mischiefmanagers

[mischiefmanagers]

Bound by Secrets

Pairing: Azriel x Beron’s daughter!reader

Summary: When you get caught sneaking around the Hewn City, you end up in one of the dungeon cells to be interrogated by the infamous Spymaster. But things don't go exactly the way the General and the High Lord thought.

Warnings: mentions of sex, allusions to torture and scars

Word count: 6.4k

A/N: Okay sooo, I got a bit carried away with the first part and it came out longer than anticipated, with Az coming in at around word 1.7k. I know it’s a lot without him since it's his appreciation week, but the build-up is worth it (hopefully) and seeing how long the whole fic turned out to be, I hope you don't mind too much. There's still a lot of Azriel, I swear! (and I might have gone a little bit off-topic but shh it's fine). Anyway, happy @azrielappreciationweek everyone!

You knew being here was dangerous.

The Hewn City was not a place you could simply sneak into, and yet here you were, lurking in a corner of the throne room, waiting for the right moment to slip out and search for the treasury.

You had been sent there with a mission: find the Veritas Orb. How your father knew where it was, or what he needed it for, was not information you had been made privy to. But the High Lord of the Autumn Court had been clear: you were to steal the Orb as soon as possible. Knowing the kind of punishment he dealt when disappointed, you always did your best to comply. That left you with little time to prepare and, apparently, a huge number of problems.

Because just as you were about to make an unseen exit through the hallway you had previously selected, every single person in the crowd stiffened, and the chattering stopped abruptly, plunging the room into a silence so deep you could hear a pin drop.

As you turned to see what had happened, you realized everyone was staring at the entrance doors, just as they swung open. One look at the two tall figures slowly stalking in, and you knew you needed to get out before it was too late.

You blended into the shadows against the wall as the Spymaster and the General of the Army made their way to the dais on the other side of the hall. A smudge of red and gold was all you caught out of the corner of your eye when the Morrigan entered, just as you bolted down the hallway.

The High Lord and High Lady would be next. And if they caught you not only in their Court, but in their underground city as well, you'd be in serious trouble. You couldn't risk it. You needed to get out.

Yet you couldn't leave. Not without the Orb. Fear seized you for a split second at the mere thought of the pain you would suffer at your father's hands if you were to fail, and then you broke into a sprint—or as close to a sprint as you could manage with the high heels you had worn to blend in with the Hewn City inhabitants.

A thrum of power reached you despite the distance you had already put between yourself and the throne room, a clear sign of the High Lord and Lady’s arrival. You needed to hurry.

“Damn heels,” you muttered under your breath. You stopped long enough to take them off, gather them in your hands, and resume your run. At least your night-black dress was loose enough around the legs to allow you to move freely.

You had no idea where the treasury was. Your father didn't know, merely telling you the Orb was likely kept there—as if that helped. But you wouldn't consider where else it could be, instead choosing to focus on one thing at a time.

You wandered through the hallways, peering into every room you could find. Most of them were studies, sitting rooms, or smaller chambers for holding court. None of them what you were looking for.

Pushing a heavy wooden door open, you discovered a staircase that spiraled down. The basement. Or dungeons, you guessed, summoning a flame in your hand to light the steps as you began the descent. It made sense for the treasury to be on a lower level—harder to reach and easier to hide. That was where your father kept his most treasured possessions as well.

The stairs ended in a long hallway with many other tunnels branching off. You chose one out of instinct and kept going like that for a while, trying to remember every turn you took. The place was like a maze and there was nothing to, with nothing to distinguish the different paths. But eventually, your seemingly random choices paid off, and/because you found yourself in front of large, unguarded double doors. Upon closer inspection, you realized they were warded, hence the lack of actual guards.

With a smirk, you placed your palm on the knob and summoned more of your power. Your hand became a bright shade of orange, and a thin circle of fire spread from it, growing over the surface of the doors until it burned the spell protecting them. A little trick your oldest brother had taught you years ago.

Pulling your hand away, it returned to its normal color as you shoved the door open and walked inside.

Piles of gold lined the walls, jewels and weapons displayed in glass cabinets, and everywhere you turned, something shiny caught your eye. You delved deeper into the room, discovering beautiful pieces of artwork scattered around, but you couldn’t let them distract you from your task. You began searching the place instead, opening boxes and trunks, anything you could find, but there were no signs of the Veritas. The more you looked, the clearer it became.

The Orb wasn't there.

A frustrated sigh escaped you, and you stifled a groan as you made your way back to the tunnels, picking up the heels you had left by the door.

There had to be another room where more treasure was kept. You just had to find it. You were so sure it would be somewhere nearby that you made a stupid mistake: you didn’t count your turns, didn’t memorize when and where you had gone left or right or straight.

Maybe you should have asked for help before coming here. You had considered it, but you didn't want to endanger more people than necessary—or, even worse, have the truth discovered—and you honestly had thought you could do this alone.

You were wrong, and now you were lost. Like a damn fool.

Too caught up in your worries and rising anxiety, you did not hear the approaching steps. As you turned around the corner, you bumped into a tall, muscular body. A strong hand gripped your arm to keep you from losing balance, and the flame still flickering around your hand went out.

Now only the low gloom of the torches several feet down the tunnel illuminated the darkness.

“There you are.”

You didn’t recognize that deep, almost rough voice, but your heart jumped in your throat at sight of the leathery wings and the black scaled armor adorned with seven crimson Siphons.

You already knew who you were facing when you looked up and met the wary gaze of the General of the Night Court armies, his face half-hidden in the dark.

“There I am?” you repeated, putting on a sweet smile that didn’t reflect your internal turmoil. “Were you looking for me, General?”

His eyes narrowed as he took in your bare feet and the heels you still held in your hand. “What are you doing down here?”

You couldn’t tell if he meant down here in the Hewn City or in the tunnels below the palace. What if he knew the truth? What if he knew who you were? It could have given you a way out, it could have—

But Cassian’s grip on your arm tightened at your silence. “Answer me,” he growled. “We know someone broke into the treasury. And I know it was you.”

You shivered at his tone, at the fear that began to settle inside you, knowing you had been caught. As you tried to find a way out, you heard the words coming out of your mouth as if they were someone else’s: feigned shock at the news, deep confusion at the accusation, refined politeness when you addressed him. Hopefully, it was enough to let you off the hook.

“Why, if I may ask, would you think that was me, General?”

He didn’t seem impressed by your display of innocence. “There are very few redheads in the Hewn City, and none with fire powers. You’re from Autumn.”

Well, shit. You were so used to seeing red-haired Fae in the Autumn Court that you hadn't considered how recognizable your hair—or your powers, for that matter—could be outside of your home.

“I…”

You didn’t know what to say. You had red hair. You were suspiciously wandering in the tunnels. You had broken into the treasury using your fire. How could you find an excuse for all of that?

Your hesitation was confirmation enough for the General. His grip on your arm became almost painful. “Who are you? What were you looking for in the treasury?”

Maybe telling him the truth would help. If you revealed that you were in the Hewn City because you had no other choice, that you were not only Beron’s secret daughter but also his spy, his undercover agent, would he believe you? And if he did, would that make things better or worse for you?

Again, you thought about it for too long.

Cassian’s eyes narrowed even more. “You’re coming with me,” he ordered, nudging you along. “And you will talk, one way or another.”

You didn’t like where this was going. You didn’t like it one bit.

You could burn him, you supposed. Use your fire on him to create a distraction and run away. But you knew what kind of pain it caused, and you couldn’t bring yourself to hurt someone that way, not even him. And even if you did, where could you run? You didn’t know the place, didn't know where the hallways led or where the hiding spots were. But Cassian did. You wouldn’t get far before he found you.

You let the General lead you even deeper into the dungeons, following him without a struggle, even as the cold air bit at your skin and your gut churned in fear.

After a few minutes, you were escorted inside a small cell. There was nothing but a wooden chair in the middle of the space, right next to a grate on the floor from which hisses and growls rose up. You decided you didn’t want to know what was on the other side.

Cassian took your shoes, placing them next to the door as he gestured for you to sit. You obeyed silently and took a seat, waiting for the handcuffs, for the restraint, for the questions to start.

None of it came.

You just sat there, the General watching you intently from his spot against the wall, his stance relaxed yet alert in case you tried something. He said not a word.

You weren’t sure how much time passed before the door opened again and another male walked in. He was Illyrian too, a sword similar to Cassian’s was strapped to his back, and he wore the same armor. But his Siphons were a shade of cobalt blue, his black hair cut short, and he was surrounded by swirling shadows.

Your breath caught at the sight of the Spymaster.

Azriel’s eyes widened ever so slightly as they settled on you, his shadows frozen around his shoulders. He stood there, wings tucked tightly in, staring at you as if he could see right through your façade.

“Where is Rhys?”

The Spymaster didn’t tear his gaze away from you even as he answered. “He couldn’t leave.” His voice, cold as ice, sent a shiver down your spine. “This is the intruder?”

You held your head up high, reigning in your emotions. You wouldn’t let him intimidate you. You refused to. No matter the stories you had heard about the feared Shadowsinger of the Night Court, you wouldn’t cower. Not before him. You had suffered enough at the hands of your father to know how to deal with fear and pain.

“I found her wandering in the tunnels,” Cassian answered. “Not far from the treasury, hand wreathed in flames. She refused to say anything.”

The Spymaster assessed you, hazel eyes scanning you from head to toe. “Well, that’s about to change.” His hand lingered dangerously close to the black-hilted knife strapped to his muscular thigh.

Your brother's words echoed in your mind. “Tell him what he wants to hear.” “If you fight him, you'll only make it worse.” “Think of something nice, hold on to it, and it'll be over soon enough.” “Behave like the pliant little female he expects you to be.”

If Eris's precious advice had always worked with your father and his particular inclination for painful punishments, then maybe it would work now as well.

Azriel's gaze didn't falter as he stalked toward you, the dagger now clutched in his scarred fingers. You could have sworn his hand trembled for just a split second as he unsheathed it, but you were already looking down at your bare feet, letting your shoulders slump forward and your stiff back relax into a more submissive position.

A pair of black boots stopped right in front of you. Your heart pounded in your chest, your hands holding the armrests so tightly that your knuckles went white. The scent of night-chilled mist and cedar filled your nose as cold metal pressed just under your chin, urging you to lift your head.

You didn't fight it, meeting a pair of honeyed eyes that stared at you coolly. So close, you could see the tiny speck of green in them, even with his dilated pupils.

Cauldron, this male was beautiful. Painfully so. Bigger issues begged for your attention, but you couldn't help but admire him—the sharp features of his face, the perfect lines of his jaw, the plush lips, the way a few black curls hung over his forehead.

You didn't dare shift your position, but the urge to clench your thighs was almost overwhelming. The most inappropriate time ever.

Azriel seemed to somehow sense it, because his nostrils flared and the tip of the knife pressed a bit more under your chin, though still not enough to draw blood.

“What are you doing here?”

That voice, like silk and shadows and ice. Now you could understand why everyone feared the Shadowsinger of the Night Court.

“Why were you in the treasury?” he pressed, more demanding than before.

When you didn't answer his questions, he removed the dagger and took a step back. You glanced at the General, still standing by the door, but your focus quickly returned to the Spymaster, who had begun to circle around your chair.

Like a beast about to strike, toying with its prey before the killing blow.

“You know, this would be easier if you talked willingly.”

Shadows wrapped around both your ankles and wrists to prevent any possible movement. He was behind you now, his dagger trailing down your arm, sending all your senses on high alert.

“Or I'll have to resort to more… unpleasant methods.”

Your bindings tightened as if to prove his point and a small gasp escaped your lips. You had to say something, come up with some kind of excuse before it was too late.

“Tell him what he wants to hear.”

What did he want to hear? You couldn't very well give up the truth, could you? But maybe if you did, maybe if you tried…

Your eyes shot to the General. He was studying you with his arms crossed, nothing but distaste etched on his features.

Azriel, now on your left, noticed the direction of your gaze. He watched the other Illyrian for a few heartbeats before speaking in that low, quiet voice of his. “You know I work better when I'm alone.”

You stilled at the words. You, alone in a dungeon cell with the Spymaster? This changed everything—reshuffling all the cards, altering the odds of how this interrogation might end.

Cassian blinked, turning to face him. The two males stared at each other for what felt like ages, a silent conversation passing between them. Eventually, the General sighed.

“Fine,” he grumbled, fingers raking through his dark hair. “But alert Rhys immediately if something happens.”

The Shadowsinger seemed to hold back a scoff. “I know what I'm doing, Cassian,” he replied coolly. “I always get the information I want.”

You swallowed harshly, but Cassian gave a sharp nod and sauntered out of the cell.

As soon as the door closed behind him and his footsteps faded down the hallways, Azriel crouched in front of you, the dagger sheathed at his thigh once more. The shadows restraining you vanished.

“What the hell are you doing here, my love?”

~~~~~~

You and Azriel had met four years prior.

When you were born—the youngest and only female in a clutch of seven brothers—your father decided to keep you in the shadows. He never publicly acknowledged having a daughter, believing that no one would suspect a girl, thus raising you to serve as his undercover agent. Only your family knew of your existence, and if you hadn't gone mad over the years of confinement, it was only thanks to your sweet mother and Eris.

Beron had spent almost a century training you, molding you into his perfect little spy, and then sent you out into the world for just as long to do exactly what he had taught you.

You were attending a ball in the Day Court the first time you saw Azriel. You had already gathered the intel your father wanted about the honored guests from the Dawn Court, but you had no intention of going home earlier than scheduled. You still had until morning. And when the most beautiful male you had ever seen walked into the room as part of the Night Court delegation, you knew exactly how you wanted to spend your remaining time.

You watched him, taking in his muscular body, the massive wings, and the swirling shadows, until his eyes finally found yours through the crowd. You offered him a gentle yet unwavering smile, and your core clenched at the way he studied you as you approached him. Like he was already imagining pinning you beneath him.

It didn't take long for him to do just that. Within minutes, you found yourself in the room he was staying in, your dress discarded on the floor and his head between your thighs.

You had never felt so good as you did in those few hours.

It was almost dawn by the time you were both spent and sweaty, but you fought against exhaustion. You waited for Azriel to fall asleep, and then you slipped out of the room.

He woke up to an empty bed.

The next time you met him was a few months later. The High Lords and High Lady were all meeting in the Winter Court to discuss Prythian’s situation after the war with Hybern, but your father was paranoid. He ordered you to ensure the other courts weren’t plotting a coup against him.

You had just sneaked out of the suite reserved for the High Lord of the Summer Court and his entourage when shadows pooled at your feet, and your back was slammed against the wall. The air was snatched from your lungs at the impact, leaving you little time to take another breath before a dark dagger pressed against your throat.

Despite having spent just one night together, you immediately recognized your assailant by his scent alone.

“Didn't know you were into this kind of thing,” you drawled, looking up to meet Azriel's gaze. “Kinky. I like it.”

His eyes widened slightly as recognition dawned on him, the blade moving an inch away from your neck but no more. “It's you.”

You knew you should be bothered by the dagger, that this was a powerful male not to be trifled with, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when you could still remember how his lips tasted and how good he felt inside you.

“Strange way to meet again, uh?”

Azriel didn't return your smirk, nor did he step away. Instead, his voice was cold as death now that his surprise had faded. “Why are you sneaking into the suites?”

You had mastered the art of weaving lies so long ago that the answer flowed effortlessly from your lips. 

“Cresseida was wearing a beautiful necklace at lunch,” you replied with a shrug. “I wanted to see if she left it in her room.”

His eyes narrowed. “So, you're a petty thief?”

Better than the truth, you thought, though a small part of you longed to confide in him, to tell him everything. A deep, innate feeling of trust had somehow bloomed in your chest. You ignored it.

“I'm a simple girl.” You offered him your most charming smile. “I see a shining jewel, and I want it for myself.”

Azriel hummed, knife still at your throat. His eyes scanned your face and you felt like he could see everything you were trying to conceal, all the secrets you'd kept locked away for years.

“You went through the suites of every Court except Autumn,” he mused, the tip of the blade tracing your jaw. You went utterly still. “Why?”

You didn't know how to answer. You didn't even know how he knew that. You'd been caught red-handed, and you had a feeling that any new lie you concocted would be pointless. So you decided to trust your gut.

“Alright.” You took a deep breath—or as deep as you dared with a sharp dagger pressed against your neck. “I work for Beron. He thinks someone might stage a coup, so he sent me to gather information.”

His eyes, which had been roaming over your features and perhaps lingered a second too long on your lips—though that could just be your imagination—snapped up to meet yours. The blade pressed a fraction harder against your skin, a clear sign of his distrust.

“For Beron?” he repeated. Not a hint of surprise or disdain marked his tone, just that icy coldness, so different from the warm voice he'd used to talk you through it in the Summer Court. “And he fears a coup?”

You wanted to sigh but didn't dare. If only he would sheath that damn dagger…

“Yes, that's what I said. And honestly, if someone does, I'm not surprised. I hope it works out for them.”

Azriel's brow arched.

“I mean, the male's horrible. He deserves it.”

You were aware of the dangerous line you were crossing, speaking of your father—your High Lord—like that to an important member of a rival court. You'd never voiced those thoughts aloud to anyone but Eris, and yet here you were. Beron would punish you if he found out. You were first his subject, then his spy, and only then his daughter.

A scarred hand cupped your jaw, Azriel's face now only inches from yours. You could feel his warm breath on your cheeks. “Why do you work for him, then?” he snarled.

His grip on your chin made it impossible to look away, forcing you to meet his golden eyes. In that moment, you let him see your truth, the honesty and vulnerability you never revealed.

“Because I don't have a choice.”

A heartbeat passed, and then his expression softened. You stilled as his hand moved from your jaw to your cheek.

You had seen his scars months ago and immediately recognized what had caused them. Cauldron knew you always kept yours hidden with a glamor, allowing it to dissipate only in the privacy of your bedroom.

Thinking about all your father had put you through made the reality of the situation slam into you. What if Azriel told your father what you had just said? The Night Court and the Autumn Court were not on good terms, but who knew what political machinations were at play behind closed doors. Beron would consider your words a betrayal and punish you accordingly.

Your worry must have shown on your face because Azriel's thumb brushed over your cheekbone, gentle and reassuring. “Your secret's safe with me,” he said softly. He studied you for a moment, and whatever he saw in your expression seemed to convince him to finally put his dagger back into its scabbard at his thigh.

You took a deep, shaky breath, unsure whether it stemmed from believing him or simply from relief at no longer being threatened.

Now free, his fingers brushed over your throat where his blade had been. There probably was a thin pink line there. His featherlight touch sent shivers down your spine.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured.

Your voice was barely a whisper. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You stared at each other, time seeming to slow down. His shadows peeked from behind his broad shoulders, a few tendrils swirling forward and weaving through your red locks, but your gaze locked on his, your heartbeat quickening. His other hand still cradled your cheek.

“I'm sorry,” you murmured.

“What for?”

‘For lying to you.’

‘For sneaking into your Court’s suite.’

‘Because I can't tell you the whole truth.’

So many easy replies, and all of them true. But one in particular pushed at the corner of your mind, one you hadn't been able to shake for months.

“For walking away right after you fell asleep.”

Something flashed in his eyes, there and gone in an instant, but you didn't recognize what it was. You didn't know him well enough to read every subtle change in his expression. Part of you wished you could.

You waited for him to say something—either to tell you he didn't care or that it wasn't a big deal—but as his silence stretched on, you debated whether you should change the subject or perhaps apologize for bringing it up.

Just as you opened your mouth, Azriel spoke again, but his words were not what you had expected.

“I looked for you the day after,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “But you were gone.”

You couldn't help but stare, so caught off guard that you were completely speechless. You had thought about him often since that night, but you never imagined he might have looked for you in the morning. You were torn between feeling even worse about leaving him and the rapid beat of your heart.

A grin curled your lips as you rested your hands on his chest. Even with his armor on, you could recall the lines of the tattoos swirling across his golden skin, a sliver of black ink peeking from his collar. “I was that good?” you teased.

Azriel chuckled under his breath, the sound like a song to your ears. “You were that good.” He leaned in, his mouth brushing against your ear, teeth grazing your earlobe. “You felt that good wrapped around me.”

Your breath hitched at his words, and you could feel his hard length pressing against your thigh, igniting a desire that made you want to moan.

“Do you want to do it again?”

He barely gave you time to finish that sentence before his lips claimed yours, eliciting a surprised whimper. Your fingers tangled in his curls, his hands cupped your face, and there was nothing sweet or gentle about the kiss as his body pressed yours against the wall and you began to grind on him.

You parted only to catch your breath, but Azriel was already nipping at your neck, and you tilted your head to grant him more access.

When distant footsteps echoed from a nearby hallway, he didn’t even pull away as shadows wrapped around you both. In an instant, they winnowed you into a bedroom you didn't bother to register, too busy pushing Azriel on the large bed and climbing on top of him.

After that time, you began to plan your meetings. It was often a real challenge to find a moment when both of you could slip away from your duties without raising suspicions, but you couldn't risk your families discovering that you were regularly sleeping with a spy from a rival court.

Then, somewhere along the way, it happened. Sex slowly transformed into making love as you both developed feelings for one another, and around one year later, the mating bond snapped into place. You wanted to accept it, but you couldn't shake the dark cloud looming over your head. It was then that you decided to tell Azriel the truth about who you were, who your father was. He was gone for twenty days after your revelation, and you were left wondering whether it was because you had kept it hidden from him for so long or if he truly had a tight schedule and couldn't make time for a secret rendezvous. But when he finally returned, he assured you that whoever your father was wouldn't change or diminish his love for you. That very night, you offered him food, relief washing over you like a balm.

~~~~~~

And here you were, three years and countless secret meetings later.

“What are you doing here?” Azriel repeated, his voice carrying the usual softness he used when speaking to you, but with an edge of nervousness and impatience.

“My father sent me to retrieve the Veritas Orb,” you explained with a sigh. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't want you to have to lie to your family even more. And… I thought I could do this alone.”

Azriel fell silent, his back stiff, his posture rigid. The shadows had retreated behind his wings. Finally, he asked, “What does he need it for?”

You gave him an apologetic look. “He didn't bother to share that information.”

He nodded, as if he had expected that answer. Rising to his feet, he offered you a hand to help you up from your seat. You took it, his skin cold against your palm, and stood with a frown.

“What do we do now?” you whispered, anxious despite Cassian’s absence. “I didn't mean to bring you into this mess, love.”

Azriel let go of your hand to cup your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Don't apologize. I know he didn't give you a choice.” He pressed his soft lips to your forehead. “But I can't let you walk out, angel. We need some excuse.”

Right, because letting you leave unscathed and without any information would only get him in trouble with his High Lord. But leaving without the Orb would get you in trouble. And yet, you would rather endure whatever punishment your father would concoct than let your mate deal with the consequences of your reckless actions.

You stepped back, out of the warmth provided by his body. You had a plan, one you knew he wouldn’t like, but it seemed like the only solution to get you both out of this mess with minimal repercussions. Well, for him at least. You doubted Beron would take pity and turn a blind eye to your failure, but it was worth a shot.

“I need you to hurt me.”

His eyes widened, but you went on before he could object. “You can tell Rhysand I was acting alone, that you made sure I won't be a problem anymore, and I’ll go back to Autumn and tell my father I was caught and tortured. But I need you to hurt me and I need you to make it look believable.”

Azriel was gaping. You had never seen him like this before. You knew how your idea sounded, but you needed him to understand the criticality of the situation and agree to it.

“Az, I—”

“No.”

You blinked. “No?”

Something ticked in his jaw, a subtle clench of his muscle. “No,” he repeated, voice firm and unyielding. “I'm not hurting you, love. You can't just ask me to do that. I won't. I can't.”

You studied him for a moment, but you knew he wasn't going to change his mind.

“Fine,” you sighed, extending a hand toward him, palm up. “Then give me Truth-Teller.”

He frowned, and the shadows swirled around him nervously, as if sensing the direction this conversation was taking. “And why would I do that?”

“You won't hurt me, so I'll do it myself,” you replied, as if the answer was obvious.

His eyes widened. “Y/N—”

“Just a few cuts here and there,” you assured him. “Nothing too bad. But my father has to believe it's real.”

Once again, Azriel stared at you, pale as if he had just seen a ghost. “You can't be serious.”

“You have a better idea?” you retorted. Without waiting for his answer, you reached for the dagger at his thigh. The sooner you could get this over with, the better.

Azriel easily sidestepped you, grabbing both your wrists to prevent you from trying to take his knife again. “I'm not letting you hurt yourself either,” he stated. His grip on you was gentle, but his tone was cold. It was the kind of tone that told you he wouldn't take no for an answer.

But neither would you.

“We don't have a choice, Az,” you countered, your voice steady despite the rising tension. Yet you didn't try to free your hands.

Something shifted in his eyes, in his expression. His thumbs brushed over your wrists in soothing motions, and a pleading note entered his voice when he spoke again. “I can't stand to see you hurt, my love. I don't care about the reason.”

For a few seconds, you just stared into each other's eyes. You were still tense and rigid, and fear coiled in your gut at the thought of going back and facing your father. But Azriel's gaze was soft, scarred fingers never ceasing their gentle caresses. In that moment, you realized that he would rather tell his family the truth than let you go back home battered.

And then it hit you. Though you loved the Autumn Court, it wasn't your home. No, your home was Azriel. He had been for years now. Your safe place, the person you could always count on, the one who knew you better than anyone else. Your mate.

“He won't let me leave,” you whispered, and you hated how weak and vulnerable you sounded.

“You're already here.” Azriel lifted your hands to his mouth and pressed a warm kiss on each palm. “You don't need to leave. You just need to stay.”

You shook your head, tears rising to your eyes. “He sent me here. He knows where I am, and he'll come looking or send someone to find me, or—”

“We'll deal with him,” he interrupted you. “But you'll be safe here. I promise.”

You couldn't hold back the tears, then. He sounded so sure, as if it could ever be that simple. As if you could just make the choice to stay and never go back. You wished you could. With all your heart, you wished it could be as simple as that.

“Az, I… I can't,” you murmured, voice trembling.

He let go of your wrists to cup your cheeks, wiping away your tears. “I will protect you,” he reassured softly. “My whole family will, once they know the truth. You will be safe in the Night Court. And if not, then… then we'll go somewhere else, somewhere far away where Beron won't find us.”

We. Us.

For how long had you wished to hear those words? Even after you two had met, you had never truly been a couple. You had stolen moments whenever you could, but it was always you and him—your duties and his. Never a ‘we’, never an ‘us’.

“Stay.”

You closed your eyes, unable to hold his pleading gaze any longer.

“Stay in the Night Court.”

You swallowed, the weight of the decision heavy on your shoulders as if it were a physical burden. “Az…”

“Stay with me.” His voice broke, vulnerability spilling into every word. “Please.”

What if it were that easy? What if you could make the decision and simply not go back to the Autumn Court? What if you could spend every day and every night with the person you loved with all your heart, with your mate, and not having to hide, to carefully plan every meeting, to weave lie after lie to everyone around you?

When you opened your eyes, Azriel was staring at you. He was still brushing away your tears, but even through their veil, you could see how beautiful he was. How desperate. How broken.

And you nodded.

“Okay,” you whispered.

His eyes immediately lit up. “Okay?”

“Yes,” you confirmed despite the quiver in your voice. “Yes, I'm… I’m staying. With you.”

You barely had time to finish the sentence before he pulled you into his arms, your face pressed against his chest as he held you tight. You let yourself go, surrendering to the tears and the sobs shaking your body, clutching his leathers to keep your hands from trembling.

“Thank you,” he murmured against your hair, over and over. “Thank you, my love. Thank you.”

You didn't know how long you just stood there. Minutes, hours, days—it didn't matter. You were together now, and you would always be from this moment on. You were home, and never again would you suffer at the hands of your father.

His shadows swarmed around you, caressing your back and arms, twisting in your hair as if they, too, were excited about what would happen next. You didn't know. For the first time in your life, the future was bright, and happiness was within your grasp.

You pulled back only when your tears ran dry. Azriel pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead, and you both smiled, brightly and lovingly, knowing you would not leave each other again.

“Let's get you out of here,” he said eventually, taking your hand and intertwining your fingers. “There's so much to do.”

Like meeting his family. Revealing your identity, who you were and what you did, and hoping they would understand and not hold it against you.

As Azriel stepped back to turn toward the door, you hesitated.

“Can you promise me something?” you asked, your voice quiet and still a bit hoarse from crying.

He stopped, worried eyes immediately searching your face for any sign of discomfort or concern. “Of course, love. Anything you want.”

“It's nothing too big, just…” You offered a small smile and squeezed his fingers. “No more secrets, Az.”

His hazel eyes softened, and his lips curled into a beautiful smile. He nodded, tugging gently on your hand to lead you out of the cell and into your new life. “No more secrets.”

2nd a/n: if the lines "Stay / Stay in the Night Court / Stay with me" reminded you of another very similar quote, you are correct. I had originally written "Stay in the Night Court. Just... stay with me" and it made me think of that quote, which is one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite books and said by one of my favorite characters ever, so I decided to include it (a little easter egg, if you will). Kaz and Azriel 🤝 simping for the girl they like

General taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh0127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings

Azriel Week: @fourthwing4ever

[mischiefmanagers]

Beautiful Stranger | Azriel

Azriel x Reader | Azriel gets injured while on a mission and meets someone he never thought he would. aka you finding an injured Az and the mating bond snapping.

warnings: mentions injuries and blood; other than that, this is light & fluff

word count: 4,342

a/n: I love Halsey's Finally//Beautiful Stranger & when it came on my shuffle while driving, this fic played out in my mind.

Humming quietly to yourself to keep your thoughts occupied, you allow the glow of the moon and fireflies to guide you back to the village. Dawn Court was your home, but after the fall of Spring, you had volunteered to help its fae, creatures, and land heal from the devastation left by Hybern’s attacks.

Though the damage to Spring was immense, its beauty still endured. The air still held a lingering heaviness but the flowers had begun to bloom once more with promise and hope of a better future. Your task today had been to gather healing herbs, yet when you stumbled upon a field of dandelions in full bloom, you couldn’t resist the urge to stop and admire the scenery. It was why you were returning late at night, long past the sunset you had promised to return by.

As you made your way along the path, the gentle breeze grew colder and sharper. It rustled the leaves on the trees and made the branches creak, its eerie sound halting your steps and silencing your humming. A chill of unease prickled your skin and your muscles tensed in alarm. 

Then you saw them. 

Shadows, darker than the night itself, swirling around you.

These were not the shadows you were used to seeing at night. No, these shadows felt alive and with purpose. 

You should’ve turned back. But there was something in the way they moved, fluid and insistent, that made you follow. With every step, they guided you away from the familiar moonlit path and deeper into the forest, pulling you toward the river that ran through the heart of the woods.

A flicker of blue light was coming from just beyond the tree line, catching your eye. Curiosity tugged at you, drawing you closer. The shadows slithered toward the faint glow, vanishing into the darkness by the water’s edge.

When you finally reached the riverbank, your breath hitched at the sight before you.

A male lay sprawled on the shore, half-submerged in the water, his blood mingling with the river’s water. Blinking your eyes, you saw the shadows that led you to him, clinging to his battered form and limp wings. They pulsed in a protective manner. It’s then that you recognized the source of the blue light. It was coming from the gems attached to the leathers he wore. 

Siphons. He must be Illyrian…but what was an Illyrian from the Night Court doing in Spring? Alone?

It didn’t matter. You immediately rushed and knelt beside him, your healer’s instincts snapping into action. Your finger’s pressed against his neck, mind racing with worry and dread as his skin felt cold against yours. He must’ve been out for awhile now. The nerves eased slightly when you felt a pulse. 

Weak but present. 

You slipped your arms beneath him, the shadows aiding you as they wrapped around his arms, helping you turn him over to his side. His dark hair clung to his face, your hand reaching up to brush it back.

Your eyes finally met the face of the fallen warrior and something snapped. 

So piercing and electrifying, it had your heart fluttering from the intensity. All at once, the golden threads of the bond you’d only heard stories about unraveled in your chest. They weaved between your rib cage, pulling you tight toward him. A pull so strong it left you breathless and in shock.

Fate and shadows had brought him to you. Your mate.

But the exhilaration of it all was soon smothered by panic, the golden threads beginning to quiver. His blood, too much of it, stained the riverbank. His body was limp in your arms, his breathing shallow.

You had found your mate and already, you were on the verge of losing him before you could even learn his name.

**

Azriel wakes to the sound of singing, a nice and sweet sound, and he catches faintly to the words. He’s never felt so warm, so relaxed. His senses are dulled by grogginess, his body sluggish, but something feels… different. Lighter, somehow. 

Beside him, his shadows stir, the familiar weight of their presence grounding him. But there's also something else— different from the cool and light caresses of his shadows. Firmer. Warmer. The pressure is foreign but comforting.

As his senses slowly return, the scent of herbs and incense reach him before his eyes flutter open. Where am I? He thinks, finally blinking his eyes to clear his vision.

The first thing he sees is you, the source of the beautiful singing.

Light streams into the room, casting a golden halo around you. It strikes him hard, stealing his breath and sending a shock through his chest. He doesn’t know who you are, what you are. But you’re beautiful, so beautiful that his brows furrow in bewildered awe. There’s no way, he thinks. I don’t belong here…

He wills his dry lips to part, his voice is rough and barely audible. “Am I…dead?”

Your eyes widen and your singing comes to a sudden stop, startled by his sudden words. The warmth he felt vanishes as you pull your hand back, and only then does he realize it had been your touch on his face earlier. Your hand hovers between you, glowing faintly with a bronze light, like the first rays of dawn, before you settle it into your lap.

“No,” you finally answer. “You’re not dead.”

Azriel tears his gaze from your face, even though some part of him protests. His eyes wander around the small room, taking in the sparse furniture, the wooden desk cluttered with jars and vials. The sunlight continues to stream through the single window, the curtain hanging doing little to dull the brightness thanks to the Spring breeze. It blinds him when it catches his eyes and he winces, looking away. 

His attention is inevitably drawn back to you. You’re seated beside him, perched on a small stool that does not look comfortable by the bed. His shadows, the loyal dark tendrils that always remain by his side, are dancing around you. Their movement is playful, loving almost and you don’t seem bothered by it. As if they’ve done this before. 

The sight stirs an unfamiliar flutter in his chest.

The flutter is cut short when one of his wings, too big for the bed he’s in, twitches and knocks into the bedside table. A vial tumbles to the floor, the sound of shattering glass jerking his body forward, and in an instant, the memories come rushing back.

He remembers the mission. Rhysand had sent him to the wall separating the mortal lands from Prythian. He had met with Jurian, the encounter brief, and then he was on his way back—flying over the Spring Court when he was ambushed. His mind aches as he tries to remember more but all he remembers is being struck by poisoned arrows and falling through trees. Multiple trees.

Hot, searing pain stabs through him at the sudden movement and your hands fly to his bandaged chest, gently urging him to sit back. “You’re safe,” you reassure him. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Azriel shouldn’t feel comforted by your words, not when he barely knows you. However, he finds your voice soothing. He listens, allowing himself to slowly lean back against the pillows, despite his mind screaming at him that you’re a stranger. Your hands remain on his chest, glowing again with that soft bronze light, and the sharp pain in his body begins to ebb away, fading into a dull ache. Much more bearable.

His shadows return to him, sighing with relief as they nestle close. Azriel watches you, keen hazel eyes taking in more of your features. The curve of your lips, the softness of your eyes. They draw him in, and he finds himself unable to look away. Had it not been for the pain that shot through him moments ago, he would’ve thought you lied to him about not being dead. Because surely you weren’t from this world to have him in a daze like this…

“Who are you?”

“I’m…,” you hesitate, uncertainty crossing your features. He watches with bated breath, waiting but the words seem to catch in your throat. You swallow, clearing your throat before speaking again. “I’m just a healer.”

“And here I thought you were an angel from above.”

A quiet laugh escapes you, and the tension in your posture melts away. The corner of your lips tug up into a faint smile, one that Azriel surprisingly finds himself mirroring. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He doesn’t think. The words spill from him before he can stop them. “I didn’t say I was disappointed.”

The flush that dawns across your cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed. You turn your head, trying to hide the reaction. It’s too late. Azriel already saw it and even if he hadn’t, his shadows are happily gushing over it. Some, the ones not distracted by your beauty, curled around his ear and whispered about the emotion lingering on your face, in your eyes.

There was more you meant to say. Words left unsaid and he wants to know, the curiosity and yearning bordering on desperate. His gaze assesses you again, searching for an answer. For a hint. His shadows continue to whisper. Good, they say reassuringly, sensing no danger or malintent in you. We found her for you!

She saved master's life. Master was out for three days and she stayed by master’s side. She’s–

“What’s your name?” You ask, pulling him from the silent conversation with his shadows.

Azriel is not one to give his name so easily, often going by what he was–a Shadowsinger– rather than who he was. He’s also not one to dwell in places he’s unfamiliar with longer than necessary. But you saved his life and for some strange reason, his shadows had taken an immediate liking to you. They seem to trust you and therefore, so does he.

“Azriel.”

“Azriel,” you repeat and his shadows shudder in response, as though they, too, are captivated by the sound of it on your lips. His stomach flutters in time with their movement.

“What about yours?”

“Y/n.”

“Y/n,” he says, repeating your name the same way you had his. His shadows dance in the air around you both.

**

It’s late morning, as you pick up the empty plate from him, that he feels the familiar sensation of talons scraping against his mind. Azriel?? Rhysand’s voice is urgent, the frantic panic of it making him wince. Your head immediately turns in concern and Azriel brushes it off with a small shake of his head.

I’m alive. Azriel responds, his answer curt as he’s once again distracted by your presence.

Thank The Mother, Rhysand breathes a sigh of relief. Where are you? Are you somewhere safe? Do you need me to–

I’m fine. I was attacked while flying through Spring. 

Who? Rhysand demands.

Given the fact that whoever ambushed me has made no move to find me and finish the job, I’d say no one of importance. Azriel replies, lips curving into a small frown at the thought of being caught off guard and attacked. It rarely happened, his shadows always keeping him one step ahead of anyone and anything. Had they been distracted…?

He turns his head, searching for the shadows in question. Some remained with him, choosing to burrow under the blankets. The others, however, were hovering at your side and helping you clean up from breakfast. One even opens the door for you and he hears you murmur a small thanks as you leave the room.

Azriel had spent most of the afternoon sleeping. He didn’t want to, not liking the idea of being in such a vulnerable state with someone he barely knew. It’s not that he suspected you’d harm him or had bad intentions–you literally saved his life for Cauldron’s sake! It was just a feeling he was not used to. To be able to sleep safe and sound.

When he woke up again, it was a brand new day. He realized the bandages on his chest and arm had been changed. He was slowly gathering his strength back. One of his shadows must’ve given him away because shortly after he woke, you had walked in with a friend. 

“Wow,” the dark haired fae murmured, her steps faltering. Her eyes had widened in wonder, taking in the large expanse of his wings that made the bed look ridiculously small. “The Cauldron truly favors you.”

Azriel’s gaze couldn’t help but narrow. Those words had been directed at you, not him. 

You’d introduced her as Poppy, explaining she was your friend, another healer whose family had taken you in. Poppy had left shortly after setting a steaming bowl of stew on the table right next to the bed. She had been adamant on letting him know her mother had made it and not you, which he found odd.

Azriel was surprised to learn this was your room and you’d given it up for him. He tried to protest, offering to sleep on the couch or floor. Of course, you had refused and he was even more surprised to learn you were more stubborn than he was. 

Where are you in Spring? Rhysand’s presence in his mind pulls him back to the present. He hopes he hadn’t accidentally projected his memory to his friend, wanting to keep it to himself for now. I can send Cassian, if you’re unable to fly. 

No. Azriel responds immediately and he can feel Rhysand’s confusion. I’m alive and safe. I just need more time to recover. 

And without waiting for a response, Azriel brings up his mental shields again, shutting Rhysand out. He can only hope he doesn’t send Feyre knocking on his mind next. Or worse, actually send Cassian to Spring, despite him saying not to.

He should’ve said yes, and accepted the help. The Spring Court was among the least favorite of his courts, in tie with the Autumn Court. He had a strong distaste for the High Lord, who remained wandering through his forests like a beast. 

As you return to the room, Azriel catches sight of a faint glow wrapped around your wrist. He hadn’t seen it before, the glow of your magic outshining the gold ink etched there. A sun, cradled by a crescent moon, and below the moon, a fine lined star glimmers, connecting the two celestial bodies with its ray of starshine. 

“You’re far from home.” Azriel comments, nodding toward the tattoo.

“So are you,” you answer, lips turning up at the slight flush that takes over Azriel. You then glance down at the tattoo on your wrist. The insignia of your Court with the added touch of your healing gift. The tattoo was an honor, a testimony of the oath you had taken after mastering your magic. “I came to Spring to help after the war.”

“Will you go back home after?” He asks, a little too quickly, then clears his throat. His shadows snicker beside him in a knowing manner. “Or will you stay here?”

“I’ll stay here as long as I’m needed.”

He doesn’t understand why but a part of him feels relieved that you’re not attached to this court. 

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need,” you then add. 

He feels an odd sense of relief, and his shadows give a little wiggle in excitement. He sends them a glare, and they sheepishly return to hiding under the covers. Though one brave shadow lingers by his side long enough to whisper, you'll find out soon Master.

“They’re cute," your voice pulls him from questioning his teasing shadow.

Azriel lets out a snort, the effort making his chest and stomach ache. Cute. His shadows had been called many things—strange, unnerving, even unsettling—but never cute. They typically clung to him, weaving around his form quietly, careful not to disturb anyone. Unless he sent them on a mission of their own or they had a mission of their own.

Occasionally, they’d make an exception for Cassian, creeping up behind him just to tap his shoulder and bask in his exasperation when he turned to find nothing there. They’d even tried their luck with Rhysand once, though he was never fooled. Yet, for reasons Azriel couldn’t fathom, his shadows had taken an immediate liking to you, drifting toward you whenever they could.

The said shadows peek out from under the covers, almost shyly. If they could blush, he’s sure they would be at this moment. They're never going to forget this moment.

“I wouldn’t call them cute,” Azriel replies, ignoring their indignant hisses.

Conversation flows easily between you two from there, Azriel giving into his curiosity to know and learn more about you. Much to his surprise, Azriel indulged you in your questions, telling you about his shadows and things about himself he rarely told others. They were small, trivial things such as his exact favorite shade of blue and his biggest pet peeve. Yet you held onto every word, every detail and it felt strangely comforting.

Two more days passed, Azriel’s body still healing. Slowly but surely. You had been able to recover one of the arrows that had shot him. Not that it mattered. Azriel was now, unfortunately, familiar with the effects of faebane. It hindered his healing and though it was frustrating, there was one upside to it all–the friendship blossoming between you and Azriel.

There’s a knock on the door as you mix Azriel’s concoction for pain. “Yes?” You call out.

Poppy peeks her head in. “I was just checking to see if I had given you enough spearmint for the pain tonic and also to let you know that we’ll be out most of the day. If you wanted to take out your ma—male for a walk or something without being bothered by the little ones.”

You freeze and a sheepish look takes over your features, tainting your cheeks. “Poppy,” you say her name again in what sounds like a warning. “He has a name, you know. And he doesn’t need to be taken on a walk.”

“Oh, right, Azriel,” she says, giving him a cheery wave. “Hello again!”

“Hello,” Azriel replies, shifting in the bed, despite the protests of his muscles. He’s not at all offended by Poppy, her aura too bright and cheery to be bothered. He flashes you a grin that has your grasp on the mixer faltering. “I think a walk would be nice actually.”

“Told you!” Poppy replies. “Anyway, we’ll see you for dinner. Send a butterfly if you need me.”

When the door closes, you let out a small sigh, shaking your head with a small, sheepish smile. “I’m so sorry about her.”

Azriel brushes off your concern, his eyes shining bright when he looks back at you. “How about that walk?”

**

Azriel grunts as he pushes to stand, his wings trembling as he shifts his weight, unused to bearing himself after days of bedrest. He stumbles right into your arms, his usually steady form swaying. You quickly catch him, your arms coming around one of his sides. His shadows dart toward his other side, helping you hold him upright. 

“I’ve got you,” you say softly, your hold surprisingly firm. 

He can't help it. He lets out a low, amused breath. 

“What?” You ask.

“Usually, I’m the one saying that.”

Your lips quirk into a smile, a gleam in your eye, as you help him find his balance. “Well, even the best need someone to lean on sometimes, right?”

Azriel stares at you. Something in his chest tightens–a weird but comforting sensation. It’s similar, if not the same, to what he had felt when he first saw you. Warm and painfully sweet. The feeling reassures him that, though you were strangers mere days ago, you’re someone he can lean on.

“Come on,” you murmur, nodding toward the door. 

Azriel lets you guide him through the house and out onto the porch. You settle there together, cutting the walk very short. You're mindful not to push him too far when he's still recovering. Azriel doesn't mind, the fresh air enough for him. He knows he isn’t at full strength to protect you should anything arise. Even though you most likely know these forests better than himself.

His hands drift to the porch railing as he leans forward for support, fingers curling around the edge. The sunlight glances off his scarred hands, each ridge and mark stark against his skin. He’d kept them hidden beneath the covers and out of your view while bedridden, hiding them instinctively, unable to forget the pitying glances they’d drawn in the past. Though he’s sure you must've seen them when you rescued him.

Now, as he feels your gaze slide toward them, a familiar discomfort tugs at him. He starts to withdraw his hands, wanting to tuck them closer to himself.

But you reach out. Your hand hovers, brushing slightly over his. There’s a slight hesitation—an uncertainty in whether to bridge the space or leave it. In the end, you let your hand rest gently beside his.

Azriel hesitates, unused to this vulnerability, yet unable to move away. He glances up to meet your eyes and his guarded expression softens slightly. “They’re… not easy to look at,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know they’re not.”

“I’m familiar with scars, you know. They don’t make you less of who you are.”

Azriel’s jaw tightens, his gaze dropping where your hands are barely brushing against one another. His throat feels tight, an ache he’s kept buried resurfacing.

“Not to me,” you continue. “I don’t see you any differently because of them.” 

He searches your face and he sees something in your eyes that helps him slowly relax. His gaze returns to your hand, fingers hovering now over his. This time, there’s no hesitation as you gently lay your hand over his, holding it as if the scars didn’t exist at all.

It’s such a simple gesture, yet it speaks volumes. 

His shadows slither down his arm and toward where your hands connect. For the first time, Azriel feels no urge to hide, no shame from the past that has long haunted him.

A silence drifts down between the two of you, settling like a blanket over the conversation. There’s no need to fill it, no awkwardness there. Just a gentle, shared peace, stretching softly around you both. He turns his head, shifting his gaze forward and takes a deep breath. 

He closes his eyes and a breeze rolls in, brushing against his skin and stirring his hair. His shadows begin to whisper excitedly. He basks in the sun’s warmth, and lets the scent of spring fill his senses from the fresh earth to the blooming flowers and the faint sweetness of pollen. It brings forth a tickle in his nose, and before he can stop it, he sneezes. His body groans in response, wings shuddering.

“Bless you,” you say, but he notices the way your mouth quirks as if you’re holding back a laugh.

“What?” he asks, brows furrowing.

“I’m sorry,” you giggle, your free hand rising to stifle it. “It’s just… you have such a fatherly sneeze.”

Azriel raises an eyebrow, a rare, amused smile creeping onto his face. “Fatherly sneeze?” He echoes. He has never heard the expression before yet he somehow understands it. If you thought his sneeze was “fatherly,” he’s curious to see your reaction to one of Cassian’s sneezes. That thought is enough to make him laugh outright.

It's so silly but the sound is so contagious that you laugh too. His shadows began to flutter around you, as if joining in on the laughter. Azriel’s gaze then drifts down, watching the way your lips curve in laughter, how your eyes crinkle at the corners, how effortlessly you draw light into his heart.

And there it is again—that rush of warmth. It’s mixed in with joy, so pure and intense it has to be coming from you. His heart stirs, his pulse quickens, his mind clears, and in a single, life-altering instant, he knows.

“You’re my mate.”

Your smile falters, replaced by a moment of hesitation. Some shadows travel to you, brushing softly against your arms as if in a reassuring manner. He can't help but watch them, realization dawning on him.

“Yeah, I am,” you admit quietly.

“How—when…” His voice catches, unable to form the words.

“I was walking through the forest when your shadows came to me. They led me to you, by the river. You were unconscious and bleeding. And then… the bond snapped for me the moment I saw your face. You were so cold and--and…,” your face tightens, eyes glistening at the memory and Azriel can feel the panic you must’ve felt then. “I’d just found what so many only dream of and you were already slipping away...I thought I’d never get to know your name…”

Azriel feels a pang deep in his chest as he absorbs every word. His chest feels tight again and he swallows thickly. “And when I woke up, why didn’t you tell me?”

Your gaze falls, fingers twisting together. “I wanted you to heal, to feel better. That’s all that mattered.”

“I owe you my life.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I would’ve saved you, mate or not.”

Azriel searches your face, touched beyond words at the sincerity in your tone. It made sense why he felt so drawn to you since the moment he saw you, why his shadows took a sudden liking to you and kept whispering "we found her, we found her!" They had known all this time, been able to sense it before he even could.

Looking back, Poppy being the one to bring him food and water and not you was not as strange as he originally thought. You were being mindful, not wanting to accidentally accept the bond without his knowledge. He felt an overwhelming gratitude for how gentle and considerate you've been with him all along. He couldn’t help but wonder how he had gotten so lucky to be bound to someone like you.

“And would you have sung to me, mate or not?” Azriel asks, his mind drifting back to the exact moment he'd first woken up.

Your cheeks flush, and you glance away toward the gardens, suddenly refusing to meet his eyes. “What?” You let out a small huff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 “What did I hear?” Azriel’s tone borders on teasing, his expression shifting into one of exaggerated contemplation. “Something like… ‘Beautiful stranger, here you are…’”

“That’s enough!” You interrupt, your face turning into an even deeper shade of pink, caught somewhere between mortification and laughter. 

This time, it’s Azriel holding back a chuckle. His lips curl into a small smirk, seeing the blush that lights up your face. He quite likes that shade on you—likes being the one to bring it out even more. “So…”

You keep your gaze straight ahead. “So…?”

Azriel leans in, his voice low and warm, making your stomach flutter. “Do you sing that song for just anyone too?”

“No,” you let out a laugh, your hands cup your face but there’s no hiding the blush there.  “I’m afraid that song was just for you.”

“Good,” he murmurs.

You turn to look at him, realizing his gaze had never left you. Your hands drop back to the porch railing.  “Yeah?” you whisper, your own heart pounding, not sure what it was you were asking.

But Azriel seems to understand anyway. He can feel what you’re feeling, now fully aware and attentive to the bond humming between you.

“Yeah,” he breathes, his smirk softening into a genuine smile, his heart finally at ease. 

A gentle warmth surges through the bond, reaching every shadowed corner of his heart and wrapping around his soul. It’s a feeling he could get used to, one he’s spent centuries longing and yearning for. It’s a feeling he’s searched for in all the wrong places, enduring the heavy weight of heartbreak after heartbreak.

But now, with you, he feels the weight begin to lift. After all the empty falls and broken promises, it’s finally, finally safe for him to fall.

a/n: you can't tell me Az & Cas don't have dad sneezes lol. Anyway, I really wanted to write a fic where Az finally feels safe with someone because he deserves to. I hope you enjoyed this <3

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444 @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith

[mischiefmanagers]

A Locket Through Time | Azriel x reader

Summary: When Y/N touches an ancient artifact, she finds herself falling through time.

A/N: It’s not the most thought-through story I’ve ever posted, but we’re here for a good time and not to win a Pulitzer amirite? Also, once again I have rushed the ending because who has the time lol

Word count: 5800

Warnings: mild description of injuries, language, some implications of sexy time

-

“I want to touch it.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Y/N snickered as Rhys’ arm shot forward to slap Cassian’s hand away from the gleaming crystal.

The Lord of Bloodshed rolled his eyes. “It’s a crystal, Rhys. It won’t bite my hand off.”

It was Azriel’s calm tone that now sounded from behind Y/N’s back.

“Given that it was Devlon who discovered it, I would suggest treading carefully, brother.”

Cassian rolled his eyes and crossed bulging arms over his chest in a display of annoyance. He stood tall enough for his head to brush against the roof of the makeshift tent the Illyrians of Windhaven had erected on the edge of their camp. It stood just a few steps away from Rhys’ cabin, shielding a low stump atop which a comically small crystal rested for them to inspect.

“What did he say it was?” Rhys asked as he circled the stump with a pensive expression.

“He thinks it is a relic of the gods that ruled over Prythian before the age of the Fae,” Azriel explained calmly, hands crossed behind his back with his wings neatly folded. He was the picture of professionalism. Ever the spymaster.

Y/N smiled at him and felt her nose crinkle with delight at the smile he gave in return. His lips curled barely noticeable, but the secret lay in the spark that set his eyes aglow. It was the smile he reserved solely for her. It was accompanied by a tug of the bond.

“It could just as well be an ordinary crystal,” Cassian intervened. “I say we take it with us and ask Helion to have his librarians take a look at it.”

“What if it’s an ancient weapon though? We could accidentally set it off,” Y/N said, looking from Azriel to Cassian and back. “Did Devlon say how he got it up on the log without touching it?”

“He used sticks.” Azriel’s face twisted into a grimace as though to express his discomfort with the Illyrian warlord’s simple methods.

Cassian snorted at that. “Elegant.”

Rhys sighed, running a palm down his face. “Azriel, could you try having your shadows lift it? I fear Cassian might be right and Helion’s libraries are our best shot. I don’t want to spend the rest of my day here because of a shiny rock.”

Azriel gave a single nod, and at once, shadows swarmed in from every direction to draw tight around the crystal.

One of the shadowsinger’s brows quirked up. “It’s surprisingly heavy.”

Y/N felt her forehead crease with worry as she watched the shadows begin to rise with the object they’d circled—their movements slow, sluggish even.

“Be careful not to drop—”

But before Rhys could finish his sentence, Azriel’s shadows shuddered as though they’d been hurt, and the crystal fell from its encasing.

Y/N lunged without a second thought, and as her fingers wrapped around the cool, smooth surface of the cylindric crystal, the last thing she heard was her name—twisted with panic as it fell from her mate’s lips in a call to rattle her bones.

-

A low roar rang through Y/N’s head as she pulled open her eyes, squinting against the blinding beams of the setting sun.

Had it not been noon just now?

And had there not been a tent?

There was dirt beneath her palms as she pushed to her knees, sharp pebbles pressing deep into her skin. Every bone in her body was aching, a slight sense of nausea sitting in the very pit of her stomach.

As she lifted her head to look around, everything seemed normal enough. There was Rhys' cabin behind her, sitting right on the border of a war camp that had just moments earlier been bristling with life. She could still hear faint voices, but something seemed ... gloomier than usual.

Turning her head, Y/N found only empty space where Azriel, Rhys and Cassian had stood just a moment ago, and at once, her heart picked up its pace. There was no sign of the tent. No sign of her friends.

No sign of her mate.

"Azriel?" she heard herself call into the eery silence of approaching nightfall.

Had that crystal knocked her out? Surely, her friends wouldn't have just left her there if that had been the case—Azriel wouldn’t have left her. Something had to have happened.

It took a few tries to force her body back on her feet. Her knees were wobbly, dizziness washing over her in waves, and just as she was about to call out for Azriel again, she spotted something gleaming on the muddy mountain ground.

The crystal.

She knew better than to touch it again, pulling the sleeve of her fighting leathers over her hand as she reached out to carefully pick up the crystal to push it into the depths of her pocket.

Whatever was going on, it had started when she touched the crystal—she was sure of it.

The shockwave must've knocked her unconscious somehow, but that did not yet explain what had happened to Azriel and the others.

A lump of worry sat in the pit of her stomach, though she got momentarily distracted as a voice sounded behind her and her heart gave a startled leap.

"Can I help you, girl?"

Turning, she found a large Illyrian male, arms the size of tree trunks crossed over a broad chest, and thick brows tugged deep into his face. He looked grim in the way he scanned her from top to bottom.

"You haven't by any chance seen the Shadowsinger anywhere, have you?" He stared at her, unmoving, unblinking, so she cleared her throat, and continued, "Or perhaps the General? The High Lord?"

His eyebrow quirked at that. "And what business might you have with the High Lord, woman?"

She bristled at his tone. She was used to the Illyrian disregard towards anything female, but ever since she'd been mated to Azriel and frequented the camps accompanying Cassian or the Valkyries, most had gotten used to seeing her around.

"That is none of your concern," she said. "I was merely asking whether you'd seen him. He was here just a moment ago. Along with the General and the Shadowsinger."

"There you go with that word again," the Illyrian said, tilting his head with a mildly condescending glint in his eye. "What might a shadowsinger be?"

She stared at him.

He stared back.

As she turned her head, she assured herself that they were, in fact, in Windhaven. Perhaps she’d been transported to some other camp somehow?

But no, that was definitely Rhys’ cabin behind her.

Had this male spent the last five hundred years in a cave? How was it possible for him to not know of Azriel?

Surely, he was mocking her.

"I shall go look for them myself," she muttered, turning to head for the heart of the camp. "Perhaps Devlon knows where they went."

Suddenly, a large hand wrapped around her arm, its grip tight enough to bruise her skin even through her leathers.

Turning abruptly, she found herself face to face with the stranger.

"Who do you think you are to speak of Lord Devlon in such a way?" the Illyrian growled so close to her face that she could smell meat on his breath. "I don't know how you got into this camp in the first place, but unless you intend to get on your back, spread your legs and work on popping out a few half-breed soldiers, I suggest you hurry back to where you came from. High Fae have no business in Illyria."

She stared at him. "I beg your pard—"

"Galen,” a new voice called from behind the stranger, who in return twisted his neck to see who had called for him. “What do you have there?”

Galen’s face never lost its scowl. “I caught a High Fae female snooping around.”

Laughter rang across the clearing—growing nearer by the second—and it was that moment that Y/N decided that it was best to not stick around.

With a skilled kick of the knee—a move Cassian had taught her—she sent Galen’s body curling into a ball as his hands flew to his loins with a pained groan falling from his lips.

Before his friend had a chance to catch up with her, she turned, and she ran.

-

Breath was tearing in and out of her lungs as Y/N jumped behind a nondescript hut at the corner of the camp, praying to the Mother that her pursuers had lost her trace by now.

It had taken every bit of the knowledge she’d gathered over the past decades to navigate the camp and lose the growing group of angry Illyrians attempting to catch her. She did not want to entertain the thought of being caught, as it had dawned on her by now that for some reason, they had no idea who she was. There was no telling what they would do without the protection of her name.

She held her breath as she observed Galen and his fellow warriors taking a route that led them to the centre of the courtyard and therefore a bit further away from her hiding place. A sigh fell from her lips.

Her relief, however, was short lived, as she soon noticed a figure moving from the corner of her eye—a figure close enough to capture her.

But when Y/N spun around with her dagger lifted in defence, her knee still digging into the dirt, she saw herself faced with a boy no older than eight or nine.

"By the Mother," she hissed, lowering her dagger, though she didn't yet sheathe it entirely, for fear the large Illyrian brutes would return any moment to snatch her. "Don't sneak up on people like that or you will catch an accidental blade to the gut one of these days."

The boy didn't say anything. He observed her with interest flickering in his eyes, though the rest of his face remained perfectly neutral, his arms crossed behind his back.

His hair was as dark as that of most Illyrians, shaggy in the way the strands dangled before his deep brown eyes. But other than most Illyrian children she'd seen over the past few decades, he was smaller, paler, his wings folded neatly behind his back, though somehow ... thinner than she'd come to know.

She cleared her throat. "Listen, I would be immensely grateful if you didn't rat me out."

His eyes flickered to something behind her then, but when she turned, she saw nothing, and when she peeked around the corner of the hut once more, the commotion in the courtyard had cleared, the booming voice of her pursuer growing more and more distant.

"I heard you ask for a shadowsinger," the boy said quietly, and it was the first time she heard him speak. His voice was calm, though there was a rasp to it that suggested disuse.

"Yes," she said, her heart leaping with hope. "Have you seen him?"

The boy looked at her, and for a moment it almost seemed like his eyes carried all the wisdom in the world—wisdom far beyond his age, and grief he shouldn't yet know.

"What is a shadowsinger?"

She sighed, slumping back against the wall of the hut when she concluded that the boy would most likely not slit her throat. This situation was a mess, and she was starting to grow tired of it.

"You'd know if you'd seen him," she muttered. "He commands shadows. They follow him around, circle his limbs, that sort of stuff."

It was silent for a while, but when the boy spoke again, his tone had changed, a note of curiosity bleeding into his words.

"I didn't know that's what they called someone who could do that."

She offered him a small smile, but when she noted a shadowy tendril curling its way up her arm, she bolted upright, her back suddenly straightened from the hunched position she'd kept.

"Are you doing this?" she asked, watching as the shadow detached itself from her to scurry across the muddy ground towards the boy's feet.

When she looked at him, he gave a single nod, his chin now lowered a fraction as though bashful.

"So you are a shadowsinger, too!" she smiled. "That's a rare and powerful gift you have there."

The boy hummed, the tip of his boot kicking at a pebble as he took his eyes from her for a moment. "My father says it's nonsense."

"Then your father is a moron," she said, grimacing when she realised what she'd said. "No offence."

She thought she could see the slightest twitch of his lips, but it was gone faster than it had appeared, and he swiftly slipped back into that seriousness that seemed much too heavy for his age.

"My mate is a shadowsinger as well," she offered. "He's the spymaster, right hand to the High Lord. He's one of the three most powerful males of this court."

The boy tilted his head. "He's who you're looking for?"

She nodded. "I think I ... I might have hit my head and passed out, and now I can't find him anywhere." She cleared her throat as she hugged her knees, the dagger now forgotten on the ground beside her, the mountain wind blowing the hair from her face. "I'm starting to get worried something bad might have happened."

He seemed to contemplate her words for a moment. "I could help you find him."

She looked at him. "You'd do that?"

He gave another single nod. "I could ask the shadows to tell me where he is."

Her shoulders sagged a bit with relief. She knew the power of shadows, knew their infallible ability to locate.

"That would be—" but she didn't get to finish her sentence, as the last of her words got stuck in her throat when the boy lifted his hands to gather a dark cluster of shadow before him.

She stared at him then, at the dark eyes, at the tilt of his mouth, the soft round cheeks, the shaggy black hair covering his forehead. There was a freckle just beneath the corner of his left eye, and as her gaze flickered back down to his bandaged hands, the world seemed to tip to its side.

She noticed his lips moving, a puzzled look on his face when she only stared at him.

She blinked, shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she muttered. "What did you say?"

"I asked if you're okay."

"Oh ... yes, yeah." Running a hand through her hair, Y/N turned to check if they were still alone. "I, uhm," she cleared her throat as she turned back. "I'm sorry ... what happened to your hands?"

At once, the shadows scurried away as the boy moved his hands back behind his back, chin dipping even lower as he avoided her gaze.

For a long while, she thought he wouldn't answer, but finally, "I burned them."

She blinked again, taking a deep breath through her nose against the growing dizziness.

There was no way.

This was a coincidence. It had to be.

"What is your name?"

The boy looked at her as though contemplating whether it was safe to tell her, and when he spoke his name, it felt as though the very ground gave in beneath her feet.

"Azriel."

-

She'd touched the crystal. All she'd done was touch the crystal—there was no way she'd somehow travelled back in time.

Over 500 years back in time.

It explained why that Illyrian had never heard of a shadowsinger. Why he did not know her. Why the tent was gone.

Somehow, she’d fallen out of her time.

Her breathing quickened then. Because what if this was permanent? What if the crystal only worked once, or only worked to send you back in time, not forward? What if she'd be forever stuck in this reality?

What if the only way she’d ever see her mate again was by watching his eight-year-old self grow into the man he’d become?

"Lady?"

She blinked at the boy before her, and her heart gave a painful twist. Those were Azriel's eyes looking at her with mild concern, Azriel's hands that had been burned by cruel brothers not long ago. She was looking at the tortured child version of her beloved mate, knowing everything that had already happened to him, everything that would happen to him before things finally got better, and her heart was breaking.

"Yes," she cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, I was just ... thinking."

He watched her, observing, quiet.

"Did you want me to find your mate?"

"Oh ... no, that's okay. I just felt him tug on the bond, so he's fine." Curiosity entered his eyes at the mention of the mating bond, so she changed the subject before he could ask further questions. "Would you like me to take a look at your hands?" she asked with all the gentleness she could muster. "I'm a healer, you see. Maybe I can help."

He didn't say anything, but something within her face seemed to make her seem trustworthy enough and so after a long while, he hesitantly pulled his hands from behind his back.

"They're ugly," he spoke as though in warning as she began to unwrap the bandages.

Her brows twitched together. "Now, that's nonsense."

Beneath the bandages lay blistering, burned skin—raw flesh torn by flames and twisted into angry red welts.

"They're not ugly," she said quietly, her voice thick as she took gentle hold of his left wrist to steady his hand as she hovered her palm over his without touching the wounds. "They've just been through a lot. You're incredibly brave, you know?"

She met his eye briefly, and she saw then that a part of him wondered whether she knew the true cause of his injuries without him having told her about them.

Sending warm, healing light to glow from the palm of her hand, she focussed on mending his flesh, on soothing his pain and fixing what had been torn so viciously. When she was done, his skin still lay twisted by the scars she knew so well, but at least his open wounds had been healed.

She repeated the procedure with his other hand, and when she was done, she observed his expression.

Baby Azriel stared at his open palms before turning his hands to stare at their backs too, taking in the healed expanse of his injuries.

"Thank you," he finally said, curling his fingers into fists. "They don't hurt anymore."

And yet, she could tell that he still hated the way they looked. She could tell from his face, despite his best efforts to hide his grief behind a well-practiced mask. She could tell because she knew him.

Taking his hands in hers, she offered him a smile. "It'll take some time for you to learn to live with it, Azriel. But it's not impossible. Let your scars be a reminder of your bravery. Let them show all that you have survived."

He looked at her, nodding slowly.

As she held his gaze to properly convey her words, she suddenly realised something.

Of course.

Lifting her hands, she unclasped the locket Azriel had gifted her upon their mating ceremony, and suddenly everything seemed so ... clear.

Baby Azriel's eyes flickered to her hands as she offered him the cobalt blue locket on a chain. He seemed a bit unsure of what to do with it, and so Y/N offered him a smile.

"I want you to have it," she spoke gently. "It's been dipped in magic, bewitched to protect whoever carries it. It will keep you safe."

Baby Azriel hesitated, though she could see in his eyes what those words did to him. How much he longed for protection, for safety. "Won't you miss it?"

She looked at the locket with softening eyes, thumb brushing across the gem.

"Very much," she spoke quietly before lifting her gaze back to him. "But you need it more than I do. I am already protected—my mate protects me every day. I don't need it anymore." She lifted her hands to carefully drape the thin chain around Azriel's neck. "You deserve to be protected, Azriel. You deserved to be loved. Don’t ever forget that."

It was with those words that she slipped her hand into the pocket of her leathers to wrap around the smooth surface of the crystal.

-

Rhys' hut was bright with warm gleaming faelights, laughter and chatter droning from the inside as she approached. She wondered how much time had passed since her accidental excursion to the past.

She thought about knocking, but before she raised her knuckles, she peeked through the window by the door, and her heart promptly sank.

They were all there—Rhys, Cassian, Azriel—and they looked as they did in her time. Broad bodies lounged in cushioned armchairs, fighting leathers covering every inch of their bodies. But there was something different to them, something ... lighter.

Cassian's wings were missing the scars they'd sustained in Hybern, and Rhysand's eyes were brighter. They were missing the heavier undertone they'd taken on during Amarantha's reign. Azriel's fighting leathers were void of Siphons, as were Cassian's, and she could tell even from a distance that he still carried the locket beneath them—the thin silver chain peeking from his leathers on the back of his neck.

And then there was the small but important detail that all three Illyrians carried females on their laps that most certainly weren't their mates.

Cassian was tongue-deep in the throat of a beautiful Illyrian woman, his hands roaming the ample curves of her hips, fingers digging into her flesh to pull her closer while Rhys laughed at something the blonde girl on his lap whispered into his ear.

It was the sight of another's lips on Azriel's throat that had her blood boil with anger despite herself.

She knew this was the past. Knew that this was their youth, that he hadn't even met her yet. But that didn't change the fact that she didn't want to see him with someone else.

The female was Illyrian, too, but from the large gash in her right wing, Y/N could tell that she'd been clipped already. Her hair was as dark as that of most Illyrians, falling in luscious waves almost all the way down to her ass, and when Y/N watched scarred fingers tangle in the strands—scarred fingers she herself had healed—, she finally took a step away from the window.

There was no reason to torture herself, after all.

The bright side was that the crystal actually did allow for her to travel forward in time, though by her own calculations—assuming that the boys were somewhere in their mid to late twenties in this current timeframe—it only allowed jumps of some 15 to 20 years at a time, which promised a tedious process given that she'd still have to skip a little over 500 years to return to her own time.

"Can I help you?"

She spun around at the low voice coming from behind her, and swallowed thickly as she met a familiar pair of dark eyes.

Azriel stood looming before her, his face carefully neutral, his stance casual yet alert. He kept his wings folded neatly, shadows circling their claws.

"Oh, uhm," her eyes flickered to the side in search of an excuse. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just ... leaving."

Azriel's eyes flickered to her feet and as she followed his gaze, she spotted shadows gathering beneath her shoes, black puffs of night circling her shins, only visible due to the faelight streaming from the hut's windows.

"Do I know you?" Azriel asked.

When she lifted her head, she found his eyes already on her. She knew him well enough to spot the curiosity in his gaze, no matter how well he'd gotten in hiding his expression since she'd met his eight-year-old self. A mate could tell.

"I doubt it, I'm just visiting from Velaris," she said, smiling.

Azriel gave a hum, eyes flickering to his shadows by her feet again. "It's just that my shadows seem somehow drawn to you. They told me you were standing outside the door."

"Oh, well," she cleared her throat. "That's sweet of them."

This time, when Azriel looked her in the eyes, she felt exposed. Like he'd be able to tell if he were to look too closely. Like he'd be able to recognise the one his soul was tethered to, even if another 300 years would pass before they were destined to meet.

"What's your name?"

Y/N opened her mouth, not knowing what she would say, since she couldn't risk telling him her real name. But she didn't get far, as the door soon opened to flood the night with warm light and reveal the girl with the clipped wings, her lips pouty as she searched the darkness for Azriel.

When she spotted the two, her eyelids lowered considerably, lips curling seductively as she trailed her attention down Y/N's body. "You didn't mention we'd be getting more company, Az. Not that I'm complaining." She tilted her head and offered a smile, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth as she did so. "I'm Willa. Are you going to be joining us?"

"Oh," Y/N gasped, feeling her cheeks heat at Willa's implication. "Oh, no I ... I was just leaving, actually."

The Illyrian shrugged before turning to go back inside, though not without a few last words purred over her shoulder.

"Hurry up, Az. Otherwise Cass and Mel are going to be done before we even start."

Y/N cleared her throat as the door shut, once again dimming the light to a soft glow.

"I'm sorry for interrupting." She had to force the words from her mouth, bile rising in her throat at the thought of what would go down as soon as she left—what Azriel would do, and who he would be doing it with. "It was nice meeting you, Azriel."

Azriel's gaze lay heavy on her—heavy and assuring and so full of interest that part of her wanted to tug on the bond just to see what would happen.

"Likewise," Azriel said, eyes still on her as she turned to leave. "Though I'd be interested to hear how you know my name."

She froze at that. "I think Willa mentioned it."

Azriel tilted his head, eyes narrowing a mere fraction. "Willa called me Az."

"Well, I ... guessed the rest," Y/N said, lifting a shoulder as she carefully began walking backwards. "Like I said, it was nice meeting you."

Before she’d reached the line of trees that bordered on the camp, she shoved her hand into the pocket of her pants, and as her fingers closed around the cool crystal, she hoped that Azriel—whose gaze she could still feel boring into her back—would assume that she'd simply winnowed away.

-

The sun was bright in the sky this time around, and cautious optimism took a hold of Y/N as she once again neared Rhys’ cabin, the soothing weight of the crystal in her pocket.

The state in which she’d find Azriel and the others would determine whether she could truly only jump 20 years at a time. It would determine the effort it would take to return to her own time.

Like the last time, she could hear voices coming from the hut, though they weren’t inside.

It was just as Cassian and Azriel rounded the corner that she managed to jump behind a nearby tree. They looked older than they had last time. Some scars had appeared on both their wings, but with a slow sinking of her heart she noticed the locket dangling from Azriel’s neck.

Still too early then.

She was just about to shove her hand in her pocket to touch the crystal, done with this tedious business, when she heard the mention of her own name.

Looking up, she spotted Cassian now lounging on the stairs leading up to the cabin, rolled up mirth root lodged between his lips as he grinned up at Azriel, who stood with his arms crossed and his feet wide.

“What are you, twelve?” she heard her mate ask, his voice as low as ever, though there was a distinct note of amusement in his tone.

Cassian snickered, taking the mirth root from his lips for smoke to plume before his face. “What? Given that you’re so convinced she’ll turn out to be your mate, I’m just trying to make sure that you don’t have an eternity of sexual frustration ahead of you. Cauldron knows you’ve had enough to last you a lifetime.”

Azriel snorted. “Thanks, brother.”

Cassian grinned. “So?”

Even from her hiding place, Y/N could hear Azriel’s sigh. “So what?”

“So, are you sleeping with her?”

“I’m not talking about this with you.”

“Because you’re suddenly so shy about sex?”

“Because I don’t want her thinking I go around bragging about intimate details.”

The Lord of Bloodshed groaned, tilting his head back to stare at the sky. “I didn’t ask you to draw a picture of the position. It’s a yes or no question.”

Silence settled for a moment, and Y/N watched Azriel’s shoulders growing tense, until—

“No.”

Cassian looked up at that. “No?”

From her position behind the tree, Y/N could only see Azriel’s side profile, but it was enough to see his jaw clench. “No, we haven’t had sex yet.”

Amusement flickered across Cassian’s face. “Well, it seems she might just be the only female in all of Prythian that can withstand your charm, brother.”

Azriel seemed to hesitate. An unusual picture.

“It’s just …” he stopped, clearing his throat as he watched his left foot dig the tip of his boot into the soft earth of the ground. “I’m worried she might be … disappointed.”

Y/N flinched as Cassian threw back his head and barked laughter into the skies.

“The shadowsinger,” Cassian chuckled. “Insecure about his sexual prowess. Who would have thought the day would come.”

“Well, it wasn’t important before,” Azriel snapped, to which Cassian lifted a brow. With a sigh, Az continued, “You know what I mean. I want to spend the rest of my life with her, and so I want it … I need it to be good for her.”

Y/N smiled to herself, well aware of how entirely unfounded Azriel’s worries would turn out to be. She’d never realised her mate had troubled himself with this.

Cassian took a deep breath through his nose. “Well, I’m gonna go ahead and say that—should you truly end up being mates—the bond will probably take care of it.” Face twisting into a grimace, he added, “And even if not, judging by the past 300 years that I’ve had the pleasure to share a bedroom wall with you, I doubt you have any reason to worry.”

Azriel clicked his tongue, an exasperated expression on his face, and before she could stop herself, Y/N snorted a laugh.

At once, Cassian and Azriel’s demeanour changed entirely. Rising to their full height, tension crept into their shoulders, eyes firmly locked on the little cluster of trees she was hiding in.

Her heart dropped as she watched them share a look, and when Azriel sent his shadows rushing for the treeline with only the slightest wave of his hand, she quickly buried her hand in her pocket.

-

This time, when she woke up, there was no headache. There was no dirty ground, but the soft panelled flooring of a makeshift Illyrian tent. There were warm palms cupping her cheeks, a voice calling her name.

“My love,” it said, a distinct note of worry shaking the words. “Please open your eyes.”

She did as he’d asked, and as soon as she met Azriel’s gaze she knew for a fact that she’d made it. She was back.

Before she could open her mouth, Azriel had already scooped her into a tight embrace, palm cupping the back of her head as he pressed her against his body, muttering a quiet thanks to the Cauldron into her hair repeatedly.

As she raised her gaze to look at Cassian and Rhys, she was met with all the more concern.

“By the Cauldron, you gave us a good fright there, sweetheart,” Cassian muttered, the usual ease missing from his tone.

“What happened?” She asked as Azriel loosened his arms to instead focus his attention on scanning her for any obvious injuries. When he did not find any, he took gentle hold of her hand.

“Can you get up?”

She gave a nod.

“What happened?” she asked again.

Cassian and Rhys exchanged a look.

“You vanished,” the High Lord said finally, and as though in reaction to his words, she felt Azriel’s grip tighten on her hand.

“You caught the stone and then you were gone,” Cassian added. “Good thing you’re back now—Az nearly tore down the camp.”

A crease appeared between her brows. “How long was I gone for?”

It was Azriel’s calm voice that spoke now, though she knew that he’d slipped back into his mask of composure. The bond told her of his true emotions—of his rapidly beating heart and the panic he’d endured.

“Three hours.”

She ran a palm down her face.

“Can you tell us where the crystal took you?” Rhys asked as he knelt down next to the crystal she must have dropped upon her arrival.

Y/N gave a gentle scoff. “You wouldn’t believe me if I did.”

It was then that she felt a featherlight touch on the side of her neck—Azriel’s fingers skimming the bare skin that an hour earlier had been adorned with the locket he’d gifted her upon their mating ceremony.

As she met his gaze, she could see the question sitting there, and when she lifted her hand to catch his own between her palms, she offered a soft smile.

“I gave it to someone who needed it more than I did,” she whispered so only he could hear. “He deserved to be protected. He deserved to be loved. And I didn’t want him to ever forget it.”

It took a short while for her words to settle in, but finally the crease between Azriel’s brows softened with realisation, and his eyes flickered to the scarred hand she held safe between hers.

“Of course,” she thought she heard him breathe as he shook his head in mesmerisation. “It was you.”

And when he lowered his lips to hers, she felt the bond glow brighter than the sun.

[mischiefmanagers]

You Make It Better

a/n: this was a request! I loved writing this, and I actually had to make myself stop before it got too out of hand (obviously, do you see the word count?) maybe I'll do a pt. 2??

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: language, some descriptions of anxiety and self-doubt

word count: 7.9k

synopsis: Life as Nesta Archeron's friend had never been smooth-sailing, but you never would have thought it would land you in the fae lands, in a fae body, surrounded by unfamiliar...everything. You're struggling to adapt to your new life while dealing with the loss of your human one, but there is one fae male that makes it all just a little bit easier.

my masterlist

~ ~ ~

“Hi.”

Azriel’s head snapped toward you. He was slouched in a low-back chair facing the library’s windows, his large wings draped low behind him, but his eyes were wide and alert as he took you in.

You shifted in the doorway, folding your hands behind your back. You avoided his eyes as you asked quietly, “How are you?”

Azriel stared at you for a moment. Self-consciousness started to creep in as you stood there, all too aware of the plain gown adorning you that you had refused to abandon since arriving in the fae lands. They had offered you plenty of ornate clothes and jewelry since you were dragged out of that cauldron, but all you wanted was something simple, comfortable, and mundane.

There was nothing mundane about you anymore. Not in the way your ears were shaped, or the way your body moved, or how your skin seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. 

“I’m better,” Azriel’s cool, deep voice drew you from your critical thoughts. You swallowed, analyzing the beautiful man–beautiful male, you supposed–across the room from you. You didn’t dare step any closer.

“That’s good,” you whispered. This was the first time you had ever spoken to him. The last time you had even seen him was when he was lying in a pool of his own blood in front of the King of Hybern, his wings in tatters. You didn’t know what you were even doing here, talking to him now. You had just needed to get out of your bedroom, and had wandered the expansive halls aimlessly until you landed here. “I’ll leave you be,” you said softly, taking a single step back before his voice halted you.

“No, Y/N, wait a minute,” he rushed out. “How are you?”

Your lips parted slightly as you processed his question. You had been here for two weeks, and it was the first time someone had asked you that. Sure, there was plenty of fussing and daily check-ins with a member of the High Lord’s court, but you still felt so lonely, so isolated from everyone. They were all so worried about the physical well-being of Feyre’s friend, but there was no one who seemed to be worried about you. You didn’t blame them, and you weren’t angry with them either. They didn’t know you, and you didn’t know them, and they had done whatever they could to care for you.

You were angry with Nesta, though. You had not seen her either since that dreadful night that you were all shoved into that cauldron. She had sequestered herself away with Elain, and had not deigned to even see you. Her friend. She was the reason you were even in this gods-forsaken body in the damn Night Court of Prythian, and while you didn’t blame her for your kidnapping, you did blame her for abandoning you once you arrived here.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes snapped up to meet Azriel’s, who was waiting patiently for a response you didn’t know how to give. You shrugged slightly, mustering a small, placating smile. “I’m okay.”

He seemed to study you, eyes flicking up and down. You watched the shadows pulse around him in contemplation, recalling the name you had heard his friends murmur while speaking with his healers that first night.

“They call you a Shadowsinger,” you murmured quietly.

Azriel’s eyes followed yours toward his shadows. His gaze returned to yours apprehensively, nodding slightly. “Yes.”

“So,” you started, taking one step closer, “you control them?”

He seemed to hesitate, but eventually said, “Yes.”

His short answers weren’t exactly invitations to continue asking questions, to continue pestering him, but he didn’t seem to mind your presence. You thought about the sensation of being watched at night while laying in bed, the darkness that seemed to move in the corner of your room, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask such an outrageous question, so instead you asked, “Do you really fly?”

A small, teasing smile lifted his lips. “That is how you made it into this House, no?”

Your cheeks heated in embarrassment. That was a ridiculous question. If Rhys could fly you up this mountain, obviously Azriel could too. He must have sensed your embarrassment, though, because he said more seriously, “Yes, I do fly.”

You swallowed, struggling to think of something else to say. “Do you like it?”

His face seemed to soften, the morning sun gleaming off his golden skin. “More than anything.”

Your eyes glanced at the shadows retreating into the darker corners of his chair. “Do they…tell you things?”

He looked at his shadows, before nodding. “A convenient skill for a spymaster,” he said softly.

Your eyes widened slightly. “Spymaster?”

“Yes,” he said slowly, his brows furrowing. “How much have you been told about our court?”

You looked away from him, focusing on the soft satin slippers Morrigan had given you yesterday. The first gift you had accepted from the cheerful blonde. “Not much,” you admitted. “I’ve really only spoken to Rhys and Morrigan. Morrigan checks on me every day, but they have their hands full right now.”

His nostrils flared a bit as he took in a breath. “That’s not an excuse,” he told you quietly.

The heat on your cheeks spread down your neck as you also admitted, “I also haven’t exactly been an enthusiastic guest.”

Understanding flooded his features, his eyes rife with sympathy that you immediately wanted to run from. You didn’t want his pity. You didn’t want anyone’s pity. You just wanted to be spoken to like a human—or fae—whatever the hell you should even call yourself now. Regardless, you didn’t like being handled with kid gloves. Hiding away in your room probably wasn’t the best strategy to convince people that you were not fragile, but it was better than seeing that look every time you spoke with someone.

“Why are you spying on me then?” you blurted in a desperate attempt to redirect the conversation. Which, you supposed you did, but you also felt the little dignity you still clung to shrivel up inside your chest.

Azriel was clearly taken aback by the boldfaced accusation, and you couldn’t blame him. Who did you think you were? Not only had you barged in on the Night Court’s spymaster and pestered him with your questions, but then you decided to accuse him of invading your privacy, and you didn’t even know the poor male. “I’m sorry,” you sputtered out. “It’s just, I feel like I’m being watched at night. Like the shadows in my room are alive, and now seeing yours, I just thought—maybe I wasn’t actually losing my mind. But I’m probably just paranoid, I never should have suggested—”

“It’s okay,” he cut off your rambling gently. He cast a glare at his retreating shadows, before looking at you again. His cheeks were tinted pink, and you took an involuntary step forward as your heart flipped. “I do control the shadows—most of the time. But it seems they decided to take it upon themselves to watch over our guests while I’ve been…indisposed. I wasn’t even aware until now, I’m sorry.”

You shook your head a bit. “They don’t bother me, I was just…confused I guess. This entire place is confusing to me,” you added softly.

“I can imagine,” he said. You shifted again, rubbing your forearm. You let yourself look at him closely, just for a minute, just long enough to notice the honey hazel eyes that watched you carefully, and the dark swirls of ink creeping out from the neckline of his black shirt. You swallowed hard, feeling unsteady in his presence in a way you’ve never experienced, as if your body was begging you to move closer to him, but your mind and logic were pulling you back.

You forced yourself to step back toward the doorway. “I should go,” you said quietly. “I’m glad you are doing better.” With that, you shut the glass double doors behind you, and darted down the hallway to the safety of your room as your heart threatened to beat right out of your chest.

~ ~ ~

“Hello.”

You jumped at the male voice behind you, placing a hand on your chest as you turned to face Azriel. He was smiling softly, and your face flushed from having been caught. You glanced at Cassian and Feyre training in the courtyard before looking back at him.

“Hi,” you replied sheepishly.

“You don’t have to hide here, you know,” he said genuinely, no teasing in his voice.

You bit your lip, glancing at the stone floor. It had been a week since Feyre had returned, and while it was great to have her back, nothing else had changed much. You had been here for over a month now, and you still wore the same plain gowns, and you were still in the same overly luxurious room, and Nesta had only spoken to you once. You supposed your conversation was better than you could have hoped, given the reported vitriol she seemed to spit at everyone else, but she was still so cold and detached. You missed your friend, and you missed having purpose in your daily life.

“You could train too,” Azriel said softly, and your eyes snapped to him. “If you want.”

You opened and closed your mouth. You had caught glimpses of Feyre training with Cassian the last few days, and today your curiosity got the better of you when you walked by the training room and heard them sparring. Logically, you knew you could have just walked in and watched them, rather than hiding in the plants framing the entryway, but you also feared they might have asked you to join them if they saw you. “I don’t want to fight,” you mumbled, avoiding Azriel’s stare.

He didn’t say anything for a minute, prompting you to glance up at him. There was no judgment in his gaze. There was nothing but pure understanding that made you feel overly exposed. The urge to scamper off and hide was biting at you, and you curled your hands into fists as you anxiously waited for him to say something.

“What do you like to do?”

The question startled you, and you frowned as you met his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“How do you like to spend your time? What did your life look like before…” he trailed off, and you winced at the words left unsaid. 

Azriel looked poised to apologize, but you answered hastily to avoid receiving any more pity. You weren’t some fragile doll, and you were tired of everyone walking on tip toes around you. “I like to sew.”

“Sew?”

You nodded. “Dresses.”

You didn’t miss his glance at your plain blue gown, and your cheeks flooded with heat. “Ironic, given my usual choice of attire. I know.”

Azriel’s eyes widened a bit. “That’s not—”

“It’s okay,” you assured, cheeks still warm. “I get it. Really. But the dresses I made were never…luxurious. They were practical. Necessary.” You bit your lip. “They were very mundane.”

Azriel’s face softened, and you braced yourself for the next question, for him to ask to see your dresses or when the last time you made something was (months, was the answer). “If you ever want to make something here,” he said quietly, “Just let one of us know. We’ll get you whatever you need.”

Your heart clenched. “Thank you,” you whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“As for training,” Azriel said, voice turning light, “you still could, even if you don’t want to fight. You can build your strength. Learn to defend yourself.”

Your eyes were drawn back toward Feyre, who was smiling with Cassian as she wiped sweat from her face. You nodded a bit, answering shyly, “I think I would like that, actually.”

~ ~ ~

When you told Azriel you wanted to train, you didn’t realize exactly what you had signed yourself up for. You had assumed he would ask Cassian to train you, just as he did with Feyre. Instead, when you showed up that first morning to train, you were startled to find the shadowsinger himself standing in the training room. Apparently, he was going to train you.

Two weeks had passed since then, and Azriel was brutal. He wasn’t harsh, or cruel, and he never yelled, but his demands were unrelenting. You had yet to even learn any sparring techniques. He said you needed to build your strength, to increase your bodily control, if you were to ever effectively protect yourself in the face of danger.

You supposed that made sense. He would be the one to know, after all, but it didn’t dull the ache ricocheting through your legs as you wobbly sat on the floor to catch your breath. You were dripping with sweat, your hair soaked and leathers damp. Most days you still couldn’t fathom that you were here, that you were training with a fae warrior while wearing pants.

A fae warrior that made your insides turn molten every time you met his eyes. You were fortunate he didn’t think anything of the flush in your cheeks every time he spoke to you during training. In any other scenario your schoolgirl crush would be embarrassingly obvious.

The toe of his boot nudged your outstretched calf. You glanced up at him through your haze of exhaustion, lifting a brow. “Get up,” was all he said.

You frowned, taking in a deep breath. “Azriel,” you groaned.

“I’m going to teach you something new.”

You perked up a bit at that, although the growing numbness of your legs protested. You pushed yourself to your feet anyway, willing your body to hold out a bit longer. Azriel might have been demanding with his training regime, but he had yet to push you past your limits.

He beckoned you to follow him to the center of the room, and you stopped a few feet in front of him. “You’re not ready to spar yet,” he said, and you glanced away, “but there are other defense mechanisms you need to learn first anyway. Sometimes, if someone has a hold of you, the best defense isn’t to fight at all, but to know how to get away.”

He took a step closer, his intense gaze somehow pulling yours back to his. “If you are ever in a situation where someone has control of you, if they are trying to take you somewhere or hurt you, your priority is to regain control, and then get the hell out. That’s it. Your safety is always your priority.”

You nodded in understanding, and the tension in his eyes seemed to relax a bit. His throat bobbed, and let out a breath before saying, “Today, you’re going to learn how to escape from someone else’s grasp.”

Excitement prickled at your skin, despite the terrifying circumstances that would have to arise for you to ever actually need to use these skills. It was just nice to finally learn something more technical than building your strength or endurance.

Azriel stepped even closer, and your heart skipped a beat at his proximity. He paused his movements, his eyes meeting yours again. “Are you comfortable with me touching you?”

Your eyes widened a bit, and you had to restrain the overeager yes! that nearly fell from your lips. You simply nodded, and when he still didn’t move, you quietly said, “That’s fine.”

Your skin was on fire before he even touched you, and it was a bit embarrassing, really, how starved you had become for someone else’s touch. Even if it was in the form of something as clinical as teaching self-defense. You were so isolated here, though, and it had been nearly two months since your life had been upended and you lost everything you knew and loved.

He moved behind you, and he slowly wrapped his arms around you, trapping your own against your sides. His chest was pressed to your back, his body heat mixing with your own, and his breath fanned across your cheek as he said, “If someone ever grabs you from behind like this, your goal is to get away.” He shifted his arms up to enclose around your throat, making your swallow hard. “If they have you in a chokehold, hit them in the groin, and when their hold loosens, you slip out.”

His arms moved back down to circle your middle, trapping your arms again. “I don’t get to try?” you asked innocently.

Azriel glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “Not today,” he said drily.

You smiled a bit, then refocused on your task at hand. “So if my arms are trapped,” you said, “then what do I do?”

His hold on you tightened a bit, and you did your best to ignore the pounding in your chest. “If your arms are trapped like this,” he said, voice low, “then you move down. Squat and spread your arms at the same time to break their hold, and then push them away.” He squeezed you. “Try.”

You took in a breath, nerves fluttering in your chest. You tried to squat, but Azriel only followed your movement, and you couldn’t get your arms free. You stood back up, letting out a huff.

There was laughter in his voice as he said, “Try again. This time do it faster.”

You tried again, but Azriel’s hold was unrelenting. “I feel ridiculous,” you muttered, still trapped against him.

“You forgot to spread your arms, it needs to be a fluid motion if you want to loosen their hold enough. Again.”

“What,” Nesta’s icy cold voice sliced through the room, “are you doing?”

You tensed, and Azriel’s arms slowly fell away. You blinked at your friend standing in the doorway, her hair pulled back in her usual impeccable braids and her eyes filled with her usual ice. Although, usually that icy gaze wasn’t directed toward you.

Your face flushed under her scrutiny, and you scrambled for an explanation, but words seemed to fail you. You hadn’t done anything wrong, but the butterflies that had been fluttering around in your chest seemed to drop dead, settling heavy in your stomach as you stood in front of your friend. Your friend who was also forced into the cauldron, who was also struggling while you were busy nursing your growing infatuation with the fae male at your side.

“Azriel is training me,” you said softly.

“Why?” she demanded, her eyes sparking as she turned her gaze on the male.

“She asked,” he answered simply.

Nesta took a step closer, her voice dripping with venom as she said, “I doubt that.” She scoffed. “You faerie males are all so entitled and overbearing. As if I believe for a second that you didn’t plant this foolish notion in her head,” she spat. “She doesn’t need to train, and she doesn’t need you panting after her.”

You could practically feel the tension thrumming off of Azriel, but something inside you snapped at the way she spoke to him, to the one person that had bothered to make a connection with you since arriving in this court. “Enough,” you growled. Nesta blinked, her mouth falling shut. “Azriel offered to train me, and I said yes, because I want to. I want to feel strong. I want to know how to defend myself. I will never,” you seethed, “let myself feel as helpless as I did two months ago.”

You heard Azriel’s leathers shift next to you, his arm brushing against yours. That brief touch was enough to ground you, an inexplicable calm flowing through you. You let out a breath, your gaze softening but unwavering as you looked at Nesta. “It is helping me,” you said, voice softer, “To have a routine. To have a goal. You are welcome to join us.”

Nesta only stared for a minute, her eyes flickering with indecipherable emotion before she pursed her lips. “No.” With that, she turned on her heel, and left the same way she came.

Your mouth was dry as you stared at the empty doorway. Azriel’s hand on your shoulder jolted you from your stupor, but it fell as you turned to face him. “I’m sorry,” you murmured.

“She is hurting,” Azriel said, and a small part of you warmed at his ability to see beneath the icy armor Nesta liked to sheath herself in. You were all hurting, and while you desperately wished she would just talk to you, you knew Nesta, and you knew she would rather build a fortress around herself that let anyone see her tremble. “But you shouldn’t apologize for others’ wrongs,” he added gently.

You bit the inside of your cheek, nodding. Your stomach swooped as you looked at him, thinly veiled concern shadowing his face. You couldn’t shake the pull you felt toward him, and now it left you feeling unnerved more than giddy. “Can we be done for today?” you asked, voice small.

Azriel frowned, but nodded nonetheless. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” You tried to smile, but you knew it didn’t meet your eyes. “I’m just exhausted.”

“Okay,” he acquiesced. “Same time tomorrow then?”

“Yeah,” you rasped. “See you tomorrow.” As soon as the words left your lips, you darted out of the training room, mind reeling as you thought about Nesta’s scornful words. 

You did want to train, you knew that, but what you couldn’t wrap your head around was how easily you had agreed to Azriel’s offer to teach you. Why did spending time with him every morning seem to soothe the ache that clawed at your chest from all that you had lost? Why did he make you feel at peace, when the very body you now resided in was the product of turmoil and violence? The realizations were jarring, and the questions they raised made your head swim as you fell into your bed, forgoing the removal of your leathers as you succumbed to your exhaustion.

~ ~ ~

Your eyes scanned the bodies moving from one tent to the next, fires crackling around you as camp members cooked or gathered around for warmth in the chill of the night. Nesta stood next to you, observing the camp’s nervous energy silently.

“Do you think we’ll have another night here?” you asked quietly.

A beat passed before she replied, “No, I don’t.”

You swallowed hard, your heart lodged in your throat. Your eyes scanned the grounds again, and in your soul you knew what you were really looking for—who you were looking for. There was no sign of the blue siphoned Illryian, and every minute, every hour that passed without laying your eyes on him intensified the growing pain in your chest.

“He’ll be fine,” Nesta said, albeit a tad begrudgingly. You weren’t sure how she knew where your anxiety truly lied, but you didn’t question her. You didn’t say anything.

Ever since Nesta barged in on your training session with Azriel, the rest of your sessions had been more tense, less fluid. You were sure it was your fault, your mind overthinking your growing friendship with the fae male, but nonetheless you longed for your early morning sessions in the face of this war. It was hard to comprehend just how much had changed in the matter of weeks.

Once Adriata was attacked, time for your training sessions became minimal, until they eventually fizzled out completely after the High Lords meeting. You understood, of course, but you couldn’t quell the longing you felt for Azriel in his absence. It was foolish, how attached you had grown to him after a month of knowing him, but you tried to give yourself grace given the circumstances you had been thrusted into. 

The only positive change over those weeks had been Nesta’s rekindling of your friendship. She seeked you out one night to drag you to the private library of the House of Wind, and the two of you chatted quietly over books beside the fire. It was the most normal experience you’d had since arriving in the Night Court, and it bandaged the wound that was starting to fester from Nesta’s absence. You still hadn’t talked about what happened to the two of you, about your futures in Prythian, in a world of faeries. Neither of you were ready for those conversations yet.

You sighed, releasing a fraction of the tension in your shoulders. You said nothing before moving back toward the main tent, hoping you might be able to get some sleep before returning to the healers’ tent to help. 

“Where is Y/N?”

His voice washed over you as you pushed through the flaps, entering the small area illuminated in faelights. You stopped at the sight of his wings splattered in blood, his dark hair matted to his head as he spoke with Feyre.

“Azriel?” you rasped. Azriel turned toward you, his body visibly relaxing when he saw you.

Your eyes were wide as he strode for you, his face speckled in blood and grime. His blue siphons seemed dimmer than usual, and his black leathers and armor were darker in some areas. “Are you okay?” you asked breathlessly, fearing the worst, even though he was standing right in front of you.

“I’m okay,” he said quietly, eyes soft. His gaze drifted up and down your body, his shadows mirroring his assessment. The cool brush of the tendrils left goosebumps across your skin, and you briefly wondered why that was the first time he had let them touch you. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly, eyes brimming with worry.

“I’m fine,” you assured. His hands grasped your upper arms firmly, the tension of his grasp mirroring that on his face. You wrapped your fingers around one of his wrists. “I promise.”

His grip loosened marginally. “Why aren’t you wearing armor?” he asked.

“I’m working in the healers’ tent.”

He shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. You still need to protect yourself—”

“I will get her armor, Az,” Feyre’s voice cut through your bubble as she placed a hand on his shoulder. His eyes shone with thanks as she smiled slightly, her eyes limned with exhaustion. “I’m going to try to sleep. Let me know if you need me,” she said quietly, before disappearing from the tent, leaving the two of you alone.

Azriel’s breathing was heavy as you stared at each other, soaking in each other’s presence. “I need you to do something for me,” he said roughly. He dropped his hands from your shoulders to unsheath the dagger at his side. Your heart lurched as he handed it to you. You shakily grasped the dagger by the hilt, the blade surprisingly light and thrumming with energy. “It’s called Truth Teller,” he told you. “I need you to take care of it for me.”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, shock stealing your words. “Azriel—”

“I want you to use it. If you need it, use it. Do not hesitate to protect yourself,” he ordered, eyes pleading. “Do you understand me?”

You absently nodded, glancing down at the black dagger clutched in your hand. The dagger you had never seen Azriel without. He stepped away to grab something off the table, returning with a leather belt in his hands. “Wear this.” He held it up, and you noticed the perfectly sized dagger sheath fastened to the belt.

Your heart stopped beating as his hands circled your waist to wrap the brown leather around you. He easily fastened the buckle, pulling the material taught around you. When he was done, he tugged at the buckle, his fingers grazing your waist and making your skin heat. Seemingly satisfied, he reached for the dagger in your hand, carefully pulling it from your grasp and sheathing it in your belt. You swallowed hard as you looked between the dagger and the male in front of you.

“I have to leave again,” he said quietly. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Please, just,” his voice caught in his throat, “please stay safe.”

He squeezed your hand gently before moving toward the tent’s exit. You quickly caught his wrist, yanking him to a halt. His eyes were confused and weary with exhaustion, but you didn’t second guess yourself as you threw your arms around his neck, desperate to keep him here with you. He leaned down to meet your embrace, his own arms snaking around your waist to hold you close. His face nuzzled into your neck as yours pressed against his chest, and you breathed in his cedar scent that made you feel closer to home than you had in weeks.

“I need you to stay safe too,” you whispered into his chest. A shadow brushed your cheek as you closed your eyes, willing this moment to last a little longer.

A heavy silence fell around the two of you, and your chest grew tighter as every second passed. “Promise me, Azriel,” you begged, voice rough with the emotions threatening to spill out of you.

He lifted a hand to the back of your head, his hand gently threading through your hair. “I’ll do my best.”

You pulled back to look at him, his hands falling to rest on your hips as yours moved to rest on his chest plated with armor. His fingers pressed into your hips as he said with more conviction, “I promise I’ll do my best to make it back.”

Your eyes stung as you accepted that was the best he could give you. You couldn’t even begin to process why you were so attached to a male you had known barely a month, but the thought of losing him to this dreadful war felt like someone struck your chest with an ax.

His face was rife with conflict and agony as his glossy eyes stayed glued to your face. You wished you knew what plagued him at that very moment, if there was anything you could have done to alleviate some of that pain and anxiety for even a second.

His throat bobbed, a muscle twitching in his cheek as the two of you stood there, still holding on to each other. Eventually, he slowly leaned down, and pressed a fierce, lingering kiss to your forehead. Your eyelids fluttered shut, and when his touch fell away, and you forced yourself to open your eyes again, you watched his lingering shadows slip out of the tent where their master had disappeared from your sight.

~ ~ ~

The first few weeks following the war were a strange form of purgatory that left you feeling unsteady and filled with an entirely new form of anxiety. You hated feeling that way, too. You and your friends had all survived a war, and you were left worrying about your immortal future in this land that was frankly still foreign to you. You resided in a court that had taken you in after your human life was a casualty of their war, but now that war was over, and you didn’t know how to operate. You didn’t know what your daily life should look like, what relationships with those around you would look like when you weren’t facing an imminent threat.

It didn’t help that you had not genuinely spoken to Azriel since he gave you his dagger in that war tent. You had silently handed it back to him in the hours after you and Elain had slain the King of Hybern with the weapon. His eyes were wide and limned with weary exhaustion mixed with a hesitant relief as he took it from you. Neither of you said a word though, and then he was quickly swept away into dealing with the aftermath of the war. You could not fault him for it. You couldn’t fault anyone for the limbo you had been stranded in, and part of you was ashamed for your growing anxiety, so you had resorted to staying out of the way while everyone scrambled to handle the fallout from the war.

Any progress you and Nesta had made seemed to vanish with the death of her father. She wasn’t speaking to anyone, as far as you knew, after vacating the House of Wind. Elain had moved in with Feyre at the Townhouse, so that left you here, alone in the House of Wind with occasional run-ins with Cassian at meal times, whose eyes were weary with his own anxieties. Part of you thought your missing friend might be the cause of much of his tension.

You didn’t know where Azriel was. Some nights you thought he might have been there, as you laid awake in bed and a sixth sense sent a wave of comforting warmth through your chest while the shadows of the night seemed to pulse around you. It always quickly faded, though, and he was never there the next morning. 

Sleep started to evade you as your listlessness and uncertainty of your future grew. Your mind was churning with scenarios and possibilities for your future, for ways you could contribute to this foreign court and city you now had to call home. Usually, you would just lay with your thoughts throughout the hours of the night until dawn eventually broke, but that night, the walls seemed to be closing in as you wallowed in your loneliness and fear, as memories of the war started to flash in your head. You couldn’t stay in that room a second longer, so you meandered down the dimly lit stone halls until you reached the kitchen.

You put a kettle on, and then you started rifling through the cupboards until you found a mug and some tea. You didn’t recognize the herbs, but you figured Rhys’s taste in tea was as extravagant as everything else in his life. You placed the sachet in the mug before putting the rest in the cupboard, then rested your weight on the counter in front of you as you waited for the water in the kettle to heat.

“That’s an aphrodisiac.”

You screamed at the sudden voice behind you, whirling to find Azriel sitting at the small table a few feet away from you, his form barely illuminated by the moonlight leaking in. You rested a hand over your heart, your breathing heavy from the scare he gave you. “What are you doing?” you asked him, exasperated.

He stood up from his chair to move closer, his face slowly growing more visible in the dim faelight of the kitchen. “I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I realized you didn’t see me when you came in, and I didn’t want to scare you, but then I watched you pull out that damned tea Cassian bought last solstice and…” his voice trailed off.

You nodded, looking around the space awkwardly. You didn’t really know what to say to the male in front of you, but you did have one, nagging question that had plagued your thoughts these last few weeks. “Where have you been?” Your mouth was dry as you forced the words out, fearing you were overstepping, that you had no place to ask such a question.

Something indecipherable flickered in Azriel’s gaze, but you didn’t think it was irritation. “Everywhere,” he said quietly, as if he didn’t want to disturb the fragile silence the night surrounded you in. “But Autumn, mostly.”

You weren’t entirely sure what you were expecting him to say, but part of you didn’t expect him to have a genuine response. Shame curdled in your gut for the resentment that had started to simmer in you for his absence, when he’s been busy taking care of his home.

“Where have you been?” he returned your question almost playfully, and your heart hurt when you wondered if he didn’t feel the same longing you did during these weeks you’ve spent apart.

“Here,” you answered honestly, voice forcibly light.

Azriel blinked, his shadows stilling. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, leaning back on the counter as if you could create some more distance between the two of you. “Everyone has been busy dealing with the consequences of the war.” You gave him a small, self-deprecating smile. “I’m pretty much useless right now, so I’ve just been trying to stay out of the way.”

Azriel looked like you had struck him, and your stomach dropped as you realized you might have been too honest with him. You should be practically oozing gratitude for his court’s hospitality, and here you were whining to him, of all people.

He grabbed your hand, gently tugging you to follow after him toward the balcony. His scarred fingers laced with yours, and your heartbeat skyrocketed at the unexpected touch. The cool night air felt a bit harsh on your flushed cheeks, and Azriel’s warm hand in yours contrasted with the chill around you.

He stopped in the center of the balcony, pulling you close to him, and you reluctantly let go when he loosened his grip on your hand. “What are we doing?” you asked.

He grinned, and your stomach flipped. “Remember when you asked me if I could fly?”

Your cheeks heated. “Yes,” you mumbled. The thoughtless question was embarrassing, but you told yourself it was worth it to learn how much flying meant to him.

“Let me show you why I love it,” he told you, voice tender.

Your eyes widened. “You want to take me flying?”

He nodded, expression hopeful. “Do you want to?”

You bit your lip, glancing at the city of Velaris beneath you. “I’m a bit nervous,” you admitted, laughing a bit.

His gaze softened. “I promise you’ll be safe,” he assured you.

With a sudden, unwavering certainty, you knew that you would be safe with Azriel, so you simply nodded. His smile widened, and your heart soared for being the cause of it. He held his arms out a bit, palms up, and your body thrummed with anticipation when you realized what exactly flying with Azriel entailed.

You took a small step forward, shyness creeping in as you met his eyes hesitantly, but before you could overthink or question what you should do, Azriel swooped you off your feet, an arm under your legs and back. A small gasp escaped you, and your arms instinctively looped around his neck. You had only flown one other time, that first day you arrived in Velaris with Rhysand. During the war, you had been winnowed around to wherever you needed to go, and since then you had been stuck on this mountain.

You knew you could have asked Cassian to take you to the city. You knew he would have done it in a heartbeat, but you couldn’t muster the courage to leave the House, to face the new city you were supposed to build a life in. Somehow, the prospect of leaving here with Azriel made it all a little less daunting.

“Ready?” he asked, his breath lightly fanning across your face.

You simply nodded and tightened your hold on the male. Wind rushed around you as his massive wings pushed you up into the air, and you were quickly suspended high over the mountain. You kept your face tucked into him as you listened to the heavy beat of his wings.

“Are you okay?” he asked into your ear.

Goosebumps littered your skin. “Great,” you rasped.

You felt the vibration of his laugh against your face. “Then take a look around you.” Then, he added, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Reluctantly, you pulled your face from his chest, forcing yourself to look down at the city below you. The lights of the shops and restaurants glittered across the city, and bodies moved between buildings, with laughter and chatter faintly reaching your ears even all the way up here. Another heightened sense that came with being fae that you had yet to grow accustomed too. “Is it always so busy? Even in the middle of the night?”

“They do call it the City of Starlight,” was his coy response.

“Right,” you mumbled. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “It is.”

The two of you stayed quiet for the rest of the flight over the city, with you resting your head on his chest and his hands clutching you close to him. You admired his wings that were near iridescent in the moonlight, and you wondered what they would feel like under your fingertips. You were nearing an outcropping on the side of the mountain when you asked, “Your wings…how do they feel?”

Azriel tilted his head toward you, studying your face a bit. “They’re delicate,” he said slowly, “but they’re also durable. Strong. They are uh,” he seemed to fumble over his words. “They’re also very sensitive.”

“Sensitive?”

“To touch.”

“Oh,” you murmured. “So it hurts to touch them?” You couldn’t deny the twinge of disappointment you felt. 

“Not that kind of sensitive,” he corrected, voice thick.

You caught the hint of a blush on his cheeks, and your own quickly bloomed as you caught on. “Oh.”

Azriel cleared his throat, then abruptly dove toward the outcropping below. You squeezed him a little tighter, and when he eventually settled on the stone, you had to pry your hands from around his neck so he could set you down.

You looked up at the stars glistening through the tree canopies, mesmerized by their abundance and luminescence. Your gaze slowly moved to the shimmering city beneath you, taking in the view from a different angle that the House of Wind. You were much closer to the sea here, and you could smell the salt and surf that lingered in the air. A strange melancholy filled your veins as you stared down at the city you had resided in for months and had yet to walk to the streets of, that you had yet to integrate into because you were scared of failing to find a new purpose with your life. The only skill you possessed was dressmaking, and underwhelming ones at that.

“I’m not sure how much you’ve been able to explore Velaris yet—” Azriel said from behind you.

“I haven’t.”

A beat passed. “What?”

“I haven’t.” You licked your lips, your gaze fleetingly meeting his worried one. “I haven’t visited the city.”

“I knew you hadn’t when we were training,” he said, voice soft with disbelief, “But I thought, once we came back from the war…”

You didn’t answer him, and he didn’t say anything else, so instead you asked, “Why did you just disappear?” Azriel went still, but you continued, “Why didn’t you…talk to me?” You wondered if you sounded as pathetic as you felt. You knew he didn’t owe you anything, but you couldn’t deny the part of you that thought the two of you had at least become friends over the last couple of months.

Seconds passed before Azriel finally said, “I was trying to give you space.”

“Space?” you asked incredulously. You couldn’t help the laugh of disbelief that escaped you as you turned to fully face the male. “Why would I ever want you to give me space?” You met his eyes, shaking your head. “Azriel, you are the only one who—” You cut yourself off, unsure of where you were even going with your rambling.

His lips parted, and his shadows swirled around him restlessly, but he didn’t say anything.

“Ever since I arrived in this court, I have felt so alone,” you breathed out. “My best friend won’t speak to me, and I don’t know anyone else. But you,” you took a deep breath, trying to stabilize the tremble in your voice, “you made it better. You were my first friend. Maybe, maybe I misread—”

“You didn’t,” he rushed out, voice almost desperate. His eyes were wide and stricken, but you couldn’t understand what he was thinking or why he had avoided you for weeks to then suddenly take you for a midnight flight around the city.

You let out a breath, your exhaustion from everything weighing you down. “I feel so detached from everyone and everything around me,” you whispered. “I have no purpose here. I have no powers, I can’t fight, I know nothing about political strategy, I—”

“You’re my mate.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you processed the words that fell from Azriel’s mouth. Your lips were parted as you stared at him, his  eyes glossy as he stared back. “What?” you asked, voice trembling.

“You’re my mate,” he repeated, breathless. “I—” He paused, licking his lips and rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t mean to imply that that’s your purpose, but it kills me,” his voice cracked, “It kills me that you feel this way, because you are my everything.”

A tear fell down your cheek as you listened to his words, as you understood their meaning. A mate. You were Azriel’s mate. The world felt like it was tilting beneath you.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t realize.” He took in a shuddering breath. “I let my own insecurities keep me away from you. I thought, when you didn’t talk to me after the war ended, that I had overstepped. I have never wanted to push myself or the bond on you, but during the war, when I was so scared of losing you—” He shook his head, running a hand over his face. “I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so I stayed away. Had I known you had been so isolated, so lonely, I would have been here.”

“I, um,” you cleared your throat. “I don’t really know what to think right now.”

“That’s okay,” he said softly.

You held his gaze as you rasped, “I don’t really know anything about mates, except that Rhys and Feyre are each other’s.”

“I know,” he assured, taking a tentative step forward. “I don’t expect anything from you. I will take whatever it is you’re willing to give me, in whatever time it takes.”

You nodded, lips wavering. “Thank you.”

Your eyes fell from his glistening eyes to his soft lips, and while you knew you needed time before you could fall into being someone’s mate, whatever that entailed, you also knew you wanted to kiss the male that stood before you and had made you feel safe, at peace, every time he was near. You took a step closer, your chests nearly touching. You met his eyes shyly. “Can I…”

“Yes,” he breathed, his own head tilting down to give you easier access.

You raised yourself up on your toes to reach his lips, yours molding easily with his. A slow, comforting warmth flowed up through your chest as you pressed your lips against his, neither of you pushing for more than the chance to explore each other in this new and intimate way. Eventually, you pulled back, falling back onto your feet to stare up at Azriel’s reverent gaze.

“I don’t know much about mates,” you breathed, head still spinning, “but I would like to learn.”

A soft smile pulled at his lips. “I would be honored to teach you.”

You hummed, toying with one of the clasps on his leathers. “I suppose you are a decent teacher.”

Azriel’s hands rested on your hips, pulling you close. “Decent?”

You grinned. “Satisfactory.”

His eyes glinted. “I guess I have room for improvement then.” He pressed a quick, easy kiss to your lips, and your heart flipped when he pulled away, looking at you in awe.

“Yeah,” you agreed, heart tumbling in your chest. “I guess so.”

[mischiefmanagers]

| The Bold and the Brave |

Summary: Azriel looking after your fox whilst you fulfil your diplomatic duties in the dawn court on behalf of winter. Azriel trying his best when he has no clue what he’s doing. [acotar masterlist] 2752words

Azriel x winter court reader

“You want me to what?” Azriel said, peering over his book at you. The hard cover hanging together by a few threads at the spine and by the way your mate had tightened his grip you were convinced it’d finally fall apart.

“It would mean a lot to me, I’m going to the dawn court and I can’t keep on eye on him.” Your gaze flickered to the white furred fox curled on your lap, warm nose nudging your palm as you waited for a response.

-

Azriel’s shadows curled round his ears hissing at him to decline, but he always crumbled as soon as your brows dipped as if you expected to be denied anything you asked. It had been like that for centuries before you met him.

So he found himself not putting up a fight, agreeing to look after the winter fox.

Balto.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, Azriel would do anything for you. Balto however, had never shown him any attention other than lunging at him whenever he opened the closet and biting him when he was taking you away.

Not even a day since you’d left, Balto paced the creaky floorboards, tail dragging along behind him. His canines snapping whenever a stray dark wisp got in his way.

Balto’s pointed ears twitched each time Azriel dipped his pen into the ink jar. The scratching of metal on parchment raising the tuft of fur at the back of the fox’s neck.

“Stop that,” Azriel snapped, not glancing up from his desk. Balto huffed, pesky shadows hovering a breath away from the fox, neither knowing who the shadow singer had spoken to.

A flash white zipped past Azriel, the ever growing reports stacked on the table crashed to the floor. Balto’s wet nose leaving a trail on the letter he’d just finished, blue ink smudging the paper. He sniffed around the desk, swiping a paper weight off the edge. Which Azriel caught before it could topple over.

Shadows tore towards the fox, twisting around its bushy tail as they tried to lessen the damage. The action only making matters worse as Balto tried to snap at the wisps, running in a circle and landing in Azriel’s lap.

They both paused, Azriel’s hands frozen in the air and Balto’s mouth hung open. Lowering his hand gently, his fingers scratched the top of Balto’s head, onyx eyes closing for a moment. A moment, because as the cool shadows traced the raised fur at the back of Balto’s neck, he sunk his sharp canines into Azriel’s hand.

“Bloody menace,” Azriel snarled pushing Balto off of his lap and nudging him away with his boot. His shadows hissing as if they too had been bitten.

He inhaled a deep breath, gazing to the beams of the ceiling. Three days, he had three days to figure out how to manage a winter fox. It was the first time he’d been left alone with Balto, you were always here and when you wasn’t, the fox trailed after Nesta. Another warm lap to fall asleep in the library.

A white bushy tail flicked around the gap of the door, tapping claws against the hallway tiles merging with Cassian’s heavy footsteps. He shouldered Azriel’s office door open and stumbled through, Balto walking in between his steps.

“Well hello Balto,” Cassian chuckled, he leant down and petted the fox’s head, a little too roughly that he pushed back against his palm. “He’s probably hoping I’ll take him to Ness,” he said straightening up and meeting Azriel’s narrowed eyes.

“He likes you,” Azriel said, his brow furrowing at the thought. Why didn’t he like him?

Cassian fell into the chair opposite, tapping his lap in invitation and too Azriel’s surprise the fox leapt into Cassian’s lap and curled up, head tipped back as he tried to lick the hovering hand above him.

“He likes my scent because it’s merged with my mate that he adores,” Cassian said scratching under Balto’s chin. “I know that look brother, only time will help.”

Mate. Azriel couldn’t understand why Balto had never warmed to him, even after the mating ceremony when your scent entwined with his. Balto should be seeking him out for comfort, but it was the opposite.

“Are you going to the mountains? Check up on the training there?” Azriel tapped his fingers on the desk, hand dropping as Cassian’s gaze found the bloody teeth marks there.

“Yes…” Cassian smirked, large hands framing Balto’s face, a tinge of pink on his white fur near his canines telling enough.

“Good,” Azriel nodded, “take him with you.”

A deep laugh shook Cassian’s chest, Balto pawing the spot. “I can’t take him to the mountain, there’s no snow right now. He’d stick out and become dinner for who knows what.” A smirk tugged his lips, he was enjoying this too much.

“At least let him roam around the house with you, I’ve got all this still to do,” Azriel said, straightening the papers beside him which were all out of order thanks to Balto.

“Fine, but just an hour. I’m sure you’ll come find him when it’s up,” Cassian called over his shoulder. Balto chasing him out the door without another glance in Azriel’s direction.

He glanced down to his lap, long white fur stuck to his dark trousers and clumped together as he tried to brush it off.

One hour turned into three as he pushed through the work on his desk. His shadows were oddly calm, no interruptions since Cassian had bid him goodbye.

He wondered how you were doing in the dawn court. Much of your work involved smoothing over alliances between friendly courts, words being more powerful than weapons in your line of work. Not that you couldn’t hold your own, you’d been fighting monsters in the winter mountains your whole life until you’d met Azriel. Then you started to think more smarter, how you could still serve winter and live with him in Velaris. The diplomatic position giving you the best of both worlds.

Your absence seemed to be a sore spot for Balto, the longing sinking into him too as he watched the fox huff and puff all day. It hadn’t even been a day and he was wishing you were here.

Balto, he hadn’t seen since. He pushed out of his chair and blew the flame out from the lantern. He aimlessly walked the house of wind, shadows peeling away from him to squeeze under the doors and check for the fox.

The faintest of whimpers echoed down the hallway. Dark wisps struck his chest, but he pushed through them till he found Balto curled up on an armchair in the library.

Your chair, he could still smell your scent as if he’d stepped into the winter court. Fresh snow and pine invading his senses.

Nesta leant against the chair, her head resting on the cushion as she stroked Balto’s thick fur. The book in her lap discarded, pink ribbon marking her place. She murmured the softest of words, coaxing the fox’s heavy eyes shut.

“Az.” Nesta clicked her tongue and turned to him still looming in the doorway. “Poor things missing her, what have you been doing with Balto?” She raised a brow, as if she could see through the thick leather of his glove hiding the teeth marks on his hand.

“He bit me,” he blurted out, unsure why he needed to tell her. “I don’t know why he won’t warm to me.” His shoulders drooped, wings tucking behind him. The weight of a whimpering Balto pressing down on him, another reminder that you weren’t here. You always knew what to do.

The many times you’d crawled under the bed and calmed Balto, stayed until he felt safe enough to come out of his hiding space. Or when he’d be snarling and snapping, your silent presence sitting on the floor as you waited for Balto to come to you. As if teaching Balto that he had a choice, no forcing or punishing for feeling an emotion as big as fear.

You’d told him before that Balto had gone missing in the winter mountains when you were a child and it changed him. The only person he fully trusted and didn’t bite was you. There were many similarities to you and Balto.

“I will watch him for a while, go finish your reports,” Nesta said, voice soft and gentle like the hand smoothing Balto’s fur.

Azriel spent the rest of the day compiling reports and tidying his desk. The darkness crept in around him, the small lamp snuffing out beside him as the wick was nothing but ashes.

He flexed his hand, deep teeth marks now a scratch after a few hours of healing. His shadows whispered in his ear, echoing Balto’s name.

At times his shadows were no better than the fox, chasing its tail and whistling in Balto’s ear. He tried his best not to let the dark wisps monitor the foxes movements, but a few strays did what they wanted and watched.

When Azriel finally got back to his bedroom, a furry mound was curled on the bed. Sometimes Balto liked to sleep at the bottom of the bed by your feet, but he’d never slept on it without you.

He changed into his night clothes and slid into bed, trying not to pull the blanket from underneath Balto’s snoring form.

“Just for tonight,” Azriel whispered, smoothing his palm along Balto’s curved spine.

·•✦•·

Azriel’s body felt heavy as he dragged himself along the hallway. Wings skimming the walls as if they were trying to keep him upright. The pounding in his head amplified as he pushed his palm against his bedroom door.

In the middle of the bed, Balto’s teeth locked on a pillow, Azriel’s. He growled, shaking it in his hold.

“Balto!” Azriel didn’t mean to shout, the ache of his muscles whining as he raised his voice.

The day he’d had, checking on his contacts for intel went completely south and he ended up taking things into his own hands. The last scrap of patience falling away as feathers ripped from his pillow.

It was only supposed to be a couple of hours, but it turned into nine. The second day almost over.

Balto dropped the pillow as Azriel went to tug it. Pointed ears pushing back and head dipping, tail tucked between his legs.

Azriel stilled, blood coating his hands and staining the lilac pillow he clutched. “Balto,” he said, low and soft. His knees sinking on the mattress as he reached out slowly.

Dark wisps danced with the feathers floating in the air around Azriel, but his gaze was fixed on Balto.

In moments like this, it reminded Azriel of you. The way you used to snap at everyone who tried to reach out for you. Afraid that if you accepted that hand, you’d get hit by it later. Cold and detached, one letter answers so that no one could ask too much of you.

“It’s okay boy,” Azriel said, stopping as Balto scrambled backwards. He lifted his hands and rose from the bed, walking back to the bathroom. He opened the closet door on his way, knowing Balto would seek refuge in the layers of chunky knitwear that smelled of you.

Space, that’s what he’d give Balto. The blood and grime marring his flesh and leathers wasn’t helping. So he’d clean himself up, hope that the lingering scent of you would help him calm a frightened Balto.

He removed his weapons, setting them on the counter gently trying to make as little sound as possible. Pulling off his fighting leathers, he let them fall to the tiled floor and kicked them out of the way.

The harsh water beating against his back soothed his aching muscles. Azriel watched the red water spin down the drain until it was clear. He scrubbed every inch of his flesh, it was no wonder Balto was scared. He hadn’t realised how terrifying he looked. That and the fox’s heightened scent did not help his case.

Azriel pulled on some clothes and exited the bathroom, out of the corner of his eye he found Balto peeking through the folded jumpers in the closet. He stripped the bed and scooped up the feathers, stuffing them in a new pillow case and tying a knot in the end.

The three days were nearly up, only a few hours left till morning. Azriel put new sheets on the bed and tossed the old ones in the basket. He opened the other closet door and pulled out his winter coat, Balto following his every movement.

Balto nipped Azriel’s hand as his fingers traced the folded jumpers. A smile tugging his lips as he scratched under Balto’s chin. Space seemed to be the best remedy for Balto.

“I know, you miss her. So do I,” Azriel said, leaning against the shelves of the closet. “Let’s go meet her in winter, what do you say boy?”

Balto lunged out of the closet and landed on Azriel’s shoulder, paws trailing along his back as he dropped to the floor. His tail curling around one of Azriel’s legs waiting for him.

Scooping Balto up from the floor, he place the fox in his bag. The one you normally carried in when you winnowed to winter with Balto. He settled into the fur lined bag, huffing as Azriel tried to push his busy tail in the bag too.

He’d never travelled with Balto through the planes of darkness. Too afraid the fox would leap out and he’d never be able to find him. But he needed this as much as Balto, the open space of the winter mountains was somewhere that reminded them of you.

The strap hung from his neck and he clutched it to his chest, shielding Balto’s eyes as he snapped his wings into flight. As soon as he was able to travel, he let the darkness wrap around him and guide him to the winter court. His fingers stroked Balto’s head, a part of him checking he was still there.

The crunch of snow beneath his boots and the howling bitter wind welcomed him in winter. Balto jumped out of the bag and dove into the crisp white snow. Azriel couldn’t help but smile as he watched the fox tunnel underneath, jumping on the untouched snow and disappearing.

Azriel spent all morning walking the mountains, Balto trailing not far behind him. They checked in on your cabin, both napping by the fire and eating lunch. A kind patroller offering him soup, after seeing the smoke from the chimney.

Balto lay in front of the fire, pointed nose resting between his paws. His ears dropped back and pressed down into the tuft of fur. He crept forward on his stomach, pausing as a pesky wisp skimmed over his head.

To anyone else they’d think Azriel was still in a deep slumber, he leaned into the rhythmic deep breaths and let his hand drop to the floor. Balto stopping once again, before he inched closer and closed the distance.

A warmth nudged Azriel’s hand, his shadows telling him of the furry friend out of his eye-line. Balto licked the back of Azriel’s hand, tongue swiping the faint teeth marks he’d given him a couple of days ago.

“Thanks, boy,” Azriel said, his palm tapping the top of Balto’s head. “Why don’t we go find our favourite person.” He rose from the sofa and pulled on his coat.

Balto yapped in agreement, darting to the open door as fast as a lightning bolt. Azriel couldn’t keep up with furry blur, snow too deep as the fox burrowed underneath it.

Every now and then he’d catch a glimpse of Balto leaping up out of the snow and trying to chase a bird. Whenever you finished your duties for winter, Azriel would meet you there if he wasn’t away working. It’s times like this that he savours the cold. Reminds him of you.

He feels the charge of energy between you before he sees you. In your absence the heat is unbearable that he longs for the cool touch against his burning flesh.

You slide your arms around his waist and tucked yourself under his arm. “Did you give him winter berries?” You asked peering up at him as he kissed your forehead.

“No,” he said pulling away from you, “should I have?”

“Gods no, we’d never be able to catch him.”

This has been in my head since I did the winter read headcanons

[mischiefmanagers]

Smothered Flames - Pt. 2

a/n: second and final part of smothered flames! thanks for all of the support and lovely words :)

pairing: Azriel x Vanserra!Reader

content warnings: language, anxiety, allusions to past trauma, canon-typical violence

word count: 6.4k

synopsis: You were the Vanserras' best kept secret. That is, until you followed Eris to the Night Court, and you ended up finding more than you bargained for.

read pt.1 here

my masterlist

~ ~ ~

The flames of the fire danced in front of you, sparks flying out from the wooden logs every so often. The warmth from the fireplace soothed something restless in you, reminding you of your brother. Three weeks had passed since you had seen him. One week since your entire world was flipped upside down with the revelation of your mate. You had not seen Azriel since that afternoon.

Every time you thought about it, shame washed through you. You didn’t think you could have possibly handled it any worse than you did. Feyre assured you that you did nothing wrong, and when Nesta found you hours after you were meant to have met her in the city, she only agreed with Feyre’s assurances. 

They also tried to assure you that despite Azriel’s grievances against the Vanserra family, he was not a cruel male like the ones you had been subjected to for decades. He wouldn’t hurt you, or force you to accept the mating bond. Feyre also tried to explain her and Rhys’s relationship to you, the respect and equality that acted as the very foundation of their love for one another.

You had never felt as naive as you did in those hours with those females, who were treating you like a skittish fawn that might spook at the slightest movement. You hadn’t really spoken to anyone since that day, having only brief conversations with Feyre or Nesta when one of them dropped by to check on you. You weren’t sure how Feyre convinced Rhys to let you stay in his townhouse with free access to his city, but you supposed she really did have the power that came with being High Lady, and not just the title for show as your brothers had spat in passing conversations.

A knock pulled you from your spiral of thoughts, and you frowned at the front door. You weren’t sure who would be here that needed to knock to be let in, and your guard instantly shot up as you slowly moved for the door.

Your breath caught in your throat as you made out the silhouette of wings through the frosted glass. You paused in front of the door, debating whether to answer the door, even though you knew he could hear you standing on the other side. You also knew that he could have just come in here, into this house that was more his home than yours, but he didn’t. You bit your lip, then slowly opened the door to reveal the massive Illyrian standing on the front porch.

“Hi,” he said quietly. His face was passive, calm, but his shadows pulsed around him restlessly. One broke away from him, twirling around your ankle. The sudden contact made you flinch, and it quickly retreated. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “They won’t hurt you. They’re just…curious.”

You nodded slightly, looking anywhere but at him. He cleared his throat, dragging your attention back to him. “Can I come in?” he asked.

Your heartbeat automatically picked up. “You can say no,” he said softly, some tenderness creeping into his tone. “I will leave right now if you want me to. But, I just—” He rubbed at his wrist. “I would like to talk to you, please.”

You hesitated, wavering between the fear ingrained deep inside you and the innate pull you felt toward him. A calm, soothing warmth bloomed in your chest, and you stared at him wide-eyed. You lifted your hand to your chest. “Did you just do that?”

His own eyes widened. “I—I didn’t realize what I was doing.”

You rubbed at the center of your chest, before finally stepping to the side. “Come in,” you said quietly.

Azriel hesitated a moment, before he finally crossed the threshold and shut the door softly behind him. He followed you into the living room where your fire was still burning, and you curled up on the corner of the sofa. He crouched down in front of the fire, tossing another log of wood into the flames before standing back up to face you.

“I’m not sure how to start,” he began quietly, sitting on the edge of the chair next to the fire. The one you had been curled up in minutes ago. “I know—” He sucked in a breath. “I know you’re scared of me.”

You shifted on the couch, tucking your socked feet closer to you.

“You never need to fear me,” he promised. His voice was so low, but it held so much more warmth than it ever had before. The male sitting in front of you now was nothing like the male that had stood before you in that damp cell weeks ago. “I know the reputation I carry, and I can only imagine the torment your family has subjected you to,” he growled, some of his usual tension returning.

“Eris hasn’t,” you whispered. Azriel’s eyes flickered, and you braced yourself for his anger, for the reprimand sure to follow your interruption.

It never came. 

“I have many grievances against your father and brothers,” he admitted. “Lucien and Eris, however, seem to at least have some morality still intact,” he added reluctantly.

Lucien. You hadn’t heard his name in forever. You were just a child the last time you saw him. “You know Lucien?” you asked tentatively.

Azriel frowned, nodding slowly. “He’s one of our court liaisons, and he’s,” he faltered, “he’s Elain’s mate.”

Your stomach turned. “Does Eris know?”

Azriel hesitated before saying, “Yes.”

Your heart sank. Why wouldn’t he tell you about Lucien?

“I’m sure he had his reasons for keeping it from you,” Azriel said, but you could tell it killed him to defend the male.

“Yeah,” you whispered, before meeting his eyes again. “I’m sure.”

He seemed to think about his words for a minute, struggling to decide what to say next. “When I was a boy,” he started, his voice rough, “my father kept me from my mother. I was a bastard, and his wife wanted nothing to do with me, but he couldn’t handle handing me off to my mother, so they decided to lock me in a cell in their basement. For years, I stayed down there in the dark, only getting an hour of light a week when my mom was allowed to see me.”

Your heart had stopped, your breathing turning uneven. You imagined Azriel as a boy, with small Illyrian wings and innocent eyes. Innocence that was seemingly stolen from him at a young age.

“I had two half-brothers who were older than me. They hated me, tormented me with faint scratches against the stone of my cell or with glimmers of light that I thought were hallucinations.” He looked down at his hands, stretching his fingers out in front of him. “They’re the ones who did this to me.”

Acid burned at your throat. “I’m sorry,” you rasped.

His lips twitched. “Thank you,” he whispered. “But I’m not telling you this to earn your pity. I just want you to know that I understand. I know the wounds inflicted by the people who should love you run deep. Mine spanned only a decade. Yours have been for seven.”

He took a deep breath. “I am not my father or my brothers. You are not yours,” he murmured. “We are more than the people who have hurt us.”

Your eyes stung as his words penetrated you like bullets, shattering the walls you had unknowingly built around you over these years.

“I know how the wounds they’ve left behind can fester. They can scar, even once they’ve healed, leaving behind a phantom pain that forever seems to linger.” His voice was so soothing, and you had to fight to keep your guard up with the male. The hazel of his irises seemed to glow in the light of the fire, and you had to blink to pull your attention back to your conversation. “What I’m trying to say,” he breathed, “is that I understand your reaction to the mating bond. I understand that it snapped in the middle of an already bubbling panic, and that it just made everything worse by one hundred fold.”

Heat bloomed across your face as you thought about that day, as he openly spoke about the tether tying your two souls together. “I’m sorry,” you rasped.

“No,” he said immediately. “Don’t be sorry. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

You felt unsteady, like you were bobbing in the river that ran through these city streets. “Do you hate that I’m your mate?” you asked, voice more fragile than you would have liked. “That a Vanserra is your mate?”

Azriel studied you for a moment. Every passing second chipped away at something deep inside you, at a hope you didn’t realize you had for a life you never thought was possible. “The moment I grabbed your wrist in that cell,” he murmured, “I think part of me knew. Some intrinsic, primal part of me recognized you, but I shoved it so far down I nearly suffocated it. That feeling lingered though, and it rattled me. I was convinced I was reading too much into it because my brothers had found their mates, and I wanted my own.”

He let out a shaky breath, rubbing his cheek. “And a part of me resented the idea of being bonded to a Vanserra, yes.”

You flinched, closing your eyes for a second.

“But Nesta made me realize how unfair that was to you. My issues with the Vanserra bloodline span centuries, but you’ve only been alive for decades. You’re a victim of the cruelty in Beron Vanserra’s court, not a perpetrator. I realize that now.”

“I knew my life was sheltered,” you murmured. “I knew I had little freedom in the Forest House, and that the abuse my brothers and father inflicted upon me wasn’t okay, but Eris,” you swallowed, “Eris protected me as much as possible. He’s done his best to keep me away from them, and with Amarantha’s reign, I was actually alone for half a century. Unfortunately, they all returned just as wicked as they left.” You met his eyes. “I would understand if you did resent me for my family.”

“But I don’t, Y/N,” he assured you, scooting to the edge of his seat. “When you tried to leap over that balcony before I could fly down to catch you, my heart stopped dead. And when you crashed into me after winnowing, I could feel the fear that consumed you. It was so palpable, and it killed me that you were afraid of me. I just wanted to make it stop, and I,” his voice wavered, “I think that’s what made the bond snap.”

You mulled over his words, over all of the conflicting emotions you’ve been grappling with this week after the haze of your hysteria had lifted. “I want to believe you,” you started, forcing yourself to hold his gaze, “but I don’t know—” You shook your head. “I need some space,” you whispered.

Azriel nodded, standing up from his seat. “That’s okay,” he told you softly. “Whatever you need, take it.”

You bit your lip, looking down at your lap.

“I’m going to go,” he said, moving toward the front corridor. “Thank you—for talking to me.” He tilted his head slightly toward you. “Have a good night.”

“Good night,” you murmured, and you watched him slip out the front door.

~ ~ ~

Azriel’s words played in a loop in your head as you stared at the Sidra’s flowing waters. The stars glittered over the water, and the glow of shops in the distance made you understand why they called Velaris the City of Starlight. You had somehow managed to find a quiet spot along the water during your mindless walk around the city. Sleep had evaded you after Azriel’s visit, and you thought you might as well take advantage of your newfound freedom and go for a midnight stroll.

It was cathartic. Walking around city streets filled with faeries of all backgrounds, and not one of them knowing who you were. A few had given you curious glances, but everyone was too intoxicated at this point of the night to think much of your presence. Maybe visiting during the day would be different, but for now, you were enjoying this.

You frowned as the water seemed to still in front of you, the steady flow halting to a stop. Your skin prickled with awareness before your mind could process the new presence at your side, and your heart stopped when you saw the auburn haired male sneering at you.

“Roux,” you gasped, taking an instinctive step back, only to move directly into the hard body of a second male. You immediately pulled away, locking eyes with another one of your brothers.

“What—“

They lunged for you, each of them wrapping around your arms. You twisted and turned, screaming for them to let you go. Undiluted terror filled your veins as they dragged you closer to the Sidra, rather than away from the once again flowing river. “No,” you breathed, pulling at both of their arms. “No!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Roux snarled into your ear. He tugged you toward the bank, while you resisted with every ounce of your strength. “Did you think we wouldn’t find you? That we didn’t notice when you disappeared? That we couldn’t take a guess which court would happily steal away the daughter of Autumn?”

Your whole body was trembling as the toes of your slippers scraped the edge of the bank. “Please,” you begged, voice cracking. “Roux, please. You don’t understand.”

Your toes shuffled over the edge, and Roux’s bruising grip dug into the flesh of your arm. “Too bad Eris isn’t here to save his precious baby sister,” he hissed, before kicking your feet out from beneath you and plunging you into the icy water below.

You screamed, thrashing as the two of them held you up, only letting the water submerge you up to your chest. They both laughed at your struggle, at the pain spreading through you from the sharp cold of the water. Your cheeks were damp with tears as you yelled for them to stop, any hope of getting away from them quickly fading. You knew they wouldn’t kill you. You knew this was only the beginning of the torment they had planned for you as retribution for your disobedience, and it terrified you.

They yanked you from the water, and your knees immediately buckled beneath the weight of your body. They didn’t let you fall to the ground. Instead, they left you to hang between them like a sack of dirt, your arms and shoulders tingling with pain, while they bickered back and forth about what to do with you.

“I suggest,” a dark, venomous voice drawled from behind you, “you let her go.”

Both of your brothers stilled, then dragged you around as they turned to face the male shrouded in writhing shadows. Azriel looked like death personified as he stared down your brothers, his wings flared and a dagger in each hand. 

They both seethed. “Should have known she had been turned into a Night Court whore,” Roux spat. He jerked your arm still clutched in his hand. “She’s always been a cunning little bitch. I’m sure it took nothing for her to weasel into your bed.”

Azriel released a growl, his knuckles turning white around the hilts of his daggers. He stepped closer. “Let her go.”

They both flinched when he moved closer, before twin smiles spread across their faces. Your heart stopped. “If you insist.” Before you could even process his words, the two of them tossed you off the bank of the river and into the flowing icy water.

Panic seized your chest as your body was pulled down with the current, your limbs thrashing desperately to push yourself back to the surface. You couldn’t swim. You couldn’t fucking swim and they knew that. Your lungs burned as you fought against the need for air, fought against your reflex begging you to take a breath. You were going to die in this damn river.

Warm hands pulled you into a warm chest, and an arm wrapped around your waist. Some intrinsic part of you knew exactly who held you, who was pulling you up to the surface. You gasped as soon as the air hit your face, and the trembles racking your body were amplified ten fold.

Azriel pulled you to the bank of the river, easily lifting you up onto the ledge before pulling himself out. Water sloshed around him, and his shadows frantically flitted around your body as water dripped from your hair and clothes. You hugged your arms to yourself, an especially violent shiver shaking your body. You didn’t know if it was from fear or cold, it all seemed to mix together anyway.

Your eyes locked with Azriel’s, his chest rising and falling heavily as he watched you. A soft warmth bloomed in your chest, and something in you snapped. A sob fell from your lips, and your body folded over as your shivers turned to shuddering cries, and the water rolling down your face mixed with the tears from your eyes.

Azriel gently pulled you toward him, hesitation clear in his slow movements, but you instantly fell into him. You soaked in his warmth that permeated through his water-drenched leathers as you sobbed into his chest. His arms circled around you, holding you tight, with one hand continuously running over your wet hair.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, voice rough. “You’re okay, sweetheart.”

Your cries were unrelenting, and eventually Azriel stood up, picking up your sodden form with him. You tucked your hands between his chest and your body, nuzzling your cheek against his wet leathers.

“I’m going to winnow us,” he told you softly. “Okay?”

You nodded without any thought. You just wanted out of here. You wanted dry clothes, and a dry bed to curl up in. Shadows swarmed the two of you, and you briefly recognized that winnowing with Azriel felt different than what you were used to, but you didn’t have it in you to ask once you appeared in front of the fireplace of the townhouse.

The fire sent a jolt of awareness through you. “Where are my brothers?” you gasped, twisting in Azriel’s hold.

He squeezed you gently where he still held you. “Rhys is taking care of them.”

You shivered. “How did they find me? How did they get into Velaris?” Your chest tightened, and you wheezed out, “What if the third is here somewhere. What if he comes—”

Azriel set you down on the chair closest to the fire, your wet clothes immediately seeping into the cushion. When you started to say so, Azriel hushed you and said it would dry. 

“No one can get you here. Or in the House of Wind,” he said softly, crouching down in front of you. He rested his hands on your knees. “Cassian is already scouring Velaris to see if your other brother or any Autumn sentries are still lurking around. Even if they are, nothing else is going to happen to you,” he assured.

You stared at him a moment, his eyes so sincere and warm. So warm compared to the cold glare you had been the victim of when you first arrived.

“I don’t know how they managed to get in,” he admitted gruffly. “I don’t know how they knew where you were. Armen and Feyre are trying to figure that out.”

You let his words wash over you, absorbing that all these people were currently working together because of an attack on you. An attack on their court by proxy, you supposed, but selfishly, it felt so nice to just feel like people cared, even a little.

Azriel squeezed your knee. “Stay here just a moment?” he murmured, then rose and disappeared into the kitchen.

He came back with two female wraiths, who appeared elegantly terrifying. “This is Nuala and Cerridwen,” he said quietly. “They’re going to help you get a bath and then into some dry clothes, okay? You can trust them.”

You eyed the two wraiths warily, but Azriel’s trust in them somehow eased your worry, so you simply nodded.

Azriel placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, pulling your gaze up to him. His face was solemn when he said, “I have to leave. I have to go deal with—“

Panic surged through you, and Azriel faltered, a hand lifting to his chest. He looked at you wide eyed. “I’m sorry,” you rasped. “But—please don’t leave.”

Azriel’s throat bobbed as he took you in, ire and fear and tenderness flashing through his eyes as his shadows slowly slithered up your arm. The tendrils were comforting, you found, with no small amount of surprise. You had grown up hearing horror stories of this male in front of you, of the lethal shadows he wielded. Now he was your mate and his shadows seemed to be fussing over you.

“Okay,” he agreed, voice thick. “I’m not going anywhere.” He gestured toward the wraiths waiting patiently near the staircase. “Let them help you, and I’ll be right down here. I promise.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding your head. The wraiths appeared on either side of you, making you flinch, before they easily helped you up and started guiding you toward the staircase. “Let’s warm you up.”

~ ~ ~

You weren’t sure how long you soaked in the bath. You weren’t even really sure when Nuala and Cerridwen came in to help you into warm, fresh clothes and to dry your hair. Now you were left curled up in the same oversized bed you had slept in all week, the duvet a comforting weight pressed against your still trembling body. At least the trembles had become intermittent.

A soft knock on the door made your heart lurch. When you didn’t respond, it slowly creaked open, revealing Azriel. He didn’t move from the entrance, the dim hallway light seeping in around him. “Hi,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”

You hesitated. “I’m warmer now.”

Azriel smiled half-heartedly and his hand flexed around the door knob. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

He had just started to pull the door shut when you called, “Azriel?”

He immediately opened the door again, waiting patiently for you to speak. You clenched the comforter pulled up high around you, deliberating your words. “I thought I was going to die,” you admitted, voice cracking.

Azriel’s face shifted into barely restrained fury. “I wouldn’t have let that happen,” he promised, voice low.

You took in a shaky breath. “I believe you,” you murmured. “I just—I wasn’t sure. I mean, I wouldn’t have blamed you. Look at who I’m related to.”

Azriel’s face fell. “Can I come in?” he rasped.

Something warm flowed through you at his request, at his respect for your space. It probably made you pathetic, but you had never truly had that. Even Eris tended to be overbearing to the point of disregarding your boundaries. You nodded slowly, exhaustion weighing on you.

He stepped inside, leaving the door slightly ajar. A few of his shadows slithered over to you, brushing against your cheek. You smiled softly. 

The heat of his body radiated through the covers as he sat next to you on the edge of the bed. His wings were relaxed, splaying out over your covered legs. You weren’t sure if he even noticed, but it made your heart flip.

His eyes bored into yours, his gaze unwavering. “You’re my mate,” he started, voice soft. “I have waited centuries to meet you, and I would die before I let something happen to you.”

A tear fell down your cheek, and Azriel reached to gently wipe it away. “I can only imagine what kind of examples you’ve seen of the mating bond. Your mother and father—” He shook his head. “We are not them. You never have to be afraid of me.”

You sniffed. “Thank you for coming for me,” you whispered.

“You never have to thank me either.” His face was morose when he asked, “Is that how it’s always been?”

“What do you mean?” you asked, voice gravelly.

His throat bobbed. “Have your brothers always been so cruel?” His voice cracked when he added, “I guess I already knew that, but to see it first hand, to feel your terror—it nearly killed me. I feel sick thinking about that being your day to day life.”

“Outside of Amarantha’s reign,” you said, voice weak, “pretty much.”

Azriel’s face was pale, your words seeming to physically strike him. “I mean,” you rasped, “It wasn’t every day. When Eris was around, things were better.”

Azriel’s jaw twitched. “Rhys is going to have to tell Eris about this,” he said, voice turning more serious. “He’s probably telling him right now.” You looked away, thinking about the fury sure to erupt from your brother. “He is most likely going to offer you to go somewhere else.”

The sharp panic that pierced your chest was shocking. “I don’t want to leave,” you whispered.

Azriel’s face softened. “You don’t have to. It’s up to you if you stay.”

You released a breath, some of the tension leaving you as your eyes grew heavy. Azriel placed a hand on your leg. “I’ll be downstairs, okay?”

You reached for his hand, fingertips brushing over the scarred skin. “Can you stay until I fall asleep?” you asked quietly.

“Of course.” Azriel squeezed your hand. “Get some sleep. I’ll be right here.”

~ ~ ~

“Where the hell is my sister?” Eris’s voice crescendoed down the hall. You flinched at the ire in his voice, meeting Azriel’s gaze nervously. He smiled weakly, a clear attempt to comfort you from where he stood across the House of Wind’s private library. A comforting warmth bloomed in your chest, making your cheeks heat. You avoided his gaze as you braced for Eris’s arrival.

More voices sounded from the hall, and Azriel shifted on his feet. The doors to the library flew open, Cassian’s face being the first to greet you before your brother shoved past him. Eris’s eyes were wild with panic and fury, but you could see some of the tension visibly melt away when his eyes met yours.

You stood up on shaky feet, unsure how to greet him in front of the Night Court, after a month apart from each other. He made that decision for you when he rushed to you, crushing you against his chest in a fierce embrace.

One of his hands went to the back of your head, and you could tell he was trying to hide the slight trembles running through him. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

You circled your arms around him, nodding. “I’m okay.”

He pulled back, face painted with worry. Then that spark of fire lit in his eyes again as he spun toward the males watching the two of you. You met Azriel’s eyes instinctively, his own completely placid. You felt foolish for a moment for seeking him out, for defaulting to him for some form of reassurance, but then he sent another tender caress down the tether between you. Your shoulders relaxed instantly.

“How did this happen?” Eris seethed.

Rhys took a step forward. “I have the same question, Eris, since it was your brothers that decided to wreak havoc in my city.”

“I don’t know how they found her,” he hissed. “But you were supposed to keep her safe. Your wards were supposed to be impenetrable.”

You saw something like regret flicker on Rhys’s face, and Azriel’s hand clenched. “We’re trying to learn how they got through.”

“She’s coming with me,” he growled, and your heart dropped. “I thought she would be safe here, in the city of the most powerful high lord. Clearly, I was wrong.”

“Eris—”

“You and you damned court—”

“Eris,” you pleaded, gripping his forearm. His words halted as he turned to look at you, his body still tense with fury. His eyes met yours, and he went still.

He looked you up and down, his face going a bit pale. He whirled toward Azriel, who had shifted closer to the two of you without you noticing. Azriel didn’t move, he didn't flinch when Eris spat, “You.” He pulled his arm from your grasp, marching toward Azriel. “If you laid a finger on her—”

“Eris!” you snapped. He turned his head back to you, face incredulous. “Azriel saved me,” you told him more gently. Eris’s jaw clenched, but you kept speaking. “He’s my mate,” you said, voice wavering. Azriel’s eyes cut to you. “And I want to stay,” you said even quieter.

Eris’s throat bobbed, his hands clenching and unclenching. Eventually, he moved back to you, standing face to face. He didn’t say anything, but you could see the warring emotions and instincts behind his eyes.

“My mate, Eris,” you whispered, smiling slightly as your eyes started to sting. “I never thought…” you trailed off, voice tinged with awe and disbelief.

Eris closed his eyes a moment, his face softening. He opened them, and they were now coated with a glossy sheen. “I know,” Eris whispered.

“I—” You glanced at Azriel, who had again silently creeped closer and was now only a few feet away, His shadows swirled restlessly around. You looked back at Eris. “I want this.”

His jaw clenched before he let out a heavy breath. “Y/N—”

“I would never hurt her,” Azriel spoke up from behind Eris. Eris went rigid, turning slowly to face the male. He glanced between the two of you, sniffing subtly, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening.

“Our father cannot find out,” he said lowly. He looked at Rhysand. “He will use it as an excuse to launch an attack on your court, and I won’t be able to stop him. I can handle my brothers, but there’s nothing I could do or say to stop him if it came to that.”

Rhys nodded. “Then I suppose we need to move up our timeline.”

Eris gave a curt nod. He looked back at you, eyes soft. “I just want you to be happy,” he said quietly. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

You smiled. “I know,” you said. “I think I can have that here.”

~ ~ ~

“I’m glad you decided to stay in Velaris,” Feyre said before sipping her wine. The two of you were sitting next to each other on the love sofa in her home, watching the rest of the members of her family chat and laugh with one another. Your eyes were focused on the shadowsinger tossing a giggling Nyx in the air, his eyes light as he watched his nephew.

“Yeah,” you said absently. “Me too.”

Feyre huffed a laugh. “When are you two going to accept the bond?”

Your froze, anxiety prickling your skin. “I don’t know,” you murmured.

Feyre paused. “You do want to, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you rushed out, turning toward her. “I definitely do.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “You know he does too, right?”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “We’re just taking it slow.”

Feyre’s face softened. “There’s nothing wrong with that,” she said gently.

You bit your lip, lowering your voice. “We haven’t even kissed.”

Feyre looked taken aback, her eyes widening. She glanced at Azriel. “I thought…” She shook her head. “It’s been nearly a month since your brothers’ attack, and you two seem so…smitten.”

Your cheeks flushed, but before you could answer Azriel moved toward you, having passed Nyx off to his father. He came up beside you, his knuckles brushing against your arm. “Do you need more to drink?” he asked.

You looked down at your empty wine glass. You weren’t even sure when you finished it. You nodded, passing the glass to Azriel. “Water, please?”

He smiled, taking the glass and heading to the kitchen. You waited until he disappeared down the hallway before turning back to Feyre, keeping your voice low, “He’s actually the sweetest male.”

Feyre smiled. “Azriel takes care of the people he loves. He’s not as cold as the rest of the world paints him.”

“I know,” you hummed. “I think he’s waiting for me to initiate the next step.”

Feyre studied you. “So why haven’t you?”

You debated telling her about the anxieties and insecurities that have been plaguing your brain, and eventually admitted, “I’ve never been with a male before.”

Feyre’s eyes filled with sympathy and understanding. “Azriel would never make you do anything you didn’t want to.”

You shook your head. “I know, I’m not worried about that. Not anymore, at least.” You chewed on your cheek. “I don’t want to disappoint him.”

Feyre’s eyes widened. “Y/N–”

“I mean he’s already stuck with a Vanserra as his mate. I’m not naive, he’s five centuries old, and he’s probably expecting—”

A hand on your shoulder halted your words, your body going preternaturally still. Feyre’s eyes were still wide, and you realized that she had been trying to warn you of Azriel’s arrival. You slowly looked up at him, mortification washing your cheeks with heat.

His eyes were filled with concern, with no hint of anger, and somehow that only made you feel worse. “Come with me, please?” he asked softly. Feyre had disappeared, leaving you to fend for yourself.

You nodded, standing up slowly. He laced his fingers with yours, guiding you out of the busy living room and into the quiet hall.

“Azriel–”

He shushed you softly. “Just wait a second, yeah?”

He walked the two of you down the hall until he made a turn that took you to the doors to the garden. He pushed the glass doors open, holding them until you stepped through and then softly shutting them. He guided you toward a bench surrounded by moonflowers, his hand on the small of your back urging you to sit.

He sank down next to you, his wing brushing against your shoulder as he shifted. Goosebumps littered your skin at the contact. “How much did you hear?” you asked meekly.

Azriel was quiet for a moment. “All of it, I think.”

You covered your face with your hands, mumbling into them, “Oh Gods.”

Azriel gently pulled your hands down, forcing you to look into his eyes. “You’re right that I’m waiting for you to make the next step,” he said gently. “I want you to feel in control. I can wait however long you need, and I’ll take whatever you are willing to give me.”

You bit your lip. “It’s not that I’m not ready…”

Azriel’s eyes softened. “You could never disappoint me,” he murmured. He grabbed your hand in your lap. “I am not stuck with you as a mate. I’m blessed.”

You turned his hand over in your lap, tracing the skin of his palm. He watched you quietly, not moving an inch.

“Everything has just been so sudden,” you whispered. “Sometimes it feels so overwhelming. Building a new life, making friends, it’s all a lot. But then, when I think about you, when I look at you, I feel okay for a second. Then I panic that I have all these feelings for you in so little time, but it’s also a mating bond, and I—” You shook your head, smiling softly.

Azriel was clearly listening to you, but he didn’t say anything, patiently waiting for you to work through your thoughts.

“My point is,” you said, trying to regather your words, “I do want to keep moving forward. I want to learn how to build a relationship with you. I want to explore the mating bond with you.”

Azriel was smiling, his eyes a bit shiny. “But,” you added, a bit more nervously, “I also want to move slowly.”

Azriel’s eyes were so soft, so warm. Your insides melted. “That’s okay, Y/N,” he promised. “There’s no rush with this.”

“I don’t want to mess this up,” you admitted, voice shaky.

“Neither do I,” he squeezed your hand. “This isn’t one sided. I’m terrified of doing something wrong. I think it’s natural, though.” His thumb rubbed against your hand. “We both have something now we never thought was possible for us. Of course we don’t want to lose it.”

This male. This male beside you who somehow always knew what to say, how to verbalize your messy thoughts. You eyes flitted from his hazel eyes intently watching you to his soft, slightly upturned lips. You swallowed hard.

“Azriel,” you breathed, “kiss me.”

Azriel’s ministrations against your hand stopped. “What?”

You met his eyes again, pleading. “Please?”

He shifted closer, eyes locked on yours, assessing every flicker of emotion on your face. He lifted a hand to your cheek, and you leaned into it slightly. He lifted his brows, the question clear in his eyes, and you nodded.

He slowly pressed his lips against yours, one of your hands resting on his thigh. It was so slow, a long, searing press against each other before he pulled away. Your heavy breathing mixed with his. “Gods,” he murmured before leaning back in, this time moving against you.

It was a natural give and take, a rhythm that you easily fell into with him. Your heart was pounding and your head was light when he finally pulled away again, leaning his forehead against yours. A tear fell down your cheek, and his eyes widened in alarm. He quickly wiped it away, cupping your face in your hands. “Are you crying? What happened?”

You shook your head, smiling. “I’m fine,” you assured, cheeks warm. “I just never thought I would have this,” you choked out, sniffing. “My whole life I’ve been so smothered. I never felt like I could even breathe, let alone ever dream of having this.” You lifted a hand to his wrist, smiling wide. “I’m just happy.”

His face was light as his own smile spread across his face. He pulled you to him, holding you to his chest. “Me too,” he rasped, squeezing you tight. Your chest was filled with that now familiar warmth, and for the first time you were grateful you never had your brother’s fire magic in your veins, because it might have dulled this feeling with Azriel, your mate.

~ ~ ~

taglist: @rcarbo1 @bravo-delta-eccho @kayjaywrites @whydohumansss

[mischiefmanagers]

Smothered Flames - Pt. 1

a/n: part one of a new fic! there will only be two parts, and the second one should be up by tomorrow (I promise I'm also working on a part 2 for you make it better, I've seen all your requests, and thank you for the love)

pairing: Azriel x Vanserra!Reader

content warnings: language, anxiety attack, allusions to past trauma

word count: 6.5k

synopsis: You were the Vanserras' best kept secret. That is, until you followed Eris to the Night Court, and you ended up finding more than you bargained for.

my masterlist

~ ~ ~

The faint sound of dripping water echoed around you. You counted the continuous drops until you lost track, then started over, and over, and over again. You sat propped against a stone wall, its roughly hewn surface scratching against your skin any time you shifted. The only source of light was a dim orange glow that emanated from so far down the hall that it only barely let you make out the iron bars of your cell. You held your hand up in front of your face, wincing at the sharp pain that radiated through your shoulder at the movement. Those bastards probably fractured something.

You could barely make out the shape of your hand in the suffocating darkness. You weakly lowered it back down to your side, leaning your head back against the wall. Your face was stiff with dried blood from the scrape you earned along your hairline, and your throat was dry from hours without water. You wondered how long they would keep you here. How long until someone came to interrogate you, to inflict pain worse than a head scrape and fractured shoulder? Maybe they would just leave you here until the darkness and silence drove you mad, or until you died of thirst. You didn’t let your mind wander any further, didn’t let yourself think about all the cruel and wicked stories you had heard about the Night Court.

You never should have followed Eris. You should have minded your own damn business and let him do whatever the hell it was he had wrapped himself up in. He has been disappearing for days out a time for months, though, and you were worried. You were worried your father might have pulled him into some wretched plan of his that would only end up getting Eris killed. It was no secret that Eris would be the next High Lord, and everyone knew he was the least malleable for your father and his courtesans to shape and mold. He got away with it though by acting just as wretched as the male ordering him around, slipping into a facade that hid his true intentions and heart. No, your brother was not cruel, despite what the world thought, and you knew if you didn’t look out for him, no one else would.

You supposed the sentiment behind your fool’s mission was fair, but the execution of it was grossly miscalculated. A fact you quickly realized when you came face to face with Night Court soldiers in the snowy woods outside their main city. They did not hesitate to detain you, shoving you hard to the ground the second you turned to run, and then dragged you underground and into this musty and dark cell. Eris likely didn’t even know you were here, wasn’t even aware that you still had access to the tracking spells he had given you during the war. Your chest tightened. You were going to die down here, and Eris might never know what happened to you.

The sound of muffled voices made you freeze. The voices grew closer and closer, their heavy footsteps echoing loudly against the walls.

“This better be damn important.”

“It is, sir,” a nervous voice replied.

Another voice, much less reverent, sneered “If you didn’t want to be bothered, you should have just let us do away with her. I’m sure Kier could have found some use for the pretty thing.”

A chill wracked your body, and you couldn’t stop the trembles that overtook you.

A beat of silence filled the tunnel again, then the first voice growled, “You’d do well to remember who you’re speaking to.”

“I report to Kier,” the male replied haughtily.

“And I outrank Kier,” the other male sneered. “Keep that in mind.”

Three large silhouettes appeared in the darkness outside your cell, and you swore the one in the middle had wings. Oh gods. You felt his eyes on you, as if he was analyzing every shaky breath you took and every tremor that shook you. You supposed it would make sense for the Night Court fae to have exceptional vision in the dark.

“Why is she here?” the male asked.

The meek one answered, “We found her outside a few hours ago, in the woods. We believe she is from the Autumn Court.”

Your skin prickled with anxiety. They hadn’t seen your ring with the Vanserra family insignia. You balled your hand into a fist, hiding the gold band from sight.

The cell door slid open with a deafening screech, and you winced as the winged male stalked toward you. He crouched in front of you slowly, and when the gems adorning him flared with a cobalt blue glow, you could barely make out the harsh lines of his cheekbones and the cold eyes staring at you. The darkness around him seemed to pulse, and your heart lurched at the realization of who exactly they had sent to deal with you.

The Shadowsinger. All of your brothers loathed the male. Some of them used to whisper taunts and threats in your ear that the Shadowsinger would come to steal you away in the middle of the night if you didn’t do something they demanded of you. Sometimes they did it just to be cruel, to watch the tears well up in your eyes. Decades had passed and you were no longer the sniveling child that they would taunt with scary stories, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still cruel, that they hadn’t found new ways to torment you when Eris wasn’t around. You wondered if their cruelty was about to seem like child’s play once the Shadowsinger had his way with you.

You jolted at the cool touch of his skin on your wrist. His fingers dug slightly into the skin, pulling your hand to him and forcing your fingers to unfurl. He examined the exposed ring, the familial crest you had turned inward to your palm. You hated the damned thing, really, but Eris had given it to you. He made you promise to wear it, and so you did. You never took it off.

The Shadowsinger hummed softly, then growled to the other males. “Leave, and get me Cassian.”

His grip on your wrist never weakened, and you struggled to swallow the fear bubbling up in your throat. You were still trembling, skin littered with goosebumps. You thought you might vomit, until finally, after minutes of silence passed, the male asked with a chilling, quiet voice, “What is a female like you doing wearing the Vanserra family crest?”

Your stomach dropped. Of course he knew your crest. Of course he could make it out clearly in the dark. You didn’t know what to say. No one outside the Forest House knew you existed, and no one outside your family knew your heritage. The accidental daughter of the High Lord of Autumn born centuries after their youngest son. A daughter with little to no magic in her blood, not compared to her brothers. An embarrassment. A mistake. For seventy years you had been hidden away in that court, rarely getting to even take a breath of fresh air unless Eris stole you away for a ride through the forest. You had no training to protect yourself with, no idea how to withstand an interrogation, torture.

“Fine,” the male said smoothly. “Don’t tell me. We’ll find out some other way.”

He stood up from where he was crouched on the ground, dropping your wrist abruptly, the pain in your shoulder contorting your face. He took note of the reaction, the obvious pain you were in, but said nothing. Panic clawed at your throat, squeezing around it tighter and tighter. “It was a mistake,” you rasped out. Your eyes were wide, and you were sure you looked pathetic. Trembling and bloody on the ground. 

“What was?” he asked, voice hard.

You shook your head. “I shouldn’t have been in these woods. I didn’t know that’s where I would end up. I was just following—” you cut yourself off.

He took another step closer, the toe of his boot brushing your own damp one. “Following who?” His voice was so cold and dark it sent another chill through you.

“Me, I presume.”

Your head swiveled toward the familiar voice so fast that you were shocked your neck didn’t snap. Your brother stepped inside, moving toward you on steady feet, but his eyes were aglow with fiery anger. A sob of relief escaped you, and your shoulders curled in on yourself as the adrenaline fueling you finally crashed. He knelt beside you, tilting your head gently to look at the scrape on your head. His eyes snapped to Azriel. “Did you do this?” he growled.

“No,” the Shadowsinger snapped. “Two of Kier’s men found her,” he said pointedly, “and they brought her here.”

Eris’s breathing was heavy with barely restrained anger. 

“Eris,” you started quietly.

“Not now,” he said lowly.

“Do you care to explain yourself, Eris?” another midnight smooth voice drawled from the cell entrance. Your eyes darted over to him, failing to have noticed the two other males that had followed your brother. One of them had wings and glowing gems like the Shadowsinger, only his were red instead of blue.

You knew Eris was seething, and a small part of you feared what he would say to you once you were alone again. There was no denying that you had royally fucked up. Eris said with that fake haughty drawl he donned around everyone, “Once you fetch my sister a healer and some dry clothes, gladly.”

The silence and tension was palpable with his reveal. You weren’t sure if the shudder that went through you was from your anxiety about the revelation to these Night Court males, or from the still ebbing adrenaline that had wreaked havoc on your body for the last few hours.

Eris’s hands skimmed down your shoulders before easing you up by the arm. His hands were so warm, and you once again envied his fire magic. His head turned to the other males. “Now,” he snapped.

~ ~ ~

You were bundled in a sweater, leggings, and wool socks that smelt of jasmine. A thick wool blanket was wrapped around you, and a gentle healer worked diligently on your shoulder as your brother paced behind you. The room they had winnowed you to was lavish and ornate, and open. There were no windows because the room led to a vast outdoor balcony that was only separated by billowing drapes. You couldn’t deny the relief you felt when you realized you were out from that cold and dark mountain. You had expected them to give you some old rags to change into, maybe in a room with light, but certainly not this.

The healer finished her work, the throbbing of your shoulder reduced to a dull ache and the gash on your head sealed shut. Your hair was still in disarray, but at least some of the dirt and blood had been wiped from your skin. You were still trembling slightly, both from anxiety and a lingering chill. Once the healer left you and Eris alone, you turned your head slowly to face him. He ignored your stare, continuing to pace slowly back and forth.

“Eris,” you murmured.

He glanced at you briefly, but he said nothing.

“Eris,” you said again, voice pleading.

“Not now, Y/N,” he snapped.

You sucked in a breath, absorbing the sting inflicted by his harsh tone. Despite it, you still said quietly, “I’m sorry.”

His eyes locked on yours, softening slightly. He let out a long sigh and ran a hand over his face, halting his incessant pacing. “I know you are,” he breathed out. “But what were you thinking? How did you even know where I went?”

Your eyes narrowed. “I was thinking that my brother had been acting suspiciously for months, and if I had noticed, it was only a matter of time before someone else did.” Then, a bit more sheepishly, you said, “I used the tracking spell you gave me during the war.” His eyes narrowed, and you hurried to add, “I only wanted to make sure you were okay. That you weren’t in over your head with something or that our father hadn’t roped you into an inescapable scheme.”

He muttered something under his breath, looking to the ceiling. “You are too clever for your own good.”

You scoffed. “Hardly.”

His narrowed eyes fixed on you. “I have a tentative alliance with the Night Court,” he admitted softly.

Your eyes widened. “The Night Court?”

“Yes,” he sighed, moving to sit in the armchair beside yours. “We have a mutual interest in removing Beron from his throne.”

You opened your mouth to ask more questions, to demand a better explanation, but he cut you a scathing look. “And that is all, I will tell you about the matter. It is not safe for you to know anything about this. It’s not safe for you to be here, period.”

You glanced at the closed double doors, knowing it was only a matter of time before members of that court came storming in. You worried your lip between your teeth. “Eris,” you said softly. “They know about me now.”

He let out another long breath, closing his eyes as he rested his head on the back of the chair. “Indeed.”

You didn’t really appreciate the nonchalance he held. If they treated you like that without knowing who you were, what would they do to you now? Would they try to hold you over Eris? “Eris,” you urged, the fear in your voice making him look at you. “What are they going to do to me?”

He frowned at that, leaning forward. “They aren’t going to do anything to you.”

“But, the Night Court knows about me. I’m not supposed to exist, Eris, and now they know—”

He put a firm hand on your shoulder, cutting off your nervous rambling. “They aren’t going to hurt you, okay? I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. You have to trust me.”

“But, Eris—”

He squeezed your shoulder. “You know that facade of mine you hate so much?” You nodded. “Well, the Night Court has similar…tactics,” he said, albeit a bit reluctantly. You both turned toward the door at the sound of footsteps in the hall. “Just let me talk to them,” he said quickly, then stood up as the three males walked through the doors.

The male in the middle had violet eyes that promised violence, and you blanched a little at the sight of the powerful High Lord. “Start talking, Eris,” he demanded.

Eris folded his hands behind his back, slipping into a role of indifference he knew how to play all too well. “This lovely female you had locked in that dark and dingy cell is my younger sister, Y/N.”

The Shadowsinger snarled, “You don’t have a sister.”

Eris raised his brows. “That you knew of.”

“Why keep her a secret for…” the High Lord trailed off, his eyes locked on you. “How old are you?”

You swallowed, answering quietly, “Seventy-three.”

Eris cut you a glare that was clearly a reminder to let him talk. The High Lord’s brows rose at the number, and you couldn’t tell if it was because you had been hidden for decades or because you were not even a century old.

“So you’ve kept her hidden for seven decades…why?”

Eris seemed to mull over his answer, his hesitance his first display of unease with the situation. You were shocked when he said truthfully, “My father thinks she is an embarrassment to the family.” Your cheeks heated at the words. “He is a bastard that only cares about power, and Y/N does not seem to possess the characteristic fire of a Vanserra. He does not wish her absence of power to tarnish his reputation.”

“But she can winnow,” the male with red siphons pointed out.

“Yes. She is not powerless, she’s just different. That doesn’t matter to my father, though,” Eris said with disdain. You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, looking down at your lap in shame. No matter how much Eris assured you that he didn’t care how much power you had, that it wasn’t your fault you didn’t have fire in your veins, it still ate away at your insides. 

You slowly looked up at the Shadowsinger across the room, your cheeks flushing further when you realized his eyes were already locked on you. You couldn’t decipher his cool, stoic expression, but his eyes didn’t leave you while his High Lord questioned your brother. You dragged your gaze away again, focusing on your trembling hands in your lap.

“And you? Why did you hide her? Why not tell us?”

A beat of silence passed. “She is good,” Eris said quietly. “She is nothing like my brothers. At first, I followed along with my father’s orders just to keep her safe from turmoil. Then keeping her secret meant keeping her away from Amarantha. Then, I didn’t want her involved with this, but it seems that plan is void now.” He looked at you again.

“You said no one could follow you,” the red-siphoned male snapped. “How much has she heard? Who else has been trailing you?”

“She is the only exception,” Eris snarled. “I gave her spells to track me during the war. In case things went awry and she needed to find me. She used them to follow me today after noticing my frequent disappearances to meet with you.” He added a bit more softly, glancing at you. “She’s the exception because she’s the only one who cares enough to notice.”

The males looked between themselves—well, the High Lord and General did. The Shadowsinger had yet to stop staring at you, his shadows slowly slithering around him, and it was incredibly unnerving. Eris seemed to notice too. “She is not a threat to you,” he snapped, glaring at the male. “So you can stop sizing her up. She’s still fucking trembling from this whole ordeal.”

You tucked your hands beneath your thighs to hide their shaking. The High Lord looked at Eris with bemused eyes, and the General looked like he had just watched him sprout a second head. Eris sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. The display of anxiety made your eyes widened. “I need you all to do me a favor.”

The High Lord scoffed. “You must be joking.”

“I’m not,” Eris growled. “I need you to keep her with you.”

The males looked bewildered, and you shot up from your seat. “Excuse me?” you asked, fear and confusion reeling through you. He wanted to leave you here?

“You have been gone for hours, Y/N,” he said to you, voice pleading. “Nearly half a day. He knows. I guarantee he knows you’re missing, and if you go back now, I do not know—,” his breath caught, “I do not know what he might do to you. What he might use this as an excuse for. You will be safer in the Night Court.”

You laughed incredulously, panic causing tears to well up in your eyes. “Safe? In the Night Court?”

His eyes were wide, begging you to listen to him, but you couldn’t understand. You knew you would be in deep shit at home, but could it really be worse than staying here with the High Lord of Night and his fearsome court? You were shaking your head when he said, “I know what stories you’ve heard. I know the shit our brothers tormented you with as a child and the rumors you heard circulating as an adult. But they are stories. I would not leave you here if I thought they would harm you.”

A tear fell down your cheek, and Eris looked like he could vomit at the sight. He tore his gaze away from you to look at the High Lord again. His eyes were wet as he simply said, “Please.”

The High Lord looked between the two of you, his General doing the same, while his Shadowsinger continued to focus his gaze on you alone. Eventually, he said, voice surprisingly soft compared to the vitriolic tone he had minutes ago, “She can stay.”

The males beside him flicked their eyes to their High Lord in surprise, even the Shadowsinger broke his stare to flash a confused look at him. “No,” the word fell from your lips without thought, and your eyes snapped from the High Lord back to Eris. “No. I am not staying here. I cannot stay here, Eris. At least in the Forest House I,” you took a shaky breath, “I have light, and books, and I know how to cope but I cannot stay here—”

“You will still have those things here,” the High Lord told you, startling you from your rambling pleas to Eris. Eris looked at you with sad eyes, but he nodded his head.

Your mouth opened and closed, your words escaping you as your mind struggled to comprehend the situation you had been thrown into. 

“We will take her to Velaris,” the High Lord told Eris. He glanced at the General who gave him a terse nod. “She can stay in the House of Wind.”

Eris’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you,” he breathed, the gratitude clearly genuine. Gone was the typically arrogant male that swaggered around with nonchalance. 

“This doesn’t mean you have free access to Velaris, though,” the High Lord said.

Panic clawed at your chest. “I won’t be able to see him?” your voice was so weak, and it made your cheeks heat in shame.

“You will,” the High Lord answered, voice surprisingly gentle. “You’re not a prisoner, but Velaris is heavily warded and protected. He will need an invitation to enter.”

Eris suddenly gripped you by the shoulders. “I am not going to force you to stay here,” he said, voice ragged. “But your only other options are to go to a safe house, alone, or back to the Forest House. Which isn’t really a true option.”

His words settled in your stomach like bricks. “You will have more freedom in Velaris than you have ever had in Autumn,” Eris assured softly.

The High Lord gave you a small, feline smile that wasn’t exactly comforting, but you supposed it wasn’t threatening. He glanced at the still as stone Shadowsinger next to him briefly, then back to you. “I think you will find more than you could ever imagine in Velaris,” he seemed to purr.

Eris stiffened, glaring at the male, but he quickly dropped the tension and looked back at you. “I’m begging you to go with them.”

You bit your lip, anxiety thrumming through you. You glanced between all of the males, desperately trying to find a way out of this, but you came up empty. The desperation in Eris’s eyes was what pushed you to nod your head in acquiescence, murmuring a soft, “Okay.”

Eris pulled you to his chest, his arms wrapping around you tightly. “I’m going to take care of Beron,” he swore to you quietly. You wrapped your shaky arms around his waist. “I promise I will. I’ll get you back home soon, once it’s safe for you to actually live there.”

He squeezed you once before pulling away, your hands slowly dropping to your sides. You both stared at each other, neither really wanting to be separated from the other.

“We should go,” the High Lord said, pulling your attention away from your brother. He held out his hand for you to take, presumably to winnow you to wherever Velaris is.

You hesitantly walked over to him, placing your hand in his reluctantly. You avoided the gazes of the other two males. “Take care of her, Rhysand,” Eris growled.

The High Lord, Rhysand, simply nodded, before wrapping the two of you in darkness.

~ ~ ~

“Why are you not in the library?”

You glanced up from the book you were reading while curled up on the sofa in the main sitting room of the House of Wind. The Shadowsinger, Azriel, was standing a few feet away from you with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Your cheeks instantly heated, and your heart rate skyrocketed under his intense gaze.

“Because she’s meeting me,” Nesta answered as she appeared from the corridor.

Azriel turned toward her. “She’s meant to be working.”

Nesta waved an irreverent hand as she moved toward you, sitting down on the cushion beside yours. You slowly closed your book, nerves making your stomach turn. You had been here for two weeks now, and you had done your best to keep your head down and do as you were told, but befriending Nesta had caused unexpected difficulties in doing so. “Clotho said it was fine,” Nesta told him. “We’re going down to the city today.”

Nervous energy mixed with excitement thrummed through your veins. Admittedly, the freedom you had in the House of Wind was more than you were ever given in the Forest House, but the prospect of visiting a city, of mingling with other faeries, had made your heart race when Nesta offered a tour.

“And Rhys approved?” Azriel asked.

Nesta arched her brow. “I wasn’t aware we needed his approval,” she drawled. “After all, ‘Y/N is not our prisoner.’”

Azriel’s nostrils flared. He glanced at you, eyes icy, before looking back at Nesta. “She is still a Vanserra.”

You winced. Somehow Azriel’s perpetual disdain for you, even after you had done your best to stay out of the way and to avoid causing problems, still stung every time you were reminded of it. It hurt, actually, like someone was piercing your chest with a white hot iron every time he glared at you or ignored you or reminded everyone of your unsavory familial relations. You couldn’t fathom why, either, for nothing he had done ever rivaled the torment of your brothers.

“She is a Vanserra in name,” Nesta seethed, standing up to face him head on. Your eyes widened. “A name that has earned her decades of abuse and neglect.” Shame heated your cheeks as she revealed snippets of what you had shared with her during your shared shifts in the library. “Tell me, Azriel,” she hissed, “Should I see you as your father’s son?”

Azriel’s eyes flared with rage, and Nesta quickly softened, posture deflating a bit. Your eyes danced between the two powerful fae. “Of course not,” she said softly. “Because you are not him, and she—” Her eyes glanced at you. “Is not her wretched family.”

A small part of you wanted to defend Eris, to tell them not to lump him in with the rest of the wicked bunch, but you were not naive to your brother’s past transgressions against the Night Court, so you kept your mouth shut. Azriel’s eyes reluctantly locked with yours. You could practically see the emotions warring within him, the conflict behind his eyes that you didn’t understand. “Apologies,” he muttered reluctantly.

“Wonderful,” Nesta crooned, voice dipped in sarcasm. “Well done, Az.” She reached for the book in your lap, sitting it on the end table, before pulling you to your feet. “Now be a nice bat, and give us a lift,” she told him as she pulled you to the balcony.

Azriel reluctantly followed, his face a mask of indifference again, but you could still see the tension limning his features. “I can only take one of you at a time,” he said, moving toward Nesta. He easily picked her up, the female looking a bit smug. His eyes met yours briefly. “I’ll be right back.” Then he shot up into the sky, the bat of his wings stirring the dust around you, and then they disappeared all together into a blur of darkness.

You stared at the fading shadows in awe. Rhys had winnowed the two of you to the House of Wind, his wings catching your terrifying free fall toward the balcony that night Eris pawned you off on their court. You had not flown again though, had not gone anywhere outside of this mountain since then.

Azriel suddenly appeared above you again, his wings slowing his descent back down to the balcony. They folded in behind him once he landed, and his eyes landed on you. Your mouth went dry as you met his hard, stoic gaze, and a spike of fear shot through you as he took a step toward you.

He froze when you took a step back, his brow crinkling. You licked your lips, folding your arms across your chest. No male had ever touched you. Eris had effectively scared off any leering sentries that knew you existed, and apart from your brother, you were never shown any sort of affection. You had come to anticipate any physical advances made by your other siblings to be acts of torment, and you suddenly didn’t know if you could handle Azriel holding you in the damn sky.

“What is it?” he asked, impatience seeping into his tone.

You swallowed hard. “You don’t like me.”

Azriel frowned. “I don’t like your family.”

“That seems to translate to you disliking me.”

Azriel shook his head, taking another step forward. You stepped back again, aware of the nearing balcony rail. He stopped again, looking you up and down. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said slowly.

Your teeth ached from how hard your jaw was clenched. “I don’t want you to touch me.”

Azriel looked to the sky, and you weren’t sure if it was from exasperation or anger, but you couldn’t stomach the thought of this male who clearly did not like you, literally holding your life in his hands. His gaze fell back toward yours, and you were surprised by the lack of anger in his eyes.

“You can winnow, yes?”

You nodded slowly. He moved toward the edge of the balcony, pointing to a rocky ridge half way down the mountain. “If you jump from here, and wait until you pass that ridge, you’ll be outside of the House’s wards.” You stared at him, and he lifted his brows. “Then you can winnow to the city.”

A new trepidation sluiced through your veins. “What if I don’t winnow in time?”

“I’ll catch you.”

You immediately started to protest, but he cut you off, “Or would you rather I let you fall to your death?”

Your mouth immediately shut. You leaned over the edge of the balcony, assessing the drop from here to that ridge, then from the ridge to the ground. You could do it. Eris had trained you when you first learned you could winnow, throwing you head first into a million different scenarios to test your reaction time. You could winnow after falling from a tree, surely you could do the same off a mountain. 

“Okay,” you breathed. You started to climb over the edge of the railing, but warm, rough hands pulled you back. You immediately tensed at the contact, but Azriel’s hands didn’t leave you until you were stabilized on the ground again.

He stared at you with wide, incredulous eyes. “Wait for me to go down first.”

Your skin flushed. “Right,” you mumbled.

Azriel still looked bewildered when he launched into the sky, before immediately diving toward the base of the mountain. His wings were truly magnificent, as they shimmered in the afternoon sunlight while they helped him glide easily to the ground. Even though he looked significantly smaller down on the ground, you could tell he landed easily on his feet, taking a few steps to stabilize himself. You couldn’t understand how someone that emanated the promise of violence could move with so much grace.

He looked up at you from his position on the ground, and you took that as your cue. You breathed in deep, holding it for a second before letting it out slowly. Before you could psych yourself out, you flung yourself over the balcony that jutted out of the mountain, eyes locked on the rocky ledge as the wind wrapped violently around you. You could feel your body dropping with increasing speed, and you readied yourself to step into the universe’s fabric as the ledge neared. As soon as you passed the rocks and you felt the weight of the wards lift from your shoulders, you squeezed your eyes shut and willed your body to wrap into the unsettling darkness of the world.

One second you were free falling down the side of the mountain, and the next you were crashing into the hard wall of Azriel’s chest. He immediately circled his arms around you, but the force of your impact knocked both of you to the ground, with him taking the brunt of your fall. You groaned from the pain that shot through your wrist that you had used to brace yourself, but you went still as death once your brain processed the position you were in.

You immediately rolled off of Azriel, hissing when you put weight on your wrist. You shifted to lean on your other hand, then quickly pulled that one away when you felt the smooth, leathery membrane of his wing instead of the dirt of the ground. You sucked in a breath as you looked at him frantically. He still laid flat on his back, his wings splayed out in the dirt beneath him, with an arm covering his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” you rushed out, fear creeping in for not only knocking him down but then touching his wing. “I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry, please—”

“Y/N,” his dry voice cut you off, and your lips trembled, “stop talking.”

“Sorry,” you whispered, then winced. You cradled your injured wrist to your chest while you still stared at him wide-eyed. Panic was slowly squeezing at your lungs.

He slowly sat up, fluttering his wings to shake the dust from them. You froze at how close they were to you, and you waited for him to berate you, threaten you, to yell something at you for your stupidity. Instead, he pushed himself to his feet, and then he offered you his hand.

You shakily placed your hand in his, eyes briefly snagging on the brutally scarred skin. He pulled you to your feet, stabilizing you with his other hand when you wobbled forward.

You watched him nervously, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “I’m so sorry,” you whimpered again, hating the fear rushing through you, hating that your instincts made you freeze and plead for mercy instead of fighting back.

Azriel seemed to falter, his expression turning stricken as he looked you over. Something tight wrapped around the center of your chest, pulling at your heart, and it made your breaths turn shallow. You didn’t understand why he was drawing this out, why he was just standing there, watching you tremble in front of him.

He stepped closer, and you flinched. “I need you to take a breath for me,” he said quietly.

Your eyes snapped toward his. You pressed your palm against your chest, wincing again when the movement sent a stab of pain through your hand. He gently pulled your hand away from you, and you didn’t realize how much you were shaking until your hand rested in his. You couldn’t comprehend the gentleness in his touch, the calm in his voice as he spoke to you. You especially couldn’t understand the tightening rope in your chest that was nearly suffocating you in combination with your panic.

“Y/N.” Your vision refocused on Azriel, and you wondered how long he had been speaking to you when you recognized the panic in his eyes. His voice sounded warped, and the sun was too bright. You couldn’t think, you couldn’t breathe.

The rope tightening in your chest was suddenly yanked, and it snapped you from your panicked haze. You sucked in a deep breath, recognizing the chill of the air on your damp cheeks. Azriel still had your injured wrist in his hand, but he didn’t touch you anywhere else, yet it felt like you could feel him in your very pores. You searched for the rope in your chest that somehow anchored you to reality after you had mistaken it for panic. 

You felt the threads of it still tangled in your chest, and you let your instincts pull at them with whatever power resided in you. Your breath faltered again as you followed those threads to the male in front of you, who gasped when you tugged at them.

A new wave of panic washed over you, as you slowly realized what this meant. What your stupid accident had just revealed to the Spymaster of the Night Court. A shiver shook your body as you shook your head. “No.”

Azriel looked like he was in physical pain as he stared at you. You took an unsteady step back, Azriel following after you when you stumbled. “No,” you repeated. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he told you, voice so uncharacteristically soft. His eyes were pleading with you to listen, but you couldn’t escape the torrent of thoughts that whipped around you.

You couldn’t be someone’s mate. You couldn’t. You couldn’t live the shell of a life you’ve watched your mother endure for your entire life. You would rather go back to the Forest House than live a life shackled to a male who would expect you there for his beck and call.

You stood there completely frozen, trembling as you stood there helplessly in front of this powerful male. You could winnow away from him, but to where? Where could you go so that he or his shadows wouldn’t find you? The first time you had winnowed over a long distance was when you followed Eris two weeks ago, but you had the help of his spell to push you to your destination. You didn’t know how far you could go on your own.

“Y/N,” Azriel pleaded. “Please, just take a deep breath.” He ran a shaky hand through his dark hair. “I swear to the Mother, I am not going to hurt you. I promise.”

You just stared at him. He closed his eyes, his lips slightly wavering. You didn’t move, but neither did he. You weren’t sure when he had dropped your wrist.

“Azriel?” a soft, female voice asked from behind him.

You locked eyes on the pretty female. The High Lady. You had met her once, when you first arrived in her court. She seemed nice, she seemed strong and lively for a female mated to a High Lord. You thought she might help you. 

“Feyre,” Azriel said, voice cracking. You looked between them wildly. “She needs to see a healer.”

Feyre studied the two of you, concern flooding her gaze. She moved toward Azriel, but he shook his head, and she stilled. She pressed her lips together, eyes widening slightly after a minute, before her gaze focused on you. Her eyes were soft as she slowly walked over to you, a warm, tattooed hand resting on your shoulder. “Let’s get that wrist taken care of, yeah?” she hummed. You had barely nodded before she wrapped the two of you in darkness, and you sagged against her gentle touch.

~ ~ ~

read pt. 2

[mischiefmanagers]

Love in the Limelight

Based on this request.

Pairing: non-famous!Azriel x Celebrity!Reader

Summary: Reader and Azriel decide to make their relationship known to the public, what better way then to do it on the Red Carpet?

Warnings: Mention of insecurities | it’s all fluff

3.8k words.

The powder room was buzzing with its usual pre-event chaos, stylists touching up makeup, hairdressers fluffing curls, and assistants rushing in and out with coffees and baked goods in their arms.

But in the middle of it all, I stood perfectly still while my manager adjusted my gown, making sure it hid the outfit I had on underneath. I was to perform at the music award show, as a headliner it was expected of me to put on a great performance, which meant a drastic outfit change—which also meant stress for the styling department. Even so, I looked beautiful, I realized while peering at myself in the mirror. My soft smile was uncontrollable, and my eyes sparked with excitement.

This was it. A night I would shine, not only because of the performance I had to put on, but because for the first time, I would be walking the red carpet with Azriel by my side, our first public excursion.

The familiar flash and click of a camera makes my gaze flick sidelong, to my boyfriend lounging on the chaise adjacent to me, camera to his eye.

"I hired a different photographer for the night Az, you're off duty," I mutter with an eye roll. Azriel shakes his head, pulling his camera down to take a glance at the photo he captured.

"Yeah, but they won't have any of these," He argued and I smiled, glancing back at myself in the mirror to notice my manager was done. I stride over to him and peer down at the small screen, seeing me as the main subject, positively glowing. He looked up at me with a tentative smile.

"We don't have to leave for another ten minutes," I inform, sidling beside him, gently as to not ruffle my gown. "We should enjoy this privacy, while we have it," I add, leaning my head on his shoulder.

He settled into the backrest of the couch, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "I've been thinking," He started. "And I—I decided it'd be best if I stayed on the other side of the camera tonight," He explained briefly and I sat up, looking at him straight on, attempting to read his expressions.

"I'm not quite sure what you mean," I instinctively reach over, intertwining our hands. "You don't want to do the carpet?" I frown with a tilt of my head.

"I know you were excited about going public with me but, I'm fearful of others thinking I'm unworthy of you," He says softly, quietly so as to not be overheard by the others, making the moment more intimate.

"Unworthy?" My frown deepens at the idea. "Az, you could never be unworthy, what would even make you say that?"

His hand tightened on mine, then slipped from my grasp and my heart ached a little at the loss of contact. "For a while, I debated wearing gloves, or simply tucking my hands behind my back—but now I'm starting to think I don't belong with you out there at all, in the spotlight." He expresses, each confession sending a pang of despair through me.

"Azriel," I sighed softly, reaching over and placing my hands atop his. "You don't have to walk the carpet with me if you truly don't want to, but if you're backing out for anyone other than yourself, then forget it, because I want you out there with me." I assert. "You belong at my side, I know that for a fact, I don't care what anyone has to say. I want you beside me, scars and all, okay?" I question with a quirk of my brow and he nods slowly, hesitantly slipping his hands back into mine.

"Okay," He smiles tenderly at me.

"If you want to wear gloves we can arrange that." I wave my manager over. "But I'd much rather have your hands on me, your hands," I say softly, and before he could reply the assistant intervened.

"We have to go," The older woman stated, glancing down at her wristwatch.

I look to Azriel for an answer, silently praying he'd come with me. Instead of a reply, he stood, extending his hand for me to take. "Come on, we've got people expecting us," He said with a familiar smirk. I grinned, taking his hand eagerly and following my manager towards the sleek black car we'd be arriving at the award ceremony in.

I slid into the car first, Azriel following in after me. My manager took up the front seat with my driver and before there was any going back, we began moving down the line of cars, filled with guests and other celebrities.

I sighed, leaning back in my seat. "You're nominated for five awards," Azriel spoke after a moment and I broadly grinned over at him. "You're a headlining performer at one of the most prestigious award ceremonies in the world," He goes on. "And yet I'm somehow your boyfriend," He murmured, marveling at the fact. I nodded, biting into my lower lip. "The last one's my favorite," I claimed and he shook his head from being both disbelieving and flustered.

"I wish I could kiss you," I huffed, changing the subject—as excited as I was to perform, my nerves were tense, buzzing along the surface of my skin, it was best if I didn't think about it.

"Your makeup artist threatened my life," He said pointedly. "If I ruin your lipstick before photos I think she might stay true to her promise." He chuckled his words half a joke.

"After photos?" I flutter my lashes at him and he shook his head with a gentle smile.

"We'll see," He says as the car slowly rolls to a halt. I gripped his hand in anticipation, my stomach knotting. It never got easier, being in front of the cameras, never became normal. Humans weren't meant to be put on such a high pedestal, to be viewed by millions globally, to be judged and praised and hated and loved so fiercely all at once, I didn't blame Azriel one bit for wanting to stay behind the velvet rope where all the other photographers would be, even if I wanted him there with me, I understood better than anyone what it felt like to shy away from the limelight.

It was why our relationship had begun as private, he had been my professional photographer for a while, and after only a few modeling shoots we were suddenly getting coffee together, started having unnecessary late nights printing out and selecting photos to send to Vogue and Rolling Stone.

It flourished from there, into something I couldn't manage to put into words that would accurately describe it, love was the simplest way to explain it, even if it felt deeper than just one word.

"Ready?" Azriel asked, breaking me from my stupor. I blinked, glancing over at him and nodding.

"Are you?" I arch a brow and he shrugs with a wry smile.

"I don't know," He confessed and I squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"That's okay, just smile and put your arm around me. I'll do the rest of the work." I shrug with a wink and he nods, a grin on his lips, a real one.

The car stopped and one of the event staff opened the door for me, the cheers from photographers and reporters ringing out instantly as I stepped from the vehicle first. My name echoed from every direction, reporters rushing to the front of their sections in hopes of asking me a few questions. I smiled and waved at a few of the cameras, before turning back towards the car. My heart swelled as I held a hand out for Azriel to take, waiting for him to join me.

He hesitated for a moment, still Azriel, controlled, calm, cool. But in this moment I could sense his vulnerability that he tried desperately to hide. But his hand slipped into mine and exited the car with a grace that only he possessed, his broad frame emerging from the shadows, towering over me as he placed a hand on my waist.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, the cameras flashing from every angle to capture the moment of us standing together in public for the first time.

I wanted to ask him if he was okay if he wanted to leave. But I knew with the cameras on us I couldn't. So instead we began walking down the carpet towards the main entrance.

A red carpet walk wasn't complex by any means. We stopped at strategic points along the way to allow the photographers to snap their pictures, flashes illuminating the atmosphere like fireworks, casting a glow around us.

Azriel stood beside me, tall and smiling, arm around me, just as I had instructed. There wasn't a flicker of that earlier nervousness, he was a natural.

It wasn't long before we reached the main section of the carpet, where tabloid journalists and interviewers gathered.

A well-known reporter waved us over eagerly and I flashed her a smile, remembering her from the last time I did one of these events. I slipped my hand into Azriel's and strutted over to the tall woman, her cameraman already filming us as we approached.

"There they are!" she exclaimed, voice brimming with excitement. "The couple of the hour! And if it isn't our leading lady herself, looking absolutely stunning. And—" Her eyes darted over to Azriel, her smile widening as she took him in. "My, oh my, the rumors have been swirling for months, but now you've made it official. How does it feel?"

Azriel's hand tightened slightly around mine. His smile remained polite, but I could sense the tension rolling off him, the subtle shift in his posture. I squeezed his hand, hoping to convey that I was here with him, that we were in this together.

I took the lead, turning my gaze toward the reporter. "It feels wonderful," I said, keeping my voice light and steady. "Me and Azriel have been looking forward to sharing this part of our lives with everyone."

The reporter raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with the simple response. "And Azriel," she said, turning her attention toward him, "I have to ask, how does it feel to step out into the public eye for the first time? Are you nervous?"

Azriel hesitated, just for a fraction of a second. I could feel his uncertainty, his instinct to retreat into his shell, to let me take the spotlight. But after a brief pause, he spoke, his voice smooth and composed. "Anyone would feel nervous around her," he admitted, his tone genuine. "I mean, just look at that smile." He stared at me as if I was the only thing in the world, no audience, no beaming lights, not a single camera in sight. Just us.

A pleased murmur passed through the crowd of onlookers, and the reporter's grin widened, clearly thrilled to be the one getting this inside look.

I couldn't help the warmth that bloomed in my chest at his words. He was doing it—pushing through his discomfort, standing by my side with unwavering strength. I leaned into him slightly, allowing the cameras to capture the soft, intimate moment between us.

"Now, let's talk about you," the reporter said, turning her gaze back to me. "You're up for not three, not four, but five major awards tonight. Congratulations, by the way. How are you feeling? Is there one nomination you're particularly excited about?"

I smiled, grateful for the topic shift. "Thank you—I'm honestly just excited to be here. Each nomination means so much to me, but I think the one for Best Artist is particularly special. It represents all the hard work my team and I have put into this project, and to be recognized for it is such an honor."

The reporter chuckled lightly. "Well I've got my money placed on you, so you'd better win. Now, I have to ask—you've got a big performance tonight, and we've heard rumors that it's going to be quite the spectacle. Any hints you can give us?"

I laughed softly, shifting the mood away from Azriel, sensing his slight discomfort. "Oh, I can't give too much away. But I will say it's going to be a little different than what people are used to seeing from me. It's bold, fun, and, well, I think everyone will just have to wait and see," I shrug, giving a cheeky wink to the camera.

The reporter grinned, clearly satisfied with the teaser. "I can't wait to see it. You've got the whole world watching, and we're all cheering you on. Best of luck tonight—both for the performance and the awards. And of course, congratulations on this beautiful relationship."

"Thank you," I said, smiling warmly as we began to step away from the interview.

As we walked toward the entrance, I could still feel the buzz of the moment—I turned to Azriel, catching the way he exhaled softly as if letting go of some of the tension that had been building all night. "You okay?" I asked quietly.

Azriel nodded, his hand still resting in mine, but his gaze flicked toward the retreating cameras. "I think so," he said, his voice softer now that we were out of the spotlight. "It wasn't as bad as I thought."

I smiled up at him, feeling a surge of pride for how he'd handled everything.

"You were amazing."

"So were you," he replied, leaning down to press a brief, tender kiss to my temple. "Now, let's get inside before they start asking even more questions."

I laughed softly, grateful to step away from the flashing lights. But before I could get much closer to the main stage my event coordinator rushed over to me.

"You have to be on stage in twenty minutes," She said, a bit frazzled, grabbing my arm and pulling me away from Azriel's side.

"Follow my manager, we should be near the front, she'll show you our seats," I call to him over the crowd of tabloid reporters, noting how he looked a bit lost without me on his arm. "I'll see you on stage," I say with an excited smile, if not a little edged.

He didn't even get the chance to squeeze in any words of encouragement before I was whisked away by a stagehand and down towards the back exit of the changing rooms.

"Right this way," my coordinator said, snapping me back to the present as she hurried me through the backstage corridors. The air was thick with energy—crews rushing to and fro, sound technicians testing equipment, and the buzz of performers doing last-minute warmups. I could feel the adrenaline thrumming in my veins, the weight of the moment settling over me.

As I entered the dressing room, the team was already there, prepared to help me transition from my red carpet look to my performance outfit. I exchanged my elegant gown for something entirely different—a tight, fitted bodysuit, black and red and gold glinting under the lights, with a plunging neckline and thigh-high boots that accentuated the outfit's boldness. My makeup was retouched, sharper, and more dramatic, a glittering gold swept across my eyelids, lips painted a sultry red.

I glanced at myself in the mirror. It was a complete transformation—gone was the composed elegance of the red carpet, replaced by a powerful, confident, seductive performer. This was who the audience would see. And more importantly, this was who Azriel would see. I couldn't wait to catch his reaction.

The door opened, and my choreographer poked her head in. "We're on in five," she said, flashing me a quick thumbs-up. "You ready?"

"More than ready," I replied, feeling a surge of excitement.

I was escorted toward the stage, and as I approached, I could hear the crowd roaring with anticipation. The lights dimmed, and the opening notes of my track started to play—a slow, seductive beat that pulsed through the floor beneath my feet. The dancers were already in position, their silhouettes illuminated by the backlights, casting shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly.

I took a deep breath, centering myself. Then, as the beat picked up, I stepped onto the stage, and the lights blazed to life. The crowd erupted, and I felt that familiar rush of adrenaline wash over me.

My eyes immediately scanned the crowd, searching for Azriel. When I finally found him, my heart did a little flip. He was sitting in the front, his eyes locked onto me, his posture tense yet intrigued. I couldn't help but smirk, feeling a thrill at the thought of him watching me like this. He had always seen me in softer, quieter moments. But now, now he'd see the side of me that commanded a stage, that captivated an audience.

The music swelled, and I launched into the choreography. The movements were bold, sensual, my body flowing with the rhythm as the dancers circled around me. The stage was alive with color—gold and red lights flashing in time with the beat, casting a sultry glow over everything. The dancers moved in perfect sync, and the energy between us was electric, every movement designed to be both powerful and tantalizing.

I could feel the audience's eyes on me, could feel the weight of their attention, but all I cared about was Azriel. I threw myself into the performance, the choreography becoming sharper, more daring, my voice carrying through the arena with a rawness I hadn't let show before.

As the song progressed, I moved to the edge of the stage, closer to the audience, closer to him. The lights softened, casting a more intimate atmosphere, and I found myself locking eyes with Azriel. He was transfixed, his usually composed expression betraying just how much I had his attention. The intensity in his gaze sent a thrill down my spine, and I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips.

I sang directly to him, my voice dipping lower, more seductive. Every move, every glance, was meant for him. It was like no one else existed. The way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes darkened with barely restrained desire, told me everything I needed to know. I had him exactly where I wanted him.

As the final chorus hit, the energy on stage soared once more. The dancers erupted into their final routine, and I spun with them, letting the beat carry me to the song's climactic finish. The crowd was roaring, but it was Azriel's reaction I craved most. As the song ended and the lights dimmed, I cast one final glance his way.

His eyes were still locked onto mine, his expression unreadable but intense. And I knew then, without a doubt, that this performance had affected him in ways he hadn't expected.

The stage lights faded completely, and the crowd erupted in applause. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of adrenaline and exhilaration rushing through me. I bowed briefly, allowing the audience to bask in the aftermath of the performance, before making my way off the stage, my heart racing for an entirely different reason now.

I knew Azriel would be waiting for me backstage, and the thought of facing him after a performance like that sent a thrill of anticipation through me. The tension between us had been simmering all night, and now it was ready to boil over.

I stepped off the stage, the energy of the performance still buzzing through me, and found myself making my way through the maze of backstage corridors. I didn't have to look far to find him—Azriel stood by the exit, his hands in his pockets, his gaze dark and intense as he watched me approach.

For a moment, neither of us said anything. The silence between us was thick, charged with something unspoken.

Then, finally, he stepped forward, his voice low and rough as he murmured, "You were, so incredible."

I smirked, unable to help the teasing edge in my voice. "Just incredible?"

Azriel's eyes darkened further, and before I could say another word, his hand slid to the small of my back, pulling me closer. His lips brushed against my ear as he whispered, "More than incredible. And I think you know exactly what you're doing to me."

A shiver ran down my spine, and I leaned into him, my voice soft as I whispered back, "Good."

Three awards were cradled in my lap on the long drive home. Shiny and golden and a symbol of achievement.

"Admiring your new babies?" Azriel hummed from beside me, watching as I stared down at him.

"You think they'll look good on our mantle?" I ask with a confident smirk and he shakes his head with an uncontrolled smile. "Tonight was good," I say, thinking back on the events. "Don't you think?"

He nodded, slowly at first then more sure. "Yeah," He slipped his hand into mine. "It was," He offered me a soft smile, the kind only I ever got to see.

I pull out my phone to see a variety of congratulatory messages from family members and friends, as well as notifications from big-time news articles written on—not receiving Artist of the Year—but my relationship. I ignore the headlines and open Instagram, my social media manager had already posted for me tonight, photos from the carpet, from my performance, and the photo Azriel took in the dressing room only a few hours ago, which now felt like days in the past.

I smiled as I scrolled through all the positive feedback from my fans, praising me on my success, and commenting on how beautiful Azriel and I were together.

"They love you," I say softly.

"I thought we weren't looking at what the public was saying?" He sighed and I shook my head with a broad smile.

"No, Az they love you—they're calling you gorgeous, handsome, and hot—there's not one mention of your hands," I reassure with a gentle tone.

"You're making that up." He shakes his head, unbelieving.

"No, look," I hand him my phone, the screen lighting his blushing features. "You're a heart throb now, I'm a little worried actually, they're very enthusiastic," I confess. "I knew I should've kept you to myself, now I'm going to have to fight them all off," I half-joke, my smile somehow widening.

He hands me my phone back and leans over, placing a loving kiss on my temple. "It's a good thing I'm all yours then," He murmured, rubbing his thumb over the back of my palm.

"Thank you, for going with me, I know it's not easy," I murmur after a moment of quiet.

"Everything's easier with you," He says, his words so casual I almost don't retain how much they mean to me, almost. "Thank you for inviting me." He added.

I grinned up at him, smiling broadly. "I love you."

"I love you too."

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[mischiefmanagers]

— IN THE WAKE OF FLAMES. PT I

eris vanserra x archeron!reader

summary: even before you became fae, your favourite season was autumn. it’s a little hard to hide this when your least favourite newly appointed high lord has made it his life’s mission to be the most annoying male in your life.

a/n: not sure what this is but let me know if u want more lol

You’d think that hiding behind the Spymaster of the Night Court, a literal Shadowsinger, would allow you to blend in well enough to go unnoticed.

The auburn silk of your dress is a near perfect match to the grandeur of the Autumn Court ballroom you’re unfortunate enough to have to be in, and you tell yourself that the attempt at camouflage is the reason you were so drawn to the colour.

When Rhysand approached you and the rest of the Inner Circle with the invitation of a ball thrown by Eris to celebrate his newly inherited title of High Lord, your sister Nesta had dragged you out to shop for new dresses. You were adamant to wear an old gown until the dress caught your eye, the gold beads glinting in the light, almost mimicking a gently burning fire. The deep orange hue of the silk slip was muted ever so slightly by the sheer overlay, cinching at the waist before cascading to the ground and the wisps of fabric around your legs gave the illusion of sparks every time you moved.

Nesta had made a comment about the dress being perfect for Autumn Court and you had to physically restrain yourself from grimacing. You just liked the colour. It didn’t mean a thing.

Nesta and Feyre looked like perfect representatives of the Night Court and even Elain was donning soft shades of purple and blue tonight, a perfect embodiment of twilight. You loved your sisters, but you felt like you never quite fit in to the Night Court the way they had grown to. And you certainly felt like you stuck out like a sore thumb tonight.

Eris was definitely going to comment on the dress and you curse yourself internally, not having thought it through. He was jarring at the best of times, let alone a night that was solely dedicated to him. And you were dressed in the colours of his court.

You were extremely glad when Eris’ mother was the one to greet you all when you first entered the Autumn Court and not him. It allowed you to fully appreciate the beauty of his lands with unrestrained awe. Your sisters knew that Autumn had always been your favourite season, so the way you were so happy catching each falling leaf out of the sky was even more amusing to them considering they also knew how little patience you had for Eris.

That’s why you find yourself hiding behind Azriel’s wings tonight. As soon as you spot Eris making his way to greet Rhysand and Feyre, you sneak behind the Shadowsinger in an attempt to make yourself invisible.

“Seriously?” mutters the Illyrian, but he stays still for you all the same.

“Keep quiet,” you hiss, prodding him in the back. “You know very well how much he targets me. Gods, I thought he hated Cassian, but I seriously give him a run for his money.”

Mor, overhearing you, snorts into her cup. She creeps up next to you, lowering her voice to match yours. “You are so oblivious. He doesn’t hate you. He wants-”

“Might I interrupt the riveting conversation that I’m sure is going on behind the Shadowsinger’s wings?” you hear a voice drawl from in front. Your blood runs hot at being caught and you nearly burst into flames when Azriel starts to lower his wings, revealing you and Mor. She rolls her eyes at Eris’ attitude and walks away to talk to the pretty faerie in the green dress.

The years have softened the strained relationship between the Circle and Eris and none of them view him as a threat any longer. That doesn’t mean they find him any less irritating though.

Eris smiles at you when you cross your arms and clench your jaw, already feeling impatience with him bubbling up inside of you. He glances down at your dress and his lips quirk up a little higher. “Looking stunning as ever, Y/N.”

The others have already dispersed, and even Rhysand and Feyre have started to garner the attention of other important people they need to talk to. As they start to leave however, Rhysand speaks to in your head. Let me know if he’s bothering you too much. Just… try not to throw a plate at his face this time, please.

You glare at the back of Rhysand’s head. That was one time.

He doesn’t respond but you see his shoulders shaking with laughter for a millisecond before Feyre nudges him to behave in front of an Autumn Court official.

“Talking about me?” Eris asks, amused. You open your mouth to snap back at him, but notice the growing number of guests that are around the two of you now that the others have moved away. You bite your tongue for once. He is the High Lord now after all.

You plaster on a sweet smile. “Only good things… High Lord.”

Eris raises his brows at that, but chooses not to comment. He holds out his hand instead. “Dance with me.”

You’re about to laugh in his face and tell him absolutely not, but his request has caught the attention of a couple guests and they nosily look over in what you’re sure they think is a subtle way. “I’m a little tired. Sorry,” you say through gritted teeth, still smiling.

“Surely you’re not going to deny me such a small request on tonight of all nights?” he says softly, part mocking and part pleading.

You know for a fact he won’t force you to dance, but if you deny him in front of the other guests, it’ll undermine him and while you dislike him, you’re not that cruel. Plus, Feyre would probably have your head if you were to insult a High Lord in public. In private, she only ever laughs when you disparage him, but appearances are everything.

“Of course not,” you deadpan, reaching for his outstretched hand and trying not to react to the way the warmth radiating through his palm is warming your previously cold fingers.

He leads you into the crowd of dancing guests, placing his free hand on your waist as you rest yours on his shoulder, keeping a respectable distance. He rolls his eyes and tugs you forward so your chest is nearly flush against his own. When you glare at him, he merely smirks. “It’s a little hard for two people to dance when one of them is halfway across the room from the other.”

You hear a giggle from one of the guests near you and nearly whip around to glare at them. Eris catches the expression on his face and it’s as though he can read your mind with the way he’s holding back a grin. “My apologies,” you mumble, before lowering your voice to a whisper that only he can hear. “Smartass.”

“I do so enjoy your pet names for me,” Eris teases, utterly unbothered. Every time you interact with him, you swear to yourself you’ll keep a cool head. And every time, you fail. “I like your dress.”

You narrow your eyes at the compliment, but since he hasn’t actually said anything insulting or with a double meaning like he usually does, you don’t have anything to be annoyed about and begrudgingly accept the nice words. “Thank you.”

“You look ravishing in the colours of my court.”

You step on his foot.

He hisses in pain, but the grin doesn’t leave his face when he sees that he’s succeeded in irritating you.

“I didn’t choose the colours on purpose,” you say, defensively. “I just happened to like the dress.”

“You know, you often happen to like Autumn colours,” he muses, expression turning thoughtful and not in a sarcastic way this time. “Or any colour that isn’t of the Night Court’s fashion. Tell me, do your sisters know how you long to find someplace you actually belong?”

Your stomach drops and you feel like you’ve been doused in freezing cold water.

“I wasn’t aware you were a Daemati, High Lord,” you say, scowling. Eris furrows his brows at the title and spins you out before bringing you back in, this time a little closer than before. “You’re wrong.”

“Stop calling me that,” he mutters, a hint of impertinence in his voice. It takes you by surprise since you assumed he’d be revelling in all the glory, the power of High Lord coursing through his veins. Instead, he sounds like a boy being denied his favourite sweets. “Call me Eris again.”

“No.” You frown at him, pulling back slightly to meet his stubborn gaze. “We’re not friends. You’re the High Lord of Autumn now and I’ll be addressing you as such.”

“What, I’m High Lord now, so you have to respect me all of a sudden?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Yes,” you sigh, already anticipating this conversation taking a turn you don’t want it to.

“You have to be pleasant with me?”

“Yes.”

“Listen to my commands?”

“Yes.”

His smile turns wolfish. “Then I command you to call me Eris.”

“I can think of a few other things to call you, if not High Lord,” you mutter, careful not to allow any eavesdroppers to hear.

“And while I’d love to hear them, I doubt they’d be suitable for the delicate ears of court officials.”

While he’s exactly right, the way his eyes twinkle with mischief tells you that he’s insinuating a completely different type of unsuitable and your cheeks burn.

“Don’t you ever tire of being so wearisome?” you say, drily. His eyes soften ever so slightly as they scan over your face.

“Don’t you ever tire of pretending?” he asks quietly, meeting your eyes determinedly. You don’t bother asking him to clarify.

“Why can’t you just mind your own business?” You try to snap at him, but the way his words hit you deep have all the bite leaving your voice and instead you sound imploring.

Eris doesn’t answer your question and just keeps going as the two of you dance. “My mother wants me to tell you that you’re welcome to visit any time, by the way.”

“I’ll let Rhysand know.”

“She didn’t say Rhysand, she said you.”

”What?” You look up at him, shocked. That was probably the last thing you expected him to say, “Why in the world would your mother want me to visit? She saw me hurl that plate at your head last month.”

“Yes, and she told me I probably said something to deserve it,” he grumbles, but without any real malice when talking about his mother. It’s clear as day that he has nothing but love for the sweet woman.

“She’s a smart one, your mother,” you say, grinning at the thought of Eris being reprimanded. You catch him watching you without speaking and immediately frown, not wanting him to think you’re actually smiling at him. Which you definitely aren't. “I still don’t understand why she wants me to visit.”

Eris shrugs, although his eyes stray from yours, and he’s seemingly bored with the conversation as he looks down to the floor as your feet move gracefully across it. “She likes your attitude.”

“My bad attitude?” you ask, wrinkling your nose in genuine confusion.

“Passionate,” he corrects you, meeting your eyes again, and you find no traces of humour in them. “And ‘fiery’ as she called it. Don’t feel bad for not being able to always control your emotions in front of others like the rest of them. You’re allowed to feel.”

Any response you might have had is lost to nothing and the silence stretches as your heart feels like it’s slamming against your chest. It’s a mix of fear and something else with the way he’s looking at you and you suddenly need to be anywhere else.

Clearing your throat, you step back in the middle of dancing and lower your hand from his shoulder to smooth down your dress. Your other hand is still ensnared in his and it lingers there while he speaks.

“If you do accept my mother’s invitation, you don’t have to see me if you don’t want to,” Eris adds and you try and listen out for any veiled mocking.

“Why do you even care?”

At this, his lips quirk up almost involuntarily. Slowly, his fingers start to loosen up around your hand and he begins to let go, faintly trailing his hand down your own as he does so. Instead of stepping away, he walks closer, stepping to the side slightly to lean down so his lips brush against your ear in a way that makes your breathing erratic.

“My mother was telling me that she saw you practically light up like a forest fire surrounded by the trees. She feels as though you should be able to stay longer next time,” he says in a normal voice before lowering it to a whisper. “She also overheard one of your sisters call Autumn your favourite season.”

Before you can protest and, let’s face it, lie to him, Eris calmly walks away and you know for a fact that the smug bastard is smirking at the way he’s succeeded in getting under your skin.

There’s no way you’re accepting his mother’s invitation, as sweet a woman as she is. You think about all the possible ramifications and decide to push the thought in its entirety out of your mind.

Nothing good ever comes from agreeing to dance with Eris. It’s extremely similar to playing with fire, you think.

[mischiefmanagers]

𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚

Pairing: human!camboy!Azriel x neighbor!friend!reader 

Word count: 3.0k 

Contains: smut, consensual videography, exhibitionism, fingering, mutual masturbation, unprotected p in v, creampie, lemme know if I missed anything else, no use of Y/N.

a/n: palate cleanser from the last two and the next one im boutta post 😋 not taking part in kinktober since time is something I have nothing of this month but if you wanna see anything lemme know 💗

Since the day you’d dragged Azriel to your sister’s wedding a few weeks ago, you’ve been in his debt. You weren’t too worried about it, though—Azriel had always been nice to you, at most he’d make you vacuum his flat. 

Being Azriel’s neighbor was nothing short of enjoyable. He was caring and kind and just a little boring, but he made up for it by being eye candy and oozing sex appeal. 

You were having dinner with him one evening when he brought the topic up out of nowhere. “Remember that favor you owe me?” 

It’d been so long since then that you’d nearly forgotten, but nodded. “Why?” 

“I’d like to call in on it.” Azriel leaned back in his chair and swirled his glass of wine. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I stream…adult content.”

Your eyebrows shot up at the unabashed admission. You weren’t aware of that. And you’d certainly imagined Azriel getting himself off before, but the fact that he did it for people to watch… 

“Okay, and what does this have to do with me?” you asked slowly, wary yet curious. 

“I’ve been meaning to spruce things up a little bit. You don’t have to feel pressured to say yes if it’s anything you’re uncomfortable with, but I’d really like for you to join one of my streams.” He paused, then on consideration, quickly added, “I could even give you thirty percent of whatever I make.” 

Nearly choking on your food, you raised your eyes to his. “Sorry?” 

“You heard me.” 

You considered it for a moment. It wasn’t a bad deal, per se…“Fifty. Percent.” 

“Forty,” he scowled. “Be glad I’m offering at all.” “Forty, fine.” Your mind was still a mess, though. What made you think this was a good idea? It wasn’t at all what you were expecting, yet you found yourself pleasantly surprised. When you glanced over at Azriel again, he seemed completely at ease. 

He noticed your attention on him, adding, “I’ll send you the details later. Don’t stress it, it’s pretty fun.” 

Pretty fun. Sure. What have you gotten yourself into this time?

*****

When Friday night rolled around, it was the first time you had ever been nervous to meet Azriel. His smile when he opened the door was warm, however, calming your nerves just a little. He was dressed in a black compression tee that hugged his arms and torso just right, gray sweatpants low on his hips as he welcomed you in. Silver rings gleamed on every odd finger, and a thin chain curled his left wrist. You, on the other hand, had on your most expensive lingerie set hidden under your tank and jeans, stockings covering your feet as you’d crossed over to his place opposite yours without bothering to wear shoes. 

His eyes caught on the small bow on the strap of your bra, and his head dipped to hide the small smirk that formed on his face. “Pretty.” 

“Thanks.” Your cheeks flushed as his hand on the small of your back guided you into his room. 

It wasn’t often you entered his room, but as to your most recent memory, it didn’t have cameras set up angled towards the bed. There were four on tripods you could see, one more in front of the multiple monitor setup, and a handheld one on the desk. Beside the several cameras were condenser mics strategically placed. You could tell the equipment wasn’t cheap—he had to be making loads off his interesting moonlighter career to be able to afford all this. The warm lights were dimmed, shadowy enough to haze your mind into making bad decisions but bright enough for the lenses to pick up clearly. 

“You can sit on the bed, give me a moment to set these up,” he said as he shook his computer mouse to wake the screen. 

You crossed your ankles, looking at your hands in your lap. “How many viewers do you usually get?” 

“Depends.” You could see the way his muscles flexed under the tight top when he shrugged. “Few hundred, sometimes a thousand something on the weekends.” 

That was a lot of people, you realized, gnawing nervously on your lip. While it was wholly baring, you couldn’t deny that the idea of so many people watching you so intimately was turning you on. 

Earlier, you’d looked for his account—and found it, but couldn’t view any of the content uploaded onto the site he streamed on because it was all for private subscribers. 

“How long have you…never mind, actually.” 

“We’ll start at nine thirty. If you have any questions or worries feel free to voice out, and I can stop the stream any time you’re uncomfortable.” 

The butterflies in your stomach were inexplicable. It was just like a regular hookup, so why were you feeling this way? One-night stands were no stranger to you. 

By nine thirty, Azriel had his entire setup ready, and sighed as he took a seat in the gaming chair in front of the monitors. As he leaned back, he patted his lap. Your eyebrows raised. 

“I’m not light. Your legs are going to cramp.”

His hands shot out, gripping you by the waist and pulling you down onto his lap anyway. 

Making yourself comfortable on him, you ran through what he told you again in your mind. He made sure you were aware of the flow of the stream, and made it very clear that he wouldn’t do anything you weren’t comfortable with. 

“Ready?” he asked, voice low, one hand on the mouse and the other wrapped around you, fingers splayed atop your jeans. When you nodded, he clicked the button. On the top right hand of your reflected video a red dot started to blink. 

Slowly you could see the viewers trickling in, the number beside the red dot increasing with every passing second. Azriel was comfortable, greeting them every few moments. Only once did the numbers stabilized at about five hundred did he properly start. 

“Meet my girl,” Azriel introduced you in that warm, deep tone of his, and you gave the camera a shy smile. “It’s her first time, so go easy on her, yeah.”

Right away you could see the comments on the left side of the stream coming in, your names being repeated in capital letters with heart emojis. A reassuring squeeze was given to your thigh. 

“Well, you know how this works.” If possible, Azriel got even more comfortable in his chair, tugging you back flush to his chest. 

“I do?” you asked softly, glancing up at him. 

“We’re playing truth or dare, of course. They’ll tell us what to do, though. And if you refuse to answer or do the dare, you have to remove a piece of clothing,” Azriel explained with a nod to the screen. “So, truth or dare?”

“Uh, truth.” You didn’t want to get into anything too quickly. 

Azriel picked a random question off the screen and read, “What was the last thing you got yourself off to?”

Oh. “Um,” you fidgeted, “I don’t know, actually.”

Azriel’s fingers dug into your sides. “Sounds like you’re avoiding the question…and that means a forfeit.”

You glared at him, tugging your tank over your head. Underneath was a strappy bra in your favorite color, mesh and satin and embroidery crossing over your chest and hugging the soft swells of your breasts. Azriel’s fingers moved to play idly with the lace on the bottom, the touch ticking your ribs. 

“Your turn, truth or dare?” 

He nipped at your shoulder. “Truth.” 

“Lame,” you scanned your eyes over the incoming comments. “What’s your biggest turn-on?”

“Seeing you in lingerie, apparently,” he hummed, shifting himself so that his semi-hard dick was tucked between the globes of your ass through your jeans. Color immediately rose to your cheeks even though you were trying to play it cool. 

Turns were exchanged, questions were fired, and, surprisingly, no other clothes were removed—save the pair of Azriel’s socks. 

“Dare,” you finally said. 

It took him approximately two seconds to pick a dare. “Lapdance.”

You couldn’t say no—not when it was about time things started to heat up. You weren’t too sure how to give one, but did your best anyway. “Pick a song.” 

Azriel picked his phone up, choosing a song that the chat decided on. In the first few beats, you slid off his lap, turning his chair sideways for a better camera view. He leaned back and spread his legs, grinning at you as you rested your hands on the armrests of his gaming chair. 

Gyrating your hips in time with the bass of the music, you moved your body, arms raising, hair flipping, remembering this was a show for hundreds of people you didn’t know as much as it was for Azriel. His eyes were hooded as he watched you, and by the time you were grinding down on him, you could feel how hard he was already. 

And on the last note of the song, you gave him a teasing peck on the lips, but as soon as you drew back barely a millimeter he was grabbing you by the jaw and pulling you back in. He kissed you over your shoulder, his hardness pressed up against your lower back. Turning him on was turning you on, especially when he moved his hands to grope your tits over your bra. 

Without breaking the kiss, he shifted his chair a little, turning the both of you to better face the camera. On screen, your lips danced together, revealing a glimpse of tongue occasionally. One of his hands made its way down, reaching the button of your jeans. There was a question in his eyes as he pulled back a little and you nodded, reaching up to cup his face behind you. 

“What’s this?” he chuckled when his hands were down the front of your pants, the hip rolled down to reveal the lace hugging your waist. 

“You’ll see,” you mumbled back. 

He swore when his fingers reached the apex of your thighs, finding you soaked between the crotchless material of your panties. “Holy shit, fuck.” 

You raised your hips for him to work the denim down, helping to kick it to the side. Under your jeans, strapped to your suspenders, were lacy stockings, hugging your thighs as Azriel stared. He readjusted you on his lap, spreading your legs with his hands until your soaked core was exposed, knees slung over the armrests. 

He rubbed at your folds, slicking his fingers deliciously as you watched the monitor. Lace hugged your lower lips but left your entrance exposed, giving Azriel access to slide a finger in, which made your back arch against his chest as you gasped. 

Your channel pulsed as he pushed another finger in, pressing the heel of his palm against your clit to make you sigh pleasantly. 

“Look at you, you’re so pretty,” he said, grabbing you by the throat to face you towards the camera. “Open your eyes.” 

He fingered you lazily as donations flooded in, hearts and money symbols popping up at the bottom corner of the screen. Your lips tilted into a small smile, and you spread your legs wider. 

“Just like that,” he praised, working his fingers inside of you faster. 

“So good,” you gasped, fingers wrapped tightly around his wrists. “Don’t stop, fuck-” 

Your body slanted against his, body straining to find the best angle—which he found for you, by tilting his wrist and curling his fingers. “There?” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, ohh…” His fingers went faster, hitting the sweet spot inside of you with every flick of his long fingers. 

“Look at you, shit, darling, you get me so hard.” 

“Let me help, lemme help,” you pleaded, making him grunt when your hand rushed for the material of his pants. 

“Wait.” He spun the chair and lifted you off his lap, nudging you to the bed. Instead of doing his normal striptease, he pulled all his clothes off and joined you on the bed, sitting on his knees beside you. You were sure one of the few cameras placed around the bed must’ve gotten a good angle. You trailed your eyes over him, impressed, raking down his muscled torso before landing on his dick. 

You batted your lashes at him, taking his shaft in your hand as his hand returned to your cunt. He was warm and hard under your skin, and you gave him a slow stroke as he pushed his fingers into your wet channel again. You two got each other off, movements becoming quicker and more frenzied with each passing moment. Azriel leaned down to capture your lips in his, and it was hard for you to concentrate on the feeling of his fingers inside of you, stroking him, and his tongue in your mouth all at once. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you panted, disconnecting your mouth from his, a string of spit connecting your swollen lips to his as you looked up at him. His teeth were dug into his lip, and your fist around his cock went slack while his forearms flexed and he stroked at your inner walls harder, faster, until he pushed you over the edge with a stuttered moan. 

Azriel moved to sit against the headboard, tugging your hips towards him. “Ride me.” 

On shaky legs, you straddled him, hands on his broad shoulders to stabilize yourself. He held himself by the base with one hand, the other on your hip as you took him inch by inch. 

Azriel looked glorious as his head tipped back to fall against the wall, letting out a drawn-out groan. “F- fuck-”

Oh, my god. He sounded so pretty. 

Wanting to hear him again, you drew up, then slid back down until you were sitting on his thighs. He was rock-hard inside of you, rubbing against your walls to provide the perfect friction. 

Azriel was vocal. Groans and moans mixed with the occasional whimper, his grip on your waist over your suspender tight as you bounced your hips. The ambient mics were picking up on the softest of his inhales over the sound of slapping skin. 

“Look at these tits,” Azriel said appreciatively, reaching up to squeeze. “I bet they bounce so pretty for the cameras while you ride me.” 

With that, he unclipped your bra, pulling it off your body and tossing it so it lay half on the bed. When you arched your back, his lips found your breasts, kissing greedily while his hands continued to guide you on his cock. 

“God, you’re gorgeous. Take it, faster, darling,” he urged, palming your ass before slapping it. 

Whimpering, you tried to ride him faster, needing the feeling of him inside you to crest. However, when Azriel felt your thighs start to shake, he rolled the both of you over and pulled out, moving to stand in front of the bed before tugging you by the ankles to the edge of the mattress. Body soft and pliant under his fingers, your stockings were scrunched under his grip. Your ass was barely on the bed when he pushed aside the material framing your pussy before pushing in again, positioned carefully so that when you caught a quick glance of the monitor, you could see him sliding close-up into you.

“Shit, that’s so hot,” you moaned, body caged under his arms as he started to snap his hips into you.

“Yeah, darling, you’re fucking hot.” 

You reached up, needing to ground yourself. So you sank your nails into the tense muscles of his biceps, drawing a grunt from Azriel. 

“You know,” his voice dropped, “I always fuck my pillow wishing it was you. Every night when I get myself off it’s your pretty face ‘m thinking ‘bout. But you’re so much better than I imagined.” 

At his words, you found yourself saying, “I’m so close, Azriel, fuck.” 

“Yeah, darling? Wait for me.” 

Azriel leaned down further, resting his forearms on the bed and hovering above you. Moving to cup his face, you pulled his lips down to yours, tongues meeting before lips did. You could feel the way his balls slapped your ass with each thrust, the way he shoved himself in fully, greedily, before pulling out just to ram into you again. You could feel it—you were so close to climax, your legs hooked around him and digging into his lower back because you needed him closer. 

His breaths grew labored while yours turned breathy, and with a few more strong thrusts, Azriel was huffing, “Come for me.” 

As his cock rubbed against that spot inside of you, you cried out, squeezing him so tightly as his release spurted inside of you. He stayed there for a few moments, his eyes searching yours, faces so close you were inhaling shared air. 

“I’m gonna pull out now, okay?” he asked softly, kissing your forehead when you nodded. 

It felt so empty without his thick length inside of you, and when you glanced over at the monitor again, you could see the way his cum spilled out of you thickly. You sighed, head falling back onto the bed as a small smile spread across your face. 

Azriel didn’t even bother with pleasantries as he closed the stream, kicking a camera stand down to make his way back to you. “You okay? You were so good.” 

“Yeah- yeah, I’m okay,” you mumbled, reaching out to wrap your arms around him as he joined you on the bed again. “Shit, that was good.” 

“Only ‘good’?” he teased, which earned him a lazy smack on the chest. 

“Could we do that again, some other time?” you found yourself asking. “Without the camera?” 

His hand snaked between your legs again to find the mess there. “Some other time? Why not now?” 

By Monday, your legs were so shaky it was hard to leave his bed. And Azriel was more than content with that. 

🏷️: @wildflowermooon @azrielslittleslut @azriel-shadowsingerr @a-courtof-azriel @cynthiesjmxazrielslover

🏷️: @iliveinthebooks @sizzlingstarlightsky @jem2299 @ahaha0246 @secretsicanthideanymore

🏷️: @lilah-asteria @girl-math-aint-mathing thank you thank you THANK YOU to my dear darling @velarisdusk for beta reading, all kisses to you (this would've been grammar ass if she didn't check me)

𓏲 say ‘i’ if you wanna be added to taglist, ‘r’ if you wanna be removed 💗

copyright @halo-hanging / @lyladoesntwrite on tumblr

[mischiefmanagers]

Snap into place - Azriel x female reader

Summary: You meet Azriel and the mate bond snaps into place

Words: 2.7K

Warnings: None really; heated make out session

Notes; debating on a smutty part two...

Y/N's POV

I land softly in the grand dining room of the House of Wind, the air thick with the scent of fresh herbs and a hint of something sweet. Rhysand’s arms release me gently, and I steady myself on my feet, my heart racing from the exhilaration of flying through the skies of Velaris. The room is filled with soft, glowing light, casting an inviting warmth over the beautifully arranged table. A high ceiling adorned with intricate carvings seems to echo with laughter and conversation.

Before I can take in my surroundings fully, a stunning figure catches my eye. A woman with long, flowing blonde hair and striking features stands nearby, wearing a form-fitting red dress that barely conceals anything in the front. It clings to her curves, exuding confidence and allure.

“Ah, my cousin,” Rhysand announces, his voice filled with warmth. “This is Morrigan—though everyone just calls her Mor.”

Before I can respond, Mor crosses the room in a heartbeat, pulling me into a fierce hug. Her laughter is bright and infectious. “Welcome! I’m so glad you’re here!” she exclaims, her voice a melodic blend of mischief and sincerity. I feel an instant warmth in her embrace, a sense of belonging I didn’t expect.

“Thank you,” I manage to say as she releases me, taking a step back with a bright smile that makes her appear even more radiant.

Feyre steps forward, her expression friendly and open. “Let me introduce you to my sisters,” she says, guiding me toward a small group nearby.

Nesta stands with her arms crossed, an aura of guardedness surrounding her. She meets my gaze with a sharp look, her dark hair cascading around her shoulders. “You’re Rhysand’s guest?” she asks, her tone skeptical.

“Yes,” I reply, trying to match her intensity with a friendly smile.

Elain, their sister, smiles softly at me. She has an ethereal quality, with gentle features that instantly make me feel at ease. “It’s lovely to meet you,” she says sweetly, her voice warm and inviting. “If you need anything, please let me know.”

I nod, feeling a flicker of appreciation for her kindness.

Cassian stands next to Nesta, his muscular frame radiating strength and energy. He grins widely, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just don’t let her intimidate you,” he teases, motioning toward Nesta. “She’s really just a big softie at heart.”

“Hardly,” Nesta retorts, rolling her eyes but the corners of her mouth lift slightly.

As they all welcome me, I feel a tug in my chest, an inexplicable pull that draws my attention across the room. I turn my head, and my breath catches in my throat. Another Illyrian soldier stands there, much like Cassian but not. His arms are crossed over his toned chest, looking out the large windows at the stars. His dark hair catches the light, and there’s an air of quiet strength about him. He seems lost in thought, his posture relaxed yet commanding.

“Azriel,” Rhys speaks to his friend, his tone light but expectant. “Won’t you greet our guest?”

Azriel turns slowly toward me, and I find myself momentarily entranced. He is classically beautiful, though nearly unreadable, an enigma wrapped in shadows. He stands tall, his dark hair tousled and framing his face perfectly. Golden-brown skin gleams softly in the warm light, and his massive Illyrian wings are folded elegantly behind him, giving him an imposing yet graceful presence. The planes of his face are striking—high cheekbones, a strong jawline—carved by years of rigorous training. His hazel eyes, a blend of green and gold, hold a depth that makes my breath catch.

As our eyes lock, that tugging sensation in my chest intensifies, pulling me closer to him, and then—snap. It’s as if an invisible bond has snapped into place, an undeniable connection that leaves me momentarily off-balance. I stumble, my breath hitching, and I reach out instinctively for support.

Rhysand’s violet eyes widen with concern as he steps closer, his hand steadying me. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice laced with genuine worry.

I nod quickly, but my attention is drawn back to Azriel, who steps toward me in large, graceful strides, closing the distance between us with an effortless fluidity that only heightens the charged atmosphere.

He reaches out, taking my right hand in his scarred one, the warmth of his touch igniting a thousand sensations within me. Then, with a deep bow, he bends slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says, his voice low and velvety, wrapping around me like a warm embrace.

At his touch, a wave of emotions floods through me. I can feel everything he feels—an undercurrent of fear at this unexpected connection, a deep anticipation for my response, and there, beneath it all, an undeniable want and lust that makes my cheeks heat with embarrassment. It’s as if our souls are whispering secrets to one another, threading together in an intricate dance of intimacy and longing.

I try to pull my hand back, overwhelmed by the intensity of his emotions coursing through the bond, but he holds my gaze, and I find myself rooted to the spot, caught in the depths of his hazel eyes. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying, a whirlwind of sensations that leaves me breathless and wanting more.

I glance down at Azriel’s scarred hands, tracing my thumb along the rough texture of his skin. The warmth of his touch sends a soft shudder through him, and I feel it travel down the bond between us—a wave of heat that washes over me, igniting something deep within. It’s an intimate gesture, one that feels both innocent and charged with unspoken promises.

But suddenly, I feel something else—claws prying at the edges of my mind, a persistent probing that sends a shiver down my spine. I snap my head to the side, my eyes landing on Rhys and Feyre. Rhys stands with his head tilted slightly, a focused expression on his face as he tries to break through my mental shields, searching for what I’m thinking and sensing what’s happening between Azriel and me.

“Rhys!” I snap, my voice sharper than intended. “Get out of my head!”

His bright violet eyes widen in surprise, but there’s no malice behind his glare—just concern and curiosity.

I squeeze Azriel’s hand slightly, seeking comfort in his presence as I feel the bond shift, allowing a flicker of privacy to return. With a subtle sigh, Azriel finally lets me go, his grip loosening but the warmth lingering on my skin.

With the weight of too many eyes on me, I feel exposed and overwhelmed by the sudden intensity of it all. I take a step back, my heart racing. “I need some air,” I manage to say, my voice steady despite the chaos inside me. Without waiting for a response, I move toward the balcony, seeking solace in the open air. The stars shimmer above me, bright and unyielding against the velvet backdrop of the night sky. The cool breeze nips at my skin, sending a shiver through me, and I realize with a pang that I shouldn’t have let Feyre dress me up so much; the delicate fabric feels too thin against the chill.

I take a deep breath, looking up at the stars, trying to quell the turmoil in my head. They are more beautiful than I ever imagined, each twinkling light a reminder of the vastness of the world beyond this moment. The Night Court is far more peaceful than anyone ever says it is, a soothing embrace of tranquility that wraps around me, lulling my racing heart.

But then, just as I begin to gather my thoughts, I feel the presence behind me. Scarred hands rest on the balcony railing between mine, and a solid body presses against me, immediately calming the raging thoughts and anxiety within me. It’s as if now that Azriel has been found as my mate, he can calm me with just a touch. My parents always told me stories about mates, about how their presence could soothe even the most tumultuous of storms.

Suddenly, I’m no longer cold. The heat radiating from him envelops me, grounding me in the moment. I seem to fall back against him instinctively, feeling the solid strength of his body as he envelops me in a comforting warmth. I breathe him in—the scent of dark wood, cool night air, and something uniquely him that sends my heart racing anew.

I take a deep breath, letting my eyes slide shut as the back of my head rests against his shoulder, feeling his presence wrap around me like a protective shroud. I can’t help but open my mind to him, allowing our connection to deepen. I show him every thought I’ve ever had about mates—the way my parents were so perfectly entwined, the love that seemed to glow around them like a beacon. I share my awe from moments ago, the overwhelming rush of emotions when our eyes first met.

I can feel him absorbing my thoughts, understanding the weight of them as they flit through our bond like soft whispers. And as I let go of my worries and fears, I realise that in this moment, with Azriel, everything feels right. The bond between us is no longer just a connection; it is a sanctuary.

When I finally open my eyes, I realize it’s not just Azriel’s presence wrapping around me but his massive wings have unfurled, forming a dark cocoon around us. They block out the view of the dining room and the curious gazes of the others, creating a sanctuary that offers me the privacy I’ve always craved, especially in gatherings like this one. I’ve never liked being the center of attention, and now, in this moment, I’m grateful for his instinct to shield us.

His wings are magnificent—dark and leathery, reminiscent of a bat’s, stretching wide to envelop us in shadow. The texture is smooth yet powerful, each wingbone prominent and elegant. I slowly turn to face him, our bodies close but still connected through the warmth of his wings. His arms remain on the balcony railing, and the soft look on his face takes my breath away. There’s something in his gaze, a mix of vulnerability and fierce desire, that makes my heart race.

I reach out tentatively, fingers brushing against one of his wings. At my touch, he lets out a breathy sound, a mixture of surprise and something deeper. A surge of sexual want travels straight through the bond between us, igniting every nerve ending in my body and leaving me breathless.

Azriel’s hazel eyes flutter open a moment later, the warm color gone so dark they’re almost black, filled with an intensity that makes me shiver. His voice is low and gravelly as he speaks, the words rolling off his tongue like a whispered secret. “I need to kiss you.” There’s a desperation in his tone, almost like a plea, and my hands instinctively reach up to cup his face, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my palms.

In that moment, everything else fades away, and it’s just the two of us in our private world. His hands finally move, wrapping around me with a possessive tenderness that makes my heart leap. He pulls me closer, pressing my hips into the balcony railing, creating an exhilarating friction between us. One hand weaves into my hair, the other slips to my thigh, lifting my leg and wrapping it around his waist as if to draw me even nearer.

And then, as if the world outside has disappeared, he dives down and kisses me like I’m the oxygen he needs to breathe. His lips are soft yet insistent, sending sparks of electricity through my body. The taste of him is intoxicating—warm and rich, like dark chocolate laced with a hint of something sweet. With every brush of his mouth against mine, I feel my heart race, igniting a fire within me that spreads from my chest to my fingertips, making me dizzy with desire.

I can’t seem to get enough of him. My hands instinctively roam over the contours of his back, searching for a break in his Illyrian armor, eager to find hot, bare golden skin beneath. I’m met only with cool metal and the hard lines of his physique, a growl of frustration escaping me when I can’t reach my destination. The sound draws a deep chuckle from him, vibrating through our connection and sending shivers down my spine.

As we pull apart just enough for him to speak, I’m breathless. “I have waited hundreds of years for you,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion and longing. The weight of those words settles over us, filled with the gravity of a bond forged over lifetimes.

Before I can process what he means, he surges forward again, crashing his mouth against mine with a heat and passion that sends my mind reeling. I feel every dip and curve of his body pressed against mine, the solid strength of him overwhelming me in the best way possible. I don’t care how hard the railing is digging into my back; everything Azriel is consuming me, and I want him—no, I need him—right here and right now.

A low sound of agreement rumbles in his chest, deep and resonant, making my insides flutter with excitement. But just as I lose myself in the warmth of his embrace, a sudden clearing of the throat outside our cocoon of wings startles me, and I yelp with fear, pulling back from the kiss.

“Darlings!” comes the voice, sickly sweet and teasing. Rhys’. “As hot and amusing as this is, please do whatever this is somewhere else where your mental shields won’t go down and blast unwanted thoughts my way.”

I glance over at Rhysand, who stands just outside the shadow of Azriel’s wings, a smirk playing on his lips. His violet eyes dance with mischief as he takes in the scene, clearly amused by our moment. I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment, my heart still racing from both the kiss and the unexpected interruption.

Azriel's presence remains a steady anchor behind me, the heat radiating from his body enveloping me in a comforting embrace. Despite Rhys's teasing, I can’t shake the feeling of exhilaration coursing through my veins.

Without breaking the intense gaze between us, Azriel flips Rhys the bird over his shoulder, a smirk dancing on his lips. It’s a surprisingly playful gesture from someone as serious as him, and it sends a flutter of laughter through me, lightening the tension in the air.

Then, with a sudden and fluid motion, he scoops me up in his arms, mirroring how Rhysand had carried me here. The world shifts around us as he cradles me against his chest, his hold firm and secure. My heart races, not from the shock of being lifted, but from the thrill of what’s to come.

He strides out of the House of Wind, his powerful legs propelling us into the night, the moonlight casting a silvery glow on his dark wings. I let my head rest against his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of him—woodsmoke and night air, a mixture that calms me even as my pulse quickens. Anticipation and want settle deep in my bones, intertwining with the warmth radiating from him, making it hard to think straight.

What does my mate have planned for us once he gets me to his bed? The mere thought sends butterflies swirling in my stomach, a mix of excitement and nerves. I close my eyes, surrendering to the feeling of safety in his arms, relishing the electric connection that pulses between us.

With each step flap of his wings he takes, I feel the promise of the night stretching out before us, a canvas of endless possibilities. All I can think about is how I’ve finally found him—my mate—and everything is about to change.

ACOTAR Masterlist - To be made

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[mischiefmanagers]

In Safe Arms

Bodyguard!Azriel x Celebrity!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Hey ! Ik u are hella busy and I am so proud of ur for ur publication , but if u ever get time could u do a Celebrity reader x bodyguard az?

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2390

_________________________________________

“I said back the fuck off!” Azriel growls, and you know for a fact that the paparazzi who’s been steadily inching closer and closer throughout the night has landed himself on your bodyguards shit list.

Azriel’s hand doesn’t leave the small of your back, no matter how much he wants to lunge across the sidewalk and knock the fucking camera out of this goon’s hands. The man’s been harassing you all week, from the moment you stepped off the plane in New York, getting testier and testier with his shots, following you from your hotel to your shoots, to parties and bars and back to your hotel late into the evening hours. He doesn’t know how the man finds the time to sleep, honestly.

And he knows it’s the same one following you around, not only because it’s his job to remember people that might prove to be a threat to you, but because he’d never forget this fucking scumbag’s face.

You duck your head lower, pressing Azriel’s handkerchief tightly to your eyebrow. There’s blood dripping into your eye from whatever it was a fan tossed your way as soon as you’d stepped foot out of your SUV. Azriel had been turned toward you, lending you a helping hand from the vehicle when it struck. He whirled around, but it was too late, the coward had slunk off into the crowd before he could sniff them out like a bloodhound.

And Azriel was livid.

If your father had just hired two bodyguards to protect you instead of one, this wouldn’t have happened.

Not that Azriel isn’t qualified to keep you safe by himself. With six years of training with the Royal Marines under his belt, he’s more than capable. He’s carried injured men across his back for miles when there was no hope of getting out for fuck’s sake. But this is a new playing field entirely. You’re the most well-known celebrity he’s had the pleasure of working with, and when your father didn’t heed his advice that one bodyguard was not enough, he knew he was going to be in for a challenge.

A challenge that he’s failed tonight.

You let him lead you blindly, trying your best to block out your surroundings: the screaming fans begging for a picture or autograph, the stream of liquid you’re desperately trying to blink from your eye and soak up with the rag. Your heart is pounding loudly in your chest, breathing shallow pants, and the only thing keeping you from collapsing right onto the concrete outside of your hotel is Azriel’s strong hand at your back, guiding you to safety.  

“Almost there,” he murmurs at your back, and your shoulders slacken slightly at the familiarity of his voice cutting through all the other noises that pierce your ears. “Only a few more steps and we’ll be in the lobby.”

He’s right, the concierge is holding the door open just enough for the both of you to slip through, and when it shuts tightly behind you, muffling off the loud wails and camera flashes, you release a shaky breath.

“Miss, are you okay?” The man asks, concern lacing his tone, like his job is on the line because someone decided to toss something at your face. “Do you need me to call the polic—”

“No, no,” you blurt frantically, waving him off. “That’s not necessary.”

“(Y/N)—” Azriel tries to cut in, and you know that this is something he’s going to have to report to his boss. Concern laces his tone, not for his job, but for you, because you’re injured and shaking in the middle of the lobby, looking like an abandoned puppy left to wilt in the rain. “I think you should—”

“No, Az,” you choke out, finally lifting your gaze from the floor to meet his. The look he wears makes your breath catch in your throat, but looking at him always does. He’s beautiful. And completely off limits.

His thick, straight brows are the only thing that gives his concern away. There’s a wrinkle between them that you want to reach out and smooth with the pad of your finger. His mouth is set in a firm line, not unusual for the stoic man. And his eyes, well his eyes are roiling with anger, hot coals ready to combust.

You don’t even care that you’ve called him the name you shouldn’t. You’re not supposed to address him by his name at all, let alone the nickname you’ve secretly become fond of. Right now, though, you’re much to shaken to realize your slip up, and he’s too worried about your wound to correct you.

“Please,” you beg, tears brimming your eyes. His tall, built frame conceals you from the people still lingering outside, and he spots that fucking paparazzi from the corner of his eye, smirking in the window as he cranes as far as he can to be the first to get a shot at your injury. “I want to go to my room.”

You’re already pulling the cloth from your face, and he’s quick to reach out and press it back, all too aware of the people around. Any one of them could spill the beans, could secretly be listening or recording, ready to make a quick buck off your horrendous night. Fucking assholes, all of them.

“Okay,” he consoles, glaring harshly at the concierge when he opens his mouth to protest. The man’s jaw snaps shut with an audible click, and he scurries away. Returning his attention to you, one hand pinning yours and the cloth you’re clutching to your face, he urges you toward the elevator. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

The doors chime open, and after getting you on safely and pushing the button to the suite on the top floor of the building, Azriel shoots one last menacing look to the paparazzi that’s still standing out front. He’s going to have a few phone calls tonight, with the hotel security and the local police, because he doesn’t want that fuck anywhere near you ever again.

The sleazy pap has the gall to wink at Azriel before the doors shut between you and the man he knows will be standing in that exact spot come the morning when it’s time for you to leave again.

The ride is long, and with the adrenaline draining from your system, you’re exhausted. Azriel lets you sag against him, and you trust him so fully that you let your eyes drift shut, allowing him to guide you through your room and straight into the bathroom so that he can take care of your wound.

You crack your eyes open when he lifts you to rest on the counter before dropping to his knees and helping you out of your heels. Your feet scream happily, and your body ignites at the sight of him on his knees before you.

Standing, he shoves the sleeves of his thick, black shirt up over his elbows, exposing those strong forearms you’d had the pleasure of peeking at for the last few months. That’s not the only thing you’ve noticed about Azriel. There are scars on his hands, bad ones. You don’t know what they’re from, but you’re aching to know. To learn anything about the man who’s been your bodyguard for the better part of this year.

“I think you should go home,” Azriel says softly. Or, as softly as someone like him can. It sounds harsh, gruff, but you know he doesn’t mean it like a demand. He’s concerned in his own way.

“I can’t pull out of my appearances, that’ll only make me look worse,” you argue, sliding back onto the counter he guides you to. People already hate you enough for the rift that Azriel has caused in your relationship with superstar Tamlin Oleander. Having an attractive man protecting you has not only made the man your team is paying to be with you insecure, but he’s been twisting this story for too long already. Pulling out of your appearances now will only give the fans another reason to pick and tear at you.

He scrubs his hands hard with the bar of soap in the sink before toweling them off and looking at your injury.

There’s a split above your eyebrow. Face wounds bleed a lot, he tells himself, smothering the memory that rises at the sight. Except that that injury was about an inch lower, and his comrade didn’t make it out alive.

“Who cares about looking worse,” Azriel scoffs. This time, he speaks harsher, but his movements against your face are still soft. The sting is barely there because you’re focusing on the buzz his fingertips brushing your skin provide. You’re focusing on the soft spot in his hazel eyes as he examines your wound, his breath against your skin. It’s dizzying. And not from the blood loss. “You should care about being safe.”

Neither of you brings up that it’s his job to do just that, but it sits heavily in the room anyway, sucking all the air from the expansive bathroom.

He swallows harshly, refusing to look at you. He busies himself with plucking a few butterfly bandages from the first aid kit beside him. The split skin above your eyebrow aches when he pinches the slice together to apply the bandage. “I’ll call down to the lobby to see if there’s someplace more private we can meet the car to take you to the hospital. You’re going to need a stitch or two.”

“Azriel, wait,” you call, grabbing for his hand when he turns to leave the room. You know exactly what’s going to happen when he crosses over that threshold. “Please don’t call him.”

He allows you to stop him, but he doesn’t turn to face you. He can’t. Can’t bear to look at you when his failure is staring right back at him. He let you get hurt, and he’ll never forgive himself for it.

Azriel’s body is too still, and his tone is too even when he answers. “I have to.”

“You don’t,” you plead, clutching him tighter. If he calls your father and tells him about what happened tonight you know you’ll never see him again, and if you never see him again, you’ll be fucking miserable. You’ve found comfort in Azriel’s presence throughout the time you’ve been working together, and he’s the only one who’s been able to see through the façade you put on, the personality you’ve spent so long pretending to be. He sees you.

“I do.”

“Why?” You don’t care that you’re getting worked up, that you voice is becoming louder with your desperation. That your nails are biting into the skin of his arm because you refuse to let him walk away from you.

Azriel whirls, and you startle back a step. But you don’t let him go, you never want to let him go. You take him with you, and he goes tripping forward with how you’ve caught him off guard.

He stumbles into you and his hands find your waist, steadying you against the counter. His grip on you is tight. His eyes defeated.

“I couldn’t protect you tonight,” he admits, and you can hear the heartbreak in his voice, you can almost see the memories that resurface, threatening to drag him under. “You need someone who can.”

“You can, Azriel! It’s an isolated incident!” You’re desperately trying to get him to see reason, scrabbling your fingers at his shirt, dragging him even further into you. Tears slide down your face, and for the first time of the night, you’re afraid. You weren’t scared when Azriel was the one there, jumping into action, but now, thinking that he might leave you, you’re terrified.

“It won’t be,” he sighs, brushing his fingers softly over yours, trying to calm you down lest you reopen your wound. “Now that it’s happened, other will try, and I can’t have you getting hurt, sweetheart. I can’t protect you like I thought I could.”

Neither of you catch his slip of the tongue, too caught up in the emotions for it to register.

You can’t swallow back the sob. You try to bury your face in his shirt, but Azriel catches you gently around the shoulders, keeping you from hurting yourself.

His hands are calloused and strong, you can feel the ridges of the scarring that paints them. So tender, so cruel, so soft.

“I don’t want you to leave me,” you admit, blinking your tears away to meet his gaze. You don’t care that your makeup is probably a mess with your tears and whatever’s left of the blood, and Azriel doesn’t care because he still thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Azriel presses his forehead against yours, swiping your tears with his thumbs. “I won’t,” he promises, “I can’t.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and just like that, you’re staring up and him and he’s staring back at you like you’re the most prized possession in this hotel, in this world.

He doesn’t know when he fell for you, if it was the way you tried to find the cracks in his stoic exterior between photoshoots and interviews, or if it’s the way you opened yourself up for him only, showed him the real you.

You’re nothing like the way you’re portrayed in the media. None of those fucking people know how big your heart is, how much you’ve been hurt, how much you care.

And he’d lie down his life to keep you safe and whole.

“Promise me.” You breathe. Your lips brush his as you speak, and the gentle touch sends shockwaves up your spine. You follow their current, lengthening your spine, pushing closer to Azriel. His hands tighten on your hips, and you spread your legs wider for him so slot himself between.

He does with a jagged breath, like he’s trying to hold himself back but is unable. His hazel eyes bore into yours and you see the war there, how he wants to go against everything he vowed not to do with you. He shouldn’t be anywhere near you like this…but he can’t help himself.

“I promise,” he says, along with ‘fuck it’ in his head, and leans down to capture your lips against his.

[mischiefmanagers]

Thorns and Toxins

pairing: Azriel x Reader

content warnings: language, poison induced illness

word count: 3.9k

synopsis: Azriel knew something was off the moment you walked into the training room. You brushed him off, and ended up sending the poor male into a tailspin after you collapsed while sparring.

my masterlist

~ ~ ~

“Are you alright?”

You squinted up at the hulking Illyrian standing before you, your vision swimming a bit. You blinked a few times before focusing on his scowling face. “I’m fine,” you breathed out, wiping some sweat from your brow.

“You fainted,” he argued, crossing his arms.

You rested your arms on your knees, hanging your head a bit. “I said I’m fine,” you grumbled. 

Your head was pounding and you thought you might topple over if you tried to stand up, but you sure as shit weren’t telling Azriel that. It was bad enough that you had passed out in the middle of sparring with Nesta, you didn’t need any further humiliation. You were sure it was nothing, anyway. You were likely just exhausted from the horrid hike you and Azriel took through the Middle yesterday, and if he was fine, you should be too. 

“Y/N–”

“Azriel,” you bit back, halting his words. You swatted a shadow away that started to slither up your leg. 

He took a step closer, his boot nudging yours. “You’re pale as snow,” he said quietly, his worry clear in his voice. He crouched down in front of you before softly saying, “I know something is wrong.”

You fought to hide the growing tremor in your bones as you met his eyes. “I’m just tired,” you admitted the half-truth reluctantly. He didn’t look like he believed you, so you added, “And I didn’t eat breakfast.”

“You barely ate anything last night,” he hummed worriedly. Your forehead wrinkled as you thought about yesterday, recalling the fatigue that had pulled you straight to bed once you arrived back to the House of Wind.

“I’ll eat something after training,” you muttered dismissively, rubbing your arm to fight off the chill in the room.

“Oh, you’re done training for today,” Azriel told you. “I think you should see Madja.”

Your shoulders lifted a bit at that, and you forced yourself onto your unsteady feet. The room seemed to sway a bit, and the sounds of the females clashing swords morphed into a dull ring. A shiver racked your body as the temperature seemed to drop.

Azriel’s arm wrapped around your torso swiftly, and you leaned your weight on him instinctually. He cursed under his breath as he lifted his free hand to your forehead, making you scrunch your face up. “Cauldron,” he sputtered as he pulled away his hand. “You’re burning up, Y/N.”

You frowned a bit, struggling to piece together the meaning of his words. A chill ran through you. “No,” you murmured, a bit dazed, “I’m freezing.”

Azriel’s face paled a bit at that.

“Hey,” Cassian said as he strided over to you. “Is she okay?”

Your head felt like it was filled with sand and your mouth stuffed full of cotton. You closed your eyes and leaned your head on Azriel’s shoulder. He was so warm. Why was it so cold today?

You barely heard Azriel’s gruff voice tell Cassian to get Madja, and you whimpered as he started to guide you out of the training room. Your knees buckled after just a few steps, and you would have hit the floor if not for Azriel holding you upright.

He easily lifted you up into his arms, and any protests you had fizzled out before you could form a coherent thought. You rested your head on his chest, gently nuzzling against his leathers. He carried you easily through the House, his heavy footsteps a soothing rhythm. “Az,” you whimpered, “I lied. I think there’s something wrong.”

His throat bobbed. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re just a bit ill. Madja will be here soon.”

You sniffed. “But I don’t get sick. Fae don’t get sick.”

“They do sometimes,” he hummed, but his voice wavered a bit. He gently shifted his hold on you so he could push open your door, and he walked toward the oversized bed that you couldn’t be bothered with making that morning. He gently sat you down on the edge of the bed, his hand pressing to your forehead again. This time you leaned into the touch, relishing in the contact, and you whined a bit when he pulled away.

He moved toward your dresser as he said, “You need to get out of those leathers.”

You nodded slightly, but your arms felt like lead as you tried to unfasten your intricate lacings, and you couldn’t control the shaking of your limbs as you failed to untie them. Your arms dropped to your sides, and you couldn’t muster the strength to raise them again. Your eyes stung as you realized what was happening, as you realized how quickly your strength had been depleted. You couldn’t even undress yourself.

A sob broke free from your lips, and your tears started flowing freely down your face. Azriel whirled toward you, his face the picture of alarm. He quickly sat the clothing in his hands on your bed before he crouched down in front of you, his hands resting on your knees.

“Hey,” he cooed, his thumb rubbing soft circles on your leg. His eyes were wide with panic but his voice was so soft. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I—I can’t,” you stammered. “Everything feels—I just,” you sucked in a shaky breath. “I’m so tired,” you whispered, hoping he would understand. 

Azriel’s eyes were glossy as he nodded slowly and rubbed a hand up and down your thigh. “That’s okay,” he assured. “We’ll get you out of these. Don’t worry, sweetheart.”

He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, and he reached for the first buckle at your side before pausing. “Do you want me to get Nesta to help you?” he asked.

Panic swelled up at the thought of him leaving you like this. “No.”

“Okay,” he murmured. He gently but swiftly undid the laces and clasps holding your leathers to your body. He gently guided you to balance on the very edge of the bed so he could slide the leather pants down your legs, and you were left there in nothing but your undergarments. The cool air on your flushed skin made you shiver again, your body at war to decide if it was hot or cold.

Azriel slid a large shirt over your head, one of his shirts you realized as it fell to your mid thighs and his cedar scent wafted over you. Azriel gently slid a hand up and under the back of the shirt to undo the cloth still wrapped tightly around your chest, and you sank into the mattress once he removed the final piece of stifling clothing.

He pulled the covers back some more before helping you crawl under them, the cool silk sheets a soothing balm to your blazing skin. His fingers grazed your cheek as you nuzzled into your pillow, exhaustion quickly pulling consciousness away from you.

~ ~ ~

Azriel didn’t know what to do. He had never seen you so disoriented, so vulnerable. He knew something was off last night when he winnowed the two of you back to Velaris. He knew something was off when he found you peering aimlessly at a dreadfully dark bog of water after looking for you for ages to call off the search for a damn trinket Rhys thought might be stashed in the forests of The Middle.

You had sounded normal though, sounding relieved to get out of the grotesque lands, and while his shadows kept fussing over you, they didn’t find anything out of the ordinary either. Now they were desperate to swarm your sleeping form, and it took all of his power to keep them on their leash. To keep himself on a leash and not lose his mind as he silently paced along the side of the bed.

A soft knock on the door signaled Cassian’s arrival before he pushed the door open, a worried frown on his face. Azriel immediately paused his pacing, his back going rigid at the sight of the male alone.

“Where is Madja?” Azriel demanded.

Cassian winced, glancing at your sleeping form before looking back at Azriel reluctantly. “She’s in Illyria.”

Azriel felt flames of fear and anger rise in his chest. Anger that Cassian clearly anticipated as he took another placating step forward. “Rhys is getting her. She told him to put her in an ice bath while we wait.”

Azriel tried and failed to control the anxiety bubbling in his chest. He watched the slow rise and fall of your chest, reluctant to wake you after only a few minutes of rest. “I think something happened to her yesterday,” he murmured to Cassian.

Cassian moved closer, standing beside him. “In The Middle?”

Azriel nodded, lacking the words to explain any further, to voice any more of his fear. Cassian was well aware of why Azriel was quickly losing his grip on his sanity, and he understood the terror flowing through him as he helplessly watched you suffer.

“I can’t lose her,” Azriel croaked, a rare display of emotion.

Cassian placed a hand on his shoulder. “You won’t.”

“She doesn’t even know—”

“She will,” Cassian assured with a squeeze. “Let’s get her in that ice bath—”

Your scream ripped through the room, and Azriel’s heart stopped dead. Both males sprung toward you, looking you over for any obvious signs of harm. Azriel cupped your face in his hands as you thrashed and screamed, your eyes clenched shut.

Azriel’s heart was pounding as he tried to coax you awake, to soothe whatever terror was running rampant in your dreams. “Y/N,” he said over and over again, his voice growing louder and louder with every passing second.

You didn’t wake. No matter how much he and Cassian shook you or yelled your name, you kept screaming and thrashing as tears ran down your cheeks.

Azriel’s breath stuttered when your eyes flew open, halting his shaking of your shoulders. His relief was short-lived though when you started screaming again, and your glazed eyes showed no recognition of your surroundings, no recognition of him and Cassian. You shrieked again, screaming “Get off me!” at the top of your lungs, over and over again.

Azriel looked at Cassian helplessly as he tried to hold you down by your shoulders, to keep you in the bed. Cassian had your ankles braced in his hands, but it didn’t stop your relentless screeching and wailing of your limbs.

“Get her in the bath,” Cassian said breathlessly.

Azriel nodded. He pulled your thrashing body toward him, picking you up as you swung and beat at him aimlessly while tears still streamed down your face and your screams turned into sobs. “It’s okay,” he said, voice watery. “You’re okay.” He knew you weren’t hearing, that none of his words were registering with you, but his heart was cracked in half from the terror flowing through you as he carried you to the bath.

He knew he had to put you in the ice bath the House had already prepared. Cassian was gathering towels and soaps and whatever else Madja might need once she got here as he approached the tub. He hesitated as he held your shaking form over it, dreading making things worse by submerging you in freezing water.

“You have to, Az,” Cassian said softly from across the room. “She needs you to do this for her.”

His throat bobbed as he looked at your tear-stained cheeks, but the heat radiating from your body through his leathers was enough for him to slowly lower you into the bath. You fought him as he dropped you in, shaking and pulling on him as you rested your body in the ice cold bath water. Your grip on him relaxed as you were submerged in the ice, but you were still in a stupor with more tears leaking from your glazed eyes.

“Dunk her,” Cassian said gruffly.

Azriel’s eyes snapped to his, but Cassian was deadly serious as he watched with his arms crossed, nothing but concern limning his face. Azriel released a shaky breath as he gently pulled your hands from his leathers. He placed trembling hands on your shoulders, gently coaxing you to sit back in the tub. He quickly pushed you down under the freezing water, ice and water splashing everywhere as he quickly released you and you shot forward, gasping for breath.

Your eyes were wide as your head spun from side to side. They were bloodshot and exhausted but they were alert. It was clearly you looking around. Azriel placed a warm and gentle hand on your shoulder, the shirt still covering it now clinging to your skin. Your wide and panicked eyes locked on his, and your chest was heaving as you stared at him in fear.

“You’re okay,” he murmured. “You’re with me. You’re in an ice bath. You’re safe. Me and Cassiaan are with you and you're safe.”

A sob broke free from your lips as his words washed over you, a soothing mantra that he had hoped would ground you after whatever the hell had you screaming and thrashing in terror. This sob was different from the ones he heard earlier. This was a sob of relief and exhaustion. As your body shook with more and more sobs, as you leaned your forehead on his leather clad shoulder, Cassian quietly slipped out of the bathing chamber. Azriel hoped he was going to greet Madja, because there was no way he was leaving your side. 

He let you cry for minutes without any explanation. He just glided his palm over your wet hair again and again, hoping to give you something to hold onto as you grappled with the fever-induced delirium you had just been under. Eventually, your small and gravelly voice said, “I—I was back at the temple.”

Azriel’s heart lurched. You had never shared with anyone what had happened to you at the Temple of Cesere, what you had witnessed there. He didn’t think now was the time for that conversation, so he gently shushed you, whispering, “You don’t have to explain that right now.”

You nodded slightly. “Thank you.” You sniffed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Azriel swallowed. “Did anything happen while we were in The Middle?” he asked, fearing the answer. “Did anything approach you? Did you touch anything strange?”

You started to shake your head against him, then stopped. “I cut my hand,” you rasped.

“On what?”

“Some thorns.”

Azriel’s mouth went dry. Mother only knew what was on the thorns of a bush growing in the forests of The Middle. The murmur of voices made his back go rigid, and relief flooded him when he heard Cassian say, “They’re in here.”

Azriel locked eyes with Madja as she rounded the doorframe to the bathing chamber, her sharp eyes shifting to analyze your sluggish form slumped against his chest. You shifted against him, recognizing the new presence in the room. Rhys and Cassian stood in the doorway as Madja circled to the other side of the tub, and you slowly tracked her movements.

“Hi, dear,” Madja greeted as she started setting out supplies. “I hear you’re a bit under the weather.”

You blinked, before nodding slightly.

“She said she cut her palm yesterday,” Azriel interjected. “We were in The Middle. She’s been acting strange since we left there.” He could feel Rhys and Cassian’s shock and irritation at the new information, at him knowing something was off with you and not saying anything. He understood it. He was angry with himself. “Then she fainted at training this morning, and now this.”

Madja hummed curiously. She gave nothing away about her thoughts on your condition yet. “What did she cut herself on?” she asked as she pulled you away from.

Every instinct he had begged him to keep holding her close, but he relented. “A thorn bush.”

Madja frowned. “It was likely poisonous then. Hard to say with what.” She slowly dragged her hands down your face and arms, feeling and sensing things that were blind to Azriel’s eyes. You were dozing off when she stepped away, the absence of her touch making you blink awake to look at Azriel.

His heart skipped a beat as he stared into your exhausted eyes. “Well?” he asked Madja, impatience seeping through his tone. “Will she be okay?”

She hummed as she dug around in her bag, procuring an ugly green tonic. She gently coaxed you to drink the liquid, your face scrunching up as you did as she asked. “This should help,” was her answer. When Azriel’s face hardened, Madja sighed. “Your mate will be fine, dear.” Azriel’s heart stopped as he locked eyes with your wide ones, more alert than they had been moments ago. “She was just exposed to an herbal toxin. A potent one, but nothing too nefarious compared to what else lurks in The Middle.”

Azriel took in a shaky breath, dragging his eyes from yours to Madja’s. “Thank you.”

She closed her bag and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as she moved around the tub. “The tonic will help with the fever and nightmares, but she’ll still feel weak and exhausted. Just keep an eye on her for a few days.”

Azriel was nearly drowning in his relief as he nodded and Madja left the room, followed by Rhys and Cassian. You were going to be fine. You were okay.

His relief quickly fizzled when he met your eyes again, the glazed expression replaced with a much sharper, simmering one.

~~~

Your mate will be fine.

Your mate. 

Mate.

The words repeated over and over in your head as Madja spoke with Azriel, as the gentle healer left the room, and as he gazed at you now with obvious apprehension. Minutes ticked by, him clearly waiting for you to break the silence, to give you control of this situation.

The chill of the bath was starting to bite at your skin, your fever no longer cocooning you from the harsh cold. You ignored the shiver that racked your body as you asked quietly, “How long have you known?”

Azriel said nothing, his face a bit pale.

“How long, Az?”

He released a breath, his eyes avoiding yours as his shadows pulsed restlessly around him. “Since your first day of training.”

You sucked in a breath. “That’s been…” You counted the months in your head, mouth going dry. “It’s been nearly a year.”

“I know,” he said softly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice was so small, and the trembling of your body made you all too aware of how vulnerable you were right now.

Azriel’s eyes softened. “Can we get you out of this bath first?”

You swallowed, looked down at the soaked black shirt plastered to your body. You reluctantly nodded.

He helped you stand up on shaky legs, guiding you out of the tub to stand on a plush rug as you dripped water everywhere. Azriel reached for a towel folded up on the counter. He toyed with the fabric as he asked, “Do you need help taking that off?”

You pursed your lips, cheeks flushing. Your limbs still felt like lead, but you had more wits about you now. You shook your head, taking the towel from him. “Can you get me some dry clothes?”

Azriel nodded, turning on his heel to leave you by the bathtub. You quickly stripped yourself of the wet shirt and underwear, wrapping the oversized towel around your freezing frame. You hesitantly stepped out in the bedroom, Azriel shutting your dresser drawer as you walked over to the bed. He faltered when he saw you, and you stepped closer to take the fresh shirt and undergarments from him.

“Thanks,” you murmured. You were still trembling as you slid the underwear on underneath your towel, and your legs felt like jelly as you reached for the shirt.

Azriel placed a gentle hand on your forearm. “Sit down, love.”

You didn’t have the energy to protest as he guided you to the bed. He easily pulled the shirt over your head, another one of his, and he helped you slip your arms through the sleeves before letting the towel fall. He tossed it in the corner as you climbed under the covers, nestling into your pillows.

You looked at him shyly, your earlier flare of confidence and energy gone. Now there was just exhaustion and anxiety. Azriel sat next to you on the edge of the bed, his hand resting on your thigh over the covers.

“I’ve been waiting for the bond to snap for you,” he said quietly.

Your lip wobbled as the events of today crashed down around you. “Why?” you rasped.

Azriel took a deep breath. “At first, because I didn’t know you. I didn’t want to scare you. You’ve never talked about Cesere, but none of the priestesses in the library came from wholesome backstories. I couldn’t thrust a mating bond on you when you had just decided to start training.”

He ran a hand over his face, his eyes shining in the faelights scattered around your room. “Then you asked me to help you train. You told me you wanted to be a spy, and I said yes. Of course, I said yes, but I especially couldn’t tell you then. I couldn’t bear making you uncomfortable when you had trusted me enough to ask for help. I just—” He sighed. “I just wanted everything to be on your terms. If that meant waiting a year or ten or fifty, I was okay with that.”

Tears stung your eyes. “Are you,” your voice wavered, “are you happy that I’m—”

“Yes.” Azriel moved to cup your face, staring directly in your eyes. “I have never been disappointed by you,” he breathed. 

You didn’t know what to say. You wished your mind wasn’t still so foggy from exhaustion and whatever else the poison pumping through your veins was doing to your body. Azriel seemed to understand, and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, your eyes fluttering closed at the contact.

He pulled away, and you watched him with bleary eyes. “You should sleep,” he said softly. “We can talk later.”

He stood up from the bed, and your heart lurched. “Please stay,” you whispered.

Azriel froze. His eyes were wide as he scanned your face. “Please,” you said again. You swallowed your nerves as you mustered a small smile. “I’m freezing. You’re my mate. Aren’t you obligated to keep me warm?”

Azriel’s face tinted pink, and the vision made your heart skip a beat. He smiled softly, before moving to the other side of the bed. He slid his boots and leathers off, leaving him in undershorts and a tunic, before he slid under the covers to lie next to you. You rolled over to face him, a tentative but irrepressible smile pulling at your lips.

Azriel brushed some hair behind your ear. He smiled. “I guess that tonic is working.”

You huffed a laugh. “Yeah.”

“You scared the hell out of me today,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t mean it like that. You don’t need to apologize. I just meant—I want you to know I couldn’t bear it if I lost you.”

You reached a shaky hand out toward, gently brushing your fingertips against his cheek. His face flushed under your gaze, and you smiled sleepily. “You won’t,” you whispered.

He smiled back softly. He gently pulled you close to his chest, wrapping his arms around you before draping a wing over your still shivering form. He pressed another kiss to your head, and you rubbed your face against his chest.

“Get some sleep,” he murmured into your hair, and you let your exhaustion pull you under while cocooned in the safety of Azriel’s arms.

[mischiefmanagers]

Look Into The Future

Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: mentions of death of a parent.

Summary: One night when Eris is sneaking out of the Forest House, a four year old Lucien catches him and begs Eris to take him with him. Eris complies only if Lucien keeps his mouth shut.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

“Where are you going?” A young voice asked from behind Eris. 

The heir sighed and turned to face his youngest brother. At four years old, Lucien had begun to become a curious young boy. Always hanging around Eris and imitating his eldest brother like his life depended on it. Despite how much Eris pretended to hate it, it did melt his cold heart. 

“Nowhere interesting,” the eldest Vanserra answered, trying to push his brother to return to his bedroom. 

“Why are you sneaking out?” Lucien asked. 

“Shhhh,” Eris hushed the younger boy, kneeling down to his height. “You mustn’t talk so loud, Lucien. There are others sleeping.”

In actual fact, Eris didn’t care for the others sleeping in the rooms nearby. He didn’t want the knowledge he was sneaking out to reach his father. 

“Where are you going?” Lucien asked again, his voice a loud whisper. At least it was an improvement. 

“Nowhere fit for a child,” Eris answered, standing back up. 

Lucien folded her arms across his chest, huffing in irritation. “I’m stronger than you.”

Eris snorted. “If that thought allows you to sleep at night, please be my guest and use it tonight.”

“Can I come with you?” Lucien whined. “I’ll be good.”

“No, Lucien,” Eris replied, kneeling down once more. “If father doesn’t find you in your bed in the morning, you know he will be in a bad mood.”

“Bring me back here then!” Lucien exclaimed and Eris knew it was useless trying to get him to quiet down. If his father did find out he had been sneaking out, he would make sure to keep his brother far away from Beron. Lucien still had a bright childish hope in his eyes that Eris wished for him to keep. 

Eris sighed. “If I bring you with me, you must promise to not mention a word about it to anyone.”

“I won’t,” Lucien said, exasperated.

“Lucien,” said Eris firmly.

As if sensing the seriousness in Eris’s tone, Lucien slowly nodded and held up his pinky finger. “I promise.”

The corner of Eris’s lips quirked up and he linked his pinky finger with Lucien’s. “Come on,” he said softly.  

A wide grin spread across Lucien’s face as he followed Eris through the double doors and out of the Forest House. The wind was loud as the two walked through the gardens. Due to Eris’s long strides, Lucien was quickly falling behind. Eris swiftly picked his younger brother up in his arms and continued to walk through the gardens. 

The lights in the Forest House were only a small twinkle in the distance by the time Eris finally came to a stop and set Lucien down on the ground. 

“Are we there yet?” Lucien asked, gripping onto Eris’s jacket. 

“Not yet,” Eris said. “Have you ever winnowed Lucien?” The young boy shook his head. “Okay, you will most likely feel a bit sick after but it’s nothing to worry about.”

Lucien looked nervous but nodded firmly, a small act of bravery. Eris softly smiled at his younger brother and held out his hand. While gripping onto it tightly, Lucien tucked his body closer to Eris. 

One moment the brothers were standing on a cobblestone path and the next they were standing in the centre of a small vegetable garden. Lucien slowly stepped away from Eris to look at the small cabin in front of him. The sweet aroma surrounding the two in the air caused the youngest Vanserra to smile. 

“Where are we?” Lucien asked, looking up to Eris wide-eyed. 

“You’ll see,” Eris said and guided Lucien to the front door of the cabin and quietly knocked twice then paused and knocked another three times.

The sage green door flew open and a female with a flour dusted apron and wild curls cascading around her stood in the threshold. Eris’s face lit up. 

“Y/N,” he said softly and stepped forward to embrace her. 

Once she was in the safety of his arms, Eris allowed his body to relax, all tension evaporating in a single second. The familiar and comforting scent of her surrounded him and he breathed in deeply, almost feeling lightheaded. 

“I missed you,” she muttered into the cross of his neck.

“As did I, my love,” Eris whispered, leaning back to press his lips against hers in a sweet kiss. 

“Who are you?” The voice of Lucien interrupted the two lovers. 

Y/N pulled away and glanced down at the small boy. “I’m Y/N.” Eris watched as she knelt down to Lucien’s level. “And you must be Lucien. Eris has told me a lot about you.”

“He has?” Lucien asked, a childlike joy filling his eyes. 

Y/N nodded, a beautiful smile stretching across her face. “Yes. He mentioned that you were his favourite brother.”

Lucien giggled and looked at Eris. “I knew it!”

All Eris could do was roll his eyes and fight the smile threatening to take over his face. It was true that Lucien was his favourite amongst all of his brothers. He had always held a firm sense of protectiveness over his youngest brother. Perhaps it was down to the joy that still filled Lucien’s eyes. Perhaps it was down to the true nature of his parentage. 

“Lucien, I think Y/N has made some cookies. Why don’t you go and pinch one?” Eris suggested.

“Can I?” He asked, staring at Y/N who had begun to rise to her feet 

Y/N stepped aside. “Of course. Go on in.”

Racing past the two lovers, Lucien entered the cabin and was far enough away to not overhear any conversation. 

“I’m sorry to turn up with him,” Eris apologised. “He caught me sneaking out and insisted I bring him to wherever I was going.”

Warm hands cupped Eris’s cheeks as Y/N stepped towards him. Eris’s hands easily fell into their place on her hips, pulling her closer. It had been too long since he had been able to hold her this way. 

“It is okay, Eris,” Y/N said. “You know that I’ve always wanted to meet your favourite brother.”

Eris groaned. “I cannot believe you told him that. Now that is all he is going to talk about.”

“Well you shouldn’t have made it so obvious, my dear,” Y/N said, quickly pecking his cheek before stepping out of Eris’s embrace. “Now close the door. You’re letting in a draft.”

Eris followed Y/N through the cabin and to where Lucien had situated himself on the settee, three cookies in his lap. Y/N settled down next to him. Eris watched on, simply observing the pair. 

“How do you know my brother?” Lucien asked after taking a bite of the cookie, causing crumbs to fall from his lips. Eris couldn’t help but cringe. 

“Well, do you know what mates are?” Y/N asked. 

Lucien nodded. “Eris told me that mates are people who love love each other.”

Y/N nodded with a soft smile that always made Eris weak at the knees. “Yes, and to put our relationship bluntly, your brother and I are mates.”

Lucien turned his nose up. “Eww, my brother is in love.”

A melodic laugh escaped Y/N. “It isn’t so disgusting. Just wait until you grow up.”

Lucien still continued to scowl. “No. I don’t think so.”

Eris rolled his eyes and walked over to the settee and sat down next to Y/N, his arm wrapping around her shoulders as he pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder. 

“Why did Eris sneak out to see you?” Lucien asked. “Why don’t you come to our home?” 

Despite the smile resting upon her lips, Eris could see it falter for a second. The Forest House was Y/N’s previous place of work. She admitted once to Eris that she enjoyed it, after all she spent her time baking within the kitchen using equipment she could never afford on her salary. But once her own mother had passed away in the very same kitchen, it had tainted the place for her. Of course, after courting her in secret, Eris helped her leave despite hs fathers protests about her resigning. He had kept her safe within the cabin ever since. 

“I don’t believe I would fit in in a grand house,” Y/N admitted. “It seems far to big for me to navigate.”

“I can show you around!” Lucien exclaimed excitedly. 

“Perhaps one day,” Y/N replied. 

“But–”

“Lucien,” Eris said firmly, cutting off the conversation.

Lucien huffed. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologise, sweetie,” Y/N reassured the young boy. “If I ever come to visit, you can show me around. In the meantime, you can come here whenever you like.”

Light filled Lucien’s eyes. “Really?”

Y/N smiled. “Really.”

“Thank you!” Lucien said, hugging Y/N tightly. 

Although he didn’t say anything or voice any feeling aloud, Eris felt Y/N’s gaze fall upon him as Lucien hugged her. Her smile was bright as she hugged the younger boy and Eris couldn’t help but fall more in love with her at that very moment. He didn’t think it was possible to love her more, yet he was proved wrong. 

It wasn’t long before Lucien was asleep, his head resting in Y/N’s lap while his body rested in Eris’s. The arm wrapped around Y/N’s shoulder’s tugged her closer so Ers could press his lips against her temple. 

“I’m sorry about tonight again,” Eris said. “I know we planned for something different.”

“Eris, it is honestly fine,” Y/N said, resting her head against Eris’s shoulder. “Your brother has honestly made my evening a little better.”

Eris scoffed playfully. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

Y/N giggled. “You know you’re not. But it is nice to be surrounded by the sound of a child’s laughter. It is nice to hear someone still holding onto hope and joy in this court.”

With a glance down at his brother, Eris sighed. “Other than you, I am sure he is the only reason I have to smile these days. Father has been pushing me to take on more responsibilities within the court, most of them are far from ideal.”

“It will get better,” Y/N said, her face tilting towards his neck. “Because I want there to finally be a day where I can safely accept our bond.”

“There will be,” Eris said firmly. “I will make sure of it.”

“Good,” Y/N said, her voice becoming sleepy. “Because I want everyone to know that you are mine and I want everyone to know that I am yours.”

His lips connected with Y/N’s forehead and he allowed them to linger. Gradually Y/N’s body further relaxed into his and from her shallower breathing Eris could tell that she was asleep. 

Despite the change of events of the evening, Eris couldn’t help but smile. Seeing Y/N with Lucien and the way she cared for him made his heart swell. The heir couldn’t help but think of what it would be like to care for his own child one day, with Y/N right by his side. Y/N’s fingers were tangled within Lucien’s hair as the two slept soundly; Eris smiled. 

As Eris rested his head atop of Y/N’s, he drifted into the most comfortable sleep he had had in a long time, dreaming of Y/N and the family they would hopefully have one day. 

[mischiefmanagers]

Unexpected

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: mentions of complications during birth. child with a disability.

Summary: When Azriel is late to one of Feyre’s flying lessons she begins to panic as the shadowsinger is never late. But when he shows up with three young children that look exactly like him, more questions sprout in Feyre’s mind.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

Feyre waited exactly where she and Azriel had completed her last flying lesson. He had yet to show up and the longer she waited, the more anxious she became. Azriel was never late, in fact he was always there long before Feyre arrived. Even though she knew he was most likely fine, she couldn’t help but let her thoughts go to thoughts she perhaps wished would stay away. 

Only moments before she was about to lower the walls around her mind to reach out to Rhys, loud happy giggles were heard through the bushes. Feyre sat up on the rock she was perched on. 

A young girl, perhaps around eight years old, stepped through the bushes and Feyre couldn’t help but think the young girl looked awfully familiar. The young girl stilled and shyly stepped back once she noticed Feyre. 

Another young girl, Feyre guessed she was a couple of years younger than the first, stepped through the bushes. She looked at Feyre and drew back slightly. 

Finally Azriel stepped through the bushes carrying a young boy the same age as the second girl. Feyre looked between the four of them, stunned. 

“Sorry I showed up late,” Azriel said, setting the young boy down on the floor. Feyre noticed the young boy not putting any pressure on his right leg and lent on his sister for support. 

“What is this?” Feyre asked, clearly at a loss for words. 

“They’re my children,” Azriel said as if it were obvious. 

It was in fairness. But the complete casualness in which Azriel spoke was what was off putting to Feyre. The three children were clearly related to Azriel if the wings sprouting from their backs was anything to go off. The oldest girl looked almost identical to Azriel. The same shade of hair, the same colour eyes, the same quiet demeanour. The only thing Feyre couldn’t place was the shape of her nose and lips. The younger girl and boy still resembled Azriel and the other girl but they seemed to inherit most of their looks from their mother, whoever it was. 

“You have children?” Feyre asked. “Since when?”

Azriel looked at the oldest girl. “Selene is seven, so seven years.”

Feyre shook her head. “That’s not what I meant.”

Azriel smirked and it was clear now that he was just teasing her. “I know. The reason why I never told you is because I only tell people I fully trust, and you are becoming that. That is why I brought them today.”

“But Daddy, you said that you had to bring us because Mummy had to work,” the young boy said, limping over to a rock. 

“Shhh,” Azriel said to his son who smiled wide, one front tooth missing. 

Feyre smiled. It was nice to see Azriel in this light. “Who’s their mother?”

A small blush coated Azriel’s cheeks at the mention of his children’s mother. “Her name is Y/N. After Rhys went Under the Mountain, I met her. I did feel guilty because I found happiness in a time where I didn’t know what was happening to my brother. But she helped me through all of the pain and misery she helped all of us really.”

Feyre looked at the three children as they bickered amongst themselves. “What are their names?”

“Well the eldest is Selene, named after my mother. Then the twins are Elowen and Tiberius. Elowen is older by a few hours. There were some complications with their birth, it is why Tiberius walks with a limp. He sometimes cannot gather the strength to walk or stand, though that rarely stops him from attempting to join Cassian in training.”

Feyre looked at the young boy who was smiling widely. “You are lucky, Azriel.”

Azriel smiled at his children. “I know.”

“Will I be able to meet Y/N at some point?” Feyre asked. “She sounds wonderful.”

“Yes you can,” Azriel said. “In fact she has asked about you on a few occasions.”

“Why have you never brought her to a family dinner?” Feyre asked. 

Azriel folded his arms across his chest as he looked at his children. Within his eyes Feyre could only see the pure love he held for them. Only a singular shadow lingered around Azriel’s shoulders, the rest of them were surrounding his children, both playing with them but protecting them first and foremost. 

“It was more to do with trust than anything else,” Azriel answered. “I don’t let just anyone around my family. It took me nearly three years to even introduce Cassian, Mor and Amren to Y/N. I am a protective male, it is in my nature. Even though I am sure Y/N can protect herself– she teaches self defence classes for anyone who believes they need them.” At the mention of Y/N, Feyre noticed the shift in Azriel’s tone. He sounded softer, more thoughtful– he sounded in love. 

“Anyway,” Azriel continued, “when Selene was born, I knew at that moment I would stop at nothing to protect her. I wouldn’t let anything harm her or even come close to hurting her. The same goes for Elowen and Tiberius. I am nearly five-hundred and fifty years old, I have made a lot of enemies over the years. If any were to find out about my family then they will all be put at risk and everyone knows I will slaughter a path to get to them, it doesn’t matter who is in the way. I know I should have told you about them before now as you have done far more than exceed my trust.”

“It’s okay,” Feyre said in reassurance. “You had your reasons for not introducing me. Valid reasons at that.”

Azriel only nodded and straightened his posture. “Now, are you ready for that flying lesson?”

“Are you going to go easy on me since your children are here?” Feyre asked, hoping to fill her heart.

Azriel snorted. “Absolutely not.”

Feyre sighed before feeling a small comforting tap against her arm. She looked down to find Elowen. 

“Good luck,” the young girl said with a tight lipped smile. 

She was most definitely Azriel’s child. 

[mischiefmanagers]

Kinktober 2024: Day 2 - Somnophilia - Azriel x Reader

TW: sexual themes including overstimulation and dubcon

word count: 1.48k

NSFW under the cut

The sharp wind and misty rain pelted Azriel’s face as his long flight back from the Continent came to a close. He spent the last week surveilling Koschei’s lake for any useful intel and had unsurprisingly come home with nothing. After 8 straight hours of flying, all he wanted to do was collapse in his fluffy bed and sleep for a whole day. 

He neared the House of Wind, feeling the drowsiness and pull to his bed grow even stronger as he struggled to keep his eyes open. Finally landing, his tense and taut muscles were able to gradually start relaxing. As he slowly wandered down the hallway towards his room, his ears perked up at the sounds floating towards him from a few doors down. Muffled moans and something that suspiciously sounded like a headboard striking the wall. Cassian and Nesta must be at it again.

He slowly opened his door and was dismayed to find an obstacle in between him and his comfy bed - you, laying on your back, starfished right in the middle of his bed. You were dead asleep despite gripping an open book in your hand. Knowing he was set to come back tonight, you had done your best to wait up for him but evidently couldn’t resist the coziness of his bed. 

A soft smile ghosted his lips as his shadows softly shut the door behind him. He pried the book from your hands, setting it on the nightstand before softly kissing your forehead and heading to the restroom. He quickly shed his sweat-soaked leathers before running a quick bath. His sore muscles sang in relief at the warm water. As he lay in the bath, the light and sweet smell of your arousal drifted through the open door. 

His shadows slinked back into the restroom, whispering to him the name of your book. It was one he and Nesta had been reading a few weeks earlier in their secret smutty book club. Knowing exactly what his sweet little mate had been reading had his blood swiftly rushing to his cock. He had intended to just quickly wash off and curl around you as best he could and go to sleep, but he suddenly found himself changing those plans. 

Azriel hurried to dry himself off and slip on his sleep clothes before wandering back into his bedroom. The forceful waves of your arousal nearly knocked him over. You were still in a deep sleep with a blissful smile on your face. The skimpy camisole you were wearing didn’t leave much to the imagination, showing off your perky nipples. Azriel’s gaze raked over your chest and down to your high-waisted shorts that barely covered your ass. He inched closer and closer to you, feeling his now hard cock straining against his sweatpants.

He crawled between your legs, soaking up the smell of your need as you continued dreaming. Azriel slowly gripped your shorts and pulled them down your legs. He was almost on the verge of drooling at the sight of your slick, pink pussy bared in front of him. He trailed up your legs, leaving warm open-mouthed kisses in his wake. Azriel placed a soft peck on the tip of your clit before licking a slow strip up from your entrance. His rough hands reached up to pull your thighs further apart, spreading your cunt for him.

Azriel softly suckled on your clit, sending a new wave of slick sliding down towards your entrance. He shifted down and dove into your pussy, licking up your syrupy arousal. A gentle moan slipped from your mouth as your hips shifted up and chased his mouth. He moved back up and his lips wrapped around your clit while he slipped two fingers inside you. He felt your body shifting above him as he pumped his fingers inside you, stretching you out for him. A small hand landed on his head and laced through his damp hair. 

“Well, this is certainly a way to wake me up.”, your rough, sleep-ridden voice drifted down towards him. Azriel glanced back up at you from between your legs, finding you propped up on your elbows. His free hand grasped your wrist and moved your hand to rest on your stomach. Azriel sent some shadows to weave through your hair and rest around your neck and shoulders. “Go back to sleep, my love. Just let me make you feel good.” He gripped your thigh and dove back into your inviting cunt. Releasing a needy moan, you laid back on the bed and swiftly drifted back to sleep.

Your slick continued to drip between your legs, soaking Azriel’s face and the sheets below you. Even while asleep, his skilled mouth quickly brought you to your first orgasm of the night. Your back arched and your breaths quickened into soft pants as you came in his mouth. The intoxicating taste of your release had his hips bucking up, grinding his swollen cock into the edge of the bed, desperate for a sliver of relief. 

Azriel groaned into your heat as he felt his precum drip down his cock. His fingers inched further inside of you, pressing against the spot that always made you see stars and beg for more. He glanced up at you and grazed his teeth against your sensitive clit when he heard your breath hitch. He promptly brought you to your second and third orgasm until your legs were shaking around his head. Your hand drifted back down to his hair and softly pulled him up from your cunt. Drifting in and out of consciousness, you managed to string together a mumbled plea. “Too much, Az.”, your soft voice lowly murmured.

He rose up and trailed his hands over your body, taking off your camisole in the process. Azriel hovered over you and rested his head on your bare chest. “Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to get carried away,” You sleepily hummed and cradled his head in your hand. His head drifted up and he nosed into the crook of your neck. “But I think you can cum one more time for me, yeah?” You roughly bit your lip and rapidly nodded against him. You whined at the anticipation of feeling him again. The Mother had certainly given you the horniest male in existence for a mate. His scarred hands gripped your hips in the way he knew you loved as he gently flipped you onto your stomach. Azriel crawled off the bed and stood at the foot of the bed. He outright moaned as he loosened the laces of his pants before pulling them off to release his leaky cock from its confines. He couldn’t hide his smile at the sight of your head resting on top of your arms, already asleep again.

Azriel loved many things about his sleepy girl, particularly how cuddly and pliant you get. But this, this was something you had always talked about doing that Azriel hadn’t been lucky enough to experience. You both loved the idea of him taking you as you slept, letting him use you solely for his pleasure. His cock bobbed in the air as he stared at your supple ass, debating about how he wanted to take you. He crawled on top of you and sat on your thighs a few inches behind your ass. He gripped your cheeks before using one hand to guide the tip of his member through your soaked folds. Azriel angled your hips up towards him before sliding into you and sheathing his cock fully inside of your warm, welcoming heat.

You both groaned at the stretch, Azriel much louder than you. He didn’t even need to give you time to adjust as your body was relaxed enough by your previous slumber. He grasped your waist and pulled his hips back to thrust into you. He had been so pent up over the past week that it didn’t take him much to get close. Getting lost in his own pleasure, he roughly took your tight cunt. Your light moans could barely be heard over his hips slapping into your ass.

Azriel felt his abs straining as he started to approach his release. He shifted his legs further up the bed and caged your torso under his chest. His thrusts started to get harder and erratic as he felt you tighten around them.

Azriel bit down a moan as his hips stilled and he spilled into you, your walls spasming around him as you came for the fourth time. After taking a few minutes to catch his breath, he slowly clambered off the bed and slipped his pants back on before laying down next to you. He gingerly turned you onto your side and pulled you into his chest. Not even five minutes later, he found his chin resting on your shoulder and felt himself pulled into sleep by your comforting warmth.

Kinktober Taglist:

@honethatty12 @sweet-chai-amore @helo1281917 @scarsandallaz @thatacotargirl @a-courtof-azriel @lmadness @riorgail

[mischiefmanagers]

Stars all aligned - Chapter 5

Summary:

If there was one thing that both Azriel and Zahra Archeron had in common, it was that they were both very good at blending into the background.

They just never thought that their family were going to be the ones who never saw them at all.

Warning:

I'll keep the warnings, even though there is no outright mention in this part: Bashing of like...every IC member? Especially the Archeron Sisters, discussion of chronic pain, discussion of Infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Underage Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please, take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

(Lovely dividers thanks to @sweetmelodygraphics)

The silence in the room was so oppressive Zahra could almost feel it pressing down on her skin, crushing the very air from her lungs.

All she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat, thumping in her chest with a steady, pounding rhythm. She could feel Azriel’s gaze on her, but she didn’t dare to look at him.

Zahra wouldn’t be able to bear seeing the pity in his eyes.

And she knew it would be there. 

Her hands were so tightly clenched in the sheets that her muscles ached. Her eyes were still squeezed closed, trying to keep in the tears.

Gods, she couldn’t cry.  Not in front of him. She’d already bared enough of her soul to the male. He knew far more about her than anyone else in the world. 

And that realisation was terrifying.

She hadn’t wanted anybody to know. She hadn’t wanted anybody ever to find out. 

It would have been her secret to take to the grave with herself. 

Nobody would have needed to know, right? 

Not even her mate. She would have gladly kept it a secret from him too. Would have gladly never told the male fate had in store for her, how broken exactly she was. How…destroyed she was. 

Zahra swallowed, feeling the warm and large hand around her own. He was too gentle with her, too careful to touch her.

She didn’t deserve that gentleness. Didn’t deserve it when she was the one that had been damaged and broken and used. “Zahra,” Azriel whispered, his voice deep and quiet. “Please look at me.”

And so she did look at him, even when she didn’t want to…looked at this man that she loved…the tears that filled them pooling but not falling. She looked at him, meeting his gaze, and her heart ached at the sight of him.

His lips were set in a grim line, a frown creasing his forehead. His eyes traced across her face, scanning every little part of her. She didn’t want him to look at her. Didn’t want him to see…her like that.  Didn’t want him to see the ugly and jagged edges that stuck out like spikes… The shadows swirled and curled over his body in an almost protective barrier.

And still…he was so gentle…so kind. 

“You’ve survived so much,” Azriel said quietly. “So much pain and horror. And you…you don’t deserve any of this. You didn’t deserve what happened to you, none of it. He hurt you, and you were hurt for years.” His voice cracked, and he swallowed heavily.

A tear finally escaped from her eye, trickling down towards her temple and into her hair. 

Years. 

She had lost count of how often it had happened. She didn’t want to know an exact number either. She didn’t even want to think about what he had done to her. 

She didn’t want to remember. 

Azriel seemed to sense that. 

“Do you want a bath?” Azriel asked her, still holding her hands. “Wash off the blood? The shadows can help you.”

She took an uneven breath, her eyes still locked on his face. Zahra hated how gentle he was being, how careful and soft and concerned for her he was. She didn’t deserve either his care or his concern. 

She…she shouldn’t…

She didn’t deserve that. Didn’t deserve that kindness and that gentleness.

Still, she nodded. 

Bath. Clean. As clean as she could get anyway…

His hands, warm and large, reached out to her. And when he scooped her up like she weighed nothing…she was too tired and pained to protest. 

It still ached…deep within her. 

And she hated it. 

Zahra rested her head against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. She felt the shadows whisper soft touch against her skin, as Azriel carried her into the bathroom, the bathtub already filling…he lowered her into it, hot water lapping at her skin.

She slumped against the side of the bathtub, letting her eyes flutter closed. The hot water felt strangely soothing against the pain and ache of her body.

“The shadows are here if you need anything,” Azriel said softly. “If you need anything, just tell them. I’ll put clean sheets on the bed.”

She couldn’t help but cringe at the thought of him dealing with her bloody linens. 

“You don’t need to do that,” she protested. He didn’t need to… her sheets were drenched with her blood. 

He stilled, and Zahra could almost hear the frown creasing his forehead.

“I am not about to leave you here to change them yourself,” Azriel said drily. “I can just about manage to put fresh sheets on a bed.”

“They are drenched in blood,” she replied weakly. He knelt down beside the tub, and she opened her eyes to look at him.

“I have dealt with blood my whole life. It doesn’t matter,” he promised her.

Yeah, but that hadn’t been…that had been blood spilt from a wound and not…

His mouth was set in a grim line, anger simmering in those dark eyes, as he saw the shame on her face. “Don’t,” he said sternly. “Don’t you dare think for even a minute that I find you…repulsive or tainted, because of this, or because of what happened to you and what you’ve had to do. You’re not. ”

She swallowed, still able to hear the undercurrent of anger in his voice. It wasn’t anger directed at her, but it was anger all the same.

Every thought and emotion Zahra was feeling was swirling in a confusing, chaotic torrent in her mind. She was so tired, but her brain would not be silent. And it kept going over the same thing, over and over.

“But I am,” she said hoarsely. “I am tainted.”

His eyes darkened at that, and he clenched his jaw. The shadows around them grew even darker, swirling agitatedly in the air.

“You aren’t,” he disagreed firmly. “The things that have happened to you…gods above, they should never have happened. But they didn’t taint you. ”

“Of course they did,” she snapped. It was like all the anger and pain and bitter resentment that she’d smothered away and locked deep in her chest was bubbling up, escaping past her attempts to keep it hidden. “Of course, they did! If you know what he did to me, you wouldn’t even be able to look at me!”

He took it. All the rage that she was throwing in front of his feet because she needed throw it at somebody… he didn’t flinch. He didn’t back down. 

He weathered it. He reached out…one of those horribly scarred hands cupped her cheeks instead. 

“I would,” he disagreed with her. “I refuse to let you think that whatever happened has somehow lessened you in my eyes, that it somehow makes you unworthy or tainted.”

She couldn’t stop the new trickle of tears that escaped from her eyes, the pain in her heart and her body too damn overwhelming.

“How?” She asked hoarsely. “How can you say that?!”

These hazel green eyes met her own. 

“Because I care about you, Zahra, and I can’t stand you thinking that this….this horrible, vile thing has changed anything,” Azriel promised her fiercely. “And because…because you are my mate. And nothing will ever change that. ” 

No. No, this wasn’t… he couldn’t be her mate. He couldn’t be…He…

He was too good for her. Too kind. Too…too gentle. 

This perfect, scarred, beautiful male. One of the fiercest warriors in the Night Court. The Shadowsinger. Her mate.

How could he even entertain that thought. 

He wiped away the tears that trickled down her cheeks, endlessly gentle as tears ran down her face. “You’re stuck with me,” Azriel said hoarsely. And I don’t care what you’ve had to do or what you had to sacrifice. This will not change what you mean to me.”

Her chest was aching so painfully she could hardly breathe, and it was like her heart was breaking itself apart with grief and shame.

He said he didn’t care what she’d had to do. But he hadn’t let her speak of the worst of it. He didn’t know, he didn’t know.

“You might change your mind when you know everything I’ve done,” Zahra whispered.

His hand paused, the scarred palm cupping the side of her face. “No,” Azriel said firmly. “I won’t. And don’t think that I can’t guess half of what you had to do. I know that you had to endure far, far more than anyone should ever have to, but it changes nothing between us,” he promised her.  

“Take that bath,” he said softly. “You don’t need to decide anything. Not right now. I’ll change the sheets and then you can go to sleep. And we’ll talk whenever you are ready.”

Her eyes were burning again and her heart twisted, but she nodded. She wanted to protest and argue and insist that she was alright, but he wouldn’t listen to her anyway.

“Fine,” she whispered. “Alright, I’ll—alright.”

Everything hurt. Her body ached as it had after the worst of it, ached and hurt.

She scrubbed at her skin until it was red and raw, as though she could wash away the memories and the pain and the shame.

But despite the hot water, it felt as though she was freezing, and the memories kept floating into her mind.

She could hear Azriel move in the other room, heard the steps he knew were only audible because he wanted them to be.

It was comforting, hearing those footsteps. Hearing him move around just beyond the door, so close and safe and near to her.

Zahra almost told him to come back, just so she could see him and be with him for a few more moments. But she didn’t. It wasn’t fair to him to be around her while she was like this, not when he deserved so much better than her.

She floated away into the numbness, her eyes closing. She felt the shadows jostle her gently, but she didn’t even react. They had never hurt her before. 

Why should she flinch away from them. 

“Sunshine.” Her eyes only opened weakly. Azriel was back. “Let’s get you into bed.”

Her limbs felt strangely and eerily disconnected from her body, even as Azriel’s hands moved her out of the tub, as the shadows wrapped her into a towel…even as they helped her into a fresh nightgown, letting them move her like some kind of strange lifeless doll. 

Azriel scooped her up into those strong arms, holding her against his broad chest. 

She thought that she should protest. That she should struggle and fight and insist he put her down. But when she was held so close to him, all she wanted was to rest her head against his shoulder...all she wanted was to nuzzle into the warmth of him. 

He laid her gently down on the mattress. The sheets were clean and fresh, smelling of crisp soap, and her bed was soft and warm beneath her.

He went to move away and leave her, but before he could, she reached out and fisted her hand in his shirt.

She forced her eyes open, forced herself to look at him…and then she felt it.

The unfurling of something inside her chest. Something warm and safe and secure.

The bond. The Mating Bond.

Even as the realisation sank in, the link between them flared with that feeling. Warmth and safety and a fierce, possessive protectiveness that she had never felt before.

Azriel’s eyes widened, and she could see the realization dawn in his expression.

He’d felt it too. Felt the bond snap into place between them like a line of rope, tying them together in a way they could never untangle.

“Stay.“

He blinked, his eyes flickering over her face.

And then, without a word, he climbed into the bed.

He laid down next to her, and he pulled her gently against him. His arm wrapped around her waist, one wing came down to cocoon her and she felt more comfortable and safe than she ever had before.

“Rest,” Azriel said again. “Just sleep. It’s alright.”

She shut her eyes, letting the tiredness crash down over her. She breathed in the scent of him, of that cedar forest scent mixed with rain and mist.

He was safe, and she was protected. And for the first time in years, she allowed herself to relax into the touch and comfort.

And for the first time in a long time, her sleep was dreamless. 

***

Zahra was sleeping. Her face was still pale...but she had curled up against his side, and her breathing was even and deep...

She was his mate. His mate.

He had waited 500 years for her. And now he had found her, in Zahra.

In his friend. Because that's what they had become. Friends.

Though he had been a horrible friend for not even realising even a smidgen of what had gone on.

Part of him felt like he should get up and walk away. Let her sleep and not disturb her rest.

But the other, louder part of him that was utterly possessive and protective of her wouldn’t let him even think about it.

He wanted to hold her. Wanted to wrap his arms around her and keep her safe. The urge to protect and comfort and have her as close as possible was overwhelming.

As was the urge to slaughter that human man who had dared to lay a hand on his mate. We’ll kill him, his shadows hissed. Slowly. Hurt him until he begs for mercy.

His shadows had always been somewhat possessive of him. Over the years they’d even become somewhat protective towards the other members of the inner circle... but never had Azriel ever seen them react with this kind of anger.

This wasn't anger. This was fury.

It hadn’t even crossed his mind that the shadows would be upset by what had happened to Zahra. But they were.

The thought of hurting the man wasn’t even a consideration. Azriel would gladly tear the human limb from limb for what he’d done.

He couldn't help but snarl silently, as he remembered everything she had told him.

His hands clenched unconsciously, his arms tightening around her body in a protective vice. She was his mate, and he would do anything to keep her safe now.

Azriel had never had this desperate protectiveness before. It was the bond, he told himself. His mate instinct taking over his brain, making him want to guard and defend and keep her.

Ours, his shadows hissed. Ours, ours, ours.

She was his mate. And no one was ever going to touch her again. No one was ever going to hurt her. Not physically, or emotionally.

He and his shadows would keep her safe. They’d keep her with them, safe and secure and loved for the rest of her life.

No one would ever hurt her again. Ever.

Not that human male. Not any fae. He would lay waste to the entirety of Prythian to make sure that Zahra would be safe.

Every single instinct was screaming at him to keep her here. To keep her close, where she was safe and protected and no one could harm her.

She was his mate. A part of him. The thought of her being in danger, of being hurt, made him feel sick to the stomach.

He would burn Prythian to the ground if it meant keeping her safe. He would start a war, he would do anything.

And he counted their family into this equation as well. Before some of the treatment that Zahra had received from her sisters had upset Azriel, had felt unfair. Now...now he was so fucking furious that he didn't trust himself not to rip out Nesta's throat the next time he saw her.

He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this angry with his family. He might have felt hurt or annoyed, or even frustrated....but he had swallowed it all down. Hadn't wanted to have that argument...hadn't wanted....But now...

Now though... now it was anger and fury and a vicious protectiveness.

The thought of how they’d all treated her before—how they’d laughed or joked or been rude or simply ignored her—made his blood boil.

How dare they treat her like that? She was his mate.

His own family had done this to her. His own family, her own sisters, had treated her so cruelly for all this time. And they hadn't known what Zahra had sacrificed for their survival...didn't know what she went through on a daily basis as a result of it.

Either she was treated like she didn't matter or like she didn't exist. Ignoring her and berating her in equal measures.

His jaw hurt, his teeth gritted together as he thought about the way they’d treated her.

Zahra had put up with it. She’d taken it all, silently. And that only made him angrier. Because she’d allowed them to treat her like she was a burden like she was nothing. She’d never complained or spoken about it, even once. Like she didn’t deserve anything else. Like she wasn’t worth more.

They would not do that anymore. Ever.

Azriel was done.

No one was ever going to treat her like that again. 

Even the thought of it made his jaw hurt. He’d never felt this furious before. The thought of what they’d done to her…his own family…

He’d thought they would do better. Thought that the inner circle were all…better than that. Thought that they wouldn't be so heartless. But they’d ignored Zahra, over and over again.

His shadows hissed, writhing angrily around him, and he had to bite back the urge to snarl.

Because he himself hadn't been better either until it had been nearly too late.

He had been so blind. So utterly useless, not to have seen how she had been suffering and struggling...

Not to have realised that he’d been missing out on a beautiful, kind, intelligent female. Just because he’d been so absorbed in his own pity party.

He should have done better.

He would do better now.

He’d never make this mistake again. Not when it came to his mate.

He didn’t deserve her. He knew that much. But he would spend the rest of their goddamn lives together until he made up for how he’d been so blind.

He deserved nothing. He deserved to have his head on a spike for being so stupid.

But he would spend the rest of their days paying this debt.

He would keep her safe.

He would never allow her to feel small or insignificant again.

He would make damn sure of that.

He tightened his grip around her. She was curled against his side, her head laid against his chest. She was safe. She was safe.

His arm was wrapped around her protectively, and he thought, for the first time, that he understood how Rhys felt about Feyre. Understood that desperate, possessive, protective urge.

She was his. And he would not allow a single person to hurt her ever again.

Not even himself.

He would take care of her.

He would do anything to keep her safe. To keep her healthy and happy and loved.

She was his mate.

He reached out for that mental tether that Rhys kept for him and yanked at it sharply.

The reply came just as quickly.

What is it?

Rhys’s mind voice echoed into his head.

I need to talk to you, Azriel replied, as Zahra shifted a little against his side, her arm moving across his chest. Now.

It's the middle of the night, Rhys said drily. If you are having one of your temper tantrums, can it wait until tomorrow?

Azriel wanted to bristle. He didn't.

I met my mate, he cut off Rhys. I figured you would like to know that. I’ll take the rest of the week off. You’ll have my reports on your desk come tomorrow.

The mental silence on the other end of the mental link was enough to tell him that Rhys had been shocked.

Your mate, Rhys’ mind voice finally echoed. You’ve found your mate?

Yes, Azriel replied, as Zahra shifted a little again, her arm rubbing over his chest.

There was a pause, and he could practically see the disbelief and surprise on his brother’s face.

Who is it?

Good Night, Rhysand, he shot back.

And he cut the link between their minds before Rhys had a chance to protest.