#A Court Of Thorns And Roses

[illyrianbitch]

ARE WE STILL FRIENDS? SERIES MASTERLIST

─────── · · STATUS: "on-going"

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: You and Azriel have been best friends for centuries.

So when he found someone new, a female named Selene, you wanted to be happy for him. But something felt… off. And when you finally voiced your concerns, it didn’t go the way you expected.

An emotional argument. A messy fallout. And now, Azriel is doing everything he can to make things right. But something between you has changed—something unspoken, impossible to ignore.

Overview: friends to lovers, miscommunication trope, some grudge holding and petty remarks, angst , groveling az, some serious yearning and longing, inner circle & friendship dynamics. HEA! check specific part warnings for more!

♥︎ Part One ┃5k

Worried about how his new relationship seems to be changing him, you talk to Azriel about your concerns. Things take a turn when he refuses to listen.

♥︎ Part Two┃5.2k

You and Azriel are struggling with the aftermath of your heated argument. Unfortunately, you both cope in very different ways.

♥︎ Part Three┃8.5k

Azriel’s attempts at an apology fall short, Cassian’s advice backfires, and confrontations force both you and Azriel to face uncomfortable truths—though not the same ones.

♥︎ Part Four┃7.3k+

You navigate the aftermath of your confrontation. Azriel takes his first steps toward making things right.

♥︎ Part Five┃7k

A chance encounter offers a break from your tangled thoughts about Azriel. Meanwhile, Az reaches a pivotal realization.

♥︎ Part Six┃Soon

Current Word Count: 33,036

Asks, Discussions, and Thoughts: #awsf? tag!

if you would like to be added to the tag list, feel free to reply here ♥︎

[surielstea]

Spelling it Out

Based on a request.

Pairing: Cassian x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is a bit oblivious to Cassian’s flirtations, so Cassian has to go the extra mile to prove he truly wants her.

Warnings: Cassian probably makes some suggestive jokes somewhere in here, but it’s all fluff! :)

4.6k words.

"I brought coffee," I announce as I step into the studio's warm embrace, the door swinging shut behind me to keep the morning chill at bay. I balance the two cups in one hand, the other cradling the new set of paints Feyre had asked me to pick up this morning.

"Back here!" Feyre's voice carries from the storage room, muffled slightly by the rustling of cardboard.

I follow the sound, stepping into the small back area where she's surrounded by half-unpacked boxes. She exhales in relief as she rushes up to me, taking her coffee with eager hands.

"You're a lifesaver," she groans, lifting the steaming cup to her lips. "Thank you."

I set the paints down, glancing at the boxes. "I thought the shipments were too heavy to unload?"

Feyre hums around her coffee, eyes twinkling. "Oh, I had help—"

Before she can finish, a figure stalks through the doorway, his presence effortlessly filling the space. A box—one that Feyre and I together had struggled to move—rests in his arms like it weighs nothing.

"This should be the last one," the male says, setting it down with casual ease.

His voice is deep, rough-edged in a way that demands attention. I take in the broad cut of his shoulders, the way his wings shift behind him, arching slightly as he straightens. And then I see his face—hazel eyes rich as molten gold, a scar cutting through his dark brow, and a mouth curled into an easy, knowing smile. He's ruggedly handsome, but not in that delicate, ethereal way most High Fae are. No, he's something else entirely—something solid, real.

"Help from Cassian," Feyre finishes, amusement lacing her tone.

The name stiles me immediately, and I was a fool for not immediately putting it together the second I saw him. Cassian. Lord of Bloodshed.

He turns his gaze to me, openly assessing, and I take the opportunity to do the same. There's something about the way he looks at me, like he's mapping every detail—filing it away for later.

"I didn't know we'd have company," I say, forcing my focus back to the present. "I would've brought another coffee."

Cassian huffs a soft laugh. "Oh, no need. I've been up for hours." His voice carries the same warmth as his grin, rough yet inviting. "But that's a kind gesture."

I nod, offering a small smile in return.

"I don't believe you two have officially met," Feyre chimes in, shifting her attention between us. "Cass, this is my very talented friend. She keeps this place running."

"She gives me too much credit," I say, shaking my head.

Cassian, however, tilts his head, his expression unreadable. "I doubt that." The certainty in his tone knocks something loose in my chest.

"This is Cassian," Feyre continues, grinning. "Rhys' brother and the best guy to call for lifting heavy things."

Cassian makes a sound of protest. "Don't forget hilarious, intelligent, devastatingly handsome—I mean, the list goes on."

I huff a quiet laugh as he extends his hand.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Cassian." I smile as I take his hand.

His fingers close around mine, warm and calloused, his grip firm but not overwhelming.

"Likewise, sweetheart." His smirk deepens, and before I can pull away, his thumb brushes ever so slightly over the back of my hand—a touch so fleeting, so deliberate, that I almost convince myself I imagined it. Then he winks, a quick, knowing thing, before finally releasing me.

I swallow, ignoring the odd flutter in my stomach. I've heard the stories from Feyre, how when she originally arrived in the night court she may as well have ended up with Cassian with his relentless flirting. He's joking, I remind myself. That's just how he is.

Cassian dusts his hands off on his leathers before flashing me an easy grin. "You must be the one keeping Feyre sane around here."

I huff a quiet laugh, setting down the paints. "I do my best. But she keeps me busy."

"She does that," he muses, glancing at Feyre. "Though I didn't realize she had such a beautiful assistant."

I blink at him, caught off guard. "Oh—I'm not really her assistant. More like a glorified errand runner."

Feyre scoffs. "That is not true."

Cassian's gaze flicks back to me, assessing. "You're an artist too, then?"

I nod while shucking off my winter coat and hanging it on the back of a chair. "That's the idea."

His grin widens. "Now I'm definitely going to start hanging around more. I could use a few painting tips."

Feyre snorts. "You paint?"

"Not yet," he says, unbothered. "But I'm a fast learner. And I've always appreciated a good work of art."

Something about the way he says it, about the way his hazel eyes flick over me like he's taking his time, makes my stomach flutter.

But before I can respond, he flashes me a smirk, turning back to Feyre. "Anyway, mission accomplished. Boxes are in, and I fully expect my reward."

"Which is?" Feyre asks dryly.

Cassian smirks. "Your eternal gratitude. And maybe a good bottle of whiskey, if Rhys is feeling generous."

Feyre rolls her eyes, but I can't help my smile.

"How about next time we need your help, you'll be the first one we call?" I suggest, noticing Feyre's playful disinterest in rewarding him for being a good friend.

Cassian grins like I've just made his day. "Oh, sweetheart. You can call me anytime."

His voice drops just enough to send an odd warmth curling through my stomach. But before I can overthink it, he turns toward the door.

Cassian turns slightly, glancing at me and Feyre. "I'll be seeing you around, hopefully." He directs at me. "See you for dinner, Feyre."

And just like that, he's gone, leaving only the scent of wind and cracking embers in his wake.

I shake my head, amused, as I turn back to Feyre—only to find her already watching me over the rim of her coffee cup.

"What?"

She only smirks, taking a slow sip. "Nothing."

I frown but brush it off, reaching for the new paints.

Cassian was just being friendly. That's all.

Right?

—

From that moment on, Cassian made every excuse to come to the studio. Half the time, he didn't even bother with a valid reason—just threw out a casual "I was in town" when, in reality, he always was. Velaris wasn't nearly as big as he made it out to be.

The bell above the door rang, and I didn't need to look up to know whose footsteps were approaching behind me.

"Is that supposed to be a bird?" Cassian mused, leaning over my shoulder.

I scoffed, shoving his face away. "It's a dog, and you know it."

He chuckled, easily dodging my half-hearted push and settling right back beside me. "Mmm. If you say so." His wings rustled as he peered at my work again, this time with something softer in his expression. "It's amazing, sweetheart. You're so damn talented."

The sincerity in his voice made my stomach flutter. I tilted my head back to look up at him, caught off guard by the rare note of awe in his tone.

That awe melted into something else—something warm and teasing—as he placed both hands on my shoulders and started kneading gently.

I nearly groaned on the spot. "Gods, you're perfect at that." I exhaled, practically melting under his touch.

Cassian hummed, his thumbs working expertly over the knots in my shoulders.

I sighed blissfully, rolling my shoulders into his hands. "You should've been a healer."

He chuckled, his breath fanning against my ear. "I'd rather just take care of you, sweetheart."

I smiled, tilting my head further into his touch, completely missing the way his fingers stilled for a beat before continuing their slow, deliberate strokes.

"You really are tense," he murmured, pressing into the tight muscles just beneath my neck. "Is this what happens when you spend all day hunched over, painting little dogs that look like birds?"

I smacked his arm lightly. "If you're going to insult my work, at least pretend to be subtle about it."

"Who said anything about insulting?" His thumbs dug in a little deeper, his voice dropping just enough to make my skin heat. "I love watching you work. All focused, biting your lip, completely lost in it."

I wrinkled my nose. "That makes me sound like some kind of absent-minded hermit."

Cassian grinned. "A very cute absent-minded hermit."

I rolled my eyes. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Cassian."

"That's funny because I feel like it's getting me everywhere," he mused, his hands still kneading at my shoulders. "You're practically purring."

"I am not purring," I argued, though I made no move to stop him.

"Cassian, stop distracting my employees!" Feyre's voice rang from the back room, laced with exasperation.

Cassian smirked, straightening up from where he'd been massaging my shoulders. "Employee," he corrected with a lazy grin. "And I'm motivating her."

I rolled my eyes, but the warmth of his hands still lingered on my skin, a phantom pressure I refused to dwell on.

He chuckled, stepping back, stretching in that way that made every muscle in his absurdly broad body flex just enough to be noticed. His wings flared slightly, shifting behind him like an afterthought before he shot me another smirk. "I'll let you get back to it, sweetheart." Then, with a slow tilt of his head—"Unless you'd rather take a break and let me keep working these magic hands?"

My breath caught for half a second before I forced myself to scoff. "No," I said, ignoring the small blush creeping up my neck. "But... could I ask you a favor?"

Cassian perked up instantly, arms folding over his chest. "Anything, gorgeous."

I hesitated, suddenly second-guessing myself, but forged ahead. "I need to paint an anatomical feature I've been studying. I have a few reference images, but..." I swallowed, glancing at his wings. "I was hoping I could use you as a live model?"

His brows lifted, hazel eyes gleaming with intrigue. "My wings?"

I nodded. "Your wings are far more magnificent than the sketches in my book."

The moment the words left my mouth, I realized how they sounded—how appreciative they were—and my face went hot.

Cassian, of course, took full advantage. His wings stretched slightly as if preening under the attention. "You just trying to get me shirtless, sweetheart?"

A very unhelpful image flashed in my head—of him, shirtless, all sculpted muscle and golden skin, wings fanned out behind him in the studio's soft light.

"No!" I blurted, before catching myself. "I mean—it's just for the wings."

Cassian barked a laugh, shaking his head. "Only teasing, sweetheart. I'd love to."

I exhaled in relief. "Good. Are you free tomorrow?"

He tilted his head, grinning. "I'm here whenever you want me."

Something about the way he said it made my stomach flip.

I bit my lower lip slightly, nodding. "Thank you."

"I wouldn't thank me so fast," he mused, gaze flicking to me with unmistakable mischief. "You owe me after this."

I narrowed my eyes. "Owe you what?"

Cassian made a show of looking away, tapping his chin as though deep in thought. "Haven't decided yet," he hummed, lips twitching. "But don't worry, sweetheart. I'll think of something."

I huffed, waving him off. "Go bother someone else, Cassian."

He gave a dramatic bow, smirk firmly in place. "As you wish."

And with that, he sauntered off, wings twitching ever so slightly as he disappeared into the back of the studio—leaving Feyre standing there, watching me, amusement dancing in her eyes.

I turned back to my canvas, heat still prickling my skin.

—

I wasn't nervous.

There was no reason to be nervous.

It was just a painting. Just a model session. Nothing different from the dozens I'd done before.

Except, of course, this time the model was Cassian. And he was currently standing in the doorway of the studio, a lazy, devastatingly handsome grin on his face as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Told you I'd be here whenever you wanted me."

I cleared my throat, turning away quickly to gather my supplies. "Yes, well, I'd rather not have students knocking over easels trying to get a look at you, so we're setting up in the back."

He let out a low chuckle as he followed me. "What, afraid they'll get distracted?"

I rolled my eyes. "No, but I know you will."

"Fair point."

Once we stepped into the back room—where there were no prying eyes or interruptions—I pointed to the stool in the center of the space. "Sit there, facing away from me."

Cassian obeyed, but not before flashing me a smirk. "Getting bossy already?"

I ignored him, busying myself with setting up my canvas. "You can take off your shirt now."

"Damn, sweetheart—at least buy me dinner first."

I froze mid-motion, whipping my head around. "That's not—I didn't—"

Cassian just laughed, reaching over his shoulder to grab the back of his collar. In one smooth motion, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it onto a nearby table.

I regretted looking.

Because Mother above.

Cassian was made of solid muscle—thick, powerful shoulders, his back broad and sculpted as if the Cauldron had taken extra care in crafting every ridge, every dip, every inch of him. His wings, folded neatly against his back, only added to the sheer size of him.

I swallowed hard, thankful beyond belief that he was facing away.

"You good back there?" Cassian teased.

"I'm fine," I said, maybe a little too quickly.

I turned my attention to his wings. The pose needed to be just right—relaxed but natural, something that would emphasize their power without looking stiff or unnatural. I stepped forward, lifting my hands, then hesitated.

"Can I touch?" I asked softly, if there was one thing I learned from studying Illyrian anatomy it's that their wings were sensitive, sacred.

Cassian went still.

For a moment, there was silence. Then—so quiet I almost missed it—his breath hitched.

When he spoke again, his voice was different. Lower. "Yeah, sweetheart. Go ahead.

I exhaled slowly before pressing my fingertips to the strong, leathery membrane of his wing. Warmth radiated from him, the muscle beneath my touch twitching slightly as I carefully adjusted his positioning.

It was... exhilarating, in a way. To be granted access to something so personal.

I stepped back to assess the placement. "Are they too heavy to hold like that?"

Cassian laughed. "That's adorable."

I frowned. "What?"

"Sweetheart, these wings have carried me through battle, through storms, through the Illyrian mountains at full speed. I think I can manage to hold them still for a few hours."

I huffed. "Fine. But will you be able to sit still?"

That earned me another chuckle, this one softer. "Guess we'll find out, won't we?"

I shook my head and finally picked up my pencil, settling in front of my canvas.

"Alright," I murmured to myself, letting my nerves melt away as I focused on the work ahead. "Let's begin."

The soft scratch of pencil against canvas filled the room, steady, rhythmic—an anchor keeping me grounded as I worked.

I started with the shape of his wings, mapping out their vast expanse, the way they framed his body like an extension of his very presence. The leather stretched taut over powerful muscle, lined with delicate veins and faint, nearly imperceptible scars.

I shouldn't have been staring so intently.

I shouldn't have been so utterly captivated by every detail of him.

And yet, as I let my pencil glide over the page, shaping the curve of his shoulder blades, the slope of his spine, the corded muscles of his back... I couldn't stop.

He's just a model. Just another subject.

Then why did my fingers tremble slightly when I shaded the deep ridges of his scars? Why did my chest tighten at the thought of what he must have endured to earn them?

Cassian shifted slightly, flexing his shoulders, his wings twitching.

I snapped out of my daze, scowling. "Sit still."

He huffed a laugh. "I don't think I've ever sat this still in my entire life."

I hummed in response, refocusing. Carefully, I traced the lines of his back, the contours of muscle that spoke of centuries of battle, of training, of dedication. My gaze flicked up to his wings again, and a quiet sigh escaped me.

"What's that sound for?" he asked, the amusement clear in his voice.

I hesitated, then admitted, "They really are beautiful, you know."

Cassian stilled for a fraction of a second before letting out a soft chuckle. "Careful, sweetheart. Keep saying things like that and I might start thinking you actually like having me here."

I rolled my eyes. "You act like I don't."

Silence.

A pause, just long enough to make my stomach flutter with uncertainty.

Then, "Good. I like being here."

I pressed my lips together, pretending that warmth hadn't bloomed in my chest at his words. Pretending that I wasn't getting lost in the strong, elegant lines of his body.

I dipped my brush into the paint, moving on from the sketch to the first careful strokes of color.

Cassian's voice broke through the quiet. "You know, if you wanted a full anatomy study, you could've just asked."

I blinked, pulling back slightly. "...What?"

He turned his head just enough to smirk at me over his shoulder. "You're painting my back, too, aren't you?"

My cheeks heated. "Well—yes, but—"

"Seems unfair to only get half the view."

I huffed. "I don't need the full view, Cassian."

His smirk deepened. "That's a shame. I'd be a very cooperative model."

I nearly choked on air. "Just—shut up and sit still."

He laughed, the sound warm and rich, settling in my bones.

I shouldn't have been enjoying this so much.

I shouldn't have been admiring the golden-brown glow of his skin, the way the light cast soft shadows over the planes of his back. I shouldn't have let my eyes linger on the scars that marred him—proof of all he had endured, of everything he had survived.

And I certainly shouldn't have wished that all his teasing, all his flirtation, was anything more than just casual banter.

Cassian was like this with everyone.

Wasn't he?

I was not going to let Cassian distract me.

Even if he was currently sprawled in front of me, shirtless, his wings stretched just so, his body the most stunning thing I'd ever painted.

Even if his words curled around me like smoke, warm and teasing, making my thoughts race in ways they shouldn't.

I swallowed hard and turned my attention back to the canvas, forcing myself to focus.

I just had to finish the painting.

And ignore the way my heart had begun to beat just a little too fast.

The rhythmic strokes of my brush filled the quiet space, punctuated only by the occasional scrape of bristles against canvas and the steady sound of Cassian's breathing.

Nearly an hour has passed, and to his credit, he'd been holding still remarkably well. Mostly.

"You're awfully quiet back there, sweetheart," Cassian mused, his voice carrying just the hint of a smirk. "Not getting bored, are you?"

I huffed, dipping my brush into a deeper shade of pigment. "I'm working, Cassian."

"I am your work right now."

I rolled my eyes. "And you're a very high-maintenance subject."

Cassian chuckled. "I prefer engaging. You should be thanking me, really. Keeps things from getting dull."

I let out a soft laugh despite myself. "You're half-naked in front of me, Cassian. Things aren't exactly dull."

Silence.

A beat too long.

I froze as I realized what I'd just said.

Cassian's wings twitched. Then, "Well, well."

I groaned. "Forget I said that."

"Oh, absolutely not." He turned his head slightly, just enough for me to catch the smug curve of his lips. "You just admitted to being entertained by me. I'm savoring this moment."

"I said forget it."

"Nope. It's mine now."

I sighed, glaring at the canvas like it had personally wronged me.

Cassian chuckled again but thankfully let it drop, settling back into his position.

A few minutes passed in something almost resembling peace. I worked on layering in the first washes of color, the warm tones of his skin against the deeper hues of his wings.

Then—"So, do I get a say in how I'm portrayed?"

I lifted a brow. "Are you worried about artistic liberties?"

"A little."

I fought back a smile. "I could make you look very dramatic, if that's what you're asking. Add some storm clouds in the background. Maybe a tragic tear rolling down your face."

Cassian snorted. "As tempting as that sounds, I'd rather not be mistaken for some brooding, tortured soul."

I hummed. "That is Azriel's aesthetic."

"Exactly. We can't both have it."

"I don't know," I mused. "I think it could work. Maybe a single candle for dramatic lighting—"

"Absolutely not."

I grinned, but before I could make another remark, Cassian stretched, his wings flexing slightly before tucking back into place. The movement was so fluid, so casual—so utterly him.

I quickly went in with another light sketch, wanting to capture the way his muscles moved, the effortless strength in his frame.

"You still with me back there?" he teased, amusement lacing his voice.

"Yes, Cassian. Some of us are capable of focusing."

"Some of us just don't need to focus that hard to admire what's in front of us."

I frowned slightly, not quite catching his meaning. "What?"

He chuckled. "Nothing, sweetheart."

I shook my head, deciding not to press it.

"Alright," I finally said, leaning back to study my work. "I have the basics down. You can put your shirt back on now."

Cassian made a low, exaggerated noise of disappointment. "Damn. And here I was hoping you'd need me to pose for a few more hours."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't sound too heartbroken. I will be making you sit for another session later."

His grin was wicked. "You just can't get enough of me, can you?"

"Shut up and put your shirt on, Cassian."

He laughed, grabbing his discarded shirt—but the knowing look in his eyes told me that he'd be holding onto this moment for a long time.

And for some reason, I didn't mind one bit.

—

Cassian came in for many sessions after that.

I probably could've finished the painting on my own after the first few sittings, but he insisted I get all the colors right, all the details perfect. And, well... I wasn't exactly going to complain about having him shirtless in front of me for hours on end.

So, day after day, he showed up, sauntering into the studio with that insufferable smirk, stretching his wings like he owned the place. And I let him, indulged him—indulged myself—until the painting was finally finished, until there was no reason for him to sit for me anymore.

The thought left a strange hollowness in my chest, but I ignored it, focusing instead on adding the final highlights to his wings.

Cassian shifted in his seat, rolling his shoulders.

I glanced up. "Getting restless?"

He grinned. "You gonna keep me trapped here all day, sweetheart?"

I smirked. "You're free to go anytime." I glanced at the painting. "But you'd be leaving unfinished art behind, and that would just be tragic."

Even though all I had left to add was a small, near-invisible highlight, I liked the idea of keeping him there just a little longer.

Cassian chuckled, shaking his head. "Fine, fine. I'll sit still for you a little longer."

Something in the way he said it—for you—sent a ripple of warmth through me, but I shoved it aside. I exhaled, finally setting my brush down.

"Alright," I said, stretching my arms. "You're officially free."

Cassian groaned dramatically, standing and rolling his neck. "Finally." He grabbed his shirt, but instead of putting it on, he slung it over his shoulder, turning toward me with that insufferable smirk. "Is it done?"

I turned the easel slightly toward him.

It was hard to admire my own work. After staring at it for so long in every unfinished form, I wasn't sure if I loved it or if I just loved the image I had painted. But I could say I was proud of it. That was enough.

Cassian stepped closer, blinking at the still-wet canvas. His brows lifted, his mouth parted slightly. He didn't speak, didn't crack a joke, didn't smirk like he usually did.

I shifted under his gaze. "Well?"

He inhaled, slow. "Sweetheart..." He sounded almost reverent. "It's... it's beautiful."

A laugh bubbled from my lips. "You're only saying that because it's you I painted."

"No—I mean, I am beautiful, but this is... magnificent." His voice was softer than usual, quieter.

Something flickered in his eyes as he turned toward me, something warm and fond. It was enough to make my stomach flip.

I swallowed. "Thanks, Cass."

His grin returned. "Proud of yourself?"

I nodded, offering a small smile. "Yeah. I am."

His wings twitched. "Good. You should be."

A comfortable silence settled between us for a moment, the weight of his words pressing into me in a way I wasn't sure how to handle.

Then Cassian cleared his throat, stretching his arms over his head. "Now that it's finished..."

Something about the way he said it sent a prickle of anticipation down my spine.

He grinned. "...About my favor?"

I groaned. "You actually kept track of that?"

Cassian scoffed. "Sweetheart, I'd never forget a promise like that." He crossed his arms over his broad chest, eyeing me like he was scheming. "And I know exactly what I want."

A slow, lazy smirk curled his lips.

And for some reason, my stomach flipped all over again.

I raised a brow, waiting.

Cassian took a step forward. Then another.

My stomach flipped. "Okay?"

"I want you to go out with me."

I blinked. "What?"

His smirk deepened. "That's my favor. You and me. A date."

I stared at him, sure I'd misheard. "You're joking."

"Nope."

My heart did something strange, something uneven, and I let out a short, breathy laugh. "Cassian, you flirt with everyone."

"Not like this." His voice was quieter now. Steady.

I swallowed. "But—you're just messing with me. You've been messing with me this whole time."

Cassian sighed, running a hand down his face. "Gods, you're impossible." Before I could react, he stepped closer, hands coming up to cup my face, thumbs brushing my cheeks.

My breath hitched.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, tilting my chin up slightly. "Listen to me. I have not spent weeks finding every excuse under the sun to come here, sitting shirtless for hours just so you'd look at me, calling in a whole-ass favor just to take you out—just to mess with you."

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

Cassian's thumbs brushed against my skin again, his hazel eyes locked on mine. "I like you. I want you. And I swear to the Gods, if I have to spell it out anymore, I'm going to start carving it into the damn walls."

I let out a breathless laugh, my face burning. "You're serious."

His lips curled. "Took you long enough."

I exhaled, shaking my head slightly. "I—"

"Just say yes, sweetheart," he murmured, voice teasing, but there was something else in his gaze—something warm, something steady. Something real.

I swallowed hard. Yes."

Cassian grinned. "Good choice."

His hands lingered on my face for just a second longer before he pulled back, grabbing his shirt off his shoulder and throwing it on. He shot me one last smirk as he backed toward the door.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow after your class."

And with that, he was gone, leaving me standing there—heart racing, mind spinning, trying to process the fact that Cassian had actually just asked me out.

That all this time, he hadn't been messing with me at all.

Feyre was going to laugh at me for not catching on sooner when I tell her.

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[inkedinshadows]

Helloooo hope you’re doing well 💝💗

I was wondering if you can write for azriel ( from the prompt list) 2 and 4? I think it would be such a cute idea, and you would write it so well (love u)

thanks for ur time!! 💝💝

Life's Bright Side

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

A/N: I love u too anon, I'm doing well and I hope you are too 🫶🏻 I had so much fun writing this one and it didn't even take me that long bc one thing about me is that I'm a sucker for slice of life 🤭

Prompts: "Baby, I love you, but please go to bed."* + "You're always so cheerful... it's kind of adorable."

Warnings: none, just fluff

Word count: 1.1k

*had to change it to "go to sleep", hope you don't mind <3

Azriel had never understood how you did it.

Your day had been a long one. He hated the Court of Nightmares, but more than that, he loathed seeing you in such a place. His bubbly, chirpy mate didn't belong among those cruel, scheming people.

Yet you never let the occasional visits bother you. While he returned from the Hewn City brooding and in a foul mood, you were the opposite.

He watched as you danced through the room, the dim light catching on the sparkly black dress you were still wearing. You were softly humming a melody to yourself, a simple tune you had picked up yesterday while strolling along the Sidra with him.

A small smile tugged at Azriel’s lips. Even without trying, you always managed to lift his spirits. His shadows were already swaying in time with your song.

He remained silent as he undressed, listening as your humming turned into quiet singing—whispered words he couldn't quite make out, but he was fairly sure you were making them up as you went.

When he looked back up after pulling on his sleeping clothes, your dress had been exchanged for a nightgown and you were perched at the vanity table to remove your makeup. One leg crossed over the other, your foot bounced in time with your tune.

“How do you do that?” he asked, unable to stop himself.

Your eyes met his in the mirror, a small smile forming as you wiped the cotton pad over one eye. “Do what?”

Azriel shrugged, stepping up behind you just as you stood. He wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on the top of your head.

“You’re always so cheerful,” he murmured, meeting your gaze in the mirror again. His lips quirked. “It’s kind of adorable.”

You chuckled before turning in his arms. “Life's too short to be grumpy and pessimistic.” Pressing a kiss to his lips, you added, “You should try it sometimes, my love.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He leaned down to stop your teasing with another kiss, but you slipped out of his grasp and padded toward the bathroom.

“Baby, you're immortal,” he pointed out, following you to lean against the doorframe while you washed your face. “How is life too short?”

“Well, it's not,” you conceded, turning off the faucet. Azriel waited patiently as you dried your face before you continued. “But maybe tomorrow a vase will fall from a balcony while I'm walking underneath it, hit me in the head, and kill me instantly.”

Azriel raised a brow.

“What?” you said with a smile. “You never know. Just because it's unlikely doesn't mean it's impossible.”

He shook his head, but he couldn't stop the slow smile forming on his face. “I'm beginning to think you're crazy. Not cheerful, just straight-up crazy.”

“And it took you this long to figure that out?” You grinned, patting his arm as you tried to slip past him.

Tried, because Azriel caught you before you could, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush against him. A sound that was both a laugh and a yelp escaped you as he lifted you without warning.

“Listen,” you tried to defend yourself, though it was hard to speak between fits of laughter. “All I'm saying is that everything has a bright side. We just have to look for it.”

Azriel carried you to the bed, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. Gently, he lowered you onto the mattress and leaned over you.

“Oh yeah?” he mused. “So what's the bright side of a vase falling on your head?”

You shoot him an incredulous look. “It made you laugh,” you said simply. “You picked me up and carried me to bed. And now you're on top of me. It’s my favorite position, I'll remind you.”

Azriel’s low chuckle skittered along your skin. “This is not your favorite position, my love.”

You grinned. “You know me so well.”

With a shake of his head, he shifted off you and lay beside you, pulling the blankets over you both as you reached to turn off the lights.

In the dark, you nestled close to him. Your back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped snugly around you, and you reached down to intertwine your fingers with his. Your thumb traced slow, idle circles over the back of his hand.

“Did it work though?” you whispered into the quiet. “Did I get your mind off the Hewn City?”

Azriel breathed in the delicate scent of your shampoo as he brushed a kiss to your shoulder. “You did. Thank you, my love.”

“I could always give you something else to think about if you need it,” you suggested.

He didn't, actually. But something in your tone—the slight note of amusement, perhaps—made him question what you were up to.

“Is it going to be another one of your ridiculous questions?”

He could picture your smile as you replied, “Maybe. Do you want to hear it?”

Azriel took a deep breath, knowing he would regret it but still curious to find out what you'd come up with this time. “Let's hear it.”

You didn't answer right away. He felt you squirm slightly in his arms and realized you were trying to stifle your giggles. When you finally settled enough to speak, your voice was so pensive that Azriel braced himself.

“If you wake up tomorrow,” you began, “and find out I've been turned into a giant spider, what would you do?”

Azriel sighed. This was his fault, after all. He had encouraged you.

“That's even worse than the last one,” he muttered.

“You said I would make a lovely worm.” You hummed. “But what about a huge spider? Or wait, even better, a Middengard Wyrm?”

His arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer. “Baby, I love you, but please go to sleep,” he murmured, though his lips betrayed him with a faint smile.

Your soft laugh echoed in the silence. “Alright, alright,” you conceded. Azriel thought that was it, until you added, “The question is trickier and you need to think about it. I get it. You can tell me the answer in the morning.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, but his smile was now impossible to hide. You felt it against your skin as he kissed the nape of your neck.

If entertaining your nonsense questions before falling asleep was the price he had to pay to be with you, then he'd gladly endure them again and again just to spend another night by your side.

It was just like you'd said. Everything had a bright side if only he looked for it.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[solbaby7]

Slipping Away

pairing: azriel x reader

[ masterlist ]

[ part one ]

warnings: mentions of poor mental health, probably swearing, underlying sexual themes, angst babe

summary: You've been drowning for a long time and finally someone notices

—

There’s a rooftop garden just above the townhouse in Velaris and you’re not quite sure why you’ve never bothered to visit it until now.

A blissfully unaware city lives just beyond it, past the stone walls and dense privacy fence made of cypress trees. The residual sounds of their freedom hits your ears, nothing more than distant chatter that carries along a brisk breeze.

Even that is enviable—the way they exist with no regard of the space they may take up.

Makes you try a little harder when you apply paint to canvas; desperate to feel what they must when mimicking the light reflecting from their souls.

The city twinkles, stars shining so bright that they seem to just hang from the sky like pearls, some pulsing with rich ruby tones and others glimmering with amethyst. Bridges and buildings glow from the marbled sheen of the moon, its beam breathing life into everyone but you.

“Been out here long enough, don’t you think?”

You startle at the voice, its honey smooth rumble shattering the little bubble you’d built around yourself. Azriel stands there in the doorway, unceremoniously leaned against its framing with arms crossed and a brow raised. “I’m not finished.” The words seem to snap you back into reality, limbs a little shaky from the recoil that takes place when a tethered soul hastily returns back to its meat suit.

You close up like a clam, all but throwing your paintbrush into the water dish and body blocking the entirety of your canvas.

Surely he notices the change in body language, he’s kind enough not to mention it. Wings shuffle in a touch closer to his form, subconsciously retaining heat from the bitter chill in a motion so natural you can’t help but be reminded of how many centuries he’d endured in such weather. “Maybe so, but it’s cold out and you don’t even have a coat.”

He’s not wrong and at the mention of it, you finally seem to notice the goosebumps dotting your flesh. Bare arms and exposed ankles, feet with no shoes and fabric too flimsy to properly stave off the effects of such elements. “Guess I was just too focused to even notice.” Maybe it’s the calm way he just lingers there that allows your body to unfurl from its tense stance, shoulders drooping and spine less rigid as you ease back down in your seat. “I’ll make some tea when I’m done.”

He moves like smoke, inaudibly despite his massive physique but his presence is unmistakable. It forces the hairs on the back of your neck to raise at attention, encourages your heart-rate to rise and you struggle to decipher if the feeling that emerges is fear or attraction. “Stay out here as you are much longer and you’ll become a permanent fixture.”

Every move he makes is done with such intention, shadows slyly distracting you when playfully nudging at the edge of your paint palate. They steal your attention—forcing you to lurch forward to prevent the array of colors from falling—long enough for Azriel to conjure up a sweater, one soft and warm and distinctly his.

The action is done so naturally it robs you of words, eyes widening in surprise while confusion scrunches up your features. Your brain scrambles for a feasible explanation, subconsciously stretching your arms into the thick cashmere sleeves until you’re moving on autopilot and shoving it over your head.

A content smile ghosts overs the corner of his mouth. “I had a feeling you were good,” Azriel confesses softly, directing the conversation with too much ease and there’s no time to feel out of place when he’s nudging you aside, putting you exactly where he pleases to take in the painting in its entirety. “But, this is remarkable.”

Every inch of you screams to reject this, to pack up your supplies and scurry off in search for solitude because the longer Az’s stare lingers on the softly blended shades of rich dandelion and warm ochre; admiring the gentle shine from metallic golds, it feels like he’s reading straight from the most intimate pages of your journals. Flipping through private confessions, evaluating personal entries and reading them aloud to a crowd of observers for judgement.

Two fingers trail the line of your collarbone until the cool chill of metal can be felt against your fingertips, nails tracing the contours of the key dangling from your neck. The action is repeated once, twice, a third times before the anxiety of anyone going through your things finally disperses.

Arms cross over your chest, words distant and clipped in attempts to create space. It doesn’t help, cloaked in his clothes, the only thing your brain can seem to focus on is the fact that last time you and Azriel had been alone—he’d almost kissed you. “It’s incomplete.”

Azriel hums, a low sound; not agreeing or disagreeing but still acknowledging. “What do you do with them when they’re done then? Can’t imagine you’d be the type to hang them up.”

Music plays from within the city, delicate strings and soulful drums. Even from where you stand you can see the faes and faeries dancing idly along the cobblestone. They saunter out of cafés and shops, stumble out of bars and clubs. This moment in time forever frozen on canvas, your eyes flicker back and forth—so close and yet still something is missing. “I throw them away.”

“What? Why?”

A jerky shrug is your only reply, trying to see whatever he could within the brushstrokes but all you find are flaws. Lines where your hands had been shaky, shading that no longer matches as the muse constantly shifts.

“There must be a reason?” He prods. “No point in spending so much money on supplies just to toss what you make with them like trash.”

“Not sure why you care—it’s not your money being wasted.”

You expect something like irritation to grace Azriel’s features but all you can find is amusement. He doesn’t bristle at the thorns you prick him with, only chuckles at the blood you draw. Not deterred in the slightest by your bite, he continues to poke and prod at your restraint; all but scruffing you like an unruly cat until all the fight has been wrung out. “Suppose not, it’s just very telling.”

Eyes roll so hard you can feel the strain. “Don’t tell me we’re doing this again? I’m not particularly interested in another round of your evaluations.”

“It’s not my fault you’re so easy to read.”

“Sure,” you shrug, fingers digging into soft cashmere. “But, it’s definitely a you issue when it comes to being so fucking nosy.”

A beat of time passes. A scream sounding from within the city; this playful, jubilant noise that feels like a blade being sliced through your sternum. Cutting through bone and embedding itself in squishy soft tissues until iron eviscerates whatever’s left of your neglected heart.

“Is it really such a crime to care about you?”

Azriel watches every inch of you go still. Can see the exact moment your defenses go up—those walls you keep, growing taller and taller. It’s reinforcements suiting up and taking their post with weapons readied; waiting for the word to attack. “It is if I can’t figure out what you want in return.”

He sighs, breath shuddering from his lungs as though the answer physically pains him. “I just want you to be happy.” Bare palms wipe at the thighs of your dress, wet paint smearing against pale material but you don’t seem to mind in the slightest.

It’s not exactly concerning but Azriel finds it very telling, acknowledging your lack of concern for material items. No personal affects to hold you down. The way you wander around so detached from reality as if you were a ghost existing around mortals.

Cracks fissure along the brick wall of a barricade you’ve placed up. The foundations wavering. Gates crumbling under the pressure of his eyes boring into the side of your face as if he could see the destruction within. “They never really feel good enough to keep.”You finally confess, voice softer than Az had ever heard it before. “Like something about them is missing.”

He keeps staring at it, scanning and scanning the shapes formed in wet paint. One finger hovers over a spot near the corner, a small slice of the balcony from your point of view. A perfect replica of the iron railings, flourishing flora, even the quaint little seating arrangement. “You. It’s missing you.”

[shadowedpetals]

Today's highlight 🌸🦇

[thisblogisaboutabook]

The Epilogue is here!!!!!

Bad Idea, Right?

Series Masterlist

Angst - Fluff - Smut

18 years and older only, MDNI

Eris x Reader (Azriel’s Daughter)

Eris Vanserra never intended to have a one night stand with the daughter of the Shadowsinger, he certainly didn’t intend for it to become a recurrent thing, and he absolutely didn’t intend to fall in love with her.

But the Mother only knows that things never go according to plan. When the sneaky rendezvous between the two is discovered by the Inner Circle, chaos and tension ensue. A bargain is struck between the Autumn and Night Court High Lords under the condition that Spymaster and his daughter are not to be made aware of the details. Unfortunately for Eris, the Night Court has eyes and ears everywhere.

When a particularly nosey (albeit adorable) little Illyrian spreads word of the bargain, Y/N must decide whether this hook-up is worth all of the secrets, and if there could be something more between them.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 7.5 - Prequel Headcanon

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Epilogue

[lucychanart]

flower harvest🪻

[shadowsingers-mate]

In the Fire's Embrace (Elucien Fic)

Summary: In the heart of battle, amidst steel and fire, Elain is seized by a vision—her body frozen, her mind lost to the storm of prophecy. Lucien is by her side in an instant; becoming her shield, her sword, her sanctuary.

A/N: The fabulous artwork used in this fic was made by the lovely @works-of-heart . Kudos to you, I love everything you create. Link to her artwork is here. Go and show some love to her creations!

The battlefield smelled of blood and steel, of burnt flesh and magic thick as storm clouds.

Lucien had long since stopped trying to count the bodies. His blade was slick with blood, his muscles ached from the relentless dance of war, but he did not stop. He could not stop. Not when Elain was here. Not when his mate—his delicate, steel-spined mate—had insisted on coming to the front lines.

He had fought wars before. He had seen battles more gruesome than this, had survived hellscapes that would have driven lesser males mad. But never—not once—had he been this afraid.

Not for himself.

For her.

Elain.

She had stayed behind the main assault, positioned where the healers worked frantically over the wounded, where the risk was supposed to be minimal. But something had pulled her forward—some invisible force, some call in her bones that Lucien could feel through the bond. It had yanked her away from safety, had made her steps quick and desperate, her breath uneven.

And then—she froze.

Lucien saw it from across the battlefield. Saw her go still, her hands limp at her sides, her eyes wide and unseeing.

Terror slashed through him.

He ran.

His body moved before his mind could catch up, dodging spells, blades, the screams of dying soldiers. He cut down anyone in his path, uncaring of how many fell before him.

Because Elain was not moving.

He reached her just as an enemy lifted a blade to strike—

Lucien’s roar tore through the battlefield.

The male did not even have time to register his mistake before Lucien was upon him. With a brutal, vicious slice, he severed the soldier’s hand from his wrist, then drove his sword into his chest. Blood sprayed across the dirt, the male’s body crumpling at Elain’s feet.

She did not react.

Lucien barely noticed as he turned, blade flashing, cleaving through another enemy that dared step too close.

Elain was still standing there. Lost. Her pupils were blown wide, her chest rising and falling in short, rapid breaths.

A vision.

Lucien had never seen one take hold of her this way. Never seen her so utterly consumed, so paralyzed by whatever images had seized her mind.

And she was defenseless.

A war waged around them, soldiers surging in from every direction, and she stood in the middle of it all, an unmoving target.

Lucien moved.

He grabbed her, his arm a band of iron, sweeping her into his arms, pressing her against his chest, shielding her from the chaos. His other hand lifted his sword once more.

"I've got you," he murmured, his voice thick, wild, as he pressed his lips to her temple.

She did not respond.

Lucien braced his legs and fought.

With one arm locked around her, he became a living, breathing shield, swinging his blade with deadly precision. His muscles burned, his wounds screamed, but none of it mattered.

Because his mate was in his arms, vulnerable, and there was nothing—nothing—he would not do to protect her.

A spell arced toward them—dark, curling magic meant to kill.

Lucien snarled, twisting them both so his back took the brunt of it, fire licking along his spine. His teeth ground together, the pain sharp, searing—but Elain did not feel it.

She did not so much as flinch.

"Come back to me, sweet girl," he rasped against her hair, his voice barely audible over the din of war.

He could feel the vision holding her captive, could feel the distance in the bond—like she was slipping further, further, into something he could not reach.

"Elain." His voice was raw, desperate.

Another soldier lunged. Lucien pivoted, his grip tightening around her waist as he swung his sword in a deadly arc, slicing through the male’s throat. Blood splattered across his face, hot and sticky, but he did not loosen his hold on her.

Never.

Another attack. Another. They came like a tide, relentless and hungry, and Lucien fought them all, his body a barrier, his blade an executioner.

His breath was ragged, his heartbeat wild, but he did not stop.

Because she was in his arms. And he would burn the world before he let it take her from him.

Another arrow shot toward them. Lucien barely had time to shift, taking the hit to his shoulder with a sharp grunt.

"Come back," he growled against her ear, tugged at their bond. "Come back, Elain. I need you."

She did not respond.

Fear crawled up his throat. His grip on her tightened. What if she did not return? What if whatever had stolen her away would keep her?

Lucien’s chest ached, but he only held her tighter to him, his voice breaking as he whispered, "You are mine, Elain. And I am yours. Come back to me."

A gasp.

Her entire body jerked.

Lucien’s heart nearly stopped.

Elain’s fingers curled into his armor, her breath sharp and uneven. He felt her return to him through the bond, felt the awareness slam back into her fragile frame.

And then—her voice. Small, shaking.

"Lucien?"

The breath he released was shattered. His forehead dropped against hers, his chest rising and falling in frantic, desperate relief.

"I’ve got you, sweet girl," he whispered, his hand cradling the back of her head, his fingers curling into her hair.

Her entire body trembled against him.

Lucien swallowed hard, pressing another kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then the corner of her mouth—quick, frantic kisses that were more reassurance than anything else. "You are with me. You are safe," he assured her.

But there was no time.

The battle was not over.

Lucien lifted his head, scanning the battlefield. He was bleeding, panting, but he did not let her go. He would never let her go.

His free hand lifted his sword once more.

"Stay with me, Elain," he said, voice dark, fierce, trembling with everything he could not say.

Her fingers curled tighter into his armor. "Always."

And with his mate clutched against him, Lucien turned back to the battle.

And he fought.

[houseofwindweek]

When the Valkyries met...

Nesta was in a huge fight with her sisters, and thought she deserved to be hated by them forever

Gwyn had just lost her twin, her only family, her other half

Emerie had grown up with only male relatives, and was dealing with the loss of her mother.

When the Valkyries met, each of them was in desperate need of one thing: Sisters 🩶💚🩵

[shadowedpetals]

Too obvious 🌸🦇

Sarah's Foreshadowing

Acomaf :

Answer in Hofas:

=Rhysand is the heir of the Dusk Court.

The bone carver Acomaf :

The Answer in Hofas:

=The cauldron is corrupted.

This is to show how simple Sarah's foreshadowing is, it doesn't really need mind gymnastics. So is the case of the Feysand scene in Acowar, foreshadowing Elain's bond rejection. Feyre looks directly to Elain and Az, saying why not make them mates, what if it's that what she needs. The Cauldron isn't a perfect matching system, and Rhys explains that the mating bonds differ. So is the case for Elain's book being next. 'Shall I tend to my little garden forever,' 'Find me when you wish to begin,' 'Let's focus on helping one sister before we start on the other' ...

[sjmromanceweek]

They're best friends. Do you think they were ever anything more? Tell @sjmromanceweek running Feb 8th-Feb 14th!

Artist: emiliesnaith_art

[inkedinshadows]

In the Arms of Dawn

Pairing: Cassian x f!reader

A/N: aaa I'm finally sharing these eheh! Thank you @anarchiii for this request, I loved writing it (and hopefully it's enough to be forgiven for my last fic?🥺) As usual, I yapped lol

Prompts: "Get up. This is not place to die." + "I don't know how to do this without you." + "Don't tempt me." + angst + smut

Warnings: blood, injuries, nightmares, oral (f receiving), p in v

Word count: 2.3k

Cassian lay on the ground, bleeding profusely from a gash in his stomach.

His hands pressed down on the wound, but blood seeped through his fingers and pooled beneath him, staining the dusty ground.

Your own hands were covered in red from trying to help him, but to no avail. You didn't have healing magic and you couldn't even winnow. The battle still raged not too far from where you had managed to drag him, and you had no idea where Rhys, Azriel, or even Mor were. No one was coming to help you save your mate.

“You can't die,” you pleaded, cradling his face between your hands, not caring that you were smearing his cheeks with blood.

His eyes fluttered open, but all that escaped his lips was a groan.

“You can't die,” you repeated. “Cass, please…”

The tears you had been trying to hold back finally spilled over and rolled down your cheeks, but you refused to let that stop you. You would find a way to save him. You had no idea how, but begging and pleading wouldn't get you anywhere.

“You have to leave,” Cassian rasped, his pained gaze meeting your desperate one. His breaths came in sharp pants, but he still forced the words out. “Get somewhere… somewhere safe.”

A flicker of anger sparked in your chest. “Don't start,” you snapped. “I'm not abandoning you.”

“Y/N…” he tried again, but you shook your head before he could say another word.

“No.”

A new determination took hold of you. Cassian wasn't going to die—not on your watch. But you had to be strong for both of you before the situation became even worse.

“Get up,” you ordered, your voice now steady and firm. You wiped away your tears, probably smearing some of his blood on your face, but you didn't care. “This is no place to die. Now get up.”

Cassian blinked once in confusion at your sudden change of approach before attempting to move, pushing himself up on one elbow. It was all he could manage with one hand still pressed tightly to his stomach.

“I… I can't,” he groaned. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as if that small movement had drained what little strength he had left. “I'm sorry…”

Fine, then. If he couldn't get up on his own, you would carry him back to camp. He was too tall and heavy for you to make it on your own, and it would have been a struggle even without the broken wing dragging behind him, but you'd be damned if you gave up on him.

“Alright,” you breathed. “We'll find another way.”

You studied him—the larger wounds, the smaller ones, the right place to put your hands so you could lift him. In the end, you settled on placing one of his arms around your shoulders and wrapping one of yours around his waist.

“I need you to help me with this, okay?” you urged him. You waited for him to nod before continuing. “On three, we stand up. Can you do that?”

Cassian nodded again, though weakly. “I'll try.”

You counted slowly, giving him time to gather a little more strength, and then you both pushed up with your legs. Cassian let out an agonized scream and you stumbled under his weight, but you held on. Your arm tightened around his waist while your other hand gripped the arm he'd draped around your shoulders.

But you were shorter than him and carrying the full weight of a grown Illyrian warrior all the way back to camp seemed impossible.

“One step at a time,” you decided. “But we have to move fast. You just keep your hand on that wound, alright?”

You had no idea how you kept your voice so steady as you took charge of the situation. Maybe it was desperation pushing you to act—to use your brain instead of simply crying like you wanted to do.

To his credit, Cassian tried. He was struggling, you knew that. Each step drew a pained groan from his throat and his wings dragged through the dirt. Blood still spilled from his stomach like water from a leaking faucet. But you both pushed on.

You didn't make it far.

Cassian's steps faltered after only a few feet. “My love…” he croaked, and then he was slumping forward—so suddenly that you didn't have time to steady him.

He collapsed to the ground with a thud and a whimper. You dropped to your knees beside him, turning him onto his back so you could help him up again.

But his eyes were closed and he was panting. You placed your hands over his, pressing down on the gash. His warm, sticky blood coated your fingers once more.

“Cassian,” you called, somehow managing to not lose control—yet. “Cassian, c'mon, open your eyes.”

His lids fluttered, but they didn't open. He didn't say a word. And as the gravity of the situation sank in, so did the despair.

You couldn't get him back on his feet without his help. And even if you did, the camp was half a mile away. You wouldn't get there in time to make a difference. You probably wouldn't get there at all.

“Open your eyes, Cassian,” you tried again, your voice now carrying a hint of the desperation twisting your gut. “Just open your eyes…”

Nothing. No movement, no response. And then you realized—he had passed out from blood loss.

At least he was still breathing. At least you had that.

But what could you do now?

“Please don't die,” you whispered, tears spilling over once more. You rested your head on his chest to listen to the faint, unsteady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Please, I… I don't know how to do this without you…”

Cassian's voice rang in your head like an echo. “Open your eyes.”

You shook your head, eyes still shut as you held him close. His voice sounded so far away, like he was already slipping away from your grasp. And why was he asking you to open your eyes when he was the one who wouldn't?

Then you heard it again, but this time it was all around you, as if he were whispering in your ear but also shouting from afar.

He was repeating your name. Over and over, like a plea.

And then, two more words.

“Y/N, wake up!”

With a jolt, your eyes snapped open. Cassian hovered over you in the faint morning light, his hands on your shoulders as he tried to shake you awake. A wave of relief washed over his concerned expression when he realized he had finally pulled you from your sleep.

“You're alright, sweetheart,” he reassured you. His thumbs brushed your cheeks and you realized only then that you were crying. “It was just a nightmare.”

You threw your arms around him, pulling him back down next to you. You curled up against his chest and buried your face in the crook of his neck while he wrapped you in his arms. His warmth and familiar scent seeped into your senses, soothing you just a little.

For the past ten days, you hadn't been able to shake the feeling that this was the dream: being here with him, both of you alive and well. It had taken him a whole week to heal and you'd spent the entire time next to his bed. But he had been barely conscious, and the nightmares had come to haunt your sleep. It was always the same memory, over and over again.

As soon as he was back on his feet, Cassian had taken you to the secluded cabin in the woods you'd bought together years ago. But even spending the last few nights snuggled up with him had done little to help—to the point that you didn't need to say a single word for him to know what the nightmare was about.

“I'm right here,” he murmured into your hair. “Az found us in time, remember? I didn't die.”

You could feel his pulse from where your head rested against his neck. You let the steady rhythm of his heartbeat envelop you like a reassuring reminder of the life still thrumming inside him, grounding you in the warmth of his embrace.

Cassian stroked your hair and your back, leaving gentle kisses on the crown of your head and whispering tender words in your ear. He gave you time to sort your thoughts out on your own, but he was still there for you, whatever you needed. Just like he always was.

“I guess I’m still scared sometimes,” you whispered after a few minutes. “That the nightmare is real and that this…” You gestured to your entangled bodies. “This is the dream.”

His hands cupped your cheek, lifting your head from the crook of his neck. His eyes were soft when they met yours.

“This isn’t a dream, sweetheart. It’s real.” He peppered your face with kisses, from your temple to your lips. “And I can prove it to you.”

Despite the small smile his onslaught of kisses brought to your face, you frowned. “How?”

Cassian just smirked, and you had to hold back a laugh as you shook your head. “Don’t tempt me, Cass.”

He looked surprised at your response. Pulling back slightly, he raised his brows. “Wait,” he said, “you would be up for it?”

He had been clearly joking then, if your reply had caught him off guard. But as you thought it over, you wouldn’t say no to some intimate time with him. Cuddling was nice, but maybe this was what you needed to stop the memories from haunting you. Cauldron knew how long it had been since the last time you had slept together.

“As you said,” you replied with a smile, “it’s a good way to prove that this is real. And I also miss it.”

Cassian’s eyes lit up and he pulled you closer. “Then let me prove just how real and alive I am,” he murmured against your lips before claiming them in a deep kiss.

He pushed off the sheets and rolled onto you, caging you between his body and the mattress. His mouth moved to your collarbone and you let it ground you in the present, in this very moment. Your mate was here, kissing you, touching you, slowly pushing your nightgown up.

You lifted your arms to help him take it off and his hands caressed your body as he leaned back to kneel between your legs. You watched him pull off his shirt, but your eyes immediately settled on the new scar on his stomach. You had seen it before, but something twisted in your gut anyway.

Cassian noticed the direction of your gaze and covered it with a broad hand. “Hey,” he said quietly, waiting for you to look up at him before he went on. “Don’t think about it, sweetheart. I promise I’m fine.”

He dipped his head between your parted legs, leaving a trail of kisses on your inner thigh, each one sending a shiver through you. “Just focus on me, okay?”

You nodded, trying to relax more. You knew he was right. He was fine now. Yet clearing your mind was easier said than done.

Until Cassian’s tongue flicked out.

He took his time, pleasuring you with slow, deliberate strokes. His hands caressed up and down your thighs before they settled on your hips, his touch firm yet reverent. The lingering tension in your body melted away with every lick, every brush of his fingers, until quiet moans filled the room and the only thing you could think of was his skilled mouth working you toward release.

But Cassian pulled away too soon.

He crawled back up your body, bracing himself on his elbows at the sides of your head, a satisfied grin plastered on his face. “Have I proven it yet?”

You hummed, brows knitted together as you pretended to think about it. “No, not really,” you answered with a teasing smile. “I think I need more evidence before I make my decision.”

“Do you now?” he countered, his smirk only growing. He shifted slightly, and then you felt him—his cock, hard and ready, pressing against your core. With a shallow thrust, he pushed inside, drawing a little whimper from you. “Is this what you were thinking?”

“Exactly this,” you murmured. You pulled him down for a kiss and when your lips touched, Cassian began to move.

It was slow, as if you were both trying to reconnect with each other. His hands caressed your face, your hair, while yours roamed his back, pulling him close like you never wanted to let go. His wings cast deep shadows across the room, blocking out most of the shy rays of the rising sun, and an ethereal golden light danced across his beautiful features.

If it weren't for the pleasure rising inside you as you moved together, you would have sworn this was just another dream. But now you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was real.

“I love you,” you breathed in between kisses.

Cassian pulled back enough to look into your eyes. “I love you too, sweetheart,” he murmured, punctuating his words with a deep thrust.

You moaned, but the sound was swallowed by another kiss. And as Cassian made love to you, you knew the memories would finally remain where they belonged.

Not in the present, waking you in the middle of the night.

But in the past.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[azrielmasterlist]

His Shadows & Their Starlight

Storyline:-(Ver.2.0) Azriel is sitting next to Elain as you sit by the fireplace reading. You've been staying with Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand for the past two months in Velaris. You're a mortal but Rhysand says you have different abilities that no mortal should be able to have. For example, winnowing or teleporting. Azriel is in love with Elain Archeron even though Elain already has a mate.

Word count:- 1.2k

Warnings:- Insecurity, Lonliness, Jealousy, Angst.

Series:- Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Chapter 7: A Glimpse of Truth

Isla's POV

The night air was cool against my skin as I stood on the balcony, arms crossed over my chest. Velaris stretched out before me, glittering like a sky turned upside down. The view, breathtaking as ever, offered little comfort tonight. My mind was a tangled mess of questions and doubts, most of them circling back to Azriel.

Azriel.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop thinking about him. Every interaction left me feeling more confused, more drawn to him despite the walls he constantly erected between us. And his shadows—they were always there, lingering around me like a silent promise, even when he wasn't.

I turned, my gaze falling on the shadows curling near my feet. They danced slowly, as though sensing my turmoil. They weren't threatening or cold. No, they felt... familiar. Safe.

"Why do you always follow me?" I whispered, half to myself, half to the shadows.

They didn't respond, of course. They never did in words. But the way they shifted, brushing gently against my wrist, felt like an answer. They were there because they chose to be. Because they wanted to.

A soft rustle of wings broke the quiet, and I didn't have to turn around to know who it was. Azriel had a way of entering spaces without making a sound, but I always knew when he was near.

I kept my eyes on the city below. "You don't have to keep doing this."

"I wasn't planning to." His voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it as if he was tired of having this conversation.

I turned to face him, unable to stop myself. He stood a few feet away, his shadows swirling restlessly around him as if they couldn't decide whether to stay with him or come to me. I'd never seen them behave this way before—like they were torn between us.

"You always say that," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. "You always act like it's something you can't help. But if that's true, then tell me—why are your shadows always with me? Why do they act differently around me than they do with anyone else?"

He flinched, just slightly, but enough for me to notice. For once, he didn't have a ready answer.

"I don't know," he said after a long pause. "I've never seen them behave this way either."

I stepped closer, my heart pounding. "They're a part of you, Azriel. They don't do anything without reason. So what reason do they have for being with me?"

His gaze met mine, dark and unreadable. For a moment, I thought he wouldn't answer. But then he spoke, his voice quieter than before, as if admitting it was painful.

"They reflect my emotions," he said. "My shadows—they react to what I feel. They always have."

His words hung in the air between us, heavy and charged with meaning. I swallowed hard, trying to process what he was telling me. His shadows reacted to his emotions. Which meant...

"They come to me because of how you feel about me," I said aloud, needing to hear the words, to make sure I wasn't imagining things.

Azriel's jaw tightened. "It's not that simple, Isla."

"Why not?" I demanded. "You care about me. You don't have to say it—I can feel it. Your shadows make it clear enough. So why do you keep pushing me away?"

"Because it doesn't matter," he said, his voice rough with something I couldn't quite name. "I can't... I can't give you what you want, what you deserve. It's Elain—"

"Elain," I cut in, bitterness creeping into my tone. "You keep using her as an excuse. You say she's something special to you, but she's with Lucien. She made her choice, Azriel. Why can't you make yours?"

He looked away, his shadows flickering uneasily. "You don't understand."

"No, I don't," I said, my voice trembling. "I don't understand how you can feel something for me, how your shadows can be drawn to me, and yet you still act like I'm nothing more than a replacement for someone you can't have."

That got his attention. His gaze snapped back to mine, and for a moment, I saw something raw in his eyes—something that made my chest ache.

"You're not a replacement," he said, his voice low and fierce. "Don't ever think that."

"Then what am I?" I whispered, hating how vulnerable I sounded. "Because right now, I feel like I'm stuck in this limbo where you want me close, but not too close. Where your shadows comfort me, but you won't."

He didn't answer.

The silence stretched between us, too loud, too painful. I shook my head, stepping back.

"I can't do this, Azriel. I can't keep waiting for you to figure out what you want. I deserve more than that."

His shadows flickered around me, hesitant, as if they didn't want me to leave. But I ignored them, turning away before he could see the tears gathering in my eyes.

I left the balcony without another word, my heart aching in a way I hadn't expected. I didn't know what hurt more—his reluctance to let me in, or the fact that his shadows still followed me, even when he didn't.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

I spent the next few days avoiding him. It wasn't hard—Azriel was a master at keeping to himself, and I knew how to disappear when I wanted to. But no matter where I went, his shadows were always there, a constant reminder of what I was trying to forget.

It should have been comforting. Instead, it only made the ache worse.

"Isla, are you all right?" Mor asked one afternoon as we sat in the sitting room.

I forced a smile. "I'm fine."

She didn't look convinced, but she didn't press the issue. Still, I could feel her watching me, as if she knew exactly what—or rather, who—was bothering me.

Later that night, when I found myself once again standing on the balcony, I wondered if I'd ever truly be able to move on. If Azriel's shadows would ever stop haunting me.

"I told them to stay away."

The voice startled me, but I didn't turn around. I knew who it was.

"They don't seem to listen to you," I said quietly.

Azriel stepped beside me, his expression unreadable as he looked out over the city. "They don't. Not when it comes to you."

I bit my lip, fighting the urge to ask what that meant. I didn't want to have this conversation again, didn't want to open old wounds that hadn't even begun to heal.

"I'm sorry," he said after a long moment.

I glanced at him, surprised. "For what?"

"For hurting you. For making you feel like you weren't enough."

His words were quiet, but they cut through me like a blade. I looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

"I don't know what this is," he continued. "I don't know what it means, or why it's happening. But I know one thing—I care about you, Isla. More than I should."

I turned back to him, my heart pounding. "Then why do you keep pushing me away?"

"Because I'm afraid," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Afraid of what it means. Afraid of what I'll lose if I let myself care too much."

I didn't know what to say to that. So instead, I took a step closer, reaching out to brush my fingers against the shadows still lingering between us.

"You don't have to be afraid," I said softly. "You don't have to do this alone."

For a moment, I thought he might pull away again. But then his shadows wrapped around my hand, warm and familiar, and I knew that maybe—just maybe—there was hope for us after all.

Taglist:- @donnadiddadog@onebadassunicorn-blog@wintersquirrel@rcarbo1

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Bad Idea, Right? - Epilogue

Eris x Reader/Azriel’s daughter - Light angst - Fluff

A decade after the events of “Bad Idea, Right?” Eris and Y/N return to Velaris for Winter Solstice….. and Azalea goes on her first date.

Part 10 - Series Masterlist

10 years later

My eyes narrow as I look to him, “How are you so amiable to this?”

Eris shrugs- yes, shrugs- as if he’s as casual and irreverent as Uncle Rhys. “A few overgrown bats with snowballs are hardly the greatest obstacles of my lifetime. I think I’ll survive.”

I know he sees how skeptical I am but in true Eris fashion, he doesn’t borrow trouble as we stroll through the wintry streets of Velaris.

“You’re being suspect.”

“Oh, my little Spymaster,” he challenges, “shall you tie me up and interrogate me? I know how fond you are of eliciting both pain and pleasure.”

I can’t hide the slight upturn of my lips as I scoff, “Ever the masochist”

Eris only smirks. I know he thinks he’s won in diverting my attention but he hasn’t. Yet, I’ll let him off for now. I am the one who voluntold him to join in in this years snowball fight after all. Eight solstices we’ve spent together now, it was easy enough to reason that if he ever wanted me to “settle down” he’d have to join in on my families antics, however childish they may be.

What I didn’t expect was how easily he’d gone along with my orders to join them. It’s no secret in our relationship that Eris enjoys submission but that tends to be reserved for the bedroom, not in spending time with my family of busybodies.

I should be pleased by his agreeance but call it “spymaster’s intuition”, I’m not buying it. Perhaps I’ll send one of my shadows to referee.

Before we can make it up the drive Azalea is out the door with a beaning smile running toward us. She’s wearing a purple sweater and black skirt with stockings beneath. Her already long legs are further lengthened by chunky heeled black boots. My sister is gorgeous. She’s always been pretty, but she certainly has grown into her features and managed to snag the best of both mother and father’s genes. Her wings tuck in tight as if to combat the chill of the air.

Eris gets one look at her kohl lined eyes and glossy lips and looks to me with a raised brow, mouthing, “makeup?” As if the idea is absolutely abhorrent to him.

I roll my eyes. “She’s a teenager, deal with it.”

Now it’s Eris’ turn at skepticism, deep auburn-brown brows drawing together slightly. Good, let him be- actually, no, no skepticism. After all, Azalea is the entire reason I’m sending him to the snowball battle today.

“Guess what, Azzie?” I divert my attention to my younger sister. “Eris is going to participate in today’s snowball fight.”

“Yeah, I know.” She replies, fidgeting somewhat anxiously.

“Dad told you?” I ask, surprised my father would mention anything of it. He may have become accustomed to Eris’ presence over the years but to openly discuss his participation, whether welcomed or not, was…. Unexpected.

Azalea pauses for a moment before replying, “Mom did- helped her in the kitchen this morning- she’s packed an extra thermos of cocoa for him.”

A soft smile graces my lips at the thoughtful gesture from my mother and Azalea’s shoulders seem to slacken a bit at that.

Odd.

Before I can press further, father steps out the door, two insulated mugs of cocoa in hand as he stalks down the cobblestone path, stopping to pull me in for a hug and a kiss on the forehead and issue a greeting of, “Missed you, ornery.” before turning his gaze to my mate, looking him up and down with a scrutinizing glare. “That’s what you’re wearing?”

Eris dons a pair of weather appropriate boots, leather trousers, and an autumnal tan peacoat.

“Fucks sakes.” My father mutters before stalking back into the house and swiftly returning with a pair of lined Illyrian leathers - shoving the set into Eris’ hands with no further fuss and continuing down the drive.

Eris flashes me a smirk and pulls me into a warmth inducing kiss, triggering a dramatic gag from my sister before sauntering off after him.

I manage to catch an irreverant line from Eris about having fire in his blood and a gruff reply from my father about leaving his ass frozen in the Illyrian wilderness.

“He had them made for him you know.” Azalea’s voice cuts through my eavesdropping, reminding me that my younger sister is still here.

“He what?”

“Dad,” she gestures to the retreating forms of the unlikely pair, “the leathers, he had Emerie commission them for Eris.”

My heart squeezes. “When did he do that?”

“Years ago,” she shrugs, “Once he realized you two are truly happening and it wasn’t just a ��screw you, dad!’ phase. He had them made in case Eris ever deign to join them for the snowball fight.”

Digesting the information, I can’t help the slight upturn of my lips, “I knew he liked him more than he let on.”

Azalea huffs “Like is a strong word, more like “begrudgingly doesn’t loathe him”

A chuckle escapes me and I realize how grateful I am for this brief one-on-one moment with my sister. “Why don’t we spend time like this together more often?”

Azalea loops her slender arm through mine as we walk along the snow covered path towards the house. “Because if we spend much more time together, items would begin missing from eachothers wardrobes.”

Raising my brow I take in her outfit. “Damn it, I knew that sweater you’re wearing looked familiar!”

———-

The house smells of warm bread and lavender, holiday preparation in full swing. Mother hurries over, fussing over me and taking my coat.

Ever the hostess, I know better than remind her that I’m perfectly capable of hanging up my own coat - thank you very much.

Mother pulls me into a hug and I melt into it, forgetting just how much a mother’s love can soothe the soul. I hope to provide the same sanctuary to my own children someday- but someday is NOT today. We’re immortal, there will be plenty of time for whatever karmic justice I have to face one day, after all the hell I put my own parents through.

And besides- I’m already stressed enough over my little sister, which leads me to the exact reason I sent Eris’ overprotective (and biteable) ass with my father and uncles today.

Azalea has her first date.

She looks to me, worrying her lower lip and I can tell something is bugging her.

“Alright, enough with the nervousness- what’s on your mind, kid?”

Azalea’s eyes roll so far back I’m shocked she can’t see the matter of her brain.

“I’m nearly an adult and it’s nothing. Just my first date, that’s all.” She lies poorly.

I give her my best “scary badass Shadowsinger” glare and she huffs, wholly unimpressed. Dad does it better and honestly, she’s never been affected by his stoic glares either.

Her wings droop slightly and she confesses, “I think Clara likes him.”

Oh- oh. That’s not good. Clara and Azalea have been best friends since they met at a solstice party in the Winter Court when they were ten. It’s now not uncommon for one or the other to be in each other’s respective courts during any given downtime.

“What makes you think that?” I ask, keeping my tone just north of pity, knowing pity will just close her off.

“She gets defensive when I talk about him, and defensive when he comes around. She told me she was going to ask someone to attend Starfall with her this year but soon after he asked me, she said she wasn’t asking anyone, that she wasn’t going… and she never misses Starfall!”

I see. “Perhaps it’s just a coincidence regarding Starfall and she’s still just a bit awkward around males.. not everyone is as forward as you are when it comes to communication.”

I earn yet another eye roll from her at my reference to the many times when she was a child with no filter that she disclosed any and all cringe worthy details of my personal life to any ear that would listen.

“Tell me I’m wrong.” I challenge.

She has the good sense not to disagree.

Sighing she plops down next to me, leaning her head on my shoulder.

“Are you at least a little bit excited for the date?” I ask, resting my cheek on top of her head.

“Yeah, I think so.” She sighs, sitting back upright. “I am. I just don’t want to date someone at the risk of my best friend, you know?”

“If something as inconsequential as a male can come between you two, I have no hope for friendships anywhere. You two are like burrs on a horses ass, inseparable.”

Azalea giggles at the ridiculous analogy that I’d picked up sometime over my years in the Autumn court, and it feels good to see the light return to her eyes.

“Go on your date, have fun. It’s just a date, it doesn’t have to be forever.” I advise as I guide her to her vanity, touching up a few flyaways and immediately regretting it because those little strands of chaos are so quintessentially her.

If someone were unable to look past those, they don’t deserve her.

———————

Gathered in the parlor, Azalea bounces her foot, waiting for her date to arrive. Mother and I watch with amused expressions as she waits.

“Thank the gods the guys are still at the cabin for the snowball fight. Dad’s bad enough as it is but could you imagine Eris? I guarantee you he’d be chomping at the bit to grill this kid with questions.”

Azalea doesn’t miss a beat as she fires back, “You’re one to talk. He’s only speaking from experience, gods knows what you two got up to on your dates. You two don’t exactly scream “modest intentions.”

“Azalea” mother scolds but there’s no real reprimanding behind it, in fact, her eyes dance with mirth.

My shadows however, dance with a bit of agitation.

A knock comes on the door and Azalea freezes.

“Is he here?” Mother questions, standing and heading to peer out the window.

Azalea only groans. “No…. It’s bad news though. Aunt Mor is here.”

I chuckle at Azalea’s disdain. Aunt Mor is somehow even more protective of Azalea than any of the males in her life.

I open the door as she steps in, exuding “cool aunt” energy. She brings me in for a big hug before rushing to Azalea and squeezing her impossibly tightly. Emerie enters behind her with an apologetic look speaking for itself, “I tried to stall her.”

Mor peppers Azalea with all the questions as Emerie takes a seat, knowing better than to intervene. She gives me a knowing look before musing at her wife’s questioning.

“Always searching for the truth, that one.” I mutter. Emerie knows better than to laugh but I don’t miss the mirth in her deep brown eyes.

Azalea is exasperated by the time her date shows up. I realize that until now, I haven’t even asked his name. Though I know it because Mor absolutely asked during her interrogation, three times to be exact.

I notice a figure stepping up the drive and can’t help but take pity on my little sister. Could I let karma take its course after all of the shenanigans the child- excuse me, teenager- put me through in her younger years? Yes. But today I relent… it is solstice after all. Happy holidays, enjoy the gift of peace, Azalea.

With a casual stretch I summon Azalea to the kitchen. “Hey sis, could you help me in here for a moment?”

Mor starts but Emerie, also taking pity on my sister and her suitor is quick to distract her in the best way she knows how. “Say, Elain,” Emerie clears her throat to ensure Mor is paying attention. “Where did you get those shoes- from that new boutique along the Sidra?”

Before my mother can get a word out, Mor is fawning over them- speculating where she’d acquired them.

Good gods, this woman and her shopping addiction. Thank the cauldron Uncle Rhys pays her so well. I’m fairly certain she and Amren’s contributions to the Velaris economy could fund half the city for a month, two if it’s close to the holidays and Mor is on a spree to find the worst possible gifts for those she loves most dearly. Last year she got me a pink pair of bunny slippers- though I begrudgingly admit, they were quite comfortable.

Azalea, cheeks still pink with embarrassment, joins me in the kitchen. “Quick, out the side door with you. He’s coming up the walk.”

Azalea looks to me with relief and gratitude that I’m not quite sure I deserve given that my shadows are practically vibrating with frustration that I won’t let them trail after her.

“Have fun, stay safe, and be home before the males get home from the snowball fight. Eris is going to kill me if he finds out I sent him away just so you could go on a date in peace.”

Azalea nods, throwing on a jacket and hurrying out the kitchen before her date - Alex - arrives to the front door and can be ambushed by the females waiting behind it.

I hear a flutter of wings behind me, I don’t turn to look as a slight figure perches on my shoulder and a small voice proclaims with a sigh, “they grow up so quickly.”

“Flori” I greet the little sprite. Years ago, Eris had pulled some strings to arrange the visitation of a sprite to Azalea’s “sprite garden” - little did he know, Azzie would find her fiercest defender and one of the best of friends in the sprite - who may or may not have become one of my spies. Sprites are notoriously incurably nosey with a love for gossip, making the vivacious little fae quite the asset.

“Do I send a shadow after her?” I ask, toeing the line of giving my little sister freedom and wanting her to be safe.

Flori simply preens “Already vetted him. She’s in good hands.”

I make a mental note to give the sprite a raise.

————————————

“She’s WHAT?” Eris blurts as soon as the words “Azalea” and “date” leave my mouth. He’d managed to make it out of the Snowball fight alive and despite his impassive behavior…. I think he might have had fun.

“Cauldron, say it a little louder, Eris. I don’t think the folks on the continent heard you.”

Eris smacks my ass, whispering with a low timbre, sending a wave of heat straight to my core, “You’re going to regret this later, little shadow.”

I shiver at the show of dominance. It’s not every day that my mate shows his more dominant side… to me, at least. A thrill shoots through me at the promise for the most delicious of punishments later.

My dad enters the kitchen seeming unbothered regarding Azalea’s first date which is a bit surprising to both Eris and I.

“What are you two gaping at me for?” He asks, not bothering to look in our direction as he pours a drink.

You seem quite unbothered, I muse.

He gives a shrug. “What do I have to be bothered about? I won the snowball fight and the day has gone off without any hitches.”

I plan to leave well-enough alone but gods forbid Eris do the same. “So your youngest daughter went on her first date and you’re completely unbothered by it?

“Yup” he says before taking a swig of his whisky.

Eris, ever unable to resist baiting him looks to me and speaks in a low, honeyed tone, “I remember our first date, little shadow.”

Dad falters for only a millisecond before throwing back the rest of his drink, pointedly setting his glass down quite heavily, clanging on the counter and stalking out of the kitchen.

I raise a brow at my mate, “You couldn’t resist, could you?”

His Adam’s apple bobs and he chuckles, putting an arm around me and pulling me in close. “Your father’s annoyance is the second greatest gift I could get this holiday.”

“Second? What ever could be first?” I ask wryly.

He gives me a sultry look, reminding me of the punishment I have coming away.

I smack his shoulder and we head back in to join my family for the evening’s festivities.

———————

Solstice is in full swing and there are a couple of things that never change. One, Amren looks like she just robbed the local jewelry parlor as she showcases the gems she’d been gifted by the inner circle- aside from Mor who gifted her a purple scarf.

Emerie and my mate dance a strange dance of dominance and submission. Eris, who is indeed a fire-wielding High Lord with more self importance than he knows what to do with, out of some faction of guilt and understanding gives Emerie her distance.

Emerie, who up until recently has made her dislike of Eris well known- in that, “I’m-not-going-to-talk about-it-but-make-one-snide-comment-to-Mor-and-I’ll-cut-you” kind of way, keeps her distance from Eris but always ensures she’s between the two.

Yes, Eris and Mor reconcilied decades ago, before I had ever met Eris, but I get it. Emerie and Mor are mates and, wrongs against the other- whether truthful or perceived are hard to forgive when it comes to someone you’re mentally and biologically programmed to love and protect.

The front door opens and in walk Nyx, Aunt Feyre, and Uncle Rhys, closely followed by Aunt Nesta and a sulking Uncle Cassian who is clearly still disappointed that he didn’t win the snowball fight.

Nyx approaches Azalea with a “hey little cousin! Where’s your date?”

Azalea audibly groans but it’s too late. Uncle Rhys and Uncle Cassian both gape.

“Date??”

Azalea groans. “Damnit.”

“Language” mother warns.

“Y/N said ten times worse when she was my age!” Azalea argues but mom only pins her with that practiced motherly gaze that garners no room for argument.

Rhys and Cassian turn to my father waiting for a reaction but he only shrugs. “My daughter is old enough to go on a date, I trust her.” He doesn’t add that he’s the spy master and likely has a fifty page compendium on everything her date’s done since he could walk.

Cassian lets out a low whistle. “I never thought I’d see the day our brother wouldn’t be a brooding, overbearing mess over his youngest going on her first date.

Mor snorts. “You can thank Eris for his lackadaisical response. If he could handle those two,” she gestures broadly toward Eris and I. “he can handle about anything.”

She’s not wrong, I think to myself, my lips upturning slightly.

My father ignores the comment, simply placing an arm around mother and kissing the crown of her head.

Before Cassian or literally any of my aunts or uncles can mortify Azalea or irritate father further, the doorbell rings and Azalea perks up, hurrying toward the door before catching herself, and waiting for someone else to get it.

My shadows have reported who is here and my heart aches for my sister. Clara. Azalea’s best friend whom she believes has a thing for the male Azalea went on a date with tonight.

They’ve been thick as thieves for so long and it saddens me to see her hesitate instead of throwing her arms around her like she normally would.

The rest of the guests seem to feel the same as the heir to the winter court steps in, graceful as ever with her white hair wound into an elegant braid. Her piercing blue gaze takes in Azalea and the tension in the room is palpable, it doesn’t take the tense way my sister holds her wings to sense it.

I give a silent gesture to everyone to carry on as not to make this more awkward.

I can’t tell what the two say to eachother but they both hold themselves stiffly before Azalea nods towards her room, likely so they can resolve things without the biggest busybodies in Prythian hovering.

Eris squeezes my hand. “Care to take a walk my love?”

“Sure” I whisper, feeling a bit flushed from the wine I’d downed before the party.

My father’s hazel gaze tracks us with an unreadable expression as we walk out the door.

————-

As we stroll along the Sidra, I can’t help but smile. We’ve walked along this river countless times over the years but I can’t help remembering the chaotic night we’d gone on our first real date to Sevenda’s and to Aunt Feyre’s art gallery opening. A chaotic yet altogether unforgettable night. Despite the strife of it all, I wouldn’t change anything, because here we are now.

My shadows float around us, as if they too enjoy the night’s breeze. Eris’ heat keeping us just warm enough.

“You’ve served our court quite well little shadow.” Eris speaks, his voice low and Ernest, his lips tilt upward as a shadow winds around his forearm down his wrist, and weaves through his long fingers.

“You have too.” He muses to the shadow. And it’s true, my shadows have made my spymaster skills a valuable asset to the Autumn Court, though Eris has never viewed them as a tool but as an extension of me, of the female he loves.

“It’s an honor to serve your court.” I speak truthfully.

He smirks. “You can lie to yourself by saying it’s mine… but it’s ours.” Before I can object or deflect, he continues, “And I’m the High Lord, as an individual in my employ, you must abide by my law. And I declare that it’s our court.”

I roll my eyes but my stomach flutters. I’ve fallen in love with the Autumn Court and learned how wonderful many of its people are over the years. An “autumnal wasteland”, I’d once called it. And yet, it feels like home now.

“You know-“ Eris continues, fidgeting slightly. Something so unlike him. “Do you remember that night all those years ago, when your sister caught us in that deliciously compromising position on the balcony- and your mother had that vision?” He asks with a hint of vulnerability in his amber eyes.

My brows knit, unsure where this is going. “The burning flame drives away the wild shadow.” I recite, remembering the night clearly. “Eris- what does this have to do with anything? She said herself that her visions don’t always mean anything significant. We’re happy and I don’t plan to leave you anytime soon.”

Eris shakes his head, resting a warm hand on my shoulder, I meet his gaze defiantly. “Look at you. I hope you never lose that spark… that fire burning within you.”

I scoff looking down, trying to hide the feeling of uncertainty in myself.

“Is the Autumn court your home, little one?” He asks, his thumb and forefinger gently clasping my chin and tilting my face so my eyes meet his amber hued gaze.

I can see it, the desperation in his eyes and I cannot give him anything but the truth. My heart races. “Yes.”

Something akin to relief slackens his features. “So, there it is. The burning flame, drove away you. My little wild, wonderful shadow out of the Night Court, to my home in the Autumn Court. To our home.”

Suddenly he spirits a square rectangular box of mahogany with autumn leaves and flames burned into it out of the pocket realm.

“Eris…”

His voice cracks with emotion and he holds up a finger, a silent plea with me to let him get his words out. “You have served our court well over the past ten years, little one, you have shown our people kindness and grace, and you treat the commoners with just as much dignity and respect as nobility- if not more. You have loved me well, far more than I likely deserve but I’m a selfish male when it comes to you and I’ve soaked up every ounce of love you’ve shown me. You are who I want to rule beside, who I want to keep waking up next to every morning. You are the one I would be honored to lead our court with. Please, my mate, do me the honor of fully accepting our bond and becoming my High Lady.”

He opens the box to which a golden ringlet crown of leaves and flame rests beside a ring with a matching band, and a gem that matches the amber stoned necklace he’d gotten me before I even knew we were mates.

All words escape me. It’s not that he hasn’t hinted at having me rule with him someday over the years but he also has recognized that I’m young, that I had personal growth to achieve that was important to myself and yes- recently, I have felt that I’m there. That I could do this, but I’d never said it. My mate has waited patiently, observed in silence, until he could sense I was ready. How could I deny him?

“Yes, Eris. It would be a privilege to be your High Lady, and an even greater privilege to be yours forever.”

He closes the box and spirits it away for now. I’ll wear the ring after I’ve offered him food and consummated the bond, and after we’ve seen a priestess to swear my vows to both him and the crown.

Gods, as if our sex life needs a mating frenzy when we can’t keep our hands off each other as is.

Eris’ eyes water and he pulls me into his warm embrace, a hug that I feel deep in my soul. He kisses the top of my head as I rest my cheek against his chest, listening to his heart thud.

We stand like that for some time before his eyes, so full of devotion, peer into mine, reading me like a book and loving everything he sees. “I love you.” He speaks gruffly.

“I love you too.” I whisper, my voice soft and sincere.

I crash my lips into his and we get lost in eachother.

———————————

When we return to the townhouse and slip out of our coats, I look up to see the family drinking and talking merrily. My father and mother both look to Eris and I. My mother smiles knowingly and father raises a brow. Eris gives him a nod and father raises his glass in silent congratulations. My lips part and I look to Eris.

Eris only flashes his patent smirk. “You may have sent me to the snowball fight with an agenda of your own, but I had one too.”

“You asked his permission?”

“Don’t give me that look, High Lady, I would have asked you regardless. I am a High Lord and can do what I want anyway.”

I just shake my head but my lips curl upward. “You’ll pay for your insolence, High Lord.” I whisper huskily.

Chill bumps rise up his arm but he stays strong. “Oh no, I’ll be punishing you for hiding the news of Azalea’s date from me first. I haven’t forgotten that.”

I look around and see she’s still not rejoined the family. “C’mon, I want to tell her before everyone else.”

Selfishly, I also want to ensure that things are smoothed out between her and Clara.

We head upstairs and I knock on her bedroom door with no answer. “Azalea?” I ask and knock again with no answer. It’s not like her to not answer the door and I don’t hear anything inside. It’s early for her to be asleep and I worry that she and Clara got into a bigger disagreement and Clara left. The thought of Azalea crying herself to sleep tears me apart.

Concern overrides my situational assessment and I turn the handle a moment too late to heed Eris’ sudden warning of “sound ward”.

I gape as the daughter of the Winter Court straddles my little sister’s lap, the two locked in a tangle of tongues and teeth.

“Well, well, well,” I muse at the sight as flashes of the night she’d outed Eris and I’s relationship a decade ago cross my mind. “How things have come full circle.”

“Don’t worry sis, your secret is safe with me.”

———————————————

A/N: Thank you all for reading this fic! I can’t believe it’s done. I hope you enjoyed getting a little peek into everyone’s life years down the road from the main fic. I appreciate each and every one of you who have taken the time to read!

Tags:

ACOTAR General Tags: @lilah-asteria @thecollegecowgirl @mochibabycakes @nickishadow139 @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @ahaha0246

Eris Tags: @angiedsv

Series Tags: @b0xerdancer @myheartfollower @ang-taylorsversion @acotarobsessed @uniquecolorwizard @justasillylittlegoofyguy @thelov3lybookworm @starryhiraeth @5moremin @azrielsmate3 @coolepowersthings @isa1b2h3 @inloveallthetime @julesofvolterra @deeshag @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @courtofbatboydreams @yourmumsdumptruck @nebarious @glitterypirateduck @mybestfriendmademe @acourtof-wingspan @paleidiot @anae-naea-zacheria @fandomarchiveilyd @bloodicka @12358

[batboysanonymous]

Breaking Point (Pt. III)

Cassian x Reader

Summary: Cassian is furious, and Y/N is determined to prove she’s more than just something to be protected. But when lines are crossed and consequences turn deadly, the price of proving herself might be more than she’s willing to pay.

Word Count: 1k

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The world blurred around Cassian as he surged forward, his entire being focused on one thing: reaching Y/N.

Azriel’s shadows twisted through the clearing like a storm, latching onto the beast and slowing its attack for a split second—but that split second was enough.

Cassian collided with the creature, his sheer force knocking it off balance as it let out a guttural snarl. The beast recovered quickly, its glowing eyes locking onto him with fury, but Cassian didn’t care.

“Azriel, get her out of here!” he shouted, his voice thunderous as he spread his wings, his sword already drawn.

But Y/N’s voice cut through the chaos. “I’m not leaving!” she yelled, her tone defiant despite the pain lacing her words.

Cassian turned, his hazel eyes blazing with an emotion so raw it felt like fire. “Damn it, Y/N, stop being so stubborn! I’ve got this—go!”

Y/N didn’t move, her knuckles white as she gripped her sword. Blood dripped steadily from her arm, and though her face was pale, her resolve was ironclad.

“No,” she said firmly. “I’m not running away. Not this time.”

The beast lunged again, and Cassian had no time to argue. He blocked its attack, his muscles straining as he pushed back against its immense strength. Beside him, Azriel’s shadows swarmed the creature, trying to pin it down, but the beast was relentless.

“Y/N,” Azriel said sharply, his voice like steel. “This isn’t the time to prove a point. Let us handle this.”

Her gaze flickered to him, conflict warring in her eyes. But before she could respond, the beast turned its focus back to her, as if sensing the rift between them all.

Cassian roared, his wings flaring wide as he slashed at the creature, his blade cutting deep into its side. The beast howled in pain, retreating for a moment, and Cassian seized the opportunity.

“Y/N, now!” he barked, his voice leaving no room for argument.

She hesitated, but Azriel was faster. His shadows wrapped around her waist, pulling her back just as the beast lunged again.

“No!” she shouted, struggling against the shadows, but Azriel didn’t release her.

“Stay out of the way,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “You’ll only make it harder for him to fight.”

Y/N’s chest heaved with frustration, but the truth in Azriel’s words stung more than her pride.

Cassian fought like a demon possessed, his movements a blur of strength and precision. The beast was strong, its claws and teeth deadly, but Cassian was stronger. And this wasn’t just any fight—this was for her.

Minutes felt like hours as the battle raged, until finally, with one last powerful swing, Cassian drove his sword through the creature’s heart.

It let out a final, anguished roar before collapsing to the ground, the light fading from its eyes.

Cassian stood over its body, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Blood dripped from cuts on his arms and face, but his focus was already shifting to Y/N.

Azriel released her as Cassian approached, his wings drooping with exhaustion but his eyes burning with intensity.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Cassian demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off. “Do you have any idea what could’ve happened? Do you even care?”

Her jaw tightened, her own anger flaring to life. “Of course, I care! That’s why I—”

“Why you what?” he interrupted, his wings flaring wide. “Why you threw yourself into a situation you couldn’t handle? To prove a point?”

“I was trying to prove that I’m not weak!” she shouted, her voice cracking. “That I’m not some fragile thing you have to protect!”

Cassian stared at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. And then he laughed—a bitter, hollow sound that sent a chill down her spine.

“You think that’s what this is about?” he asked, his tone sharp enough to cut. “You think I treat you like you’re weak because I don’t believe in you?”

She flinched, but he didn’t stop.

“I know exactly how strong you are, Y/N,” he said, his voice dropping to a softer, more dangerous tone. “I’ve seen it. I’ve felt it. But being strong doesn’t mean being reckless. It doesn’t mean risking everything to prove a point to someone who already knows what you’re capable of.”

Her throat tightened, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak.

Cassian stepped closer, his hazel eyes locking onto hers. “Do you know what it felt like, seeing you out there, knowing I might not get to you in time?” His voice cracked, and he looked away, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “It felt like losing everything.”

Her heart clenched, the weight of his words crashing down on her like a tidal wave.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said softly, her voice trembling.

He turned back to her, his gaze softening slightly. “I don’t need you to prove yourself to me, Y/N. I already know how incredible you are. But I can’t lose you—I won’t.”

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she looked down, guilt and regret swirling in her chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just… I needed to feel like I was enough.”

Cassian closed the distance between them, his hands cupping her face as he tilted her head up to meet his gaze.

“You’re more than enough,” he said firmly, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slipped down her cheeks. “You always have been.”

For a moment, they stood there, the weight of everything that had been said settling between them.

Behind them, Azriel cleared his throat. “Hate to interrupt, but we should probably get back to camp before something else decides to attack.”

Cassian let out a breathy laugh, his forehead resting against Y/N’s for a brief moment before he pulled back.

“Let’s go,” he said, his hand slipping into hers as they turned to follow Azriel.

But as they left the clearing, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something much bigger.

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General taglist: @willowpains