moonlitscrolls

[moonlitscrolls]

Ashes Beneath the Sky

Azriel x Reader

summary: Rhysand and Feyre call for a mission to ambush the Autumn Court's reinforcements, a dangerous strike in the midst of war. Despite Azriel's insistence that you stay behind, you can't resist sneaking along. word count: 4.8k content: [ violence, death/killing, blood/gore, weapons, verbal conflict, explicit language, war themes ] author's note: here's my first 1k celebration one-shot completed!! very exciting this was super fun to write, i always love a good enemies to lovers >:) ✦ . 1k Celebration Apothecary . ✦ shadowed elixir infused with a veil of dreammist enhanced with echo leaves & sage smoke shaken thank you @moonlitscrolls for the request, and i hope you love it!! <3

The war room was cold. Stone walls, dark and unrelenting, swallowed sound and light alike. The faint scratch of pen on parchment seemed deafening in the silence, broken only by the occasional muttered curse as Azriel packed his gear. He moved with purpose, fingers tightening leather straps and fastening blades with sharp, decisive clicks.

Rhysand stood near the head of the table, Feyre beside him, both reviewing maps and scrawled notes littered with ink-stained marks—territories, routes, and troop positions. The war with the Autumn Court had worn them thin, skirmishes breaking out across the borders. Keir’s attempt at hiding his alliance with Beron from Rhys had turned the Hewn City into a pit of scheming nobles and lurking threats. The mission Azriel was preparing for, a covert strike to cripple supply lines, could decide the outcome of the next battle.

“If our forces can hold the northern pass, we’ll have an opening here,” Rhys murmured, tracing a path along one of the maps. “But if Beron gets those reinforcements in…”

“Our volunteers won’t last against a fully supplied army,” Feyre finished grimly. “We’ve already lost too many Illyrians. If this drags on much longer, we won’t have a choice but to start pulling from the cities.”

Azriel said nothing, methodically tightening the buckles on his chest holster.

“That’s why this strike has to succeed,” Rhys added, his gaze sliding toward Azriel. “We can’t risk Beron cutting us off.”

“Which is exactly why I should be going.” Your voice was quieter than you intended, but firm.

Azriel didn’t stop packing. Didn’t even look up. “No.”

Feyre shifted slightly, glancing between you both. “You’ve been working with Keir’s scouts,” she offered. “Your intel could be valuable out there.”

“And I’ve trained for this,” you added, stepping closer to the wartable. “I can handle myself.”

Azriel exhaled through his nose, a long, sharp breath. “I’m not having this conversation right now.”

“Why not?” You crossed your arms. “Because you’ve already decided?”

Rhys’s gaze flicked between you and Azriel, sharp with warning. Feyre’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t speak. Rhys shifted his stance, lifting a hand from the table—a quiet, firm signal for you both to stop.

“You two need to figure this out yourselves.” He closed one of the maps with a flick of his wrist. “Feyre and I need to speak with Keir before tonight’s meeting. We might be able to distract him, convince him there’s an internal dispute brewing near the southern border. That way, he won’t have as many eyes on you when you move.”

Rhysand straightened, midnight black suit immaculate despite the hours spent in war planning. The faint silver threading in the lapels of his jacket caught the dim light, mirroring Feyre’s subtle silver accents—matching symbols of their station. Feyre tugged a white fur wrap tight around her shoulders, exhaustion briefly flickering in her face before she steeled it.

“Don’t take too long,” she added, and without another word, they left, the heavy door groaning shut behind them. Their absence left a weight in the air, thick and oppressive.

Azriel finally turned, shadows curling faintly at his shoulders. “I think you’re not ready for this,” he said flatly.

Your chest tightened. “That’s bullshit.”

His gaze hardened, but there was something worse in it—something dismissive. Like you weren’t even standing there, like you were nothing more than a problem to manage. A burden.

“This isn’t about you proving yourself,” he said, voice low and clipped. “It’s about you not getting in the way.”

The words landed like a slap, but it was that look that stuck. That cold, distant stare ignited something sharp and furious in your chest.

“Fine,” you muttered. “I won’t get in your way.”

You turned before you could see the flicker of regret in his eyes, before you could catch the way his fingers flexed at his sides as if fighting the urge to reach for you, held back only by the weight of his pride.

The cold air bit hard as you stormed out, but the ache lingered—that sharp knot of hurt coiled tight in your chest, impossible to shake. And fury simmered beneath it, bubbling hot and fast. You barely noticed the icy wind slicing against your skin as you stalked through the stone corridors, Azriel’s words chasing you with every step.

Not ready. Not good enough. In the way.

Your teeth ground together. It wasn’t the first time he’d dismissed you like that, like you were just some liability he had to account for. Never mind the nights you spent bent over maps, cross-referencing Keir’s movements and Beron’s supply routes. Never mind the months you’d spent training, pushing your body past exhaustion because you knew what you were capable of. Because you wanted to prove it—to Feyre and Rhys. To yourself. To him.

And yet somehow, it was never enough.

The memories burned hot as you walked. The way he’d intercepted you on scouting runs like you couldn’t handle yourself. The sharp retorts whenever you suggested a strategy. The quiet conversations with Rhys where you were excluded despite knowing just as much as anyone else. He was always watching, always waiting for you to fail.

Like he expected it. Like he was ready for it.

By the time you reached your quarters, your pulse was still hammering in your throat. You shoved the door open, barely noticing the sharp thud as it swung shut behind you. Restless energy rushed beneath your skin, and you started pacing—short, furious strides across the room. Your hands flexed uselessly at your sides, fists clenching and unclenching as if you could wring the frustration from your bones. But it didn’t help. Nothing did. The words, the dismissal, the way he looked at you—it all burned, a wildfire you couldn’t put out.

You hated him. Hated the arrogance in the way he always assumed he knew better. Hated how he never seemed to see you for anything other than a liability, even when you’d proven yourself time and time again. Hated the way his eyes always seemed to look right through you, as if he expected you to fail—expected you to need him. And yet, despite everything, that damn look in his eyes kept flashing through your mind, the way he could say the most cutting things and still make you ache for his approval. You hated how he made you feel like you were standing at the edge of something you weren’t sure you wanted but couldn’t stop staring at.

And maybe that was why you sat on the edge of your bed, staring at your pack in the corner of the room. Maybe that was why you checked your boots, ensuring the dagger strapped to your ankle was secure.

You weren’t planning to follow him. Not really. But if you did… you wouldn’t be reckless. You wouldn’t be stupid.

Just careful. Just close enough to make sure things didn’t go sideways.

That’s all.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The narrow pass was slick with ice, jagged rocks jutting from the frozen earth. Shadows clung to the mountainside, swallowing the path in near-blackness. The wind howled through the trees, and you barely felt your fingers as you crept between frost-coated branches.

Azriel and his team of Night Court soldiers had moved ahead, their dark forms barely visible in the distance. You kept your steps light, your breathing measured. The frozen bark scraped your palms as you braced yourself against a branch, easing forward with deliberate care.

You told yourself you were only observing, only here to make sure nothing went wrong. That you weren’t doing this to spite him. That you weren’t doing this to prove him wrong.

The truth twisted sharp and bitter in your chest. Maybe you were trying to prove something. Maybe you wanted him to choke on his own words, to shove your success in his face after he’d written you off so easily. The memory of his voice still rang in your ears: “It’s about you not getting in the way.”

Fine, you thought coldly. I won’t get in your way.

…

Unless you need me.

But right now, it didn’t look like he would.

Azriel’s forces swept through the path with deadly precision—fast, organized, efficient. Their attack was measured, seamless. Blades glinted in the dim light as they descended upon the enemy, a small convoy of Autumn Court soldiers caught off guard. Their wagons were heavy with supplies for Beron’s forces. You barely caught flashes of movement before bodies crumpled to the ground, the clash of metal ringing through the air. The night came alive with the crackle of fire as one of the wagons was set ablaze, then another, flames licking at the sky.

Azriel himself moved like something out of a legend, swift and devastating. His wings flared wide as he leapt from the rocks, plunging into the fight with ruthless elegance. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter. Every strike was fluid, every movement calculated. His blade sang through the air, cutting down one attacker after another. The grim set of his face never wavered. No strain, no struggle. Just calm, relentless focus.

You shouldn’t have been watching him like that, not with your chest tight and your pulse a little too fast. But Mother above, he made it look effortless, like this was all just some intricate, deadly dance.

He didn’t need you.

That fact settled uneasily in your stomach. You shifted your weight against the tree, gaze flicking between his soldiers, searching for some gap in their formation, some opening where you could make yourself useful. But there was nothing. They had it handled.

Then you saw him.

A figure perched in the trees, not far from you, face half-shrouded in a dark hood. The crossbow in his hands gleamed faintly in the cold light, bolt lined up with unnerving precision. His target stood directly below.

Azriel.

Your breath stilled. The archer’s fingers flexed on the trigger.

You moved without thinking.

The branch groaned beneath your weight as you lunged forward, boots scraping against the bark. The archer’s head snapped toward you a split second before you slammed into him, both of you tumbling from the tree.

Branches tore at your clothes as you fell, the cold burn of wind biting your face. The ground struck hard, ice and dirt scraping your palms as you hit. The archer landed just feet away, crossbow forgotten, but his dagger was already flashing free.

You barely rolled in time to dodge the first strike, the blade slicing through the air so close it whispered against your skin. A flash of pain seared your arm, shallow but sharp. He snarled something vicious, lunging again—faster, harder.

You twisted, grabbed for your own dagger, but he was already there, driving you back with relentless precision. Not flawless. There was desperation in his movements, a rawness that left openings. But it was enough to keep you on the defensive. His face was young, eyes wide with fear and fury. But beneath that, there was something harder, something forged by violence and war. Just someone’s son, thrown into a conflict that had nothing to do with him. A weapon shaped by circumstance, not choice.

And you would be the one to end him.

You raised your arm to block, the dagger glancing off your forearm with a sharp, jarring impact. The pain shot up your arm, but you pushed it down, not allowing yourself to lose focus.

He came at you again, this time aiming for your side. You managed to twist away, the tip of his dagger scraping the edge of your ribs. You gasped but forced yourself into action, grabbing for his wrist, keeping him from following through.

He attempted another strike, but you had just enough time to grab the dagger at your ankle, catching his wrist with it. You twisted it just enough to disarm him, but as his blade fell away, his other hand shot out, grabbing your wrist in a vice-like grip.

You fought against him, the cold metal of your dagger pressing against his wrist as you tried to break free. His free hand grabbed your forearm, forcing your dagger down with brutal pressure. You shoved against him with all your strength, but he pushed back harder.

Panic clawed at you, cold and blinding—but you shoved it down. You weren’t going to prove Azriel right. Not here. Not like this.

With a twist of your body, you managed to kick at his knee, forcing him off-balance for just a split-second. It was enough.

You twisted your wrist free and, in one smooth motion, drove your blade clean through the front of his neck.

His breath caught, a wet, choking sound. Blood gushed hot over your hand, spilling down your sleeve as his body jerked once, then went limp.

He crumpled forward, and you shoved him off you, breath ragged, chest heaving. The cold bit at your sweat-damp skin as you stared down at the still form beside you, at the gory mess you’d left behind.

The crunch of boots on ice snapped you back to yourself.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Azriel’s voice—low, sharp—cut through the haze. His hand clamped around your arm, and in one swift motion, he yanked you to your feet. It was like nothing, like you weighed nothing at all in his grasp. His face was tight with fury, breath still heavy from the ongoing fight.

“Saving your ass,” you shot back, yanking free of his grip.

His gaze flicked down—to the blood staining your hands, to the body still sprawled in the snow.

For a moment, his expression faltered. You weren’t sure what you saw in it. But then that cold mask slammed back into place.

“Stay out of my way,” he said flatly, and turned without another word.

You stood there for a long moment, breath still dragging through your lungs, too loud in the quiet. The cold gnawed at your skin, the wind cutting through the damp fabric of your clothes. But none of it reached you. Not past the sick, twisting knot in your chest.

Stay out of my way.

Like none of it mattered. Like you hadn’t almost died saving his life.

Your bloodstained hands trembled faintly, though they shouldn’t have. Not after so many fights, so many bodies. This wasn’t new. It should’ve been just another kill—smooth, methodical, necessary. It should have faded into the blur of every other battle, just another enemy cut down before they could do the same to you.

But it didn’t.

Because this time, your blade had landed a second before his. Because this time, the body that had hit the ground had almost been Azriel’s.

You curled your fingers in on themselves, nails biting into your palms as if you could force the memory out of your mind. But it clung to you, thick as blood, pressing in like a weight you couldn’t shake.

Because if Azriel had been just a little slower—if you’d been just a second too late—

You swallowed hard, forcing the thought back down.

He didn’t get it. He didn’t understand that you had to do something. That standing back and watching—watching him get hurt, or worse—would have been impossible.

You wouldn’t have been able to stop it.

And maybe that was what frightened you the most. Knowing just how badly that truth scared you.

By the time you made it back to camp, your body felt wrung out—too cold, too tired. You barely remembered walking there, barely remembered slipping inside the tent Azriel had claimed for himself. But the second you ducked under the flap and it fell behind you, his voice cracked through the air like a whip.

"Do you have any idea how reckless that was?"

You barely had time to turn before he was on you. Not close enough to touch, but near enough that the heat rolling off him made the air feel too thick. His hair was a mess of wind-tossed strands, half plastered to his forehead with sweat. There was a smear of blood drying along his cheekbone—not his, you realized distantly—and dirt clung to the battered leathers stretched tight across his frame. His chest still rose and fell too fast, each breath dragging through gritted teeth. His wings flared wide behind him, tension radiating from every inch of his body.

"Reckless?" you shot back, voice sharper than you meant. "I kept you from getting an arrow through the neck!"

"You weren’t even supposed to be there!" Azriel roared, his voice rising loud enough that you knew anyone lingering outside would hear. “You think you’re invincible? That you can just rush into shit without a second thought?” 

"Maybe if you didn’t act like you’re the only person who’s capable—"

"This isn’t about being capable!" He snapped. His eyes were blazing, shadows curling tighter around him. "This is about you making a stupid, impulsive decision that could've gotten you killed."

"Oh, I’m sorry," you sneered, voice dripping with sarcasm, "Next time I’ll just let you die so I don’t upset you."

"Don't you dare twist this," Azriel snarled, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles went white. "You had no plan. No backup. You jumped in like this was some game—"

"I had a plan!"

"You didn’t even see half the soldiers in the trees—”

“Of course I did!”

“—have any idea how easily that could’ve gone wrong? How close you came to getting yourself killed?"

"I knew what I was doing."

"You got lucky," Azriel barked. "That's not the same thing."

"You're unbelievable," you seethed, pushing back with the same venom. "You actually think you’re the only one who's capable. That no one else can do anything without your permission."

Azriel’s rage snapped, the fury he’d been holding back unleashing when he swung around and threw his fist into the armor stand beside him with a sickening crack. "I think you’re reckless!" he yelled, eyes wild with anger and burning into yours. “You don’t know when to stop, (y/n)!”

You’d taken an instinctive step back, but before you could even think, the words flew from your mouth—

"Oh, and you do?" You let out a bitter laugh. "Tell me, Azriel, when was the last time you let anyone help you without losing your mind over it? Gods forbid anyone cares about you enough to try."

His jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with an intensity that felt like they could burn through you. "I don’t need you to care about me!” he snarled. 

"Well, too bad!" you shot back. "Because I do!"

The words echoed between you, louder than you'd intended. Azriel's face twisted, his eyes dark and dangerous.

"If you’d gotten hurt," he said tightly, voice low again. "If I'd had to watch you die…"

He stopped, breathing hard. His hands flexed into fists, like he was fighting to keep hold of himself. The words seemed to ring in the air, cutting through the anger that had flooded the room.

Azriel's chest heaved, fists still clenched at his sides. His face was twisted with something stark and terrible—fear, you realized. Real, unshakable fear. It was written in the tightness of his jaw, the way his voice still shook beneath all that fury.

"...Is that what this was about?" you asked quietly.

His gaze flicked away, but not before you saw the answer written clear as day in his eyes.

Azriel’s words—soft, fragile as they were—hung in the air, and for a second, you almost gave in. Almost. But then the flicker of something hot surged in your chest, a surge of frustration that you couldn’t ignore.

“No,” you snapped, voice sharp as a blade. You took half a step back, putting distance between the two of you. “Don’t do that.”

Azriel looked up at you, his expression flickering between confusion and something else—defensive, maybe. But you didn’t care.

“You think I can’t handle myself? I’m trained. I’m not some helpless idiot.” You shoved your hands into his chest, but he didn’t budge. “And why did you have to undermine me like that in front of Rhys and Feyre?” you demanded, voice thick with frustration.

Azriel’s jaw clenched at your words, his posture stiffening even further, but you didn’t stop. 

“Tell me, Azriel,” you went on, stepping closer until the air between you felt suffocating. “Why do you always do that? Why do you always treat me like I’m a child, like I can’t make my own decisions, like I’m incapable of… doing anything without you breathing down my neck?”

His lips parted to respond, but you didn’t give him the chance. You shoved your fists against his chest, slamming your palms into him with every word. “Do you know how it feels to have someone you trust constantly undermine you? To have someone who should know better act like you're a liability instead of a partner? I’m not helpless! I’m not your responsibility!” You slammed your fist into his shoulder, frustration building with every second he remained perfectly still, unshaken. “So stop acting like I need you to save me every damn time I breathe!”

Azriel’s wings twitched behind him, but his face remained unreadable. His eyes were still dark, but the fire in them had dimmed, replaced by something you couldn’t quite place.

“You think I’m trying to control you,” he said, his voice low, tight with frustration, “but I’m trying to protect you. Can’t you see that? I can’t lose you.”

“And why the hell not?” Your voice cracked, raw with anger and something dangerously close to hurt. “This is just a job, isn’t it?”

Azriel flinched. Just barely. But you saw it—the slight hitch in his breath, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare.

For a long moment, he just stared. Silent. Tension carved into every sharp line of his face, shadows curling tighter around his shoulders like living things. His wings flexed, then snapped shut.

And then, his voice—low, rough, almost unsteady.

“Just a job?” His throat bobbed, his fists clenching at his sides. “You think that’s all this is?” A bitter laugh escaped him, sharp as a blade. “You think I would be losing my mind every time you put yourself in danger if it were just a fucking job?”

You felt the heat rising in your chest, but there was something in the way he spoke, something that made your stomach twist.

“You don’t get it, do you?” His voice cracked, rough with something dark and desperate. “I would burn this world to the ground for you. I would tear through armies. I would do anything—anything—if it meant keeping you safe.” His body was tense, muscles locked, as though he were fighting to hold everything in. “Because it’s not just a job.”

His hands curled into fists, like he was holding himself back. Like if he let go for even a second, he wouldn’t stop.

“I love you.” The words fell like a war drum, low and unshakable, reverberating through the space between you. “I have loved you from the moment you walked into my gods-damned life and made everything I thought I knew about myself feel… irrelevant.” His wings finally tucked in close to his back. “And it terrifies me.”

Your breath caught.

“Because if I lose you,” Azriel’s voice broke, raw and ragged. His gaze burned into yours, filled with something so unguarded, so utterly vulnerable, it left you reeling. “If I lose you, there won’t be anything left of me.”

Your breath was uneven, your mind racing to catch up with what he’d just said. But even as his words echoed through you, it was his hands that caught your attention.

They were shaking. Just slightly, but enough. His fists were still clenched, tension locked tight in his shoulders, like he was bracing for something—for you to turn away, to reject him, to tell him this was all some mistake.

The thought made something in your chest twist painfully.

Without thinking, you reached out, fingers brushing over the back of his hand before curling around his wrist. His skin was warm beneath your touch, his pulse a rapid beat against your fingertips. He stiffened, breath catching, but he didn’t pull away.

Gently, you tugged.

For a moment, he resisted, like he didn’t trust himself to move, to let go of whatever storm was raging inside him. But then, with a slow exhale, he let you guide him down onto the worn couch at the back of the tent.

Neither of you spoke.

The silence stretched between you, thick and charged, but not uncomfortable. His shadows curled at his feet, restless and unsure, mirroring the turmoil in his expression. You could still see it—the way his jaw stayed tight, the way his wings trembled at the edges, as if even now, even after everything, he was still afraid.

So you spoke first.

"You’re not the only one who gets scared."

His head turned slightly, his hazel eyes searching yours. The sharp edges of his features were softened by the dim light, but his gaze remained intense, like he was trying to memorize every detail of you in this moment.

Azriel swallowed, his throat bobbing.

"I know." His voice was quieter now, the anger, the desperation from before fading into something else. "I just…" He hesitated, like the words were heavy in his mouth. Then, softer, almost uncertain. "I couldn’t lose you."

He said it like a confession, like something fragile he was scared to let out into the world.

And gods, you felt it. The weight of it, the truth in it.

Because he wasn’t just saying he loved you. He was saying you were the thing tethering him here. That the thought of losing you was enough to shake even him, the unshakable.

And what terrified you most was how much you understood it.

The tension between you shifted. It was less sharp now, less like something that might shatter, and more like something inevitable. Heavy, unspoken.

Azriel stayed silent as you reached for the small first aid kit sitting on the side table. The lid creaked as you flipped it open, your fingers moving without thought—grabbing a clean cloth, uncapping a bottle of alcohol. The sharp scent filled the space between you.

Still, he didn’t say a word, even as you took his hand, knuckles torn and raw from when he’d slammed his fist into the wooden armor stand earlier. He didn’t pull away, didn’t even flinch when you pressed the damp cloth to his skin.

His breath hitched—whether from the sting or from the way your fingers brushed against his, you weren’t sure. But his gaze stayed locked on you, unwavering. And gods, it was so much. The weight of his attention, the quiet intensity of it. Like you were the only thing in the world he saw right then.

“You know,” you murmured, carefully pressing the cloth against his skin, “you could’ve just said you care instead of being an ass about it.”

A quiet huff of breath left him—something almost like a laugh, but too exhausted to be anything more.

“I didn’t know how.”

It was barely above a whisper, but it sank into you, deep and undeniable.

And when you looked up, he was already watching you. Something shifted in his expression, like he had made a decision before he even realized it himself.

You barely had time to react before his fingers threaded into your hair, his touch gentle despite the urgency in his movements. 

And then he was kissing you.

It was fast, a little desperate, like he had been holding this in for too long. Like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers if he didn’t act now. His free hand curled around your jaw, tilting your face toward him, and he was impossibly close. His warmth, his scent, the sheer presence of him overwhelming your senses.

And you—

You didn’t hesitate.

You kissed him back like you had been waiting for this just as long as he had. Like you had known, deep down, that this was always where you’d end up. Wrapped in Azriel’s arms, feeling the way he poured everything he couldn’t say into the press of his lips against yours.

And when he finally pulled back, resting his forehead against yours, his breath warm and uneven, he didn’t let go.

Like he was still afraid to lose you.

Like he never would.

[moonlitscrolls]

I bet on losing dogs (IV)

Pairings: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: drug use, substance abuse, some non-explicit descriptions of corpses.

Word Count: 2.0k

A/n: Part four is out! Let me know if you like it, or have any constructive feedback.

Series Masterlist: I bet on losing dogs (Masterlist)

Azriel’s words echo in your mind for the rest of the day, no matter how hard you try to push them out. The disappointment in his eyes as you refused to confide in him yet again sends painful aches down your heart, so distracting that you consider telling him and yet; that severely nagging doubt stops in your tracks once more. 

What if he thinks it’s abhorrent? What if he doesn’t want anything more to do with you after he finds out? You don’t see useful visions like Elain, or wield icy fire like Nesta. No, the Cauldron had turned your worst fears into a curse that you had no control over. And you knew, in your heart of hearts, the only person who might understand what it felt like to have these morbid powers you didn’t want, would be Azriel and his shadows. 

It was time. You would tell Azriel over dinner tonight and pray he didn’t lock you up and chain you down.  

The rest of the day was spent in agony, waiting and waiting for dinner time to arrive. Azriel usually left the House of Wind during the day, only arriving well after the sun sets, so you did your best to kill the time by flipping through the romance books the House provided down in the Library. While it had originally been a welcome distraction, soon every hero, no matter how they were described, morphed into a raven-haired, hazel-eyed Shadowsinger that simply wouldn’t stop haunting the corners of your mind. Although it could definitely be argued that his presence was much more welcome than that of the others. 

They didn’t stay long, never more than two or three days each, but nearly always found themselves replaced by another once they disappeared. Over the past week of your residence at the House of Wind, you had racked your way through the Library to get your hands on whatever information you could, hoping against hope that there was someone else, at some point in Prythian history who had been through this before you. You were yet to find anything worthwhile. 

This is what you mull over as you sit stiffly in your chair and the kitchen island, a glass of juice sitting untouched before you while you wait for Azriel’s return, and this is how he finds you when he flies back in, his gaze focused and locked on your frame. 

You glance up nervously, and before he can say anything you manage to blurt out, “I have something to tell you.”

He doesn’t hesitate as he pulls out the chair next to yours and takes a seat, holding himself up by his elbows as they rest on his knees. His eyes swim with worry and concern as they bore through yours. You face the table nervously, hands fiddling with the condensation on the glass before you as you try to find the words. 

He gives you time, and doesn’t say anything. But the weight of his gaze never wavers from your frame. You can sense it even while you keep your own trained on the marble table. It’s with great effort and courage that you manage to say the words, “I think something went wrong with me.”, your breath catches, “In the cauldron, I mean.” 

His voice is steady and cool as he replies, “Why do you say that?” 

You swallow harshly and try to explain, “I see things that I didn’t before. Things that you all can’t see.”

Your heart rate starts to pick up and you wish you could wipe your sweaty palms on the sides of your thighs but you don’t want to seem even weaker than you probably already do to him. 

He must sense the shift in your scent because on his large palms comes to rest on your knee gently, the warmth and weight of it grounding you in the present. 

A sharp inhale goes through you before the words spill out like vomit, “I see dead people.”

Your eyes are squeezed shut and your body rigid as you wait, breathlessly, for his response. The memories of how it felt to be stuck in that wooden cupboard for hours on end with no way out come reeling back at his continued silence and you can’t help the wave of panic that broils through you. Fists clenched to hide the way they tremble, you slip off of your stool as quickly as you can, movement jerky and frantic as you step away, only slightly conscious of how Azriel is now also on his feet. 

“You know what, I just haven’t had a lot of sleep lately, and the withdrawal has been playing tricks on my mind-“, to your horror a dry sob heaves its way into your strangled tone, “I don’t know what I’m talking about, just ignore all of tha-“

And then every thought in your head vanishes as Azriel’s pillowy lips land on yours. His hands are on your waist, pushing you back against the island as his lips move over yours delicately. It’s not really a kiss, more of his mouth breathing into you, grounding you into this moment. You’re caught off guard and go completely limp in his arms as he gathers you to his frame before leaning back to look you in the eye. His gaze is tortured and voice filled with some emotion you can’t quite identify as he breathes out, “How long?”

It’s not the question you were expecting as you answer dazedly, “Since I woke up after being dipped in the Cauldron.” 

His head drops at that, his silky black hair hiding the way his eyebrows furrow in pain at your words before he whispers, “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You can barely recognise your throaty voice as you ask shakily, “Why are you sorry?”

Azriel presses into you so his forehead grazes the sides of your cheek, sending sparks dancing down your spine. “You’ve been dealing with this on your own for years. You didn’t feel safe enough to tell me. That’s on me.”

Your head shakes vehemently as you push back against his chest to look him in the eyes as you say with conviction, “The only person I feel safe around is you.” 

Azriel’s eyes widen slightly at your statement but you’re on a roll now and continue, “The only person who makes me feel like how I did before, is you. Please don’t say that. You’re the only one who makes them go quiet.”, you confide, your voice cracking with emotion. 

His arms tighten around your waist as they wind around your frame, pulling you tightly against him. When he speaks, you feel his cool breath hit your lips and you do your best to suppress another shiver, “They speak to you?”

You nod, eyes dropping to his collar. “Some of them can speak. Some of them can’t. Some only cry or wail. Some speak in a language I can’t understand. But they’re all, they’re all…” you trail off as you glance at the corners of the room, behind Azriel, where their eyes meet yours silently. “They all want the same thing. I don’t know what it is but when they eventually realise I can’t help them, they leave.”

Azriel’s eyes track yours as he too stares into the empty space where they stand. His voice is gentle as he asks you, “Are they here right now?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, ignoring the tears that stream down your cheeks as you do so, nodding. 

Azriel’s throat bobs as he pulls you tighter into him, your face pressed against his throat. His scent is one that has always filled you with a sense of peace and tranquility, and you always do your best to get at least a sniff of it whenever you attend functions or dinners held by the Inner Circle, but this? Being held in his arms so tightly you can feel all the hard planes of his chest and stomach against your softness, the smooth expanse of his neck against your face, his deep pine forest fragrance and morning dew scent drowns you in his presence and all you can do is latch onto him for dear life. 

The nagging doubt in your mind keeps hold still, and before you know it, it spills out in a weak sob against his neck. “I don’t want to go to The Prison.”

Regret fills you the minute you hear the words from your mouth but it’s too late, and you can tell by the way Azriel’s body jerks slightly, that he heard what you said, loud and clear. This is further proved when he leans back just enough for his arms to come up and cup your face in his warm, large palms. Instantly that nagging voice in your head quiets, leaving nothing but the sounds of his gentle breaths paired with yours. You feel his thumbs stroke along your cheekbones softly and the delicate manner of his action, this legend who stands before you who’s very hands who show you such kindness now have taken the lives of so many, his presence soothes you in a way you could have never imagined. 

“I want to know why you would ever think that would happen.” Azriel’s voice is quiet and his gaze is filled with such determination, you know you aren’t leaving without answering his questions. 

“I just-“, your voice cracks, “I don’t want to be locked up.”

Anger flashes across Azriel’s face and you instinctively try to pull away but he doesn’t let you, his voice interrupted by a slight tremor as he presses, “Y/N, has someone ever locked you up?”

Panic flares through you and you shake your head adamantly but his palms cup your face tighter and pull you to him so his lips flutter against your hairline as he asks again, “Baby, has someone ever locked you up? When you didn’t want to be?” 

You shake your head again but a sob racks through you and there’s no hiding it from Azriel when anger flares through him at the weak, pitiful sound before he pulls you back into him, his voice hard and filled with promise as he presses, “Give me a name.”

You sob silently into his neck, but he doesn’t let it go. “Y/N baby, I need you to give me a name.”, his voice is filled with pain as he whispers into your ear, one of his hands shifting to stroke your hair gently. 

The tender action makes your throat clog as you sob and shake your head, causing Azriel to sigh, the puff of air against your head sending more tears down your face. 

His voice is quiet and filled with deadly determination as he promises, “It’s okay. I don’t need a name. I’ll find them, Y/N, and I promise you, they’re going to wish they never laid a hand on you.” His arms tighten around you as if to send the message home and finally, you collapse in his arms, the sheer comfort and strength he projects too tempting to resist. He catches you, of course, and presses delicate kisses to any part of your face he can reach, whispering sweet nothings into your ears as you hold him tightly in an iron grip. 

You stay like for you don’t know how long, but his grip never wavers, and neither does yours. A warm glow spreads inside your chest and you press closer to him in reply. Eyes shut, the sound of his heart beating against your ear as you lay your head flat against his chest, for the first time in a long time, contentment floods inside you, right down to your bones. And you know, not sure how or why, but you know that no matter what lies ahead, Azriel would be there to face it with you. 

@tele86 @batboyslutt @be-your-coffee-pot @wxveysun @the-onlyy-angie @the-tummo @sleepylunarwolf @sstrohma @more-a-then-i

[moonlitscrolls]

this is stunninggg i’m obsessed

Flirting in the Dark

Summary: Cassian convinces you to help him retrieve an item from his brother’s room. It doesn't quite go as you had planned.

Warnings: none really, slightly suggestive comments and a hint of smut if you squint (the tiniest hint). Just bat boys being silly.

A/N: Just something a little bit light hearted. I wrote this in one go after waking up this morning as I needed to get it out of my head. Enjoy the silliness. Comments very welcome I love to hear your thoughts.

————— 

Cassian looks at you with a familiar hint of mischief in his eyes. 

“Come on sweetheart. Light of my life. The most beautiful female in all of Prythian.” 

You roll your eyes at his words, a small smile on your lips. You continue making your breakfast, trying to manoeuvre around him as he’s trying to block your path. 

“Your flattery doesn’t work on me Cas. Also you forget I have known you for way too long to go along with any of your schemes.” 

And you have. Being childhood friends you have been there through all of his terribly planned out pranks and plots. 

He sighs but by the look in his eyes you can tell he isn’t going to give up anytime soon. 

“You don’t understand, I NEED that dagger. It’s technically mine anyway, Az stole it from me. I just need you to distract him for a little bit while I go into his room and grab it. I’ll be stealthy, I promise. I’ll go in through the window. No harm done.” 

You don’t mean to but you start laughing and you snort at the vision of a 200 pound Illyrian trying to stealthily push himself through a window. 

You grab your cup of tea and lean against the counter. 

“Stealthy? Cas, I love you but being stealthy is not really your vibe. You’re better off leaving that to the professional spies, like Az.” 

His eyes light up at your words, and you can see some unspoken plan forming in his head. He claps his hands together. You immediately regret everything you’ve just said. 

“Or like you! That’s it, change of plan. I’ll go distract Az, you sneak in through the window to get the dagger.“ He looks at you with pleading eyes, pouting. 

The Lord of Bloodshed, looking at you like a stroppy child that won’t stop until he gets his way. 

You groan. “I did not become a trained spy for this court to aid you in your stupid pranks, you overgrown bat.” but you’re caving, and you know Cassian can tell. 

“I’ll take you out for dinner, my treat. Anywhere you want. And I’ll wash your dishes for a whole month.” 

You roll your eyes, taking a small sip from your tea as if you need to think about it for a minute. You don’t. And Cassian knows it too. 

“Come on, I know you want to.” 

You sigh. “Fine, but I pick somewhere expensive AND you buy my outfit.” 

He looks at you with a big grin on his face. “Done.” 

————— 

This is stupid. Utterly ridiculous. You swear softly to yourself as you look from the little balcony you are standing on to the window of Azriel’s room on the left. 

Ever the gentleman he had traded rooms with you a while ago, giving you the one with the balcony and moving into the smaller one without himself. 

Which meant getting in through his window was going to be a lot more challenging than you had considered. 

Thank the mother he had left it open. 

————— 

After an embarrassing struggle with the window and a small freakout about heights, you’ve made it into Azriel's bedroom. 

Your courage in your little mission wavers as you look at the collection of daggers displayed on a big table against one of the walls. Cassian had described the one you are looking for to you in great detail but looking at the overwhelming amount of weapons, this was going to be a challenge. 

The Spymaster is a grade A hoarder. Perfect. 

You make a system in your head as you start looking, getting so wrapped up in the task at hand that you don’t notice the small shadows slipping in through the crack under the door. 

You’re a good spy, but this ridiculous search has made you leave your guard down. Also Azriel is the one that trained you. It’s a lost cause to begin with. 

Then out of nowhere the room goes dark. A soft curse leaves your lips as you try to look around for a way to escape. It’s no use. You’ve been caught. 

Well, that didn’t last long. You should’ve known, Cassian is a terrible liar.

You suddenly feel a presence behind you, lips hovering right over your ear. You shiver at the feeling. “Looking for something love?” 

Azriel moves closer, wrapping one of his arms around your waist as he presses you against him to keep you in place. There’s no making a quick escape now. 

Not that you could get away anyway with the room being as dark as it is. 

Your breath hitches at the pet name and you lean back slightly, savouring the feeling of Azriel’s strong chest pressed against your back. 

“Just admiring your collection.” you reply casually, knowing damn well that Azriel can see right through you. 

“Is that so?” he whispers back, lips touching the shell of your ear before moving down to the spot in your neck he knows drives you crazy. 

This isn’t new territory for the two of you, but there is usually a lot more alcohol involved. 

“Then why did I just get dragged out of my room by Cassian pretending to have a very important, non-existent laundry crisis he needed my help with?” 

You really should’ve given the general some pointers. A laundry crisis, really? Why did you agree to help him again?

He spins the two of you around and before you realise what is happening you are pressed against the wall on the other side of the room, Azriel hovering over you. 

The darkness has cleared slightly. 

“What is he looking for?” He asks, staring into your eyes with an intensity that makes your knees feel weak. 

“Nothing.” You squeak, voice an octave higher than it should be. 

His scent is overwhelming your senses and it’s becoming more and more difficult to not keep staring at his lips. 

He smirks. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you. 

He moves even closer, lips hovering over your own, almost touching. “I don’t believe you.” 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath while trying to block out the male in front of you. His body presses even closer to your own and his lips find their way to your ear again. “If you tell me I’ll reward you.” 

You shiver as you feel heat begin to pool in your core. 

“I’ve been trained never to reveal my secrets on a mission.” you reply, voice surprisingly steady considering your current state. 

“Since it was me that trained you I think it’s okay to make an exception.” Azriel mumbles, as his lips trace the outline of your jaw. 

One of his hands starts moving up your side, making small circles up towards your breast. He stops the movement just underneath and rests his hand there. Tease. 

He pulls his lips away from their position on your jaw to look into your eyes again. His pupils are blown and you can tell it’s taking him a lot of strength to not just devour you then and there. 

You smirk. “You okay there Shadowsinger?” 

“Never better.” his voice comes out rough. 

You can’t take this any longer. 

“He wants the dagger you stole from him.” you mumble as you move one of your hands to trace the outline of his wing. He hisses in response, pressing a knee between your legs to push them apart so he can settle in between them. 

“Does he now?” he grumbles. “I’ll have you know he lost that dagger in a bet, fair and square. I didn’t steal anything. It’s not my fault he’s such a sore loser.” 

He presses against you and the feeling of his evident arousal makes your cheeks flush. His hand starts moving again, slowly tracing the outline of your breast before softly grazing your nipple. You let out a small whine. 

Your eyes find Azriel’s again and you are about to crash your lips to his when you hear a loud knock on the outside of his door. 

“LET ME IN, I’M TAKING MY DAGGER BACK.” It seems like Cassian is getting desperate and has decided to resort to his favourite way of getting what he wants, violence. 

Azriel presses his lips to yours and slowly bites down on your bottom lip. “Don’t go anywhere, we aren’t finished.” he whispers into your mouth. Then he steps away from you and light floods the room again. 

Azriel is going to kill his brother. 

[moonlitscrolls]

Azriel, Are you Okay?

Azriel x f!reader

Genre: fated mates, rom-com, crack humor, eventual angst, eventual smut

Summary: Azriel never expected to finally meet his mate and to be… this.

A walking disaster with a talent for tripping over air, an uncanny ability to charm even the grumpiest Illyrian, and a knack for throwing herself headfirst into situations that require his immediate intervention.

She is warmth where he is shadow, laughter where he is silence. And worst of all? She makes him smile without trying.

A slow-burn, fated-mates romance filled with witty banter, embarrassing public incidents, and the undeniable pull of a bond neither of them can fight forever.

For fans of enemies-to-lovers, reluctant soulmates, and the most exasperated Shadowsinger in Prythian.

Part 1: The Meet Cute Part 2: Fate is a Menace Part 3: The Art of Avoidance (and the Shadowsinger Who Outplayed It)

[moonlitscrolls]

I bet on losing dogs (III)

Pairings: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: drug use, substance abuse, some non-explicit descriptions of corpses.

Word Count: 2.3k

A/n: Part three is out! Let me know if you like it, or have any constructive feedback.

Next Part: Chapter Four

Series Masterlist: I bet on losing dogs (Masterlist)

The morning is still and quiet as you fidget with Ilyrian leathers plastered to your skin. Your breath clouds in front of you as you exhale heavily, trying to steady your nerves. Yesterday had been relatively uneventful. Another night was spent buried under your bedsheets, pillows held to both ears to block out their wails. Spoiler alert: it hadn’t worked. A brief glance at your reflection had let you know that the restless night had taken a toll on your appearance. Eye bags the colour of grey cement, a sickly pallor and the constant state of nausea that often accompanies a lack of sleep plagues you as you make your way to the training centre. 

Azriel, in yet another show of kindness that you knew you’d have to add to the list of things you’d never be able to repay him for, had asked Cassian and Nesta to postpone their trainings by an hour along with the other Priestesses from the library, allowing you and him to have an empty hall for two hours in the early morning light. You surmise that he must have realized there was no way in hell you’d train in front of the others, especially not in your weak and sickly condition. 

You breathe in the early morning air and take a relieved exhale when you realise the hall is empty, save for you and Azriel. He stands with his back to you, his shadows swirling around him gently, as though they too do not wish to upset the delicate and quiet embrace of the early morning. You step forward, your nails biting into your palms as you clench them in order to hide the nervous tremors that pass through them. 

“You’re early.”

He turns to face you and you take note of the dagger resting in his palms as he cleans it carefully with a thin wipe. His head is bent, gaze trained on the dagger, but since there’s no one else on the terrace other than the two of you, you decide that his greeting had been directed at you. 

When you stay silent, his gaze flickers up to yours, shrewd and observant. You clear your throat and say a little awkwardly, “I’m a morning person.”

The ghost of a smile dances across his lips at that and you feel a funny jolt in the pit of your stomach that you choose to pointedly ignore. 

You clap your hands together, “So how does this go, typically?”

Azriel raises an eyebrow, and he does it so effortlessly that you can't help the way irritation prickles inside you. Never in your life have you met someone whose smallest moments can rankle you the way his does. “It depends.”

You swallow your frustration at the vague reply and ask once more, your voice wavering slightly despite your attempts to stay neutral. “Depends on what?”

The corner of his lips tug slightly as he walks towards you, sheathing his dagger at his waistband while he does so. It takes conscious effort not to step back as he gets closer. 

He stops around a foot away from you and you refuse to think about why disappointment pools in your stomach at the space between you two. His voice is quiet and assured as he says, “It depends on your existing skill set.” 

You look away at that, your mood already souring. “What if there is no existing skill set?”

Amusement shines through in his hazel eyes as he replies, “Then we start from square one.”

You huff at that before resigning yourself to the simple fact that you’ll have to cooperate with these trainings, whether you’re a fan of them or not, as part of Rhysand and Feyre’s conditions. Azriel seems to pick up on the deference in your stance as he switches into trainer mode and immediately pushes you through the wringer. The next two hours are some of the most physically exerting ones you’ve had to last through, ending with you bent in two, hands resting on your knees as you pant heavily. Ten laps of the ring, which was, to your horror, ascertained to be your warm up before every work out, followed by an hour and a half of what Azriel liked to call ‘muscle movements’. It involved a lot of lunges and crunches and push-ups. Needless to say, by the time he noticed your exhaustion and called it quits, it felt like every bone in your body had turned into jelly. 

You manage to slink your way somehow onto a bench and nearly fall onto your bottom once you take your seat. From the corner of your eye, you notice Azriel hand you a water bottle. With what you hope was a grateful smile, but probably came off as a grimace, you grab the bottle and gulp down the water as fast as you can. 

Azriel curses and grabs the bottle away, but not before you’ve finished nearly half. “You’re supposed to take small sips.” He admonishes, “Large gulps after exercise is the recipe for nausea.”

His words ring true when less than two minutes later, your hands curl around your stomach as it threatens to upturn whatever dinner is left after you threw up last night. The images of what had disturbed you so flashes at the forefront of your mind before you can stop them and it makes you shiver despite the heat emanating off of you from the workout. 

True to his role as the resident Spymaster, this action doesn’t go unnoticed by Azriel. He sips his water much slower than you had as his hazel eyes stay trained on your face as you do your best to keep it blank. 

Whether he finds what he’s looking for appears to be unclear as he finishes his drink and informs you quietly, “You’re free till 2 pm. After lunch, you may introduce yourself to the librarians and begin your work.”

You nod mindlessly, your head still stuck on the visions that plagued you last night, fear permeating your scent as you wonder which ones will pay you a visit tonight. You can’t help but cast a weary gaze at Azriel while he packs up the equipment. 

Would it really be so bad if he knew?

Immediately, you shake your head, trying to snap yourself out of it. It wouldn’t be bad, it would be horrible. You’d seen the way they treated Nesta. Resentment burns at the tip of your tongue for the treatment both you and she had to deal with as the consequences of your addictive behaviours. They might’ve called her residence at the House of Wind a rehabilitation, and while it had been successful, a part of you burns with indignation at the whole matter. Nesta had been speaking Court money. She had been using her sister’s and her sister’s mate’s funds to supply her drinking habits. She had been living in an apartment paid for by the Night Court’s treasury. Objectively speaking, the inner circle had been within their rights to cut her off. While at the time you had disagreed with their actions, you could’ve understood why they may have seen it as necessary. 

But now? You were the first to admit you had gone too deep. In the beginning, it had just been some mirthroot after a long shift at work. Something to take the edge off. But then you noticed, they always seemed to grow fainter, blurrier, when you were under the influence. The stronger the drug, the better. And still, nothing ever made them go away. They were always there, no matter how faint. 

That is, until one of the regulars at Smithy’s, the bar you tended at, had offered you a sample of his newest cut. Silvery liquid that was to be spread across your gums. Moonshade, they called it. Never in your life had you known such bliss. Everything had gone quiet. Every voice, every presence had left, until it was just you and the quiet. From that moment on, you were hooked, and you knew it. But you had always made it a point to spend your own money on it and make sure your indulgences didn’t go back to the Inner Circle. And you never did. Not until that night. 

You frantically try to shift your mind away from the horrors of that night, but Azriel must’ve smelt the unadulterated fear in your scent as he turns back, his gaze alert and focused as he takes in your trembling form, still sitting on that bench. Within two strides he was at your side. 

“Y/n.”

The smell of their flesh, their wails of pain. 

“Y/n.”

The way they sobbed and pleaded like you could do something while you screamed into your pillow and prayed for them to disappear. 

“Y/n!”

Large, warm hands squeeze your shoulders tightly. The slight bruising pain intensifies as you feel yourself shake, no, being shaken-

You stand, and your legs promptly give way, refusing to work after the morning’s ordeal. You would’ve toppled to the floor had Azriel’s strong arms not curved around your back and held you to this frame. Your hands rest at his chest weakly, eyes slowly shifting back into focus to meet his hazel ones, worry and anger swimming in their depths. 

“What the hell is going on?” he breathes, and you’re inclined to agree with him. You push at this chest, but he doesn’t budge an inch, and neither do you. You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off, and it’s just as well since you had no idea what you were going to say. 

His jaw is tense and you see a muscle pulsing along it as he glares at you. For a second, when he parts his lips, you think he’s about to yell at you, and you find yourself bracing for his wrath when instead, his arms tighten around you and pull you so close that you have no choice but to shift your arms around the way. One of his large palms comes to gently press your head into the crook of his neck while he bends down a little so his mouth is parallel to your ear. Much to your horror, the gentleness of the action makes your eyes water, and you’re glad that your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. 

“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.” He whispers, his warm breath hitting your ear and forcing several butterflies to take bloom in your stomach. You try to calm your racing heartbeat, but it only gets worse when he continues, “But for me to help you, you need to trust me, Y/n. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”

You stiffen in his arms and try to pull away but he’s not done, not yet. 

“Azriel”, your voice is weak as you whisper into his neck, hating and loving the comfort his embrace provides you. “Nothing’s going on.” 

A halfhearted attempt, and Azriel knows it too. But he must sense the sheer exhaustion in your tone, and in a rare show of restraint, he loosens his grip on you. When you start to walk away with your tear-filled gaze trained at your feet, however, a warm, scarred hand juts out to grab you gently by your elbow. He doesn’t force you to look at him or pull you back into his arms. He just holds you there for a moment before his other hand comes to push away some of the hair that had come loose from your pony. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

You feel tears spill down your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes tight at these words, hoping against hope that he can’t see the signs of your weakness. 

He continues, his voice steady and low, filled with determination. “Nobody who has ‘nothing going on’ “, he quotes your words, “starts shivering after a workout while blanking out for several minutes.”

Minutes? It had felt like mere moments, but on second thought, you couldn’t be too sure. 

“You were gone, Y/n.” He whispers and the slight fear that creeps into his tone has your heart clenching, but you brush it off immediately, the voices in your head grow louder.

There’s no way Azriel, the Spymaster of the Night Court, the only existing Shadowsinger, could possibly feel anything other than disinterest in you. 

“You were gone, and I have no idea where. But I’m gonna take a leap and guess that it wasn’t someplace pleasant.” his grip tightens slightly like the thought of you being in fear physically torments him. “I’m not saying you have to tell me everything right now. But you have to give me something to work with here.”

At that, you force your gaze to meet his. “Why?”

His eyes narrow, “Why do you think?”. 

You swallow harshly and make to leave, but his grip tightens once more, his voice tinged with some disappointment as he says quietly, “If you have to ask why, then you haven’t been paying attention.”

With that, his hand leaves you, your elbow still held in position of his phantom grip while you stare at him walk away. Your mind struggles to stay focused in its whirlwind of thoughts as you make your way back inside, and for the first time in a long time, your thoughts are not filled with the horrors that plague you at night but instead are wholly consumed by a certain deep-voiced, hazel-eyed shadowsinger. 

Series Taglist: @tele86 @batboyslutt @be-your-coffee-pot @wxveysun

[moonlitscrolls]

I bet on losing dogs (II)

Pairings: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: drug use, substance abuse, some non-explicit descriptions of corpses.

Word Count: 3.1k

A/n: Part two is out! Let me know if you like it, or have any constructive feedback.

Next Part: Chapter Three

Series Masterlist: I bet on losing dogs (Masterlist)

Dawn has arrived. The watery sun spills over the still blue sky, a crescent shaped moon still hanging suspended in the clouds, the night not yet ready to surrender its turf to the day. With it, your packed bags land in the hallway of Rhys and Feyre’s Townhouse, where they had kept you locked in since last night’s disastrous dinner. Your eyes are red and puffy from the hours spent muffling your cries into a now tear-sodden pillow, and no amount of ice-cold spoons pressed to them this morning had helped make you more presentable. The dark grey trousers and top you have on are crinkled from a fitful sleep and soaked with sweat even as you sit in your chair and shiver weakly. 

The others are nowhere to be seen. Before you managed to snag an hour or two of restless shut-eye, Rhysand’s talons had scraped the edge of your mental walls, his voice cold and detached as he informed you that your things would be brought to the Townhouse by morning, where you should be ready for Azriel to take you to your new home, the House of Wind. But you knew better. Rhysand had chosen the House of Wind to hold Nesta, back when she faced issues with her drinking and isolation around a year ago, with Cassian supervising her since the only way in and out the residence was being flown in and out. Nesta had managed to brave the 10,000-step staircase winding down into Velaris, but you bore no disillusions regarding your physical capabilities. You would be stuck, alright, unless one of those overgrown bats decided to ferry you back and forth. 

Anger and indignation sparks in your chest and you do your best to hold onto the emotion with both hands, doing your utmost to focus on the heat of it warming you from inside out, no matter how uncomfortable, as it is still more palatable than the underlying anxiety and paranoia you’ve felt swirling around your mind and soul ever since the effects of Moonshade had begun to inch its way out of your bloodstream. You mindlessly scratch the itch on your face as you stare off into the distance, refusing to acknowledge the presence you feel at your back. 

I still have time. 

You force yourself to chant the words in your mind, manually breathing in and out as you push your way out of the dark corners in your mind. You feel their presence dim, and you take a moment to inhale shakily, blinking away the tears that sting in your eyes. Your eyes stay trained on the bustling streets of Velaris beneath the guest balcony at the Townhouse. Vendors are selling their wares, food stalls start setting up for the day, their delicious aromas wafting through the air teasingly. You notice the citizens going for a morning stroll outside as they find themselves lured to these stalls, but you feel no such temptation. 

All you can feel is the constant itch under your skin, the desperate growing need for that familiar silver liquid to spread around your gums, the gentle lull in your head as it drags you under, the world crystallising into colour and music as it does so. Your breath catches in your throat as you contemplate making a break for it. The last hit you took was nearly over twelve hours ago now. With some luck, they’ll be kept at bay for perhaps another three hours. You chew on your lip anxiously as you twitch, your leg shaking aimlessly as you contemplate whether it’s worth the risk or not. At the end of the day, cauldron turned fae or not, you’re a junkie. It’s what you are, or at least what the voices in your head whisper to you when no one else is around to tell you otherwise. All you know is that if you don’t get your hands on some Moonshade, or hell, even some Nighthorn, then you’d be in a heap of trouble, and you’re not even referring to the detox. 

Decision made, you rise to your feet and turn, about to make a bolt for it, when shadows curl around your feet like they could sense what you were about to do. They’re cute, almost like a pet, but their presence means their Master is nearby, and his timing could not be worse. Just when you’re about to shake off the shadows and make a mad dash for it, he appears from the dark corners of the room, more shadows swirling around him like black vapour. He leans on the doorway, his face carefully neutral as he says knowingly, “Going somewhere?”

You’re forced to steady your trembling feet, clenching your hands into fists as you defeatedly reply, “No.” 

They’re going to come for you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. 

You bite the inside of your lip harshly, drawing blood as you try to bury your helplessness and growing dread at what is to come. Looping the small rucksack around your arms and tugging it onto your back weakly, you walk back with your head bent, gaze lowered to your feet as you take your previous position to Azriel’s right. Some of his shadows swirl near your hands again, the cool caress as though it was attempting to impart comfort. The gentle gesture makes something inside you snap, and you harshly wack the shadows, sending them shuttling back to their master like children being admonished. Your heart hurts at the sight but you force your face to stay blank and devoid of all and any emotion as you bear through Azriel’s scrutiny. 

After a long, painful moment, he gestures to the rucksack on your back. “Is that all?” he asks, his voice imbibed with some emotion you can’t quite pin down. You reply with a single nod, your gaze still averted from him stubbornly. 

He seems to realize he isn’t getting anything more from you this morning when he lets out an imperceptible sigh before leaning towards you, pressing one large arm to your right shoulder as his arm comes to curve around your back. You stiffen at the touch but he continues, hooking his other arm around your knees before gathering you in his arms effortlessly. The old version of you would’ve lost her mind, blushing like a naive schoolgirl. Now, all you do is turn your face to stare down at the street from the balcony, your arms tightening around your rucksack protectively. 

“Put your arms around my neck.” His voice is smooth and steady, something that should have comforted you, but for some reason, it sends sparks of anger down your spine. You bite the inside of your cheek to restrain yourself as you ignore his command, tightening your arms around your rucksack again in a silent reply. 

An amused smile dances at the corner of his lips before he lets out scoffs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  One moment, you were in Azriel’s arms on strong, solid ground. The next, you’re up in the air, wind whistling past your ears, hair being strewn across your face and Azriel’s with force. Despite your attempts to stay detached, your stomach lurches at the sudden motion and height, and you can’t help the yelp that leaves you as you push yourself further into Azriel’s arms with a panicked gasp. Your pride is gone, replaced with unsaturated fear as you hug your rucksack tighter to you, one arm flung around Azriel’s neck as you go stiff as a rod in his arms, fear seizing your heart. 

Azriel seems to notice you stiffen and looks down at you with an amused smile on his lips. He opens his mouth, probably about to mock you for trembling in his arms like a little girl, but the words die in his throat as he catches a glimpse of the expression on your face. He instantly slows his flight, stretching his wings out wide so you two balance in the skies gracefully, the turbulence finally slowing, giving your poor stomach a break. Your face is pinched white, knuckles pale as your right arm wraps around your rucksack like it holds all your worldly possessions, which it probably does. Your other arm is wrapped around the back of Azriel’s shoulder. Trembling from head to toe, with undiluted fear in your eyes, Azriel can’t bring himself to poke fun. 

“I won’t drop you.” He tries to soothe your nerves, “You can trust me.”

His words appear to have the opposite effect as anger clouds your face briefly before it settles into its usual numb mask. Concern and frustration prickle under his skin at the sight, but he takes the hint and keep quiet for the rest of the flight, keeping the turbulence as well to a minimum. 

The second his feet make contact with the sandstone flooring of the House of Wind, you’re out of his arms, landing onto the floor. You hug the rucksack to yourself, swaying slightly as one of your arms stretches out to balance yourself on the railing. Azriel is tempted to reach out to steady you, and he would if he didn’t know that you’d reject his touch immediately. He doesn’t need his shadows to tell him how much you detest him, detest all of them. It’s clear in your actions, your isolation and limited interaction with any of the family beyond Feyre and her sisters, and now even that bridge had been burned at dinner. 

For a moment, Azriel feels a pang of sympathy for you. This human girl who had been drawn into their world and forcefully turned into High Fae, all because you wouldn’t fall for the ruse that your childhood friend and her sisters had all magically disappeared overnight. You hadn’t stopped inserting yourself into the situation until Hybern decided you would be more useful as another hostage to subdue Feyre alongside her sisters. His plot had been at the very least, partially successful, as seen by the pointed ends of your ears, a sign of being High Fae. 

Unlike the case with Nesta and Elain, the only thing you had to show for your time in the Cauldron were your ears. None of your other features had particularly changed, nor had you been gifted with the power of death or clairvoyance, unlike the two older Archerons, or so they all thought. Sometimes, at the beginning of your life in Velaris, Azriel noticed the way your eyes would flick to the corners of rooms, like you could notice things others couldn’t. But then, as soon as you could, you took yourself out of the equation. You got yourself a job as a bartender at some sketchy pub in the outskirts of Velaris, with an apartment to match. They had protested, but you had turned a deaf ear, claiming that you wanted to live your new life without owing anything to anyone, Rhys and Feyre included. While Azriel acknowledged that was probably partially true, his instincts told him there was more to the story. He was missing something. They were all missing something. And you showed no signs of opening up any time soon. As he watches you walk away silently, locking the closest bedroom door, seeking refuge from him, he knows that one way or another, he’s going to find out what exactly it was that had you running from your new family with all your might. 

The slam of the door lets him know that you have retired for the evening. Time passes as Azriel retires for the day as well, and he takes the time to catch up on some paperwork for Rhys. It’s only when the hour hand of the clock strikes nine does he realise that it’s been nearly ten hours since the two of you arrived at the House of Wind. 

His shadows accompany him as he makes his way to the kitchen, a tray filled with fruits and some banana pudding laid out for him as dinner. When he takes his seat and is about to dive in, a second, slightly smaller tray appears next to his. He tries to ignore it and takes a bite of his pudding, only for it to turn into ash in his mouth. The House’s message is clear; the two of you will either eat together or not at all. 

Cursing Nesta for giving the House such a meddlesome sentience, Azriel makes his way over to your bedroom, knocking on the door firmly as he listens for any sounds of life. He hears some muffled shuffling and a weak groan, but the door shows no sign of budging. He knocks again, louder, and when no reply comes, his lips part, probably to issue you another ultimatum, when the door swings open, and his words die in his throat. Whatever state he thought you were in the morning, you had clearly deteriorated further. Your skin was clammy and sweaty, your fingers twitching at your sides, a tell-tale sign of overuse of Moonshade. The skin under your eyes was grey, and your eyes were bloodshot and murky with pain. He didn’t miss the way you shivered under your thick jacket despite the relatively warmer weather and the sweat beading on your skin either. 

When it becomes clear to you that he’s not going to say anything, you manage to shakily say, “Is there something you needed?”. 

Your voice sounds much frailer than you would’ve liked it to sound, but you have no energy to beat yourself up over it. Right now, your only goal is to try and get through the detox. Your gaze is trained on Azriel’s throat as it bobs, pointedly ignoring their presence as they stand in formation behind him. You think there’s one standing behind you as well, but you’re too scared to look. 

Azriel’s eyebrows furrow slightly with confusion. Your words sound displeased, but your tone drips with relief, and your gaze stays trained on him. Yes, trained on his throat rather than his face, but he felt comfortable concluding with certainty that you were glad for his presence at the moment and felt no desire for him to leave. He could work with that. 

“Would you like to have some dinner?” He asks carefully, barely above how you’d speak to a cornered animal. “The House seems to be of the strong opinion that we should dine together.” He’s racking his brain to come up with a way to convince you to just sit silently next to him and eat when to his surprise you nod gratefully and step outside your room, shitting the door firmly behind you. 

Dinner is a quiet affair, save for the clinking of your utensils against the bowls. Neither of you attempt to make conversation, and yet the silence is more tired than awkward. Azriel’s watchful gaze rests on you every few moments or so, but yours stays trained on your bowl of tomato soup as you slowly blow on it, trying to cool its temperature. Moonshade is not known for its painful detox, but rather the lingering mental effects it has on a regular user. Azriel can sense that the physical worst is over as you slowly stop shivering and sweating during dinner, but his concern does anything but fade as he catches a glimpse of the defeated look in your eyes. He can’t stand sitting here without doing anything to either get you to feel better, or to get to the truth. Not sure how to do the former, the Spymaster comes forth and chooses the second. 

His voice is gentle but firm as he asks once again, “Why?” 

He doesn’t specify what he’s asking in regards to, but you know. Your gaze stays defeated as you push your food around with a spoon. Normally, you’d have glared at him or given him the silent treatment but the sudden withdrawal of Moonshade has sapped your energy and lowered your mental walls. You don’t have the fuel to do much more than mumble weakly, “It makes me feel better.” 

Azriel’s eyebrows furrow slightly at that. “What is it that makes you feel worse?”

You reach for your glass of water, but your fingers are too sweaty to hold onto it tight enough. Shame pools in your stomach at your weakness, but before you can descend into a full spiral, the glass is gently pushed to your lips, Azriel’s scarred hand floating into vision as he tilts the glass while you sip down the water. Only once he rests the glass back on the table, his gaze still watchful and waiting for a reply, do you swallow harshly and murmur, “The same thing that makes most people feel worse.”

He doesn’t seem to appreciate your evasive answer and makes it known. “Which is?”

You stay quiet and take another sip of your soup weakly, your gaze trained on your tray. The conversation is over, at least at your end, and Azriel can’t find it in himself to press you for more when you look as though a large gust of wind would blow you over. His spoon clacks against the bottom of his now empty bowl as he places it in the sink before turning to face you. 

His gaze is neutral and no longer readable as he says, “Take tomorrow off as well. We’ll start your training from day after.” His steps are what you hear like drums in your head as he walks away, leaving you with them, trembling under their unwavering gazes. The temporary safety and comfort his presence brought you had made you feel tethered, more alive than you had felt in years. His absence makes the gap even more prominent, and you can’t bring yourself to crawl back to your room where there are more of them, waiting, watching, numerous eyes trained on you even in the dark, unfamiliar room. You feel fear wrap itself around your heart, and you give in, resting your face in your arms as you bend down onto the dining table, squeezing your eyes shut and pretending like you can’t hear their raspy wheezing or their cold presence at the nape of your neck. Whether it’s the exhaustion, the Moonshade detox, or the knowledge that Azriel lay in his room just down the hall, you manage to fall into a heavy sleep quickly, still bent over in the kitchen chair. Sleep takes over you, and for the first time in a long time, you dream not of rotting corpses or the stench of war but instead of deep hazel eyes and banana pudding.

A/n: lovely dividers are by @strangergraphics <3

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MASTERLIST

Greetings, my name is Jane, I'm 20 years old, go by she/her, and spend a lot of time writing about Azriel and ACOTAR on here.

MINORS DNI

Requests: Open.

Requests are currently open for Azriel.

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Azriel

↠ I bet on losing dogs (Masterlist)

A/n: The lovely banners and dividers were made by @cafekitsune and @strangergraphics respectively <3

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I bet on losing dogs (Masterlist)

A/n: So excited to share this story with all of you! Let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

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MASTERLIST | moths + ferns 002.

( requested by → @scp116 )

finally a blue set of the moth and ferns masterlist dividers :D. sorry it took me so long with this ... and also i dunno why i didnt include it in the original post haha !

others : 001 / 002 / 003

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I bet on losing dogs (I)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: drug use, abuse of substances, mentions of sex (under the influence, not with Azriel).

Word Count: 2.1k

A/n: Here's the first part of my new pet project, the 'I bet on losing dogs' series, which will be a multi-part fic (Azriel x Reader). Let me know what you think! Credit to @strangergraphics for the gorgeous dividers <3

Next Part: Chapter Two

Series Masterlist: I bet on losing dogs (Masterlist)

His eyes hadn’t left your frame once. Not once. 

You feel panic start to strangle your windpipe.

He knows. He has to. 

You know your mouth is parched, but you’ve already reached for your glass of water thrice in the last twenty minutes, and his eyes have tracked your motions every time. You swallow again in vain, your tongue like sandpaper in your mouth. The room is fuzzy, the edges dulled. Dimly, you can hear someone laughing. Your drugged-out brain thinks it’s Mor, but you can’t really be too sure when you’re like this. That’s happened once or twice before. You’ve taken to your bed in the past, where you start with one man in between your legs and then look down to see another, with no memory of the exchange or the time passed in between, if any. Mor’s comment is replied to by someone whom you can’t point out at the moment, leading the table to burst into guffaws. Your shoulders curl into yourself slightly as you try to suppress the way you flinch at the sound, but one quick glance his way lets you know that you were unsuccessful. His hazel eyes are narrowed and filled with suspicion as they fix their gaze on yours. The sober part of your mind knows what it will seem like if you look away but you just can’t meet his gaze for any longer. Shame and dread swirl inside you at the recognition in his eyes and you know you are caught when his voice, soft and lethal, cuts through the room clearly as he says, not asks, “You’re on something.” 

You swallow harshly, clenching your fists to steady your trembling hands under the table as you manage to push the words from your mouth, but it sounds like it’s coming from somewhere far away. “Pardon me?”

In the back of your mind, you think you attempted a confused smile, but with how many drugs flow alongside your blood, you doubt it was anything more than a harsh grimace. He seems unimpressed with your reply as he continues to stare you down, his piercing gaze more pronounced in the silence. With a jolt, you realise the whole table has gone quiet, and every set of eyes is fixed on you. 

“You’re high.” he says quietly, and once again, it’s not a question. 

You open your mouth to defend yourself and lie because, according to that voice in your head, that’s all you’re good for, when you hear Feyre’s shocked voice pluck you out of your spiral. 

“Y/n?” Her voice is quiet and full of disappointment “What’s Azriel saying? Is it true?” 

You swallow harshly and try to meet her gaze, but the drugs limit your senses, and you have a distinct feeling you’re looking five inches in the wrong direction. You try to laugh it off, your voice sounding shrill and unnatural to your ears as you choke out, “Of course not!” 

Their silence is suffocating, wrapping you in a noose of their disappointment and hurt, and your guilt, with Azriel’s accusatory gaze acting as the final blow in the coffin, still heavier than the others as you repeat weakly, “I’m not high!” 

Azriel’s voice floats to your ears again, a clear command. “Try again. With more feeling this time.”

His mockery makes the table tense and to your utmost horror, you feel the familiar lump of emotion form in your throat as you keep your gaze cowardly fixed on the table. 

Their judgment feels like a physical weight on your shoulders. Rhysand’s voice is quiet and deadly as he says, “I can smell it in your scent. It’s all wrong”, in a tone he has never directed at you before. 

You have to flutter your eyelids shut to stop the room from spinning, your palms clenched around the edges of your chair tightly. “I’m sorry”, you hear yourself whisper under your breath, but from the sharp intake of air from Feyre and the others, you know without a shadow of a doubt the jig is up. 

Feyre’s voice is quiet and deadly as she demands coldly, “Look at me.” This is not a request from your friend, and is instead a command from your High Lady. Your eyes flick up to meet hers, her face blurry in your tainted vision. 

However, her eyes are clear as day and are filled with scorn as they glare down at you. “How dare you”, she breathes, “How dare you come to my house and dine under my roof, with my newborn child in the same room, while you sit there, swaying in your seat, pumped shock-full of all the drugs you could possibly get your hands on!”

You shrivel under her scathing gaze as she continues, “I can’t believe you right now. I-“ her rant is ceased only when Rhysand cups her soft hands in his larger ones. His eyes are filled with comfort as he presses a kiss to the forehead of his mate as she clutches a newborn Nyx in his swaddle to her chest protectively, as though she suspects you might try to pounce on him. 

A flare of indignation spikes through you but is quickly drowned by your guilt and your fear. 

Rhysand’s violet eyes, earlier shining with comfort and love for his mate, now turn onto you, growing darker with anger and disappointment, a clear threat swimming in those purple hues. “You are to vacate that shithole you call an apartment despite the numerous attempts Feyre and I have made to finance you; and shift your things to the House of Wind immediately.” Smoke practically steams out his nostrils as he continues in the same deadly tone, “You will begin training and help out in the library, under Azriel’s supervision.” He turns his eyes up to the heavens, frustratedly.

“It worked once. I am foolish enough to hope it will work once more.” You dare to flick a glance down Nesta’s way at that, and her face in unreadable as her steel-grey eyes bore into you. Rhysand’s face flicks back to you as he finishes, leaving no room for argument. “You are never to so much as be around mirthroot again, much less whatever hard crap you were poisoning your blood and tainting your scent with. Your scent, it’s grown twisted, like decay.” He says with some concern seeping through the admonishment, “This needs to stop, y/n and it needed to be stopped yesterday.” His voice tightens, “And it will be stopped now. This is the last high you will ever have. Make the most of it.” He snaps and stands up, throwing his napkin into his plate, before taking his still crying mate by her hand and marching out of the dining hall. Following his example, the others all make their exits with concerned and certain members sending more contemptuous looks in your direction. Soon, it’s only him and you left, seated in your chairs at the table. Throughout all this, the weight of his gaze hasn’t left you once. The lump in your throat gets better, and you begin to feel that familiar sting in your eyes as you pray for them to stop, and try and blink them away unsuccessfully. Your head is tilted forward, allowing your hair to swing further in front on your sides as you try to hide to the best of your ability. He doesn’t let you. 

“Why do you do it?” He asks quietly. 

Flashes of those rotten, terrible images shoot through you, faster than you can block. You feel the air leave your lungs, and you have to manually force yourself to breathe as you sip your water instead of answering. From the corner of your eye, you see him dissolve into his loyal shadows before reappearing in the empty seat directly to your right. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his skin brushing your covered thighs, somehow still sending shocks down your spine. 

“Why do you do it?” he asks again, his voice the most gentle you’ve ever heard. The urge to answer him rests on the tip of your tongue, but the idea of inner circle knowing, of being locked up; the memory of such a terror seizes in your throat. You can feel the bone-chilling cold of the Cauldron, and then the pain, oh, the pain. The never-ending, ceaseless, raw pain. The wood of the cupboards. The musty smell of mothballs, the lack of air as you had struggled to breathe -

“Hey.” and suddenly, you are not locked in that cupboard, and you are not submerged in the Cauldron. Azriel’s face looms before yours, his nose brushing against yours, hands cupping your warm cheeks as his hazel eyes pierce through your walls, his worry unmasked and shining through. “Where did you go?” 

You swallow back a sob as you struggle to keep your face from crumpling. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin dinner. I just wanted it to stop!” A sob breaks through you despite your attempts to suppress it as far as you can. 

“Stop what?” his voice reverberates through me as he grips your jaw and forces your face up to look at his. “What do you need to stop?”

You have to force yourself to smile through a sob, while the sinking truth that you can never tell him the real reason behind your body and mind’s instinctive desire for the drugs, settles in your chest like a stone. “Life’s just more fun with a little bit of their help.” you wink cheekily as your heart cracks into two when you see the disappointment flicker on his face. 

Azriel is quiet for a long, heavy pause, his gaze hardening with every following moment of silence from your end. When he does speak, his words are quiet and full of promise when he says, “I know you’re hiding something. You’ve not told us something important. I think whatever it is, it’s the reason you can’t spend more than fifteen minutes without being coked up on that shit. And one thing you should know about me, y/n,” he says with lethal determination, “if I want to know something, I will find out. It’s not a question of if; it’s a question of when. So I’ll let you lie to my face tonight, but just know, when you finally get what this is all about, you’ll pay for every lie you give me now.” 

You can’t help the way your breath hitches as he leans in real close before he growls quietly into your ear, his lips moving against your hair, “But then again, you’re into that sort of thing.” His teasing remark is once again not a question, but a statement and sends a slow shudder racking through you that you unsuccessfully try to hide from his watchful gaze.

You can’t stop the way your body trembles, cold flooding back into you as the warmth and hard planes of his body leaves while he leans back into his chair, his thighs spreading to make space for him as he does so. You feel something tighten in your core despite this haze of drugs clouding your senses. His gaze is heavy, full of something you can’t quite place as he watches you, before it slowly morphs so that you’re aware, even under the influence, that you are no longer in the presence of Azriel, but rather of the respected, and with good reason, feared, Spymaster and Shadowsinger of the Night Court. He slowly stands to his feet and towers over you, your head craning back to look at him instinctively. His hand comes to cup the side of your face as he strokes his thumb along your cheekbone tenderly, his gaze calculating and steeled with determination as he stares down into your eyes. “You will be fun to break.”

And with that promise, he spreads his impressive wings and swings out the window, flying into the night sky, leaving you to ponder the weight of his words and dread the sure changes to enter your life as soon as dawn arrives.

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celestial themed dividers requested by @losingmygrasponreality

please like and credit if you use, reblogs are appreciated! thank you! 💕

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PATTERN BANNERS | galaxy.

okey, I love this set so much, I’m so happy with it. I love all things space and stars and galaxy related. I have many colour sets coming so keep an eye out for those ! i really like what i did here ahahahah. 🤍🤍🤍

colours : 001 / 002 / 003 / 004 / 005 / 006 / 007 / 008 / 009

feel free to use; please like, reblog, and credit 〜

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Tumblr Code.

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lonely

Azriel x fem!Archeron!reader

SUMMARY: Reader, the second Archeron sister, finds herself overwhelmed by the sight of her sisters in their respective happinesses one day. Luckily Azriel stops by her room in time to comfort her.

WARNINGS: feelings of loneliness (real), fluff, Azriel being hot (that’s a given), slight suggestiveness at the end, first time writing

NOTE: hey, i’m diri! been sort of a silent spectator on this tag for a while but then i wrote this and thought hell why not!!

WORDS: 2.5k

main masterlist PART 2

•••

The emptiness of loneliness burned hollowly in my chest, blooming when I entered my room at last, stumbled onto my bed.

Pathetically, I just wanted what my sisters had. I didn't dare show it, but I ached to be held, loved, to love fiercely and be happily, healthily devoted to someone.

I wanted to be touched and adored. I wanted to build a life with someone. To not have to look, wish, hope, or dream about it anymore.

My knees curled up under my chin as I sat there in the nest of my bedding, looking blankly at the wall as the tears came.

I hadn't realized that I had been softly weeping until the knock came to my door. Fuck. I heard his soft, beautiful voice announcing himself, asking to come in.

When I don't reply, frozen in terror that he'll come in and see me in this state, Azriel calls my name again in question. I know he can sense me behind the door, and when I sniff, he calls lowly, "I'm coming in."

Panic sweeps through me as he pushes open the door, eyes falling on me in concern as I wipe at my face. The book he borrowed from me goes from his hand to a side table as he comes to me, forgotten. "Hey. Hey, what's going on?" he asks with the softest tenderness I've ever heard him speak. To know that it was reserved for me makes my chest ache for it even more, and another little sob slips from me. He sits on my bed and reaches for me, hands going to my arms and rubbing up and down.

“I’m sorry,” I croak, shaking my head and trying to draw back and wipe my face. He doesn’t release me.

“No,” he says firmly, squeezing my arms. “No, you’ve done nothing wrong. Let me help you.”

I shake my head again, can’t seem to stop, trying to wave him off. “It’s not something you can help with,” I rasp. “It’s my own shit, I’ll deal with it—“

“Tell me what’s going on.” His tone brooks no argument.

I can’t speak for a long moment, for several long moments. The words are embarrassing, stuck like molasses on my tongue. To say them would be to humiliate myself. But he isn’t relenting. I realize that five hundred years of extracting information from people as spymaster had made him patient in a way I could never outpace.

“It’s just hard,” I finally settle on, not quite processing my own words. “It’s hard seeing them—my sisters, I mean. Sorry, I think I’m just tired, out of it—“ He shakes his head with a squeeze of my arms.

“Stop trying to excuse your feelings. It’s merely how you feel,” he murmurs, watching me carefully. A breath puffs uncomfortably in my chest, but I go on.

“I’ve always made myself content in the fact that something like that didn’t really happen to people like me. I’ve never known why,” I rasp, the color finally rising in my cheeks as I gear up to admit, “But I’m—“ I choke. “I just see them and I feel so lonely.”

His expression shutters and his eyes soften. “Sweetheart,” he whispers, stroking my arms. To hear that word from his lips is already a shock, but knowing it’s directed at me makes me fall apart more.

“I’m not one for self pity, ever,” I get out as another cry raises the pitch of my voice. “I just feel so alone.”

A huff of a sigh leaves Azriel’s lips and he draws me forward. “Come here.”

My breath shudders in my chest as I try not to lose it, try to calm myself as the tears stream hotly down my face. “I’m sorry,” I whisper again. “I feel ridiculous. It just hurts sometimes. Right here.” I rub my chest where the hollow ache is.

He hums and soon I’m in his arms. He gently scoops me onto his lap and tucks my head into the crook of his neck. He’s so warm, so strong, and smells so good that I shudder again and let myself break in his embrace.

His hushing and stroking over my hair lulls me as every bad feeling seeps out of my body. He holds me quietly until my crying ceases, until my shaking stills. Until I am merely breathing tiredly against him.

I could fall asleep like this, could die peacefully here. His hand strokes my hair again. “Feel better?” he asks, his voice a quiet rumble that rumbles in his chest, therefore mine.

I blush profusely at how ridiculous I’m being, but make no move. I nod. I can’t move, can’t look at him. I must be the silliest, most ridiculous woman—female, I correct mentally—at my age that he’s ever seen. He’s centuries old and has a better grip on things than I do. I know he feels bad for me, but any respect he had before must have loosened considerably in the minutes he’s seen me in this state.

As I’m trying to overcome my embarrassment, he strokes my hair softly and begins on a murmur, “I get this way too. I feel it right in my chest, like you said. I have for a long time.” I don’t dare breathe or move. He’s revealing very vulnerable feelings and I fear one move will scare him off. He sighs. “It is difficult—seeing everyone pair off and be happy. Just as difficult to see my brothers as it is for you to see your sisters that way. But you aren’t alone. You’re never alone.”

I sigh, whispering haltingly, “I know. But—it isn’t the same, is it?”

He shakes his head. “It isn’t,” he concedes, “But you shouldn’t doubt that you’ll find that. You’re more than deserving of it.”

A little flutter in my chest, and of all things, a smile blooms on my face. “You are too, Azriel.”

I feel his smile against my hair.

I sigh and draw away even as my body screams in argument, not looking him completely in the eye. “I really am sorry. For—this.” I gesture nonsensically between us, eyeing the wet stain at the collar of his shirt with a small wince. “I really am not usually like this,” I grumble.

His soft chuckle draws my eyes to his face, and I find him looking down at me softly, amusedly. “I know. You’re usually very formidable, self-assured. It was a surprise to see you so…” I raise my brows as he searches for the word, something he usually never has to. “Weighed down,” he settles on.

I don’t know what to say. I settle on a small shrug of my shoulder as I take my sleeve and wipe my face again, sighing as a calm settles over me again.

When I glance back over at him, he’s still observing me quietly. “What?” I croak.

“Nothing,” he says softly with a shrewd yet not unkind look in his eye. “It’s just funny.” I frown, but he continues on before I can interrupt. “You give yourself a private moment to let it out, then you reset. Like nothing happened.”

I feel a heat in my face at the accuracy.

“It’s funny because, well,” he shrugs, “It reminds me of myself.”

I glance warily over him with questioning tilt of my head. “You don’t seem like the type to deal in self-pity. Or crying at all for that matter,” I reply wryly.

His lip curls in amusement, and something hot curls in my stomach at the sight of it. My expression remains carefully composed, as it always is. “I have my moments,” is all he says.

I roll my eyes, shifting on the bed and sniffing. “Cryptic as always too.”

His laugh is quiet yet rumbling, and even though we don’t touch anymore, I feel the sound tumble deliciously through my muscles and bones, all over my body. “There she is,” he practically drawls, mirth lighting his hazel eyes. Cauldron bloody boil me.

Then he softens again. “But know that anytime you feel like this, you don’t need to wait for a private moment to yourself. Come talk to me,” he offers. Tingling warmth blooms in my chest. In my handful of years since turning fae and finding my place in Velaris, he’s been a kind but somewhat infrequent friend due to his busy nature. “What you feel isn’t anything to be ashamed of, and I’d rather you not bottle it all up.”

I eye the impenetrable Spymaster again, brow raised. “Bit of the pot calling the kettle black, aren’t you?”

He laughs in earnest now, and I watch in wonder as it lightens his features. And again that sound—

I’d been careful not to let my foolish mind not delve too deep in daydreaming about the silent, beautiful specter I had met in my house in the human lands those years ago. Everything about the fae then and even now had just seemed so elevated above my little life. And as hard as I worked, as skilled as I had become with my new body and abilities, I still felt like a complete novice, like a schoolgirl amongst grown men and women most days.

So no. I would not be the fool that fell for the male way above her very modest level, not when I knew he’d be too nice about it, and make me feel even more like the fool.

“What are you thinking about?” his voice breaks through my reverie. He’s eyeing me with amusement now, and a hint of fondness.

I force the heat creeping to my cheeks way down within the depths of myself, determined not to make more of a fool of myself than I already have. “Just wondering why you came in here. I wasn’t—“ A blush rises to my cheeks in earnest now. “You couldn’t hear me crying from the hall, could you?”

He shakes his head, hands creeping forward over my bedspread as though to placate me. “No, no. I just came to return the book you let me borrow,” he replies gently, and again my eyes fall to the book he had dropped on the table near my door as he came in to comfort me. Oh. Right. “You were right. I did like it.”

A small smile creeps up on my lips. “Of course I was right.” He chuckles again, and I relish that I can make him do so.

“Will it inflate your ego terribly if I tell you that you have surprisingly good taste?” he drawls. I let out a playfully indignant noise and gently shove his shoulder.

“Says you. You may be quiet, Shadowsinger, but don’t think I haven’t noticed you peacocking more than once,” I toss back. He draws closer with a little grin. Holy fuck.

“Well when I’m as talented as I am, why shouldn’t I?” he purrs, the most Rhys-like I’d ever seen him. I hold onto my composure for dear life.

“Yeah, well, you can take your peacocking and incredible talent off my bed and out of my room,” I retort with a scowl, shooing him as I fight blushing like a schoolgirl. He laughs, but slides smoothly off my bed and stands, hands raised in mock surrender.

I realize then that he had taken me from my depressive state, comforted me until I calmed, then goaded me until I smiled and bantered with him again.

His eyes go from mirthful to soft, and a beat passes where he’s looking down at me still sitting on my bed, and me at him. His lips quirk. “I’m glad you’re alright. Come to me with anything. I mean it,” he reiterates with gentle firmness. I nod my head.

He begins to leave, but I blurt his name and he halts. As soon as he looks at me again, I murmur, “Thank you.” He nods his head once, eyes kind.

I expect him to turn, to leave. But he steps toward me. I still as his hands gently hold the sides of my head, and he drops a single kiss to my hairline. I don’t move or breathe until he leaves the room with one last look at me over his shoulder.

My door snicks shut and a rush of breath leaves my mouth as my hands fly up to my face. My back finds the duvet.

I was fucked.

—

Azriel walks leisurely down the hall from her room back to his once more, musing on the hour that had just passed in her room.

He’d always found the second Archeron sister to be the most interesting female he’d ever met.

Clever, strong, funny. Beautiful, absolutely, in her own way. She was interesting to look at—that counted far more than conventionally beautiful.

The kind of person you don’t let get away.

He’d have to play this carefully. Had he had thoughts these past two-three years about the fact that they were both the remaining unmated ones of their respective sibling units? Yes. But he knew that even as it drew the two of them together in a careful dance around the line, it could also end very poorly if that was the only assumed reason that he wanted her.

Which it wasn’t.

Sometimes he curses that of his brothers, he hadn’t met her first. He could have, should have wooed her. Then, at least he could be enjoying the same felicity his damned brothers were currently enjoying with two of her sisters.

But she’s proving to be a tough one to crack.

It was no matter, he decides. He hadn’t failed to notice at least some attraction on her part. But she brushes off most things with a clever joke, much to his frustration.

Tonight had been a step forward. Even as it had killed him to see her in such a state, he thanked every bit of fate that led him to her room as she had been breaking.

So he could be the one to hold her, put her pieces back together.

He could have held her in his arms, in his lap until the day he died.

But he knew getting her to come back out, to grin and tease him again was more important than his selfish desires. And gods, what a sight she was when she did.

It was no matter, he thinks to himself again. He’d be patient. He’d be the person she’d lean on until he could make her want him. Maybe she’d allow him to touch her in the way he envisioned in his most needy moments in the dark of night. He enters his bedroom and sighs.

Fuck. It might be another one of those nights after all.

•••

NOTE: hey so uhhh if literally anyone cares i’ll make a part 2

[moonlitscrolls]

i think what i’m most excited abt for acotar 6 is seeing rhys and cassian react to gwyn cooking az a full mating feast,,, stale soup and a pocket cracker vs gwyn cooking Az’a fav Illyrian recipe ugh can sjm just give us something, ANYTHING already im losing my mind here

[moonlitscrolls]

Key

✧ - Angst

❁ - Series

♡ - Fluff

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Azriel

✧❁ Shadows Between Us: Y/N’s world shatters when the mating bond snaps into place with Azriel, her brother Cassian’s best friend, and the one person who doesn’t want her.

Pt. II

Pt. III

♡ ​​Wrapped in You: When Y/N offers to help Az with his endless work, she only wants to ease his burden—but her closeness tests every ounce of his restraint.

♡ Language of Love: After a rough day, all Y/N wants is to disappear into her favorite chair and forget the world. But Azriel knows her better than anyone, and he reminds her that sometimes love is in the little things.

♡ Sweetest Devotion: Love—love had been a choice, a slow-burning reverence that consumed him even after lifetimes, even after death itself.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊

Cassian

✧❁ A Line Between Us: Y/n thought she could bury her feelings for Cassian beneath years of playful banter and endless training sessions. But when a single misstep shatters their routine and forces them into a moment too intimate to ignore, the boundaries between friendship and something more begin to crack—and neither of them are ready for the fallout.

Pt. II

​​Pt. III

♡ Drunk on You: Girl's night at Rita's gets a little too out of hand, need I say more?

✧❁ Breaking Point: The training grounds hold more than just the clash of steel; they’re a battlefield for unspoken fears and unchecked emotions. When tensions erupt between Cassian and Y/N, raw truths and bitter accusations threaten to unravel the bond they thought unbreakable.

Pt. II

Pt. III

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Rhysand

✧❁ A Taste of Silence: Rhys's drunken words cut deeper than any blade, leaving Y/n questioning everything she thought she knew about their bond. As heartbreak and betrayal collide, she faces a choice that could shatter the fragile threads holding their world together.

Pt. II

♡ Fragile King: When Rhys’s walls finally crack under the weight of his own pain, Y/N feels every moment of it through their bond, despite his efforts to keep her from it.

✧❁ Words We Can't Take Back: When trust is shattered, and words cut deeper than any blade, Y/N walks away from Rhysand, leaving him with a storm of guilt and regret. But when danger strikes, and her life hangs by a thread, Rhys is forced to face his deepest fear—losing the one person who means everything.

Pt. II

♡ Always, My Darling: Sometimes, love means letting someone else carry the weight—if only for a moment.

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Mini Series:

Oneshot Playlist: Based on the album Short n' Sweet by Sabrina Carpenter.

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Want to join my tag list? Drop a comment or check out this link to submit a specific series you would like tagged in! (Or if you just don't want to comment, that's okay too)

[moonlitscrolls]

i think the main thing that makes me so anti elriel as a ship in general is that in all of their interactions, if you replace elain it really makes no difference. like every interaction they’ve had, it’s cannon that azriel was drawn to elain because of the whole 3 brothers - 3 sisters line of thinking. if the third sister was any other character, that’s who would be the object of Azriel’s lust and fantasies - and there’s a reason why I say lust and not love. Azriel’s a Spymaster, at his core he’s someone who observes and makes plans and sees things that others don’t - the fact that he’s made no plans, not even thought about a future with elain beyond his sexual attraction to her is SO telling in my opinion. not to mention all of their interactions fall so flat on the page - SJM writes romance far too well for this to be unintentional, especially when you compare it to his interactions with gwyn.

when he falls for gwyn, it’ll be because of who she is, her strength of character, her resilience, her kindness and her courage. with elain, it’s because he’s lonely and desperate for a companion now that his brothers have both found their mates, and his whole hang up with the third sister being his mate, and the fact that she reciprocates his attentions after him having pined for mor for centuries - none of his attraction to her beyond her looks is specific to elain herself. pairing the two of them together would be a huge disservice to both the characters,,, thank you for coming to my ted talk lmfao