#Az needs NAP

[zodiacsea]

ANOTHER coworker i love is leaving AND i have a bunch of shit i need to get finished at work before i go to vegas next week and not enough time to do it AND the zipper on my favorite jeans broke AND i woke up half an hour late this morning i actually want to go home and curl up in a ball forever. thanks

[second-of-arizona]

I'm dragging you to bed. We're taking a nap

hm. i suppose a nap is in order. it has been *looks at wrist* a while since i have slept

[another-random-paradise]

Your writing was adorable! I have a headcanon request for TWST. Feel free to ignore if it's not interesting, I won't mind. (￣▽￣)=3

Lilia, Leona, Azul (or whomever as long as Lilia is there)'s reaction to crush!reader sleepily telling them they want to marry them one day.

I'm a sap for mushy things. ˘͈ᵕ˘͈

A sleepy confession

Thank you so much for the request, it's adorable!! and of course, thank you for the compliments too! I'm a sucker for mushy things too, so this was so much fun to write!

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Crush!Reader sleepily telling him, they want to marry him / Part two

Characters: Lillia, Leona, Azul

Format: Headcanons

Warnings: None that i can think off

Lillia

-you probably found silver asleep somewhere comfortable and instead of waking him up like usual (cause you're a good friend) you decide to also lay down and sleep... You most likely had History with professor Trein before this.

-Lillia just happened to be nearby, or maybe he was keeping an eye on silver, yk, like a good dad :D

- If you're napping under a tree, he might just be sitting on one of the branches

-You'd sleepily look up to him on the branches, as the old fae smiles down at you, and you, probably already half a sleep and maybe even thinking it's a dream, mumble out a soft "I wanna marry you one day.." 

-poor guy almost fell out off the tree

-you can't just do that to his old heart!! You can and you did

-his expression would soften, like he'd still be smiling, but it wouldn't be his typical trickster kinda smile (please tell me you know what i mean)

-Despite his usual attitude, I feel like he was very worried about loving you. I'm a huge believer in the Idea that fae usually only fall in love once, so after Meleanor, he believed that was it, he'd never love again. And then you came into his life, like a shining star, guiding him out of the darkness.  

-While he was grateful that he got a second chance at love, especially with someone as amazing as you, it's also nerve wrecking for him. The last and only time before this, he had his heart broken and ended up raising her son. Just the thought of the same thing happening again terrified him.

-But after what you just said, he won't need to worry about that anymore, right?

-Now he just needs to come up with the best way to confess... maybe he could cook you something! 

Leona

-Due to Leona being a bit of a tsundere, I don't feel like he'd get you to cuddle/sleep with him before officially dating

-BUT, if you two got paired together for a project, especially if it's in the botanical garden, chances are very high, you are doing the project and he's napping

-and doing a project by yourself gets you tired, especially one meant for magic as a magicless student, so you eventually lie down next to him

-due to his sensitive hearing, he lazily opens eyes, and sees you, already half asleep, looking at him, confusing him at first not that he's complaining, till.. "Despite you making me do this project by myself, i somehow i still wanna marry you some day" and just like that you're asleep.

-He, on the other hand, is suddenly very wide awake. 

-what?? you didn't mean that, right?? that's just the tiredness speaking, right?? you couldn't have meant that, right? why, or rather how, could you like him of all people?....He can't imagine being anyone's, let alone your, first choice. He's so used to being second.

-For the first time in forever, he is fully awake and can't go back to sleep, just what are you doing to him, Herbivore? 

-But this means you like him back, right? alright fine, he'll put some work into confessing, just don't expect anything to grand

-He'd still be awake once you wake up again, much to your confusion, but still deliberately refuse to help. Not a word of what you said is spoken, but if you look closely enough you'll see the blush on his cheeks!

Azul

-You wanted to rest after a long day, maybe even after a long shift at the mostro lounge, and Azul was gracious enough to let you rest on one of the couches in the VIP room, while he worked. He actually wanted to appear like a gentleman in front of you and impress you.

-You can't convince me that those couches aren't comfortable. Which is why you almost immediately fall asleep the moment you lay down.

-But before you do, you make one last comment "I already want to marry you one day as is, but if it means I get to rest like this every night, I'll buy the ring tomorrow"

-If a student walked in right now, they might just confuse him with a crashed pc; or maybe with riddle, considering how red he is

-Just completely stops everything he's doing, he's in shock. he doesn't believe he can actually be loved

-It genuinely shocks him so much that you actually like him back, let alone want to marry him, but he can't say he isn't happy! So him being even more of a gentleman to you and giving you countless discounts worked! (You actually already liked him before that! but he was to busy being insecure to notice)

-Immediately starts working on a relationship contract for you two, hell, you said you want to marry him, right?? might as well start working on the marriage certificate!

-He continues to be absolutely flustered as he writes the two contracts, if either of the twins saw him right now, he'd never hear the end of it!

-Prepare to be asked to dinner at the most romantic table in the mostro lounge with Azul, where he will then ask you out and discusses your relationship as if it was a business meeting :)

Ahhhh my first request, thank you so much again for your kind words and the adorable request, I truly hope i lived up to it's greatness <3

I'm still in book 4, so i tried to write Lilia as in-character as possible based on what i saw of him during events and from other writers :)

feedback is welcomed, just be Kind! Hope you all have a lovely day/night!

[7seas-of-ryy]

Rock Paper Scissors

Author’s Note: I really love the idea of Rhys, Cass, and the reader doing stupid things together :))

Summary: You get in trouble with your High Lord and get sent on a mission as a punishment

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: let me know if I need to add any :)

"How did you get stuck doing this?" Azriel asked you

You were both hiking through a dense rain forrest, in search of a special tree. The wood had some sort of magical powers and even one branch would help the Night Court out.

"Cass and I helped Rhys sneak Nyx out so we could try to fly with him." you told the shadowsinger

"What?!" He responded with a small laugh

You, Cassian, and Rhys all woke up Nyx early from his nap to try and sneak him out. Feyre didn't want him learning how to fly yet but Rhys was so excited. And there were three of you, so you knew Nyx would be safe.

Rhys was on top of the hill with Nyx while you and Cass were at the base of it. Right before his first attempt, Feyre showed up and stopped it. You and Cass took off before she could see you and went back home, leaving Rhys to take all the heat.

You and Cassian were sitting in chairs in the living room pretending you had been there for a long time when Feyre walked in holding Nyx and Rhys was close behind her.

She was yelling at him for a good five minutes before she took a breath.

"He was completely safe, I promise. Just please calm down." Rhys made the mistake of telling her.

"Calm down? You wanted to teach my son to fly without my permission and you're telling me to calm down?!" She screeched

You and Cassian couldn't help but stare and listen as Rhys got scolded.

"No sex for 2 weeks." She told her mate.

"That's not fair at all!" Rhys pouted.

"Oh yeah? Then make it a month!" She told him as she left the room.

At that, you and Cass both let out a laugh you had been desparately trying to hold in. Rhys snapped his head to you both, glaring at the two of you, which caused you both to straighten up.

You pretended to be looking at something on the carpet while Cass pretended to look at the ceiling.

"Ah y/n look at this..." Cassian trailed off, trying to make it look like you two weren't paying attention.

"Oh my, I've never seen such a great ceiling" You added as Rhys came up to you two.

"A great celing?" Rhys questioned

"Yeah I mean, you have outdone yourself. This ceiling is really something." Cass stated trying to get out of it.

"Cass is right, I haven't noticed til now how great it is!" You added

"I know you both were listening in on that. And I also know that you were both with me and tried to get him to fly as well. Seeing as Feyre is punishing me, it is only fitting I punish the both of you." Your High Lord told you both

"He had two missions, one was surveillance and the other was to find this tree with you. Neither of us wanted the surveillance job so we did rock paper scissors and Cass lost." You told Az after explaining everything

"So that's why he was pouting when we left," he huffed a laugh, "well I'm glad its you with me, you're much better company."

A blush rose to your face and he smirked at you. You didn't know what to say so you just continued on. The shadowsinger led you both through the forest, you closely behind him.

After about 20 minutes of walking, your eyes drifted to the male in front of you. You admired his large wings for a few moments then your eyes drifted lower until they reached his-

"I can feel you staring." he spoke suddenly.

"I was not!" you tried to defend yourself but you were most definitely checking him out.

His back was still to you as he spoke again, "It's ok, I check you out when you're not looking too."

Your face must've looked like a tomato at this point.

"Can we just focus on the mission?" you questioned, trying desperately to change the subject.

"It's your lucky day, I see the tree up ahead." He stated

The two of you finally reached the tree and you realized a lot of the lower branches looked rotten. You would have to get a branch that was higher up.

"Come here, I'm gonna lift you up and you can cut one of the branches." he told you

"What?! Why can't you just fly up there or use magic to get it?" You argued.

"Because if I use my magic or fly above the tree, it might alert enemies and we don't know what lives in this forest." He explained.

"Fine" you said while walking over to him.

Before you could ask how he wanted to do it, he was lifting you as if you weighed nothing. He had grabbed your hips lifting you up until you were sitting on his shoulder. You quickly cut one of the branches and dropped it down.

He spun your body around til you were facing him and slowly slid you down his body. He stopped you when you were face to face, your feet not touching the ground. His hands were under you butt, holding you up.

Your breath hitched when you realized how close you two actually were.

After a few seconds, he continued to slide you down his body until your feet hit the ground. You quickly looked away, ending the moment, both of you getting red at what just happened.

"We should get going, we still have a little ways to go until we get to the cottage." He coughed and told you.

"Cottage?" You thought this was just a quick mission and you already had the branch.

"Rhys doesn't want us traveling at night. We haven't searched these areas yet and we don't want to learn the hard way what comes out in the dark." He told you

The pair of you continued on for another hour towards the cabin in silence. You started to feel eery, as if something was watching you. Az's shadows slowly made their way over to you, swirling around you like a shield.

"Y/N!" Az shouted but you couldn't hear him.

A giant ball of water had swept you up and trapped you inside. You couldn't get out no matter how hard you swam. It was taking you in the opposite direction of the shadowsinger.

The burning in your lungs was too painful. Right as you were about to pass out from the lack of oxygen, you felt a tingle in your chest. It was like there was a little ball of energy inside you and you reached for it.

As you touched it, light exploded all around you, no. The light was coming from... you? The bubble of water you were being held captive in burst and you fell, clawing at your throat for air.

Azriel ran to you on the ground, pulling you into his lap.

"Hey, look at me. Just breath, I've got you." He continued whispering encouraging words into your ear as your breath returned to normal.

You finally looked up at the male holding you and felt relief flood your body at the realization that you were safe in his arms. He put his forehead to yours and closed his eyes.

"You're safe, you're alive." He kept repeating as if he was trying to convince himself.

You opened your eyes and and once again realized how close the two of you were. If you leaned just a little bit closer, your lips might touch.

He opened his eyes after a couple moments and you just sat there, gazing into each other's eyes.

This time, it was his turn to break your stares. He looked around making sure there weren't any other threats.

"Lets hurry and get to that cottage. Will you be okay to walk? I can carry you if you would like." Az offered.

"I can walk, lets get going. I don't want to find out anymore about whatever that thing was." You quickly spoke.

You continued the walk to the cottage, this time with Az very close behind you. He was so close, he would brush against you every few minutes and it was driving you crazy.

After almost kissing him twice, his touch was sending you into overdrive. You slowed down at one point so you wouldn't trip over some roots and he bumped into your back. You could've sworn you heard him groan.

Finally, you made it to the cabin and once you both entered and ensured it was safe inside, Az started to get a fire going.

"You need to take off those clothes, they're soaking wet. I can lay them by the fire so they'll dry." He spoke, breaking the long silence between you two.

"Um I didn't know we would be gone for more than one day so I didn't bring any extra clothes." You confessed, feeling unprepared.

"Here, you can wear my extra shirt I brought. I don't have any extra pants but I think it'll be big enough to cover you." He offered.

With a grateful smile, you grabbed the shirt for him and went to change only to realize this was a very tiny cabin. Meaning there was no other room for you to change in privacy.

"Could you...turn around so I can change?" you asked.

"What? Oh uh yeah sorry." He spoke, his cheeks burning.

He turned around and you peeled the soaking wet clothes from you skin and put his large shirt on. It went down to the middle of your thighs.

"Alright you can look" You spoke.

He turned around and his eyes immediately darkened. They trailed up your body admiring the way his clothes fit you. You couldn't help but notice his eyes linger on your bare legs and you could feel the room get hotter but you knew it wasn't from the fire.

"What happened out there?" You finally spoke, your voice barely a whisper

"I'm not sure but I think it might have something to do with the branch? I think it saved you but we can figure that out when we get back to the Night Court tomorrow. Right now I'm just concerned with making sure you're safe and warm." Az stated firmly

You were still standing on opposite sides of the room, both unsure of what to do next. He hadn't taken his eyes off of you for even a second since turning around.

"Well I'm safe now, but how will you help me warm up?" you asked with a soft smile.

Azriel started to stalk towards you, so slowly. He had a hunger in his eyes and you felt excitement grow in your stomach.

He stopped once he was standing right in front of you, his hand playing with the hem of his shirt you were wearing.

"I had a few ideas." He growled

Before he could fully finish his last word, you leapt forward slotting your lips on his. He lifted you up as you kissed and walked over to the fire. He slowly laid you down on the floor next to it, quickly laying on top of you to continue kissing you.

The pair of you stayed like that for a while, enjoying the feel of the other's lips. Eventually you pulled apart for some much needed air.

"I'm really glad I beat Cass in rock, paper, scissors." you said with a smile before pulling Az back down to you.

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[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 15

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I became suddenly ill about three days ago and my brain is still quite mushy so I think this has been proofread but there might be some errors here and there I’ll try to iron out once I’m better!! Sorry for any scruples and I hope you enjoy!! 🧡💛

warnings: angst, general depression, violence (self-attempted)

word count: 16,175

-Part 14- -Part 16-

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

Azriel catches her eye from across the room, weary hazel locking with bright amber that swirls in the faelight of the living room.

His tension is more palpable than usual, the conversation from yesterday with the golden-eyed male only further contributing to the death knell gonging quietly at the back of his mind, creaking through his knees, echoing in each footstep—each breath he takes. Time seems to be dripping by faster, even more so than usual. In the cobwebbed chambers of his mind he’s able to recall a time where days were his chosen measurement, where a twenty-four hour period contained beginning, middle, and end. But as he’d grown older, those chunks had grown with him, his perception of time shifting the more of it he lived through. Soon enough weeks were his days, calculating how much could be done over the period, sleep a small break to be indulged in between work. Then it had shifted to months—twelve to fit everything into, nights morphing into short naps.

Now years feel like days once had, time no longer a steady drip of water from the roof of a dark cell ceiling where he’d been kept locked away from the light, but a steady trickle as it carves its way through stone.

Shadows conceal his absence from the laughter-filled room, removing himself from the uncomfortably bright corner to a place of familiarity, shifting into the darker hallways as he sighs, feet positioned instinctively equidistant, weight spread evenly, fearing one lapse in discipline might bring him back to those days where he knew nothing of fighting, nothing of how to defend himself. To those days where he had to learn relentlessly, practice until his body couldn’t move in desperate attempts to cover the ground he’d lost years to.

Mor enters into the darkness, coming from the yellow-orange light that’s spilling into the blue-purple hallway, heels effortlessly silent upon the floorboards as her nocturnal eyes seek him out. Her features are already serious, easily picking up on his mood despite his efforts to conceal it. The depths of it, at least.

“Az?” Mor asks quietly, expression curious but solemn.

“She’s gone,” he murmurs shortly. Mor’s eyes flash with alarm at the revelation, before her brows tuck together. “What do you mean she’s gone? Where?”

“I don’t know,” he admits grimly. “I paid a visit to one of her friends afternoon yesterday, but he refused to answer anything.”

“What do you mean, she’s gone, Az?” Mor hisses, disbelief sharpening her muffled tone. Azriel grinds his jaw, but relents—this is more important. “I mean, she isn’t at the House of Wind. She left a note saying she would be at Bas’, and would be back but she wasn’t. When I went to get her, she wasn’t there either,” he summarises, expression sombre.

“What else?” Mor asks sternly, the brightness about her having faded faster than a flame extinguished. Azriel licks his lips, bracing himself, before explaining: she has magic but it’s been giving her trouble, she’d wanted to try using it without anyone else knowing and he’d let her, Elain’s vision prophesying his death at her hand.

To Mor’s credit, her features don’t drain entirely of colour, and it takes her no more than a few seconds of heavy silence for her to muster up a response. “What magic?” Mor asks first, keeping her tone quiet but clipped, judgement clear enough she doesn’t need to voice it. And Azriel won’t address it, either. “Her hands could glow a little around the fingertips. We didn’t know what it did, though.”

“And the trouble?”

“It dried her skin out, among other things.” Mor’s lips part, eyes closing briefly as she sighs. “The gloves.” Azriel doesn’t need to provide confirmation for her to have connected the dots.

But then her eyes open, slowly sliding to his, an edge of viciousness underlying their amber cut, one he withstands reluctantly. Mor swallows, jaw tense, watching him. “How long have you known about this?” She asks, lethally softly. Not how long has she had magic, how long has he known. And not told them. “About a fortnight.”

Mor’s eyes gleam with hostility, and his features become stony, walls raising up as she watches him silently. Judgement falling heavy on his shoulders. “Why tell me now?” She asks shortly. She isn’t chewing him out, nor is she outwardly rancorous. Not good a good sign. “Bas won’t tell me where she is,” he replies neutrally, Mor’s eyes flaring as she puts it together. “You want me to ask him.” Azriel nods, despite her already knowing.

She glances at him reproachfully, another look he withstands passively, and then she’s turning sharply on her heel, making back toward the light, back toward the laughter. Silent as a shadow, Azriel catches her upper arm, having to exert surprising force to keep her still. “Where are you going?” He asks coldly.

“Where do you think?” She counters sharply.

“They have enough on their plates,” Azriel mutters. As if on queue, Nyx’s laugher giggles through the halls, a stark contrast to the gloom lurking just beyond the light’s end. Mor snatches her arm away. “You have enough on your plate,” she says lowly, eyes glinting as they cut through him, “we could have made room. You should have told us.” But Azriel stands his ground, not giving an inch. “It was the right call.”

“You have no idea where she is,” Mor counters. “No idea where she is, or what state she might be in. What makes you think that was the right call?”

“You’re questioning my judgement?”

“Yes, I’m fucking questioning your judgement,” she hisses back lowly.

“She told me she didn’t want any of you to know,” he counters coldly, “she’s reclusive anyway, suddenly outing her wouldn’t have done anything helpful.”

The wording seems to strike something in Mor, ire banking, eyes shuttering briefly, before she’s gritting her jaw again. “You should have told us.”

“She barely managed to tell me,” Azriel states, “Elain didn’t even know until the vision that her sister had magic.”

“You know you should have told us.”

“And betrayed her trust when she chose to tell me?” Azriel asks cooly. “You didn’t see how scared she was.”

“Maybe she wasn’t scared of us finding out but of speaking with you.”

Azriel blinks, the only sign of his falter he’ll allow, caught off guard by the accusation. She’s never shown any fear of him before… “She has no reason to be scared of me.” He says finally.

A look of frustration flits through Mor’s amber eyes. “She’s young. This is probably the first time she’s experiencing strong feelings toward someone else,” she says lowly, “surely you can remember what that’s like.” Azriel bristles at the pointed look, the insulting comparison between his past love for Mor and the affection being unwelcomely pushed his way. “She’s infatuated. It happens,” he replies tersely, not taking kindly to the manipulation. “And she went through the war too—she isn’t that unaware. You’re doing her a disservice.”

“The disservice here is you not affording her the care she needs—to the point she’s chosen to run away,” Mor practically spits.

Terse silence stretches between them, sour and resentful.

“We aren’t going to come to an agreement,” Azriel says at last, tone clipped, but both of them know it’s better to move on for now. They can fight it out later, once things are resolved and taken care of. “You speak to Bas first, then we can find out who she’s gone to. She could be anywhere in the Night Court, knowing him.”

“We tell Rhys and Feyre first,” Mor demands lowly. But Azriel shakes his head, “if you want to be the one to tell Feyre her sister is missing and we don’t know where she is, be my guest.”

Silence stretches further, growing tauter by the second, until Mor sighs sharply. “Fine,” she grits out. “Bas first.”

Azriel nods, making to turn around, heading for the door.

“But you are telling Feyre,” Mor hisses lowly. “Whether we find out or not. Tonight.”

Azriel pauses, jaw tightening. But gives a sharp nod.

————

Once again he slinks back to the male’s house, the bright sun lost to winter’s oncoming grip, dark clouds shielding the stars from view.

Despite the silence between them, he can feel Mor’s judgement pressing into him, but he has no time to argue or persuade. After the…discussion, with the male the other day, he’d needed time to plan, regroup his thoughts. Time. Seemingly so sparse, as of late. He could afford little more than twenty-four hours of inaction before a decision would have to be made—he hadn’t come this far by sitting around aimlessly when faced with a hard choice. It seemed the only reasonably way forward would be to acquiesce to the male’s demand, as much as Azriel despised so. It was the smarter option.

The other would have been to lay hands on him, and no matter how urgent the matter was, the male was still a civilian, and untrained for war, at that. Violence was entirely out of the question.

He knocks thrice on the door, sharp and punctuated hits to alert the male of company, before stepping back to allow space for Mor.

Gleaming golden eyes pierce out into the darkness, and Azriel knows he doesn’t miss the hint of smugness in their gilded depths as he marks the presence of another, as he’d requested. To verify his claim that there were indeed urgent matters afoot. Azriel refuses to show even a hint of irritation, keeping his face cold and passive—Bas won’t get the satisfaction of seeing him riled. He’d have to work much harder for that.

“You’re back late,” Bas drawls from the warm glow of his house, once again leaning cockily against the broad wooden frame, ankles crossed, one foot keeping the door held to—away from prying eyes. “And you’ve brought company,” he muses, glancing to Mor at his side. The female steps forward, the yellowy-orange light from inside making her glow as she offers a tight smile. “Bas, correct?” Golden eyes sweep over her analytically, before he nods, shifting slightly. “Mor,” he acknowledges, “she mentioned you, too.” No signs of surprise mar her open expression, kept sealed beneath that deceptive mask she can wear to charm at any time.

“That’s why we came to see you, actually,” Mor begins calmly, straightforward. “I’m of the understanding you know her whereabouts, but are unwilling to disclose them for various reasons.”

“That’s right,” he replies slowly, expression shifting to something more wary. His provocative nature shying away from perceived earnestness. “She doesn’t want any visitors.”

Mor nods her head gently, understanding shimmering faintly in amber eyes, threads of her hair catching the golden glow of inner light, glinting with the motion. “I can understand that, but this is very important,” she says sincerely, worry shining in her face Azriel know she doesn’t have to fake. Still the male remains cautious in the doorway. “Azriel wasn’t lying when he told you this conflicts with Court matters,” Mor begins slowly, and the shadowsinger tamps down on the urge to glance at her warily. Though he knows she won’t reveal anything, there’s no need to offer scraps. “I’m afraid there’s little I can honestly tell you due to their private nature, but nonetheless I would like to speak with you about her. She is a part of our family, and we are deeply concerned about her. I’m sure you can understand our worry.”

Quiet pauses long enough to take a deep breath, before resuming to its consistent noise.

Eventually, Bas nods his head, standing straighter. A grain of tension is released from his shoulders as the male opens his door, yielding to a conversation. He makes to step forward, but sharp golden eyes flick to him, piercing and accusing in their nature. “I’ll speak with Mor, and Mor alone,” he states clearly, an edge of provocation creeping back into his features, though the Shadowsinger doubts its sincerity.

But Mor nods her head, “that’s fine,” she answers, brushing past his side, pulling the cold night air with her, a whisper of icy breath grazing his side as she moves forward, leaving him out in the dark. “Don’t move from here until we’re done,” Mor instructs from over her shoulder once Bas has disappeared from the entrance hall. Azriel nods, understanding the implication.

Listen in from outside.

————

The room she follows Bas into is cozy, well-kept. Clearly lived in.

The pillows of the sofas are slightly worn, slightly faded in colour, waned down to more earthy tones that compliment the pale terracotta of the walls. Fire crackles from the hearth, dried rosemary hung from the ceiling beams, as well as other dried herbs and plants. On the wall are some paintings, mostly stills, but they’re watery around their edges, faded colour bleeding over fine, distinct ink lines.

Bas takes a seat that seems to fit him comfortably, likely one he usually chooses, while Mor opts for one nearby, a quilt thrown over its back, squares of purple, blue, turquoise, and magenta knitted together, and she can make out small patches in the yarn where its been run thin and had to be darned with slightly mismatched thread.

“So,” Bas starts, quieter than she had expected, sitting forward in her chair, attentive. “You’re worried about her. Why?” It’s hard to conceal her frown at such a strange question, but she doesn’t really try to. She doubts she’ll get anywhere through masking her reactions. “She’s part of our family,” Mor replies, “why wouldn’t we be worried about her.” Bas settles deeper into his chair, hands braced on arms, head tilted back into the pillow as he watches her intently. It’s not an expression she’s unfamiliar with, but not one she had expected to encounter here—something wary and deeply protective.

“She doesn’t speak much about any of you,” he hedges slowly, keeping his posture relaxed. “But it’s enough. You aren’t as close knitted as family.” Mor opens her mouth to speak, but he continues. “Even if you try to be,” he says, nodding, “she isn’t easy to get to.” Mor closes her mouth, lips pursing in a tight line. He sighs, shifting in his seat, pushing a thick loc of hair from his face, hooking it over a thoroughly pierced ear. “I believe that you’re concerned about her, and that you truly want to help,” he says heavily, attitude shifted from how he’d been outside, and Mor wonders what Bas might have been told about the Shadowsinger to warrant such ice.

“We do,” she urges sincerely, and Bas nods again, hearing her.

“What I…worry about,” he starts hesitantly, forming the words carefully, considering each one. “I worry you don’t understand her enough to make an informed call,” he settles on, and Mor bristles a little. How long has Bas known her for? Does he know her more than Mor does? “What leads you to that way of thinking?” She asks, keeping the stiffness from her tone.

“I know you don’t see her much,” he replies simply, and again Mor’s lips purse. “She doesn’t enjoy…full, settings. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t care, though.” He sighs, eyes briefly closing, before reopening with a fresh intensity, sitting upright in his chair, forearms braced on his thighs. “Do you know how we met? Me and her?”

Mor’s brow dips, but she answers anyway, curious where he’s going with this. “Through Nesta, right?” Bas nods, something passing through his eyes at the right answer. “Right,” he confirms, “making time to visit those stuffy inns, filled with groping hands—she hates places like that.” Bas sighs again, hand rubbing one side of his face. “I don’t even know if it helped at all, but I know she felt it was all she could do. Even if it was just company, and nothing material. Even if it might not’ve had an overall impact, that was her way of trying to help.”

Mor remains quiet, not seeing what he’s trying to say.

Bas shakes his head, as if telling her to forget about it, again rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, I don’t even know if I can speak on her behalf, and I like to think we’re fairly close with one another,” he admits, sighing heavily. “I don’t want to mislead you.”

“So you’ll let me where she’s gone?” Mor asks, concern heavy in her voice, making no effort to conceal her worry. She watches as the pads of his fingers rub over his eyes wearily, as she wonders if this is straining on him more than he’s letting on. “Try to understand her, when she talks,” he requests quietly, eyes still shut, fingers rubbing faintly. “She still confuses me sometimes, and she never shows if it bothers her, but I can’t imagine someone being okay with being misunderstood.”

“Bas,” Mor urges gently, sensing he’s on the verge of telling her whereabouts. “Please tell us where she’s gone. We don’t want her to feel alone.”

Bas doesn’t look up, face still covered by his hands, but Mor can make out the tightness of his brows, torn between his decisions. So close to cracking open.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

Mor blinks, eyes locking with gold as he looks at her through his fingers, fatigue obvious beneath his gaze, the lines more pronounced as the flame casts the shadows of his digits across his features, deepening the half circles that have appeared.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Mor asks, biting down on shock, clearing it entirely from her voice. “She didn’t tell me,” he answers quietly.

Silence stretches, and even in the haze and confusion that’s been stirred up she has enough clarity to feel the piercing weight of a glare through a window, heavy and accusing. Tension crackles in her spine, flipping her golden hair over a shoulder, a subtle message to piss off to the shadows that are watching from outside.

She sighs heavily, meeting the golden eyes of the male opposite her, now sat back in his chair as he was before, but his back is slumped, as if containing all that worry had been stretching him taut. Relieved to no longer be the sole barer of her secrets. “Do you—…” Mor eases in a sharp breath, settling the worry and gradually increasing panic that’s tightening around her throat. She swallows, pulling herself together. Recomposing herself. “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?” She asks calmly. “Anything could help.”

But Bas shakes his head, guilt clear in his golden eyes. “She didn’t give me any hints. But she had a bag with her, so I’m guessing she had somewhere in mind and didn’t just aimlessly wander off.”

Mor nods, getting to her feet, golden eyes tracking her movements. “Thank you for telling me,” she says sincerely, before turning for the door.

“I know that leaving in the middle of the night without telling anyone where you’re going seems rash—maybe even a bit stupid,” Bas says after her, voice a little clearer to catch her attention. “But she’s smart. I’d wager it was probably something she’d had in the back of her mind for a while.”

Mor swallows thickly, the possibility not sitting well with her, but nods nonetheless.

“I’ll let you know when we find her.”

————

Azriel waits sullenly in the front garden for Mor to exit the male’s house, darkening the doorstep he’d been instructed to remain in until she was done.

He watches the door open and close, Mor stepping out into the night air, latch clicking softly as it locks behind her, and the two make their way silently at first down the garden path, back into the street before they begin communicating. “That certainly didn’t take long,” he muses lowly, glancing at her sidelong. “I take it you heard everything?” She asks quietly, tension clear in the cold bite of her usually honeyed voice. Azriel gives a brisk nod, and Mor sighs. “What now?”

“There are only so many places she could have gone to,” Azriel replies smoothly, mind already running through the possibilities. Honestly, Bas not knowing almost helps more—it has to be someone she knows. There are only two places she could have possibly run off to, though neither of them seem particularly believable. That being thought, he knows where he’ll check first.

“You have an idea?” Mor asks tightly, a bit of a bite to her question. Azriel nods grimly, “Elain mentioned a fox in her vision,” he explains, “apparently they grow close—enough to make a bargain of some sort, anyway.”

“Elain saw the bargain in her vision?” Mor questions. Azriel nods. “We don’t know if that’s symbolism or not,” she mutters, “we have no idea how accurate they are, either. Nor how soon they’ll come to pass.” Her tone softens toward the end a little, but Azriel isn’t willing to speak about that part of the prophecy yet. That he will be dying. Probably soon, going off how vivid Elain’s descriptions were—as if it were urgent. Impending.

“And you’re sure Elain doesn’t know where she’s gone?” Mor asks, keeping her gaze ahead, brows pulled together in concentration, a glint in her warrior’s eyes. “She might do,” Azriel sighs, “they are close, after all. And the fox…”

“Could be Lucien,” Mor finishes heavily. “You think she’s run to the mortal lands. Back to her home.” Azriel remains silent, keeping pace as they return silently to the River House.

Piercing amber eyes dig into the side of his skull, the intensity of her attention almost startling if he hadn’t had centuries to grow accustomed to it. He senses the question, just as she could sense he was holding something back.

Azriel doesn’t look at her as he speaks, “there’s only one other person the fox might represent.”

Even without visuals, he can hear how her pace nearly falters, then comes to a stop. He pauses with her, at last turning to face the golden haired female. Her skin is paler, even taking the silver of the moon into account. “You think she might have gone to Eris?” She asks, voice thick, but quiet. No more than a breath of wind. “I think it’s one of the two. There’s no one else it could be.”

“She’s only met him once,” Mor snaps lowly, nails digging into her palms. Azriel makes a show of shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “It’s one or the other,” he says calmly, “if she isn’t in the Mortal lands…”

Mor stares at him, amber eyes drained a little. “You really think there’s a chance he could have…taken her?” She practically spits, unable to keep the hiss out of her voice. Because when it comes to that long ago trauma, her only responses to fall back on are fear, or anger. He doubt she’ll allow the vulnerability of fear right now. Not with the tension between them. “I think it’s better to question Elain first to see if she knows anything. If she doesn’t, I’ll make my way down Prythian.”

Mor blinks, realising the situation. She had demanded Azriel be the one to tell Feyre, regardless of whether they find anything or not. But with the new possibility of her having somehow found herself in the Autumn Court…Mor’s throat rolls heavily. She can’t bring herself to go there. Even now, the thought alone…she pushes against the urge to settle her palm over her abdomen. “We question Elain first,” she manages quietly, and Azriel can see how she’s gathering herself back together.

Instinct is the closest it comes to, that feeling she’s somehow run off to the Autumn Court, like a tug toward the unfamiliar land. Surely Elain would have mentioned something to him about a plan for her sister to leave when she’d been telling him about the vision. It’s the option that makes the most sense, for her to have spoken with Elain, and used a tunnel to reach the border quickly. With all the books she’s read in the library…the kind of things they contain, he doesn’t doubt she’d be more than capable of figuring a way to sneak out of the Night Court. To sneak out of Prythian if she set her mind to it.

Mor nods, and Azriel redirects his attention to the street, continuing the pace. “Question Elain,” she murmurs, “then head to Autumn first. If she isn’t there, go to the Lower Lands. Be as quick as possible.” He nods, admittedly relieved he won’t have to yet face Rhys for the mess he’s inadvertently caused.

————

“Eris, I’m tired,” you sigh, hands aching, sitting dejectedly on a tree stump.

As much as you’d protested, he’d dragged you back out into the forest, where everything feels encased in a glass bubble. It’s hard to explain when you think about it, but it’s like being in another world, how easily the trees sweep away and redirect noise. Hairs prickle at the back of your neck as you remember the giant, boar-like creature that had rampaged upon you mere days ago. The sight and smell of steaming blood as skin slid from flesh, melted apart.

“You haven’t even done anything,” he mutters, watching. “Get back up.”

You sigh heavily, reluctantly getting to your feet, then blinking heavily, suddenly crouching down as you press your palms to your eyes, trying to steady yourself from the abrupt dizziness that had ballooned into your head. Lips part as you try to concentrate on your breathing, wishing away the sudden feeling of unevenness beneath your feet. Eventually it passes, a few extra moments spent crouched for good measure, before you slowly stand back up, hand pressing to the side of your head. Cutting whiskey and amber eyes are piercing into you from across the clearing. You scowl back.

“What was that?” He asks, disapprovingly, your scowl deepening at the tone.

“I told you: I’m tired,” you snap, but it lacks the bite you’d wished for, fatigue building into a slow but heavy pulse inside your head, just above and behind your brows. A yawn rises from your chest, and you cover your mouth as it stretches you open, eyes squeezing shut, watering a little before you slump back into your usual posture, no longer pulled taut by your muscles.

His sharp eyes narrow accusingly, and you bristle at the look, trying to summon up the energy to glare at him. “Did you eat breakfast this morning?” He asks sharply, and you grimace, knowing he won’t approve of the answer. But you really don’t have the energy to lie, either. “No, I didn’t,” you sigh, “I was feeling sick.” Something flickers behind his eyes, but it’s gone too quickly for you to even attempt to recognise. “You were probably feeling sick from hunger,” he mutters, as if it’s obvious, arms folding over his chest, leaning back against a tree. “Using magic can take up a lot of energy, even if it doesn’t feel like it. You should have—”

“I know the difference,” you hiss, lip twitching up in the beginnings of a snarl, before once again flattening out, and you sit back on the stump, uncaring if it pisses him off. You hope it does.

“Do you?” He muses, a bladed edge to his tone that has your stomach tightening, glancing at him warily from across the clearing. You tense as he pushes off from the tree, then vanishes, and you jump as he appears on your other side, peering down at you, unimpressed. “You know how to tell when your magic is draining you? Because those are some pretty big steps to have made seemingly overnight.” Your lips purse, averting your gaze, sullenly looking away. “That’s what I thought.”

“I know the difference between hungry sickness and—” you falter, but manage to finish the sentence, “…and being unwell.”

Eris pauses, and you want to meet his gaze and glare at him, but your head just feels too heavy on your shoulders, and the general fatigue hasn’t been aided by the light sheen of sweat that’s been layering your body each morning, before you’ve wobbly stumbled to the washroom, clutching your stomach. You’ve yet to actually regurgitate anything though—your one blessing. It’s like those initial months after the Cauldron all over again.

“Look at me,” he instructs, and you glare at the ground, irritation growing in your chest. It wouldn’t hurt him to be a little more gentle with his attitude. His demeanour, in general. A curse sits, unspoken, at the tip of your tongue when he grips your jaw, angling your chin upward so he can examine you. Again your lips twitch in a slight snarl, but the energy fails quickly. Amber eyes sweep over your features, and you avert your gaze when his own settle intensely on yours. He releases you after a too-long moment, allowing you your space again, and you glare at him. “What was that for?”

“You look worse than usual,” he answers flatly.

You glare at him resentfully, unable to muster up the laugh you usually would whenever he makes a comment like that. Instead you just feel irritated. His brows narrow further, “how much have you been sleeping recently?” He pushes. You shrug, briefly glancing away.

“A normal amount. I’m fine, just let me sit down, it’s not that big of an issue if I’m not standing, right?”

“Are you coming up for your cycle?”

The bones in your hands creak, groaning with strain and you hiss as pain flares weakly beneath your gloves at your fingertips. You tuck your hands under your arms, trying to soothe their sting as you glare at him. “Do not ask me that,” you snap, legs crossing on the tree stump. You half expect his lips to quirk at the easily given reaction, but his brow dips a little. “You don’t have to give me a direct answer,” he says at last, a touch gentler than before, but still stern. “Just answer if it could be related.”

You hesitate at the tone, jaw still tight with tension, but you swallow thickly. “No,” you manage quietly, “not for another few months, at least.”

“Then as much as you disagree, it would be a good idea to eat first, then see if you improve,” he replies, back to his usual drawl, laced with distaste. Enough to almost have your lips curving a little at their edges. “So we’ll be going back to have lunch right this second,” you muse, glancing up at him, “and you aren’t going to set some stupid challenge for me to fulfil beforehand. Right? Because that would be very impractical.”

His amber eyes glint with something you’ve decided is the closest he’ll get to open amusement, brow raising slightly. “Why waste a good motive?” He counters, “looks like you’re catching on.” You force a groan, if only in attempts to lighten the mood from whatever dark grave it had settled into, and you reluctantly get to your feet, taking it slow incase your head starts swimming again. “What is it this time?” Eris nods to the tree that looks to have been recently cut down, the counterpart to the trunk you’re sat upon. “I want you to try touching the bark,” he instructs, and you look at him quizzically. Seems easy enough.

You watch him questioningly as you stand and make your way over to the tree, putting your hands down.

“Done?” You say slowly, confusion blatant in the furrow of your brows as you stare at him.

Eris stares at you blankly, before raising his palm to cover the lower portion of his features, concealing his mouth. “Using your magic,” he adds disbelievingly, mouth still covered.

You blink, then flush with embarrassment, hand covering your own mouth as laughter bubbles up from your chest. “Oh,” you manage, shoulders shaking lightly, not helped by the matching amusement reflecting in his amber eyes—amusement he’s struggling to conceal. “I thought—” you break off, a smile stretching wide behind your palm, chest stuttering with mirth. “I thought you meant I just had to touch it.” He shakes his head, seemingly beyond speech. “You want to see how the bark reacts when I touch it with my magic,” you clarify, nodding your head, still trying to tamp down the laughter that’s heating your eyes faintly. He confirms with a slight nod of his head, and you take a deep breath, trying to sober up. “I see,” you nod again, at last recovered enough to lower your hands to remove your gloves, a smile still faintly curving your lips. “I’ll give it a go.”

“Why would I ask you to touch a tree?” Eris asks from somewhere at your back, tone almost settled back to his usual drawl, dripping of disapproval. “I’m tired,” you reply, not nearly as practiced as he is at keeping your tone neutral as you glance at him over your shoulder, “you should have clarified better.” Eris shakes his head, before nodding to the tree trunk.

You take in a breath, returning to look at the bark—what would happen if you touched it?

Closing your eyes briefly, you steady out your breaths, inhaling slow and deep, feeling your shoulders lose their tension before reopening your eyes. Focusing on the bark again now that you’re settled. “What should I do?” You ask, not taking your gaze from the tree or your hands.

“Try thinking about different things, exploring how they make you feel,” he replies steadily. How helpful, you think, but leave the comment unvoiced—you’re trying to concentrate. You think about how the light had appeared before, when he’d gotten you to briefly sustain it. It had hurt at first, you’d had the chance to realise, but after the initial rush of pain, the creak of bones and your groaning carpals, it had faded more into a slight tingle, like your fingers had fallen asleep, wrapped in a vague warmth.

You swallow thickly, thinking about the flat-topped ring in your pocket, the absence of weight in your ears, how they correlate. You don’t regret the decision to sell them off, to your slight surprise. More indifferent to the change, if not slightly excited at your choice. Doing something for yourself, on your own, that nobody knew about. It’s nice, having secrets.

“Now press them to the bark,” Eris instructs, and you look down in surprise to spot the faint greenish-gold glow weaving between your fingers—almost like fish slowly weaving throughout water as they struggle upstream, but less frenetic. Slowly, keeping your breathing steady, you press your palms against the bark, palms shaking slightly as the light flickers, almost flinching slightly as it hesitantly makes contact with the new surface.

You jerk away when something lances up your wrist, stinging pain spearing beneath your skin as the tang of copper bursts in the air. The magic extinguishes in an instant, snuffed out with a single recoiling thought, and your breathing loses its pattern as you glance down at your right palm. What looks like a popped blister sits on the heel of your hand, except the liquid that gleams had a red tint to it, mixed with blood. You sigh heavily, left hand holding your right wrist lightly, thumb pressing the flesh just below the blister, watching as blood rises to the surface. The skin around it is flakier than before, a little discoloured, and you spot a mole at the knuckle of your little finger, poking meekly out from the skin, as if worried over being spotted and pulled away.

Eris walks up to your side, glancing down at the bark, the absence of any sort of change. It looks exactly the same. “I guess nothing happened,” you hedge, glancing warily down at the tree, searching for some kind of change.

Eris is quiet, and you at last turn to peer up at him, wondering what he’s thinking. His silence is waring. Amber eyes latch with your own, narrowed and slightly impatient, before the emotion is swiftly wrapped away. “I had hoped to make more progress,” he muses lowly, and you regard him with caution at the hushed tone. His eyes gleam with something you can’t figure out, wariness intensifying as he pulls something from his pocket—a small silk pouch.

You tilt your head, brows furrowed, “what is that?”

His lips sharpen at the edges, and tension coils beneath your skin—that type of expression is never good. “Open it,” he instructs simply, and you cautiously take it from his fingers, eyeing him again before carefully pulling the strings open, tipping the contents out into your palm. You blink as you take in the smooth band of metal, silver and gleaming against the flaws of your skin. “A…ring?” You ask, peering up at him questioningly. He nods, and you suppress your jolt when his fingers brush over your knuckles, plucking the band up and watching you intently as he smoothly slides it down to the base of the pointer finger on your left hand.

His demeanour has noticeably shifted, and your brows narrow further, suspicion roiling in your gut.

“It’ll help with keeping your magic calmer,” he explains lowly, secretively, and you manage a nod, confusion running rampant in your blood stream. “How so?” You ask, glancing down at the band, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist to keep you from moving. “You have a habit of straining yourself to keep the full force of your power from coming out,” he answers, thumb brushing your knuckle, and this time you glare up at him. His mouth only sharpens, amber eyes glinting with something that has the hairs raising at the nape of your neck. “I’m sure you’re familiar with how the Illyrians use siphons—so their raw type of magic doesn’t destroy everything around them?” You nod, tension lessening, again glancing down to the band. “Think of it like that—now you don’t have to waste concentration on keeping it all in check.”

He releases your hand, and you pull it closer to look at the silver, angling your head a little, understanding this must have been what that exchange had been about, when he’d gone down that dim, dark alleyway into the hidden chamber. “So it’s…a magic ring?” You ask, brows scrunched together as you look up at him. He raises a brow, “how astute of you.” You glare, lips curving faintly at the familiar intonation.

You swallow, stepping back a little, nodding your head. “I guess…” you breathe deeply, “as good a time as any.” You pull the flat-topped ring from your own pocket, and extend it toward him. “I saw this the other day in the market,” you say honestly, watching as his expression shifts, brow raising as he opens his palm. “It reminded me of you a little, and I probably won’t see you over the solstice anyway, so might as well give it to you now.”

Eris takes the ring, examining it, the small carving of the fox set in sterling silver. “A rather unique gift,” he muses, making the edges of your mouth curve.

“If you hate it, you don’t have to wear it,” you say, smiling lightly, “I just wanted to get it.” Though to your surprise, he doesn’t seem to despise it, sliding it over the thumb of his right hand—it seems to actually fit.

That viper’s smile returns to his sharpened mouth, eyes glinting again. “I don’t think your family would approve of a gift like this,” he drawls, more clearly than before, causing you to cock your head in question.

Lips fashion themselves into a razor-sharp grin, the expression more vulpine than fae.

“Isn’t that right, Shadowsinger?”

————

Eris raises his gaze to the forest, how the trees had whispered to him, calling out about the figure stalking their movements. Really, the shadowsinger should know not to hunt outside his own territory. The hulking, shadowy figure steps silently out into the clearing, with a quiet that’s been well-earned by the Spymaster of the Night Court.

Powerful wings are pulled to his body in traditional Illyrian fashion, save for the darkness wreathing the gleaming talons at their peaks, cold hazel eyes clashing with Eris’ own. Marking what the Spymaster has come for. It’s proximity to the male he hates viciously, bloodily, gruesomely.

“Shouldn’t you know not to sneak around in the shadows by now?” Eris drawls, hands settling around its shoulders, feeling stone-tight tension beneath his palms. Its magic fading, unable to winnow two people away, so left trapped in the clearing as the male prowls closer.

“Eris,” the Spymaster greets coldly, darkness unspooling upon the ground he treads, coming to a stop at the edge of the clearing. Not close enough for hand-to-hand combat, but too nearby for a proper display of magic. At least he’s smart enough to recognise he’s at a disadvantage in a foreign court—uninvited, at that. “Shouldn’t you know the consequences of displacing a member of Rhys’ court?” The Spymaster questions, lethally quiet.

Tremors flutter beneath Eris’ hands, still gripping her shoulders to keep her in place, and he glances down, only to find her already watching him. If it weren’t for the tremors, she would be as still as death. Her brows lifted and slightly curved, mouth pointed down at the edges. Betrayal stark in her normally bright eyes.

“You’re clearly uninformed,” Eris muses, pulling away from her scared eyes to meet cutting hazel. “This is a perfectly amicable meeting, isn’t it, cygnet?”

The Spymaster’s canines flash at the pet-name, the blatant taunt, the insinuation he’s made that she would choose himself over the Spymaster. That well-concealed wrath suffers a blow when she raises her hands to grip his wrists, nothing demanding about the touch—it’s a weak hold. As if asking for attention.

“Amicable or not,” the Spymaster says, expression stony, “you’ll return her. Unless you want Rhys to know about this abduction?” Eris shrugs, amusement sharpening his mouth as he selects his words carefully, “I’m not her keeper. She will return when she likes.” By the looks of it, the arrow lands, pupils constricting as the Spymaster takes a menacing step closer.

————

Your ears have hollowed out, stomach swallowing your heart. A quiet kind of panic tightening through your chest, pulse spiking. Dread sluicing through the rope holding you taut.

You’re staring up at him, holding on with as much strength as you can manage as a strange emotion rushes through your blood, softening your muscles until you’re struggling to stand, pushing every pleading word you’ve ever read into your eyes, silently begging for him to do something. To keep you from facing him on your own.

You know how easy it is for him to shatter you.

Amber eyes lower to yours, walls risen against Azriel’s presence, and your fingers stutter over the cuffs of his tunic, before the last of your strength drains. They’re glinting again with that challenge, and in the very back of your mind you can understand he’s using this as just another training exercise, but it’s hard to focus on through the ringing in your ears, that strange quiet that’s so loud it drowns out every other thought, like a thousand whispers hissing instructions too swiftly, too viciously for you to make them out, coming together in a swirling spiral that’s pulling you under.

Eris’ mouth is moving, eyes peering at something behind you, but you’re fine not hearing. Would prefer to fade from the world, to slip away quietly, unnoticed and un-missed. But then amber again returns to you, and with it sound comes crashing in too. “Pack up,” Eris orders, and you blink, his hands tightening on your shoulders as he feels the slight sway of your body.

“She’ll take a while,” Eris drawls, glancing back at the Shadowsinger—your stomach lurches—who remains a heavy presence at your back. “You may be unwelcome, but let’s not waste this opportunity. Using your General’s absence as an excuse not to meet has lost its worth. You will suffice.”

————

You feel half-awake as you pack your things, watching from some far away place as you fold clothes meticulously, with much more care than you usually would, taking your time gathering the few items you brought.

Clothes, an empty blue box, the thickly bound volume. A thin wooden box about the length of your arm, a note attached atop.

Use it wisely.

You pack the box in your bag, recognising the elegant script.

————

Azriel had followed silently, concealed within Eris’s shadow as he’d strode through the stretching hallways, leading the way to his own chambers, where they will be able to speak freely and most importantly, privately. Tension had simmered beneath his war-roughened skin the entire time, disliking even having to blend his shadows with the heirling’s, but it’s an intimacy he’s forced to yield.

The room Eris takes him to is big, to say the least, and open, with a large bed against a wall, a wooden chest at its foot, his desk adjacent so natural light fills the cavernous room—one that’s above ground. It’s here he emerges from shadow, filling space just beside the large wooden chest, an unlit fire quite a way to his left. Eris takes his time walking around the desk, sitting down comfortably, having the nerve to look relaxed—prick.

“So,” Eris begins, and Azriel bites against the urge to grind his teeth at the smug tone. “She ran away from you. Took her long enough.”

“How long have you been planning this?” Azriel asks coldly, completing a triple check of the room, making sure there’s no one else around. “You act like it was my idea,” the autumn heir drawls, successfully snaring his attention, something foul rising at the back of his throat at the implication. Likely the confirmation he needs that she had indeed left of her own volition. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

“You want me to believe she came all this way on a hope that you’d provide temporary asylum?” Azriel asks, rooting deeper. “She has a smart head on her shoulders,” Eris drawls, amusement glinting in sharp, amber eyes, “she knows how to bargain.”

His blood ices over, skin turning cold at the wording, demeanour plunging as his shadows deepen. “You made a bargain with her?” Azriel growls, pulse spiking. If a bargain has already been made… But Eris waves his hand, enough of a light dismissal for Azriel to figure she hasn’t mentioned Elain’s vision to him. One small ray of light amongst the storming thunder clouds she’s already brought upon herself.

“Do you find it so unbelievable that she might be capable of making arrangements on her own? Why do you assume I had any hand in it?” Eris drawls, making that glittering rage sharpen into razor-tipped icicles, poised to carve and slice. “You’re a conniving bastard,” Azriel says lowly, violence glinting in his hazel eyes, “she wouldn’t have come to you without some prompting.”

“You think I tricked her?” Eris muses, a trace of humour in his tone, Azriel’s brows narrowing with detestation. “What would I get out of that, unless she was complicit? I have no way of forcing her magic out of her, she has to want that on her own—as much as that might irritate Rhys.”

Loathing simmers in Azriel’s chest, but he remains quiet, allowing Eris to talk so he can gather as much information as he can from both sides. So he can compare her side with his later.

“I’m sure after Nesta Archeron, Rhys would be eager to find out what other weapons he might have at his disposal.”

“She isn’t a weapon,” Azriel snarls lowly, fury held back by straining iron manacles.

“But she could become one,” Eris counters, tone shifting to something more serious, and Azriel stiffens. “The timing’s a bit strange, don’t you think? Her magic only now coming through? After two years?”

“That’s not for you to speculate on.”

“Even without an alliance, it is a matter of concern,” Eris growls, brows narrowing as ire blazes in his eyes, glowing like freshly forged steel. “Why doesn’t she know anything?”

Azriel growls in warning, violence itching at his fingers, fists aching to slam down. Sparks crackle in the air, his own intentions seemingly reflected in the male before him. “You don’t have the luxury to ignore this pathway,” Eris growls lowly, “choosing to turn a blind eye would be damning.”

“She has her own problems to deal with,” Azriel snarls lowly, “you do not get to make that call.”

“I will make the call if Rhys doesn’t,” Eris snarls back, canines flashing viciously, “she could use some toughening up.”

“You don’t know enough to make an informed choice,” Azriel mutters coldly.

“Then Rhys had better hurry up. It’s not as though he’s unaccustomed to having to make decisions like this. What’s taking him so long?”

Azriel keeps still, features neutral, refusing to let even a hint of emotion appear in his blank expression.

Eris’ eyes narrow, sensing he’s being denied information. Vulpine senses picking up on a weak spot. Unnervingly keen. Then he blinks, leaning back in his chair, torso losing tension. “You haven’t told him.” Despite the utter neutrality, Azriel knows he’s figured it out. The heirling nods, a cynical curve to his sharpened mouth. “She didn’t give the impression she’d willingly display her failures to you.”

“They aren’t failures,” Azriel mutters, ice burning in his eyes as he watches Eris with a glacial look.

“No? Because the control over her magic was pretty pathetic to me,” Eris replies lowly.

Azriel snarls, low and threatening, shadows concentrating into a darkness worthy of the Night Court’s Spymaster, deep and deadly as they writhe in warning. “I didn’t realise she had you so tightly wrapped around her flaky little finger,” Eris croons, and darkness rears back, preparing to strike, when three quiet taps are landed to the door, meagre and unimposing.

————

You peek your head into his chambers, bag slung over your shoulder as you pause on the threshold.

Tension is blatant in Azriel’s shoulders, wings slightly flared, an icy emotion tucked between the stern set of his brows, shadows darker—more frenetic—than they usually are. Looking over to Eris, you can see how he’s leaned back in his chair, that taunting glint in his naturally piercing gaze, and you can guess fairly easily the conversation they were having was not a friendly one—even without the aid of body language.

Maybe they were discussing Court matters.

“I—…Should I wait out—”

“Come in,” Eris orders, cutting you off, and your brows narrow a little at the tone, before softening out again, remembering who else is present. You shut the door behind yourself, turning your back to them to make sure it clicks shut quietly, then walking further into the room, stood a little distance from Azriel, not wanting to encroach on his space while he’s surely furious with you. At the very least immensely disappointed.

“Took you long enough,” Eris drawls, bringing your attention away from Azriel to meet his cutting gaze. Well, your eyes meet his. It’s practically impossible to not focus on the male at your right. You’re not sure if you're imagining the displeasure rippling from him, but you can only hope Eris hasn’t intentionally stirred things up. You know you won’t be able to protect yourself against whatever words he has for you after your abrupt departure.

“You haven’t left any tatters behind?” Eris asks, and a slight scowl dips your brows.

“I have everything,” you reply, readjusting the strap of the bag on your shoulder.

“Excellent. Then you can leave.”

You blink at the abrupt dismissal, glancing at him warily. “Weren’t you discussing something?” You ask Eris hesitantly, cautious about prodding where you aren’t welcome. “We were,” Eris replies, a viper’s smile on his sharp lips, amber eyes cutting to the male at your right. “But it appears your Spymaster doesn’t think you’re trustworthy enough.” It’s obviously a manipulation of truth, but that doesn’t make it easy to hear, heart hollowing out, spine losing a bit of rigidity.

“And who could blame him,” Eris continues, “you haven’t exactly been particularly honest with him, have you, cygnet?”

Your lips purse, averting your eyes from both of them, peering at the floorboards to your left, shame tightening around your throat. “Seems logical enough,” you say quietly, managing to keep your voice steady. You’d rather vanish right then and there, wiped clean from memory and existence than allow a tremor into your voice.

You’ve gotten yourself into this situation. Self-pity won’t fix anything.

“Then that is that,” Eris muses, pulling you from your thoughts. Azriel shifts, not saying another word to either of you as he makes for the door, and you glance at Eris a little longer, searching for a way back. He quirks a taunting brow, resting his jaw on his right hand, the flat-topped band of sterling silver catching the light with the motion. Your thumb brushes the ring on your own finger, before you turn, making for the door where Azriel’s waiting to take you back.

Back to the Night Court.

Back to Velaris.

Back to your family.

Back to be judged.

————

It was unnerving how alone you’d felt on the way out of the palace. Even knowing he was present, slipping through shadows, you couldn’t sense a single thing, and on more than one occasion had glanced around, worriedly trying to find him—but nothing.

It wasn’t until you passed the walls, heading out into the forest again that he emerged—silent and looming—unable to hear his footsteps even when he was right beside you. Unnervingly ghost-like.

You wait for him to speak, to say whatever it is that’ll inevitably bring tears to your skin, but he’s completely silent, leading the way. Knowing you’ll follow behind. Knowing you won’t speak to him until he initiates.

You’d been brought here by winnowing, but he makes no move to wrap either of you in his shadows, and a small part of you whispers that he wouldn’t want you to contaminate them. You try to ignore that part, but even the quietest voice will be heard over silence. Instead the tales spin deeper, that he hadn’t even wanted to retrieve you, content to have you out of the way, out of the Night Court, away from his home. At least that way there’d be no chance of his prophesied death coming to pass.

He’d be safe, and you wouldn’t be bothering him.

Wouldn’t be bothering any of them.

He walks deeper into the forest, silent and steadfast, while you watch as his boots tread through the fallen leaves, not daring to look any higher in case it disgusts him further. You have no concept of how long you follow after him for—long enough your feet begin to ache lightly, but you push through it—silently waiting for the conversation to start. For the first question to be asked. For the first blow to be landed.

Azriel doesn’t stop when you try to shift your bag to the other shoulder, your right one aching, and something in your stomach drops when your pace slows but his remains constant, so you hurriedly finish the switch, and make an effort to catch up, careful not to trip. Hunger gnaws at your bones, but you keep quiet, not wanting to interrupt his pace. It’s not until your stomach audibly protests that he comes to a pause, glancing over his shoulder to you, and you swiftly duck your head, averting your eyes from his painfully familiar hazel set. Breaths deepening as you come to a stop with him.

“When did you eat last?” He asks. The first words he’s said to you.

“Yesterday,” you answer quietly, pressure tight across your chest as you try to keep your breaths quiet but even. “Do you have food on you?” He asks. You nod. You’d wrapped up a pastry from breakfast, it being the only thing you’d be able to savour. Even years later, the habit of not wasting food still remains prominent.

His boots shift, turning to face forward as he begins walking again. You follow silently, seeing no point in nodding or replying. It’s not like you’re going to do anything else. “There’s a clearing up here. You can eat there.”

Azriel pauses beside a particularly large oak tree, and you swallow, and you habitually consider where the least offensive place to sit would be. So you’re nicely out of his way. The ground is muddy, so you’re forced to follow beside his footsteps to the oak, setting as silently as you can on one large branch that’s gnarled and shoved through the earth to curl into a large seat.

Your pulse spikes, wondering if this will be where you have the one-sided discussion, perching the bag on your legs, searching through for the little pastry. It’s made harder by your bare hands, how every piece of fabric seems to bite at your skin with each brush, piercing painfully as you search, until you spot the orange scarf, pulling it out to find the pastry wrapped in a napkin.

He doesn’t say anything, but you feel like you’re wasting time.

You peer at the pastry in your hands, not particularly keen on eating it. You’re close enough to nausea as is, and don’t want to tempt fate with giving your stomach something to regurgitate. But it would be weird to put it away now, so you’ll just have to take small bites. Hope that you can stomach it. A few minutes pass, but you’ve hardly made a noticeable dent in the food, guilt weighing on your bones, pausing between each mouthful to peer around the clearing dully.

Your fingers fumble a little when Azriel moves, settling on the root beside you, your muscles stitching themselves taut, and you hastily shift yourself tighter so he has his space. Almost dropping the pastry in your stuttering movements.

He’s quiet for a bit, and you swallow thickly, attempting to focus on the food before you so as not to stare, but internally you can feel the beats passing, heart ticking tighter…tighter…

“Why did you leave?” He asks quietly.

You still, able to feel the narrow wooden box digging into your thighs. Pausing as the tension abates a little, like how you imagine it would feel to watch an arrow loose from a bow, watching it arc in the sky, then slowly plummet down, seeking out its target. The breath that would breathe out in relief once it embedded itself in flesh, those few, stretching moments at last having come to an end, and one can relax into the clarity of the pain. The certainty of the wound.

“I wanted to get out,” you mumble thickly, keeping the shake from your voice.

“So you went to him?” Azriel asks. You head lowers a little in sorrow.

Where else were you supposed to go?

“You could have asked to be taken somewhere,” he says quietly, and guilt tightens itself around your throat. Is there any way to explain to him why you’d left when you hardly understand it yourself? It had been a crescendo of nerves, of bottled up worries tightening with pressure, like air being blown into a brown paper bag until it burst. Is there any way to tell him you’d like to be able to ask things of him, but in truth you’d rather be slowly pulled apart by pressure than worry him with pointless tasks that only serve your benefit? How can you ever hope to speak with him honestly, when your very heart seems to be the thing warning you away—that same heart that wants to press into him, to beg and cry for forgiveness and reassurance.

“At least have the decency to answer,” he says quietly when you don’t respond, and you feel the small tremor that shudders up your throat, fearing the oncoming disaster. “I wanted to go on my own,” you get out, words softer than a whisper.

He’s quiet, and you wonder if that’s the end of the discussion for now.

But, “did you think at all about what the consequences would be from going to him?” He asks, gaze ahead, but attention pressing down on you. “Or did you forget you have people around you, that your actions impact.”

Your grip loosens on the pastry, choosing to wrap it back up in the napkin, fingers shaking slightly. A lump rising in your throat.

“Answer,” he murmurs, promptingly.

“I just wanted to go,” you whisper hoarsely, fingers wringing together. “I thought—… I thought it would be better if I was fur—… If I was gone.”

“Are you going to tell Mor where you went?” He questions softly. “Or did you not think about that part either?”

“I made progress,” you try, raising your gaze to his. “I can summon it, if I concentrate.”

His lips remain unmoving, but his eyes…gods, his eyes. You betrayed her, you know. All of them.

Breath catches in your throat, and you have to look away. Unable to face him. It. Any of it.

“Why is it so bad?” You ask quietly. “All I did was leave for a little under a week. I was trying to get better.”

“Stop. Lying,” he mutters lowly, blood freezing in your veins, fingers wringing together. Silence ticks by, and you wonder if he can hear the humiliatingly loud pulse of your heart, erratic and stumbling as it usually does around him. You don’t think he’s ever so obviously shown what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling.

Why is this the first way you see it?

Why is this the first time he allows it?

“Just tell me what you want,” you ask quietly, voice faltering as you stare at him helplessly. “You’re never happy with anything I do,” you manage, trembling with growing turmoil, “so please, just tell me what you want, and put me out of my misery.”

He exhales harshly, leaning back into the trunk, lips tugged down at the corners, reproach tucked between his brows, so rarely softened by charm anymore. At least not while you’re around. Almost never when you’re around.

“I don’t feel I should have to tell you how you fucked up here,” he replies lowly, and you push back on the flinch at the crude wording. “You made a bad choice.”

“Imagine how much worse the others were,” you reply lowly, a hint of resentment—not directed at him—present in your tone. He stiffens at your side, then his gaze slides slowly over to you, lethal and condemning, but it’s like you can’t look away. You physically can’t duck your head, or shy away. “You’re really joking at a time like this?”

You meet his eyes fully, presently, taking him in against the darkening sky, winter sun already on the way out for the day, the chill more than prominent, but you don’t dare reach for the scarf in your bag. “Tell me what you want,” you repeat softly, no louder than a last breath on dying lips.

“I want you to be honest,” he replies, brows narrowing, “for once, apparently.”

“About what?”

“Why you went to him.” He nearly spits, unable to entirely keep his ire at bay, something passing behind his eyes.

You’re quiet. Silent.

Then you lean back into the trunk of the tree, head tilting back into the rough bark, hands settling numbly in your lap. Shoulders slope, and you peer up into the grey sky, gloomy and heavy with unshed tears. Thick and thunderous. Fitting for the storm that’s on its way.

“Please don’t be angry,” you whisper, hardly a breath from your lips, a prayer whisked away by the static air. He’s silent, and your throat closes up. “Azriel,” your murmur, swallowing thickly. “Please.”

Moments tick by, stretching and warping as your heart thumps heavily in your chest, utterly bewitched, utterly at his mercy. It’s exhausting.

He sighs, and you try not to stiffen as he glances over to you, feeling that familiar prickle of skin as lovely hazel settles on you. A few warm rays making it through the dim clouds before being frozen off by the icy breeze. Winter’s most definitely on its way.

“I won’t be angry,” he murmurs softly. “Just…talk to me. Like you used to.”

Your arms fold over your chest, closing in on yourself, feet pressing together as you hunch over the bag in your lap, peering at the muddy ground. The smell of parchment rises from your memories, dusty and familiar, but lacking the warmth of nostalgia. Like the bitterness of a tea left to steep for too long, so it dries out your throat, eyes watering from its ticklish bite.

“I couldn’t do it on my own,” you admit quietly. Fingers brushing your knuckles. Raw and flaky.

The thoughts swirl in the back of your mind, ready to roar and rage, becoming so loud they’re deafening, suddenly cutting quiet so fast you have no desire to understand what it means when the waters draw back. What it means when the sea itself shrinks away, leaving a barren and washed-up beach.

“But, the idea of trying in front of you…any of you…and then falling flat at such a small hurdle…” You look to your left, away from him, pulling tighter into yourself. Can anything good come of this kind of honestly? With him?

“I don’t have much anymore, Azriel,” you breathe lowly, struggling silently with the humiliating vulnerability. How bare you are, just waiting for steel to pierce your skin. Like tossing yourself over a cliff and hoping the jagged rocks far below will soften your fall.

“I just wanted to keep my dignity. The scraps left of it after…what happened…”

Your toes curl in your shoes, feet crossed, feeling as though your heart is trying to cave in on itself, swallowed by a vacuum suctioning you back down with the force of a flooded spring river.

“So it was better to fail in front of Eris?”

“But I don’t owe him success,” you argue uselessly, eyes squeezing shut in attempts to keep the tears at bay as your head falls into your hands. “I don’t—…I don’t owe him anything.”

“You don’t owe us anything either,” he replies.

“I owe my entire life to you,” you nearly hiss, spine curving in as your brows cramp together, jaw wound so tight you feel like a tooth might crack beneath the intense pressure, nails pressing into the soft skin of your brow.

“Feyre was the one who saved the three of you,” he reminds quietly, slowly, but you’re shaking your head. Staring down into your lap, tension rippling so clearly from your bunched up form Azriel considers laying a hand on your trembling shoulder as if to pull you from a trance. “No. I know, but…” Your fingers press into your eyes, unable to articulate what you can feel in your stomach. “If she hadn’t gone to Night,” you breathe heavily, shakily, “if she hadn’t gone here, we’d still be back there, entirely human, and I—… I wasn’t going to last much longer there.”

Azriel pauses at your side, taking on the information silently. “You were ill?” He asks softly—he’d had no idea about that. Your shoulders shake, and he can’t tell if it’s with laughter or muffled sobs. Maybe a little of both.

“Maybe,” you whisper, “I don’t know enough about medicine to say, but I…” You shake your head again, and he’s able to sense that’s as much as he’ll get. It’s been over two years, and this is the first he’s hearing of it even in vague detail—he knows this isn’t something he can press.

“It doesn’t matter now,” you say with rueful conviction, palms pushing wetness from your cheeks, spine straightening before collapsing back against the trunk. Tired and exhausted. “We’re out. I don’t need to do anything now.”

Azriel’s brow furrows. “You’re content to stay in your room and rot away?”

You rest your head in your hands, leaning over the bag, staring down into its contents. What else is there?

“You could spend time with your family, for starters,” he replies and you aren’t sure if you imagine the note of impatience in his voice. “Your sisters worry about you a lot. It’s not good for you to be up in that room all the time.”

“Well it seems every time I come out of that room I somehow end up getting in your way.”

“Is that what this is about?” He asks abruptly, and your lips press together, lower one curving over. “I thought we sorted that out,” he says quietly, calming the sharpness of his tone, hearing it even in his own ears, glancing over your hunched figure. “We did,” you reply, muffled by your arms, voice turning watery as you ease in a short breath. “We did.”

A beat passes, then tension stutters in your chest as he gently lays his palm over your shoulder. “Please just talk to me,” he says softly, and you struggle to keep your breaths even as your lungs shudder beneath that touch. After spending so long wanting it…craving it…convinced feeling how gentle his touch could be over and against your skin would fix everything…even temporarily… You try to swallow the lump in your throat. “If not me, then Elain, or Feyre, or Nesta,” he pauses, “…Bas.”

You aren’t paying much attention, though, thankful for the way your mind melts beneath the warmth of his palm. How heat is sinking into your skin, slowly spreading through your shoulder as your muscles thaw. Pressure is lessened, and the tension that had been stitching the tendon taut loosens, allowing breath the ease in and out of your lungs with tiring relief. You could deflate with fatigue. Just turn limp and boneless, better for absorbing impact than having it crack against you.

“Just talk with us some more so this doesn’t happen again,” he urges quietly. “Come down to the river house—you know Feyre keeps your room open—or join us for dinner. At least try. If that doesn’t work, we can find something else.”

You don’t reply. Just remain tucked away from the world. Content to remain within your small shell as long as you can keep that warmth on your shoulder.

The pressure lightens, and your heart hides away as his hand slips from your shoulder, leaving your skin starkly cold with the absence of his presence.

“I’m sorry for what I…for how things transpired. Between…us,” Azriel murmurs, unsure how much to say, to not bring up past pains, especially if they aren’t as healed as you’ve led him to believe. He’s starting to become unsure what to believe about you—he hadn’t ever considered you might run from them. How bad things might have become to force you into that position. Are things that bad?

“I’m sorry, too,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse, and Azriel listens attentively. “I shouldn’t have told you how I felt, in the library. I shouldn’t have made my feelings your problem.”

“They aren’t,” he says softly, but you shake your head as if you haven’t heard him.

“I’m sorry.”

————

He tries speaking twice more on the way back, but the conversations lead nowhere, no longer flourishing as they had, once upon a time. So long in the past they feel coloured by age. Turned stiff and yellow at the edges.

He tries slowing his pace so she’ll walk at his side, but she just drops further back, silently pressing between his footsteps as she trails, head kept down to remain focused on taking one step at a time. The shadow that is cast across her face from the down-tilted angle of her head is deeper than he would have expected.

When he hears her shifting the bag across her shoulders for the third time, he quietly plies the straps from her hands, relieving her of the physical weight. She makes no obvious protest, aside from the stiffening of her body at his approach, but he can spot the relief when he takes the bag. Moving it to his own shoulder, he can make out what feels like a wooden box, the kind made to keep a weapon from being damaged. The thought gives rise to instinctive alarm.

Why might she have a weapon in her bag?

His shadows subtly shift at his back, rising secretively to examine her. Questions begin rising to his mind: unkind, unfair questions that are habitual in his line of work. He tries to shake them off, but they remain firmly rooted in his mind, burrowing deeper with each stride that has the narrow box digging into his side, as if already trying to burrow into his flesh.

How did she know Eris would take her in? How could she possibly guarantee making the trek across Prythian over night would pay off? It’s an absurd risk to take, regardless of circumstance. He can think of answers to those questions, but they don’t sit well with him. An answer to why she might be so familiar with Eris supposing they’ve spoken less than a handful of times. A certainty she must have possessed to take the risk that isn’t one she would have from that little contact. And if she’s hiding how much contact she might’ve had with him…

She was already hiding her magic from them…then there’s the prophecy too. Bas, and the illness. Why were these things she hadn’t mentioned? He can understand the recent silence, but why not before…? Regardless of immediate relevance, it shows she’s prone to secret-keeping.

Azriel eases in a steadying breath, descending into a calm, cold mental state. Sinking into indifferent objectivity.

She isn’t stupid. Far from it, having spent so much time in the library, where there’s all kinds of information just ripe for the picking. And Eris isn’t stupid, either. If he saw a weak spot, he’d go for it. And if Eris went for her, would she be able to resist something she was unable to see for what it truly was?

Azriel’s skin goes a little cold, reminded of the prophecy.

He will die, and it will be by her hand.

He supposes he can only control how much impact it will have on those around him. If Eris has managed to wrap her up in some slow-moving scheme…but that’s just speculation. Still, his instincts are telling him something is wrong with the narrow wooden box, one that must have come from Eris. A box fashioned like those to hold weapons. From Eris. To the female who will kill him.

He should ask her what it is.

Azriel would’ve shaken his head if those habits hadn’t been crushed out of him centuries ago. He can’t just ask her if she’s planning to kill him.

But it would allow a chance for her to explain what’s in the weapon case.

But it would alert her to his knowing about the blade inside her bag. She’d wanted to hide her magic from the start, and earlier she’d mentioned she’d gotten further…how much further? If it’s magic any similar to Nesta’s, it would be unwise to have a confrontation here, alone. Still within Autumn Court territory.

But it would be more dangerous to bring her back to Velaris. To bring her back into the beating heart of the Night Court where her detonation would be fatal.

Azriel blinks, and returns back into the waning light of day—it’ll soon be night.

What can he do, really? If he’s destined to die….who is he to try and get in the way of the Mother? Would he kill her to save his own life? Is that what he would do in order to live a little longer, before a new threat looms to end him? He wants to kill her no more than he desires his own death.

But if it came down to it…what would he choose?

His shadows observe her silently, as they had been throughout his internal struggle. He focuses on what he can see, discarding the lens of suspicion that’s been embedded in him as Spymaster, centuries of limited trust having an impact on his mind.

All he sees is a young woman walking through a dark forest, following him off the pathway.

Internally, he sighs—there always seems to be a constant flow of problems as of late, and peace seems to be persistently remaining just out of reach. A few more years, and then there will be peace; a few more political aggressions to navigate, and then they can rest; just one more person to heal, and then they can be happy. When will the peace truly arrive, though? Is it all wishful thinking? An imagined utopia that will make every sin he’s committed acceptable? Is it just his mind finding more excuses to justify the things he’s done in the name of protecting his family and court?

She’s just one more disturbance, keeping peace from settling.

Azriel swallows, thinking heavily. Even if she was out of the way, there would still be everything else to deal with. Will this problem be the last one, or will a new threat fall in to fill the space of the old one? Hasn’t it been long enough, by now? Hasn’t he done enough?

Shadows check on her again, her head hanging silently, those once bright eyes dull and dark as they follow numbly in his footsteps. The female with whom he’d spent so many afternoons with discussing things in the library…where is she? Is he at fault for her disappearance?

Closing his eyes briefly to relieve the ache that’s been slowly building just below his brows, he allows himself to ponder.

Is it pointless to try and salvage their relationship?

Would it be better if she did kill him?

————

The storm clouds have gathered, full and swollen with rain and thunder. No lightening though. Lightening would suggest some kind of magnificence, and there’s nothing magnificent about the cool temperature of your blood, nor the dull buzz in the back of your mind. The overwhelming grey of your surroundings as you emerge from the tunnel.

The air is drier in the Night Court, you vaguely realise. No dampness nor humidity that you’d grown subconsciously accustomed to from less than a week’s stay in Autumn. A small break of sunshine between the dismay grey you’d all grown so accustomed to for the first few months of the year, back when you were human. Weak, fallible humans, but simpler. Quiet and peaceful, even if that silence was from the constant prowl of starvation. It had been easier to bear.

You don’t wait to see if Azriel will try to speak again once he’s flown the both of you back up to the House of Wind, silently turning your back to trace the familiar halls of the House, moving without awareness, muscle memory guiding you down the corridors, past the tables littered with napkins and cutlery, past the shelves displaying pale crockery and silver chalices, past the chest with a few discarded daggers atop, arrowheads littered haphazardly across the surface as if someone had cast them down carelessly.

The room is greyer than you remember, too tidy to be a lived in space, but it has those reminders—the gifts you were given, and you absently touch your earlobe, squeezing it between your finger and thumb.

Azriel pauses at the threshold, taking the bag off his shoulder. Does he know you sold the earrings? Those pretty, pretty earrings? Probably some of the nicest things you could have believed to be your own.

They must be getting tired by now. All of them.

Blonde hair and sparkling eyes pass dully through your mind, and your heart dies a little more, understanding how you’ve ruined the small blessing. There’s no coming back from what you’ve done—not without significant work, at least, and you’re so tired. In your bones, in your eyes, in your mind. You’ve lived through a lot, but thanks to immortality, you have no choice but to live through more. A body being dragged through the mud, carried towards a grave that was never dug.

Azriel’s mouth is moving, has been moving since he removed the bag from his shoulder, but you haven’t been hearing. Mind too tired and numb to manage focus, grasping only basic colours and lines.

He’s looking at you, and you’re looking back, but not into his eyes. His words pass through your mind meaninglessly, and you wonder if you’re real. A strange pressure is wrapping its tingling fingers around your skull, squeezing like you’re wearing a hat that’s a little too tight. It will take a lot of work to fix what you’ve done. A lot of work you can’t manage. A debt that deepens faster than you can repay it. A sink draining faster than you can fill it. Blood cooling faster than you can stop it.

Maybe it would be better to let it cool, for a while.

————

Azriel doesn’t feel comfortable leaving her in the House alone, with that dull look in her eyes.

He had planned to fly back down to the River House, to let Rhys and Feyre know she was back, and she was safe, to give her some space maybe for an hour or so to let her get her bearings again. Not too long alone, though. That look hadn’t been bright. Instead he ends up slumping into one of the boney, wooden chairs in the kitchen, the House already brewing two cups of tea. He reaches out for Rhys, mentally feeling for the hidden bridge kept open. He finds it almost immediately, and an icy wind slams into him in greeting. Cold, swift, and perfectly telling to his brother’s current temperament.

You’re back.

Azriel bites back on the cringe at the ice in his High Lord’s voice—belying fury. He should have put together Rhys would be furious for Feyre, too, for stirring up this kind of stress for his mate.

She’s with me. How is Feyre?

More furious than I am, though I doubt she’ll show you.

There’s a pause, and Azriel steadies himself.

How is she?

It would be good for her to have company. Preferably in the River House, but if not, then having people up here. This time Azriel pauses, before adding, I think the ward on her room should be removed. So she’ll be able to hear that people are around, should she need them.

He’s met with silence, and Azriel wonders if Rhys is repeating the message back to Feyre, or if he’s simply that furious. A small part of him feels resentment at the constant speculation, that if the matter had been left between him and her then it wouldn’t have gotten so blown out of proportion.

We’ll be up in ten minutes, comes the clipped reply, before the mental bridge is severed. Leaving Azriel no choice but to wait in silence. It will likely be Rhys and Feyre coming up then—knowing she isn’t ready to see all of them so suddenly, though they’ve yet to learn where she’s been.

Feyre will go and speak to her sister.

And Rhys will be the one to speak to him.

What a mess.

The tea has a few minutes left of brewing, and he wonders if the House will demand he be the one to take the mug to her, or if it will be delivered on its own. He’s not sure she would appreciate being disturbed right now.

As if his thoughts summoned her however, he hears quiet footsteps out in one of the hallways, reaching his sharp ears even through the closed doors and secure walls. He listens carefully, but she seems to just be pacing around, not coming toward him, or even really going in any particular direction. They pause, the silence heavy, and Azriel pays full attention. Another minute passes, then another, and another, but he couldn’t have missed those familiar footfalls.

After a fourth minute, he hears them again, ever so slightly heavier than before, and then they cut off abruptly. Sound sliced in two as she closes the door to her room.

Azriel glances over to the brewing tea, then blinks when he realises the House has set it on the table within reach. Just one cup, made with milk and sugar—not the way he likes it.

Looking over to the countertop, his mug remains steeping, steam trailing up from the hot liquid. The House seems to be demanding he take her the tea now.

Azriel shifts in his chair. It isn’t a good idea to disturb her again. He’s trying to give her at least these few minutes to herself, before Feyre arrives with Rhys—and that’s a conversation that might very well stretch hours. There’s a lot to discuss, after all. She’ll need her energy, and he’s probably the last person she wants to—

The mug slams down on the table before him, hot liquid spilling over with the force that it was dropped onto the surface.

He stiffens, watching the mug tensely as if the House might spill it onto his lap. The liquid ripples in the mug, splashing from side to side for longer than it should, before reluctantly calming.

Blowing out a breath, Azriel wraps his hand around the mug’s handle, reluctantly standing from the kitchen table.

If the House is being so adamant about giving her the cup, then he supposes he’ll just have to follow.

He still finds it a little strange, how the House came alive after Nesta lived inside it.

————

Silence hums in your ears, so quiet.

You’ve caused them so much trouble. Irreparably ruined your ties to the people you hadn’t wanted to hinder.

Silently, quietly, you move the bag to your bed, able to even hear the stretch of fabric as you raise it from the unnaturally clean floorboards. Opening it, you begin pulling the first thing you see out—the orange scarf form Autumn that has some small crumbs tucked between its folds, smelling faintly of pastry and something damp. One piece at a time, you make the slow trek to and form the wardrobe, feet unfeeling as they tread numbly across the smooth grain of the wood, mindlessly repeating the to and fro, the mechanical movements of unaware motion, folding fabric and hiding it away.

Your fingers bump the box, surprised by the hard collision, having expected to find more fabric, but are instead confronted by the narrow, wooden box. Use it wisely, written on the note in a neat and elegant script. Raising it from the bag, you sit down, hands resting over the surface before slipping your fingers into the indentations for ease of opening, cracking it open to find what’s inside. Eyes ease across the narrow length of wood tucked inside, the softly flared end for it to whistle through the sky.

The world disappears around you as you fall into thought, suctioned inwards by a gentle riptide as you dissolve into your mind. Imagining the blank look in Mor’s eyes when she finds out what you’ve done to her, the wall that will rise up as she sections you off from her life, rightly so, brings a quiet kind of sadness into your chest. A longing that has been numbed and dulled, desaturated by hopelessness. Imagining the dinners, voices chatting merrily around you but never at you, the way she won’t look at you. They are all immortal, and their disgust will reflect their lifespan.

You’ll be stuck. Endlessly dragging you feet after them in attempts to make amends. Stumbling and fumbling carelessly trying to make reparations, but smashing more pieces in your frantic hurry to clean the mess you’ve made. Gazing up from the pit of a well as the icy water slowly drains in, the small pin-prick of daylight so far above there’s no hope even trying to scale the wall. It would be more honourable to drown.

To wipe yourself from memory.

It would be better, you understand. To snuff out your own dwindling light, than force the trouble on them of bearing your sputtering flame.

You walk out into the hallway, quietly, silently. Passing the table with napkins and cutlery set, past the shelves with crockery and cups, past the chest with dull steel and blunt arrowheads. Passing further along, until you pause before the large mirror that’s mounted on the wall. You peer dully into the reflection, deciding to look upon and assign shape to name for what’s been causing all these problems. To see what they think of when burdens are mentioned, to understand where the impatience is directed.

You peer higher, the reflection skewed as you meet your own eyes in the blade’s polished steel, held above the mirror’s frame.

Time warps, and you look through the drawers. A few daggers, some unused sketchbooks, a piece of yellow wool, a ball of string. You check the second draw. Some folded napkins, more arrowheads, a shard of porcelain, a thimble, a discarded marble. You check the third draw. Some salts, spices, dried leaves, matching Illyrian blades, pots of ink, a copper coin. You check the fourth draw. Crisp bedsheets, off-white pillowcases, a dented metal mug, a small container of some kind, one arrowhead, a crossbow.

You return to your room with the ball of string and the empty crossbow.

Swallowed in the silence of the bedroom, hidden behind the wards.

The snare is easy to set up, directions still vivid in your mind and for a few short moments, you allow yourself to settle into the certainty of following through with those instructions. Encountering a bit of trouble with how to keep the tension of the string with no earth, but your mind works quickly, weighing the string taut with the one book from your shelf, and a square box containing a mechanical universe. Making sure the string is just tight enough so the faintest touch will snap the tension loose.

You glance at the string on the floor, eyes catching on the small painting on your desk.

You slot the arrow into the crossbow with a satisfying click.

The ash stings your fingertips.

You stand with your back to the door, facing the crossbow head on. Your heart bleeds a little, tears at last dripping slowly down your cheeks, but it will be better this way. Easing in a deep breath, you relax into that feeling deep in your chest that’s telling you this is the right thing to do. It was always going to happen, there was never a path you could have taken that wouldn’t have lead you to this one way or another. It’s a feeling almost like relief: there’s finally a way out.

One perfect, swift, execution. An ash arrow to your heart, splitting the muscle and ending its relentless beat. Your breathing increases to a stuttering pulse before calming, and you swallow, glancing to the windows. You know you’ll cause a mess.

Fingers open the latch to the window, fresh air gently rolling in, and your breathing stutters again. You’ll be irrevocably gone.

Peering about the bedroom, one you hadn’t felt was truly your own, but had stayed long enough to begin putting down roots—the bookmark laying beneath the pendant on the desk beside the painting, the jigsaw still wrapped in a bow beneath the bed, the sealed nail polish and briefly used lip tint within the cupboard. Sobs shudder through your chest strangely.

A part of you doesn’t want to leave yet.

A small, human part, that still fears solitude despite your chosen loneliness.

You step toward the book, body caving in, heart collapsing in on itself, the emotive feeling similar to the convulsions you’ve experienced after vomiting. A vacuum hidden inside of your chest, finally imploding. You should end it now.

The door creaks behind you, and you flinch from terror at someone witnessing your vulnerability.

Hazel eyes meet your own, at once scanning the room out of habit, and those lovely eyes widen as you recoil on instinct, foot knocking into the book.

————

Given the pleasure of time, he had been allowed to ponder the impossible question: to choose between his death and her own, each equally impossible. How is anyone to make a choice like that?

But, caught in between precious moments, there’s no time for thought or debate. It’s easy to declare gallantry, to flippantly comfort a companion with those easy words—I’d take an arrow for you.—but it’s an entirely different matter when the arrow is whistling straight toward them.

And yet before the mug has even hit the floor, he feels the familiar, burning pain as the arrow pierces through his flesh, slicing him open as the wrongness bleeds into him, swiftly poisoning his blood, draining the inherent magic from his body.

————

You stare up into wide hazel eyes, agony etched across his delicate features, the very tip of the arrow lightly piercing your skin from where it’s shot straight through him, caught in his flesh.

He groans lowly, his weight falling more heavily on your shoulders where his hands had grabbed you to switch your positions, and you’re helpless as his knees give out from pain, dragging you down with him as he collides with the ground.

Horror pounds through your body, heart beating a thousand times a second until it’s risen into your throat, hands shaking violently as you try to hold him steady, stinging with the burning heat of blood from his side.

Mother murder you.

“Az,” you stammer hoarsely, staring at his twisted features, brow furrowed deeply, breathing ragged as it puffs against your skin. The familiar scent of blood filtrates through your system, undiluted and metallic, and he’s dying he’s dying he’s dying—

His hand weakly grasps the back of your neck, grabbing your attention as your hands fumble, trembling with uncertainty and despair, fingertips beginning to sizzle as panic floods your veins, tossed into the rapids, utterly out of control as your mind unravels, regret stabbing through your heart.

His lips are moving but your ears are ringing, itches burning at your skin, a streaking noise piercing through your head like the screaming from those bloody fields. He’s speaking and you try to read his lips, but your eyes aren’t focusing, tears blurring your vision as sobs heave in and out of your chest, burning at your throat and lungs. You had tried to stop it! You were so close to preventing it!

Your hand settles on his cheek, already feeling cool beneath your burning, burning, glowing—

Feyre and Rhys, his lips form, and you shake. Eyes scanning his features frenetically. His own flick to the door, and you understand them to be here? You stare at him helplessly, hopelessly—it won’t matter how you scream or cry for them, not even if you bled your throat raw. The ward against noise that you’d been so thankful for, that Feyre had given in attempts to help, to remedy a wrong.

Something so small, yet so immoveable. Impossible to defeat. Felled by your own, stupid need—

He’s going to die.

Neither you nor Azriel have a second to prepare as the power wells up inside of you with the force of a damn broken loose, that internal wall shattering entirely, blown to bits as you feel the staggering pressure swallow your brain, crushing in intensity at the rapid division of cells, splitting atoms colliding as the explosion blows you apart.

Brilliant green light detonates, silence settling for a second before the noise crushes back down, the room blown to pieces.

The ground shakes beneath you, floorboards cracking and splintering as a hole is torn through the side of the House, tearing through the wards as the noise thunders above the city, sweeping across Prythian with the force of the Cauldron that had torn down the Wall.

One final surge of magic before the life is taken from his body.

Pain lacerates through your figure as something fundamental cracks open inside of you, all at once draining the agony that had beens steadily building up, all of it gushing out, skin resplendent with a sickening golden-green light, radiating your flesh.

Then you collapse, falling into the pool of steadily cooling blood surrounding Azriel’s body.

The prophecy having come to fulfilment.

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

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya

[vincentsambershades]

Grey shorts

Azriel x reader drabble

Warnings: mostly fluff, azriel teasing, suggestive

Word count: 0.4k

Soft fingers woke me by caressing the area below my bellybutton, right above the waistband of my pants. Lips I had kissed countless times were pressed in the same area and a soft laugh escaped me. My chest vibrated with every deep breath I took.

"Your morning appetites never cease to amaze me, Az..." I whispered, my voice deep from sleep. After all, it wasn't the first time he woke me like that. I let out a satisfied sigh before speaking up. "What do you have in mind for today?"

He chuckled and I felt his warm breath on my sensitive skin. I shivered and planted my hips in the mattress anticipating his response. The sweet scent of him offering me a familiar safety.

"To do the laundry for starters." I furrowed my brows. He chuckled again upon seeing my baffled and relatively annoyed expression.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I need to put some light color clothes in the wash and you've been wearing those grey sleep shorts for a while." I whined with a pleading whisper of his name. I was expecting something a bit more...pleasant. He felt my frustration and tried to soothe me through the bond. "Don't be mad. You have enough time to take another nap until I'm done with the housework." the idea was appealing but I'd rather he stay with me.

"Do you intend to make it up to me?" I cracked an eye open searching for an affirmative response. I was met with that warm hazel hue I was in love with.

He nodded and smiled sweetly. I closed my eyes again smiling smugly and settled more comfortably in our shared bed.

I lifted my hips and Azriel rewarded me with a "good girl" and an affectionate squeeze of my thigh. He pulled the shorts off me and held them tight in his clutch as he rested his weight on his elbows right above me. He kissed my neck and spoke lowly in my ear:

"There's not a single chance I'm not making it up to you now that I've seen how cute you look in those panties." I had enough time to lightly slap his arm before he gave me another kiss, on my cheek this time, and disappeared down the hallway.

I turned on my side and waited for him to return and make it up.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Bat Boys with Bat Babies HC

Warnings: polyamorous mates, nothing else really, batboys being mushy with the bat triplets, ft amren & mor, i know i have two more requests to get done from last month but the bat boys are my comfort mates rn

honestly you hardly get any time with your babies besides breast feeding. the bat boys were smitten and abducted your babies from their cots

already wrapped around the triplets' little fingers

Rhysand loves toting his pack of children wherever he went. two would be on his shoulders while he held one in his arms

in both velaris and the hewn city, everyone calls Rian the crown prince despite Dagen technically the first born. (as babies no one is for sure of who belonged to which father but as they get older it's easy to tell. rian has the prettiest eyes; dagen has whisps of shadows on his wings that make them look fluffly, and baila had the general's rambunctiousness)

also as a toddler, baila made it a habit to greet everyone by headbutting their shins like a goat 😂

you nor your mates or the rest of the inner circle care about paternity. in your mixed family it didn't matter.

though succession would be something to talk about when the kids got older

cassian is definitely the fun dad. rough houses with all three bat babies.

azriel plays shadow tag and hide & seek with them. his shadows make for good alarms at night as they monitor the nursery while you caught up on much needed sleep

bat babies LOVE mor. amren kinda scares dagen and rian but not baila.

"this one is fearless" amren would comment then add with a smirk "i like it."

an even bigger bed is required for all seven of you to properly snuggle

when the babies start to experiment with their wings and flap them rhysand damn near cries. its a big step for illyrian babies when they begin to utilize their wings and strengthen them. (rian like rhysand can summon his wings at will)

az tells them stories using his shadows to make images for them (when their eyes start to track, they're mesmerized)

while there are no favorites, baila is more spoiled than her brothers. she was the only female afterall and the most charming. baila had cass' personality with your appearance. cass jokes that she'll be ruling the court of nightmares in no time lol

however, she's the one who likes to stay by your side the most. complete mommy's girl and it breaks her daddys' hearts 😂. always cries when they try to take her away from you.

kids like napping in rhys' office. often times dagen is curled up against his chest as he goes through paperwork. rian and baila in the cot that he moved to his office.

when they learn how to walk, they follow rhys everywhere (or try to)

pls send me more bat boy hc. they give me life

[multiversalfandomwriter222]

Hi hii I'm the one who sent the az request! AND I ABSOLUTELY LOVED IT!! 🩷🩷

would you write reader saying something she doesn't mean and making az cry and then comforting him? (Established relationship btw so like they're already mated) basically the same thing but roles reversed 😭 I'm sorry I just love angst to fluff too much!! Thank you and have nice day/night bb <333

Warnings: Cursing, Angst, Azriel crying, slight mean Azriel.

At Least Tell Me

You slam the door as you go into your bedroom, everyone in the House flinching. Cassian walks into Rhysand's office, confusion all over his face. "What's wrong with Y/n?" He asks.

Rhys sighs heavily. "Azriel's on a mission, and he's coming back tonight." Cassian tilts his head. "Shouldn't she be happy?"

"Azriel didn't tell her that she left." Rhys sighs. Cassian's eyes widen. "How did she not-" "Azriel told her that he was going to visit his mother for a day and was going to return this morning. He has been gone three days, and Feyre darling told her yesterday that he was on a mission. Y/n has been slamming doors ever since." Rhys says, exasperated. Cassian shakes his head. "Y/n's temper rivals Nes, we may have to evacuate the house just because." Rhys snorts.

Time Skip-

Azriel lands on the balcony of the house, being greeted by his High Lady. "Y/n is pissed at you." Feyre says. Azriel's shoulders slump. "I know." "It's going to be bad." Feyre says. Azriel nods, and walks into the house, ready to face the wrath of his mate.

You knew Azriel was in the house. You overheard your older sister talking to him. But the rage bubbling inside was hard to keep a lid on it.

The door opens to reveal your mate, his wings drooped slightly. You turn to face your vanity, not bothering to make eye contact in the mirror with him. "I'm home." Azriel says.

"That's a first." You say coldly. Azriel sighs. "Y/n-"

"No don't you Y/n me! What the fuck Azriel?" You shout. Azriel flinches slightly, and the mask of the shadowsinger appears in that second. "I did what I had to do."

You laugh. "You did what you had to do." You laugh some more. "Did we hear that?" You yell, laughter erupting from you. Azriel rolls his eyes at you. "Azriel, you lied to me! Do you not see what's wrong with that? I was worried for you! I thought something happened to you!"

You come closer to him. "You don't need to worry about me." He says. "That was being reckless." You snap. Azriel lets out a cold, mocking laugh. "Now that's a joke. Miss Reckless, calling me reckless!" He scoffs. The shadows move about, flurrying in the range of emotions between the two of you.

You let out a yell of frustration. "See this is why I fucking hate you Azriel! By the gods, somedays I just want to fucking leave and never return!"

You cover your mouth, eyes widening. Azriel goes still, his shadows dropping. The house grows silent. You step back and Azriel rushes toward you. He kneels and clings to your legs. "A-Angel, I'm sorry. I'm so-" Huge sobs cut him off as he sobs into your stomach. "Angel please don't-" he sobs. "Please don't leave me. You can hate me all you want, just don't leave me."

Your heart breaks as you kneel to meet Azriel's height. "Oh no. Baby I'm so sorry. It cannot make up for my words and I'll do anything to make it up to you. Darling I'm so sorry." You wipe his tears away.

Azriel pulls you into his lap and buries his face into your neck. "Just don't leave me. Don't leave me." He sobs. "Oh baby, I'm not leaving you. I don't hate you, not at all. Oh baby." You coo, rocking the both of you left and right.

Finally, his sobs quiet, and he pulls away to look at you. "I'm sorry baby." You whisper. He shakes his head. "I'm sorry for lying to you. I shouldn't have. I should have been up front, and-"

You kiss him, interrupting his rant, and he desperately kisses you back. You break away and rest your forehead against his. "Do you want to take a bath first, then nap? Or do you want to nap, then take a bath?" You whisper. "Nap." He murmurs. He picks you up and carries you to your shared bed. You take off your dress, revealing your bra and panties, and Azriel strips down to his boxers.

You get into the bed first, opening the covers for him. Azriel follows right behind you and buries his face into your stomach, and you run your hands through his black hair, slowly putting him to sleep.

[wizardfrog69]

May I request raising a child with Fyodor? I feel like he would lowkey be a scary strict parent but would also spoil them a lot lmao. He gives the vibes of a parent that would ask his 7 year old son to read Crime and Punishment and to write a 3 page essay if they want something.

Thanks for the request!

'•.¸♡ Raising a child together (Fyodor) ♡¸.•'

Fyodor x reader (parents)

Fluff

Masterlist

Enjoy!

Raising a child with him is difficult, to say the least. He firmly believes that children should be punished as a consequence of their actions. The punishments he would suggest may be too cruel for the situation or child, so you never let him punish the children.

Your child will learn to play some sort of instrument like a piano or some sort of string instrument, one that is featured in classical music, so no electric guitar or banjo (unfortunately).

They will end up in therapy, Fyodor is such a great father.

Fyodor is very strict about homework and tests, he expects 90% or higher, it's safe to say you are definitely the favourite parent.

Reading and poetry is a big thing for him and so his offspring has like 20 poems, mostly Russian poems, memorised.

Classical music is what they would listen to the most due to Fyodor but they are allowed to express themselves via music, art, clothing (as long as it is appropriate, for all genders).

He is overprotective, yet he does not wish to be overbearing so it comes off as him just locking himself in his room and interacting with his child on occasion to fulfil their natural need for attention and to reinforce the house rules, and to spend time with you of course.

On special occasions, or when Fyodor wants attention from his family but doesn't want to show it in fear of acting weak, he would take you on a fun night out, taking the kids to the playground or somewhere fun, going to a restaurant to eat something, and so he can spoil you a bit, ending the night with a walk in the park while the child(ren) run around.

Some of his rules include: no phone, the only thing they can watch is TV and w someone else, not on their own, home by 20:00, in bed by 22:00, sleepovers only once they turn 13 and he needs to know the parents, nothing too immodest, no going to his study.

When you had your first baby, Fyodor was really attached to it. It was probably the most you've seen him smile ever. Finding him taking a nap with the baby was a rare sight, but a sight you cherished with all your heart.

༺♡༻ 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 ⋆ 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 ༺♡༻

Have a wonderful day/night and don't forget to do something you love and drink plenty of water!:)

-with love, Az

[lalacliffthorne]

🦇 MASTERLIST 🦇

Azriel 🗡

midnights - part I part II (fluff)

🌪 idiot 🌪 (smut, angst, fluff)

⚔️ I don't think now's the best time ⚔️ (battlefield, fluff)

📃 the basic rules of friendship 📃 (fluff, smut)

🌫 if you go down then we go down together 🌫 (angst, smut, fluff)

Rhys 🦇

✨️ starshine ✨️ - part I part II part III part IV part V part VI (fluff, angst, smut)

Cassian ⚔️

🤍 just a one time thing 🤍 - part I part II (fluff, smut)

Feyre 🏹

💗 fuck it, let's do it again 💗 (smut)

drabbles 📄

Azriel 🗡

hickeys - payback - busted (fluff)

sick (fluff)

cheering up (fluff)

got you now (fluff)

tired (fluff)

Cassian ⚔️

coming soon

modern!roommate!batboys - drabble series

modern!batboys as your roommates headcanons 🦇

modern!batboys halloween headcanons 🦇

modern!batboys christmas headcanons 🎀🦇💕

ride home (fluff, 🦇)

late nights (fluff, 🦇)

failed dates suck (lil angst, fluff, 🦇)

nightmare (fluff, 🦇)

bad days and library floors (fluff, 🦇)

a cold and a movie night (fluff, 🦇)

nap time (fluff, 🦇)

periods (fluff, 🦇)

snow (fluff, 🎀🦇💕)

grey days at christmas time (fluff, 🎀🦇💕)

new years (fluff, 🎀🦇💕)

midnight ride (fluff, 💕)

the one where they stop being idiots (fluff, headcanons, 💕)

sleepy in the library (fluff, 💕)

sunday mornings (fluff, 💕)

when Azriel has a nightmare (angst, fluff, 💕)

date night (fluff, 💕)

to warm up, one needs a shower. and Az. (fluff, 💕)

another drabble with Az and his motorcycle. (fluff, 💕)

when for a change, Azriel is the one in need of cuddles (fluff, 💕)

🦇 = roommate!batboys centered

💕 = roommate!batboys!Azriel centered

🎀 = roommate!batboys christmas centered

mood boards ✨️

starshine

starshine mood board by @verena9003

starshine mood board

starshine aesthetic

dark faerie aesthetic

playlists

starshine ✨️

I don't take requests. sorry, loves, but most of the time, I can barely deal with needing to get my own ideas all exactly right. *hides behind laptop*

if you want to be on any taglist, hit me up - just comment or shoot me an ask or a message!

minors get outta here

[readychilledwine]

Hi, I would like to make a request. So it's winter and It's raining heavily outside the cabin/apartment where Az and reader live and az makes hot chocolate for both and they makeout while sitting next to the window. I need the flufffff

Snow Day

Warnings - Snow. As someone who is currently dealing with over 2 feet of snow and more coming. Snow.

A/N - an adorable little Az drabble 💙 hope you enjoy it

You shivered as the rain began to shift to snow, clinging to the layer of ice that haunted the trees and grass.

You and Azriel loved Winter. You loved the beauty of fresh crisp snow crunching below your boots. You loved the excuse to use extra blankets as decorations. You loved the smell of pine needles and mulled wine warming the cabin you and Azriel shared.

But mostly, you loved these moments. The moments when Azriel would hold you on the couch wrapped up a fluffy heavy knit blanket as the fireplace roared. Two streaming mugs of hot chocolate sat on the table both long forgotten in favor of the kisses you were currently sharing.

Your mystery novel sat perched on your knee, his romance novel dangling in his hand that wasn't tilting your head back to him.

He pulled back for a second, lifting and adjusting you so you were chest to chest and at an easier angle to kiss. "So cold," you whispered to him as you looked out the window behind him.

Azriel peeked, making a face that mixed between excitement and disgust. "I hate when rain freezes over into snow. Just give me the damn snow," he muttered.

You hummed, nodding. "Or just rain." You moved his chin, forcing him to look back at you. "Where were we?"

Azriel blushed, pulling you back to him with a soft chuckle. His lips met yours, eager to go back to the practiced dance.

You two spent the day like that, napping, kissing, reading. The hot chocolate had long gone cold and forgotten as Azriel lifted you, carrying you into your bedroom as the snowstorm continued to rage on.

"Same thing tomorrow," he asked as he set you down at your vanity, gently brushing your hair.

In your half asleep state, you looked at him and smiled. "Only more hot chocolate, less kisses."

Azriel hummed softly, continuing your nighttime self care routine for you as he did. "No promises."

[potatoplace]

Mutual Cycles

Feyre x Rhys

Written for ACOTAR Omegaverse Week: Day 7

Summary: Rhys has been irritated all day, but when he comes home he finds just the thing to fix that problem.

Words: ~1.6k

Warnings: somnophilia, A/B/O dynamics, knotting, smut, Rhys being a simp for Feyre, not proofread lol

Author's Note: I wanted to get something out for the last day of omegaverse week, and I want to say thank you so much for the moderators of @acotar-omegaverse-week for hosting it! It's been so much fun to get back into writing and read all of the amazing fics coming out of it. I hope we have one again next year :)

18+ only

🩵💜🩵

Rhysand was seated at his desk, Keir standing in front of him, Cassian and Azriel flanking his chair. Keir was prattling on about some reason why the Darkbringer’s forces were not ready to be rallied. Rhys entertained two minutes of his excuses before cutting him off.

“I do not care what your reason is, Keir, you have already had three months to rally the Darkbringers. If you do not confirm for me that they are ready to fight within the week, I will gladly drag you down into the dungeons myself and let Mor have her way with you,” he growled, thoroughly incensed with his uncle, who looked surprised and afraid. Perfect.

This pathetic excuse for a male had annoyed him far too many times, perhaps he should just end his life now and save himself the headache of coming back down to this cursed court so soon.

One of Azriel’s shadows opened the door behind Keir, who gladly took the cue and scurried away. Cassian shut the door behind him, then turned to look at Rhys, a questioning look on his face.

Rhys let out an angry sigh, looking to his right at the Shadowsinger. “I wasn’t done with him yet, brother.”

Azriel quirked a brow at him. “Unless you decided that a week’s time is already up, yes, you were.” Rhys scowled at him.

“What’s wrong with you, brother?” Cassian asked, an amused smile playing on his lips. “Normally you let him go on for five minutes at the least.”

“Nothing,” Rhys sighed. “He just annoyed me faster than usual is all.”

“Maybe a training session would do you some good,” Cassian suggested. Rhys considered it for a moment, then inclined his head in agreement. “Az, will you be joining us as well?”

“No, I’m suspicious of Keir’s motives. I’ll stick around here for a bit longer.”

Rhys stood and walked around his desk, clapping his hand on Cassian’s shoulder. “Just us then, brother. Let’s go,” he said, winnowing the two of them to above the House of Wind.

🩵💜🩵

An hour later, Cassian had banned Rhys from the training ring for the day, saying that he was only getting more temperamental with each round they fought.

Rhys had glared at him and flown away, heading for the town house. The chill winter wind did nothing to cool the pool of rage within in him, though.

The moment he hit the pavement outside the house, he could smell her. His mate, his sweet, delicious smelling omega.

He swung the door open and entered the house, looking around for her. This time of day, she was normally taking lunch in the garden or working on paperwork in as she ate. He glanced out of one of the window facing the garden, no Feyre.

He made quick work of checking the first floor, his mate nowhere to be found.

He took the stairs two at a time, needing to see her now. Her scent was stronger on this floor, and he took deep lungfuls of her intoxicating scent, lilacs and pears, so perfect and just for him.

He looked in his office, but his omega was not there. Rhys opened every door along the hallway leading to their bedroom, with no luck.

The last door he opened, he struck gold. His omega’s sweet scent was overwhelming, and there she was, laying on the bed underneath the covers. His little omega was sleeping, taking a short nap most likely.

Lucky for him to find her, ready and waiting to be devoured, the perfect water to soothe his fiery temperament.

He slipped the blankets off of her, revealing her soft body clad in a black satin nightgown, so short it almost gave him a peek of the treasure between her thighs.

He sank down onto the bed, parting her legs and placing himself between them. He took a few greedy breaths in, instantly feeling his anger cool. This. This was what he needed.

His omega’s pretty pink little cunt.

He licked slowly up the length of her, gathering some of the slick leaking from her on his tongue. Yes, this is exactly what he needed, and used his fingers to gently part her lips, lapping at her center. Her taste was divine, perfect, all he ever wanted to have on his tongue again.

His cock was straining against his trousers now, the base of it swelling slightly already, just from a few heavenly tastes of his omega’s pussy.

Feyre was stirring slightly, a soft whine escaping her lips when Rhys brushed his tongue against her clit. He rubbed soothing circles on one of her thighs as he sucked gently on the little bud, entranced by the way her rib cage was moving faster now, and her eyes fluttered open just as he used his other hand to push a digit into her.

“Alpha,” she whined, a hand grabbing his hair and pulled his face further against her, the sight of her mate between her legs nearly enough to finish her then. He obliged her, moving his finger slowly in and out of her, making sure to curl against the spot that he knew made sparks fly through her body, lapping at her clit. Her thighs clamped down around him as she came, slick pouring out her and right onto Rhys’s tongue.

He licked her clean before he moved up her body, placing a kiss on his omega’s lips as he misted their clothing, leaving nothing between them but the delicious brush of skin.

“Omega,” he purred, nosing her neck to the side and sucking on her neck. Feyre sighed, a soft, contented sound, and pressed a kiss to his neck, nuzzling into it. He bit down, causing Feyre to gasp and stiffen slightly before he sucked and lapped at it again, and Feyre went limp beneath him again.

His cock was throbbing at this point, leaking at the tip and his knot half formed. It brushed against Feyre’s thigh and he groaned into her neck, even just the feeling of his omega’s skin was cauldron blessed. He lined himself up with her weeping cunt, and pushed in in one stroke. Their breath caught in their throats, Feyre was not quite prepared for the stretch of his length, or the immediate press of his knot against her, and Rhys was overwhelmed by the feeling her walls hugging him so tightly.

He gave a few powerful strokes, relaxing his omega’s cunt before he pushed the base in roughly, and he loved the way his omega’s breathing was coming in small gasps.

“Omega,” he muttered against her neck again, his world consumed by her in this moment. Her scent, her presence, her cunt were all that occupied his mind as he rocked back and forth gently, a hand coming down to rub at the apex of her thighs.

He bit down on her neck again where the mating mark was, leaving a fresh new set of bite marks over it, and Feyre came again with a strangled cry, Rhys following right behind her, his knot inflating fully and sealing them together.

Feyre wrapped her arms and legs around him, needing to be as close to him as physically possible, even if they were already locked together for a good while.

Rhys rolled them to their sides, and slid a hand through her tangled hair. He took in her flushed face and watchful eyes. “I missed you, omega.”

“I missed you too, alpha.” She paused for a moment. “Are you in rut?”

Rhys furrowed his brow at her, confused by the question. Until he thought a bit about it, that would explain…

“That would explain why I wanted to kill Keir more than usual, I suppose. And why the moment I saw my mate’s pretty little pussy my knot started growing.”

Feyre blushed, her cunt clenching around him at his words, and both of them groaned. “Mm, that would make sense love. It would also make the fresh mating bite you gave me more logical. Not that I don’t love to refresh it every now and then,” she smirked.

Rhys let out a low laugh, knowing his mate would be covered in bite marks by the time his rut was over. “Good thing I have such a sweet omega, hmm?” Feyre’s cute little smile was enough to draw him in for a kiss. “I love you, darling.”

“I love you too, Rhysie,” she replied, and this time it was his turn to blush.

“You always save that for the sweetest moments, love.”

“That’s because every moment with you is the sweetest, Rhysie,” she said lovingly with a smile on her lips. He wrinkled his nose as he smiled, kissing her again and pulling her body further into his, her head against his chest.

Her body was flushed, growing warmer with each minute they spent pressed together.

“Darling?”

Feyre nuzzled into his chest, not bothering to look up at him, knowing what he was going to ask.

“Are you in heat?”

She looked up at him, her face more flushed than before. “Yes, but only because your rut set it off.”

He laughed lowly, taking another kiss from her. “At least this way we’ll be miserably hot and turned on together, darling.”

She pressed her lips to his again before threading a hand through his hair. Feyre rocked her hips gently, testing how much she could move. Her body needed more of him already, even with him sealed inside of her.

“A whole week of uninterrupted time with my alpha?” Feyre’s smile was dazzling, her happiness overwhelming down the bond. “Count me in.”

[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Chapter Twelve

Series Summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: None

Notes: I’m thinking one more chapter and then we dive into New Moon? Lordy, prepare yourselves for the angst in the stuff I’ve prepped lol

Word Count: 1400

Series Masterlist

• March 19th, 2005 • Hospital - Phoenix, AZ •

Jasper

Pulling into a parking spot in the Hospital’s adjoined parking garage, I let out the breath I’d been holding since dropping Y/n’s mom off at the airport and let my head fall back on the headrest. In the last week I’ve never been more scared, worried, keyed up than I have ever been in my immortal life.

Y/n and Isabella managed to slip past Alice and I at the hotel on some half-assed rescue mission… I promised Edward I’d protect Bella and I didn’t, now she has a broken leg and was almost on her way to turning into one of us. With as much experience as I have in war, keeping an eye on two teenage girls is a challenge? I nearly crush the keys to Carlisle’s car in my hand, the plastic groaning in protest.

I could’ve lost her.

The realization hurts and angers me all at the same time. Not only do I need to watch myself around humans, but I also have a singer, someone I’m falling hopelessly in love with and I feel so-so out of control. I can’t protect her at every twist and turn and it’s eating me alive. She’s human and frail, not meant for my world and yet she’s been sucked into it because of me.

I exit the car and find my way back to Y/n’s room before visitation hours end. My thoughts are a mess until I step in her room and her scent washes over me, scorching - but soothing. Soothing because she’s still here, she’s breathing and her monitor is still beeping.

I take up my post in the chair in the corner even though I know she’d prefer me at her side. From here I can still watch her while I get a grip on my raging emotions and the thirst licking flames down my throat.

She has less wires and tubes today, preparing for discharge in a day or two. After finally waking this morning, she managed to convince her mom she was fine enough to leave her here under Carlisle and I’s watchful eye with the promise to constantly keep her updated. I could feel her mother’s torn emotions - sadness with a twinge of anguish because she had to get back to work, but strangely enough - relief when she assessed me before making her decision to go home. Nevertheless, I reassured her that I would drive her daughter back carefully while using my ability to ease the anxiety that bubbled up.

Y/n’s breathing sped up slightly signaling that she was waking from her nap, so I sat up straight in my chair.

“Jaz?” Her quiet voice croaked out.

“Still here, darlin’. I just dropped your mom off at the airport.” Standing, I quietly roll her bedside table closer that has her cup of water.

“Jasper?” She asks again after a sip.

“Yes, sweetheart?” I respond, pulling my chair closer to the bed while keeping my eyes down.

“Look at me, please?” The soft plea almost tears my heart in two and my eyes snap to her bruised face. “Talk to me?”

“We can talk once you’re discharged-“

“No, this clearly needs to happen now.” So demanding, even lying in a hospital bed.

“You could’ve died-“

“But I didn’t-“

“Don’t even start with that.” My tone comes out a little harsher than I intended and I squeeze my eyes shut as I sit, pushing my hands through my hair as my elbows rest on my knees. “If Alice wasn’t watching, if I didn’t have a clue as to where you and Bella went…” My eyes scan the room for something to focus on, but I settle on her face, “If I was a fraction too slow getting to you, you could be dead - both of you.”

“I knew you’d come for me, Jasper.”

“You don’t get to make decisions like that when I’m supposed to be protecting you, Y/n. You don’t get it.” I stress, grabbing the hand not hooked up to an IV and cradling it in mine. “We’re in a hospital right now and you have broken bones. You were in a coma.” I want to yell my frustration suddenly.

“What don’t I get?” She asks.

“What?”

“You said I don’t get it, what don’t I get?”

“You… you’re everything to me.” I whisper as I run a finger gently down her bruised cheek, the swelling around her eye having gone down slightly.

Reader

I’m not entirely sure I heard him correctly. You’re everything to me. He said it like it was obvious, inevitable, easy.

“You-you can’t mean that.” I glance to my lap and pick at the coarse hospital blanket as my nerves get the better of me.

“Darlin’, I wouldn’t be here worried out of my mind if I didn’t.” His icy fingers tilt my chin up to meet his dark eyes. “You… you test me in every conceivable way and I can’t get enough.”

My throat closes up and I fumble for a response, “Jasper-”

“Don’t do that to me again, don’t run away from me like you can’t ask me for anything. Your safety is paramount and I don’t ever want to feel that helpless again.” His hand cradles the back of my head like it’s the finest piece of glass and my heart is ready to burst.

Just when I feel on the verge of a heart attack from his words, my nurse barges through my door.

“Is everything-“ but she stops short and smiles knowingly at Jasper perched on the edge of my bed, “Try to keep her heart rate down? You had me worried it was something much worse.”

I finally notice the quick beeping of my heart rate monitor and I swear, I could pass away right here from embarrassment. And if that weren’t enough, my nurse winks at Jasper as he replies “Yes ma’am.” with a sneaky grin to her on her way out.

I’m tempted to smack his arm for teasing me, but decide against it since it’s still tender from being sprained.

“You’re worse than my mom.” I grumble, trying to fold my arms while still attached to wires and an IV line.

“Oh sweetheart, don’t go comparing me to your mother.” Smiling to himself, he settles back into his chair as we wait for my evening round of medication.

He’ll be the death of me, my new mantra.

• March 20th, 2005 • Hospital - Phoenix, AZ •

Reader

Discharge papers are signed, I’m dressed in new clothes Alice left for me, and I’m currently being wheeled to the exit by a nurse who adamantly refused to just let me walk out of here on my own. Thankfully Jasper isn’t here to witness this and is instead pulling the car around to the door with an overhang, conveniently providing him cover from the rising desert sun.

The heat is a dry blast to the face once the automatic doors slide open as I’m wheeled to the curb and I’m thankful Alice picked a light sundress. The thoughtfulness in her supernatural ability is just another reason to love her.

My nurse helps me stand as Jasper parks in front of us and jogs to my side. I catch him doing a double take as I turn to thank my nurse and grab the last of my things from her. I feel his eyes roam over me as I climb in the car and sure enough, once I sit and turn to him, I can tell he has thoughts he’s hesitating with.

Gently shutting my door, he returns to the driver’s seat and steers the car through the crowded parking lot.

“You look nice, darlin’.” He says, glancing at me momentarily.

“For someone this banged up?” I’m still sporting a bruise under my eye and a wrap on my injured wrist. My ribs have been protesting all the movement I’ve done since getting out of bed this morning.

“Even banged up you’re still gorgeous.” His compliment is quiet, but the words are echoing in my head and ratcheting my heart rate up yet again.

And I swear I hear him mutter through his teeth as I watch his fingers tighten on the steering wheel, “This is going to be a long car ride.”

Next

[danikamariewrites]

can you please write something DDLG with Azzie where reader is sick. Just pure fluff, reader is so sad and whiny and teary eyed and Az is babying her beyond believe, feeding her milk, bathing her, swaddling and cradling her when she’s crying and feeling sorry for herself, just loads and loads of fluff,

I love everything you write, every morning the first thing I do is check to see if you’ve posted, I wish I was exaggerating love you! 🤍🤍🤍

Holding You While You’re Sick

Ddlg!Azriel x reader

A/n: he would baby you sm like way more than he usually does. Thank you anon you have no idea how happy that makes me 🥹💕💕

Warnings: ddlg, daddy kink, fluff, sick reader

Azriel woke up to your constant sniffling and dry coughs. He sat up to turn you on your side. His brow furrowed as your breathing stuttered, your chest moving up and down quickly.

He pulled you into a sitting position against his chest and held the back of his hand to your forehead. Mother above you are burning up. You had only been this sick one time before thirty years ago. This was going to be rough, you didn’t do well being sick.

You stirred, wincing as shivers run through your body. Letting out a groan you blink your eyes open and look up at Azriel. You turned to bury your face in his chest. “Daddy it hurts.” Azriel brings a hand to rest in your hair. “I know princess, I know. But I’ll take care of you.”

You are sweating buckets so Azriel’s first mission is to get you into a cold bath. He knew you’d fight him on it but your fever needs to go down. “We gotta get you into the bath princess. It’s going to be cold but you have to, ok.” You let out a small whine but don’t put up a fight when he carries you to the bathroom. You don’t have the strength.

He held your head as he dipped your hair in the water, washed your body and hair, and continuously dripped the cool water on your forehead. You shivered violently. Your teeth chattering. “Can I get out yet?” “Just a few more minutes princess then you can.”

When he pulls you out he takes a warm towel he put near the fire and dries you off. Azriel picks you up and brings you back to bed dressing you in comfy clothes. He makes sure you have your favorite hoodie of his and your favorite fuzzy socks.

Wrapping you in blankets Azriel kisses your forehead. Not only as a display of affection but to check your temperature again. Still too warm. “I’ll be right back princess.”

Minutes later Azriel comes back with a box of tissues, a glass of water, and two slices of toast. You weakly reach out to him making grabby hands. “Please come back to bed. I need you daddy.” Azriel pouts at you, climbing back into bed and lifting you in his lap.

You snake your hands up his shirt to absorb his warmth. He cradles your head with one hand and rubs your back with the other.

As tears escape your eyes from the pain in your sinus he wipes them from your cheeks. When you have to blow your nose he holds the tissue up for you. When you’re thirsty or hungry Azriel feeds you your toast and holds the glass up to your lips. “Baby sips princess. And baby bites, I don’t want your tummy to get upset.”

After an afternoon nap Azriel gives you a tonic from Madja to help bring down your fever. It was a fight to make you take the tonic but you eventually gave in after Azriel coaxed you to.

That night Azriel stayed up as you slept in his arms. He knew you’d wake him up or the bond would alert him if you did. And you knew to wake him up if you needed anything.

He didn’t have to stay up. You would be fine. But he wanted to see you peaceful before you woke up. Stroking your hair he placed a soft kiss on your head. “I’ll always take care of you princess. My sweet girl.”

[glossamerfaerie]

You know, occasionally I realize that I could never be a Romance Novel Heroine. Look at this nonsense.

Even a glance at the sky revealed no sign of Cassian, who had been keeping Nesta up until dawn with his lovemaking and had become utterly obnoxious about calling her mate any chance he got, except at their continuing morning training with the priestesses.

What the hell, Cassian? Dawn is way too long. Let’s assume it’s 5 am. Nesta says that training starts at 9 am.

“We train each morning, from nine to eleven, though we sometimes run until noon.”

AT MOST Nesta gets 4 hours of sleep, less if you give 30 min for waking up and a quick breakfast. Then she exerts energy for three GRUELING hours of training. Then she works at the Library in the afternoon and chills later with a book. At no time have I seen her take a nap. Send help. I hope to God this dawn bullshit was a temporary madness and that Cassian chilled after their mating ceremony/frenzy. 🫠

Gwyn is even worse and she’s not in a relationship yet! Girl has Dawn services with the choir. I’m guessing she doesn’t sleep after that (she should!) so she occupies herself somehow until 9 am training. Then she does intense research in the Library and has to babysit the boss-from-hell. Finally, she has Dusk services. You’d think she’d finally relax, but we know that the girl is an insomniac (she’s mentioned needing sleeping potions due to bad dreams). From the Az bonus chapter, we know that Gwyn sometimes trains AT NIGHT. Send help, again. I shudder to contemplate her sleep schedule once Azriel gets all feral.

If I were SJM, I would send the Valkyries to a long, sunny vacation in the Summer Court. Beachside cottage with access to a market. Large King-sized beds with fluffy goose down pillows and 500+ thread-count sheets. No bat boys allowed. Just sleeping and reading and swimming all day. I recommend a bimonthly trip for their health!

[drinkingcoffee-inthedark]

getting comfortable

❗️🔞⚠️smut, minors dni⚠️🔞❗️

•azriel x reader•

word count: 2480

you entered the bedroom you shared with your mate at the house of wind in velaris, slamming the door being you. it was a particularly rough mission and rhysand was officially on your last nerve with his critiquing. how dare he complain about your field work, when he wasn’t there!? you defended his city while he sat on his ass cuddling baby nyx all day!

you practically growled with annoyance as you started stripping off your leathers, only aware of a presence in the bed when azriel sat up with a start. taking in his mussed hair and flushed cheeks, you concluded that’s you’d interrupted your mate’s nap. you winced slightly and met his sleepy hazel eyes.

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to wake you.”

azriel got up from his spot in the bed and stretched. you drank in the sight of his bare, chiseled, tattooed chest as he yawned.

“it’s okay, my love,” he rasped out in his deep, sleep laced voice. your eyes wandered down to the pajama pants slung low on his hips. his feet padded softly on the carpet as he made his way over to you and helped your out of your leathers. “are you alright?” he asked.

you sighed against his touch as he finished removing your clothes, “no,” you mumbled, “someone needs to kick your brother’s ass.” he chuckled quietly and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“which one?” he asked, amusement clear in his eyes. you looked at him pointedly.

“which one do you think,” you huffed out as he wrapped his arms around you. you completely melted into his touch and allowed your body to sag against his. you felt his muscled chest vibrate as he laughed softly.

“hmm, you can kick rhys’s ass later. for now, let me draw you a bath, love.” you sighed in relief at the thought and nodded against his shoulder.

you pulled back to look at his face and smiled at how handsome your mate was. his tanned skin and dark hair were gorgeous, his face sculpted by the gods. you soaked in the sight of the faelight dancing in his honey colored eyes. you couldn’t resist pressing a light kiss to his mouth and you smiled at him.

“that sounds heavenly,” you told him. he scooped you up off the floor and into his arms bridal style. you let him carry you into the bathroom, where he he seated you on the countertop.

azriel ran the bath water, nice and hot the way you liked, and added your favorite bubble bath and bath salts to the water. you watched him draw your bath, smiling at the sight of the feared illyrian warrior pouring bubble bath into the tub. the side of him that was reserved only for you. you got up off the counter and stepped onto the cool tile of the floor and removed your undergarments.

the shadowsinger shut off the water, the tub now full. he turned to look at you and quirked an eyebrow at your state of undress. he hummed appreciatively as he took in your bare flesh. you felt yourself flush slightly at the way he eyed your body.

“see something you like, az?” you teased.

he shook his head as he made his way over to you, “no. i see something i love,” and at that, you couldn’t stop yourself from closing the gap between you and kissing him softly.

he wrapped one arm around your waist and cupped your cheek with his other hand. you kissed deeply, reveling in the feeling of his soft lips on yours. you snaked your arm around his neck and ran your fingers through his sleep tousled hair, making him moan softly into your mouth. after exploring each other’s mouths for a few moments, he broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against yours. his thumb swept over your cheek slowly and he smiled at you.

the pure love in his eyes for you had your heart thumping loudly in your chest. you had half a mind to join the priestesses at their next service so you can thank thank the mother and the cauldron for gifting you azriel as your mate. his whisper pulled you from your thoughts.

“you should get in the bath now. the water will get cold,” he told you. you nodded and placed a soft kiss to the tip of his nose before pulling away.

“join me?” you asked him softly.

“of course,” he breathed, moving to take off his pajama pantry, leaving him completely naked in front of you. your eyes roamed his body, just as he had done to yours and your breath hitched slightly when you saw that he was already hard for you. the image had arousal pooling in your core. you silently promised to take care of the need coursing through your veins after you were clean,

azriel wordlessly stepped into the huge tub, large enough to accommodate his massive illyrian wings. you followed, allowing yourself you settle between his toned thighs, your back pressed against his front. you sighed contentedly as the warm water soothed your bones. you completely relaxed into azriel, his hands on your hips, rubbing small circles into your skin under the water.

after allowing you several minutes to relax into the water, azriel wordlessly picked up the loofah and soaped it up. he washed your body, staring with your arms, moving you your torso, then finally passing the loofah to you so you could wash your legs. he helped rinse the soap off your body. azriel would never admit it to anyone but you, but his favorite thing to do was to take care of you. he waited 500 years for his mate, and he wasn’t about to let that slip through his fingers. the spymaster took great pleasure in doting on you.

once the water had gone cold, you and your mate stepped out of the tub, allowing the water to drain. you let azriel dry your body off with a towel, then watched as he toweled himself off. he hung the towel over the edge of the tub, then led you back into the bedroom with his large hand on the small of your back. the two of you slipped into bed, and you nearly moaned at the feeling of the silk sheets against your bare skin. azriel pulled you into his strong arms and held you close, spooning you against his body. it was by far your favorite position to cuddle in, because it gave you such a wicked advantage.

you shifted your hips against his, smirking when you felt his hardness against your backside. she groaned quietly into your ear.

“not fair,” he breathed. you feigned innocence.

“what, i’m just trying to get comfortable,” you said coyly.

“sure you are,” and you didn’t even have to see his face to know he was rolling his eyes. he ran his fingers over your ribs, making you shiver. you bit your lip as his skilled fingers found their way up and up, finally landing on your breast. he circled your nipple slowly, making you squirm back against him.

he finally pinched your nipple between his thumb and index finger, making him smirk as you moaned quietly. he pinched again, before tugging lightly.

“az,” you moaned quietly.

“hmm? is there a problem, love? i’m just trying to get more comfortable,” he threw your words back at you, making you groan.

“that’s not funny.”

“i thought it was pretty funny,” he said, tweaking your other nipple for good measure. you gasped softy and rutted your hips back against him, making him moan at the contact. the feeling of his hardness behind you made your core ache with need. you rocked your hips back against him and he squeezed your breasts with his calloused hands.

his fingers trailed back down your ribs, down your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “may i touch you?” he whispered against your ear.

you nodded and sucked in a breath when you felt his finger circling your clit. he rubbed the sensitive bud lazily, and peppered kisses along the back of your neck. you arched into his touch, wanting and needing more from him.

“please, az,” you breathed out.

“tell me what you need,” he demanded quietly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. the sensation sent shockwaves down your spine.

“I need you. inside me,” you told him.

“let me taste you first,” he said, “on top of me. sit on my face and let me treat you like a queen.” your breath hitched at his words and a white hot heat hit your lower stomach. you quickly sat up and positioned yourself above his face, not missing the hunger in his eyes. you balanced yourself on the balls of your feet, your legs straddling his head. you gripped the headboard in front of you for support.

azriel grabbed your hips and pulled your core down onto his mouth. your eyes rolled back in your head as his tongue ravaged your body. he loved tasting you like this, you on top of him, him completely at your mercy holding him down with your thighs. his talented tongue quickly found your clit and worked it expertly. you ground yourself down on his face, moaning his name loudly.

“fuck, just like that,” you encouraged him. you felt his tongue slip inside you and you almost lost your balance above him. he gripped your ass roughly, holding you in place. azriel ate you greedily like he’d been lost in the desert and you were his first meal in years. you squirmed in top of him, rutting your clit against his nose as you felt your release barreling towards you.

“gods, az, you’re gonna make me-” you couldn’t even finish the sentence because his tongue found your clit again and you came hard for him. your legs shook and you needed his hands to keep you upright. he helped guide you back down on the bed. you both panted heavily and you screwed your eyes shut, the force of your orgasm leaving you reeling.

you felt azriel’s hand cupping your face and you opened your eyes to meet his.

“you look so pretty when you come for me,” he said smirking. the look had another wave of arousal hitting you.

“well, you’ll get to see me come for you again, because i still want you inside me,” you told him.

“oh yeah?” he challenged.

“yeah. but i want to taste you too,” you said as you directed him to lay down on his back.

he followed your order, and you crawled down to kneel between his legs. your pupils were blown out wide with lust as you eyed his hard cock in front of you. it was no secret that azriel has the largest wingspan out of all of his brothers. he was thick and long, and the sight of him had you licking your lips.

gripping him in your hand, you dipped your head and placed a soft kiss to the tip. he looked down at you with half lidded eyes and moaned softly. you smirked slightly, loving the effect you had on him. you swirled your tongue around the head and moaned at the taste.

“mmm, i love your cock, az,” you smirked again at the groan that fell from his lips, “it’s so big and it tastes so good,” you moaned before taking him into your mouth. azriel was so large that you could only fit about half of him in your mouth, so you gripped your hand around the base. you bobbed your head and your hand in unison, loving the way azriel moaned for you. his hips bucked up, making you gag slightly. he gripped one hand in your hair and the other twisted around the sheets. he gritted his teeth and shut his eyes tightly. he was trying his best to resist the urge to slam his hips and fuck your face. you pulled away with a smirk and his flew open and he stared at you.

“you want to fuck my mouth, baby?” you taunted. he nodded vigorously.

“so do it. take what you need from me.”

and just like that your mouth was around him again. both of his hands were twisted in your hair, and he bucked his hips up, fucking your mouth. you moaned around him and tears sprung to your eyes as he hit the back of your throat.

“you look so good choking on my cock,” he said, “so beautiful with your mouth so full.” his words had you reaching down to rub your clit, desperately needing release.

azriel suddenly pulled you off of him and you looked up at him quizzically, with spit running down your mouth as you panted heavily. he could’ve come from the sight alone.

“i don’t want to come until i’m inside you,” he told you. you nodded in understanding, and crawled your way on top of him. you positioned your entrance over his cock and sank down slowly. each of you let out a moan of pleasure as he filled you.

you rocked your hips against his slowly, allowing yourself to adjust to his size. you felt so full with him inside you. after adjusting to the way he stretched you open, you began a brutal pace.

you slammed your hips into him, needing to feel him wreck you. he moaned loudly and bucked his hips up, meeting your hips with his own perfectly timed thrusts. the headboard slammed into the wall but neither of you paid it any attention. if anything, it only encouraged you. his eyes were glued to your breasts, watching them bounce in front of his face with every movement you made.

you rode azriel hard and fast, wanting to milk his cock, needing to feel him explode inside of you. you new your were getting close when he chanted your name over and over, and squeezed his eyes shut. he grabbed your hips roughly and slammed you down on him. you cried out as your own orgasm tore through you violently.

“oh, fuck, azriel!” you screamed for him and that sent him over the edge. he came deep inside you, filling you all the way up. you rocked your hips, working both of you through your orgasms. once you came to a complete stop, he opened his eyes and smiled at you.

“i love you,” he said. and you returned the sentiment, placing a soft kiss to his lips. you pulled yourself off of him and collapsed in the bed next to him. you groaned, suddenly annoyed.

“now i need another bath,” you grumbled. he laughed.

“i’ll get one started for you, my love,” he said, kissing your forehead before disappearing into the bathroom.