rinses you with care. No rush. No words needed. Just the rhythm of water, the soft press of cloth to skin, the quiet hum he sometimes makes when he’s focused.

Eventually, your eyes flutter shut, your breathing evening out.

“Still with me?” he whispers, kissing the crown of your head.

You nod sleepily.

After the bath, he wraps you in a thick towel and dries you off slowly. The towel’s warm — of course he warmed it — and it smells faintly of cedar and him. He leads you to your shared bedroom and helps you into your softest clothes: the oversized shirt you always steal from him, the fuzzy socks you wear when you’re too tired to feel like a person.

Azriel pulls back the covers for you, but you don’t climb in just yet. Instead, you follow him back to the kitchen, if only because you want to stay close.

He makes the hot chocolate exactly the way you like it — dark, with cinnamon and a bit of nutmeg. Marshmallows, yes. But only two. He remembers. He always remembers.

You sit at the kitchen table, legs curled beneath you, cradling the mug as the warmth sinks into your chest. He watches you over the rim of his own cup, those shadows still flickering protectively around your feet.

“I know today hurt,” he says softly. “But none of it changes how strong you are.”

You glance at him, and he leans forward, brushing his fingers along your cheek.

“Even strength needs rest. Even the stars need the night.”

You don’t have words. But you don’t need them. You just set your mug down and crawl into his lap, curling into his chest. His wings wrap around you again, his arms strong and sure.

He carries you back to bed in silence.

Once you’re tucked in, he lies beside you, pulling you close with one arm around your waist and the other gently carding through your damp hair. His lips brush your temple once. Then again.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, like a promise.

You’re just beginning to drift off, the tension in your chest finally loosened by warmth, chocolate, and the solid weight of Azriel wrapped around you — when you feel his hand shift slightly.

He doesn’t let go, not even for a second. One arm is still curved tightly around your waist, anchoring you to him like he’s afraid you might float away. But now his thumb is moving in slow, steady strokes over the fabric of your shirt. Back and forth. Back and forth. Gentle as a lullaby.

“You’re not asleep yet,” he murmurs into the crown of your head, his breath warm against your skin.

You smile faintly but don’t open your eyes. “How do you always know?”

His voice is a low hum, barely more than a breath. “I know your breathing. And your heartbeat. I know you.”

You turn slightly in his arms so you’re facing him now, nose brushing his collarbone. He’s already watching you, even in the soft glow of the faelights, eyes half-lidded and full of something you don’t have a word for — something deeper than love, heavier than adoration.

“I’m sorry I broke down like that,” you whisper.

His brow furrows. “Don’t apologize for feeling, ever. Especially not with me.”

You try to speak again, but he cuts you off gently by pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t have to carry everything alone. Not when I’m here.”

Your heart cracks open all over again, but this time, not from pain. From relief. From the weight of love too big for your chest.

You reach up and run your fingers lightly through his hair. He melts into your touch immediately, the tension in his jaw easing.

“You always know what I need before I do,” you murmur. “It’s a little unfair.”

He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through your bodies where they’re pressed together. “You deserve to be known that well.”

A silence settles over you — not awkward, not empty. Just full of the quiet understanding that no words can improve upon. His hand slides beneath the hem of your shirt, settling warm against your bare back, and you sigh at the contact.

“You’re warm,” you mumble, already slipping back toward sleep.

Azriel shifts so you’re tucked fully into his chest, legs intertwined beneath the sheets, one of his wings folding over you like a blanket. Safe. Hidden. Sheltered.

He kisses your hair again. “You’re safe now, love. I’ve got you.”

And he holds you like that — heart to heart, skin to skin, shadow to shadow — until your breathing slows. Until your tears dry. Until your muscles go soft and your mind floats somewhere between dreams and reality.

Just before sleep finally pulls you under, you feel his lips brush your ear, soft and careful as a prayer.

“You’re everything to me. Even on your worst days.”

And in the quiet dark, you believe him.

You fall asleep wrapped in his arms, and for the first time in days — maybe weeks — you don’t dream of the things that hurt. You dream only of wings and warmth and home.

You wake slowly, reluctantly — as if even your dreams knew better than to leave his arms.

The first thing you feel is warmth. The second is weight — the protective press of a muscled arm draped over your waist, and the solid curve of a wing still tucked half over you like a second blanket. The third thing you feel is… peace.

You blink your eyes open, slow and bleary. The room is still wrapped in dawn light, soft and pale, the color of cream poured into tea. Faint birdsong filters in through the cracked window, and the scent of Azriel’s cedarwood skin still clings to your sheets.

He’s still asleep. Or at least, you think he is — until his thumb starts tracing slow circles against your hip again. His voice, low and rough with sleep, slips out against the curve of your neck.

“Morning, sunshine.”

You hum, burying your face into the crook of his shoulder. “Mm. It’s not morning yet.”

“It’s been morning for twenty minutes.”

“I don’t recognize that time zone.”

He laughs softly, and you feel it — the vibration through his chest, where your palm is still resting. He’s shirtless, of course. Which is unfair. He knows what he’s doing. One glance down at the exposed plane of his chest, warm and golden in the early light, and you feel a different kind of heat stir in your stomach.

But you’re still tired. Still soft.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asks, voice a little clearer now. His hand rises to push the hair from your face, and his thumb lingers at your cheekbone.

You nod against him. “Because of you.”

Azriel doesn’t respond immediately. Just watches you for a long, still moment, like he’s trying to memorize you in this exact second — sleepy, safe, curled into his chest in a tangle of blankets and love.

Then he leans in and kisses you.

It’s not rushed. Not greedy. Just the kind of kiss that says everything words fail to — I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. You’re loved. His lips are warm, and soft, and familiar in a way that makes your entire body sigh into him.

You kiss him back.

When you pull away, you expect him to settle again. But instead, he gives you a soft look — all mischief and shadow — and brushes his nose against yours.

“You hungry?”

You blink, caught off guard. “You’re making breakfast?”

Azriel raises a brow. “I do know how to cook.”

You squint. “You also know how to threaten entire war camps with a stare. That doesn’t mean you do it for fun.”

He smirks, already sitting up. His wings stretch behind him, catching the morning light as he rolls his shoulders. “I’ll take that as a yes. Don’t move. Stay cozy.”

He leans down to kiss your forehead, then again at the corner of your lips, then your jaw, as if he can’t help himself — as if he needs to kiss every inch of your face before he leaves the bed.

And then he’s gone, his bare feet whispering across the floor, shadows curling playfully behind him. You watch him move — shirtless, hair tousled, so casual and lethal and beautiful all at once — and you wonder how you ever survived a day without him.

You stay wrapped in the blankets like he told you, smiling faintly to yourself as you hear cabinets opening in the kitchen, pans shifting, the soft sizzle of something being cooked in butter.

You think maybe he’s humming.

Ten minutes later, he returns — shirtless, smug, and carrying a tray.

Two slices of thick, golden toast. Eggs, fluffy and perfectly seasoned. Stewed fruit. And beside it, a steaming mug of your favorite tea with a tiny drizzle of honey. Not too sweet. Just right.

You sit up slowly, blinking at the display.

He sets the tray across your lap and kisses your temple. “Told you I could cook.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “Okay, fine. I surrender. You’re the full package.”

Azriel smirks. “Took you long enough.”

The two of you eat together in bed, your legs tangled beneath the covers, his hand resting on your thigh when he isn’t reaching for his own mug. You feed him a bite of your toast and he leans in without hesitation, smiling around it. Your heart aches in the best way.

When the plates are empty and your stomach is warm, he takes the tray back to the kitchen — only to return moments later, climbing back into bed and pulling you onto his lap like you belong there.

And gods, you do.

You curl into his chest again, letting your fingers trace the faint scars across his back, the ones he never flinches at anymore when you touch.

“Thank you,” you whisper, because you can’t not say it. “For last night. For this morning. For everything.”

He presses a kiss into your hair.

“You don’t have to thank me for loving you,” he says quietly.

You bury yourself deeper into his embrace.

“I love you too,” you whisper, and feel his arms tighten around you, just a little. Like he needed to hear it, even if he already knew.

He leans back into the pillows, one hand stroking your spine, and murmurs sleepily, “We don’t have to do anything today. Just stay right here.”

You nod, already half asleep again in his arms.

And that’s exactly what you do.

[azziebaddy]

But First, The End

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/her pronouns used)

Word Count: 10.5k

Summary: A one-night stand with Prythian’s most notorious spy leads to an avalanche of life changing events. 

Warning/Notes: Hoping to make this a mini-series if people are interested! Some talk of anxiety, smutty/adult content, I think it can be categorized as fluff, but there will definitely be some angst eventually because I can’t help myself. Please let me know what you think and if you’d be interested in more parts! Thank you.

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The glimmering purple liquid burned as it raced down her throat, shot number–who even knew– as her hips swayed back and forth, the upbeat music acting as a guide. 

Heat danced across her flesh, pirouetting on every inch of her skin, as her friends pressed closely around her, dancing the night away. Lena–her twin sister, had been the one responsible for tonight. When she learned that her sister had been accepted to intern under the best healer in Velaris, well, she’d wanted to celebrate by taking Y/n out and–apparently– getting her laid, or very drunk, whichever happened first.

She hadn’t given much of a fight, it was rare that she got to enjoy a night out. Usually, she sequestered herself away in her own corner of the world studying herbal remedies and medicinal practices, or doing research on all sorts of plants and carnivorous insects.

“We need more alcohol,” Mari– one of her good friends, called out, not waiting for a response before dragging Lena behind her as they headed for the bar. Y/n watched as the small, fearless seamstress flipped her hair over her shoulder, exposing a small constellation tattoo, and smiled seductively at the bartender. Laughing slightly, Y/n spun on her heels, grateful that her friends were enjoying the night as much as she was.

Vasilisa, her sweet roommate, quickly filled in the gap the other two had left. Smiling softly at a male before she twirled once, the delicate glimmering mesh of her skirt chasing after her thighs. 

“The High Lord’s here tonight,” she giggled, throwing her arms around Y/n’s neck as she danced with her, but kept eye contact with the male just out of view. Perhaps alcohol was, in-fact, not what they needed more of. “And, he looks delicious.”

“He’s mated, Lesa, probably best to pick some other poor soul.” Despite the oddity of Lesa’s drunkenness, she couldn’t help but warm at her friend’s state. 

A small, devilish grin plastered across the girl’s face as she quickly shifted gears, “What about the shadowsinger? He’s not mated and Cauldron, he is scrumptious.”

At this point, Y/n would definitely have to be the one to stop drinking. With Mari and Lena still chatting up the bartender, more drinks appearing and disappearing before they ever left the counter; Lesa all but grinding against her as she mentally undresses the High Lord and the Spymaster of the Night Court; and Peri’s complete disappearance once a beautiful female had shown interest; it was a safe bet that she’d need to make sure everyone got home safely tonight.  

“I have an even better idea, Y/n,” Lesa squealed, her toes bouncing as she gripped both of her arms, big doe eyes pleading. “You should ask him to dance!” Lesa seemed so happy with herself, but she had to hold back the cringe that fought desperately to claw its way free.

She must not have done a good enough job hiding it, because Lesa pouted, “You don’t think he’s hot?” 

Y/n blanched, “No, of course I think he’s hot. I mean he's very tall, and gorgeous, and I like the way his shadows surround him, and I can only imagine what they can do in–” her cheeks flooded with heat that she couldn’t blame on the atmosphere. Good gods, she needed to reattach her tongue to her brain. Clearing her throat, and ignoring Lesa’s growing smirk, “that’s not the point.”

She laughed awkwardly, hoping to change the subject. She certainly wouldn’t be asking him to dance. The male took her breath away, she’d never be able to speak to him, not without clamming up or dying on the spot– the latter more preferrable. 

It was entirely possible that she was a little obsessed with the male, but in a ‘I’ll adore you from behind the scenes and never, ever do anything about it,” kind of obsession. Totally healthy. Not at all going to bite her in the ass.

She just admired him, and well, all of the Inner Circle. They did so much to keep the Night Court safe and an enjoyable place to live. 

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t dance,” Peri spoke as she finally made her reappearance. She took one of the shots that Lena handed her as she and Mari finally made their back, as well. “Besides, you're out of his league,” the purple haired faerie said, shooting her a wink. 

Of all of her friends, Peri understood the anxiety that lingered beneath Y/n’s bones the best. The circumstances that she and Lena had grown up in– they hadn’t been the best and it followed them even now, nearly one hundred years into their lives.

She smiled back at her friend, spinning Lesa into Mari’s arms, the girl gasping at the sudden movement, Lena catching the two barely before they tumbled. Y/n slung an arm around Peri’s shoulders, the two swaying back and forth as she thanked the Mother for her friends.

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The night lived on, the girls tapering off to dance with all kinds of people, the lights switching from flickering rainbow rays, to disco, to low set golden glows. Y/n let the euphoria from adrenaline and excitement drive her body– she had stopped drinking what had to have been hours ago, but she still felt the light thrum in her limbs that made her feel like a cloud, made her feel untouchable. 

By the time midnight rolled around, her feet had started aching in the best ways, her thighs felt like they were on fire, and she could feel dobs of sweat beading her brow. She had danced with her fair share of men and women, but no matter how many times Lena shot her a ‘go for it’ look or Mari gave her a thumbs up, she never lingered for more than a dance.

With all her friends occupied, she made her way out the back exit, needing some fresh air and a glance at the stars. Stargazing had always been a source of comfort for her, it was her mother’s favorite thing to do– and Velaris is the best place to do it. The beautiful dark sky was mixed with deep blues and unnerving black hues that made the stars shimmer like diamonds.

She sighed, resting her back against the brick wall of an alley, taking comfort from the cool texture against her bare skin. Her eyes stayed glued to the sky, but she jolted when she heard a small can knock over a little deeper into the alley. She stood frozen, too confused, and a little scared, to do anything other than watch.

Her breath escaped her quickly, though. She watched a small black tendril of smoke slither out from behind the bin, moonlight gleaming on the silver can as more shadows revealed themselves around it.

They made their way towards her, some of them wrapping around her ankles and running the length of her arms, gooseflesh following swiftly after them. She giggled softly, cooing at the adorable things.

“What are you doing here?” She whispered, utterly enamored by the way they moved, the cool tenderness that they left in their wake. She’d blame the alcohol for her utter lack of awareness, despite feeling completely sober, she was sure it was the only explanation for how she missed their master entirely. “You’re quite cute.”

“That’s not typically how people describe them,” a deep, rough voice spoke from behind her. 

She wasn’t proud of what happened next, but, in her defense, she panicked and instinct took over. 

She screeched, her heels spinning swiftly as she threw her fist at the intruder behind her, all of her small, but mighty force put behind it.  

In hindsight, should she have been able to make an informative guess on who it was? Absolutely. If she had taken even a moment to look at her surroundings: the creatures she was speaking to, or even the bar that the alley they currently stood in lay attached to– she may have chosen a better way to react.

Still, she tried desperately to hold onto all of her brothers’ teachings, it had been years since she’d properly trained or had taken part in any sort of physical combat, so she was a little rusty. 

Her fist collided with a skin, hard. She hadn’t realized how tall the male before her was, her head barely reaching his shoulders, her fist vibrating where it hit the palm of his hand. 

He hadn’t even flinched. A small smile tilting the side of his mouth. She stood frozen, her wrist now encased by a warm, calloused hand as he twisted his grip, gently.

Their eyes locked, his warm hazel gaze taking complete control of her being. Her mouth popped open a little, her eyes wide as she took in the beautiful specimen before her. The quirk of his lips disappeared almost immediately, but he still wore a soft look on his face, it was obvious he was doing his best to not be intimidating. He dropped her wrist without complaint and took a large step backwards, his hands clasping behind his back as he dragged his wings in behind him, making them look smaller.

He cleared his throat, the look on his face giving nothing away, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Her first thought? That he could startle her whenever he wanted to because he’s breathtaking. His short curls lay in dark wisps along his forehead, his eyes glazed with a bewitching twinkle, and his clothes clung tightly to his muscles, nothing left to the imagination. She could see the swirls of his tattoos as a few sat slightly in view beneath his sleeves and open collar.

Finally, finally, she found her voice, it cracked, “Wo-ow, you’re beautiful.” His eyes widened and his mouth hung agape for a short moment, shadows dancing along his shoulders as they thrummed with what looked like giddy-delight. 

Cauldron. Boil. Her.

She cursed herself inwardly, why the hell had she said that? She needed to get out of here, fast. 

“I mean– you aren’t– I’m–” words failed to form, and he just stood and watched, mesmerized, as she floundered, as she crashed and pathetically burned. “I’m so sorry, for punching–oh gods– and for the beautiful–” swallow, “–thing… uh– i’m just gonna,” She pointed her thumb to the door she came through.

“I don’t think–” He started, but quickly stopped when she swore, pulling on the door handle that didn’t so much as budge. She pulled harder, over and over again as embarrassment to the nth degree began washing over her.

She groaned, allowing her upper body to fall against the large door, her forehead resting against the cool metal. Why do these things happen to me?

To all his credit, the shadowsinger just stood back and watched as she slowly unraveled, utter amusement dancing in his eyes. He had never seen anyone fumble so entirely when trying to speak to him. It intrigued him. It certainly had him thinking of ways to make that blush bloom across her cheeks again. 

“Are you alright?” He finally asked, cutting off her repetitive mumblings. Her gaze snapped to his, her head still firmly planted against the door. 

“I should have drank more,” she said to herself before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “I’m peachy,” Was how she responded to him, “thanks for not, you know, killing me for punching you.”

He mouthed the word peachy, as if he had never heard it before, his brows crinkling in the most attractive way. Gods, she really needed to quit staring at him.

She started her walk towards the front of the alley, doing her best to sidestep the large male. He merely turned, allowing her to pass him with plenty of room between them, but he did follow her as she made her way to the front.

“I would hardly call that a punch,” he spoke, a teasing lilt to his tone, “Although, you do move fast, so that’s at least something.”

She gawked at him, “You startled me, if I had been ready, I definitely would have hit you.” She proclaimed, her eyes catching on the shadows that had reattached themselves to her. She smiled at them.

She missed the way Azriel stopped breathing, his gaze snatching onto the smile she gave his shadows, the way she looked at them as if they were something amazing, something worth acknowledging.

He regained his composure, doing his best to shove down his growing need to hear her voice, her laugh. And gods, he wanted to see that blush again, too. 

“An opponent isn’t going to give you the time to get ready,” he pointed out, both of them stopping as they reached the edge of the alley, real life a mere step away.

She narrowed her eyes, calculation and mirth swirling around, “Why exactly were you in the alley anyways?”

He shrugged, a casual gesture that made her heart flutter wildly. She watched as his wings shifted with the motion, the moonlight illuminating them in an ethereal glow, she wanted to reach out and touch them.

Nope.

She held her hands tightly to her sides. If she knew anything about Illyrians, it was that their wings were sacred, and people tended to lose limbs when they touched them uninvited. 

“My shadows were curious about something, I merely followed their lead.” He neglected to mention that they’d slithered to the alley with the pull of a hundred Illyrian men–hell bent on getting their master the.

“There wasn’t anything special in the alleyway,” she spoke, confused. Certainly an old garbage can and littered papers wouldn’t have caught the attention of the spymaster's shadows, would it?

His head tilted sideways, taking her in as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. As if he were trying to read if she was being truthful, intentional. Whatever he found seemed to satisfy him, though as he lifted his hand, a shadow weaving its way around him, 

“You’re in the alleyway.”

His voice had a low timbre in it, he spoke quietly but firmly, his eyes never shifting from hers as she swallowed. 

She felt her cheeks heat, the warmth bloom across her chest as he looked at her, not a single fiber of her being going unnoticed by the male. No wonder so many people cowered in his presence.

Shaking her head, “I’m nothing special,” her hand flew to the back of her head, nervously patting her hair down as she awkwardly smiled his way. “Maybe they just needed a change in scenery,” she offered.

He hummed, “May I ask why you were in the alley? You seemed to be having fun on the dance floor.” She balked. He had seen her? Her mind had to be suffering from whiplash because there was no way this was actually happening. 

“I just needed some air, to watch the stars for a bit.” When he hummed again, she realized that he must not be much of a talker, but the silence she found them in wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable, it felt… safe, kind of like a fresh breeze of air on a hot day, or a warm bath after a hard day’s work. And, she supposed it made sense that he would talk much, he was the Spymaster, after all.

“I’m Y/n, by the way,” He repeated her name back, a thick, intoxicating sound as it fell from his lips. His tongue flicked across his top lip as if he were chasing the word. She wanted to chase the movement, her eyes tracking it like a hound. 

“Azriel,” he offered back, though both of them knew it was just a formality. Of course she already knew his name. 

“Would it be alright if I bought you a drink?” Did she hear a nervous pulse in his words? “To make up for startling you and interrupting your star gazing?”

She froze, did he actually just ask her out? Well, not out, but to have a drink with him? These were the kinds of things she needed her friends around for, how in the Mother's name was she supposed to know what to do. 

She thought about Lesa, and what she’d said earlier about asking him to dance. Lesa, despite her alcohol consumption, was usually the most leveled headed of them. It’s what was going to make her a great healer one day. She knew about the kind of men Y/n typically found herself gravitating towards. She knew that it was unlikely she’d ask anyone to dance unless they gave her a reason to. Did she know something about Azriel that she didn’t?

She’d have to remember to bring it up tomorrow, once Lesa had her head on straight again. But, at that moment, she decided that she could do this. She could be spontaneous and have fun. 

“I would love that,”

Besides, it was one drink, what could possibly happen?

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One drink had turned into two, and two had quickly turned into three the longer the night went on. She and Azriel had danced for what felt like hours. Eventually they’d found their to a table, just the two of them talking and laughing, sharing stories. She did most of the talking, the male drawing words and memories out of her with no problem at all. He always hummed and asked questions at the right times, he listened in a way that made her think he was far too interested in her, but it was…nice. 

She hadn’t even realized how late it had gotten, but as she did a sweep of the room, she realized a lot of the patrons had left for the night. Even Mari and Lesa had waved at her as they left. 

Her gaze locked with her twin’s from across the dance floor, she slowly sipped from a pink drink, Peri sitting at the bar with her as they chatted. Lena raised a brow at Y/n. She didn’t need twin telepathy to know what she was asking, are you coming home with us, or going home with him?

She sent a glare her sister's way, knowing Lena had a preference for which option she chose. Honestly, Y/n knew better, though. Ignoring her sister only spurred her on. Which was why, now, Lena and Peri were making their way to the two of them, a shit eating grin on the former's face.

“Y/n,” She cooed, sitting down on her chair and placing a chaste kiss on her cheek. 

Azriel’s eyes snapped to Lena’s, then quickly to Peri, assessing and putting information together that she’d slowly given him over the past few hours.

“Peri and I are leaving, we have that very important thing to do tomorrow, as you know,” A very ‘subtle’ wink, “We don’t want to leave without you.” She pouted. “It’s so dangerous out there.”

Before Y/n could respond, Azriel cut in smoothly, “I could take you home.” The blush she’d been trying so hard to keep down all night ignited beneath her skin. 

Peri rolled her eyes as Lena clapped, “What a wonderful idea, who better to get her home safely than the Night Court’s Spymaster, himself.” 

She could have sworn Azriel smiled into his drink, clearly catching on to Lena’s antics. She shot an apologetic face towards him. He merely smiled at her, causing her breath to hitch.

“You don’t have to do that, I’m sure you’re busy.” She spoke quietly. Her eyes casting down toward the near-full drink she’d been sipping for the last hour. 

“I’m not. And, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” All three women stared at him, the sheer honesty in his tone casting them in stone. The fact that he wanted to spend more time with her and didn’t care that she and her friends knew. It started chipping away at the obsession, and started morphing into something much scarier.

Lena made a noise mixed between utter fascination and ooey-gooey sweetness. The arm hooked around her shoulders was used to swing her around swiftly, bringing her eye to eye with her twin, the startling gray color of their eyes meeting her own. 

“Make good choices,” She waggled her brows and flicked the zipper of her top down a millimeter more, revealing more cleavage.

“Lena!” She hissed. Hands automatically moving to cover herself. She didn’t zip it back up.

She winked, backing up to a laughing Peri. “good choices” she merely mouthed. 

Y/n looked towards Azriel, afraid of what he’d think of this whole show. Her eyes widened, he had a pink blossoming along his cheeks, a bashful expression briefly taking hold of his face before it turned into something more–deeper. 

As Lena turned towards the exit, her arm grappling Peri’s, she faced Azriel, “If anything happens to her, if she comes back with so much as a scratch,” she spoke cooly, “I’ll gut you from scrote to throat, capiche?”

She tossed a clean napkin at her sister, “I’m fine, go.”  Horrified that she had just threatened the freaking spymaster of the Night Court. One of the most infamous fae warriors in Prythian.

Something like appreciation flashed in his eyes, though. Instead of threatening her back, or using his title against her, he merely reached his hand out–covered in a black leather glove.

“I’ll protect her with my life.” Lena stood straighter, hesitantly reaching for his hand to shake it. Despite the glove, some sort of magic seemed to breathe new life into the world. An ebony vine wrapped its way along Lena’s wrist, bleeding flowers encasing the thin band, a matching one covering his own. 

She stared at their wrists, surprise flickering through her. Weren’t those kinds of promises…permanent? Why in the gods' names would he make a promise like that? He hardly knew her. Then again, she supposed it was sweet and comforting that a member of her home’s Inner Circle cared so much about the safety of their citizens.

Because that’s definitely all this could be about. 

Her sister and friend left quickly after that. And not long after that, Azriel paid the tab– refused to accept any of her money– and had wrapped his jacket around her shoulders. The fabric drifted over her arms, completely engulfing her frame and covering her thighs half-way.

She found herself close to Azriel, clinging to his warmth, as they made their way down the cobblestone street. Moon glimmering against the stone and street signs, casting the area in a deep, evanescent glow. 

Azriel walked at a slow pace, no doubt to keep up with her heeled steps. One of his hands hooked into his pocket, the other one – the one closest to hers– lay still at his side. She had a sneaking suspicion it was in case she decided to hold his hand. Heat blossomed in her stomach at the thought.

Lena had told her to make good choices. She had no doubt that meant to have fun, to allow herself some flexibility. She wasn’t sure of much when it came to this male, but she knew that she liked him and everything she’d learned about him tonight.

She knew she didn’t want the night to end, not yet.

“Will you take a detour with me?” She asked abruptly, effectively ending the calm silence. She could smell the salty air of the Sidra, a cool air rushing its way through the strands of her hair, his shadows stuck to her like sweetgum balls. 

He looked ethereal in the light of the moon, his unmatched beauty enrapturing her wholly. She hadn’t been able to look away from him for more than a moment the whole night.. His canines flashed briefly as he smirked, and then he hooked his pinky in hers, the gloves he had been wearing all night smooth against her skin.

She laughed as he spun her around, her heels clicking against the sidewalk.

“Lead the way,”

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

They walked along the colorful sidewalk, crystal water filling the Sidra, the waves lulling softly in the calm of the night. 

Azriel had started opening up, slowly, telling her about his family, his job– or at least a pg version– and his interests. She clung to his every word, so grateful that he’d been willing to share parts of his private life. Their hands slowly grew closer, fingers finding their way together, his hand squeezing hers when it finally rested in his. 

She smiled softly at him, his eyes catching on her mouth. Thankfully, he couldn’t see the blush that always appeared when she looked at him too long. The whipping wind blasting her cheeks with frigid, frost coated air. 

Looking up at the stars glittering in the sky, “My mother loved the stars,” she spoke softly. She admired a mixture of constellations and a magical aurora– beautiful hues of golden orange, blushing pink, and enchanted, deep purple blending together. 

“She used to say that the stars were proof that the small moments in life are just as magnificent as the big ones.” 

She watched the stars, but he watched her. 

Meeting his hazel eyes, close enough to see the warm, green flecks that dusted his irises, she couldn’t help but move closer. Later, in the comfort of her home, she might say it’s because the wind was brutal, and his body offered her more heat than his jacket ever could. But, right here, right now? She simply wanted to follow that tugging in her chest, a sensation that led her straight to him.

His hand slowly drifted up her, following her outline before it settled against her cheek. He swallowed, “She sounds like a very wise woman,” He finally answered. His thumb lazily rubbed the skin along her jaw, allowing her ample opportunities to stop him if she wished.

She did not wish. In fact, she wanted to feel his skin against hers, and she couldn’t do it by holding his hands.

Instead she raised onto her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her middle, holding her steady against him. “What are you up to?” He murmured, a sweet look on his face as he moved a piece of her hair from her face. “Gods, you’re beautiful,” her body stiffened, he hadn’t meant to speak that aloud, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it, not when she smiled like that.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” He vowed, his eyes glued to her lips, he only waited long enough for her to nod her agreement before his lips descended onto her.

She didn’t have even a moment to freak out, to second-guess, because one second he was leaning into her and the next his lips were on hers and–

 She. Stopped. Breathing. 

His lips were warm and soft, but also firm and perfect. The hand that was attached to the arm not securing her to him found its way to her cheek, cupping her softly. Her hands wound their way into his hair, a sigh escaping her as he kept kissing her, his tongue flicking across her lower lip.

This man didn’t simply kiss, he devoured, he took everything that she offered and more. His tongue danced along her mouth, and when his fingers grappled the ends of her hair, tugging just-so, she gasped, her mouth opening just enough for him to slip in. 

He deepened the kiss.

The small noises she made were consumed by his lips as they bubbled in the back of her throat, her legs somehow winding up around his waist, holding her up so he no longer had to bend so far. And through it all, he kept kissing her. Both his hands holding her back to keep her right where he wanted her. His tongue tangled with hers as his shadows ran along her neck, her exposed back, and her legs. The cool sensations doing unholy things to her senses as they mixed with the pure male heat of him.

Her hands pulled on his silky strands, pressing her chest, somehow, even further into his. Her body angled more above him, as he groaned, a sound she swore she could live off of. His canines flashed, a smirk dancing along his lips before she crashed her mouth back onto his, she wanted to taste every bit of him. His minty breath, the sweat beading his brow, the simple taste of his skin–could be her undoing. 

And oh golly, her skin tingled, her lips dancing with anticipation as he pulled away. His forehead falling against hers, his eyes so dark she wondered if she’d imagined the hazel of them all throughout the night. 

Their breaths came out in soft spurts, the cold night air bringing them to life around them as they stayed close. Her legs still wrapped around him, holding her to him, careful of his wings that seemed to flare whenever he lost some of his undiluted control.

“That was– you are–” He stopped, his lips trailing a path from her neck to her jaw and up her cheek before landing on the corner of her lips. Those glorious teeth scraping along her skin. She wanted him to bite her, to leave marks so she could remember this in the morning.

Maybe tomorrow–or for the rest of her life, let’s be honest– she’d daydream about how she’d turned this man into a puddle of words with just her mouth, gods knew he’d done that to her. But, right now? Right now she wanted nothing more than to feel more of him. To feel all of him.

“Can I take you home?” His voice came out breathy, still pressing sweet kisses along her skin, anywhere he could find. 

“That depends,” she cooed, moving her head back and baring her neck so he had better access. “My home or yours?”

She could feel that smile as it lifted his lips, his soft kisses on her throat making her lose any sense of understanding.

He rephrased, “Come home with me?” 

And how could she possibly say no to that?

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

Azriel’s room was everything she could have pictured it being. Dark, neat, and not a single item that screamed “I’m Azriel, this is my space,” unless she counted the wall of knives and weapons. But she imagined that had more to say about how he was a spymaster, not the man himself.

They’d come in through his balcony, the glass doors pristinely shining as the moonlight cast onto them, giving his room the same aura as its dweller– dark and mysterious, but oh, so sexy. 

His bed lay in the middle, large enough to house someone with wings, and the dark linens neatly placed atop them were calling her name. A crackling fire lit the stone laden fireplace on the far end, books stacked neatly on a desk that was filled with papers and organized writing quills. 

She didn’t have time to dwell further on her surroundings, though. Not as Azriel pressed his front to her back, the evidence of his arousal chanting her name like a prayer. His gloves had come off, his calloused hands tracing the skin on her arm slowly.

“Are you still with me?” He whispered, his teeth grazing the tip of her ear. Shivers ran down her spine as she spun towards him, her hands finding their place on his forearms. 

“Yes,” she whispered, her eyes already on his lips. She had no qualms with what this was. She knew. This was one night. One amazing, probably will ruin sex with anyone else ever again, night. And she was okay with that. Lena had told her to have fun, to make good choices, and she couldn’t imagine what was a better choice than this. Than him.

His lips quirked up, lust pooling in his deep hazel, near black eyes. As he leaned down, his hands found their way to the zipper on her dress as his mouth met her shoulder, a trail of saliva following her bone. 

Her hands trailed up his arms– right over his new tattoo, and then skated down his front, finding the band of his pants, she slipped them under his shirt. A pleased sound coming from his throat as her hands travelled the length of his torso, the beautifully crafted skin hot beneath her needy touch. 

In no time her dress pooled at her feet, leaving her in nothing but a cute deep sapphire lace bralette set– she thanked every god that she had thought to put on a matching set. Her heels were already discarded somewhere she couldn’t bring herself to care about right now. Not as his lips finally made their way back to hers. He tasted her wholly, his large hands touching her everywhere, her back, her arms, her stomach, her ass. She preened at his attention.

“You’re beautiful,” he said again, his lips never leaving hers as her hands finally got tired of their fabric confines. “Fucking gorgeous,” he growled. As he lifted her without absolutely no effort at all, depositing her softly onto his bed as he leaned over her. His dark locks falling over his face, she couldn’t stop her hand from pushing them back, his beautiful face cast in soft golden light from the fireplace. 

He leaned down, his lips brushing hers as his hand found her breast. Her back arched as he plucked her nipple with his fingers through the thin fabric. His other hand massaging her other breast languidly. Then his mouth, his magnificent mouth, fell to the fabric as he sucked her in. She couldn’t stop the noises that came out of her as he continued his ministrations. All she could do was throw her head back, hold his hair in her grip, and hope she didn’t topple off the edge of this world. 

“Azriel,” she breathed, “please,” her eyes blown out with lust as the heat in her belly stirred and writhed with every touch, every look.

He smirked, flashing those canines she had an unhealthy fascination with, “Already begging and I haven’t even touched you the way I’ve been wanting to all night,” His tongue flicked between her breasts as he unhooked the small clasp in front, letting them spill out. 

Any other time she may be embarrassed, or try and cover, but one look at Azriel, and she knew she didn’t need to. He looked at her like he wanted to ravish her, like he could live off of touching her.

“You’re breathtaking, I thought it when I saw you dancing, and the Mother knows I can’t stop thinking it now,” he spoke, such utter candor in his voice–just like when he’d told her there was nowhere else he’d rather be– it made her breath catch. 

She imagined that Azriel was not an easy male to get over. So she’d just need to get under him.

A blush took over her cheeks, but she managed a breathy, “Off,” a plea, really. As she tried to lift his shirt. He chuckled, a sexy, deep sound that went straight to her core. The next moment his shirt was off, and then somehow, his pants. 

She was sure saliva had to be coming out of her mouth because this man. He was a work of art, he definitely bordered on an eight pack, small cuts and scars lined his torso and only made him more attractive. His golden skin looked iridescent in the light, his tattoos swirling all around his arms and chest. Shadows danced along her peripheral vision, not quite touching, but observing as if they wanted to. She wanted them to.

She felt her tongue as it involuntarily flicked her bottom lip, her teeth catching it in the same place. Azriel didn’t miss the motion, his eyes turning a molten color that set every nerve in her body aflame. Her hands were everywhere, running the length of his torso, his sides, she steered clear of his wings, but damn, she’d be dreaming of them for years to come. They splayed out magnificently as he loomed over her, neither of them touching the bed, they cocooned her in a way that made her feel safe, and guarded.

They were both in only their underwear now, “We can stop whenever you want,” he spoke softly, earnestly. His gaze caught hers to emphasize that he meant it, if she wanted to stop–despite being able to feel him against her leg, feel how much he wanted her– he’d back off, bring her home. And well, that gave her the warm and fuzzies, and only cemented how much she wanted this. Wanted him.

Sitting up on her elbows, her hair falling over her shoulders, she hooked one of her legs around his waist, catching him off guard as she repositioned them. Now she sat astride him, her hands landing on his pecs as his hands found her hips. 

She leaned forwards, her breasts flush with his bare chest as she kissed her way down his body. She started near his ear, whispering, “I want to hear more about what you’ve wanted to do to me all night,” she bit down, just slightly, catching his lobe. Then she kissed his jaw, a trail of warm kisses down his neck, his chest, his abs, his navel. Her hand found its way to his boxers, the tight black fabric hiding very little of his very large member. A little part of her wondered how this would work, she was not a virgin by any means, but it had been a good couple of months, and he– gods, he was impressive in all the best ways.

The sound that came out of him was purely male as she continued her movements, his hands tightening enough that she knew they’d leave bruises. Good. She wanted to remember this–in any way she could. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he said it so low she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right, but then he was sitting up, his arms wrapping around her middle to keep her from toppling off of him. 

His lips met hers as he ground into her, their underwear left little to the imagination and she stopped caring about the noises that came out of her. She just let herself go, let him take her fully.

His mouth met her nipple, his teeth plucking softly, but so sweetly. Her back bowed into him, her hands flying to his hair as she held on for dear life. He suckled and nipped and licked her breasts, the heat pooling low in her belly as she continued to grind on him. 

“Oh, gods–Az,” she spluttered, doing her best to hold on to what little scrap of sanity she had left. He didn’t bend, though, no–he flipped her over, her back hitting the plush mattress once more, her ass coming to kiss the edge of the bed as he kneeled on the floor before her.

Her knees fell open on either side of his body, the cool air rushing against her as his shadows locked themselves around her body. One wrapped around waist, and two on her ankles, keeping her in the exact position their master wanted. 

His eyes caught hers, only for a brief moment, he flashed the sexiest grin and then bent down, placing a soft, reverent kiss to her center over her panties. And somehow, despite all that they’d already done, that was the sexiest, most obliterating part of this whole ordeal. 

Her body tried to move, tried to get closer as he chuckled, clearly enjoying her struggles against his helpers as they kept her locked in place. 

“Now, now, pretty,” he cooed, “Be a good girl and keep making all those sweet noises for me,” Oh, she so wanted to be his good girl, she wanted to be his everything right now. 

Slowly, so freaking slowly, he pulled her panties down, baring her fully to him. He didn’t waste any time, and she cried out as his mouth finally closed over her most intimate part. He kissed and licked and suckled her into nothingness. His tongue flattening over her, his lips catching that sensitive nub and sucking, then his tongue was inside of her. He groaned at her taste, his hands splaying across her thighs and holding on. She could feel him grinding himself against the mattress, chasing any sort of friction he could without losing himself entirely.

She was careening towards that edge so swiftly, she truly stood no chance once he started adding fingers. He filled her with one, his tongue never letting up on its pace as he glided his digit in and out of her smoothly. His eyes met hers, and whatever he saw, he must have liked, because then he was adding a second finger, that wicked smile on display as he licked one stripe straight up her center.

Her body tried to buck, to chase the feeling but she couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything except hold onto the mattress for dear life. 

She chanted his name over and over, it seemed to be the only word she could remember. Especially as he added a third finger, and they curled in just the right place, as his tongue swirled around her center, his teeth grazing the flesh. 

She came so hard, her legs were visibly shaking where they lay sprawled apart on the bed. His shadows finally relented as she arched, her hands immediately finding his hair, his shoulders, anything of his she could touch. She thinks he offered one of his hands, the calloused skin squeezing her own soft ones to keep her grounded. 

Then he loomed over her again, his lips shining with her desire as he licked them, then she watched, his eyes never straying from hers, as he sucked each of his digits into his mouth, drinking all of her in. 

She thought she might actually come again just from the sight. Never had a guy gone down on her and seemed to so thoroughly enjoy the process. Gods, this male, he really was going to ruin any other men for her. 

Worth it.

His lips met hers in a harsh dance, his fingers gripping her chin upwards so he could fully devour her. She found herself latching onto the band of his underwear and ripping, she had no time to waste trying to get them off safely. She simply didn’t care, she needed him, like yesterday. 

He chuckled, a sound she was getting awfully familiar with, but didn’t stop her as she just threw the pieces of fabric somewhere in his room. Then her hand found his cock, thick and throbbing as she pumped him once, twice. He groaned, his head falling against hers as she swiped the head, collecting the precum that had already begun leaking.

“Fuck, Y/n,” His lips finding her neck as he latched on, sucking and licking. 

She kept her pace, loving the feel of him in her hand. Then she positioned him at her entrance, their eyes meeting, one final confirmation nod from her and he was moving. 

She tensed for only a moment, the feeling of being so full not something she’s used to. But he went slow, entered her slowly, allowed her to adjust as he went in glorious inch by glorious inch. 

They were both breathing hard, she kept saying his name, he cursed under his breath as he did his best to not rut into her like a teenager chasing his first high. And gods, it was a high because he felt so good inside of her. Nothing could compare to this moment, how she felt.

Then his hips were flushed with hers, his body coming to a complete standstill as he watched her, his fingers pushing her hair out of her face, tracing the outline of her lips, her jaw. 

“You still with me, pretty?” He spoke softly, as if speaking any louder may break whatever bubble they’d built around themselves. 

“Yes, fuck, yes,” she breathed out. Her body doing its best to adjust to the sheer size and girth of him. He kissed her through it, his lips finding space on all of the bare skin he could reach. Even his shadows seemed to caress her softly, cooing and guiding her through the motions. 

“Please, Az, move,” she swirled her hips in emphasis, catching the moan he let out with her mouth as he finally moved. His hips pulled out halfway and then he pushed back in slowly at first, gauging her reaction. When she mewled, her nails scraping his back, he did it again, faster. He kept a steady pace as she felt their liquids combining, oozing out of her in the most delicious way. 

He kept a steady rhythm, their moans meeting in the air and dancing together as they continued to move together in sync. Her legs wrapped around his middle, getting him even deeper, and when she came the second time, it was just a good as the first.

“So beautiful,” he cooed, “So fucking tight, milking my cock so good,” He hit that spot deep inside of her as he cooed her name, his grunts filling her ears in tandem with his thrusts. Her lips found his and he obeyed her request, his tongue meeting hers and tangling, their saliva mixing as one of his hands gripped her waist, the other finding its way to her face. 

When the aftershocks finally started to ebb away, Azriel wasted no time in flipping her over, her knees and hands on the mattress, her ass in the air. She let out a noise of distress when his cock slipped out of her, but it was quickly followed by a moan as he reentered her from behind. 

And holy trinity of all the gods, he was somehow deeper inside of her, she could feel every pleasure inducing inch of him as he lost all of his control. He pounded into her, his hands on her hips as she did her best to meet him thrust for thrust.

She couldn’t believe it, she could already feel that pool of desire growing in her for the third time tonight. Her sounds no more than a slew of moans and expletives as he continued his brutal thrusts. 

“Fuck, you’re doing so good, that’s it–” he praised, his hand pulling her hair away from her neck as his chest became flush with her back. His other hand found that sensitive nub between her thighs, pinching and flicking in the most torturous ways. “You can give me another one, can’t you, pretty?” He asked, his voice a husky sheen in her ear as his thrusts continued to wreak havoc on her. “Just one more, I know you can do it,” she had never been one for dirty talk, but fuck, Azriel could talk about grocery shopping and she’d find it hot as hell.

The praise only brought her closer to that edge, coaxing her on. And when his fingers added just enough pressure to her center, she fell right over that edge for the third time, her orgasm causing her legs to shake so wholly that Azriel had to hold her up as he continued to thrust into her. A cocky, but proud smile lighting his face briefly before pleasure took root and he came inside of her, his cock throbbing and swelling as he spilt rope after rope of his seed into her.

They stayed that way for a long moment, it could have been minutes or hours, Y/n wouldn’t be able to tell even if there were a knife to her throat. His naked, sweat beaded chest pressing against her back as their harsh breathing filled the room’s silence. 

He finally slipped out of her, his hands slowly lowering her onto her stomach, her legs nothing but jelly as he flipped onto his side, careful of his wings. 

Their gazes collided, a sexed-out smile slapping its way to her mouth as she took him in. His own smile found its way onto his face, just a small, intimate one that made her heart do dangerous flips inside her chest.

“That was–” she started, her breathy voice sounded as ruined as she felt.

“Fucking amazing.” He finished, his hand reaching out to push a piece of hair that had fallen over her eyes, behind her ear. Then he kissed her forehead, his arm slinging over her back. 

“Stay.” He murmured, his eyes already closing as sleep began to take him hostage.

Once again, she found herself unable to say no to this man. Her eyelids already heavy with her own sleep, drifted shut. She briefly recognized the feeling of a blanket being dropped over her, maybe his shadows? She didn’t have time to question before sleep finally claimed her.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

Y/n woke to soft beams of sunlight trickling across her face through the balcony doors. The warmth seeped into her skin as her eyes adjusted to the light. 

It took her a moment to remember where she was. An unfamiliar, but comfortable, bed caressed her body. Her body completely naked where she lay against the comforter, a small throw blanket had been placed over her to keep her warm in the night.

And then, there was the weight.

A large, muscled arm thrown over her waist, an even heavier leg pressed between her thighs, their legs tangled. His body was warm and the limbs attached to her only kept her close to the male she found herself facing. His beautiful face somehow less intimidating in sleep, all the smooth lines and fine angles completely at ease. 

Azriel.

The Spymaster of the Night Court.

Her eyes widened as last night's events all came flooding back in troves. Azriel finding her in the alleyway, her sister and friends, Azriel dancing with her, her internship, Azriel and his glorious kissing, his hands, his shadows, and his body. 

Fuck. 

She needed to leave. She wasn’t sure how this was supposed to work, but she was damn sure it’d be awkward if he woke up and she was still here. In his bed. 

She briefly remembered him telling her to stay, but surely he hadn’t meant through the morning. She highly doubted that he was about to invite her to lunch with his family. 

His family.

Oh, gods.

Did they live here? Had they heard them last night? If she hadn’t been so caught up in the shadowsinger, she may have stopped to ask herself about these things, but nope. Instead she fell head over freaking tea kettle and– admittedly– had the best sex of her life. 

She needed to leave, like hours ago.

She ignored the sweet caresses of his shadows as they welcomed her with a morning that, any other time, she’d be thrilled about. But right now she needed to figure out how to get out from under his arm, and his leg, and was that his wing cocooning over them? 

Somehow, an act of the Mother and Cauldron themselves, she managed to disentangle herself from his monkey hold. He really did seem peaceful, and she did her best to remain quiet, not because she didn’t want to speak to him– although that may have definitely been a factor– but because she didn’t want to disturb his sleep, who knew how much he got on a regular basis. In his line of work, she imagined, not much.

Quietly she peeled around the room, grabbing her dress and quickly shimmying it on and grabbing her heels. Fuck putting those bitches back on, last night Y/n was not this morning Y/n, and her feet would thank her for it. 

She slowly slipped out of his room, not sure how she was going to get out of this place. He had flown them last night, brought her in through his balcony. Surely there had to be a front door. The last thing she wanted to be doing was roaming around the Inner Circle’s private dwelling, she imagined that was how one ended up on the wrong side of jail cell. 

She gulped, taking in the hallways around her. There were loads of paintings adorning the brilliant, sophisticated walls. All of the members of the Inner Circle in various positions. There were some of just the General Commander and his mate, Lady Death. There were some of the High Lord and Lady with their adorable son, and even a few of the lesser talked about members. They were beautifully done, and if she wasn’t mistaken, the High Lady had probably painted these herself. 

She had been so caught up in looking at the photos along the hallway, following them unconsciously that she jumped when somebody cleared their throat. 

She flailed, horrendously. Heels thrown in the air, her feet slipping from beneath her as she swiveled around and came face to chest with a very large male. She would have fallen on her ass if he hadn’t grabbed her arm to steady her. Her eyes tracked all the way up his leather-clad chest and to his large membranous wings that somehow seemed slightly different than Azriel’s. Were there scars on his? And, were they smaller? She shook her head, so not important.

“Well, hello there,” he crooned, a crooked grin lighting the General Commander’s features as he used a leather strap to bind his hair in a bun atop his head. 

She cursed herself inwardly, gods, she really needed to work on her observation skills. How had she missed him of all people? He was definitely the largest of the three illyrian men who belonged to the Inner Circle. And, he had always seemed like the most approachable, though that wasn’t saying much. He was still absolutely terrifying.

And here she was, staring at him with her mouth agape like a fish out of water. Perhaps she should take her chances with the balconies after all, maybe a free fall would do her some good right about now.

“Hi,” she squeaked, quickly grabbing her flyaway shoes and holding them to her chest like a lifeline. 

“You must be Az’s…friend,” he said, a knowing smirk on his face. She could feel her blush as it crawled from the tips of her toes to her cheeks. 

She swallowed, trying to take this gift from the Mother. The general had wings, which meant he could probably get her out of here without causing too much trouble, she doubted he’d tell her no. Plus, that meant she really wouldn’t have to face Azriel again, so a bonus, at least, that’s what she told herself. 

“He’s sleeping,” Cassian’s brows rose at that, a look of shock briefly flitting across his face before his easy demeanor was back. 

“That is–interesting. Were you joining us for breakfast?” 

“No–” She calmed herself, reigning in the slight shout she’d let through in all her panic. “I mean– no, I’m not. I just– I’m trying to get home, I’ve got a busy day and I’m not quite sure how–”

“Ah,” he said, that ridiculous smirk still plastered on his smug face. “Too bad, Azriel doesn’t usually have…sleepovers.”

Sleepovers? What were they, twelve? 

She gave her best smile, “Is there any chance you could show me the way out?”

“You’re not going to wait for him to wake up?” He cocked his head, his tone full of confusion, as if this wasn’t something he’d ever had to deal with. 

She shook her head, “He looked peaceful, and I really need to get home, my roommate’s probably worried sick.”

Understanding bloomed on his face, “Well, there are two options then, little ghost,” her brows pinched at the nickname. This male didn’t know her from Adam, and yet, he seemed so incredibly warm and kind. She chastised herself, it didn’t matter, she would probably never speak to him again. “You can either venture down the 10,000 steps to the bottom,” he laughed at the sour look that crossed her face, her poor, poor feet. “Or, I can fly you back home, if you’re comfortable with that.”

“That would be wonderful, as long as it doesn’t put you out,” she said, praying to every god she could remember the name of that he truly didn’t mind. 

His smile was easy. “It’s no trouble, I’ll even tell Azriel you said goodbye.”

“That’s really not necessary,” she blushed as he led her toward an opened foyer, large balconies lining the room. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do,” and she was also sure that Azriel wouldn’t care. They’d had their night of fun, now she needed to get out of here and try and go about her life like normal. Whatever that meant, she really wasn’t sure that’d even be possible. 

He merely smiled at her, something was off about it though, as if he didn’t really believe her.

But, he did as he said and flew her home.

It was time to get back to normal life, she had a lot going for her. And the Spymaster of the Night Court didn’t have anything to do with it.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

Weeks passed in a blur, between her internship starting and her ordinarily chaotic life, she had hardly had time to think about her night with the spymaster. He only ever found her in his dreams, and if she was lucky, her subconscious would grant her some of the memories of that night in dream form. 

She hadn’t so much as seen him in the past six weeks, she tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter, that it was only one night and she should accept that for what it is– and she did. For the most part. But, sometimes, in the wee hours of the morning, when her thoughts were just a little more hostile, she would think about him, and what he’d thought when he woke up that day and she’d been gone. Had he been upset? Or had he been relieved? And why had Cassian seemed so sure that he’d see her again? He had even winked at her when he dropped her off that morning. Weird. 

“Take this twice a day for a week and the rash should clear right up,” She spoke to a short, mousy looking female. The nuclear green liquid sloshing around in the vial as the woman thanked her and scurried away after tossing her a few coins. 

Madja came out of the back room, “Y/n, can you help me in here for a moment?”

Without hesitation, she quickly wiped her hands on her apron and followed Madja to the back. She felt her stomach sink as the older fae led her silently into the main medicine bay. She had asked Madja a few weeks ago about some medicines that could help with stress-induced nausea. It didn’t matter what she brewed, if it was a personal concoction or one out of one of her textbooks, none of them seemed to be helping. She only ever got sick in the evenings, and at this point, she was starting to get worried that something was seriously wrong. So she’d asked Madja, and the older fae had said she’d look into it and make her something that should help. 

Y/n couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what this was about, she had said it wouldn’t take long and that had been only two days ago. But, when y/n found herself in the furthest room in the back of the building, her thoughts quickly emptied out.

A young girl sat on the seat, her arm full of what looked to be glass shards. The other arm, sat gently in medicated water, blood pooling in thin layers as it soaked.

Y/n’s stomach lurched, the girl couldn’t have been older than nine or ten, and the wounds looked awfully painful.

“I need you to apply the salve and wrap this arm while I start working on getting the glass out of the other arm,” Madja spoke, handing a pair of gloves to her as she quickly made her way back over to the young girl. Her mother was pacing back and forth as she watched. Y/n shot her a soothing smile, the best she could manage, the one she’d learned specifically for this reason. It seemed to work, long enough for the mother to sit down, but she kept her eyes trained on them. Y/n couldn’t blame her, she could only imagine what a mother went through when seeing their child in pain.

“Hi,” she spoke softly to the girl, “My names Y/n, you’re gonna feel a cooling sensation when I apply the salve, it shouldn’t hurt, but if it does, just let me know and we’ll adjust,” She smiled, the little girl’s lip wobbled as tears silently streamed down her cheeks. 

As she began applying the medicine softly, her ministrations smooth and practiced, she asked the girl for her name, hoping that talking to her would keep her mind off of Madja, who was currently taking glass shards out of her other arm. 

“Margo,” she spoke, her eyes solely focused on y/n. “I was trying to help momma at her food stall, but I tripped.” She sniffled. 

“Ah,” she hummed, quietly grabbing the wraps, “Do you help out at the food stall, often?” 

“Yes!” Margo lit up, she began babbling on about all the different fruits and veggies her mother grows and how they always wash and prep them for stall day. She asked the young girl about school, her family–her siblings, and anything else she could to keep the young girl’s mind occupied. 

Over the course of the next half hour, Madja and her worked tediously to apply the salves, soak the wounds, and get them wrapped so that they could start healing. With a vial of cream and a lollipop in her hand, Margo danced out of the clinic with her mother, her smile never leaving her face. 

“You did well, keeping her calm.” Madja spoke, her tone even as always as she worked behind the counter. 

“Thanks, I can only imagine what she must have been thinking,”

It was then that Madja handed her a few vials of a pinkish, red liquid. The confusion must have been written all over her face because the older fae prattled on, “That should help with the morning sickness, but I can’t guarantee that it will make it go away entirely.”

Every thought blinked out of Y/n’s head.

Morning sickness?

“It’s not–” Madja stopped when she interrupted, her eyes blinking uncontrollably as she tried to do the math in her head, “It can’t be–” she stuttered.

There was no way, absolutely not. 

She hadn’t been with anyone in months, no one except–

Him. 

“I got your blood work back today,” Madja had taken her blood a few days ago when she had initially brought up the nausea, just in case, she had said. It was standard procedure, something Y/n was very familiar with having worked in all sorts of clinics for the past few decades.

No, no, no.

“You’re pregnant.”

[azziebaddy]

a balm for the heart | azriel x reader

Summary: When you're sent to the House of Wind to help baby Nyx recover from a cold, you don’t expect to catch the attention of the brooding spymaster himself. Azriel is quiet, careful, and utterly unprepared for how much he likes Madja’s new assistant healer. As your visits continue, so do the lingering glances, clumsy conversations, and quiet moments that grow into something deeper. In the warmth of tea, laughter, and soft shadows, something tender begins to bloom.

A/N: sorry y'all, i'm in my yearning era. just broke up with my boyfriend of three years so... here we are :)

It was just a cold.

That’s what Madja had said when Feyre had sent for her—Nyx had the sniffles, a little fever, and had refused to eat anything but honey-drizzled bread for two days straight. And since Madja was neck-deep in whatever plague was tearing through the artisan quarter, you were the one sent instead.

Which is why you now stood in the sunlit foyer of the River House, boots dripping melted snow onto the floor, holding a satchel of herbs and an unreasonably tiny jar of eucalyptus balm.

“Upstairs,” Feyre said with a grateful smile, rubbing at her temples like she’d been chasing her son in circles. “Azriel is with him. Good luck.”

You laughed softly and stepped past her, the warmth of the house curling around your frozen fingers like a sigh. You’d only been working under Madja for a few months, but you’d already become her go-to for the littlest patients. Something about your energy, she said. Calm. Gentle. Good with chaos.

You reached the stairs and, at the end of the hallway, there he was.

Tall. Shadows curling lazily over his shoulders like they lived there. Hair mussed from baby fingers, wings half-furled, and eyes—Mother above—those eyes. Gold on brown, fixed on you like you were an echo he wasn’t expecting.

You blinked up at him. “Um. Hello.”

“…Hi,” he said, as if the word was foreign on his tongue. His voice was low and rough and far too intimate for a stranger in a hallway.

“Is it Azriel?” you asked, vaguely remembering Feyre mentioning him.

He nodded once. Still staring.

“I’m here for Nyx,” you added, holding up your satchel like a peace offering.

Azriel looked down at it, then back at you, mouth parting slightly. “Right. The… the healer.”

“Assistant healer,” you said with a grin. “Madja’s too busy saving the rest of the city.”

He nodded again. You stepped past him into the nursery—felt his gaze follow like the sweep of a warm hand—and were immediately accosted by a sticky, pouting, sniffly baby lordling. 

He followed you in as silent as a ghost.

You were halfway through wiping Nyx’s nose and humming a lullaby you barely remembered learning when Azriel cleared his throat from the doorway.

“He’s usually not this calm,” he murmured.

You glanced over your shoulder. “Are you saying I have a gift?”

His lips twitched. Almost a smile. “Maybe.”

You lingered with Nyx a little longer, soothing the stubborn flush from his cheeks with a bit of balm and pressing a kiss to his curls when he yawned into your neck. When she entered, Feyre gave you a grateful smile as you passed him off, whispering, “You’re a miracle.” You slipped through the nursery door again.

Azriel was still in the doorway. Waiting. Shadows curling lazily near his boots.

“I can see myself out,” you said gently, but he shook his head once.

“It’s snowing. I’ll walk you.”

The words were simple. Practiced, maybe. But his voice was soft. Like a page being turned.

The walk ended quietly, a silent exchange of thanks, but it didn’t end there.

You returned two days later with a tincture for sleep, tucked into your satchel next to a few drops of lavender oil and a fresh-knit scarf you’d meant to gift to Feyre. She thanked you profusely, though Nyx was already much improved. Still—she asked you to come again.

And you saw him again—this time through a crack in the door, lingering in Rhys’ personal library. Their voices were hushed, strained, but his eyes flicked to yours as you passed, shadows swirling.

The third time, it was a faint rash on Nyx’s cheek. A harmless thing, more skin sensitivity than illness. You soothed it with salve and coaxed a smile out of the boy by letting him tug on your braids.

Azriel passed through the hall as you were packing up. Said nothing, but left a steaming cup of peppermint tea near your satchel. Somehow he knew it was your favorite, yet you had never said a thing.

You didn’t see him go.

The fourth time, you came without Feyre sending for you at all.

Over your weekly lunch, she had mentioned Nyx wasn’t sleeping well, and you, of course, had suggestions. Warm milk. Chamomile. A storybook laced with faint, calming spells. You hadn’t meant to stay long.

But Azriel was already in the hall when you arrived, leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting.

He didn’t offer tea this time. Instead, he offered a quiet, “You came back.”

You looked up at him, surprised. “Of course I did.”

His shadows curled at your wrist as you passed.

Like they knew your name.

And when you had soothed Nyx to sleep once more with the gentle cadence of your voice, the little lordling finally snoring, the shadow that had curled around your wrist tugged you toward the kitchen.

With Nyx asleep, the River House was finally quiet. You knew Feyre was getting the rest she needed—her exhaustion prevalent the moment you took over and she gave you that small, relieved smile.

You weren’t needed anymore. At least, not by the babe or the new mother. So you let the shadow lead you through the archway, the soft lighting of the kitchen eliciting a yawn from your throat.

You weren’t sure what surprised you more: how awkward he was sitting there, wings tense and back rigid, or how charming he became when he relaxed at the sight of you.

His lips twitched again—not quite a smile, but close enough. A steaming cup of tea kept his hands busy, and one already sat across from him, warm and waiting. You sat, curling up on the kitchen bench, fingers wrapping around the blue mug.

He watched as you took a sip, shadows blanketing his shoulders. They only relaxed when your lips met the rim of the mug for a second taste.

Azriel didn’t say a word. Just sat across from you. Not brooding, but observing, as though taking in the moment. You did the same, a small, amused smirk lighting up your lips.

“I see you made Nyx his honeyed bread today.” You murmured, eyes flicking over his tan cheeks.

He blinked. Brows furrowed. Those pretty hazel eyes of his seemed to darken just slightly.

“You’ve got honey on your cheek,” you said suddenly.

“What?”

“Here,” you leaned across the table, wiped a thumb gently across his cheek, and showed him the smear. “See?”

Azriel stared at you like you’d reached inside his chest and given it a twist.

“You’re blushing,” you added, teasing.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“…It’s warm in here.” His shadows swirled.

You smiled, sipping your tea. “You really don’t have to keep pretending to run into me, you know.”

Azriel stilled.

“I mean, unless you enjoy watching me wrangle a toddler and rub balm on his nose.”

A pause.

Then: “I do.”

Your heart stuttered.

“I do enjoy it,” he said again, voice softer now. “And I like the way you talk to Feyre. And Rhys. Like you’re not afraid of them. I like how you laugh when Nyx sneezes on you. I like… how you feel.”

You swallowed thickly. “How I feel?”

His shadows shifted behind him, curling close.

Azriel leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. Quietly, earnestly, he spoke. “You make the world feel quieter. Not empty. Just… right.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You just looked at him, really looked.

This man who’d guarded a thousand secrets, who wore silence like a cloak and carried the weight of a thousand watchful nights. Who blushed like a boy when you touched his face. Who smelled faintly of cedar and sky.

You reached across the table and took his hand.

It was scarred and strong and trembling slightly in yours.

“Well,” you whispered, threading your fingers through his with a gentleness that stole his breath.

“I might have a balm for that.”

Azriel’s smile was slow. Small. Unbearably beautiful.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

You let go of his hand. His shadows seemed to reach for you. But you stood and rounded the table—leaned against the polished wood right by his side.

He didn’t even have to look up to meet your gaze.

“I think you’ve had enough honey for one night,” you murmured, eyes flicking to his lips.

His throat bobbed.

You reached for the edge of his mug and pulled it from his hands—deliberate, teasing. His fingers brushed yours, and the contact lingered, neither of you letting go right away.

“You don’t have to be so careful with me, you know,” you said, tone light, but your eyes searched his. “I’m not going to shatter.”

Azriel’s voice was rough, unsteady. “I’m not worried about breaking you.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head. “Then what?”

He didn’t answer—not right away. Just stared at you, as if the truth was caught somewhere behind his teeth, held back by old habits and older fears.

But his hand rose, slow and reverent, and brushed a piece of hair from your cheek. It was almost shy, almost questioning.

You caught his fingers in yours.

“Spymaster of the Night Court,” you whispered with a playful smile. “Speechless over a female with peppermint tea and a bit of salve?”

Azriel huffed something between a laugh and a sigh. “Completely ruined.”

“I was hoping so.”

And then, before he could retreat behind those shadows again, you leaned in.

The kiss was soft—barely a press at first, more breath than contact. His lips were warm and hesitant, like he couldn’t quite believe this was real. But when you stayed close, when you didn’t pull away, Azriel tilted his head and deepened it just slightly, as if learning the shape of you by feel alone.

His hand slid to your waist. Yours curled behind his neck. And for a long, quiet moment, there was no River House, no baby lordling asleep upstairs, no world beyond the hush between two hearts finally touching.

You pulled back first, just slightly, your noses brushing.

“Still warm in here?” you whispered, lips ghosting over his.

Azriel’s smile was dizzyingly soft. “Scorching.”

You laughed under your breath, the sound barely more than a flutter between you. Azriel didn’t let go—not of your waist, not of the moment. His shadows twined lazily around your ankles, brushing like silk, as if even they sighed in contentment.

“I should go,” you murmured, though you didn’t move.

“I know,” he said, voice low. “But not yet.”

And when he kissed you again, it was slower this time—deeper, with the confidence of someone who’d been holding that longing in for far too long. You melted into it, into him, your fingers threading into the dark lush of his hair, your smile catching against his mouth.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Madja should’ve warned me.”

You grinned, breathless. “Consider this your final symptom, Shadowsinger.”

He laughed, really laughed, and you decided then that you'd come back tomorrow. And the day after that. As long as he kept smiling like that, you’d never run out of reasons to stay.

[azziebaddy]

So happy you're back!

For a request, what about Azriel X Reader X Cassian? The two are quietly mated to the reader, not telling anyone about her. Flash to reader being hurt and in danger and the two of them flip their lid and everyone finds out. Maybe smut at the end if it fits?

⁀➷ Hidden Bonds // Cassian/Azriel x F!Reader

Summary: You’ve always kept your bond with them a secret. But when danger finds you, everything changes—and suddenly, hiding isn’t an option anymore.

Requested by: thank you for the lovely request! love me some az/cassian!

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst, reader has a traumatic past, violence/injuries, possessive, oral (f + m receiving), rough sex, dom/sub, threesome (m/m/f), marking/claiming

Words: 4.1k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

Velaris slept in peace, as it always did, wrapped in twilight and stars. The streets were quiet, the River Sidra reflecting ribbons of moonlight across cobbled paths. The House of Wind loomed above like a silent guardian, but far below, tucked inside a modest building near the healer’s ward, a light still glowed softly behind drawn curtains.

You sat curled on a cushioned window seat, forehead resting against the cool glass, your breathing steady but shallow. Your hands were trembling faintly in your lap, sore from overuse, and your healing robes were stained in dried blood that wasn’t yours.

The price of peace was utterly exhausting.

Another long day in the infirmary. Another child with a fever, another soldier’s ruined leg, another cluster of sickness brought in from the western village. You had given all you could. And then a little more. You always did.

But still, as the night deepened and your body wilted from fatigue,  your heart fluttered with a soft ache of longing. They were late.

You didn’t worry, not really, not about them.

But you missed them.

The bond that tied your soul to two others was quiet tonight, muted beneath layers of shields and scent glamour. You had woven the masking spell an hour ago, even though it drained what little magic you had left. You always did, every night, without being asked.

You hide the mixed mating bond so no one would know. So no one would question. So no one would connect you to two of the most powerful males in the Night Court. Azriel, the shadowsinger, and Cassian, the general of the Illiyan armies. Your mates. 

Only you and the two of them knew.

Well, you had the slightest suspicion that Rhysand knew, probably. But if he did, he never said a word. But nothing went by in Veralis without his knowledge, and especially not with his two closest friends.

You pulled your knees to your chest, burying your face into the soft fabric of your oversized sweater – Cassian’s, stolen weeks ago. It smells like him even now: warm wind, leather, something spicy and wild. Safe.

The moment the lock turned, your heart jolted with relief.

Then two scents hit you, even through the spellword. The crackle of cedar smoke and storm winds. Shadows and sunlight. Your head snapped up.

Cassian’s voice came first, a low, whispered grumble. “She better be asleep. If she’s still working, I swear to the Cauldron–.”

“I’ll carry her to bed,” Azriel said softly behind him. “Don’t scare her, Cass.”

“I’m not going to scare her, I’m going to tuck her in.” A pause. “Then maybe stare at her for two hours like a freak.”

“You are a freak.”

“I’m caring.”

“You’re loud.”

The door creaked open, and both males paused as they found you sitting there, still awake, still in your bloodied robes, eyes heavy with sleep but glowing faintly with love.

“...Hi,” you whispered, voice raspy.

Cassian deflated instantly. “Oh, Sweetheart…”

Azriel was already at your side, kneeling before you before you could even blink. His hands, gloves still, rose to your knees, barely brushing. “You’re drained.”

You gave him a tired smile, reaching to press your palm to his cheek, gently tugging off his shadowsinger’s hood. “You’re late.”

“You should’ve been asleep,” he retorted calmly, leaning into the touch.

Cassian kicked the door shut behind him, shrugging off his leathers. “She probably stayed up worrying about us again.”

“Because she always does,” Azriel said, looking at you sternly.

You blinked at both of them. “Can’t a female show her love and concern?”

Cassian groaned and flopped dramatically onto your couch, kicking off his boots. “You’re going to make me cry again.”

Azriel huffed a soft breath of amusement, then rose to full height and scooped you effortlessly into his arms before you could protest. “Bath first. You’re covered in blood.”

You let yourself sink against his chest, arms wrapping loosely around his neck. “Not mine.”

“That doesn’t mean it should be on you.”

Cassian trailed after you both, hands brushing the small of your back. “Did you eat today? And don’t lie. I’ll sniff it out.”

You pressed your face into Azriel’s shoulder. “Maybe…half a muffin?”

Azriel froze in the doorway of your small washroom. Cassian snarled behind him.

“Az–take her to the bath, I’m going to make some food.”

Azriel carried you to the edge of the large bath and carefully set you down on a low stool. “You both take care of me too much.”

“That’s the bond talking,” Cassian said from the kitchen, banding pots like he was angry at them. “We don’t get a say,” he said, his tone full of sarcasm.

Azriel continued to remove your robes with a gentleness reserved for only you, which made your throat ache. The way his scarred hands moved over your skin, worshipfully, was enough to unravel you even after a day like this.

“You hid the bond again,” he mentioned.

You nodded, leaning into his chest. “I had to. I spent most of the day in the main ward. Other Court officials were visiting.”

Azriel didn’t answer for a long moment. Then: “You shouldn’t have to drain yourself to protect us.”

You looked up at him, and your voice was barely a breath. “But I want to protect you. Both of you.”

His eyes, dark and endless, searched yours like he was looking for a reason to be angry. But he found none.

You leaned up and kissed his strong jaw. “Let me, just for a little longer.”

Behind you, Cassian’s voice broke the quiet. “Soup! Real soup. With meat! That you’re going to eat.”

You laughed softly. “Yes, General.”

Cassian peered around the corner, his hair a mess, his shirt half off. “General? Oof. Someone's getting frisky tonight.”

Azriel rolled his eyes and guided you gently into the warm bath. “Eat first. Then we’ll think about it.”

Cassian grinned, disappearing again with a whistle. Azriel helped you wash in silence, his touch focused and careful. He always touched you like he was terrified you'd disappear. Like if he loved you too hard, you might break. You touched him in just the same way.

By the time you were dry, fed, and curled between them in bed, their scents were back on your skin. Not masked or hidden. For now.

Cassian spooned behind you, wrapping an arm over your waist, his voice already slurred with sleep. “You saved three people today, didn’t you?”

You nodded sleepily. “A child, a scout, and an Illyrian with a broken wing.”

Az shifted beside you, one hand brushing your cheek. “And who saved you?”

You pressed your lips to his palm. “You both did. Like always.”

The next morning broke soft and pale, snow lingering in the higher mountains above Velaris. But the healer’s compound was already awake, buzzing with reports, rustling papers and hished concern.

You stood at the long glass windows just outside your room, a cup of jasmine tea between your palms, watching the Sidra drift past under a sky tinged with grey. The air carried a strange tension, as if something had not quite been spoken—the calm before the storm.

Your body still ached from the previous day’s work, but your mind was worse. Foggy and restless. You hadn’t told Azriel or Cassian yet about the summons. About the village near the Autumn border.

“Morning, Sweetheart.” Cass’s voice was low and rough from sleep, followed by the soft brush of his lips against your neck. His hands, warm and calloused, slipped beneath your robe and wrapped around your waist, tugging you back into his chest.

"You’re already thinking too hard,” he breathed against your neck. “I can feel it.”

You relaxed into him instinctively. “There’s been an outbreak in a border village. Healing magic isn’t working. They've asked for me.”

Cassial still. You felt hr change in his body, the coiling tension. “Which border?” You didn’t answer. “Sweetheart…”

“Autumn,” you whispered.

He pulled back, hands sliding to your shoulders as he turned your body to look at him. “Absolutely not. No”

“It’s not in Autumn. It’s just close. And I’ll be back by nightfall.”

“You’re not going alone.”

“I have to go. No one else can figure out what’s happening.”

Cass’s jaw clenched, his hazel eyes flickering with fire. “You said the same thing about the poison case two months ago and nearly collapsed from magical burnout.”

“I’ll take breaks. I’ll be careful, my love.”

The shadows in the corner shifted before you even heard him. Az emerged in a ripple of darkness, silent as death, his eyes already narrowed on you. “You’re going to the Autumn border?” he said, quietly. Too quiet.

You opened your mouth, but the words dried up. Azriel turned to Cassian. “She’s not going without one of us.”

“She’s not going at all.”

“I have to go,” you say again gently. “If it spreads–”

Azriel stepped closer, removing the tea from your hands and placing it onto the table so he could link your fingers together. “Then we go with you,” he tried to reason.

You shook your head. “You know what it would look like. If either of you were seen with me there–”

“You think I care what it looks like?” Azriel’s voice darkened. “If someone from Autumn sees you–”

“They won’t know me.”

Cassian ran a hand down his face. “That’s not the point, sweetheart. You’re our mare. If they take you–”

They won’t”, you say, a little too quickly. Both males looked at you.

Azriel's voice softened, dangerously low. “Why do you keep doing that?”

You blinked. “Doing what?”

“Acting like it’s your joke to keep us safe. Like you’re not the one being hunted.”

“I’m not–”

“You are,” Cassian interrupted, stepping in front of you, broad and trembling with restraint. “You think we don’t know what you’re hiding from? Why you mask the bond every godsdamn day?”

Azriel’s hand tightened around yours.

Cassian continued, voice thick. “We know something happened to you there. In Autumn. Something bad that still wakes you up, shaking sometimes. And I get it. I get why you wanted to keep things quiet. I didn’t question it. Neither did Az. but this? This is where I draw the line.”

Your throat bobbed. “They need a healer, Cassian. It’s my job.”

Azriel gently pulled your hand to his chest, over his pounding heart. His shadows slithered up his arm like smoke. “Then we’ll go. But you don’t go without us.”

“... You’ll be seen.”

“Then let them see,” he said firmly.

You rode into the village hours later, cloaked in your finest neutral robes, no insignias, your scent buried beneath layers of spellwork. Cassian and Azriel had relented only slightly, staying just outside the village, on the cliffs above, close enough to watch everything, but far enough to avoid being recognised.

The village was… strange.

Too quiet. The people sick were fading fast, their auras muddied and flickering. You worked tirelessly, scanning magic, treating symptoms, leaving salves and instructions. But something in your gut twisted as you examined the illness. 

It didn’t feel natural. It felt like rot or a curse, maybe like Autumn’s touch.

You reached the last patient, an older female, unconscious, her body limp and cold. You knelt beside her, resting your hand lightly on her sternum to scan her magic. Then a shadow moved near the open window.

You froze. Slowly, you turned.

A male stood outside the glass, leaning against the frame. He wasn’t local. Not likedressed like the others. His hair was red-gold. His eyes burned amber.

Your blood went cold.

He smiled.

No recognition, yet. But interest. Amusement. Like a cat seeing a mouse that looked oddly familiar. You dipped your head and turned back to the patient, heart thudding. Your hands shook slightly as you finished your scan. You could feel him still watching you.

Your magic reached deep into the woman’s chest, looking for answers, when something bit back.

Not physically, but a magical nsap that made you gasp aloud.

The bond roared to life. Cassian. Azriel. WHERE ARE YOU–. RUN.

You didn’t get far. The river glistened ahead, but your legs were lead, your magic sputtering like a wet flame. The male from Autumn moved faster, tracking you easily, his magic curling behind him like wildfire. And he wasn’t alone.

Two more males stepped from the trees as you skidded to a stop on the riverbank.  Autumn robes. Crismon eyes. All of them were watching you like they were toying with prey.

You back up a step. “You smell different,” the red-haired one pointed out. “Like something hidden, now what might that be?”

You remained quiet. Then his eyes lit with recognition. He knew.

He lunged. You screamed. A wall of magic slammed into you, knocking you hard into a tree. Your shoulder exploded in pain. Then hands grabbed you, hauling you up, dragging you back, and a blade pressed cold against your throat.

Not a scratch. Not a nick. Not yet. But a threat.

You gasped, struggling weakly, blood dribbling from your temple. You reached for the bond–

“Azriel–Cassial–help me.”

Your call shattered through the bond like lightning through still air.

ABOVE THE CLIFFS

Azriel stopped breathing. He heard your voice, not just through the bond, but as if it were inside him. Cassian’s wings snapped open so fast they cracked the air.

“She’s not calling,” he said, shaking. “She’s screaming.”

Ariel didn’t hesitate. His wings caught the wind, his shadows turning deadly, forming spears and blades and jagged edges as he dove off the cliff.

“Rhys–Velaris–NOW–”

“She’s bleeding.”

“SHE’S OURS.”

Cassian followed, a war cry already on his lips.

THE RIVERBANK

You were on your knees now, too weak to stand. The male behind you kept the blade pressed against your throat as his two companions fanned out, watching the trees, waiting.

“Give her up,” he called, eyes scanning the treeline. “We don’t want to fight. Just the girl. She’s ours. She knows it.”

You choked on a laugh. “I don’t belong to you.”

The knife pressed harder, causing a trail of blood to leak from your neck.

“She’s not yours,” the voice came from behind you. Azriel.

His shadows erupted from the forest in a wave, twisting, blinding, and suffocating. In the blink of an eye, one of the Autumn males fell with a shriek, his chest torn open by shadow-forged steel.

Cassian slammed into the second one from the sky, wings spread, rage incandescent, breaking bones with every punch.

The male behind you stood upright, dragging you with him. You couldn’t move. Could barely breathe with the pressure on your throat. Your blood soaked into your healer's robes. Your magic was gone.

He held the blade tighter to your throat. “One more step and she dies!”

Time stopped. And then–you saw it. A shift in shadow. A flicker behind him.

Azriel, already there. His face was dead calm. Eyes glinting. Shadows curled behind him like wings of smoke. The Autumn male never saw it coming.

Azriel’s dagger cut in one clean, brutal sweep. The blade dropped. Blood sprayed. And you were in his arms before you hit the ground.

MOMENTS LATER

A crack of darkness split the air, and Rhysand landed in a storm of midnight power, Feyre at his side, Mor and Amren close behind. 

“Shit,” Mor whispered, eyes locking on you, bloodied, pale and unconscious in Azriel’s arms.

“Is that–?” Feyre started, voice shaking.

Azriel just held you tighter, wings wrapped around you like armour. “She’s fine. I have her. I have her–”

Cassian landed heavily beside them, chest heaving, blood splattered across his face and knuckles.

“Who the hell are these bastards?” Amren asked, stepping toward the bodies, her nose wrinkling as she gave one a not-so-subtle kick.

Rhys croched beside Azriel, his face soft. “She’s not fine,” he said gently. “Let me take her for healing.” Azriel hesitated. Rhys met his eyes. “I know, brother. I know she’s yours.”

That was when everyone went still.

“Yours?” Mor echoed, blinking. “Wait, wait. Az. Cass. What do you mean, yours?”

Feyre’s lips parted in shock, eyes snapping to you. “You’re…mated?”

Cassian looked like he might collapse. “We didn’t want anyone to know. It wasn’t safe. She asked us to keep it quiet.”

Amren’s brow furrowed. “She’s the healer from the Sidra clinic.”

“She’s been treating war injuries for years, “Mor said, incredulous. “We know her. How could you hide this?”

“She didn’t want a war.” Azriel’s voice was defeated. “She didn’t want Autumn finding her.”

“She’s been masking the bond this entire time, even from us,” Rhys said, continuing to keep his tone calm.

Cassian met his High Lord’s gaze. “You knew.”

“I suspected,” Rhys admitted with a shoulder shrug. “I didn’t push. I figured she’d tell us when she was ready. When you were ready.”

Mor’s eyes shimmered with emotion. “She always looked so tired. Always pushing herself for others…”

“She nearly bled out today,” Cassian choked. “She didn’t want us to fight. She just wanted peace.”

“She’s going to be okay,” Feyre said quietly, already weaving healing magic over your wounds. “She’s strong. The Cauldron picked well.”

Azriel closed his eyes, pressing a trembling kiss to your forehead. Cassian crouched beside him, gripping your limp hand. “We should’ve told you. But we didn’t want to risk it. We just wanted to love her in peace.”

Rhys stood and spread his wings. “Then we protect her now. As a family, he looked to the others. “And no more secrets.”

The House of Wind was quiet. Sunlight slipped through the curtains in your guest room, warm on your healing skin. You lay curled beneath soft sheets, half-awake, your body aching, not from the wounds, but from how close you’d come.

From how terrified you’d been that they wouldn’t reach you in time. But they had.

Azriel was sitting in the armchair, wings tucked tight, shadows curling lazily at his feet. Cassian stood by the window, arms folded across his broad chest, tense even in stillness.

You blinked up at them. Az was beside you in a breath, pressing a cool cloth to your brow.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Cassian turned, those hazel eyes softening. “How do you feel, sweetheart?”

Your throat was dry. “Like I got hit by a boulder.”

Az gave a pained huff of a laugh. “You nearly died.”

Cassian dropped to his knees beside the bed, gripping your hand. “We shouldn't tell them. We should've protected you better.”

You turned your face to Azriel’s hand, breathing in his scent. “You did protect me. Both of you.”

“You were bleeding in my arms,” he rasped. “And we couldn’t even call ours. Not really.”

Your chest ached, but not from the wound.

“I’m ready,” you said softly, deciding against the fight. “To stop hiding.”

Cassian exhaled hard, resting his forehead on your hip. “You sure? Because once they know… we’re never letting you go again.”

You smiled weakly. “Good.”

The Inner Circle came to visit you that evening. Feyre brought books. Mor brought fresh fruit and comfort. Amren only nodded silently from the doorway, though her eyes scanned your body for every injury. Even Rhys lingered longer than expected, offering you a quiet, meaningful, “I’m glad you’re alright.”

No one asked why you hadn’t told them sooner. They didn’t need to. Cassian and Azriel stayed close to each other all evening. They touched you freely now, Azriel tucking hair behind your ear, Cassian rubbing your ankle under the blankets. You were still weak, still healing, but something had changed.

You were seen now. And they were no longer pretending you weren’t theirs.

MIDNIGHT

It started slowly. Azriel crawled onto the bed first, careful not to jar your sore ribs. He stretched beside you, head resting on his arm as he stared at you like he hadn’t had the chance to breathe until now.

“I almost lost you,” he whispered, in a moment of vulnerability.

You turned to him. “But I’m still here.”

His hand slid to your throat, just resting there, fingers cradling the soft column of your neck like it was precious. “You don’t know what that did to me. Seeing him hold a knife here. To this.”

Then Cassian was behind you, chest warm and broad at your back, lips pressing to the top of your spine. “We didn’t get to mark you. Didn’t get to claim you. We’ve been waiting for so long.”

“You don't have to wait anymore,” your voice shakes at the reality of your new life.

“Don't say that,” Cassian growls softly, his firm chest vibrating against your back. “Unless you're ready to be ruined, sweet girl.”

The atmosphere quickly changed from vulnerable to hot and seedy. Azriel’s fingers tightened slightly around your throat, just enough to make your breath catch. “We’ve been gentle. Careful. But now that the world knows…”

“We dont have to hold back anymore,” cassian finished, reaching over to tug your leg up, baring the curve of yoru ass between your thin nightgown. Youw hined softly as heat rushed to your pussy.

Azriel dipped his head, nipping at your jaw. “You’re ours.”

“Say it,” Cassian breathed, sliding a hand between your thighs, cupping you there. “Tell us who you belong to.”

“I’m yours, both of yours,” you gasp, arching.

Az leaned down and kissed your lips slowly and possessively. His shadows curled around your wrists as he whispered. “We’re going to take our time. Stretch you open. Fill you until all you can think about is us.”

“Yes,” you agree in a rushed whisper.

Cassian groaned, already hard against your lower back. “Gonna be such a good girl for us. Can you handle us both tonight, sweetheart?”

You nodded breathlessly. “Please!”

Cassian was the one to strip you slowly and with care. Azriel followed his movements by kissing every inch of your skin that was revealed. His soft lips brushing over bruises and healing cuts, whispering, “You’re safe now. You’re perfect. You’re mine.”

They took their time. Az slid down between your thighs first, tongue delving to your most sensitive of areas, flicking against your clit with aching precision as Cassian groaned filth into your ear, his fingers tugging gently on your nipples until you were arching into Azriels mouth.

“Such a sensitive little thing,” Cassian crooned. “You love being watched, huh?”

Az moaned into your cunt as he sucked on your throbbing clit. “So sweet. So soft. Ours.”

You came on Azriel’s tongue with a sob, trembling, only for Cassian to flip you gently onto your knees, speaking to you between them.

“Open your mouth, baby,” he said, rubbing his thick cock along your lips. “Let me in while Az fills you.”

The Shadowsinger pressed into you from behind with one slow, deep thrust. He was huge, stretching you in ways that always had you gasping, and this time, he didn’t stop. “Going to ruin this sweet little pussy,” he grunted, inching in and out. “Make I take all of me, every fucking inch.”

You moan deeply around Cassian’s cock as he filled your mouth, your tongue stroking the sensitive underside as his hips rocked gently, thumb stroking reassuringly along your jaw. “You look so pretty stuffed full,” he praised. “Look at that drool, sweetheart– gods, you love this.”

Az gripped your hips harder, slamming into you, one hand sliding up to wrap around your throat again, holding you still whilst cassian fucked your mouth.

You were so full, azriel fucking your cunt, cassian deep in your throat, both of them moaning like they’d been starving. Az leaned in, growling as his shadows pinned your wrists behind your back so that they were fully holding you up now. “Gonna mark her,” he said darkly. “Gonna bite her so deep they never forget who she belongs to.”

You cried out as he bit down on your neck, just enough to pierce skin. Cassian moaned at the scent of your arousal spiking. 

“Now me,” he growled possessivley, pulling you onto his cock as Azriel moved to your mouth. “Gonna mark you next, baby. Gonna fill you up.”

You could barely take it, every nerve on fire, every inch of your body owned. Their praise became a blur.

“Such a good little mate.”

“Take it all, yes, just like that!”

“We love you. We love you.”

You came again, harder, clenching around cassian, gasping on azriel’s cock, your wgole body wrung out and shaking.

Cassian groaned as he came deep inside you, rutting through it as Azriel did the same in your mouth, fingers cradling your jaw as you swallowed every drop.

They cleaned you gently, as if they both had all the time in the world. Cassian kissed your belly. Azriel ran a warm cloth over your thighs. They tucked you between them, whispering how proud they were, how much they adored you.

“Next time,, Azriel murmured against your temple, “we claim you in front of the stars.”

“And the world,” Cassian added. “Let everyone see what it looks like when mates are finally home.”

[azziebaddy]

🖤 the fake dating scheme 🖤

Azriel x Reader

part I part II

summary: a scheme needs rules.

notes: didn't think so many people would be into this concept tbh. hope you keep enjoying it 🖤 ______________________________________________________________

The lock clicks, and I push open the door, waving my hand.

Fae lights flicker to life. Their warm glow spills through the small living room, soft and familiar, and I hesitate before looking over my shoulder.

The floorboards creak gently. Then shadows bleed over the threshold, whispering quietly, and my breath catches.

Azriel slowly steps through the doorway. His wings brush against the frame, and the warm golden light turns his eyes into liquid amber as they slide over the worn leather couch, the shelves spilling over with books and the dining table covered in documents.

Shadows coil gently around his wings, whispering where they meet the light.

He's never been here before. Maybe because I am too protective of my own space.

Now, he looks so out of place looming in the doorway that a giggle nearly bubbles in my throat.

Cauldron. This really is absolutely and entirely mad.

For a moment, I hesitate, my heart pounding firmly against my ribs. Then I turn quickly.

"I think we need to set some ground rules."

Azriel's eyes move away from the daggers on the coffee table, and something leaps softly into my throat when they meet mine.

Suddenly, I'm aware of how small the room is. How wide his shoulders are, how much space his towering body takes up. How the shadows curling around him are whispering, and how his amber eyes seem to track my every move.

My breath hitches softly.

Absolutely and entirely mad.

Azriel's gaze flickers over my face. Then he moves.

Shadows whisper gently over my skin, his scent washes over me, and for a second, the feeling of his hands wrapped around my ribs and his lashes fluttering against my cheeks washes over me.

The shadowsinger pushes past me and his rough skin brushes my wrist; my heart leaps into my throat, and I forcefully drag myself away from the memory.

Azriel leans against the dining table, stretching out his long legs and fixing his eyes on me. Then he dips his head lightly. "Go on."

Something swells a little in my chest, and I let out a slow breath.

Alright.

So far, so good.

Now I just need to manage this conversation without accidentally saying something that makes him want to murder me after all.

"Well." I slowly lean back against the arm of the sofa, my gaze flickering over the Spymaster's face. "How long do we plan on doing this?"

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then one of his brows rises lightly.

"I don't know. What was your plan after kissing the first male in sight?"

I blink.

I knew it.

This is a terrible idea. A harebrained, stupid idea that has cost me my last bit of remaining dignity, and now he's going to use every second of this insane charade to torment me for the single most ridiculous thing I have ever done in my whole life -

The corner of Azriel's lips curves, just barely.

My heart leaps high against my ribs. Then my shoulders sag.

"Oh, hilarious." I huff and cross my arms.

The ghost of a crease forms in Azriel's cheek.

"Just a little." His deep voice sounds dry, and something lodges gently in my throat when I stare back at him.

In the warm light, his eyes look strangely amused.

I blink. Then I quickly look away.

"Well. It should at least be long enough that it seems serious enough to count. To convince Mor that I really am alright." I crunch my brows softly. "But also not serious or long enough that - when we eventually break up, she won't believe me that I'm not heartbroken."

Azriel nods lightly.

"It has to last until Solstice. That's three months from now." His deep voice tinges with something that sounds very close to irritation when he adds in a low mumble: "That should prove to Cass and Rhys I'm not incapable of lasting connection."

Something dips gently in my chest in surprise, and my gaze darts up and flickers over his face.

I can't help but wonder if he's irritated by their assumption - or if maybe, they're right.

"Have you never had a relationship?"

The question is out before I can stop it. Then my heart drops, and my eyes widen.

Azriel's dark gaze rises and settles on mine, and I nearly shrink.

Oh Mother.

I'm busted.

Quickly, I blurt: "I just - well, Cass and Rhys have known you for basically your whole life, and if you say they don't think you're capable of lasting connection, that implies that they've never seen you in one before, which in turn means you never had a relationship."

One of Azriel's brows quirks.

I blink.

I'm also dead.

For a second, we stare at each other over the coffee table. Then Azriel's voice vibrates through me, deep and slow and unbelievably dry.

"You do realise that just because they have never seen me in a relationship does not mean that I have never been in one."

I blink.

Right.

"Anyway." Feeling my cheeks heat and tearing my eyes away hastily, I clear my throat. "What else?"

Just for a second, Azriel's eyes flash with that same strangely amused twinkle.

"I need you to be there for as many social occasions as possible." He straightens lightly, voice slow and steady. "Whether it's family dinner, a formal gathering or something else. That way Rhys and Cass stay off my back, and it keeps - unwanted attention away from both of us." His gaze pierces mine, and my heart leaps gently.

"Alright." I hesitate for a second, my eyes flickering over his face.

I've been thinking about the next point since I've brought up ground rules.

It's the one I'm most certain will cause him to change his mind and decide that ripping me to shreds might actually be a joyful compensation for the situation I have dragged him into.

But I know that without it, this whole scheme will blow up in our faces.

So I breathe in and and out, blurting the dreaded words with the exhale.

"We need to spend time together apart from everyone else."

Azriel's eyes sharpen in the warm light.

Just for a second, a muscle in his jaw tightens.

My heart leaps against my ribs, and I shrug softly, offering him a hesitant smile. "They're going to get suspicious if we only make a point of showing up together when people are watching."

Azriel's gaze pierces mine. It's dark, and unwavering, and I stare back, bracing myself for the inevitable.

The shadowsinger blinks slowly. Then his voice brushes over my skin, low and steady.

"Any ideas?"

Something catches softly in my throat.

Azriel just watches me. Calm, waiting.

I blink and somehow manage to pull myself together.

"I don't know, say - sleep five nights a week together?" My heart leaps high, and my eyes widen a little as I add hastily: "I- I mean act like we do. Sleep - together." I blink. "Not actually sleep together — I mean, just sleep in the same room."

Somehow, I manage to shut myself up because I can make it worse. Something is thrumming against my ribs.

Azriel's eyes are fixed on mine.

This is a terrible idea.

Truly, awful, terrible idea -

"Four nights."

My thoughts of impending doom screech to an abrupt halt, and my gaze flies up.

Azriel crosses his arms, his gaze steady and calm. He sounds strangely unbothered given what he's currently agreeing to.

"We'll have to see how our assignments line up. It'll probably be easiest if we spend most nights here, because there's nobody around to be nosy." His brow quirks lightly. But he looks only mildly irritated; maybe even a little amused when he adds: "We are going to have to spend at least a few nights at the Townhouse now and then though, so nobody gets suspicious." His eyes pierce mine, glowing in the light. Then the corner of his lips curves, just barely. "I'll take the couch."

Something under my ribs swells.

Maybe we will actually be fine.

Well. Don't push it.

"Alright." Exhaling, I nod.

For a moment, I hesitate and chew on my lip. Then I blurt softly: "How far are we going?"

The shadowsinger lightly quirks an eyebrow. His eyes are swirling amber in the warm light.

"I mean -" My gaze flickers over his face, and my throat closes gently. "I just -"

Don't know how much I can handle without bursting.

Azriel's gaze shifts and narrows in. Something closes gently around my chest when it deepens until it seems to burn through my skin. Then his low voice brushes over my skin, slow and firm.

"I don't care what you think anybody expects." His eyes pierce mine, brows drawing together gently almost like he's willing me to listen very closely. "You decide how far you are willing to go."

Suddenly, there's a small, gentle lump in my throat.

"What about you?" My voice is soft when my eyes dart over his.

The planes of Azriel's face looks like carved from marble. But his eyes are calm and steady when he returns my gaze.

"I'll just follow your lead."

I exhale, and something swells harshly under my ribs when my shoulders sink.

"Alright." I nod slowly.

Azriel's eyes glide over my face like he's making sure I mean it. Then he nods back lightly.

"Well." I breathe in and raise my brows. "We are going to have to create some kind of - illusion of intimacy. I mean, I think we can agree on the fact that we won't have to be as bold as Cassian would be, I mean, neither of us is the type for that, so it would actually be more suspicious if we were too obvious -" I exhale again and raise my head. "How about we just agree to follow what feels - natural. In the moment."

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then he nods once, steady and calm.

"Alright." I nod back. "I guess we will figure the rest out along the way." My lips twitch as suddenly, something is fluttering against my ribs. It feels strangely giddy.

I raise my brows. "This feels secretive enough to warrant an oath to hold us to our agreement."

I'm almost sure I can see Azriel's lips twitch. Then he rises, and my breath catches gently when, amber eyes burning into mine, he holds out his hand.

Staring up at him, I swallow softly. Then I slowly push myself to my feet and reach out.

Warm, rough skin glides against mine when I slip my palm into Azriel's. Long, calloused fingers wrap around my hand, their grip firm but strangely gentle, and my heart leaps into my throat when Azriel shakes my hand, his eyes piercing mine.

I blink. Then I slowly slip my hand out of his and grin, softly and cheekily.

"Well, now that we've settled this - I'm calling it a night." I hesitate, my eyes flickering over his face. "Are you…"

Shadows curl around Azriel's wings when he returns my stare steadily. Then he nods lightly. "I'm staying."

My heart leaps gently against my ribs.

Azriel blinks, and one of his dark eyebrows twitches. "Mor would get suspicious if I slept at the Townhouse." His gaze pierces mine, and his deep voice is slow when he adds: "Besides. To make this believable, I have to smell like you."

Something catches gently in my throat.

For a moment, we stare at each other. The spots in Azriel's eyes are shifting like stars through the sky. His shadows whisper gently against the floorboards. Then I blink and send him a soft, cheeky smile and turn around.

When I reach the doorway to the bedroom, I hesitate. Then I exhale and look over my shoulder, grinning softly even as something plucks at my heart.

 “You must think I’m an idiot.”

Azriel's eyes rise to meet mine.

For a second, we stare at each other. His iris is glowing softly in the warm light. Then he blinks, and his slow, rough voice brushes down my spine. “I don’t.”

Something swells gently against my ribs.

Azriel raises a brow.

“I mean, I do. Sometimes." His eyes pierce mine. Then the corner of his lips curves, just barely. "When you decide to just kiss somebody without actually looking at them and then rope them into pretending you’re seeing each other for example –“

My heart leaps into my throat, and my lips part incredulously.

“You offered that!”

Azriel stares at me, and slowly, the ghost of a smirk forms on his lips.

Something swells in my throat until it feels hard to breathe.

“I hate you.” My mumble is soft and grouchy. But the thrum of my heart betrays me.

Azriel's eyes are twinkling in the light as they pierce mine. Then he blinks and bows his head lightly. "Goodnight."

My breath hitches gently. Then I nod back gently.

"Goodnight."

♡

It takes me hours to fall asleep.

The knowledge that Azriel is in my flat, my small, chaotic home, makes what happened tonight real.

But somewhere between the slow, strange realisation that I don't feel half as nervous as I probably should and the sky slowly turning a lighter shade of blue, I finally drift away.

When I wake up, the sun tickles my face and the flat is quiet.

For a moment, I just bury deeper into my blanket, blinking tiredly. I can hear the gentle buzz of the city from outside my window, soft voices streaming up from the cafe in the cobblestone alley below. A gentle breeze shifts the thin curtains, brushing over my skin.

I lay still for a while longer, feeling the drowsy feeling of sleep slowly leaving my limbs and the soft weight of the sheets wrapped around my body. Then, rubbing my eyes, I slowly sit up and slide off the mattress.

My bare feet are almost soundless on the wooden floorboards when I pad over to the door, stretching lightly.

Opening it, I raise my head, and my breath catches.

Azriel is leaning against the counter. Sunlight is streaming through the window, turning his eyes into liquid gold and shining through the thin membranes of his wings. His brows are crunched lightly against the gentle glow.

He's not wearing a shirt.

Suddenly, something is thrumming under my ribs.

Azriel turns his head, and shadows whisper softly against his wings.

I didn't think he would stay.

For a quiet moment, we look at each other from across the room, like the last bits of night are slowly washing away and what we are left with is the deal we struck in the middle of the night over the coffee table.

It feels less tense than I imagined. Calmer. More steady.

I blink. Then I smile, soft and careful.

"Hey."

Azriel's eyes pierce mine. Then he slowly slides a steaming cup over the counter.

His iris looks like amber from this angle.

A slow exhale leaves me, and I feel my shoulders sink when I send him a soft, cheeky grin.

"The service."

The ghost of a crease forms in Azriel's cheek, and his eyes drag over my face.

Rubbing my eyes, I start to make my way over into the kitchen. Azriel watches me get closer. His shoulders shift, tattoos rippling gently. He looks calm, relaxed.

Like somehow, he fits into the small embrace of my home, in with the worn floorboards and the old couch and the little corner of a kitchen.

I decide not to mull on that last thought.

With a sigh, I pull myself up onto the smooth wooden counter, rubbing my eyes softly before picking up the cup. The scent of herbs rises into my nose, and my lids flutter gently when I breathe it in softly.

Silence settles over the kitchen. I don't know if I'm simply still too tired to care, but it feels warm and comfortable, like the sunlight falling onto the floorboards.

Azriel is blinking into the warm rays. The golden sheen causes his skin to glow and dips his eyes into amber. A dark strand of hair is curving over his forehead.

Fighting the strange sudden urge to brush it back, I wrap my fingers around the warm cup and blink sleepily. Shadows whisper, soft and gentle, lapping at the floorboards.

After a few sips of tea, my body starts to wake.

Leaning my temple against the cabinet, I hesitate, my eyes on the side of Azriel's face. Then I start softly: "Are you still -"

His head turns, and I lose my thread of thought for a breath when his golden eyes meet mine. There are dark spots dancing in his iris.

I blink before mumbling gently: "Are we still doing this?"

Azriel's gaze pierces mine, steady and unreadable. Then his deep voice brushes over my skin, low and calm.

"Have you changed your mind?"

I shake my head softly from side to side.

The shadowsinger dips his head lightly, and one of his brows rises. "Then we're doing this."

I exhale and nod, my shoulders straightening gently.

"Alright."

Azriel's gaze pierces mine, and the dark spots in his iris shift, strangely akin to a twinkle.

A rapid, loud knock against the front door makes me jump, nearly spilling my tea.

"What the -"

The door flies open before I can even finish my sentence, and a tall blonde figure sweeps over the threshold.

"I cannot believe you -"

My heart leaps high.

Mor's gaze finds mine. She stops abruptly, and my breath gets stuck in my throat.

For a second, the Blonde looks stunned. Her lips are parted lightly, brows raised. Her gaze slowly drags back and forth between me and the male beside me.

Azriel's eyebrows quirks.

Quickly, I slide off the counter. My feet hit the ground, and Mor slowly blinks.

"Alright… Finding both of you here is admittedly not what I expected, though, looking back, an obvious assumption… but at least this way I don't have to have this conversation twice." She clears her throat and straightens, raising her brows. "What do you two have to say for yourselves?"

I blink and swallow. Then I smile sheepishly. "Tea?"

Mor narrows her eyes.

"Nice try. I might come back to that in a second. Now spill it. What is this, why don't I know about it, how long has this been going on?!"

My heart leaps against my throat, and my mind blanks.

Brilliant.

All this talk yesterday and we really forgot the simple point of coming up with a story.

Bollocks.

Somewhere behind me, Azriel huffs.

"It's none of your business." His deep voice sounds lazy and a little dry.

Mor crunches her brows like he's just made the most preposterous statement and snorts.

"I'm both of your best friend. Of course it is my business!"

My shoulders stiffen.

We really should have thought about this. This is bad. This is really, really -

There's a shift in the air behind me. Then something brushes against my shoulder.

Shadows whisper against my ankles, and my breath catches when a rough palm presses against my lower back in a featherlight, steadying touch for nothing but a second.

Mor's eyes narrow in. I feel myself sink back almost instinctively, into the towering presence behind me, trying to suppress the urge to wince as I wait for her to call our bluff -

I don't know what Mor sees. But the Blonde exhales and rolls her eyes dramatically.

"Fine... Just tell me how it happened!" Her eyes find mine again, starting to twinkle, and my heart tumbles against my ribs.

"I don't know." I lightly raise my shoulders, smiling weakly. "It just - did."

Well, at least that's not a lie.

Mor huffs and crosses her arms. But her lips curve slowly, and I risk a quick glance over my shoulder.

My heart leaps into my throat.

Azriel is so close that his chest lightly brushes against my shoulder. His wings are looming, relaxed against his back, his hand resting on the counter behind me, just close enough I can feel the tips of his fingers graze my hip.

It's not flashy. No show of closeness.

He's just there. Towering over me, quiet, calm. Steadying. Like it's natural for him to be right where he is now, close enough that I can feel his breath against my hair and his presence in my back.

It feels real.

Blinking, I tear my eyes away again and meet Mor's. She's still staring at us, her eyes narrowed. But that strange twinkle is slowly spreading through her iris. Then she huffs.

"Fine. Be secretive." Her voice sounds almost grudgingly amused when she adds in a mumble: "It suits you."

Azriel's lips twitch.

Exhaling dramatically, Mor raises her hands. "Alright, I won't ask." Her eyes are twinkling with mischief when they meet mine. "But you owe me breakfast for not telling me."

Something like relief swells under my ribs, and I exhale. "Fair."

Mor beams.

"Well, then; get dressed, I'm not taking you out like this!" She raises her brows at Azriel. "I'd say you're welcome to join, but knowing you, you've got somewhere to be."

I look up over my shoulder, and Azriel looks down at me. His eyes are piercing, steady.

My heart leaps gently at the silent question in his gaze, and I send him a soft nod.

Azriel's lips curve just the slightest bit. Then he says, gaze never leaving mine: "Rhys is waiting for me."

I blink, feeling my brows crunch gently when my gaze flickers over his face.

Somewhere at the back of my mind, I wonder if it's the truth. And if it is - why he stuck around instead of leaving.

Mor pointedly clears her throat.

My heart leaps against my ribs, and quickly, I tear my eyes away from Azriel's.

The Blonde grins, then she raises her brows at the Spymaster. "Alright, well, off you go then."

The shadowsinger huffs, then he pushes off the counter, and my breath catches when his chest presses lightly against my shoulder.

"I'll see you later." His deep voice brushes over my skin, low and quiet like the words are meant to seem only for me. My eyes rise to meet his, and Azriel's gaze pierces mine, calm and steady.

Something swells gently against my ribs, and I nod lightly.

Rough skin brushes my hand. My breath catches in my throat, and for just a heartbeat, Azriel's scarred fingers slide between mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. Then his hand slips away, and he is swallowed by shadows.

part I part II

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels @secretlyhers

@icey--stars @ailyr92 @xadenswhore

@sttvrdustt @thalia-as-blog @navyblue-eternity

@florencemtrash @kksbookstuff @messageforthesmallestman

@myfatbottomedgirls @laurenslover864 @xinsonyax

@fxckmiup @bestlessonslearnt @balufy

@sheblogs @i-am-infinite @wickedshadowsinger

@gretavankleep37 @extro2603 @thelov3lybookworm

@brekkershadowsinger @hoeforthefictional @historygeekqueen

@a-court-of-milkandhoney @lilah-asteria

[azziebaddy]

acotar boys as dads (super self-indulgent) 🤍✨

rhysand: boy dad, is the first in the group to become a dad. always wanted to be a dad but was not in any kind of rush. teaches his sons to respect women, starting with their mother. the king of boundaries— he teaches his kids to have boundaries and also respects them. if his kids don't want to hug you he won't force them to (but he will ask them why later) plays rough with his boys, he's like a kid when he's playing with them, likes being outside a lot. takes his boys hiking, to play sports, swimming, etc. cries when they achieve literally anything— from standing on their own to graduating college, rhys is there beaming with pride and crying

cassian: twin dad for sure— a boy and a girl. carries both of his kids at the same time even when they are 'too old to be carried" (no such thing, according to him). extremely cuddly with both his kids and with his wife. ceo of teaching his son it's okay to cry ("just look at your uncle rhys"). sits both his kids on his lap and feeds them from his own plate. double stroller daddy™. does that thing where he carries his kids and his wife and runs around the room (dad zoomies).

azriel: definitely a girl dad. "my dad can kick your dad's butt" "damn straight." (honey don't curse in front of the baby). you beef with his little girl, you beef with him. picks flowers for his wife and for his daughter. set daddy-daughter dates every month (set mommy-daddy dates weekly). secretly a huge fan of matching family outfits. Never smiles for pictures unless it's with his family. his daughter sleeps on his chest (it has been that way since she was born). talked to her all throughout the pregnancy. literally cannot say no to his girls.

lucien: never really wanted kids— and then he met his wife, then he wanted everything with her. doesn't really have a preference (boy or girl) he just wants a baby with his love. so incredibly gentle with his kids, just as he is with his wife. he is the kind of dad that loves his kids with his whole heart because he loved their mother that way first. goes to every single event (absent father syndrome (cries)) no matter what. lets his kids fall asleep on the bed with him when he gets home from work, but carries them to their room so he can love up on his wife.

eris: girl dad all the way. loves his wife so much (literally can't get enough of her) so he ends up with like six daughters, and it is his literal dream come true. his wife is his best friend, and he is just so openly in love with her (sigh) his girls grow up with incredibly high standards. he brushes their hair (every single one of them, it's a long process). shared with them his love of dogs so now his home is filled with love, laughs, barks, and tiny pink bows. makes them pancakes every saturday morning. cries at their dance recitals (but he's discreet about it). ties seven pairs of shoes every day and he is living the life. smiles when he thinks about his girls randomly throughout the day

fw ver. 🤍

[azziebaddy]

— azriel x soft doe! reader 🦇 ⋆˚࿔

“tell me what you want me to do.”

you let out a soft whimper as you feel the tip of azriel’s cock tease your entrance. it was a repeating pattern of this. not getting what you crave until you “use your words.”

you hate it. hate it hate it hate it.

you can barely even think in this position let alone come up with the words you want to describe what you desire. besides, you’re far too scared to utter the dirty words that flow through your brain.

“I…” you begin. though the words die on your tongue. “I want… you.”

“how?”

awful.

you squirm your hips in order to push him into you, but instead azriel pulls away. you pout, doe eyes making contact with his.

“please.”

“please what?” his thumb brushes your bottom lip, pulling it down to rub the inside. “tell me what you want.”

you attempt to pull him back between your thighs. “come back.”

“and…?”

you sigh when his cock settles back in place. you take it within your hands to do it yourself instead of using a verbal response to ask. your hands barely reach your belly before azriel is grabbing it and pinning both above your head.

fine.

“az…”

“sweetheart.”

“I want you to…” just say it. “I… want you to fuck me.”

at your confirmation, azriel reaches down and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “good girl.”

finally, thus he complied to your demand as well.

[azziebaddy]

Shadow and Flame | Azriel | Series Masterlist

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Summary - The daughter of Autumn, born of fire and fury but made to be quiet, compliant, perfect. Her choices were never hers. Until him.

Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. Dangerous. Distant. Off-limits. 

For years, they were nothing more than heat in the dark, a quiet ache neither dared name. Until one night changed everything.

When secrets bloom into something irreversible, she must decide what she's willing to risk to protect a life that was never supposed to exist.

A story of a girl born to burn, and a boy made of shadows.

He was her shadow. She was his fire. Together, they burned.

Tags - forbidden romance, accidental pregnancy, hidden pregnancy, secret relationship, found family, star-crossed lovers.

Contents -

☾ One | Scorched Ruin | 2.8k words

☾ Two | The Unravelling | 4.6k words

☾ Three | Faultlines | 3.1k words

☾ Four | Silky Lies | 2.5k words

☾ Five | Burning Cold | 2k words

☾ Six

☾ Seven

☾ Eight

☾ Nine

☾ Ten

☾ Eleven

☾ Twelve

Bonus : for a little giggle :)

ACOTAR Masterlist

A/n - As always content warnings will be at the start of each chapter, so please be sure to read them before continuing. 

Before I even finished my first Azriel series I was already writing this, im aware people don't always like the accidental pregnancy trope but imo when done correctly it's acc fun!! Obviously when you factor in forbidden romance and a secret relationship it just gets even better :)

I will start posting this as soon as the last part of Little Star is posted!

Please don't hesitate to vote or comment along the way, it truly means the world to me. <3

[azziebaddy]

your hands are cold

from Pride and Prejudice (2005)

pair: Azriel x Reader ~ 4.8k

warnings: mysogony (not from az), risque thoughts from reader, sharing a bed ooooh, shadow violence, protective azriel

summary: Azriel would give you the shirt off his back if he knew you were cold and he's trying so so hard to make you see that

Illyrian's lived in the snowy mountains of the Night Court. Thick blankets of snow fell year-round, the sun scarcely offering a reprieve from the constant bite of wind. By the time the children were old enough to run and wield a stick the boys were thrust into training and the girls into house/camp work. Everyone grew to adapt to it, their bodies functioning at an unnaturally high temperature.

Although Azriel, Rhys, and Cassian had lived away from Illyria and the camps for multiple centuries now, they still grew overly warm during the earlier seasons. Both a curse and a blessing.

So why the hel didn't anyone tell you to bring a thicker coat?

Being the night court's newly appointed emissary, you were tasked to go to Illyria to comb over some of the issues stirring up. Specifically concerning the female's training. Surprise surprise.

Thankfully, Azriel had offered to come with. Rhys had given him a smirk, looking between the two of you but Azriel winnowed you before you could decipher what that look meant.

You now stood outside the training ring with him as Devlon and two of his croonies made up some half-assed excuses as to why they weren't prioritizing the females training.

"-we have two new mother's in the area who need the extra support." Devlon ranted, clearly exasperated that his high lord was continuing to harp on this matter.

You looked up to Azriel who was watching the pathetic male with a clenched jaw. He loosened it to say, "Have the father's help then. If they can't care for their own children then they should keep it in their pants."

You refrained from giggling but remained indifferent. Some of the people you worked with were open to your messages while others were... Devlon. And Beron, you supposed. You had to tread lightly because one misstep and they would prod at the weakness until you couldn't handle it. 

"All of our males are needed in training to ensure that they stay in shape. Those females shouldn't have spread their legs so fast." Devlon drawled.

"Surely Rhys would be willing to reenact the castration laws." You said without thinking, glaring at him. "You wouldn't mind being first on the list, would you?"

Devlon only ignored you.

Even with the ire coursing through your veins, you shivered. You were supposed to have been here for an hour max. Get in, yell at them, get out. Unsurprisingly, there was more to fix than you had assumed.

Azriel side-eyed you as you shook from the cold and held out his hand to Devlon. "Coat."

Devlon paused, glaring at the shadowsinger's scarred hand as if it held the plague. "What?"

"Give me your coat. Now."

The words sent an entirely different kind of chill through you. One that made your eyes widen at the hostile calm with which he said it. Sure, you'd heard that tone once or twice, but it never failed to impel you to stand straighter even if it wasn’t aimed for you. 

Devlon scoffed. "I'm not giving you my coat. Who do—"

Shadows crept up around Azriel's feet, climbing his tall, hard body until they amassed near the siphons at his hands, contrasting starkly with the pure white snow that fell around him. With the tendrils of darkness poised to strike, paired with the unforgiving look on Azriel's face, he made a hauntingly beautiful picture. Feyre would be distraught she hadn't been here to capture it.

Not a second further, Devlon took his coat off and placed it in the shadowsinger's waiting palm. His own hand trembling, you noted with smugness.

Azriel stayed silent as he flicked it once. Twice. Until he was certain it was free of any contamination, and then turned to you, a far softer expression pulling at his achingly handsome features. He then stepped forward and brought the coat around your shoulders, encircling you in his arms to fasten the buttons.

Time stopped and you took the chance to study him. The mussed locks of hair from running his hands through it every time Devlon opened his mouth. The smooth planes of his tanned skin. His enviably dark, long lashes framing those all-seeing hazel eyes. And his mouth... if you were a poet you would write odes about it. Both admiring and wicked.

You blushed.

"Is this alright?" he asked softly.

You slowly nodded, words stuck in your throat due to his close proximity.

His fingers brushed against your throat softly and he pulled away, leaving you breathless and aching for more.

When the argument started back up again, you found that while your upper body was warming up, your legs and feet were still at the mercy of the breeze.

Azriel looked to you again and released a heavy sigh. "We'll send healers to perform check-ups on the babes and new mothers. The other females will train as normal. And you will speak to the court's emissary with respect." He told Devlon, voice final.

"I have no idea why he has a weak female performing court check-ups." Devlon bit out, no doubt angry at having been pressed into submission and having his coat stolen.

One second you could see clearly, and the next your vision was clouded by swarming darkness. Instinctively, your hand shot out to find Azriel, fear twisting your stomach at the thought of being attacked or—

You barely had time to call out for him when the darkness vacuumed back to its origin—Azriel.

He now stood a breadth away from Devlon, shadows morphed into the shape of a hand held at the camp leader's throat.

There was no curiosity lingering in your mind as to why he was often referred to as the Angel of Death. His body was tense and forbidding, as if he had been carved from stone. Broad, claw-tipped wings spread in threat, consuming the space around him. The largest you'd witnessed.

"It'd be a shame if your windpipe was broken," his voice was colder than the wind that had picked up, "I'd think twice if you were to make another smart remark about our high lord's emissary."

They stared at each other and then Devlon's shoulder sank in defeat. The ghost hand dissipated at his throat, revealing finger-like bruising. You could only imagine the true harm his shadows could inflict if given free rein.

Devlon's eyes snapped from Azriel to you, chin dipping nearly imperceptibly before walking away, back tense as if he were preparing for an attack.

You waited until he was out of sight to speak. “Thanks for the coat?”

Azriel rolled his shoulders, eyes on the space above your head. “Sorry that it belongs to that dense misogynist; I rarely find the need to carry one around.”

You laughed, hoping to dispel the tension clinging to the air, and clutched the coat tighter to warm your hands up. “It’s summertime; how is it still snowing out here?”

“The elevation of the mountains results in colder weather year-round, no matter the season. This is considered warm.” He jerked his chin in the direction of a group of shirtless Illyrian’s training. “Cassian used to tan on days like this when we were younger.”

“Is that what he’s been doing the past week? I wandered up to the roof yesterday and caught him rubbing some oil into his legs. I never want to see him in shorts those small again.” You widened your eyes in horror. 

"Count yourself lucky. I've seen the bastard’s ass more than I have his face."

"Some would say that you should count yourself lucky then."

Azriel scoffed, eyes glittering with amusement.

“Are you ready to go home?” he asked. 

You really weren’t. Not when he was watching you with such tenderness. A cold gust of wind blew past, making your teeth chatter. Azriel didn’t waste any time in scooping you into his arms. 

“Wait,” your breath hitched, “what about Devlon’s coat?”

“We’ll burn it when we get back to The House.” 

Just as he was about to lift off, thunder cracked, causing you to peer up at the malicious looking grey clouds rolling in. Odd, considering just this morning, when you first arrived, the day had been clear and sunny.

Azriel let loose a long breath, eyes switching from you to the sky until he put you on your feet. "We'll have to wait it out."

"You've traveled in far worse conditions," you reminded, although you'd much rather stay put too.

"I'd never risk your life." He stated, voice gruff.

You had to ignore the butterflies that erupted in your stomach. This was not the place nor time to feel flattered by Azriel's protectiveness. He was this way with all of his friends and family, after all.

"Where will we stay? I guess Devlon would let us-"

Azriel snorted. "If I spend one more minute with that shithead I might strangle him to death. Fortunately, Rhys' mom has a cabin here that we can stay in."

As if to hurry you both, the heavens opened up and peltered you with a cold sleet. You were almost instantly drenched. Azriel wasted no time in putting an arm around your back, wing stretched overhead to offer reprieve, and urged you forward through the slick mud.

Finally, you arrived at the cabin, a, small yet homey, two story house with an already roaring fire and steaming kettle on the stove. The shadows doing, you assumed. You turned to Azriel who retrieved two mugs from the cupboard and filled them with tea.

You could picture Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys as young, growing boys wandering in and out of that kitchen, hungry after long days of training. And you spotted notches in the wooden cupboards and dining furniture where playful fights or inaccurately aimed daggers managed to land.

He made his way to you, setting the mugs on the mantel, cringing as you shivered hard. "Do you mind?" he motioned to the coat you still clutched tightly at. "It will only make you colder."

You shook your head, teeth chattering, and reached to take it off when you were stopped by Azriel's hands. He peeled it off of your shoulders and down your arms and chucked it in the fire without blinking.

You couldn't help but laugh at his obvious distaste of the clothing and it's owner.

"Warm up and drink the tea; I'm going to search for some clothes that are, hopefully, untouched by mothballs."

Who would have blamed you for admiring the way his leathers fit to his bunching muscles as he made his way up the stairs?

A small part of you hoped that he wouldn't be able to find anything. From the stories you'd heard from the inner circle about missions that have gone awry in the cold, one of the ways they managed to stay warm was to share body heat.

The image of Azriel aiding you taking off your wet clothes before doing it to himself, flashed in your mind.

Ugh. You rolled your shoulders, turning towards the fire to soothe the ice settling in your bones. Yes, Azriel had been incredibly kind today by offering to join you and giving you a jacket, but that was just it. Kindness.

When you had first met Azriel, like most everyone, you fell for his devilishly handsome features and cool nature. It didn't help that he was unfathomably loyal and strong. Or tall and athletic. Or a good male with good intentions overall.

"It's just a stupid crush," you muttered to yourself as you put your palms out towards the fireplace.

"Hm?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Azriel returned to your side on silent steps. A shadow skittered over your shoulder, tickling your neck as if to laugh at you.

"We should really put a bell on you,"

"I'd prefer my enemies to not know when I'm near." Azriel held out clothes to you. "They're old but should suffice. If you'd prefer to wash-"

"That would be wonderful." The idea of a warm bath caused you to sigh with longing.

Azriel clicked his tongue, amusement lighting his eyes. "I shouldn't have even asked, huh? Come," he jerked his head to the direction of the stairs, "let's get you cleaned up."

Electricity zapped through your body at the image of sitting between Azriel's legs in the bathtub as he used a washcloth to soothe your goose-bumped riddled skin. Would he press his lips to each knob of your spine while he massaged shampoo into your hair and-

"Coming?"

Your eyes snapped to Azriel, the fog of your imagination dissipating, making you feel ridiculous. Your cheeks pinked and you nodded, following him.

The bathtub wasn't big enough to comfortably sit two people. Much less if that second person happened to be an Illyrian male.

Azriel put the dry clothes on the counter. "Do you need any help navigating things?"

"I am confident in my ability to bathe myself, thank you for your concern." You teased.

"Don't need me to get your back or anything?" he shot back, looking a lot less tense than he had when you were speaking with Devlon. In fact, he looked a lot lighter than when he was even around the inner circle.

"I think I have it all under control. Thank you again, Azriel."

Before heading out, he lingered at the doorway, looking as if he had something to say but decided not to. He then left you to your own devices, saying something about cooking something up. You stripped out of your drenched clothes and turned on the faucet, shivering when you first dipped into the water. It felt like a warm hug.

The only thing that would make it better would be if you were nestled against Azriel's tattooed chest.

No no no.

You shouldn't be feeding into your delusions. Especially while the person you were daydreaming about was the only other person in the house with you. It would only make things terribly awkward. And you didn't want to ruin anything with Azriel. Not when you were just becoming close friends.

You had been emissary to the night court for a couple of years now and while you had gotten along quickly with everyone, it had taken a while for Azriel to even speak with you one-on-one. He wasn't easily trusting, which you completely understood. But lately things had been warming up. He would make you breakfast when you were the only two up, hand-deliver the books Nesta let you borrow, even nudge your leg under the table when Cassian was making a fool of himself.

Not to mention the fact that he brought you to this camp despite it being a solo mission.

You pushed it all from your mind, not wanting to overthink things, and finished your bath.

The sweater and sweat pants Azriel supplied you with smelled faintly of him. You wondered if they had been his when he lived in this gods-awful camp.

Having found no brush or comb, you settled with running your fingers through your damp hair, wandering down to the kitchen to find Azriel at the stove, preparing what smelled like chile. He tilted his head up to look at you and fire settled low in your belly as his pupils seemed to take over his irises'.

You swallowed thickly, feeling somewhat self-conscious wearing his clothes that hung off your frame. You tugged on one of the sleeves as it slipped down your shoulder. "Hopefully there's warm water left."

The pot hissed with bubbles, shadows whisking the soup ladle out of the oblivious shadowsinger's hand to continue stirring, as Azriel scanned you from head to toe.

Judging by the amusement dancing in his eyes, you probably looked like a drowned rat. You itched to turn back into the bathroom and check yourself in the mirror.

He stepped into your space, "They're not too big?"

The clothes. You shook your head, pointing to the rolled up pant legs. "Needed some adjusting but they shouldn't cause too many problems."

"Certainly wouldn't want them to fall off," he mumbled, more to himself, the insinuation in his voice not helping in tamping down your growing feelings.

"Do I look silly or something? Why are you watching me strangely?"

"Not at all. I just thought you look... adorable." He smiled crookedly.

You realized now you had never seen a genuine smile—one that wasn't produced from dark humor—grace his face. Red splashed over your cheeks and you hurried to say, "You should probably wash up yourself. Wouldn't want you to catch a cold or anything."

After a moment of consideration all traces of pleasure were wiped from his face. You nearly swayed at the whiplash of his emotions. "There's some soup and I discovered one of Cassian's hidden stashes of wine,"

"Perfect," you offered an awkward smile.

While he bathed, you wiped down two bowls and wine glasses of grimy dust before filling them with soup and wine. You then stood by the sink, watching out the window into the night.

The storm had grown, howling winds causing the structure of the house to groan as rain continued its rhythmic drumming on the roof. A flash of lightning lit up the sky every few minutes with the accompanied roll of thunder.

Your heart raced double its time from the inane fear of how destructive nature could be.

You drained the wine in one swallow.

"Not fond of storms?"

"Shit!" you whipped around to find a fresh-faced Azriel rubbing a towel through his dark, wet hair. "When we return home I'm finding that bell."

His eyes squinted in amusement, tossing the towel onto the back of a kitchen chair. "If it helps soothe your worries, Illyria has endured worse weather than this."

"Are you sure this cabin is sound enough to withstand this weather? Considering how old it is?"

A black eyebrow rose, "Is that a jab at my age?"

Apologies began tumbling out of your mouth. Azriel only waved off the words. "Sit and let's eat. The storm will hopefully clear by tomorrow morning and we can be on our way back to Valeris."

"Were you able to reach Rhys?"

"He told us to stay put," he shoveled a spoonful into his mouth, "and that if anything is to happen to you, I will be the one to blame."

"I'm flattered he finds me so valuable."

Hazel eyes met yours for a heartbeat as he said, "You are very valuable."

Oh Cauldron. If he continued saying things like that, you wouldn't be able to keep your growing feelings from showing on your face.

You cleared your throat instead, "How much trouble do you think we'll be in because of that incinerated coat?"

The rest of the dinner was spent bonding over your hatred of Devlon. You weren't sure how Azriel survived being under the insufferable male for so long. Or all the males here, if you were honest. It helped you to understand why he was so hesitant to claim them as his people.

"How long has this cabin been unoccupied?" you inquired, taking another bite of the chile.

Azriel leaned back in his chair, considering your question. He'd been, surprisingly, open tonight. There seemed to be no trace of the ever-reserved male you encountered more often than naught. "The inner circle prefers to handle the camps during the day so we rarely find the need to stay here. Devlon uses it sometimes for meetings."

"Did each of you boys get your own rooms?"

"Boys?" a corner of his mouth kicked up, "You say that as if we're not all centuries older than you."

You stifled a chuckle, "Considering how often you three wrestle over ridiculous things like who gets the last slice of dessert, I think it's fitting."

His biceps flexed as he stretched them above his head. You felt dizzy with awe. "Whatever," he retorted playfully, "but, to answer your question, we shared the same room until it became too much of a hazard."

"Hazard?"

A faint blush crept over his tan cheeks. "When we became more interested in females than pulling pranks on one another."

Oh. You blushed in response and took a drink from your glass to hide your embarrassment.

Azriel huffed a laugh, obviously recognizing your regret of asking the question. In a considerate manner, he said, "Remember how I told you about Cassian tanning?"

"Oh gods, I won't be able to unable to get the image you offered out of my head."

"Then you'll be affronted to know that I found the oil he used."

A laugh spewed from your mouth. Azriel smiled softly at your unexpected outburst. The conversation was built on from there and your stomach hurt from how hard he managed to make you laugh.

As soon as you scraped the last bean out of your bowl, Azriel took it from you and washed it in the sink. Huh. A male who cooks and cleans? You couldn't believe your eyes. And you had to ignore the space in your heart that warmed.

Your attention was drawn to the shifting muscles in his forearms as he scrubbed the dishes. To the dark tattoos swirling around his powerful arms, practically calling you to trace them with your fingers.

"—sleep?"

You shook your head as you realized you hadn't heard him. "Sorry, what?"

A shadow tugged on your hair teasingly and he repeated, "Obviously you're tired since you can't even think straight. Let's go sleep."

He led you upstairs once more and into what you assumed was the master bedroom, with a large four poster bed, a vanity, armoire, and lace curtains that hung over the window. It looked as if it belonged to a... female.

"Was this—"

Azriel nodded, eyes softening as he took in the homemade quilt, "This was Rhys' mother's room. After difficult training or frightening storms, she would let us all fit in the bed with her as she told us stories of fearless Illyrians."

"You used to be scared of storms?"

You couldn't imagine the spymaster being afraid of anything. Even as a child.

"I was scared of many things,"

That was all he offered before attempting to stoke the fireplace and ensuring the room was warm enough. You hesitated before asking, "Is this where I'll be staying tonight?"

"We'll both be staying in here."

Your world flipped upside down.

"You're serious?"

Hazel eyes snapped to you with amusement. "The only fireplace working is the one in the living room; these logs are too wet. Not to mention the magic of this cabin isn't as strong without Rhys here."

It looked as if your idea of sharing body heat was coming to fruition. This would quite possibly be the best night of your life, so you needed to savor it as much as you could until everything went back to normal the next morning.

Your fingers shook as you pulled back the covers and slipped in. Oh gods. This was much more nerve-wracking than you'd anticipated. Yes, you seemed to get along great and you felt comfortable around him, but he was still handsome as sin and effortlessly attractive.

After Azriel was certain no logs were salvageable, he stood from his crouched position, spread his mighty wings once in to prepare for a cramped bed, then tucked them in tightly. Your eyes tracked the movement, the sconce lamps revealing the red tint running through the membranous tissue.

He walked to his side of the bed and laid down, a weary sigh leaving his lips. "The temperature will drop the later it gets, so it'd be wise if we slept closer. I don't bite."

Despite that last teasing remark, you couldn't help but feel nervous. Who wouldn't? You were only sharing a bed with one of the greatest warriors to ever live. And he was acting like it was a regular occurrence.

You tested the waters and inched close enough that your hips touched. You swallowed thickly.

He fluffed his pillow, and even yours, before resting his head and asking, "Comfy?"

Not trusting your words, you nodded, and the room was engulfed in darkness. There was nothing besides the staccato beat of rain hitting the roof and the buzzing along your skin where you were touching Azriel.

You counted sheep in your mind to calm down enough to sleep, fighting off the overbearing thoughts of the male beside you.

A peal of thunder caused you to start.

A heavy hand closed over yours, the ridges and callouses of unhealed burns pressing into your own unmarked skin. You caught your breath. "I won't let anything harm you," came Azriel's deep assurance, instantly calming your racing mind.

Two blinks later and you were sound asleep.

It was so gods-damned hot.

Having Azriel sleep beside you was like having your own personal Illyrian heater. Sweat beaded at your temple and your body felt like it was being roasted over a fire.

Obviously this sleeping-together thing would have worked a lot better if you didn't have access to the indoors or multiple blankets. The fact that you were so inclined to move away made you frown. You enjoyed sleeping so close to Azriel; he was safe, and strong... but he was going to burn you alive.

Slowly, you inched away from Azriel, closer to the edge of the bed, and pulled off the quilt, sighing at the instant relief of cool air sliding across your heated skin. You could finally—

The windows blew open, a gust of frigid wind bursting through the room. You began shivering and grabbed the corner of the quilt when a heavy arm was thrown over your stomach, tugging you into a hard body.

"Where were you going?" Azriel rasped into your ear.

This time you trembled for a different reason. "Wh-what?"

His thumb stroked over your hip, "You were trying to leave."

"It was hot," you whispered, afraid that if you spoke any louder, he would realize what he was doing and let go of you.

"Don't go."

Hel, you wouldn't move again if a thousand Illyrians dragged you out of his protective embrace.

"Are the windows broken?" you asked.

What had caused them to slam open like that? Was this cabin deteriorating quicker than Azriel had let on? Would it hold on through the night?

You turned your head to the side to assess the damage just as the windows pulled together again. The latch clicking into place.

Squinting your eyes, you managed to spot two slithering shadows gliding along the windowsill.

"Azriel," his name came out suspiciously. Did he send his shadows to open the windows?

He hummed, the vibration of his chest reverberating through your own. "You're always so antsy around me," he admitted, "getting nervous when I start to get comfortable and changing the subject."

What else did you expect from the spymaster of the night court? Obviously he would be able to read a person's behavior.

"I didn't want to scare you off." Came your timid reply.

Azriel huffed a laugh. "Why would I be scared of the attention of a beautiful female?"

A pink flush spread across your cheeks, hidden in the dark of the room. You were never getting over this. Oh, how you wished you had your journal.

"I like you," he continued, "and I know you like me. But this game of cat and mouse has me growing anxious. I would rather like to smile at you without you diverting your eyes."

"I don't think you're scary."

"I know." He said in a cock-sure way.

You scoffed, amused. "For the record, I wasn't escaping because I was scared this time, but because your body runs at two hundred degrees."

"That's why I opened those damn windows." So that the cold would send you rushing back into his arms, you slowly realized.

You were at a loss for words.

"Say something," he asked, an imperceptible plea in his voice.

What were you supposed to say? I think you're beautiful and want to get to know you? You decided to play it safe with, "This is nice." There. That was enough to keep your heart at ease, and not make you sound desperate.

"I like you too," he tightened his hold on you, languidly nosing along your scalp, as if he were smelling you, "And I always want you here."

"In this cabin?"

In the span of two seconds, he had you on your back, limbs trapped under his own. From the scarce lighting of the cloud-covered moon, you could make out the slants and slopes of his face, the soft glimmer in those all-seeing eyes. "In my arms."

In all your day-dreaming, nothing ever compared to hearing him say those words than in real life. When his thumb brushed along your fluttering pulse, and his warm breath fanned against your face.

You swallowed thickly, "Is this a dream?"

His lips met yours, achingly slow, and oh so beautifully.

Once. Twice. He kissed you. The simple action conveying all that words could not. That he truly did like you. That you shouldn't be afraid. That he was falling with you. Falling so so so fast.

author's note: RELEASE ME! guys. i have been trapped in the writer's block hell. i'm home. if there are any mistakes or loopholes, no there aren't. i hope you all love it, pretties. (I haven't forgotten about the beautiful readers who sent me requests🥰)

[azziebaddy]

Shadows & Tomes

Azriel x Reader

Summary: After months of quiet companionship in the archives beneath the House of Wind, a fire forces Azriel to confront the truth he’s kept buried for so long. Warnings: Description of injuries and fire, angst, fluff Word count: 5.5k

The Fire

Reader

Another night of little sleep rattled your bones as you flitted through a stack of older papers, the familiar scent filling your nostrils, dust specks dancing around you in perfect choreography. Down here in the archives under the House of Wind was where you had always been most comfortable. The air here was crisp and cool no matter the time of year and the silence– Gods, the incredible silence. It was soothing. The archives stretched beneath the House of Wind like a hidden vein, vast, quiet, and seemingly endless. Time moved differently here, as if the outside world was muffled by the never-ending amounts of parchment stacking against the walls. Lanterns filled with fairy lights floated softly above long aisles of shelves, casting pools of warm golden light across ancient tomes, war maps, and scrolls. You spent your days cataloguing battle reports, texts, and coded correspondences. Sometimes you got stuck reading a book while trying to find its rightful spot in one of the countless shelves and sometimes you scribbled away in your own notebooks, writing down your thoughts. It was a place of reverence and order, a balm to those who sought refuge in silence.

One of those people was Azriel. The Shadowsinger often came to you after his grueling missions. It had all started a couple of months ago, when he was trying to find some old research papers in the archives for his spy work. You had helped him find what he needed and Azriel had commented multiple times on the stillness that lingered in this place. It came natural to you when you offered for him to return whenever he needed to escape the bustling City of Starlight above and only a few days later, he had taken you up on it. Ever since then, his visits weren't rare. Sometimes you talked, sometimes you sat in silence but almost always, you brewed him a cup of tea. A secret herbal blend your grandmother had come up with when you had still been a kid. You could easily tell by the look on Azriel's face how hard the mission he returned from weighted on him and by the frown on his stupidly beautiful face and the disheveled state of his inky black hair when he entered, you knew right away that today wasn't a particularly good morning. “Long night?” You asked carefully, as he slumped down in a leather armchair next to the shelf you were currently checking for mold. Azriel's shadows twitched with agitation, weaving around him like dark ribbons. A weary sigh escaped him, his expression clearly marked by the toll of the mission. He ran a hand through his hair, some locks sticking up at odd angles. 

Sinking further into the chair as he leaned back, the soft leather creaked slightly beneath him, then he replied, “You could say that.” He sounded as controlled as he usually did, but his gaze, normally sharp and observant, was duller today, as if he was wrestling with an army of invisible demons.

It always took a few minutes before you were able to lose the nerves that raised your pulse whenever Azriel was around. And it wasn't just because he looked like a God straight from an ancient painting, no– it was the fact that during the time spent together, you had developed feelings for the Shadowsinger. It was hopeless, of course you were aware of that, but no amount of trying to talk yourself out of falling in love with him had helped. You were invisible to most, if not to everyone and you were certain that as soon as you'd leave the archives and run into Azriel in the middle of Velaris, he wouldn't even recognise you. This was all this would ever be, you had made your peace with that. At least that's what you kept telling yourself. 

“Tea?” With a quiet thud, you placed the book you were holding back onto the wooden board and already started moving towards a tray that held two cups and a porcelain pot. Azriel's eyes flicked to the tray, before focusing on you, a subtle nod indicating his agreement. He leaned forward a bit, resting his forearms on his toned thighs, hands clasped together. “Was a rough one, huh?” You prodded cautiously as you handed him the cup, unsure of how much he was comfortable sharing. He accepted the warm tea without hesitation, his scarred hands holding it tightly. There was so much discomfort in his movements, as if every single muscle in his body was tired and coiled. 

A long sip, then he answered, “You have no idea.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Sitting up straighter again, Azriel rested his palms, on his knees. The steam rising from his mug mingled with the agitated shadows around him. “No.”

You took a slow sip of your brew and nodded in understanding, never pushing him to where he didn't want to wander.

More silence passed, comfortable, but threaded with the tension that radiated off of the Spymaster. “Talking about it makes it real.” He admitted reluctantly. You didn't say anything, just placed your cup on the little side table between the armchairs and folded your hands in your lap, to keep yourself from fidgeting. Then Azriel added, “I don't want to put any of this on you.”

You hummed softly, then cleared your throat. “And I don't want you to carry it alone. I'm not that fragile, you can tell me.”

Azriel let out a small sigh. “I just got back from the Autumn Court”, he said and to your surprise, his voice slightly trembled, “Gathering intel on Beron. I lost one of my spies.”

Sensing that you should wait, you didn't rush him, only observed him quietly. There was no use in ushering out meaningless phrases, it was clear that this wasn't anything that could be soothed by that.

“His name was Tieran,” Azriel said after a moment. “He was young. Eager. Always tried to act like he wasn’t afraid, but he was, it was easy to tell, he had this... twitch in his jaw when he was nervous.” Knuckles white, Azriel held on to his cup as if it was the only thing anchoring him in the present, then continued, “Deep down I knew he wasn't ready, but I sent him in anyway. I thought it was a low-risk extraction. In and out. But it wasn’t. Beron's sentries caught wind of something, and I didn’t get there in time.”

Your chest ached. Not just for the boy, Tieran, but for the male sitting across from you, visibly haunted and unraveling at the seams. It spoke volumes of his character that out of all the times he had been coming to you after missions, all the horrors he had endured, what truly got to him was that harm came to others instead of him. “It's not your fault.”

Azriel's mouth twisted grimly. “I trained him. I placed him. I gave the order. That’s all it takes for it to be my fault.”

“I know that’s how it feels,” you said warily. “But that doesn’t mean you wanted this to happen, or that you were negligent.”

A breath, sharp and unsteady, left his lungs. “Intent doesn’t matter. The outcome does. He trusted me. And I failed him.” Bitterness laced his tone, revealing the self-loathing that had begun to fester within him.

You wanted to argue, to tell him he hadn’t failed anyone, but the grief in his voice made you pause. There was no room in him right now for excuses or reassurances. “What would you tell Cassian if this would have been his mission and one of his men?”

The question caught Azriel off guard and his gaze snapped towards you for a fraction of a second, before he averted his eyes again, focusing on a spot over your shoulder. “That it was a tragic incident and that no one could have predicted or prevented it.”

“Then maybe you should extend yourself the same courtesy. At least sometimes.” A mindful suggestion.

Azriel's jaw worked, as if he was chewing on the thought, reluctant to swallow it and digest. “I don’t know how,” he replied eventually. “I’ve never been good at… letting myself off the hook.”

You gave a half-smile, neither dismissal nor agreement. “I can tell.” You weren’t trying to fix him. He didn’t need any fixing. But he did need reminding that he wasn’t alone in the aftermath of everything he carried, no matter how he chose to deal with it at the end of the day. “It's alright to let there be guilt or anger or sadness. Just don't be too harsh on yourself.”

Azriel shifted in his seat, the storm in his eyes calming ever so slightly. “How would you deal with something like this?” he queried.

“I honestly have no idea. I think if a fraction of what you go through on your missions would happen to me, I'd probably fall into a coma.”

A huff escaped him, more of a tired exhale than a laugh, but an amused sound nonetheless. “I think you underestimate your own resilience.”

You smiled at his words. The quiet between you wasn’t heavy anymore like before– it had softened, warmed at the edges. Like the tension in the room had loosened its grip on both of you, just a little. 

Azriel glanced toward one of the few glass panels that scarcely adorned the ceiling, where the first threads of morning were beginning to brighten the horizon. “I should go,” he said, though his words lacked conviction, like some part of him wanted to stay seated in the hush of the archives just a bit longer. Or maybe that was just your imagination.

“Right. Of course.”

He rose from the armchair, the shadows trailing after him like the dark companions they were. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

The Shadowsinger strode toward the hallway that would take him back up to the world above and you were left staring at the empty spot he'd left. Night-chilled mist and cedar hung in the air, filling your nostrils with the melancholia that always lingered in the aftermath of his visits. Gods, how your chest ached. Not because of his departure, but because as much as you enjoyed spending time with him, it always reminded you anew of how you'd never have him the way you truly wanted to. You pressed a hand to your sternum, as if it might soothe the dull throb blooming beneath the bone. You loved him dearly. And as you sat in the dim light of the archives, tea gone cold and silence deafening, you told yourself that if this was all he'd ever allow there to be between you, you'd gladly take it.

Azriel

It was a few days later when smoke curled like tendrils through the morning sky as Azriel landed hard on the stone ledge outside the House of Wind, the reek of burning wood and parchment hitting him like a punch to the gut. Cassian was barking orders, wings flared, helping guide dazed scholars and priestesses out into the open air. Flames licked out from the stone arches and Rhys hovered nearby, his power rippling through the turmoil as he constructed shield after shield to contain the blaze. Gwyn was helping the healers assess which injuries needed the most urgent care and Emerie was handing out water and blankets and Nesta was helping a shaken up priestess back onto her feet. Rhys's voice had been clipped through the mental link, “Archives. Fire. It’s bad.” But nothing could’ve prepared him for the sight before him, or the sound of terrified footsteps pounding against stone as people fled up from the deep halls of the House of Wind. 

“The fire started in the lower archives,” Cassian shouted over the roar, ripping Azriel from his initial shock. “Might’ve been some sort of accident, maybe even sabotage. We’re not sure yet.”

Without answering, he pushed through the crowd, scanning each face. Scorched robes, soot-streaked faces, coughing fits, priestesses leaning on each other, a few archivists clutching their satchels stuffed with scrolls– but not you. Not the one who always waited in the quiet, who brewed him tea and listened as if it didn’t cost her anything. No, he wouldn't think about that right now, because panic, real panic, had begun to take root in the very core of him, crawling into his lungs like the smoke he couldn’t seem to breathe past.

Cassian stepped up beside him, breath ragged from shouting after him, sweat running down his face. “Az, what the hell is going on? Did you hear a single word I just said to you?”

“The archives,” he choked out. “Lower Archives…”

Cassian’s expression hardened as he realised what had Azriel so disturbed, his brother knew where he tended to spend all that time between missions. “Scroll girl isn't out here?!” The general asked, his own gaze now frantically darting over the frenzied crowd.

Azriel hated the name his family had given you ever since he'd accidentally mentioned you during a drunken dinner at the River House. And on any other day, in any other situation, he would have let Cassian know exactly what he thought about it. But right now, none of it mattered. “No.” He replied sharply as his world was tipping off its axis and fear crept into every fiber of his being.

“Fuck.” Cassian cursed and just like that, Azriel was moving, sprinting straight into the House of Wind and down the stairs that led into the library. Even at the higher levels the heat was palpable, but he kept running, taking step after step, leaping down endless flights of stairs until the flames got higher and the black smoke denser. The lower archives were in ruins. The fire had swallowed rows of shelves, turned ancient wood and tomes into smoldering ash. Azriel’s boots crunched over splinters and fallen stones, the groan of buckling beams echoing through the cavernous halls. “Y/N!” Repeatedly, he called out your name, his hoarse voice overpowering even the loud cracking of the wild flames. The silence that followed was worse than the destruction around him.

“Come on,” he rasped to himself, eyes sweeping hysterically over every inch of the place. “Where are you–” And then, finally, his shadows tugged at him and Azriel turned so fast he nearly slipped as they guided him to the left towards a huge bookshelf that had collapsed. Beneath it, his eyes found you. Curled on your side, covered in soot, unconscious and your arm bent at an unnatural angle. For one breathless second, he couldn't move. Never in his centuries of training had he blacked out like this, his body refusing to act. But ever the loyal aides, his shadows nudged him and then instinct took over. Azriel rushed forward, falling to his knees beside you, the heat blistering against his leathers as he braced his body between you and the flames. “No, no, no,” he muttered to himself as his hands hovered over your form. “You’re okay... I’ve got you.”

He lifted away the debris as gently as he could, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other brushing against your throat, checking for your pulse. Your heartbeat was shallow, but it was there. “Hey,” he whispered, voice cracking, “stay with me.”

Once he'd freed your fragile body from the rubble, he carefully gathered you in his arms and cradled you to his chest. Your head lolled against his shoulder as he began his ascend, and Azriel swallowed a sound that might have been a sob. “You’re safe now,” he murmured, even though the flames were still lashing at the walls. “I’ve got you.” As soon as he'd made it back from the archives to the upper levels of the library, Rhys’s magic surged for them– a glittering wall of shielding sliding between Azriel and the unbearable heat. A tunnel of breathable air opened before him, leading the way out.

Azriel had no idea how many hours had passed when he sat in the room you occupied in the healing quarters of Velaris. There wasn't a chance in all hells he would leave your bedside. A minor concussion, a broken arm, way too much smoke in your lungs– according to Madja, that was what you were dealing with. His eyes hadn't left your shape, tugged safely underneath the blankets. All he could think about was you. You, with your gentleness and your patience and your maddening kindness. You, who had so thoroughly carved out a space inside him he hadn’t even known existed. Although, that wasn't entirely true. For Azriel had been aware of what you truly were to him from the first moment he had met you. The door to the room opened quietly and Rhys stuck his head in, waiting for Azriel's permission to enter. The Shadowsinger glanced up and nodded.

“How is she doing?” His brother asked, keeping his voice down.

“She'll be fine.” He replied, forcing the words past the lump in his throat.

A few strides, then Rhys was next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Will you finally tell her that she's your mate when she wakes up and put both of you out of your misery?”

His head snapped up so fast, the muscles in his neck protested in pain. “How’d you–”

“Oh, come on. I could smell that bond from three courts away.”

Azriel blinked, mouth slightly parted. Rhys gave him a smug grin, the kind only an older brother and an eternal pain in the ass would give. “I figured it out a couple of months ago.” The High Lord confessed.

Azriel rubbed his eyes with his free hand, the remnants of smoke still scratching at his irises. “I knew right away.”

Rhys arched a brow. “And yet you never told her.”

Azriel dropped his gaze back to you, lying far too still in that bed, and shook his head. “I couldn’t. Not when I wasn’t sure it was what she’d want. I didn’t want her to feel pressured because of the bond.”

Rhys let out a long exhale, equal parts frustration and sympathy. “You think she brewed you tea every time you visited and sat through your brooding because she wasn’t hoping for something more?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he brushed his scarred knuckles down the side of your face, pushing your hair back behind your ear. “I almost lost her without telling her. I never even gave her the chance to choose.”

There was a long pause. Rhys’s hand stayed on his shoulder, grounding. “Then don’t make the same mistake twice. She’s going to wake up and when she does, tell her.”

Azriel nodded once, chest painfully tight.

“You're allowed to have something good.” Rhys stated as he walked back towards the door. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks.” When the door clicked shut, it took all his willpower not to break down right then and there. He reached out, gently taking your hand in his and placing a soft kiss onto the back of it. Despite the terror and fear of the past hours, for the first time in a very, very long while, Azriel felt hope when he thought about his future.

Reader

Your eyes fluttered open, lids heavy and eyelashes stubbornly sticking to your skin. Soft, filtered light spilled through sheer curtains, casting long, golden streaks across the beige walls. A healer's room, you recognised by the smell of herbs and antiseptics. Then your gaze fell to the shape slumped beside the bed. Azriel. His head was bowed, one hand limply clasping yours, broad shoulders rising and falling in the rhythm of shallow sleep. His wings were loosely draped around the chair and his shadows curled at his feet like they'd grown weary of standing guard. You blinked again, unsure if you were dreaming. The last thing you remembered was unbearable heat. Fire. You, trying to shield old maps... Then everything had gone black.

You squeezed the hand that held yours, barely a twitch, but his head snapped up immediately. Hazel eyes locked onto yours, wide and alert as he leaned forward so fast the chair creaked and the shadows flinched. “Hey,” he said, voice hoarse. “You’re awake.”

You tried to say something, but your throat refused to cooperate, instead a cough rattled out of you. “Easy,” Azriel murmured, already pouring water into a glass from the pitcher beside the bed.

He slipped a hand behind your neck, lifting you just enough so that he was able to tilt the glass against your lips. The water was cool, soothing the dryness in your throat as you took slow, grateful sips. Bit by bit you began noticing the countless aches that slithered through your body. Your arm ached insufferably, wrapped in something stiff and your ribs weren’t feeling much better. Azriel set the glass down once you’d had your fill and helped ease you back against the pillows, careful not to jostle anything that was battered or bruised. He took a seat at the edge of the bed, still mindful of the way your body was protesting, the hand that had held the glass now settling at your hip. “How do you feel?”

“I've had better days.” You croaked out of your sore throat.

His lips lifted in a half-hearted smile, gaze tracing every minor expression on your face. “Do you remember what happened?”

“Mostly, I think…”

“I found you under a collapsed shelf,” he said quietly. “You weren’t breathing right and your arm was…” He swallowed, jaw tightening. “I thought– fuck, I thought I was too late.”

“You got me out of there?” You asked, surprised. Memories slowly re-entered your mind, of him carrying you, shadows surrounding you protectively.

“Of course I did.” Azriel paused. “I’d go to the ends of the world to get you out of danger. You know that, right?”

Warmth spread through you, starting deep within your chest and covering your entire body, warmer than any blanket. You wanted to reply, but the sudden inhale caused your still tender lungs to start another coughing fit.

Azriel swore under his breath and reached for the glass again, his free hand coming up to smooth your hair away from your sweaty forehead. “Slow down, take it easy. That's it.”

You gulped down a few, large sips, then leaned against the headboard. The coughing subsided slowly, each breath like sandpaper scraping over the tender tissue of your lungs. Azriel's words swirled in your head, like a puzzle you were trying to piece together. He had saved your life. He had just told you that he would go to the ends of the world for you…

Azriel sat back down on the foot end of the bed and placed his palm atop your ankle, rubbing circles into your skin with the pad of his thumb. “I need to tell you something,” he said, looking almost... scared?

“Okay.” You breathed, nearly inaudible, unsure if your heart could handle whatever would come next.

“I know this isn’t the right moment,” he began, focusing his gaze on where his thumb brushed your skin. “Or the right place, but I need to… I need to do this.” His eyes quickly met yours and you gave a reassuring nod, urging him gently to continue.

“You are my mate,” he whispered.

And just like that, you wholly stilled. Your mind went into overdrive, so many thoughts hitting your brain at once and at the same time, there was nothing but your heart, constricting painfully in your chest. But not in a bad way, you noticed. It was almost like a wave of relief had washed over you. Months and months of wondering, hoping, talking yourself out of the feelings you had developed for the Shadowsinger. And if you were being honest, there had always been this... Tug. As if Azriel held a string in his hands that kept tightening around your ribs the further he got away from you. “You're my– I'm your–” You stammered.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured to respond to the bond. I know it’s–“ he was rambling now, words tumbling out of him and tripping over one another. “I know that this might not be what you want. Or need. And I never, ever wanted to pressure you. You’re my friend first, I don’t want you to think that I–”

“I'm in love with you.” You quickly interrupted, before your nerves could intervene again. “Regardless of the bond, which I'm pretty sure I've felt too, now that I think about it... I've been in love with you for a while.”

A sound of both surprise and pure, unbridled joy erupted from his chest and then, like a dam breaking, a laugh bursted past his lips. He leaned forward, his forehead resting against your leg. “You're in love with me?” He managed over another laugh, a huge, beautiful smile reaching the corners of his eyes.

You nodded. “I truly thought I was horribly obvious.”

He looked up at you with those mesmerizing, hazel eyes, still grinning, and you felt like an idiot. A lovestruck, hopelessly-in-love-with Azriel idiot. He reached for your hand, twining his fingers with yours, the pads of his thumbs brushing carefully over your knuckles. “Apparently we're both idiots then.”

“Seems like it.”

“I was going to wait,” he said quietly, tracing the lines of your fingers in soft brushes.

“For what?”

A long pause lingered, then Azriel finally said, “For you. I was going to wait for you to admit your feelings to me, no matter how long it was going to take. I didn't want you to feel forced into this by a bond.”

“I promise you, I don't. I'd want you even if we'd sever it right now.”

He held your hand so tenderly as if it was a porcelain figurine about to break. “You know I’m broken, right? You know that I’m a mess, that I carry darkness with me. I come with my vices, my scars and my shadows.”

Slowly, a small smile formed on your face, full of reassurance for this kind, loyal male, who actually suggested he wasn't good enough. “None of that has ever bothered me. I like you, just the way you are.” Between the lines of relief that began to soften his hardened face, exhaustion weaved its way in. You could tell that beside a few naps here and there, Azriel couldn't have slept much. “Lay down with me.” The bed in the healing quarters wasn't exactly made for two, but you'd make do.

Azriel hesitated. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“You're not going to hurt me. Come on. You're obviously tired and I don't want to sleep by myself.” You used your intact arm to lift the blanket for him and nodded to your side. He sat back for a second, contemplating, until the fatigue won the battle and he gave in. Toeing off his boots, he cautiously climbed into the bed next to you. His arm instinctively slid around your waist, right under your breasts and mindful of your ribs, then he eased your back against his chest, careful not to agitate any of your injuries. One wing draped over you and you knew without a single doubt that this was where you belonged.

Four days later, you sat on the edge of the mattress that had been thoroughly flattened by you and Azriel sleeping on it together. Your legs dangled in the air, you were wearing one of the nightgowns the healers had given you and since Azriel had decided to fuss over you like a frantic mother hen, you weren't allowed to stand up. Your mate– Wow, that still sounded surreal, even in your own head– was packing your bags for you. Madja had deemed you ready to leave this morning and you couldn't wait to get out of here. Even though you'd enjoyed your time with Azriel inside this little bubble in the healing quarters, you craved knowing what your life together would look like now and by the restlessness you sometimes felt through the bond that connected you, you could tell that Azriel felt the same. “This is ridiculous, I'm going to get dressed now.”

Azriel turned around, two of your shirts folded in his hand, and leveled you with a warning look. Despite not leaving your side for more than ten minutes since you got here and worrying himself sick the entire time, he still looked so gods damned gorgeous, especially in the soft morning light. “Madja said to rest.”

“Madja said to take it easy, but I don't think that equals me not being able to put my own clothes on.” A pair of leggings already prepared, he walked over to you and crouched before you.

“So fucking stubborn…” he mumbled, the corner of his mouth twitching. Still, he helped you into the leggings, pulling them up your legs. Before the fabric could cover your knees, he leaned forward and placed a kiss on each of them.

Your cheeks instantly flushed. “That's not fair.”

He lifted your foot and placed it on his thigh, sliding a warm, cozy sock over it. A delightful grin split his cheeks and you wondered if maybe you'd actually managed to banish the brooding. “That's life, Tomes. Not fair.”

Oh gods, your face turned crimson at the endearing nickname he had begun to use right after you'd woken up together for the first time only days ago. Tomes. At first you had resisted, but you had kind of gotten used to it by now. Azriel busied himself with the second sock, then grabbed one of your unused shirts from the bag.

“Arms up.” You obeyed, regardless of the soreness still lingering in your limbs and he lifted the nightgown over your head, guiding you into the fresh shirt. Your breasts were covered by the binding Madja had put around you to keep your ribs steady. You had kissed already. Very, very thoroughly kissed. But Azriel had been insistent on stopping before it could turn into more, he did not want to take you only half healed and in a tiny bed, he had said. The anticipation was killing you though and you were certain your crotch would explode any time now, if you didn't get the chance to have him naked and on top of you soon. Before you could refine those thoughts any further, a knock sounded on your door, followed by it slowly opening and Cassian sticking his head through the slit, eyes closed. “Are you both decent?” He asked loudly. Azriel tugged the shirt all the way down and kissed you quickly, stifling a laugh.

“We're good.” He replied and pushed himself back to his feet. 

Cassian opened one eye and grinned. “Ready to get out of here?”

“Gods, yes.” You groaned. Cassian had been visiting you and Azriel in the healing quarters every single day. Rhys had also come by twice. Meeting the rest of his family, Azriel had said, would have time until after your recovery. He didn't want to put too much strain on you and for once, you had been grateful for his overprotective habits. It had been bad enough that you had been introduced to the High Lord himself and the general of the Illyrian armies while injured and stuck in bed, at least for the others you wanted to look and feel your best. Cassian and you had instantly taken a liking to each other. Azriel's brother, so it seemed, was just really happy for him, as if finding you had been something Azriel had longed for all his life and his family knew it.

Cassian sauntered into the room as Azriel continued to pack and looked at the two bags lying on the ground. “I'll carry those.”

The Shadowsinger nodded. “Thanks.”

“Am I allowed to get up now?” You asked, mockingly.

“No.” Azriel and Cassian said in unison and you huffed disapprovingly, deciding to ignore them.

Swiftly, you hopped off of the mattress, landed on your own two feet and threw up your arms. “I'm standing! It's a miracle!”

Cassian barked out a laugh, but Azriel looked like he was one minor inconvenience away from tearing his hair out. Before you had a chance to protest, your mate picked you up, lifting you into his arms.

“Az, you will not carry me through the healing quarters, I can walk by myself!”

He moved past a still chuckling Cassian, his grip on you firmer than necessary. “You're still injured, Tomes. You're not walking.”

A sharp exhale left your lungs, which also still hurt as a consequence from the smoke inhalation. Over Azriel's shoulder, you watched Cassian grab your bags, then took one more glance around the room, where your life had almost ended and a new one had begun.

This is a one shot, but I'm planning on making more one shots about this specific couple, since I've really started to like them! 🖤

Taglist: @impossibelle @loving-and-dreaming @firebirdsalvatore @lilah-asteria @caticorn61 @babypeapoddd @babypeapoddd @talesofadragon @celestiallovers17 @kmc1989 @marina468 @starsinyourseyes @azrielsmate3 @readallaboutit

Let me know if you'd like to get tagged in any of my series, one shots, specific characters or everything! ✨

[azziebaddy]

omg 'the books you read' where {bat boy of your choice}'s mate is in a smutty book club with Nesta Emerie and Gwyn, and they're sharing and squealing over their favourite scenes in their latest book in the House of Wind, and {bat boy} overhears and snoops to borrow the book and read it to find out what she likes, and gently teases her about it, but then says he likes it too and basically offers to recreate some of the scenes with her 😏

I just felt like Azriel was the best choice for this so I hope you like it

The Books You Read Azriel x Female Reader

Warnings: MDNI, extra spicy (shadow bondage, oral female receiving, spank or two, over stimulation, outdoor sex, praise, p in v), aftercare, language maybe? sprinkle of fluff towards beginning

Word Count: 2.3K

“All I'm saying is this is one fmc I wouldn't mind being.” You say before taking a drink as Nesta and Gwyn murmur agreements. He continues down the hall making note of the book title to look at later. You get back on topic of discussing the book. After a while you decide to call it a night, hoping Azriel will be home soon. After saying goodnight to the girls you start getting ready for bed. You start the next chapter in the book, deciding to read until he gets home, only to fall asleep a few chapters later. Azriel finds you sound asleep with your book still open in your hand. He can't help but smile at how cute you look. He carefully takes the book and places your bookmark between the pages. He changes out of his clothes and into a pair of knit pants.

He pulls the blanket over you after you settle in beside him. “Good night, angel.” He whispers before kissing the top of your head. He picks up your book and starts flipping through it, noticing your notes in the margins and pages you've marked with colorful parchment. He quickly figures out your color coding and can't help but harden at the thought of recreating some of these scenes with you. He puts the book on the nightstand and turns the light off, deciding to go to bed. You woke up before him and decided to make breakfast, knowing you both had busy days ahead of you.

You were in the kitchen getting some tea from the cupboard when Azriel walked in. “Good morning.” You greeted him over your shoulder. “Good morning.” He says as you turn around. His hand shutting the cupboard as his body crowds you, his knit pants leaving nothing to the imagination. His fingers lifting your chin before he kisses you. “Is breakfast ready?” He asks casually, knowing the eggs aren't the only thing scrambled. Your brain focuses on forming a reply, “yeah, help yourself.” You say, your brain is still trying to catch up. “You alright, angel?” He asks with a knowing smirk. “Uh-huh.” You say clearing your mind before fixing yourself a plate.

You manage to make it through breakfast and the rest of the day before getting ready for your training session. Azriel had wanted to move it back into the evening, probably to avoid the heat. You're just fastening your leathers when Azriel walks in. “I'll meet you out there.” You say, moving to give him a quick kiss. “We're not training here today. I'm taking you out for some new training.” Azriel says. “Where are we going?” You ask. “You'll see. Just let me get dressed and I'll show you.” He says. You help him get dressed in his training leathers, noticing the only weapon he's taking is a dagger hidden in his boot.

You're confused when he flies you into the woods along the mountain. “What are we doing here?” You ask. “We're going to work on your evasion and hiding skills. You're going to run and I'm going to chase you. You'll get a 5 minute head start. If you can last 30 minutes after I start chasing you then you win anything you’d like, but if I catch you I get to recreate scenes from your book.” He says. “Hope you're ready to lose spymaster.” You taunt as you start stretching, knowing either way you'll be a winner. He starts stretching beside you. “Hope you're ready for a long night.” He taunts back. As you finish stretching out your legs he tells you that your 5 minutes start now.

You take off into the tree line trying to gain as much distance between you and him as you can in the short 5 minutes. You opt for a more challenging section of forest with rocks and shrubs, hoping to throw him off. You focus on changing directions and not taking the most obvious routes. You think you've gotten a good start on him as you estimate the 5 minutes almost being up. You slow your pace more concerned with stealth than distance now that he's probably started to chase you. You double back and cross previous traveled areas, hoping to confuse him. You know the odds are in his favor but that isn't going to stop you from making an honest effort.

Azriel can't help the smirk as he quickly catches onto your tactics. You're clever, he'll give you that, but he isn't the spymaster for nothing. He stops at a spot where you've crossed before, closing his eyes and listening for the smallest sound. He grins as you kick a rock not far away. You silently curse yourself at the noise deciding to make a run for it, hoping to get far enough away. “Run all you want, angel, I'll catch you in the end.” He calls through the trees. The idea of him catching you has heat pooling in your core. You shake your head as if to erase the thought. You remind yourself to focus as you take a sharp left towards heavier shrub cover, hoping he'll run past you.

You duck behind a fallen log, making sure to calm your breathing as you try to keep your heart from racing. “I know you're here.” He says as he steps out from the treeline. You can't help but admire him as his chest heaves from running and his hair is windswept. His eyes searching his surroundings, listening for you, waiting for you to make a sound. “Surrender and I'll go easy on you.” Azriel offers with a smirk that promises trouble. “I can practically smell your arousal, and it's driving me crazy.” He adds you throw a rock in the opposite direction of you, waiting for him to follow. You hear his footsteps fade into the trees before standing up and peaking to make sure he's gone.

A hand wraps around your throat from behind pulling you against a hard familiar body. “Now you're mine.” He says as his shadows wrap around your wrists pulling them behind you. “Your safeword is truthteller.” He says, waiting for you to acknowledge it. “Say it.” He says as his hand tightens around your throat. “my safeword is truthteller.” You reply. He's barely touched you and you're already dripping for him. “Good girl.” He praises as his hands undo your leathers, opening the front to expose your perfect chest. His shadows tighten their hold on you as his free hand cups one of them squeezing it. His fingers expertly play with your nipple, forcing it to harden under his touch. A harsh squeeze eliciting a moan from you.

His lips trailing along your neck, kissing before his teeth graze the sensitive spot below your ear. His hand slips along your curves before slipping between your legs, fingers spreading you open before finding your clit, the touch alone making you grind against his finger craving more. “Your body responds perfectly to my touch.” He praises as his finger lazily circles your sensitive clit eliciting a moan. As soon as he starts he stops, pulling his hand away. You let loose a groan at the absence of his touch. In seemingly seconds you're standing naked before him, the cool air pebbles your skin. You shiver unsure if it's the coldness or the anticipation of what he'll do.

Your thrust over the log you were hiding behind moments ago, Azriel's shadows still keeping your hands behind your back but now more circle your ankles forcing your legs apart. You hear the rustle of Azriel's own leathers being undone. The warmth of his fingers travel along your spine before trailing between your legs. As two of his fingers slide easily into your dripping core you feel his breath on the backs of your thighs before he kisses his way ever so close to where you crave him most. You let out cries of protests as he stops just shy. A smack to your ass catches you off guard but doesn't silence your moan in response. “You'll get pleasure when I decide to give it to you.” Azriel says. “Yes, sir.” You answer, biting your lower lip as you squirm. “Good girl.” He praises.

His tongue tasting you as he teasingly licks from his fingers to your clit, flicking it before pulling away. “Gods, angel, I could spend eternity tasting your sweet pussy.” He moans. From the way he laps and nips at your dripping core you believe him. His fingers and tongue work in perfect unison to push you towards your orgasm. He adds a third finger stretching you as they curl to find your g spot. Caressing the sensitive nerve mixed with the pleasure of his tongue you know you won't last much longer. “Azriel! I'm gonna-” your words trail off as overwhelming pleasure consumes your mind. “I know. Don't fight it. Be a good girl and cum.” He says his tongue on your clit mixed with his words send you over the edge.

He doesn't stop, he keeps pushing you higher and higher. Your poor clit becomes overly sensitive as he keeps you cumming until you're a moaning, writhing mess before him. You feel his mouth and fingers withdraw from you, thinking he'll let you catch your breath. You can't help the small whimper when you feel his hard cock against your already swollen pussy. “I know, angel, I know you're sensitive, just a little more. I know you can take it.” He coos as his cock slowly thrusts inside you. You can't help your body's reaction to him as heat pools in your core. Once you've taken every inch he gives you a moment before he starts taking you.

“That's it. You're such a good girl. You take me so well, even if you're sensitive and tired.” He praises. He keeps his slow deep pace for a while, giving you a break in a sense. Before long he needs more, and judging from the way our hips thrust back at him, so do you. His fingers grip your hips as he quickens his rhythm. Your body being forced into the rough bark of the tree as he lets his pleasure take over. The mild pain made bearable by the pleasure of his cock deep inside you. “Gods, you're so damn tight, no matter how many times I take you.” He says as you clench around him, sending jolts of pleasure to his cock. “I'm not going to last if you keep that up.” He warns as he takes you harder. Your moans filling the night air around you.

His fingers find your still sensitive clit, stroking and teasing it until Azriel knows your close. “Cum with me.” He says seconds before filling you as he sends you over the edge with him. Both your moans fading into the darkness around you as you both catch your breath. You feel him pull out, a small wince doesn't go unnoticed by him. His shadows release you before soothing the skin where they held you, careful not to leave any marks. You move to stand up, struggling as your legs weaken. Azriel pulls you into his arms, his wings shield you from the night air before he winnows you home. He carries you inside as you yawn. “Bed.” You mumble when he passes it going into the bathroom. “Soon, but right now I need to take care of you.” He says, pulling the healers kit from the closet.

He hands you a tonic to help with the soreness as the house provides a glass of water. You take the tonic with a sip of water. “Drink, you've been through a lot tonight.” Azriel says as he pulls a salve for the minor scrapes from the tree bark. They're already starting to heal but he won't take any chances. You finish the glass of water as he continues to care for you, using a warm cloth, gently cleaning you up. Your eyes are heavy as exhaustion sets in. “Bed, angel.” He says with a small smile before slipping one of his shirts over your head and carrying you to bed. He carefully lays you down, tucking you in before laying down beside you.

You snuggle into him, head on his chest as you listen to the soothing beat of his heart. “I love you.” You tell him. “I love you too.” He says as his fingers soothingly play with your hair. “When did you read my book?” You ask before yawning again. “Last night while you were sleeping. I skimmed through it more than read it.” He admits. “Maybe you should skim through more.” You say in a playful tone. “Maybe I should, but right now it's time for us to get some sleep.” He says before kissing you and wishing you sweet dreams. You tell him good night as he shuts the light off. It isn't long until you're both asleep after the night catches up with you.

Updated bingo card if anyone would like to submit a request there are still several to choose from

[azziebaddy]

Trial and Error (8)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: You came to Velaris under duress five years ago—pregnant, alone, and in hiding from something, or someone, too dangerous to even speak aloud. When your daughter begged you to go to school years after settling down in the apartment above a worn-down apothecary, you obliged her. But things still didn't feel safe. Azriel was going to do everything in his power to give you that safety. At least, he would try. 

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst, references to an abusive family

a/n: Here is part 8!! yayy!! (and also sorry hehe oops)

Series Masterlist (all parts)

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

Within the echo of your hurried footsteps on the creaking apothecary floor, your labored breaths were plentiful and difficult to quell. You had sent Melanie upstairs the moment you unlocked the door, a feigned smile creating the guise that she needed to hurry and pack her things for her sleepover later. That’s why you had rushed away from the school. Not because you feared for… several things at the meeting of the General of the Night Court. 

Melanie believed you, too distracted by her excitement to remain fixated on her confusion.

That was good. 

She was fine. You were fine. 

Would you stay fine? 

Cassian was not dangerous, according to Azriel, but Cassian was loyal to the Night Court. Azriel had assured you that his family would never put you or your daughter in harm's way, but that had never been what made you feel safest around him. 

“It has been carved into my chest from the moment we locked eyes.”

“I have waited for my mate for centuries. I have dreamed of you and wanted you, and I don’t know if that scares you, but I hope it can be some consolation.”

“I want to be all in with the two of you. My life has… it’s changed. It’s different now, because of you.”

It was Azriel himself that made you feel safe—that made you trust. And even though you knew you could trust his words, you couldn’t trust Cassian. You didn’t know Cassian, and even worse, Azriel had told you one too many times how much of a loudmouth he was. He wouldn’t tell the High Lord about you in a malicious way, but it would end poorly. This would all end poorly. You should leave. You should—

The door to the apothecary swung open with a force, the knob smacking into the wall on its way. You turned in anticipatory fear, hand over your heart, but much of that melted away when it was Azriel alone walking through the entryway. 

He seemed to take stock of you first, looking for something by your feet that he did not find before moving to your hands, your shoulders, and behind you on the counter. When he completed his search, his shoulders dropped an inch, wings perking up from their drooped position. 

“Melanie?” he asked, feet rooted to the floor across the room.

You brought your hand up to clasp your forearm, the position protecting you from nothing. “She’s upstairs packing.” 

Azriel’s expression fractured. “Packing?” he croaked. The single word was almost unintelligible; it cracked and got lost in the deep timbre of his voice. 

“For her sleepover. She’s still going to—” 

You were interrupted by his boots closing the space between you. You felt him before you could catch up with his movements, his shadows slurring against your skin and into your hair. His forehead pressed against yours next, but when you went to search his expression, his eyes squeezed shut.

“I thought—” he began, brows furrowing and creating yet another crease on his face. “I thought I would find you leaving. I thought I scared you away this time.” 

Your chest cracked open, heart pounding against your ribs until it hurt. You wouldn’t tell him that your thoughts had gone to that. You wouldn’t share that just moments before he burst in, your fingers had twitched as you thought about the one trunk you kept in the back of the closet upstairs. 

You were used to running. 

Running felt safe. 

Azriel was the only thing that felt safer. 

Your tongue darted out to wet your drying lips as you replied, “No. No, Azriel. Mel is just packing for the night.” 

You had decided that the second he walked—or, rather, stormed—into the apothecary. You had decided that without the thought even materializing in your mind. 

Azriel’s hands, which had made a home along the back of your neck, slid up to cup your jaw. His eyes fluttered open, eager to meet yours, and a bittersweet smile lit them up in a devastating way. “Okay,” he seemed to say to himself. “Okay, good. I’m—I’m sorry. About Cassian. He’s agreed to keep his meeting you quiet.” 

There was something he was leaving out. The words were there, lingering in the dark parts of your mind. So you spoke them. 

“For now,” you nodded, clasping his wrists. “Quiet for now, you mean.” 

“No, he’s agreed—” 

“Az, we both know that there are too many moving parts here. Cassian may have agreed or promised or have good intentions, but there are also two five-year-olds in the mix and, eventually, you will have to explain why you keep disappearing from family events. Like Cassian said—” 

“I don’t care what Cassian said.” 

“I know,” you whispered. He was scared. You could tell by the way his hands trembled against you. You weren’t sure what else scared the Shadowsinger, but you hated that you were part of something he feared. 

“I have waited for my mate for centuries. I have dreamed of you and wanted you.” 

“I can—”

“Aziel, stop,” you softly commanded. “It’s inevitable.” 

“Tell me who you’re hiding from,” he practically begged. His wings stretched forward like shadows at your sides, protecting you from nothing. “I can fix it. I—You and Mel would be safer if—” 

You pressed forward on your toes, and you kissed him. 

He paused for a moment, his mouth stiff in shock against yours, but it only took a single breath for him to snap back to the present. Weeks of built-up tension and pressing truths and want poured into the way his lips reverently moved against yours. His touch, still a slight tremor lingering in the joints, moved up until his fingers found the base of your hair. He stepped forward twice, and your back met the front counter. 

He only kissed you harder as your right hand left his wrist to steady yourself on the counter. He kissed you harder and he brought his arm around your back to take the responsibility on himself. His hand in your hair bunched at the roots but didn’t tug or pull—it was like he couldn’t help it, like the want to bring you closer resulted in stiff limbs and clenching fists. 

You could have kissed him forever. He was keeping you safe here, his wings closing in even more if the light meeting your closed lids told you anything. His shadows brushed your skin, keeping you distracted enough for him to be in control of the kiss, but that wasn’t true; you knew in the small moments of hesitance that he would let you do anything—control anything. 

When you broke apart, chest heaving and lashes fluttering, Azriel trailed a few lingering kisses to your cheeks and at your temple. Those were familiar places, territories he’d allowed himself before you’d given such express permission as you had right now. His own breath was somewhat labored, but he wouldn’t stop touching you, wouldn’t fully pull away. 

“When I said it was inevitable—” you breathed out, bringing both hands to rest on the plane of his chest. “—I meant it was inevitable that I would have to meet your family. That they would know of me and… and Mel. I didn’t mean that I was going to leave.” 

Azriel’s nose nudged against your cheek. A beat of silence followed your words. He pulled back a few inches, tucked your hair behind your ears, and let his eyes trace each of your features. 

“You don’t have to. I don’t want you to feel forced just because of Cassian. I could make an excuse.”

He was giving you an out. You weren’t sure how he would possibly swing it, but Azriel was offering you more hiding. More secrets. The ability to have him without being tied down by his family and the role in the court that you so obviously feared. So many implications came with his offer. So many sacrifices he would have to make. 

The scales were tipping. Things were changing. Maybe they could know you and be none the wiser. Maybe… 

“I—I want to, Azriel. Melanie doesn’t deserve to be living in fear. Even if she doesn’t understand it right now.” 

Azriel looked down towards your mouth, expression pained in a lingering wince. He continued brushing your hair back—a nervous habit, maybe, one flourishing since you’d allowed him to really touch you. 

“And maybe I could explain things to you tonight. Fully. That way you can know what you might be bringing to your family before—”

“You are my family,” Azriel breathed out, the words not even in the air for a second before his mouth was on yours again. 

This kiss was slower, more purposeful, holding more meaning. 

It was cut short by stomps down the stairs. Azriel tore himself away from you, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip once before pulling his wing back to reveal Melanie with an overfilled bag dragging behind her. Stuffed animals and at least four pairs of socks peeked out from the top, and you were quickly reminded why you never let her pack her anything. 

“What the heck are you guys doing?” Melanie questioned, frustration her primary emotion. “No one even came to help me! Mr. Azriel, only one of your shadows was hanging out with me, and I didn’t get my after-school snack.” 

Azriel took half a step back from you and schooled his face into a more managed calm, sincerity evident in his palm over his chest. “I apologize, Melanie. How rude of me. How about I come up and make your snack while you and your mom sort out the bag for your sleepover?” 

“I already packed it,” she drawled as if Azriel were blind, shaking the strap in her hand. “But I guess I would like a snack.” 

You pressed your fingers over your mouth to stop the laugh from tumbling out. Azriel shot you a playful side eye and squeezed your hip before meeting Melanie at the base of the stairs. 

“Oh, I can see that. But you can barely close it, Mel.” He gently took the bag from her, hauling it over his shoulder before lifting her to rest on his hip. “Anyways. Cheese and apples or the crackers I brought from my friend Sevenda?”

~~

Nervous energy permeated the room, the majority of it coming from you in droves. Some trickled from Azriel, but he hid it well within his constant movements. 

Melanie was next door. You had eaten dinner together. You were cleaning the kitchen now, a mundane task that could have been done later, but you were clearly using it as a way to bide time. Azriel was allowing it—he would always let you do this at your own pace. 

The more you dwelt on your previous plan of only telling Azriel who Melanie’s father was, the more it made no sense to you. If you only told him that piece of the story, he would still fail to understand why you’d run. He would know the name and position of one man and nothing else. 

It had to be everything. 

You chewed on the inside of your lip as the cleaning came to an end. Azriel made a show of hanging up the small towel by the basin and rubbing his hands together in finality. More time he was allowing. 

“The fire?” you asked, motioning to the sitting room. Azriel offered you a small smile and pressed his hand to your back, guiding you to the loveseat there. 

Your stomach was turning. He made no motion to urge you, mirroring you as you sat turned to face your mate. 

Your mate and you still hadn’t felt the bond. 

You picked at your fingers as they lay in your lap. 

It didn’t take Azriel long to cover your hands with one of his. “You don’t have to do this. I don’t need to know if you aren’t ready.” 

“I am ready,” you emphasized. “I trust you. Completely.” 

Azriel leaned down. “Then what’s wrong?” 

He would judge you. He would hate where you came from. He would turn you away. 

Before, it had been about safety—about protecting Melanie. If anyone knew who you were or who she was, they would turn you in. The reward for doing so was hefty and money was always a driving force. While Azriel may not have been swayed by money, a bargaining chip between rival courts was also nothing to bat an eye at. 

But he wouldn’t do that. You were sure of it. 

Now your fear lay in his reaction to the truth. 

“Nothing,” you assured, your smile tight and wrong as you looked up at him. “Just nervous, I guess.” 

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your temple, but he did not remain there. Azriel gave you space, not touching you, but leaving his hands within reach if you needed them. You would tell this story alone.

“I won’t interrupt,” he said, voice carrying a regalness you hadn’t heard from him. 

A deep breath. “I’m from Autumn, but you knew that. Melanie’s father is also from Autumn. He doesn’t know about her, though I think he might suspect since I ran with no contact after we…” You looked down at your hands. “We weren’t together. I’ve never been in a relationship. Never been allowed to.” You tilted your head to the side. “I grew up as a court lady. Trained to be one, anyway. My marriage was not planned at birth, but it was very carefully calculated by Beron.” 

You felt Azriel shift on the loveseat, the cushions jostling you. When you looked up, his brows had lowered in concentration or confusion, you couldn’t tell. True to his word, he did not interrupt. 

“When it was finally decided, I knew I couldn’t go through with it. The man they chose was a high-ranking noble from Spring, and he was—well, he was vile. About 3 centuries older than me, with a propensity for violence against women and multiple deceased wives. If you can connect the dots there,” you spit out. “But it’s not as if Beron or my… my father cared about that. They only wanted what would come from the union. Spring and Autumn finally chained together when High Lord Tamlin was at his weakest. They tried to force the union with Tamlin himself, but he’s been too much of a wreck to agree to much of anything.” 

Azriel let out a breath as if he had gone to speak and thought better of it. You looked up at him with a searching gaze, but he only shook his head slightly and motioned for you to continue.

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “I’m telling this out of order. It’s difficult to gather my thoughts, but all of that is to say I had an arranged marriage I couldn’t go through with. My… brothers were all for it as well. There was going to be an announcement across Pyrithian and Beron was practically foaming at the mouth to have it all finalized. So, I ruined it. 

“Gods, I had no idea what I was doing, just that there was only one way that awful man wouldn’t want me anymore. He had made it quite clear that my virtue was of utmost importance to him, which was exactly why I was hidden away for most of my life. That, and they were all waiting until I was most useful.” 

You were starting to get angry now, and that inevitably led to you getting choked up. Your throat constricted and you twisted your mouth to the side when your nose started to burn. It was infuriating that after all this time, this still affected you this way. You bit your cheek and took a deep breath. It helped a little. 

“Do you want a break?” Azriel softly asked, rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone. 

“No.” You let out a wet laugh and palmed at the wetness under your eye. “I’ve only been talking for a few minutes. I just get angry, I’m fine.” 

You paused after that, collecting yourself, but also getting lost in your head. Memories swirled together and assaulted your thoughts, reminding you of how terrible everything was and could be if this went poorly. Anxiety then came. And regret and confusion and hurt. 

You were too far off track to get back on the rails, so Azriel broke his own rule. “Why would you be useful, angel?” he asked, tracing his hand down to hold yours in your lap. 

“Oh,” you sighed, “Because I’m Beron’s daughter.”

[azziebaddy]

Hey I saw that your bingo request board is open! Can I request a Azriel x reader hurt/comfort cenario? Reader is severely injured from a mission gone wrong and is having a hard time recovering physically/mentally from it. I just know Az would be so kind with a significant other 😭💘 Thank you!

One Step At A Time

pairing: Azriel x Reader

word count: 1.8k

tags: fem!reader, no use of y/n, depictions of depression, injury, loss of limb, Azriel helping you get through it

You were awake, but you felt like you were still dreaming. Or maybe it was a nightmare. Your mind was still trying to process the reality of it all. That just a few weeks ago, you had been happy. Living the life of your dreams with your perfect mate by your side. You should’ve known nothing good lasts forever.

You hadn’t left the bed in weeks. The bed that still smelt like Azriel, night chilled mist and cedar, though it had faded slightly in the hours he’d been gone. But even his comforting scent couldn’t pierce the fog that had settled over you. The prosthetic leg High Lord Thesan sent was propped against the nightstand, gleaming in the sunlight that spilled through the gaps of the curtained windows. It was practically taunting you. You hadn’t touched it, couldn’t even stand to look at it. It was a reminder of everything you’d lost.

One mission gone wrong and your life was changed forever. You replayed it every night in your dreams. All the blood and your screams, Azriel’s roar when he found you laying on the ground after you frantically pulled on the bond over and over again. You didn’t remember much after that. You had allowed yourself to finally slip into unconsciousness once you knew you were safe in your mate’s arms.

They said you were healed—physically, at least. The healers did their work, and the wound was gone, smooth skin covering the place where your leg used to be from the knee down. But you weren’t healed. Not really. You were still haunted by what you lost and your body doesn’t feel like your own anymore.

Azriel’s been patient. He never pushed you, never demanded more of you. He holds you when the nightmares cause you to wake up screaming . He brings you food and tries to encourage you to eat. Sometimes he gets you to eat a few bites, but he never makes you feel bad when you don’t.

The bedroom door creaked open as Azriel stepped inside, his wings folded tight to his back, his shoulders tense. He set a stack of reports on the desk, his face shadowed in the dim light.

“Hi, love,” he murmured, his voice soft and gentle.

You didn’t answer. You haven’t answered in days. The words were there, but lost somewhere in the jumbled mess of your mind. It was like your voice was just another thing you lost.

He sighed, his hazel eyes dark with worry as he sat down beside you on the bed. He brushed a strand of hair from your cheek. “You’ve been in bed too long, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Your muscles will weaken if you don’t move.”

You stared at the wall, your hands fisting in the blanket. The prosthetic leg glinted in the corner of your vision, mocking you with its presence.

“Why don’t we try going for a walk?” Azriel suggested gently. “Just around the house. We don’t have to go far.”

A walk. Like it was so simple. Like you could just stand up and pretend everything was normal. Rage flickered hot in your chest, the first thing you’ve felt in days. Your fingers tightened in the blanket until your knuckles ached.

“I can help you put it on,” he continued softly, reaching for the prosthetic.

“No!” The word ripped from your throat, your first in days. It was hoarse and quieter than you intended, but your anger was unmistakable. Before he could react, you snatched the leg off the floor and hurled it across the room. It clattered against the wall and fell with a dull thud.

“I don’t want this stupid leg!” you screamed, tears blurring your vision. “I want my leg. My real leg!”

Azriel didn’t even flinch. He just watched you, his shadows curling protectively around him, around you. You could feel the sharp spike of his grief, his helplessness through the bond. But under it all was his fierce, unwavering love.

“I know, love,” he said quietly, his voice cracking. “If I could go back in time and change all of this for you, make sure you didn’t go on that mission… I would. In a heartbeat. But I can’t. We can’t go back. This is our reality now.”

He lifted his hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear. “I know it’s hard. I know it fucking sucks. But you can’t just give up. I refuse to let my mate, the love of my life, give up.”

Your shoulders shook as sobs broke free, the dam finally shattering. “I can’t,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “I’m not… I’m not me anymore. I don’t even recognize myself.”

Azriel’s eyes filled with tears, his shadows brushing over your skin in an effort to soothe. “You are still the beautiful, brilliant, strong female I fell in love with,” he said fiercely. “The only one who doesn’t believe that is you.”

He pulled you into his arms then, holding you tight against his chest. You buried your face in his neck, your sobs shaking both of you. His own tears wet your hair as he whispered over and over, “I’ve got you, love. I’ve got you.”

You stayed there for a long time, the two of you clinging to each other like lifelines. His scent grounded you, his warmth seeping into the frozen parts of your soul. The bond between you thrummed with his devotion, his unshakable belief in you.

When your sobs finally eased, you felt his fingers brush your hair back. He pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “Let me help you,” he whispered. “Let me show you how strong you still are.”

You shook your head, but he hushed you. “I’m not asking you to be okay overnight,” he said. “I’m not asking you to pretend this didn’t happen. But I’m asking you to try. Just one step, love. For me.”

His shadows slithered across the floor, retrieving the prosthetic from where it landed. They curled around it, gentle and careful, as if even the leg deserved compassion. Azriel took it from them, turning back to you with a small, encouraging smile.

“Can I put it on for you?” he asked softly.

Your throat felt tight, your heart hammering in your chest. But you nodded, your eyes flicking to the leg. It’s… beautiful, you realize. Sleek and silver, engraved with delicate patterns of swirls and stars. High Lord Thesan had said it was made just for you. A gift from one court to another.

Azriel shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, his fingers deft as he adjusted the straps and buckles. His touch was reverent, careful, as if he was handling something precious. He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

You nodded again, biting your lip. He slid the prosthetic onto your thigh, adjusting the mechanisms until it fit snugly against your skin. Every brush of his hands sent shivers down your spine. “Does it hurt?” he murmured.

“No,” you whispered, though your voice trembled. “It’s… it’s okay.”

He smiled, relief flickering in his eyes. “Good.” He ran his hands over the straps once more, checking and double-checking. Then he reached for your hands, his fingers warm and strong around yours.

“Are you ready to try standing?” he asked

You swallowed hard, your heart thudding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “I… I don’t know,” you admitted.

“That’s all right,” he said gently. “I’ll be right here. I won’t let you fall.”

You took a deep breath, clutching his hands. He shifted, his wings flaring slightly for balance as he slowly pulled you upright. Your other leg wobbled, the prosthetic foreign and strange beneath you. You felt like you were going to tip over, but Azriel’s hands tightened around yours.

“You’re doing it, love,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “You’re standing.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks again. It was so hard—harder than you imagined. Your muscles shook with the effort, your balance precarious. But you were up. You were standing.

“See?” he murmured, his forehead pressing to yours. “You’re stronger than you know.”

“I’m scared,” you admitted in a broken whisper.

“I know,” he said, his lips brushing your temple. “But I’m here. Always.”

He stepped back just a little, holding your hands tight. “Do you want to try to make it to the balcony?” he asked softly. “It’s only a few steps. I’ll walk backwards the whole way. My shadows will help if you need it.”

You glanced at the balcony doors, the soft sunlight spilling in. It seemed so far away. An impossible distance. But you trusted him. You trusted him more than you trusted yourself right now.

“Okay,” you breathed.

His smile was soft and proud as he began to walk backwards, his hands steady on yours. Each step was a battle—your balance wobbly, your body straining to adjust to the new weight and feel of the prosthetic. Tears slid down your cheeks, but you didn't stop. Azriel’s eyes stayed locked on yours, his quiet encouragement wrapping around you like a shield.

“Almost there, love,” he murmured. “You’re doing so well.”

His shadows slithered up to your torso, cool and comforting as they steadied you. You clutched his hands like a lifeline, your breaths coming in short, shaky gasps.

Finally, you reached the balcony. He eased you down onto the cushioned couch on the balcony, the cool breeze washing over your sweat-slick skin. You were crying again, but these were different tears. Tears of relief and pride and something like hope.

Azriel sat beside you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. He pressed a kiss to your temple, his tears wet against your skin.

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered. “So fucking proud, love.”

You turned to him, your forehead resting against his shoulder. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He lifted your chin, his eyes shining. “You did it, love. I was just here to remind you of what you’re capable of.”

For a long moment, you sat there together, gazing out at the city below. You hadn’t seen the sun, or heard the birds, or felt the breeze in so long. A small smile spread across your face.

“You’re still you,” Azriel said softly, his voice full of conviction. “No matter what. And I will love you in sickness and in health, just like I promised.”

You closed your eyes, your hand finding his. “I love you too,” you whispered. “Even when I don’t love myself.”

He brushed his lips against yours, a gentle, reverent kiss. “Then I’ll love you enough for both of us,” he murmured. “Until you learn how to love yourself again.”

You leaned into him, the weight of his love a steady warmth in your chest. You weren’t healed—not yet. But for the first time since coming back from the mission, the day that you would find happiness again didn’t seem so far away.

[azziebaddy]

The Great Frosting Incident

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/her pronouns used)

Word Count: 5.7k

Summary: Y/n and Azriel’s mating ceremony/wedding is three days aways, but the two can't help themselves and things get out of hand.

Warning/Notes: Mature content- definitely smut read at your own caution, there's some references to anxiety, but not too much. Hope you enjoy, would love any feedback!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n thought she’d had a good plan, honestly. 

She thought that she was being a kind, thoughtful mate and future wife.

Her wedding and mating ceremony with Azriel is in exactly three days. They had been planning the events for nearly a year and a half, now. The two most introverted people in the Inner Circle had somehow come up with a celebration that would rival all others. They had wanted their guests to enjoy the night just as much as they would.

Before their family-only temple ceremony at midnight–where they’d present each other with food and swear their vows to a priestess, they would be holding a party for all of Velaris at the House of Wind– Nesta had insisted on them using it as their reception venue, she’d wanted to help with decorating and guest-control. Feyre and–surprisingly– Rhys had helped her design her own gowns and Azriel’s ceremony garb. Amren had even gifted her a beautiful deep sapphire jewelry set, the same colors of Azriel’s siphons. Mor had taken Y/n to all of her favorite lingerie and silk shops to find the perfect little underthings for the frenzy– a day that Y/n would never be able to think about without blushing.

 Mor had made her feel beautiful, telling her about all the different clasps and types of fabrics, how to remove items quickly, where to put the garters. She had given Y/n a long talk about not letting the male rip any of her beautiful clothing, that they’d pick specific ones out for that. She could still feel the lingering blush when the blond had shot her a wink over a barely-clothed mannequin.

She loved that their family had been building the perfect day with them, that they loved the two of them so much they each wanted to help in their own ways. She couldn’t wait to stand before her mate, the love of her life, and all of her family as they vowed to spend their lives together.

Despite the hectic year, the past week has been the most stressful and chaotic part. So much so, that it felt like the world had caved in to just their small corner of the world.

Tonight, however, she had a few hours of free time. Rhys and Cassian had wanted to take Azriel out for drinks and cards… which worked out perfectly, because she only had one thing left to prepare for.

Making a special frosting for the cupcake she planned to feed him–she needed to practice. 

Y/n wasn’t exactly known for her prowess in the kitchen. In-fact, she’d had an incident a few years back where certain parts of the kitchen may have burned just a little bit. Really it was Cassian’s fault–not that the Lord of Bloodshed ever admitted to it– they had been trying to cook some old recipe that he’d found in a book in the library. It had ended very badly. The House of Wind had refused to help with anything the two of them needed for weeks. 

And, Rhys? He had banned his two friends from cooking in the kitchen for a year. 

But, none of that mattered because Azriel loves this frosting. He claims it’s magic and that it tasted like sun-dripped magic and frost-coated night. That it tasted like everything that reminded him of her.

She wanted to make what she presented to him meaningful, not that he wouldn’t love anything she had to offer him– but that wasn’t the point.

Y/n had to make the perfect frosting, for her perfect mate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Things were going terribly.

Bowls were littering the counters, half filled and dry first attempts, jeering at her from the sidelines. The kitchen smelt like bad decisions had been charred and disintegrated from deep within, and oh gods, she couldn’t even think about the frosting. 

It was everywhere.

All over the counters, on her clothes, in her hair, she was pretty sure some had gone up her nose at some point, blowing it out when the sugar had sprung to life and made her sneeze when one of Azriel’s shadows had attempted to help savage this disaster.

She had tried so incredibly hard to replicate the frosting recipe. For some reason, she hadn’t thought it would be so difficult, she didn’t even have to use an oven. But, no matter how many times she attempted the foul beast, it either crumbled apart in her hands, or ran so wet that it ruined any cupcakes she had tried to decorate with it.

Panic had begun living rent free in her chest. 

So far, she only had one batch that looked anything close to what she remembered. 

She set it down on the counter, about ready to burst into tears when she felt a tug in her chest. She had been at this for hours, and the only thing she had to show for it was a semi-smooth grayish blue muck pile.

Cauldron–she could scream. 

She turned, running her back along the bottom cabinets as she found her way to the floor. A floor she only just now realized had been covered in all sorts of mess she’d created gods only knew how long ago at this point.

Azriel is enjoying his night out with his brothers, something he doesn’t get to do very often as of late. The last thing Y/n wanted was to mess up his fun night with her ridiculous baking skills. 

She had one job, to make her mate something devine that he’d love. A representation of their bond to show him how much she loved him, and that she wanted to spend her life with him. And, somehow, she couldn’t even accomplish that.

I’m a failure.

Suddenly, as if the thought shattered whatever wall had been holding her impending tears back, her body wracked with sobs, shaking back and forth slowly. 

How had everything happened so quickly? How were they already a few dozen hours away from the most important day of her life? Why couldn’t she make something as simple as frosting?

She felt the bond warm, the small thread singing as the person attached to the other end of it appeared before her. His worried hazel eyes met her round, tear-stained ones, as he gently pulled her hands away from her face. Assessing her state, quickly. Seeing that she wasn’t physically hurt only had her mate relaxing slightly and moving on to other devilish things that could have put her in this state.

“What’s the matter, little dove?” He spoke softly, his large hands cradling her face so softly.

She sniffled, sure she must look absolutely crazy right now.

“You look beautiful,” he spoke earnestly. “And your side of the bond is wide open.”

The statement only made her cry harder. How had she been blessed with such a wonderful male? While he got stuck with a girl who can’t even make a bowl of freaking frosting.

Lifting her with no effort at all, Azriel set her down on the countertop, his body pressing into hers as her legs fell apart, allowing him to stand between them. Apron scrunching around her hips.

“Talk to me, love,” he pleaded, his hands ghosting up the length of her arms. His shadows slithering up her exposed skin, the cool sensation setting a smile on her lips. 

“I think I’m just overwhelmed,” she whispered, wiping desperately at the tears on her cheeks, the wetness mixing with all her miserable attempts. “Today’s the first day I’ve really had a chance to breathe, and I am just now realizing I am terrified.”

Azriel hummed, his way of letting her know he was listening, and that he’d wait however long she needed to get her thoughts out. “I am so excited for the next parts of our lives together,” giving him a small smile and a quick squeeze of his hand, “It’s just so much has been going on the past year, and I’m so ready to get to the next part. To just have you and not have to plan the perfect party or worry about flower arrangements and whether or not we want guests to eat on crystalled dinnerware or marble,” 

Azriel chuckled lightly, placing a kiss against her hair, his hand– the one not clasped in her hands– rubbing smooth circles along her back.

“I’m ready, too.” He admitted. “And, that’s okay, little dove. We’ve had a great year, planning together and building something that we are excited to share with the people we love.” He lifted her chin, catching her beautiful eyes with his dark pools of hazel, “I think it’s normal to feel this way, it just means that we are ready for what comes after. And I–” he swallowed, his forehead falling against hers, “I cannot wait to be able to call you my mate, my wife.”

Letting out a sigh, tears finally cleared, his mate smiled contentedly at him. “How do you always know the right things to say?”

“I speak to you with what’s in my heart–” A coy smile pulled at his lips, “And sometimes what’s in my pants.”

Laughing, she smacked his arm, wrapping her arms around his neck, pure love shining in her gaze as she looked towards her mate.

“You have made quite a mess, haven’t you?” Azriel said lightly, his hand coming to the back of her neck, placing a chaste kiss against her lips. A small pout falls onto them when he pulls away to take a more in depth look around.

“Are you making…”

“Cupcakes and the dreaded frosting,” she sighs. “Or trying to. Elain got me the recipe of that blueberry-lemon frosting–” 

“The one that tastes like a mix of my favorite guilty pleasures and you?” His voice sounded awfully close to giddy.

You give him a small smile, kissing the edge of his jaw softly. “Yes, that’s the one.”

He hummed, elation at the prospect evident as he lifts on the balls of his feet a few times. “And you’re making cupcakes with my favorite frosting, because?” 

“Oh,” a blush creeps up your cheeks, “I wanted to practice for when–” she stops herself, eyes meeting his as understanding dawns. Those golden pools of hazel that she loves so much darken, desire flooding through him in an instant. 

His lips are on hers in the next breath, his hand wrapped around the back of her neck tightening, so slightly. His other hand tangling in the messy bun adorning the top of her head, loosening the string that had been keeping it out of her face, and the frosting.

His wings flare behind him as her legs wrap firmly around his middle, dragging him ever closer, not a breaths space left between the two. He groans, rutting his body against the counter unconsciously, as her scent of crisp fall air and lavender envelopes around him, he can’t help but smile as he scents the blueberry from the frosting covering her, as well. 

Gods, the things he wanted to do to her were endless.

His tongue tangled with hers, fighting for dominance for a brief moment before his hand tightened in her hair, yanking her head back gently, causing her to open her mouth fully, a moan coming out of her. He didn’t mind letting her have control every once in a while, but while she sat between his legs, leaning so wholly against him, trusting him entirely… practicing baking for when– for when they would accept the bond–

Azriel kissed her harder, more desperately. 

Gods above, he was so in love with her. He knew she was nervous about the ceremonies, about being the center of attention. He would do everything in his power to ensure that he alleviated those anxieties as much as possible. He fell more in love with her each day. She had always fit right into his life, his family, so effortlessly. Perfectly.

Her generous soul and wondering spirit called to him in the deepest parts of his heart. She had been made as his equal, his partner, his mate, mate, mate. His shadows chanted, he shoved them down–away. Somedays he had no problem sharing his mate with them, but right now, he wanted it to just be the two of them.

“What–” She said breathless as his lips trailed down her jaw, her throat, leaving open mouth kisses everywhere he could. His scarred hands trailing the length of her arms now, one clasping her hands together, squeezing once, twice. “About Rhys and Cassian?” She sputtered.

Azriel had know idea what she was talking about, but couldn’t help the growl that escaped as two other men’s names came from your delicious lips. It didn’t matter that they were his brothers, it still set him on edge, especially when he had his tongue down her throat. Reading his confusion and possessiveness, she giggled softly as the two of them caught their breath. “Weren’t you supposed to be enjoying a boys night out tonight?”

Oh. Oh.

He fought a blush as it crept up his neck, beelining for his cheeks. “They’re fine, we were just drinking and playing cards– they lost miserably–truly you did them a favor by taking me off their hands.” A kiss placed on each of her cheeks before his forehead fell against hers once more. “You’re beautiful, and I’d much rather be here with you.”

“Besides, I think we should practice a different part of our mating ceremony tonight,” Her eyes glazed over as desire pooled deep within, every inch of her body standing to attention, ready to have this male, her male, ravish her wholly. 

All thoughts emptied out of her head as his tongue danced along hers, hands cupping her breasts through her shirt, plucking at the nipples as they hardened, earning a moan from her that he happily devoured.

Trailing her fingers across his hard erection, palming him fully, mouth salivating at the sheer size of this male, their bond vibrated with ecstasy. Azriel jolted forwards, ricocheting her body backwards, her hand accidentally smashing into the bowl of frosting she had made early– the bluish mixture coating her fingers.

They were far too gone to care, his hands pulling at her clothing, all but tearing her apron off, as he shoved her skirt up to her waist. A growl leaving him as his hand slid along her skin, gooseflesh sprouting in their wake, cursing as he realized she had no panties beneath. A daring smile pressing along her mouth as he kissed her harder, losing his control, swiftly.

She cradled his cheeks with her hands, absentmindedly, her fingers flicking all over his face, painting him with frosting as they found their way into his hair, his mouth trailing down her throat as his fingers found the pool of her arousal, his fingers flicking deftly once, twice against the little nub, her back arching as a moan escaped her.

“Az, we should–we should go to our room,” her voice didn’t sound convincing in the slightest. Especially not when she let out a beautifully delectable noise when he ran his fingers along her folds, slipping one in quickly. Letting out his own groan at the heat of her core on his skin. He could die happy like this, he decided.

“Or,” his teeth grazed the edge of her ear, slowly pressing her down into the table, splaying her in front of him like his own personal feast. “I could taste you right here, take my beautiful little dove on this island and show her how I plan to worship her for the rest of our lives,” Her eyes trailed his every move of his body as he dropped to his knees, her knees closing on instinct around him, her core tightening.

Her body burned, his touch lingered on every inch of her as he trailed delicate kisses along her thigh, to the inside of her knee, and down to her ankle, then straight back up the other side. “So perfect,” he spoke between kisses, “my beautiful mate,” then he pressed a sweet, almost fragile kiss, directly against her. 

She moaned, greedy for his touch, his lips on her most sensitive parts. Her hands needed a place to land, to grip onto so she didn’t fall straight off the edge of the world. She grabbed the table, his hair, even the bowls of frosting still surrounding them as he continued his assault against her clit, his finger being joined by a second one as they repeatedly hit that wonderful spot deep inside of her. 

She settled on holding her breasts, the fabric of her shirt somehow ending up somewhere near her collarbone. She applied any kind of friction she could as her mate ravaged her, his hand flattened against her lower abdomen as his tongue replaced his fingers, dipping in and out of her–moaning right alongside her as he devoured her juices, did his best to capture every little bit, not wanting to miss even a ounce. His fingers found their way to her clit, stroking and massaging her into madness. 

Once his tongue entered the picture, she had been a goner, quickly hurtling toward that ledge, her body alight with unfettered pleasure, something only this man could ever make her feel.

He drank her in as her body finally coiled tightly, a release so intense her back bowed off the table. His tongue lightly flicked at her entrance, trying to coax her through her high, her legs shaking so thoroughly she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to stand again.

Slowly, so slowly, her mate stood, still fully clothed, and gently pulled her up. Her skirt fell back around her waist, offering little to hide what had just occurred as she completely fell against him. He held her up, slowly stroking her arm, allowing her a moment to catch her breath.

Their eyes met, small smiles lit both of their faces. Y/n didn’t give much thought as she brought her fingers to his lips, feeling the soft, swollen skin. She still had frosting on them, and Azriel didn’t hesitate as he sucked a digit into his mouth, licking and suckling the skin, letting it go with a pop. 

He stepped back momentarily as her giggles took control, his tongue reaching out, flicking across his lips, tasting it, some frosting still coating the area. “It’s good.” He amends. She didn’t know if he meant the frosting or her, as he lifted his fingers that had just been deep inside of her and tasted them thoroughly, his eyes never leaving hers.

She could already feel that heat building up inside of her, nowhere near satiated yet. It only took one look at her mate to know that he was nowhere near done with her, either.

Then he’s coming towards her, and she barely has enough time to duck beneath his arms and scurry around the island she’d just been perched on. Already running from the male with mischievous glint in her eyes.

She barely makes it to the doorway when she watches Azriel with wicked intent in his dark, arousal filled gaze. His deft fingers dip into the blue frosting, quickly aiming it towards her retreating form. Y/n squeals and runs for her life as Az chases her through the corridor.

She doesn't even make it all the way down the hallway before he’s on her. A strong arm wraps around her middle, his other hand coming up and smearing frosting across her cheeks, and down her neck as they both laugh.

Then she’s against the wall, Azriel caging her in, frosting covered hands roving all over each other, his lifting her skirt once more, looking like he was ready to just tear the damn thing off her. Squeezing her thighs, traveling up the length of her stomach and breasts, before landing back on either side of her face. He consumed her whole. 

A man starved.

One of her hands is gripping his leathers for dear life, trying to stay tethered to this world as it crashes down around her. Her other hand, well, it has a mind of its own as she lifts it slowly,  eyes meeting his as she asks the silent question. When he nods quickly before going back to servicing his god, her finger runs a short, soft line down the side of his wing.

The noise that comes out of him is somewhere between a plea and a beast's snarl. His cock is straining against his leathers, rock hard against her leg. Another quick sprinkling of  fingers across his wings has him rutting against her lewdly, his teeth sinking into her shoulder at the uncontrollable act. Kissing down the length of his throat, she finally releases the death grip on his leathers and unbuckles his pants.

“Y/n.” It’s a shallow, broken word. She swears she can hear a please come after.

She loved that she could drive him to this state. That he felt safe enough with her to be so free, at her mercy.

“What is it you always ask me?” she taunts lowly. His eyes lock with hers, something awfully close to intrigue, and complete submission simmering behind them. Giving him a wicked smile, as she frees his thick, swollen cock, her hand not able to wrap entirely around him. A needy-whimper falls from his lips, his breathing nothing more than shallow pants, as she strokes the length of his cock, up and down, over and over, squeezing when needed, and rubbing the pad of her thumb leisurely over the tip of him, precum oozing out. He’s smooth in her hand, pulsating at each wicked flick of her wrist. Her body pressed so thoroughly to the wall, if anyone walked in they would only see him.

“Are you going to be good for me?” She finally asks, a voice she doesn't even recognize falling from her lips. “We wouldn’t want anyone hearing you, your noises are mine.” She purred, hand still casually stroking her mate, watching as he slowly lost his mind, watched as his legs started shaking, his eyes screwed shut tightly, lips pressed together, biting his tongue, trying so desperately to not make noise.

“Y/n, I’m–” She had never heard him sound so undone. She wanted to carve it into her memory, trace it with her tongue.

It took no time for him to help lift her, her legs wrapping around his middle. It took even less time for him to sheath himself fully inside of her. The two far past caring that they were in the middle of a hallway in the House of Wind, some of their family occupying rooms all throughout. 

The only thing that mattered to her was the feeling of Azriel, inside of her, filling her so full that she felt complete. 

They were panting, one of his arms wrapped tightly around her middle, simultaneously pressing her hard against the wall and his chest. Her fingers found their way under his silk top, tracing the ridges of his abs, and following the lines of his tattoos that she could draw in her sleep. 

“Az,” she panted, as her mate stood still, filling her completely, but torturing her by staying so utterly still. “Please, move,” she tried to lift herself, to bounce on his cock, but his firm hands.

“Little dove,” he spoke, his words strained, “I just need a moment–”

His lips pressed to her hair, then her cheek, her jaw, then, finally, so, so slowly he pulled out, slowly pushing all the way back in.

The moans that came from them would have sent a priest into the ground. Their breaths danced together, their eyes locking briefly before they’re lips connected and he began moving again.

“Oh, gods,” she mewled as he hit that spot so deep inside of her, his hips flush with hers as one of his hands found the cheek of her ass, hitting once, twice. The soft burn only brought her closer to the high already building inside of her, her arms wrapping around his neck, giving him easier access to her hips as he continued his torturous thrusts.

Noises were spilling out of her like symphonies to his ears, new melodies being born into the world. She couldn’t stop herself from reaching behind him, stroking the tips of her fingers around the curved edge near the top.

Whatever control Azriel had snapped. 

His hands gripped her hips, his body flush against hers, the wall and his hands the only two things keeping her upright. He thrust into her over and over, euphoria shattering her vision as stars burst behind her lids. She could feel him pulsating, their slick centers making a deliciously crude sound as they came together over again. 

When the tips of his fingers met that desperate, aching pearl, stroking and kneading in a way he knew she’d love, she imploded. 

Her orgasm ricocheted through her body in waves. All thoughts emptying from her mind as pleasure consumed her. As her mate continued to ruthlessly pound into her, harsh breaths spilling from between his lips. 

“That’s it, my little dove, milk my cock.” He soothed, his fingers finally relenting their ministrations against her. There was nothing but pure male pride laced in his voice, possessiveness oozing from every orifice. 

Her hips circle his on instinct, ready for another round, it didn’t matter that she’d already come twice, she needed more. Besides, her mate typically didn’t let her go without giving her at least three to his one. He took great care of her, always making sure she was completely satisfied. 

“I want you to cum in my mouth,” she pleads, stopping her tortuous movements. He let out a choppy sob at the sudden loss of feeling.

“Holy fuck, Y/n,” he growled, slipping out of her and guiding his mate down to her knees without a second thought. His hand staying put in her hair, helping to guide her exactly where he wanted her. Sitting back on her heels, looking up at him with big innocent eyes. This beautiful specimen of a man standing over her, stroking his cock like his life depends on it. There was a wild, animalistic look in his eyes, sweat beading across his forehead. He was still covered in icing, Suddenly she was so thankful she took to baking today.

Azriel smacks the head of his cock against her mouth, once, twice, before slowly guiding himself inside her hot, tight mouth. Both moaning into each other, it took everything inside of Azriel not to rut straight to the back of her throat, “fuck, baby, I’m not gonna last long, I don’t think I can hold myself back. Mother above, you're so perfect, perfect for me. Made to suck my cock. Isn’t that right, love?”

 His cock hit the back of her throat, the stretch uncomfortable, but so delicious. “Remember, little dove, if its too much you hit my thigh three times,” She does her best to nod, but only manages to choke herself more as Azriel pulls his cock out to the tip, before slamming back in, her eyes blacking out for just a moment, a gag trapped between their bodies. “Such a good girl,” he praises, hand guiding her head.

“Touch yourself for me, baby,” she could hear the control slipping from his tone, could feel as he quickly hurtled to that edge, she had every intention of joining him there. So, she did as she was told. She slipped her fingers between her legs, feeling their mix of juices as they leaked down her thighs, and began stroking–matching her swirls of her tongue with her fingers.

Starting to speed up his motions, as he pulled his greedy cock in and out, using her mouth like his own personal paradise. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he raspy voice chorused.

His thrusts turned sloppy, his hands tightening in her hair, when his cock hit the back of her throat one last time, a gag unstoppable as he spilled down her throat.

She drank him up, every last drop, she didn’t want to miss any of him. Thick, warm liquid that tasted of salt and the darkness and entirely of him coated her throat. His taste alone had her following quickly after, her third orgasm barrelling through her as she sat on her knees in the middle of the hallway, skirt lifted to her waist, cardigan lost somewhere around her arms.

When he pulled out, breathing heavily, Y/n couldn’t help but place a chaste kiss against the head of his cock, one last peck, just an ‘until next time’. He hissed at the overstimulation, his hands guiding themselves around her elbows before he guided her to her feet. 

“That was–” he shook his head, letting it fall against hers. She smiled as he fixed his leathers, looking around to ensure none of their family had had the misfortune of bearing witness to the two of them. 

She’s about to say something when Azriel tenses. One of his shadows darting around his shoulders. 

Azriel looked her over, straightening her skirt, and closing her cardigan as he did his best to try to wipe the remaining frosting off of her face. That’s when she hears them.

Footsteps, loud, even in fae standards, coming down the perpendicular hallway. Purposeful, those steps were meant to alert the two lovebirds. 

She could already feel the blush taking over her, flooding her cheeks, her chest, her shoulders, her knees, every inch of her being.

“It’s okay, little dove,” Azriel whispered into her hair. 

She was so embarrassed– 

“Don’t be embarrassed.” He soothed. “ That was one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had. We’re mates, we’re bound to lose ourselves in the moments sometimes.” She nods quickly, pride slowly sawing away at her humiliation, “besides, Cassian and Nesta have done way worse things to each other, in far more of our shared living spaces.”

 Burying her face in his chest, his soul finding solace as his arms wrapped around her, his cheek laying against the top of her head.

He came to an abrupt halt, inhaling his mate’s scent– it was different?

What the hell?

Rhys finally rounds the corner, peeking over slightly to ensure he’s not disrupting the two of them in the middle of their…relations. Cassian, on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice or maybe he just didn’t care.

“What the hell is going–” Cassian starts, stopping short as he enters the hallway. “Good gods, what were you two doing in here? It reeks of sex and–”

“Cassian,” Azriel snarls. Stepping more fully between his brothers and his mate. Instincts flaring alive inside of him, calling to him to keep her far out of their sights. His wings rose as they stretched to their full length, keeping her out of his brothers’ line of sight.

She could only imagine how this must have looked to the males. Both of them breathless, him cradling her to his chest, face buried against him, both of them still covered in frosting, there were even some spots on the walls covered in the dark blue sugar. 

“Uh, guys–” Cassian continues, ignoring Azriel, and the very nasty snarls coming from the shadowsinger as his grip on her only tightens. His shadows now back in full as they swarm to cover her skin where she’s bare.

“Stop staring at her,” Y/n’s eyes widened, she had never heard Azriel sound so…feral.

“Az?” She spoke so lowly only he could hear.

Azriel seemed to have stopped breathing, his eyes closed so tightly that the crinkles in his eyes appeared. He nodded his head, probably talking to Rhys via his daemati abilities.

When his eyes finally opened, they were filled with nothing but sorrow, and what looked like… an apology?

“I’m so sorry, Y/n, I wasn’t thinking straight.” It was at that moment that everything clicked into place. 

The frosting.

No, no, no.

Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide as she stood stark still against her mate. He had licked the frosting. That she had made for him.

“But–but we,” she stammered, thoughts running a mile a minute. “It’s not like I offered it to you on a spoon!” She screeched as the past year started crumbling around her. All of the planning, all the hard work and long days, only for them to–

Oh gods.

Cassian cringed, making sure to stay far away, now that he knew why his brother had been pulsating, ready to burst at their appearance. The slight twitch of his wings, the only indication of his possessive rage, that took root deep inside of him.

“Whatever you did,” Rhys spoke carefully, also standing further back, she noticed. “Was enough for the bond to solidify, your scents–”

Azriel snarled so viciously when the High Lord met Y/n’s gaze, his mate quickly looking anywhere else as to avoid agitating him.

Everyone seemed to hold their breaths, waiting to see if Azriel would continue to cradle his new mate against his rough-rising chest or if he’d lunge for one or both of his brothers, as they all walked a very fine, very unpredictable line.

Then, she laughed. And laughed. And laughed. 

Azriel’s eyes tracked her every movement, her head falling back against the wall, her fingers holding tightly to his leathers, keeping him close. His ears rung with pleasure at the sound, his fear of how this would change things dissipating at the sound. Did that mean… she wasn’t angry?

Then she smiled, unwavering and bright, her hands cradling his cheeks as she stared at her mate. “We’re accidentally-officially mated,” Her face aglow with utter joy and excitement.

She’s not sure when Rhys and Cassian finally made their exit, the males slowly backing away, giving each other looks, not having expected this turn of events.

She didn’t care, though.

“We are never going to live this down,” she groaned. Already knowing that their family and friends would tease them about this for years to come. She smiled, the thought not nearly as alarming as she’d thought.

Not when she was in her mate’s arms, not when their scents were merged in the most delicious ways.

“I guess it’s not practice, after all.” She spoke softly, her lips brushing along his, “now, are you gonna stand there and stare at me all day, or are you going to bring me to our bedroom and finish what we started?”

Pure male pride lit Azriel’s face, a wicked smirk that showed off his canines was the last thing she saw before they disappeared into his shadows.

[azziebaddy]

Azriel, our one and only Shadowsinger.

Az needed his own big portrait (and own tattoo design). I hope the result was worth the wait. 

[azziebaddy]

lacy revelations

a/n: something small to help me reset from the bound by series lol

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: suggestive content, language

word count: 1.9k

synopsis: When Azriel visits your home for the first time, he stumbles across something you did not intend for him to find—though he certainly holds no complaints.

my masterlist

~ ~ ~

You really liked Azriel.

You were infatuated with him. You had been since he wandered into your shop for the first time years ago. Since your hand brushed his when you passed him the bag of rosehip tea he quietly requested—the same tea he bought when he returned the second time, and then the third, and every time after that.

He was always quiet. Reserved. Never really open for much conversation. Any sane person would have probably taken that as a sign of disinterest, but you couldn’t help the flutter of butterflies that erupted in your chest every time he walked inside your shop.

He was just so alluring. Intimidatingly beautiful—but there was also something so gentle about his demeanor. The soft cadence of his voice and the small smile he would always give as thanks. You probably should have been alarmed the first time the Night Court’s Spymaster walked into your tiny little store, but instead, something inside of you felt settled—a piece of you that always grew more and more restless until he finally visited you again.

It was insane. You were insane.

Then Azriel asked you to dinner.

You were fairly certain you were hallucinating, especially when his cheeks tinted the lightest shade of pink. Then he said your name again, and repeated the question with a small smile, and you found yourself nodding far too emphatically. It only made his smile widen, though, and you ended the night sitting across from him at a diner along the Sidra.

That was nearly two months ago, and your crush was quickly morphing into something more.

Two months had passed, and Azriel’s visits to your shop had gone from monthly to weekly, and now almost daily. At first, he had tried giving excuses for coming to see you, but he gave up after the first few weeks. Now, when you questioned him, he would say, “I wanted to see you, isn’t that reason enough?” and pressed a kiss to your lips that left you blushing and breathless.

Gods, you really liked him. You were fairly certain you were falling for him, and—more than anything—you wanted him to like you too.

You were still so nervous around him. You always fumbled with your words and felt your heart race when he asked you a question or smiled at you. He didn’t make you nervous—not necessarily. You were just so worried about fucking something up. It didn’t entirely make sense to you why he would be interested in you.

The chime on your door pulled you from your spiraling thoughts, and you sighed as you realized you forgot to lock it. “Sorry, we’re closed!” you called as you walked to the front.

“Even for me?”

You stilled at the sight of Azriel standing in the entryway, his shadows slowly slithering over to you. Your face instantly felt warm, and a nervous giggle escaped you that you immediately wished you could stuff back inside. “What are you doing here?”

Azriel shrugged, walking closer to you. “I wanted to see you.” His hand snaked around your neck, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. He pressed a kiss to your lips, and then another, before finally pulling away. “I thought we could get dinner?” he asked, his voice softer.

You licked your lips as you tried to clear your mind of the daze he just put you in. You glanced down at the clothes you had worked in all day, the fabric disheveled and stained with dirt from tending to your herb planters in the back. “I’m not really dressed for dinner,” you admitted, feeling embarrassed. “I need to go home and change first.”

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, and your head leaned a bit more into his touch. “I’ll walk you,” he murmured.

You immediately straightened. “To my apartment?”

Azriel’s brows pinched together ever so slightly, a bemused smile on his face. “Yes? If that’s okay.”

Azriel had never been to your place before, and you had never been to his. The two of you had been taking things slowly—so slowly that some days you thought you might just crawl right out of your skin from the nerves and anticipation that could overwhelm you if you thought about it too long. Then again, him just kissing you left you feeling like you were teetering on the edge of a cliff, so maybe slow was for the best.

You bit your lip. “My apartment,” you said, “It’s small. It’s just a studio. I don’t mind if you come over—just know it’s nothing special. It’s nothing like—”

“Honey,” Azriel said softly, “I’m never going to judge you. You don’t need to worry about that, okay?”

You nodded slightly, looking away shyly. Azriel reached behind you to grab your bag from the counter, then laced his fingers with yours. “Let’s go,” he murmured. “Make sure to lock up.”

The walk to your home was far too short for you to mentally prepare yourself to see Azriel in your space. Now he was standing in your tiny studio apartment that was definitely not designed with Illyrian warriors in mind, and your stomach was doing somersaults as your mind tried to process that he was here. In your home. Where there were clothes strewn across your bed and empty shopping bags from yesterday still scattered across the floor. “I told you—” You shifted a bit, gesturing around you. “It’s not a lot.”

Azriel cupped your face gently. “I love it.” He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, quieting any protests that wanted to fall from your mouth. He smiled when he pulled away, then made a show of looking around. He moved toward your bed, glancing at you. “You went shopping?”

“Yeah,” you answered, following behind him. “I just haven’t put any of it away yet.”

Azriel picked up the hem of a purple silk gown you bought from one of the sellers at the market, rubbing the fabric gently between his fingers. His lips twitched. “I look forward to seeing everything.”

On you, were the words left unspoken.

Your face warmed, and you folded your hands in front of you. “I’m not sure I’ll ever have a reason to wear something so elegant.” You laughed nervously, feeling a bit ridiculous. “I don’t know why I even bought it—it’s silly really, I just thought it was pretty.”

Azriel scoffed. “You could wear it tonight, if you want.”

You laughed. “You want me to wear an evening gown to dinner on the Sidra?”

Azriel shrugged, dropping the fabric back down on the bed. “If you want.” He grinned. “Although my family will create more than enough occasions for you to wear such a dress as well.”

It was a casual comment, and he likely meant nothing by it, but the mere mention of you meeting his family made your heart race. You were starting to worry he was avoiding the introductions—that he had doubts about a future with you—so it was nice to hear him envisioning you at his side at family functions.

Azriel continued his perusal through your assortment of clothes, and there was something endearing about his genuine curiosity over your shopping habits. You were about to leave him to snoop on his own to go change your clothes, when your eyes snagged on the blue lacy fabric you had forgotten about buying impulsively yesterday. Unfortunately for you, Azriel’s attention caught on the delicate undergarments too, his movements stilling.

You were frozen beside him, barely breathing as he glanced at you. His cheeks were dusted red, and when he reached for the intricate lace that you had perfectly envisioned as the twin color to his siphons, you thought you might faint.

He held up the lacy panties, and his pupils blew wide when he looked at you again. “Do you always have such pretty little underthings hidden beneath your clothes?”

Your skin was on fire. You were certain someone had set you ablaze, right there at the foot of your bed as Azriel let your lingerie dangle from his hand and his eyes drank you in. You  shook your head slowly, mind scrambling for an explanation that wouldn’t feel so mortifying. “No—I don’t—I just bought those.”

His brows raised slightly. “Did you.” Not a question. Not really—but you still found yourself nodding dumbly.

“I wanted to be prepared,” you whispered, and you immediately wished you could take the words back, feeling so foolish and inexperienced in front of this ethereal male that fae told stories about.

His eyes softened, and he finally put down the lace. You kept talking though, the words falling out of you freely now that the dam had crumbled. “I am not oblivious, Azriel. I hear the things people whisper when they see us. I know it does not make sense for you to be interested in me. I know I do not look like—”

“Stop,” Azriel growled, his hand coming up to grip your face. You swallowed hard, your eyes wide as you met his gaze of disbelief. His head shook so slightly, and he closed his eyes for a moment, as if struggling to choose his words, but eventually he said, “You are everything to me. I don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks. You are mine, and I am yours. Do you understand?”

He had never claimed you so explicitly, so vehemently—to the point where there was zero doubt about his intentions with you. No one had ever called you mine, and you were left trembling from the veracity of Azriel’s words. They were the words you had been desperate to hear for the last two months, words that instantly quieted the doubts raging in your head.

You nodded, fighting back the tears that burned at the back of your eyes. Azriel brushed his thumb over your cheek, the touch so gentle in comparison to the ferocity he had spoken with to shut down your insecurities—insecurities that still lingered, but were for now, at least, quieted.

“Good,” Azriel murmured, his voice a low timbre that sent electricity down your spine. He picked up the lace again, this time both the top and bottoms, and then pushed them gently against your chest. “Now go put this on, and choose whatever outfit makes you feel stunning.” Goosebumps skittered across your skin. “Then I’m going to take you to dinner, and we’ll walk along the Sidra, and then—” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “—we’ll come back home, and if you so choose, I’ll spend the rest of the night worshiping your body covered in this sinful lace until you know exactly how feral you make me every time I lay eyes on you.”

Your mind was fuzzy as he pulled away, his lips stretched into a sinful smirk as he watched you clutch the lace to your body dumbly. “How does that sound?” he asked softly.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Good,” you rasped.

“Good,” he hummed. He pushed your hair behind your ear, then pressed the briefest kiss to your lips before pulling away again. He smiled, and dragged a thumb over your lips as he said lowly, “Now go change.”

[azziebaddy]

Sweeter Than Cherries But Just As Ripe

Older!Feysand x reader

Summary: after the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court take an interest in the scholar studying within Velaris, your studies swiftly take on a more hands-on approach. They’re more than competent teachers, and you’ve always been top of your class.

a/n: idk how old they are but old enough they both (magically) look like late-forties/early-fifties. We’re not going into it because idk how it works

warnings: age gapppp!, mommy/daddy kink, oral (reader and Feyre receiving), fingering, praise kink, brief spanking, light nipple play

word count: 5,300~

~~~~

Your heart pounds as your door clicks shut at your back.  

They’ve been alluding to this for a while…

Heat flushes your skin as you slip out from your dormitory, equal parts excitement and anticipation thrumming in the pit of your stomach as you head out into the night. Seeking the High Lord and Lady of this Court. 

————

“What do you think?” 

Heat flushes your cheeks as you shift on your feet, half turning to see yourself in the mirror, observing the dark-cherry lace clinging to your hips and breasts. A pink so dark it might be red.

Your fingers dip to the lacy band of the underwear, running over the trimming, hands trailing up over your stomach, exploring how the material fits to the curve of your breasts. Your throat rolls, and you turn, meeting the hungry pairs of eyes licking up every detail of your body. “Do you…like it?” 

“Why do you think we picked it out for you?” Rhysand asks, a low drawl in his voice that has you anxious to crawl into his lap already. Curious to know how it will feel, to be on top of him while he’s inside of you. How good it might feel, compared to the press of a tongue, or the curl of fingers. 

Teeth push into the inside of your lower lip. “So…you do like it?” 

A breath of amusement leaves Feyre’s chest and instantly your eyes are on her, curious, desperate for her approval; her appetite. She takes a measured sip from her glass of wine—a near match to the shade you’re currently wearing for them—before setting it down on the wooden table. “Will you turn for us, sweetness?” 

Nerves flutter between your legs, but you take care to keep your balance as you spin, slowly, in place. 

Feyre hums, reclining into the rouge fabric of the sofa opposite the crackling fireplace. With age her eyes have become more grey than blue, laugh lines at their edges and curves either side her mouth. Her light brown hair cascades down to her waist, thick and luscious as it’s ever been except now with a bold streak of grey running through the front. An indigo dress wraps her figure, matching the shade she’s painted her lips with, and your cunt tightens around nothing as you imagine waking up tomorrow with her dark lipstick marring your thighs and throat. How easy it would be to keep them to yourself, or peer into the mirror and recall the memories of the previous night. 

Feyre’s mouth tugs upward, eyes glinting as heat runs wild beneath your skin, shifting so your thighs brush, anxious to gain some friction as a huff of amusement breathes from her lips. “Careful with slipping away from us like that,” she drawls, shifting on the sofa, recrossing her long legs, indigo fabric fluttering around her ankles. “You never know what we’ll come up with to put inside your pretty head.” 

Your throat rolls. 

‘Pretty,’ she’d said. 

“Come over here, sweetness,” Feyre beckons, “you’re too good to resist, dressed like that, but we’ve one more step planned for you.” You follow obediently, anxious to please them in whatever way you can, but Feyre clicks her tongue and you pause. She’s reaching for something on the table, but she raises a brow, as if disapproving of your behaviour. You blink, peering at her as your fingers wring together. 

“Sometimes I think you forget we’re your rulers, sweetness,” Feyre drawls, and needful arousal liquefies between your thighs, desperate for a rule to follow, to prove just how good you’ll be. 

Rhysand’s long fingers thread through his wife’s hair, wrapping that beautiful streak of grey between his knuckles as he guides locks over her shoulder. “What your High Lady is saying,” he drawls, violet flicking over to you, “is crawl.” 

Oh. 

Relief washes down your spine, and you wonder if it shows as you settle to your knees, making your way across the patterned rug cushioning your knees against the hardwood floorboards. Dark mauve lips sharpen at their corners, and a sigh nearly slips from your lungs. 

“To Rhys this time,” the High Lady instructs, and you obey without question, coming to a pause between Rhysand’s long legs, settling into a kneeling position. He leans forward, and you lift your chin, inclining into his touch as his fingers slide beneath your jaw, thumb swiping below the curve of your lip. “What colour do you think we should give you?” He murmurs, voice as soft and intimate as a lover’s. 

“Whatever colour you like,” you answer mindlessly, peering into the galaxies in his eyes, flecked with starlight. He hums, then darkness is guiding your hands into his, firm and calloused beneath your own, and your insides flutter as he pulls you into his lap, thighs spreading over his hips and pleasure turns molten as you settle your full weight over him, your centre aligned with him. 

You’re excited. 

You’re impatient. 

You want to feel him. 

“Over here, sweet girl,” Feyre calls, summoning your attention. In one of her hands is a palette, in the other, a small but sharp, squarish brush. Your hips shift subconsciously over Rhysand’s lap, and your breathing stutters as his broad palms squeeze your waist, admiring the curve of your spine with his fingers. 

Your High Lady swipes the brush through a dark pigment that’s only a few shades darker than the cherry tone of the lace. She doesn’t have to issue a single command for you to lean forward, inclining your chin to rest on the tips of her fingers as she begins brushing the pigment to your lips, cold against the heat of your mouth but quick to dry and set. 

“Keep still,” Feyre drawls, dragging the flat of the brush over your lower lip. A whine slips free, and your fingers curl around the silver buckle of Rhys’ belt, needing something to do with your hands to keep from touching her. She’s giving you her undivided attention, and unbearable heat is simmering within your body.

You want her sat on top of you again. How she did a few nights ago. 

“There you go,” Feyre murmurs, eyes sweeping across your now painted mouth. “So pretty.” 

“Mommy…” you beg. Soft breaths pant from your lungs, and you’re not even sure what you’re begging for. Just that you need her. Need them. Need to feel them. 

Her dark lips tug upwards, grey-blue eyes sparkling with hunger. “What do you want us to do to you, sweet girl?” 

Ruin me. 

Her eyes twinkle, and you wonder if she might have somehow heard. 

“What I want…” you repeat, breathless. “I… I want both of you… please…” Rhysand chuckles and the sound melts over your pussy, arousal surely wetting the lace with slick. His hands squeeze your waist, bringing your attention to his wicked, violet eyes. “I don’t think you’d be able to handle both of us at the same time,” he murmurs, dark amusement glittering in his gaze. Feyre huffs a laugh at that, leaning forward to brush hair over your shoulder, her fingers snagging on the cherry strap, tipping it down over your arm.

 “Greedy thing,” Feyre whispers to you, and heat flushes your skin and you might cry if they don’t touch more of you. Your hips shift, rubbing your centre over the steadily growing erection beneath you. 

“I…can I…” you try, but the more you glance between them the more difficult it is to choose. 

Rhysand chuckles, laced with dark amusement as he looks over to his wife. “Maybe we should help. We don’t want to overwork that mind of hers.” 

Feyre smirks, raising a brow, “what do you suggest?” 

The High Lord’s expression had been wicked, and then you’d been lifted from his lap and bent over the arm of the sofa. Soft pants had turned to whimpers as Feyre had shifted along with you, reclining into a pile of pillows as her dress pooled around her waist, legs curving at the knee to spread apart, guiding your head to her cunt so she can watch. Rhysand settles behind you, fingers running up and down the sopping lace, and you whimper as his breath grazes your inner thighs. 

Feyre’s fingers slide into your hair, winding it between her digits to keep out of your face as your arms curve beneath her legs, one of your hands splaying across the top of her thigh while the other spreads across her abdomen, needfully toying with the band of black lace preventing you from fully getting your mouth on her.

“Mommy…” you whimper, leaning forward so your lips are pressed against the apex of her thighs, adding a pressure to her clit in the hopes she’ll allow you to taste her. She hums her amusement, and Rhysand pushes his middle and forth finger against your clothed entrance, a startled moan breathing free as you shift your hips, tiptoes barely balancing upon the floor. The High Lord chuckles, before handling your thighs so they’re leveraged atop his shoulders, pushing you further against your High Lady’s cunt. 

“Want my underwear gone?” Feyre muses, guiding her hair out of the way with her free hand, inadvertently tugging on your own and pleasure drips from your cunt. You try to nod, and she laughs, inclining her hips to gently rub against the pressure of your mouth. You shiver. “What about how generous Rhys is being? Touching you while you have me, since you’re so greedy?” 

You jolt as the heat of the High Lord’s mouth settles behind you, thumb idly stroking your clit while his tongue saturates the dark cherry lace. Your toes curl, anticipation tingling in your lower belly—already you want him to be standing behind you, holding your legs aloft as he pounds into your drooling cunt, forcing you to take every thick inch of him while his wife is stroking her fingers through your hair. 

Rhysand pulls your underwear to one side, and your breath catches, waiting with bated breath. 

Your High Lady hums, disapproving, and gently tugs on your hair, hips bucking to draw your attention back where it belongs. “Getting distracted already, sweet girl? He’s not even inside of you yet.” She hums, parting her thighs a little wider, “maybe it’s too soon for you to be taking his cock. Should we put it off for another night?” 

You whine, fingers stroking back and forth across her abdomen, brushing the roots of the coarse hair flourishing between her legs. She’ll taste divine, once you’re permitted to fully set your mouth on her. 

Already you can scent her arousal—heady and dizzying, like an aphrodisiac. 

You don’t want it to be put off for another night. 

You want to ride him tonight. At least feel his cock inside of you in some manner. 

“Please…” you mumble, peering up at her, playing with the black lace. “I want…I want to taste you again…” Feyre laughs, eyes twinkling with pleasure, crinkling at their edges. Her lips smile, skin wrinkling around her dimples, and you’ll cry if she doesn’t give in soon. “Three months ago you would never have said something so dirty,” she muses, fingers stroking through your hair, pulling a whimper from your throat. Rhysand’s tongue licks up your bare centre, and you attempt to shift against him—to no avail. 

“Will you beg for me, yet?” Your High Lady wonders. She hardly seems rushed. Her heavy scent of arousal isn’t aligning with the nonchalance of her actions. Surely she must be just as hungry as you…so why insist on playing? 

“Please…” you whisper, “please…”

She raises a brow. 

“Mommy…” 

Her nails scrape teasingly through your hair, your eyes rolling with pleasure. Dark lips sharpen at their corners, and the High Lord’s hands grip your hips, pulling you back to him while your High Lady stretches her legs in the air, balancing her heels on the sofa as she pulls the lace up over her thighs, down over the curve of her knees. Her fingers have already returned to your hair, pulling you to her cunt while her husband effortlessly slides the black underwear over her heels, discarding them on the sofa’s arm before offering the same service to you, though not in completion, only slipping the cherry lace down to your thighs rather than all the way free. 

Slick arousal slides across your mouth, tongue splitting upwards between the lips of her labia, centring on her clit with small, soft licks. Feyre moans, once more gathering your hair between her fingers to keep it from your face, her free hand dipping between her thighs so her digits can spread herself apart, hips inclining to smear arousal across your face, eager to mark her territory. 

At your back, Rhysand latches his mouth over your heat, thumb oscillating atop your clit, the circles swift and soft from the slick dripping down your centre. Whines build in your chest, and you lick slowly up her cunt, suctioning her clit between your lips, stroking your fingers across her thigh and stomach while the High Lord shifts his grip on you. His mouth removes itself from your cunt, and you’re on the verge of whimpering when he spreads you apart with his own fingers, lubricating the length of his digits before gently working his way inside. 

Feyre releases a soft, wanton noise, low and gravel-like as it’s dragged from her throat. “That’s it,” she whispers, laying back atop the pillows, hair splayed over her shoulders, curving around the soft weight of her breasts. Fingers scratch through your hair, and you squeeze around Rhysand’s fingers. “A little firmer…” she breathes. 

You obey, legs shaking as the High Lord’s fingers gently push and prod in rhythmic waves, your tongue flattening over your High Lady’s sex, licking upward through her centre, once, twice… She moans, hips rubbing up against your mouth, keeping herself spread apart but you love the feminine scratch of coarse hair against your skin. 

A whine slips from your lips as the High Lord continues to work on you while Feyre’s fingers soothe through your hair, your tongue licking and lapping over her. Kissing her clit, suctioning it between your lips, circling the very tip of your tongue around her before returning to her entrance, nose touched to the slight underside of her clit.

“You’re doing so well…” She whispers, eyes fluttering, on the verge of sliding shut. “Just like that…” 

Her chest heaves, sucking in a slow breath, hips undulating against your mouth. A series of short, stuttering gasps leave her throat, and her cunt pulses beneath your tongue. 

You almost whine, knowing it’s nearly over, pressing flush to her cunt as the orgasm releases through her body, licking eagerly at whatever parts of her you cat get your mouth on. 

Once her high has faded to dusk, your High Lady takes some time to ease her breaths, soothing her hot cunt with your tongue, teasingly flicking her hardened clit until she’s softly retaliating by holding your face to her cunt and closing her legs, heels dragging up and over your back until she’s deemed you properly chastised. 

“Are you excited, sweet girl?” Feyre asks as her husband eases your feet to the ground, helping you up from where he’d had you bent over the sofa, pulling your underwear up as he goes, allowing the bands to snap back against your hips. Maybe soon he’ll be bending you over more furniture, but those next times he’ll be using his cock instead of his fingers. 

Heat warms your cheeks, arousal simmering between your legs as anticipation gathers, anxious to finally feel what he’s like.

“Yes, mommy…” It draws a breathless laugh from her, gathering herself from the sofa and getting to her feet, unclipping her bra as she goes so she’s only left in her black heels and dark mauve lip stain. “Let’s take you to our bedroom then.”

You blink. Most of your explicit activities have either happened here—in this dark alcove of their lounge—or their…kitchen, the first place they’d ever touched you. This is the first time you’ll be sharing their bed. 

Rhysand doesn’t give you much of a chance to process, once again taking you by the hips, and lifting you over his shoulder, effortlessly taking you with him as the two make their way to their bedroom. 

You wriggle lightly, half from anticipation and half to revel in the strength he possesses to put you over his shoulder. You get what you deserve when a hard spank is landed across your behind, making your thighs press together. 

“Why your bedroom, all of a sudden?” You ask, trying to keep your voice steady as Rhysand runs his fingers over your clothed sex, as if soothing the damage. “‘All of a sudden’?” The High Lord drawls, hand rubbing across your hind, perhaps considering landing a second spank to your sore skin. 

“We’ve never…You’ve never taken me there before.” You point out, eyes straying now to the backs of Feyre’s thighs, the full curve of her calves as they climb the stairs. You wet your lips, tasting the remnants of her arousal. 

“This is a special occasion, isn’t it?” Feyre replies, making you shiver as she skates her fingers teasingly up the back of your thigh. 

Your pulse spikes as you’re taken into their bedroom, warmly lit with yellow-tinted faelights, linear groupings of them floating around the upper canopy of their large bed. Rhysand pauses at the foot of the mattress and Feyre walks round to his front, two sets of hands clasping your waist. Anticipation simmers in your belly, but your breath hitches as your High Lady hooks her finger beneath the slick gusset or your underwear, pulling it aside. Her breath ghosts across your cunt and your toes curl, keeping so carefully still, praying she’ll do something to you. 

A huff of her amusement brushes your inner thigh and you can perfectly picture the smirk on her mouth before she drags the tip of her tongue through your centre, Rhysand settling his palm on the small of your back, keeping you steady. 

“I can taste how excited you are…” Feyre murmurs, and your thighs try to rub together. She presses a kiss to your sopping pussy, and you whimper. “Mommy…please… Please, please, please…” 

Feyre hums, her amusement clear.

Hands squeeze your waist as you’re ever so gently slid down your High Lord’s front, until your feet are touching the carpeted floor. Feyre presses close to your back, her arms wrapping your waist while your hands find place in the crook of Rhysand’s elbows, his own palms cupping your cheeks. Violet eyes peer down on you, his wife’s head tilting to lean against your own, her fingers ticklishly splayed across your abdomen. 

“Are you sure about this?” Rhysand asks, watching intently. 

You nod, squeezing him. “I’m sure.” 

It’s more like you’re begging than acquiescing.

His thumb brushes across your cheek, and something separate from arousal warms in your stomach. Soft and buttery, hot and molten as it shimmers beneath your skin. 

“If you want to stop, you’ll tell us?” It’s supposed to be a question, but from his mouth there’s no mistaking the command. You tilt your head, leaning into his touch, “I said I’m sure.” 

Feyre nips at your lobe, hand sliding between your legs and cupping your heat. You flush, about to start begging again but Rhysand commands your attention, shifting your head in his hands. “You’ll tell us.” He repeats, firmly. 

A hint of bashfulness peeks her way through the arousal flooding your mind, relaxing beneath his touch. “I’ll tell you,” you murmur, squeezing him again. 

Rhysand’s lips tug upwards at their corners, not a full smile, but enough approval to have any doubts dissipating. He leans down, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to your mouth. “Good girl.” 

A lazy smile curls your lips, entirely relinquishing yourself to them as your hands settle over his, and you watch his eyes mark the difference in size. Feel the evidence of what it does to him as you offer that blissed out look, “yes daddy.” 

Feyre tries to muffle her wine-rich laugh, running her fingers over your sex in reward as Rhysand tightens his grip on your jaw, violet eyes glittering as he inclines your head to meet his gaze. “You’re going to be well fucked by the end of tonight,” he growls. 

Teeth bite on the interior of your lower lip as he manages to step back from you, removing his clothes while Feyre unclasps your bra, turning you around so she can rid you of your underwear. She settles on the floor, sliding one lacy band over the curve of your knee as she guides your foot into the air, allowing your fingers to slip into her open palm for balance. She places a kiss to the inside of your thigh, her pale eyes filled with hunger and adoration. 

You want to feel her presence when you have him. 

Want both of them near. 

The High Lord has settled himself on the bed, back propped up against cushions and the headboard, a hand squeezing his cock, thumb rubbing in minute circles over the slit in his tip, precum still managing to slip out, drizzling down his underside. That’s going to be inside of you.

Violet eyes glitter, patting the mattress to his side, inviting his wife to accompany. 

Feyre’s lips tug upwards, her hand splaying across your lower back as she gently pushes you forward. You need no extra encouragement, climbing onto the bed as soon as you’re able, lifting your knee to land the far side of his hips, straddling his lap, palms resting on his shoulders. Teeth prod into your lower lip as you look down your front, peering at his cock, the hand wrapped around it, pumping slowly. Tiding him over as he waits these last few moments. 

Your High Lady settles on the bed, leaning her head on his shoulder. Both Rhysand’s hands settle on your hips, one of Feyre’s stroking against your waist, and your heart pounds. Anticipation, excitement, lust. 

“Ready, sweetheart?” Rhysand muses, thumbs swiping across your skin. He shifts his hips, the head of his cock nudging against your clit and you shudder, cunt tightening around nothing. Yet. 

You nod, desperate. “Please- hurry up…” 

The High Lord lifts a brow and Feyre laughs. You flush. Why are they laughing? You just want to take him inside… To ride him… Why won’t they let you already? 

“Did Feyre take away your manners along with your clothes?” Rhysand drawls, and your lower lip curves—stop dragging it out. 

“Ask nicely, sweet girl,” Feyre prompts, squeezing your waist. 

“Please Mommy…” you beg. “Please Daddy…” 

Your arms begin to shake, fingers trailing down Rhys’ chest, down to his stomach. Fingers trembling as you’re held just atop him. 

The High Lord’s lips curve, “that’s better.” His grip on you loosens. “Go slowly,” he instructs,  then gently, “don’t hurt yourself.” 

You shift, breath catching as the tip of his cock slots between your thighs, pressing to the wet dip between your legs. You swallow then try to lower yourself, spreading your knees a little further the deeper he gets. A whine slips from your lips when something hurts, but Rhysand guides you back up, pulling out before letting you try again. You tilt the angle of your hips a little, and this time there’s no pinching pain—just sweet, fulfilling pressure. 

The breath is pushed from your lungs as you slide down—not entirely able to sit in his lap yet, but you’re full, and they’ve made it clear you’re not experienced enough to be able to safely push for more. 

Still…

Teeth push at your lower lip, settling a little more weight over him. 

Your breath catches when a twinge of pain needles deep inside of you, and Rhysand clicks his tongue, pulling you up by a full inch—much further than you need to go—and you whimper. 

“What did we say, sweet girl?” Feyre muses, her hand vacating your waist to stroke across your leg, rubbing in wide circles, occasionally dipping to your inner thigh. “This is your first time. We need to be careful until we know how much you can take.” 

“But I want to sit down…” 

“No,” she soothes, “you’ll hurt yourself.” 

Your shoulders slope, but it makes sense. 

And a small part of you likes that they’re looking out for you. 

“Lift up, sweetheart,” Feyre instructs, and you obey, allowing her to slide a plush pillow atop Rhys’ thighs. “How’s that? Better?” 

You try it, and your eyes flutter when you hit your limit, perfectly supported by the cushion. 

Your head is swimming, heat simmering beneath your skin, hips shifting of their own accord. 

Feyre smiles. “Mhmm? Feeling good now?” 

“…Yes- Mommy…” Your eyes are fluttering, unable to keep them fully open. Pleasure wrapping your senses, turning you blind to everything aside from the gentle pressure of his cock filling you up. 

Feyre hums a laugh, hands moving to your breasts, swiping her thumbs across your nipples. “Our sweet little virgin. So sensitive.” A whimper slips free from your throat—you know it’s affectionate, but a part of you likes that slightly diminutive tone. 

“I’m sat on top of him…” you pant, “it doesn’t…count anymore.” 

It’s Rhysand’s turn to chuckle, shifting you on his lap, knocking the breath from your lungs with such a small movement. Hot, rough palms grip your waist, lifting you so he can kiss your mouth. “The rule is, sweetheart, you only lose your virginity once you get an orgasm from it,” he drawls, violet eyes latches intently with your own set as he slides you back down, memorising the pleasure that glazes your irises. His cock twitches. 

“Struggling, sweetheart?” 

A pathetic noise sounds in your throat, but you can’t bring yourself to be embarrassed. It’s too much. How are you supposed to move in a state like this? 

The High Lord looks to his wife and they share a knowing glance, lips curving, eyes twinkling. 

Feyre moves, and all the strength melts from your body as she swings her knee over Rhys’ legs, her front pressing flush to your back, fine-boned fingers delicately sprawling across your lower tummy, her breath tickling your ear. “Want some help, sweet girl?” 

All you manage is a vague nod, spine arching as she cups your breasts, your head falling back onto her shoulder as her hips press against your own, encouraging movement. Between Rhysand’s hot palms and Feyre’s guiding pressure, you begin to find your rhythm. Slow, at first, leisurely and tentative. 

Feyre pinches your nipples, plucking them to pull noises from you. “You’re doing so well,” she whispers, dipping her head to press a kiss to your neck. “And this is your first time? You’re a natural sweet girl.” 

“…Mommy…Mommy—!” One hand has slipped between your thighs, the pad of her finger settling atop your clit, offering slow, tender circles. You whine, and whimper, squirming from sensitivity. 

It’s too much.

“That’s it—you’re taking me so well,” Rhysand praises, and your eyes nearly roll with pleasure, lashes fluttering. “Can you feel me inside of her?” He asks his wife.

“Hmmm? Let’s see…” 

Feyre’s palm splays across your lower abdomen and your nipples tighten, cunt pulsing with arousal at the way they touch you. So freely—touching with the knowledge you want them to touch you. 

“Lift up a little, sweet girl. Can you do that for me?” 

You can’t even muster up a reply anymore, and it’s mostly the two of them that manage to have you raising a few inches on your knees, a breath of Feyre’s laughter ghosting down your front. “There you are…—you should take a look for yourself, sweet thing,” Feyre goads, and you hardly manage to lift your head from her shoulder before one of Rhysand’s hands is vacating your waist to feel where Feyre is, applying further pressure to your abdomen as you sink back down those few inches. 

It pulls a laugh from him—low, rough, and strained as he feels how deep his cock is inside of you. 

“Come on darling girl,” Feyre whispers, “you want to make daddy feel good don’t you? Move with me. You can do it.” Your High Lady takes a hold of you, helping you rise up and down, moving with you, and every drop is a wave of pleasure on its own, a tingling tension pooling between your thighs, pressure building so swiftly you know it will soon need release. 

Rhysand groans, his palm still resting flat against your abdomen, pushing in to better feel the silhouette of him as you sink down. Your lungs are trembling, breath stuttering with every fall, adding a rocking motion with Feyre’s help that has him touching new parts inside of you—parts you like too much, that are hurrying you, and you’re not prepared to tip over that edge. 

“Good girl,” Rhysand grits out, hand returning to your hips, adding a rougher force as he handles you to his pleasure. “Good fucking girl.” 

Tears prick in your eyes, mouth parting as loud moans break from your chest, pleasure filling your body up from the inside, like a balloon filled to the brim with air pressure finally granted release. Feyre keeps you moving, keeps making it so the head of Rhys’ cock is rubbing against that lovely spot that has you pulsing around him rhythmically, each hit of his cock sending a shockwave of sweet tension ticking through your body, thighs shaking. 

The orgasm crescendos, pleasure fluttering around your insides, and your mouth drops open as Rhysand’s brows furrow, his eyes sliding shut, arms loosening their grip as his head leans back against the headboard, release flooding your cunt. 

Feyre’s laughter is sweet and sultry, circling your clit as she presses tender kisses to the sensitive length of your throat. Heat is flushing your skin, and you jolt with every passing swipe of your High Lady’s finger, body overstimulated from so much attention. 

Rhysand’s fingers thread through your hair, and you’re being dragged to his mouth, his hot lips slanting across your own, and shivers run down your spine as your breasts are pressed flush to his chest, Feyre following close behind as she latches onto your neck, nipping at the skin as she strokes along the curve of your hips. 

‘Think you’ll be able to go another round, sweet girl?’ Feyre muses, squeezing your waist.

A whimper slides free from your throat, feeling the twitch of Rhysand’s cock as he hears his wife’s suggestion. His grip falls to your shoulders, and Feyre’s pulling you back to lean against her, giving you time to breathe. 

You want to. 

You want to go again so badly. 

But you’re already so worn out.

You flush, nerves wriggling beneath your skin. “…tomorrow…?” 

It’s presumptuous for you to be the one arranging dates, but…if it’s already gone this far…

Feyre kisses the crown of your head, Rhysand’s palms settling flat against your naked waist. 

You shift in his lap—you only managed one round, and now you’re about ready to turn in for the night. 

“Tomorrow,” Feyre agrees, stroking your arms. 

“We’ll see how you feel,” Rhys adds on, drawing your attention. The corners of his mouth flicker with a smile, and your tummy flutters. “Make sure you aren’t sore after tonight. We wouldn’t want our darling girl in any discomfort.” 

Feyre nips at the lobe of your ear, tugging gently. “The bath’s ready for you. Head next door and relax for a bit.” 

She kisses a spot just below your jaw, “Rhys and I will be through shortly to give you some care.”

~~~~

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