#Azriel X reader

[pellucid-constellations]

Fable - During

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel was too late, and something was brewing. The fate of your wings rested in the balance and there was nothing left of him to reconcile with.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: Angst, injury, violence

a/n: This is part of a mini-series but each part can be read on its own/out of order. The next part is going to be long guys <3 Thank you for reading all of this angst!!!

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

~~

The ground beneath Azriel’s feet must have disappeared. 

He was unstable, falling, plummeting into an unknown abyss. 

When he looked down, Azriel saw the plush carpet at his feet, but as he replayed Rhysand’s words—four words, echoing—the blur behind his eyes made the physical obsolete. We can’t find her, Rhysand had said, followed by a multitude of questions from Cassian that Azriel could not hear. Everything was buzzing and the carpet was gone. 

Where was Lucien? Azriel remembered that Lucien was to go with you. Where was he? 

He had to be dead because if he were alive and you were missing, Azriel would kill him himself. 

“Lucien,” Azriel spoke, his voice rough, interrupting the conversation he had not been part of. 

“What?” Rhysand asked. 

But Cassian ignored his High Lord’s confusion. “She was never bringing Lucien,” he growled, throwing his brother a sneer. “She only said that to make sure you went on your date. I told her I should’ve come. I told her—” 

Azriel had lost his breath. He was grappling for it, trying to make sense of Cassian’s words as his lungs began to burn, but you wouldn’t do that, would you? Why would you lie to him? Over something like this? 

“Cassian, enough,” Azriel gasped, the buzzing of his brother’s voice a constant barrier in the losing battle within his head. “Who’s looking for her? Where should we go?” 

Azriel was dressed in a ridiculous button-up shirt with slacks that now felt too tight on his legs. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms and his shadows took advantage of the open space, trailing up to protect him from nothing. Because nothing was here—he wasn’t in danger. 

You were. 

Azriel had only gotten through drinks with Elain before the call from his High Lord sent him into the sky. He couldn’t remember if he apologized. Azriel’s shoes were pinching his feet. 

“I had just lost connection with her when I called you. I sent her to the northeast camp. There’s a possibility that—” 

Azriel was traveling through the shadows, darkness consuming him before Rhysand could finish his sentence. He should have grabbed Cassian for backup, but that was a thought Azriel would only have much, much later. 

His mind was on you—only on you. 

That wasn’t unnatural for Azriel; you were one of the most important people in his life and you had been in trouble before. Life-threatening, war-induced trouble, but somehow, this felt different. 

You had been distant lately. 

Azriel had noticed, but Azriel had also been so zeroed in on getting Elain’s attention that he figured he would have time to check on you in a few weeks. 

When he landed in the camp, the foreboding quiet made him consider that he might never get to check on you again. Illyrian camps were never quiet. There was always shouting or fighting or nagging mothers getting after their young. But the insects in the bushes could be heard in this camp, and Azriel paused amid his racing heart to make sense of the noise. 

And then he heard the scream. 

Your scream.

And he was running. 

His shoes groaned as they pounded into soft dirt and you screamed again. Azriel had never heard that sound come from you. The way it erupted into the air—it was as if it was ripped from your throat, evoked from nothing but agony. 

He pushed himself harder, faster, until the screams became closer and a small hut materialized on the horizon. The image of the quaint house brought Azriel relief, but that relief was short-lived because your screams had become tired in his journey. With each step, your voice broke more and more and Azriel didn’t even feel angry. 

The rage he expected to feel was consumed by the terror that gripped him. 

He ripped open the door and that terror only increased tenfold. 

Azriel was usually focused during battle, his mind razor-sharp. He was known for calculating every step, for remembering each life he took, and being able to recount each slice of his blade when asked for a report days later. Azriel was a warrior and a spy. 

But Azriel could not remember his actions. 

From the moment he opened the door and found you on the ground, surrounded by enemies and so broken, he lost the ability to calculate anything other than death. 

He figured a few must have gotten away because he vaguely registered that the door made a sound. But over the screams, that sound was inconsequential, and with the image of you before him, lying in your blood, chest only minutely rising and falling, everything else was inconsequential. 

He only remembered that the rage finally found him. 

Only when bodies littered the floor did the anger make way for the visceral fear that came with reaching for you—grabbing you as you let out small, weak sounds and took labored breaths. 

“Y/n?” Azriel stressed, eyes roving over your figure with haste that his hands couldn't match. He had to be careful; so much of you was broken. “Y/n,” he spoke again, as if the echo of your name would somehow fix you, snap you out of the hurt. 

Azriel’s breath quivered. His scarred hands hovered over your skin now, afraid to touch you more than to bring you into his arms. His fingers shook. Your wings—it was your wings. 

“You’re okay,” Azriel affirmed, whispering only to himself. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” 

Salt tainted the surface of his tongue, and Azriel then recognized that he was crying. Fat, heavy tears blurred his vision and fell into his mouth as he repeated his mantra into the stagnant air. 

Your wings looked beyond repair. When Hybern destroyed Cassian’s, the roots remained. The delicate flesh was burned and torn, but regrowth was still feasible.

Only small pieces of the membrane along your back remained. 

Azriel’s soul wept. 

You groaned, and Azriel stopped his inspection of your back, his hands brushing your hair off from where it stuck to your skin. 

“Y/n?” he tried again. “Can you hear me? I’m—I’m going to bring you home, okay? You’re going to be fine, I promise.” 

He shouldn’t have promised that. His voice broke as he spoke the words and Azriel knew he shouldn’t have promised that because you only let out a broken rendition of ‘my wings?’ that Azriel had no response to. He only squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to your temple before shadows consumed him once more. They had been rampaging around the pair, whispering worried, angry words in Azriel’s ear, but they remained faithful. 

They brought you home. 

Mor screamed first. 

He assumed everyone would be out looking for you, but Azriel hadn’t broken the connection to Rhysand’s mind, and they had been expecting him. His family stood before him as your blood stained the rug of his High Lord’s favorite sitting room. Rhysand was missing, gone to retrieve Madja, but Azriel was only looking for those he knew could help you. 

His throat caught on air as he frantically searched for Feyre in the room. When he saw her wide eyes, he let out a desperate, “Help her,” that sounded nothing like him. His High Lady’s shoulders rose and fell with hurried panic as she came forward and then hesitated. 

Azriel heard someone vomit in the corner of the room—Cassian, he thought—and Mor came to kneel beside him. 

“Feyre,” he sobbed. “Please. Please, try.” 

Mor was crying. Cassian had wiped his mouth and come to stand beside Feyre, but everyone was too afraid to touch you. You rested in Azriel’s arms, but even his palms remained face up and did not connect with your skin. He would break you more, he was sure of it. Your wings bent at odd angles and hung from your body by only tethered threads and no one knew what to do. 

Azriel thought that dying would be better than this. 

His button-up was stained red. 

“Fuck.” Rhysand’s voice rattled the air in the House. At some point, Feyre had broken her hesitancy and kneeled before you, a gentle glow emitting from her hands as she tried to stitch together the broken remains of your skin. When her mate appeared with the elder healer, she turned wild eyes towards him. Rhysand stood frozen, mimicking each person in the room, but he was the High Lord—a composed leader—so his reverie lasted only seconds before he was sent into action. 

“The table,” Rhysand demanded. “Lay her on the table.” 

No one moved. 

Azriel couldn’t stop looking at you. 

Madja then spoke, no, demanded, “Now.” 

The table was cleared, everything swiped to the floor with abandon. As gently as he could, Azriel rose from the floor on shaking legs and heaved you up with him, offering soft apologies as you cried out. He wished you would pass out from the pain, be free of it all, but the agonizing reality that you might not wake up struck him harder. 

“I’m so sorry, y/n,” he whispered against your hair. His body ached. Azriel leaned you against the table as the other members of his family turned you on your stomach. He kneeled to meet your lidded gaze, your face pressed against the wood. “Madja’s going to fix it, okay?” 

The healer was giving orders—Cassian to get water, Mor to support your head, Feyre for support. It was all a buzz in Azriel’s ears. He licked his lips and tried to meet your eyes, but they were trailing off, unfocused. 

“Y/n?” he tried. “Angel?” A name he had dropped once Elain came into the picture. Your lashes fluttered. His attention peaked. “It’s okay, angel. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry—” 

Azriel was torn from his position on the ground, a heavy hand shoving him up and against the wall. His shadows remained caressing your skin, but a fist met Azriel's face and he lost sight of you. 

“This is your fault.” 

“Cassian!” Mor called, desperately pleading with no one. 

“It is,” Cassian seethed, his arm pressed to the Shadowsinger’s throat. “If he hadn’t been searching for something with a woman not even meant to be his, he would have been there. She would have said anything to ensure your happiness. Anything, Azriel.” 

Azriel blinked and Cassian’s face was inches from his own. “I didn’t—” 

“You have been blinded, brother. You’ve been blind for years and now this is the price.” 

“I don’t—what are you saying?” Azriel pleaded, trying and failing to look over Cassian’s broad wings to catch a glimpse of you. 

“Cassian, this is not the time,” Mor scolded, but the anguish burned so deeply in Cassian’s eyes that Azriel could tell he wasn’t hearing her. 

“She gave you everything,” his brother continued. “She—” 

Your scream punctuated the building tension in the room. Cassian whipped around and Azriel used the opportunity to shove him away, the Shadowsinger racing to your side once again. But, once again, he was pushed away. Rhysand held his shoulder back this time, shaking his head with a furrowed brow. 

The screams echoed in the room and they hurt. 

They hurt everyone. 

Feyre and Mor stood beside Madja, the three of them set to the fruitless task of saving your wings. A small part of Azriel spoke the truth that they were also just trying to save you. You had lost so much blood and he still knew nothing of your other injuries. 

“Rhys,” Azriel begged, beseeching him with his gaze. 

But Rhysand only shook his head once more. “They need the space.” 

“She needs me.” 

Cassian scoffed and ground his jaw, but a glance in the general’s direction found only tears and the quivering of his lips as he pressed them together. 

“You need to let them work.” 

“This is my fault,” Azriel spoke, his tone dead, lost within the echo of your screams. “I was seeing Elain,” he admitted. He met Rhysand’s eyes. “You told me not to. She lied so I could go.” 

Rhysand didn’t even look disappointed. He didn’t look surprised. He only ticked his jaw to the side and breathed deeply through his nose as your screams filled the room once more. 

Azriel flinched. The soles of his shoes were caked with blood and cracked along the stitches. 

Rhysand would have the right to be angry. He had the right to send Azriel away and force him to sit in uncertainty and the consequences of the night, but Rhysand found something familiar in the Shadowsinger’s eyes—something different. Something that Rhysand could find in himself if he were to search his mind from the night he thought Feyre to be dead. 

Impossible, the High Lord assumed, but you were still screaming and there was no time to inspect the intricacies of Azriel’s reaction. 

So Rhysand only held back the maelstrom of his own emotions, his sister broken on the table just feet from him, and kept his response to that of a leader. 

“Let them work, Azriel.”

[cressidagrey]

Holy Ground - Chapter 2

Summary:

Nobody knew that Azriel found his mate. Until she nearly died. This is the aftermath.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), Inner Circle Bashing (kinda), Referenced/Implied Sexual Assault, Referenced/Implied Domestic Violence, Discussion of Religion(?), Chronic Injury/Pain/Illness, Minor Character Death (It's probably nobody you love), Magical Work Accidents, Explosions, Injuries

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Azriel’s shadows liked to spoil his mate rotten.

Not that Azriel could find anything wrong with that.

She deserved more for putting up with him. 

More than new tea from the Dawn Court and her favourite chocolate covered, wafer thin cookies from a small bakery near the Sidra…more than the occasional embroidery thread they snuck her…More than whatever animal he went to go hunt, to cover his bed in even more furs just for her. 

He nearly had enough Sable furs to have a blanket made for her for Winter Solstice…

Azriel also had half a mind to go sneak in her office later that day. 

Just as a treat for not killing either of his brothers. For being civil. 

Rhys had come over for sparring, unnannounced. 

Azriel had hoped to have some peace and quiet today, but it seemed like Rhys had other plans. 

Currently Cassian and Rhys were wrestling with less sense than they had had when they were just kids, and Azriel was cleaning his weapons, watching from the sidelines.

Azriel couldn't help but roll his eyes at the sight of his brothers roughhousing. It was typical of them to turn a simple sparring session into some kind of ridiculous competition. He focused on sharpening his knives, trying to ignore their antics.

"You know, we could also actually train properly," he called out, his tone dry. "Instead of wrestling like a bunch of children."

Cassian looked up from his grappling with Rhys, grinning. "Oh, come on Az. Don't be such a stick in the mud. Loosen up, have a little fun for once."

Azriel's expression remained impassive. "I'm perfectly capable of having fun, Cassian. But I prefer to do so without rolling around in the dirt like a wild animal."

Rhysand chuckled, standing up and clapping Cassian on the back. "It's good to let loose every now and then, Az. You should try it sometime. It might make your brooding sessions a little less depressing."

Azriel just grunted in response, not willing to engage in a verbal sparring match with Rhys. He continued to clean his weapons, hoping that the training session would end soon so he could escape his brothers' teasing.

“When did you even come home yesterday?” Cassian asked him.

Azriel looked up from his work, his expression neutral. "Around 11," he said simply.

“You didn’t come to dinner,” Rhys pointed out. “You were missed.”

He highly doubted that.

And maybe he had made that mission in Dawn just a little while longer, so that he knew that dinner would be over and when he came home, he wouldn’t need to be alone.

Azriel just shrugged. "I was busy," he said, offering no further explanation. He knew his brothers were just trying to rile him up, and he wasn't about to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

*Are you still pissed of at me?* Rhys asked him mentally with a sigh. *I get it. But you don’t need to avoid everybody else, just because…*

*I’m not avoiding anyone,* Azriel replied, his mental voice tight. *I’m simply choosing to spend my time how I see fit.*

“I was busy,” he repeated aloud.

Cassian rolled his eyes. "You're always busy, Az. You know, there's such thing as taking a break once in a while. Spending time with your family."

Or he could spent time with his mate. He could spent time with his mate, who let him brush her hair and even braid it …who pressed kisses to his horrible scarred hands and smiled at him. 

If it was a choice between Irena or a family dinner where he didn’t want to stay longer than an hour or two, because he was still too fucking pissed off at Rhys…the choice was easy. 

“Or is there a special somebody?” Cassian teased him.

Azriel glowered at him. "It’s none of your business." He went back to working on his weapons, his expression tense.

*You can’t keep panting after Elain for the rest of your life,* Rhys said mentally. *Look, I know I didn’t…I am sorry. But she’s happy with Lucien and…*

*Don’t worry, I’ll go to a pleasure hall and pay for it if I want to fuck somebody,* Azriel shot back viciously.

Or his own hand would suffice. More than suffice, especially if…especially if Irena had let him kiss her the evening before…sometimes he waited until she disappeared into her room, and he buried his face in the pillows that smelled like her, fisted his cock and rutted like an untried boy for seconds before he came all over himself. 

It was still better than any other sex he ever had had before.

Cassian raised an eyebrow at him. "It sounds like you need to get laid," he said, chuckling. "Maybe that'll help with your bad mood."

Azriel shot him a glare. "Mind your own business, Cassian. My love life is none of your concern."

Rhysand gave him a sympathetic look. *We just want you to be happy, Az. You deserve happiness.*

“Ohhh, touchy,” Cassian said with a snort.

Azriel just gritted his teeth, his temper rising. "Cassian, if you don’t shut your mouth right now, I swear to the Mother, I’ll shut it for you."

Cassian just grinned at him. "Come on, Az. I’m just teasing you. Lighten up."

Azriel's grip on his weapons tightened. "I don't like your teasing, Cassian. And I certainly don't appreciate you making assumptions about my personal life.”

Mostly he just wanted his brothers to leave him the hell alone.

And then...then before he could say another thing...he felt the shaking.

And then the sound came. An eardrum shattering explosion, the very foundation of the House of Wind shaking. It was terrifying him.

Irena was down there in her office. Nesta was in there. 

He was moving before he was even thinking. 

*Merrill's office, Master!* the shadows screeched.

Azriel was already running.

Cassian hot on his heels, so was Rhys.

Azriel was faster, heaving shadows around his limbs as he rocketed down the spiral stairs of the House of Wind.

Level Two, Straight to the right. Clearly...Clearly the epicenter of the blast. Of the explosion…of whatever had happened.

He pushed as hard as he could, legs burning as he hurtled down the hallway to Merrill's office.

He wasn't the only one. "Merrill!" He could hear Gwyn's shrill voice screaming, coming to a stop in a hallway of what had once been Merrill's office but now was just...

It was a mass of wood and rubble.

He barely slowed down, scrambling into action. Gwyn was already digging through it, so where Nesta and Emerie. Cassian landed behind him, immediately moving some of the debris.

His shadows swarmed as he and the others quickly dug at the rubble. Looking, desperately looking.

He moved another piece of rubble out of the way...a piece of blue cloths. The same blue cloth that he knew covered Irena's body, the scent of poppies clinging to her...Without a thought, he grasped and then dragged, a hoarse shout that was her, that was her...

He felt as if he were choking, as if he were drowning as he dragged out her body. Bloody, bruised, broken but still...still there was a faint flicker, a faint, thready heartbeat.

His heartbeat pounding in his ears, he tried to pick up on her heart. There was barely a flicker. Too fast, too faint, she was barely holding on. Barely hanging by a thread.

There was blood pooling on her abdomen, dying the blue dress she wore bright scarlet red, He put pressure on that wound immediately, leaning on her with nearly all his weight, his fingers slick with blood. "Damn it, stay with me, love," he demanded sharply.

Azriel felt like he could barely breath. Like he was falling, tumbling down as he tried to will her to stay with him. Stay. Stay. Stay. Please stay. Stay...

Rhys was there suddenly, checking her pulse. "Breathing is erratic. She's in shock," he told Azriel with a grimace. "Mor is getting Madja..."

"Az..." her voice was so weak, but he turned to see dark brown eyes watching him, brows furrowing.

"Just keep breathing, Love," he told her, trying to stop his voice from shaking.

He could barely hear what was going on around him. It was as if he were in a bubble, a world of just himself and her and the desperate beat of her heart under his fingers.

"I am sorry," she whispered.

"There is nothing you need to apologise for her, Irena," he promised her sharply. "Absolutely nothing."

Irena's eyes drifted shut. Azriel felt like something was dying inside him as her heartbeat fluttered against his fingertips. His world was collapsing, shattering into pieces as her breath stuttered.

"Stay. Just stay..." he was barely aware of what he was saying, his eyes frantically searching hers. She had to stay. He would do anything to keep her here. Anything.

"I am still owing you that flight," he told her. She hadn't let him take her flying yet. They had snuck away in the library...in the rooftop garden...in her office. But he had never gotten to take her flying. He had never gotten to take her out into Velaris. They had never had a date at a fancy restaurant, had never gone to see the symphony. There were thousands of things that he hadn't yet gotten to do with his mate, because they had all the time in the world.

Irena just stared at him, her eyes pleading, as her heartbeat slowed, fluttering weaker and weaker. Azriel felt a sharp pain in his chest as fear clawed at his spine. "Just hold on a little longer, love," he whispered. "Please."

And then there Madja. Thank the cauldron. There she was.

Azriel could barely manage to let go of her, his mind consumed with the singular thought of Irena's laboured, erratic heartbeat as he moved back. Madja immediately set to work.

He lunged for her head, lunged to pull it on his lap, to touch her with blood slick fingertips, her normally rosy red lips pale, her skin even whiter than usual.

"Hurts," she whispered, as Madja set to work, barking orders.

"I know, I know, love," he whispered, touching her cheek with his fingertips as Madja got to work.

His eyes searched hers as he murmured those words over and over, as if he could somehow hold her in this world through sheer force of will alone.

"We haven't had enough time," he whispered desperately, leaning his forehead against hers.

She was slipping away. He could feel it. Feel her slipping, feel her heartbeat slow. Feel the thread that tethered her to this world fray, fray, fray...

No. He couldn't lose her. Would not let her leave him. He had waited far too long for her. Far, far too long to let her slip through his fingers.

"Stay with me," he pleaded. "Please stay with me."

But her eyes were slipping shut, her head lolling to the side. He gently patted her cheek, trying to urge her back to consciousness, but he didn't think he was even really aware of what he was doing, where he was. The world had boiled down to a desperate litany, in his head. Stay...stay...please...don't you dare...

“I am going to be so furious with you if you die. We may have our first fight,” he told her fiercely.

He needed her to know that he would be there to be furious with her if she dared to die, that she couldn't die. Couldn't. That she had to stay. Had to keep fighting. There were too many things ahead of them...a wedding to plan, children to have, years and years of life to live.

“Az,” she breathed his name, her eyes not even open anymore.

“Open your eyes, Irena,” he demanded. “Look at me, love,”

Her eyes finally fluttered open at his command. It was barely more than a slither of brown, but he latched onto it, taking it for what it was. A chance. A moment to get through to her.

He wasn't sure what he was saying, but the words spilled forth from him, a litany, a desperate prayer. "Please," he breathed, "don't go...don't you dare..."

He was dimly aware that the others had gathered, but he didn't dare look away. Didn't dare look away from her as he cradled her head, trying to pour all of his prayers into those words. All of his hope and desperation.

"You can't go." A statement. An order. An absolute certainty in his voice. "I will not let you go."

He wouldn't. Would never, ever let her go. Would drag her back from the Cauldron's grasp with bloodied and broken hands if thats what had to be.

She didn't speak. Didn't need to. He could read her answer in her eyes, the determination in those brown eyes as she tried so, so hard to stay.

It was as if she were holding on for him, because he had asked her to. Because it was him there with her. Like she would fight until her last breath because he told her too. He didn't deserve this beautiful creature, who was willing to fight for him, willing to live for him.

It was something primal, something desperate, something fierce as he whispered those words over and over, like a prayer. "Fight. Fight. Fight."

And she listened. She did. He could feel her hold on, just barely grasp hold of that tether that kept her in this world. Just barely keep her eyes open.

Just look at him.

And she did, those dark eyes unfocused but open, staring up at him, watching him. Trying so, so hard. It nearly made his heart stop in the most terrible way that she was struggling for him.

And he was so proud of her. Of the way she was fighting like she was. Of the way she was grasping, hanging on to life like she was.

The seconds stretched too thin, feeling like eternities and only the slightest of moments. But her eyes were open, if only barely. She hadn't given up. Hadn't let go.

He was dimly aware of the others, Gwyn hovering with a worried expression, Madja murmuring quiet instructions to the others, Rhys kneeling not far away. But he barely glanced at them, barely dared to take his eyes off Irena.

He was certain that if he looked away, if he let this tenuous thread sever, that she would die. That as long as he kept her here, she wouldn't slip, wouldn't let go.

He had one hand on her cheek, her skin still clammy and pale, as her eyes slipped open and shut. But everytime, they would find his face. His eyes, like he was the only thing tethering her to the world. It hurt. Hurt so much to see her barely holding on, only that last sliver of determination keeping her here.

"Please," he pleaded, whispering those words like a prayer, like he would be praying to a vengeful god. Those moments felt like eternities, stretching on and on with only his desperate whispers. "Please..."

The world felt so still, so silent as if the world was holding its breath. Azriel's eyes locked on Irena, silently begging her, asking her to please, please...

Live, live live... he whispered those words over and over, a desperate plea to the Mother, the Cauldron, to anyone who would listen. To Irena, the only person in the entire world who truly mattered in that moment.

Her eyes were growing glassy, slipping closed only to jerk open again. Stay he demanded. Keep looking at me. Please.

She tried. Mother, she tried. Her eyes drifted to him, the smallest hint of life, of a spark there in those dark brown eyes.

He hardly dared to breathe, hardly dared to move. Afraid that any wrong move could tip her over the edge, could pull her into that chasm of non-existence that she was desperately clinging too.

He felt something pricking at his eyes, felt something in his chest cracking, breaking at the sheer intensity of emotions thrumming through him. It hurt. Hurt so much to see her like this, so pale, barely holding on, barely conscious...

“Alright,” Madja said quietly. “Good girl. You were so very brave.”

"Will...will she be alright?" He asked, voice hoarse.

He didn't let his eyes drift from Irena's face, her half lidded eyes staring at him. It filled him with such an intense pang of relief and fear at the same time. Relief, because she was alive...and fear, because they had been so close to losing her.

"She's not out of the woods yet," Madja warned. "But she'll make it. She lost a lot of blood. It will take some time to get her vitals stable again."

He felt like he could breathe for the first time. It was almost dizzying, the sheer, intense relief that flooded through him. Irena was here. Irena would live. It filled his veins with an almost drug like euphoria, that made him light headed, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

He barely managed to keep that feeling in, the pure euphoria from showing as he smoothed a strand of hair back from her face. "Thank you," he whispered, voice hoarse, eyes finally dragging away from Irena's face to look at Madja. "Just...thank you."

He looked back at Irena, taking in her face. Alive. Still alive. Still here with him, not gone. The tension seeped from his shoulders, a strange sort of exhaustion taking over. As if all the adrenaline that had fueled him, the fear, was slowly draining out of him like water.

“Merrill,” Irena whispered, her voice near silent.

Azriel felt his fingers brush her cheek, just the gentlest touch as he tried to keep it together. It had been too close. Too, too close. He couldn't stop the overwhelming feelings flowing through him of elation and fear as he looked down at her as he looked down at her, alive. Alive and breathing and whispering soft words. "Shhh," he whispered softly. "Save your strength. Don't strain yourself."

He looked up finding Cassians gaze who just shook his head. Merrill was dead.

Azriel couldn't quite process that information, not in that moment. His eyes were still drawn to Irena, still unable to take his eyes off of her for more than a moment. His fingers brushed her cheek again, just the faintest touch as he pressed a small kiss to her forehead. "Rest," he instructed softly. "I'll be right there.” He promised.

“Being here to her room,” Madja said quietly.

“My room,” he corrected.

The priestesses dormitory was locked from males. If he even tried to get in there it would’ve end well for him. And he wouldn’t leave her side.

“Your room?” Gwyn asked sharply.

“Gwyn,” Rhys said quietly.Azriel didn't even acknowledge Gwyn's words, didn't have the energy. All he could focus on was the way Irena's eyes had drifted shut, the steady rise and fall of her chest. She would be alright. She was going to be alright. She was alive. Right now, in that moment, thats all that mattered.

“Az, how long have the two of you…” Cassian asked hesitantly.

Azriel just shrugged, his hand resting on Irena's hair, smoothing back from her face. “Two years. She’s my mate,” he said flatly as he gathered her up. 

“Mate,” she rasped. “Mine.”

“Yours,” he agreed softly.

[liahaslosthermind]

~𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭~ Part 2

Part 2 of The Spy Master's Secret Find more ACOTAR works here! Summary: The strange scent of an unknown female and a... love letter? Warnings: Out of character bat boys? idk but they are happy and brotherly and all is good in this, Mention of illicit affairs (just teasing), Bad injuries, Inner Circle loves to STAY in Azriel's business, I actually write Rhys as not an asshole in this one

The Spymaster had a dirty little secret.

Well, not really. But she loved to tease Azriel by referring to herself as such. 

He always pretended to hate it, but he could never fight the smile he got when hearing her refer to herself as his dirty little secret.

Deep down, he knew she did it just to see that damned smile.

He wasn’t smiling right now though, as he sat in his office after a rather… tiresome mission and got berated by his dirty little secret in question. 

While the conversation wasn’t pleasant, a wave of disappointment hit Azriel as he heard the combined footsteps of the High Lord and his General.

With one last scathing look, she walked into the shadows once more.

“Az! Rhysand and I were… was someone else just in here?” Cassian asked, stopping whatever thought was so important in the moment that both brothers had to interrupt him, but not important enough to finish.

“No.”

“Azriel, we can smell that a female was in here… a rather excited one at that.” Rhysand said, slightly wincing at his word choice.

“Oh my Mother, Azriel is having an illicit affair with an unknown female in his office.” Cassian teased, bouncing on his feet at the excitement the mere idea gave him.

“Yes, Cassian. I found time while finishing paperwork from the two week long mission I went on to have a clandestine meeting with a woman.” Azriel grumbled. He played it off as a ridiculous thing to think, but it wasn’t actually that far from the truth. In reality, she didn’t really give him any time nor warning to find the time to get yelled at by her.

“Who is she? Do we know her? Nesta is going to die when I tell her we caught you post-hot and steamy meeting with a mystery woman.”

“I didn’t mean excited as in aroused, you idiot.” Rhysand said while smacking the back of Cassian’s head. “Is this the so-called best friend? And how did you get someone to winnow in and out of here without being detected?” 

“She didn’t winnow.”

“But her scent starts and ends in this room?” Cassian jumped in, still rubbing the back of his head.

“Yes.”

Both brothers waited for more information, till they remembered who they were talking to. Rhysand caught sight of the Shadows once more appearing in the room. “Did- did she shadow walk?” That seemed like the only explanation, but how could she have done such a thing without Azriel? She couldn't have been able to unless…

“Please tell me you did not find another fucking Shadowsinger and not tell us immediately.” Cassian begged.

“I didn’t find another Shadowsinger and not tell you immediately.” Azriel replied sarcastically. 

“Wait, so did you or did you not?”

“I didn’t.” He replied truthfully. Not that the two bastards standing in front of him could tell.

Realizing that once again Azriel wasn’t going to give more than he wanted to, Cassian and Rhysand gave up, finally explaining what they had actually come into the room for. 

----

“I swear to you Feyre, Darling. Just smell his office!” Rhysand said as he led his mate, with Cassian and Nesta in toe, to the Spy Master’s office.

He had sent Azriel on a bullshit errand in order to get the two Archeron sisters to experience it for themselves, having not believed either of the two Illyrians. 

Azriel knew it was a bullshit errand, but he also knew he didn’t want to deal with whatever Rhysand was planning on doing without his knowledge. 

“All I can smell is Cassian’s sweaty leathers.” Nesta said, coughing at the smell.

“I just washed them!” Cassian replied defensively. This only made Nesta gag, the smell strong enough to prevail even after a deep clean.

The two began to bicker, Rhysand joining in, as Feyre snooped around, not having had the opportunity to really look around Az’s office before. 

She had been content in her observations, ready to stop the argument about Cassian's eternal body odor, when she spotted a letter in beautiful handwriting.

She couldn’t read the letter, it had been written in a language she had never seen. Just as she began to lose interest, the sign off startled her.

“What the fuck?” she yelled, startling the rest of the occupants in the room.

“What's wrong?” Nesta asked, concerned at the sudden swearing. The vulgarity was normal for the eldest Archeron but not so much with the youngest. 

As Feyre pointed to the letter, Rhysand walked around to look at it, also unable to read whatever language it was written in. 

“Must be from one of his spies. Some kind of thing only they can read.” He reasoned.

“Why would he talk to his spies like this?” She asked, pointing to the ending, reading it out for the other two in the room.

𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓭, 𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵,

𝓐𝔃𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓵

A stunned silence filled the room. This was a strangely poetic side of Azriel none of them had ever witnessed. Before any questions could be asked, a crash sounded from the balcony. 

There, the poet in question held his stomach, seemingly trying to stop his organs from falling out. 

—

“How do you feel?” Rhysand asked his brother, finally waking up after a long few days asleep.

“Like death.” Azriel answered, head pounding from the light, even though it was as dark as possible, minus the candle that was lit on the far side of the room inhibited by the rest of the Inner Circle.

“Good. You are an asshole for staying on the brink of death for days straight. You stressed us out enough with your dramatics. I hope you hurt for a little.” Nesta said, trying to hide her relief at Az’s sudden consciousness. 

“It isn’t my fault I was attacked while having to search every art supply store in Velaris for certain paints Rhys wanted for Feyre. Which by the way, Rhysand, don’t exist. So fuck you for that.”

Rhysand grimaced. Feyre sent him a feeling down the bond he knew meant he was in for a lot of berating later. 

“At least you are on the mend. Madja said the poison coating their weapons is what really did you in. Once she found the anecdote you started healing. So, no hard feelings. Everyone is happy now, yes?” Cassian explained, a forced smile on his face as he hoped Rhysand wouldn’t bring up the fact it was his idea to send Az on the impossible paint run. 

“Actually, I have a few choice words for the Shadowsinger.” A new voice replied, startling every single person in the room. Well, all except one.

Azriel groaned in his bed, wishing the headache was worse just so he didn’t have to go through what he knew was unavoidable. 

“You know, we have a rule. No taking what isn’t ours without explicit permission from the other. 500 years is a long time to obey that rule just to throw it out the window.” The mysterious fae female scolded.

The rest of the room was in a stunned silence. Hands on weapons, magic at their fingertips, ready to fight whoever this was the second the shock wore off. 

“Who the fuck is this?” Cassian yelled.

A reasonable question.

The sound made Azriel wince, head still pounding. But it was about to get way worse. 

“My carranam.” The Spy Master replied.

A/n: sooo part 3?

[azysmate]

😔😔😔😔

[bookwormjust]

Pickup Duty (established relationship with Azriel, a little demand by your nephew)

The warm afternoon sun filtered through the windows of the townhouse, casting a soft glow across the room. You were sitting with Feyre, sipping tea and chatting about your latest projects when Nyx bounded into the room, full of energy as usual after spending the day outside.

“Mama!” Nyx called, his small wings fluttering excitedly behind him as he ran over to Feyre. His violet eyes sparkled with mischief as he looked between you and his mother, clearly with something on his mind.

Feyre smiled at him, brushing her fingers through his tousled hair. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Nyx glanced up at you, his expression bright with curiosity. “Can Auntie come take me from school tomorrow? Please?”

His request caught you by surprise, and you exchanged a quick glance with Feyre, who raised an amused eyebrow. Nyx’s innocent, hopeful expression was impossible to resist, and you could feel your heart soften at his excitement.

Feyre chuckled softly, pulling her son into her lap. “You want Auntie to pick you up from school?” she asked, teasing him gently. “Why not me or your father?”

Nyx grinned, his little wings flapping as he giggled. “Because Auntie is fun! She promised we could get sweets after school if she picked me up.”

You laughed softly, realizing you might have mentioned something along those lines during one of your previous visits. “Ah, I see. So that’s why I’m the favorite today.”

Azriel had entered the room by this point, his shadows trailing behind him as he crossed the threshold. His hazel eyes softened when he saw you, but his expression quickly shifted to one of amusement as he took in Nyx’s excited demeanor.

“What’s this about sweets?” Azriel asked, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, the barest hint of a smile on his lips.

Nyx turned toward his uncle, his wings giving an extra flutter of excitement. “Auntie’s gonna pick me up from school tomorrow!”

Azriel’s brows lifted, and he shot you a look, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Oh, is she now?”

You shrugged, unable to keep the smile off your face. “Apparently, I’ve been chosen for pickup duty.”

Feyre looked between all of you, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Well, if it’s all right with your aunt and uncle, then I suppose I don’t see why not.”

Nyx cheered, clapping his hands before launching himself toward you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Thank you, Auntie!”

You laughed, ruffling his hair affectionately. “All right, little one. But you have to behave in school tomorrow if you want those sweets, deal?”

“Deal!” Nyx agreed enthusiastically, his eyes bright with excitement.

Azriel watched the scene unfold, his shadows swirling around him in a slow, lazy dance. His gaze met yours across the room, and despite his calm demeanor, you could see the fondness in his expression. He stepped closer, gently pulling Nyx off you and hoisting him up onto his shoulder with ease. Nyx squealed with delight as Azriel’s wings flared slightly, steadying the boy as he balanced on his uncle’s broad shoulder.

“And what happens if Nyx doesn’t behave tomorrow?” Azriel asked, his voice laced with teasing.

Nyx pouted playfully, shaking his head. “I’ll be good, I promise, Uncle Az!”

Azriel chuckled, casting you a sidelong glance. “I’ll hold him to that. Though I have a feeling you’re the one spoiling him more than his parents.”

You smiled innocently, leaning back in your chair. “Well, what are aunties for if not a little spoiling?”

Feyre laughed at that, clearly enjoying the playful exchange. “Exactly. Besides, Rhys and I could use a little break sometimes.”

Azriel gave Nyx a final toss in the air before catching him again, setting him back on his feet with ease. He turned to you, one eyebrow raised as his lips quirked up into a half-smile. “Seems like you’ve got yourself a busy day tomorrow. Don’t let him con you into too many sweets.”

Nyx giggled, running back to Feyre, but not before giving you one last enthusiastic wave.

You looked up at Azriel, who was now standing beside you, his wings folded neatly behind him. His eyes were warm as he gazed down at you, the smallest smile lingering on his lips.

“I think you might be his favorite person now,” Azriel said softly, his voice laced with amusement.

You grinned, reaching up to gently touch his arm. “He knows how to work his charm, just like his father.”

Azriel chuckled at that, leaning down to brush a soft kiss against your forehead. “Well, just don’t let him talk you into too many extra sweets. Otherwise, Rhys will have something to say about it.”

You laughed softly, leaning into him as his arm wrapped around your shoulders. “I’ll do my best.”

As you stood there together, watching Nyx babble on to Feyre about his plans for tomorrow, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. This was your family, and moments like this—filled with warmth, love, and laughter—made you appreciate it all the more.

And tomorrow, as you picked Nyx up from school and indulged in a few treats together, you’d know that you were making memories that would last a lifetime.

[prythianpages]

Hopelessly Devoted | Masterlist

Eris x Reader x Azriel | A series in which you’re the daughter of the Night Court’s astrologer and convinced yourself Azriel is the one for you. Meanwhile, Eris, your mate, has to suffer through your miscalculations. And things get messy when Azriel begins to reciprocate your feelings…

a/n: I made a masterlist so you can have the fics listed in chronological order! And also to give sneak peaks that are out of context to add to the tension hehe

✨Just A Fool | Eris x Reader | The bond snapping for Eris when he meets you for the first time in the Night Court's observatory.

“A diary?” he teased, a laugh dancing on his lips as his eyes flicked to hers. “What are you, a child?” “Give that back,” she snapped, fire sparking in her eyes as she took a step closer. Eris arched a brow, surprised by the boldness in her tone. The spark in her gaze sent a thrill through him, a pull he couldn’t quite place. He wasn’t one to concern himself with trivialities like this, and yet… “No,” he replied simply, effortlessly stepping from her poor attempt to reach him. When she tried again, he lifted his hand, a flicker of flame dancing at his fingertips in warning.  “What secrets could a Night Court female like you possibly be hiding in here? Some scandalous account of a rival’s terrible choice in gowns? Or some torrid tale of unrequited love among the court?”

🪐 Hopelessly Devoted | Eris x Reader x Azriel | You buy an enchanted perfume, hoping to confirm Azriel is the one for you. But when you get no reaction from him, you think you got scammed, not realizing the perfume had captured another’s attention. Eris’s.

🌙 Out of My Head | Azriel x Reader | Azriel takes you to Velaris and something shifts between you two. *coming soon*

Azriel’s expression softened and your heart raced as he stepped closer. The world narrowed to just the two of you, the sound of the river fading, replaced by the pounding of your heart. His hand brushed against yours. You tilted your face up toward his, the space between you dwindling until only a breath remained. And then, it happened. A sharp, sudden tightening in your chest.

🌚 Nowhere to Hide | Eris x Reader x Azriel | can't put a summary rn as it will give a spoiler but this will be part 2 to Hopelessly Devoted

But who will you choose?

Eris or Azriel…or why not both? 👀

a/n: If you asked to be put on the tag-list for part two already, I will be tagging you in the other fics for this au too. If you'd like to be put on the tag list, just let me know (:

[readychilledwine]

Like A Boy

Summary - After putting up with Azriel's behavior for far too long, you begin to match his energy

Warnings - unhappy fated mates, toxic relationship, use of negging a partner, reader is slightly abusive but so is Azriel, implied cheating, based on the women in male fields tiktok trend, loose editing

A/N - This trend currently has me in a choke hold. It is so toxic. It definitely would not solve anything in a relationship, and I am blessed not to be in this type of relationship, but it is fun to see women serving these dishes back.

💙Azriel Masterlist💙Master Masterlist💙

Azriel wondered if you knew how smug you looked. In a booth with two males fawning and drooling over you while you casually manipulated them into thinking they had a chance. You had left your hair to fall in loose waves, flirty and framing your face. Make up was applied to highlight your best features: those soft lips and siren spell eyes. You'd even used your body butter that left your skin with a glittering bronze sheen. You hardly glanced his way while you played these two males. You were letting them buy you drinks, letting them compliment you.

It'd been going on about a week since you started this type of behavior. You not home when you said you would be, you'd come home smelling like other males, you’d come home and bathe before greeting him.

Each time he asked, you played it down, telling him you were tired, caught up at work, or he was imagining things. You were so smooth about it, so confident as you told him he was wrong, that Azriel believed you, nodding as you offered him lies and comfort before pulling him into bed with you.

He was seeing first hand now, though. As was his family. Cassian was clearly uncomfortable, Nesta and Feyre whispering to each other, and Rhys just smirking as if he knew what was going down. Azriel knew he wasn't innocent in this. Hell, he wasn't even innocent right now. He had a priestess hanging on his arm, attention he normally loved, but now, it was sitting like a rock.

While he continued to wonder if you knew how smug you looked, you smirked, knowing he was slowly becoming more and more angry based on his grip closing the bond slipping, allowing it to open.

He was angry. He was embarrassed. He was hurt. Hypocritical considering Gwyn was hanging on him as he watched you, teal eyes just begging for a moment of his attention. He smelled like her every day when he came home for lunch and then he smelled like Elain on the nights you beat him home.

You'd brought up his transgressions constantly, asking him to prioritize you and the relationship and mateship you two shared. But you two had gone from intense honeymoon phase love to roommates with benefits after the creation of Elain Archeron and the sudden appearance of Gwyneth Berdara. Anytime you mentioned moving back out, being just friends, he'd beg you to stay and lure you into false comfort until you caved. You felt trapped, but you'd found a way to push back with Rhysand's encouragement.

A messy bitch, that High Lord of yours.

It had happened by accident, Azriel finding you in an odd position with Rhysand after something had knocked over the ladder you were on in the House of Wind's library. The High Lord had caught you, but barely. He'd had one arm around your waist, the other behind your neck, his knee and powerful thigh supporting below your butt. It looked far more romantic than it was, a lover dipping their partner for kiss. Though Azriel knew deep down Rhysand would never step out of his marriage with the lovely Feyre, it did not stop him from starting a fight with you the second you arrived home that night.

And your response, “He's just a friend, Azriel.” Something he'd said to you many times in the past 4 years about Gwyn, about Elain.

You had told Rhysand about Azriel's reaction, the male originally joking about you beginning to flirt with other males to end this situation between you and the spymaster. The High Lord paused when he made that joke, though, looking at you with gleaming eyes.

The plan was born then. You would matching Azriel's energy at every turn and you played him off mastering his own tactics after being the victim of them.

You knew tonight may have pushed it. You looked good, you smelled good, you felt good. You left Rita's without so much as looking his way, putting your jacket over your tight short dress before walking through the still lively streets of Velaris.

You slipped off the high black heels you had worn, stretching and curling your toes before heading into the apartment you and Azriel shared to make yourself tea.

The biggest difference between what you and Azriel had done was that you never fully cheated. You never welcomed another male into your bed the way Azriel had been welcoming multiple females. But he didn't know that. He wouldn't care if he did. The males putting hands on you was enough.

You began the 5 second course down under your breath, leaning against the counter when you hit one and the door flew open before slamming shut.

“What the fuck was that,” he was fuming, hazel eyes almost blazing with his fury. “You didn't even look at us! You didn't come say hello! Do you know how embarrassing it is for your mate to be in the same place as you but act like they don't know you?”

“You said we weren't going out as a couple tonight,” you shrugged casually. “You said you didn't care if I went out and had some fun. I just went out. What's the big deal?” Another of his favorite lines.

Azriel made a stunned face, “The big deal is my family just saw my mate with two males all over her! My family-”

“I genuinely don't know what you are talking about. I had some drinks with some friends and came home. Sorry I didn't see any of you.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“I am. You are acting crazy,” you watched as another of his lines landed. “I think this is a you issue. Are you feeling okay?”

He realized it then, nodding, “You think you're slick, don't you?”

You only sipped the hot tea, shrugging again, “I think you're overreacting and being emotional over nothing.”

“You don't get to play this game with me,” he glared. “We are mates, you don't get to sit here and-”

“Treat you like you treat me? Oh, but I do, and I will until you either stop and we go to a priestess of my choice to work on us, or you get out of my apartment.”

“If I left, you'd have not-”

“I'd have a new male within seconds. You're here by my choice, Azriel. Stop forgetting that. You aren't that pretty, you aren't that bright, and no one will want a mated male long term. Comes with too much baggage. At least, that's what you tell me all the time, isn't it?”

His face fell further as the weight of what was happening hit him, “Baby-”

You hit him with the last of his favorite lines, “No, no, you think on that. I'm tired of fighting with you. Let's just go to bed. Maybe you will wake up less emotional.”

He watched in shock as you walked away, a gentle sway of seduction in your hips as you did. He moved to the living room, sitting down like you had many nights after a fight like this, and his brain switched from picturing you so smug to picturing you so small. Picturing you in the same position you'd just put him into.

Rhysand had warned him that if he didn't stop playing with you, Azriel would make you a monster.

And he couldn't help but wonder if he finally did and if it was too late to change it.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites

[historiaxvanserra]

All That is Dark Within Me | Chapter One

Pairing: Azriel x Hewn!city reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Summary: In the wake of rising tensions between the two warring factions of the Night Court, Keir and the High Lord come to terms through a marriage alliance between two high ranking members of their respective courts.

Tags: Forced proximity, political marriage, Night Court lore, abuse (not from Az or IC), discussions of sex work (reader somewhat ignorant to begin with), criticism and discussions of misogyny, sexism, and general abuse in all its forms., eventual smut, corruption kink, d/s dynamics etc.

Hello! I am back trying to write. This isn't my best work but its a good starting point! Please let me know what you think. This chapter and readers powers are heavily inspired by Poppy from From Blood and Ash.

I was born on a night like this, I think. 

Storm-streaked my father had once called me. 

If only he could see me now; standing at the foothills of the mountain, wind-beaten and with the acrid taste of seafret on my chapped lips. When I was a girl my father told me that I came into the world the way the Old Gods had. Born from the merciless green depths of the sea. 

To be cruel and beautiful, and fearless.

Now fear is all I know.

The streets of the great mountain city are plagued by a summer storm and, at the fatal peal of thunder I cast my eyes skyward. A terrible dread coils in the pit of my stomach. The visions come with the storm; fleeting images of an unforgiving tempest as it ravages all in its wake. Of scorched earth and a fire that burns torrid and angry until ash reigns over the world. The dark figure of a man, who whispers my name like a prayer. 

The God of plagues and prophecy. He comes to me in those moments when my body is untethered from this plane. Lost somewhere, in the depths of the ether,  shrouded in his shadows and a seraphic blue light.

Heat swells beneath the skin’s surface and the murky grey-blue depths of the Sidra turn violent. Pearlescent seafoam coils and contorts violently and for a moment I think of an old story my Grandsire had told me once. Of Scylla, a human Princess from the continent. She had been monstrous. All gnarled talons and twisting tendrils as she rose from her watery tomb to lay waste to the men who had hurt her. Thrashing and writhing as the waves crest over the port. 

The crack of forked white lightning against the darkening horizon breaks my reverie and Scylla wails a harrowing cry nestling into my side with a bruising force. I smooth a hand flat on her muzzle. Her lustrous dark mane feels soft under my tender touch and Scylla exhales a hot breath that rises like steam in the wet heat of the Summer storm. 

“Calm, Scylla.” I whisper tenderly to the mare I had taken to mount. My forehead rests against Scylla and for a moment I feel our hearts beat in tandem. My lips graze the hair above the horse’s brow and I welcome the earthy fetor as it fills my senses. 

“Calm.” I reaffirm, patting the mount affectionately. 

“Take her to the stable and see to it that she is fed.” My voice wavers with another rumble of thunder. When I was a girl my Grandsire had told me to count the moments between the cacophony of thunder and the flash of white lightning to work out how many leagues away it might be. At this moment I know that I am standing in the eye of the storm. 

I watch as Scylla’s silhouette disappears into the darkness of the lower city.

“My Lady, we must hurry, the storm will be upon us soon.” Leith interjects as a jarring flash of white illuminates the sky. 

“It already is, Ser.” I observe, looking to the sky once more as I step into the small carriage sent to retrieve me from my visit to the modiste in the heart of Hewn City. Leith agrees as the heavens open and I hear his chuckle and the wrap of his knuckles against the body of the carriage. 

Leith is the son of a minor Lord of Night, and he and I are bound together by solemn oaths. Oaths he had made to my father, all those years ago, to protect me and the power that I possess. I might have married him if not for the vows he made. Or my own vows of obedience to my Protector. 

Cloistered in the stifling darkness, I observe the city in flashes of cruel light and sound that permeate the suffocating seclusion of the wheelhouse, as it moves through the cobbled streets. I remove the lavender veil that typically obscures my features and fold it into the pocket of the plain, gray cloak I had stolen from one of the wraiths.

The narrow streets of Hewn City are rife with transgression as night descends over the court.

I hear the echo of it in the lurid shouts of merchants, and the vulgar songs of sailors coming home from the docks at the mouth of the Sidra. I listen to them all; as they beg, barter and brawl in the filthy streets. The fetor of decay lingers in the air like festering fruit flesh in the feverish heat of the carriage and throngs of beggar children chase the wheelhouse as it rolls through the putrid pools of waste upon the wet, cobbled stone. Though, I only catch fleeting glimpses of them each time the cruel, seraphic light cuts through the blanket of the dark. 

As we pass through the Streets of Silk, I hear the bawdy rhymes of the painted whores as they call out into the night like a siren song; all sultry-eyed and dressed in lace that billows in the wretched breeze like the tendrils of a monstrous chimera. Fated to lure wayward sailors to their watery tombs.  

“Stop the carriage!” I command and the wheelhouse comes to a slow stop. 

It is then that panels of the carriage yawn open to reveal a tavern. I step out into the dark, the skirts of my stolen garment sodden with the dark water that collects on the paved roads. 

“Is everything alright, My Lady?” Leith asks, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger as he scans the desolate streets for signs of danger. 

“What is this place?”

Leith swallows thickly and averts his eyes when he speaks to me, “It is-- it is a pleasure hall, My Lady.” 

I consider it for a moment and something like excitement pricks along the base of my spine. 

“Do you think we could go in” I bat my lashes prettily at him and I know by the tension in his broad shoulders that he will say yes. 

“No -- absolutely not.”He retorts and I curl a fist around the dark cape that drapes over his frame, “The Lord Protector wanted you back hours ago.” 

‘Please,” The furrow of my brown deepens and Leiths hand covers my own gently, “One hour, that’s all I ask.” 

Leith broods for a few aching moments, only the sound of the rain as it pours from the heavens like a raging tempest until finally he relents. 

“One hour -- ONE!” He demands, gesturing the number one with his pointer finger which he turns on me. 

“Or I will come looking for you.

The building stands as one of the last unsanctioned pleasure halls in the city; its weary slate facade is cut from the same dark stone as the mountain that oppresses the city and the neglected roof tiles gleam in the pallid silver faelights like moonlight on the murky-green depths of the Sidra. 

This place is a den of iniquity, and the pulsing heart of Hewn City.

Above the door, I observe the pillory that bears the establishment's name. The Jade Pearl, painted in varying gaudy shades of green and gold.

“I mean it!” Leith calls again in warning and I nod in return, “and stay out of trouble.”

As I cross the threshold of the tavern the smell of honeyed ale and pomegranates wafts through the stilted air. A heady aroma of festering fruit and wine, undercut with the ferrous scent of arousal. 

The pleasure hall on the outer banks of the mountain city is alive with sordid activity. The whores in their fine silks twirl and dance in merry rings like water nymphs, and the serving girls fill up the cups of patrons with a sly smile. The high-arching melody of lyres cuts through the cacophony of carnal sounds; officious laughter, vulgar curses and the honeyed words, whispered into the skin of wind-beaten sailors and fat merchants. 

I traverse the narrow corridors that run like veins into the heart of the tavern. It's dark antechamber is bathed in shadow and dying fireglow that casts the word in a pallid light. The emerald bar curves around the hall in the shape of a crescent moon and the tables dapple the room like stars. 

“Come Mistress, let me help you.” A beautiful wraith insists, tugging and the long sleeves of my stolen robes until I am left in the thin lavender shift I had worn this morning. She’s a slender looking creature, with pale blue eyes that look almost silver in the dying light of the hearth. Her long, white hair is braided over her shoulder like the tendril of some mythical siren. 

Dangerous and inviting. 

“A drink and a warm meal perhaps,” She purrs, her voice low and sultry as she looks at me with those pale eyes. She’s dressed in the gauzy, silk robes of a whore. The garment flows like water over the curve of her hip and with a deep slit in its middle that exposes the graceful swell of her breasts beneath. And through her guise of beauty and seduction, I see the chains that bind her.

As I am bound. To this court. To the mountain that we call home. 

“A drink would be nice,” I acquiesce, sliding a gold coin across the polished surface of the bar.

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“It is no trouble at all, mistress- but this far too much coin.” The wraith begins to untether the cracked leather coin purse from her hip. She begins to exchange the gold for smaller coins of silver and bronze, counting them in her open palm. 

“Keep it -- I’ve no use for it anyway.” I command, nodding towards the coin in her hand. The wraith shakes her head and tries to protest but a call from the brutish looking owner draws the girl's attention away. 

She voices her gratitude again before leaving me to my pitcher of ale. I look up from my spot, across the painted emerald surface of the bar, to the games table. 

A voice, thick with mirth and malice, beckons my attention. 

“There are rumors amongst the legion that the High Lord will return to Court by the moon's turn.”

Three men are seated around an emerald game table. Crimson cards and dice litter the surface of the table and in its center a collection of coins. The male at the head of the table is dressed in his court robes; a dark overcoat with silver embroidery along the collars and cuffs. The others are dressed in black tunics and pants. It is only through the tendrils of dark that shroud them in shadow that I know who they are. 

These men are members of The Night Court’s legion of Darkbringers; and servants of the High Lord’s Steward. 

The larger of the three, unsheathes his dagger and places it atop the pile of coins in lieu of money. 

A reminder of their lethal potential. 

A vein of dark power that speaks to a coming vision plagues me in those spaces between the seconds. Untethered and adrift in the ether I allow my fragile mind to wander. I see a lake from which the dead rise like a devastating tempest. I see a King atop a dias, and a throne of splintered bone. And, through the blanket of the dark, I see the gleam of Illyrian Steel and age worn bone. 

And then, that tenuous connection to the Otherworld is severed. 

“The commander says that tensions in the lower city are rising.” The deep timbre of the Darkbringer rouses me from thought again.

“I heard that Keir plans to broker an alliance with the Death Lord, if only to free himself of Rhysand’s leash.” 

“--bring him and that bitch of his to heel.” The youngest of the three smiles malevolently.

“Enough of that -- We’re in the presence of a Lady.” The leader implies dangerously. 

Three heads incline in my direction at once. 

The cold, amethyst hilt of a dagger kisses the tender flesh of my thigh beneath the many lawyers of dark fabric that shroud me and I am reminded of my own lethal potential. The dagger had been passed from my grandsire some years ago. Made and forged from the ancient power that dwells beneath the mountain that we call home. The dagger itself had been set in a hilt of dark wood, trimmed with silver and precious gems; amethyst, sapphire and onyx. Its blade was fashioned of Illyrian steel and honed to a fatal sharpness.

There are no Ladies allowed in this part of the city.

Anxiety roils in the pit of my stomach. As he approaches, I pull the hood of the austere, grey cloak to veil my face in shadows. The pale eyes of the Darkbringer meet mine through the din and his smile curls around the sharpness of his teeth. 

A predator snarling as its prey. 

“What a pretty little bird, she is.” He taunts as he approaches, his manner imposing and vindictive as he takes my chin between his fingers. 

“I am no Lady, Ser.” I swallow thickly. It is true, of course. I am no Lady of the Night Court. 

My family hailed from The Dusk Court. Before its fall, my father had fled our home and sought refuge in Night, on account of it being his own mother’s native court. The Old High Lord had given us a home here, though I was only a babe then. When he died I had been taken to ward by the High Lord’s Steward. 

My own father died not long after. A fever took him, or so I am told. 

“Then perhaps you might regale my friends and I with the tale of how a pretty thing like you ends up here.” The Darkbringer replies, sliding a coin across the table. His gaze drops to the rings that adorn my hands; fine rings of onyx and amethyst, mined from the wretched bowels of the mountain that I have come to call home. The mark of my good breeding. 

“I assure you Ser, I am no whore either.” I know then that if I am discovered I will suffer for it. The kind of suffering that only exists in the rotting depths of Hewn City’s prisons. 

“No, I see that now.” Devilment darkens his pale gaze and the cut of amethyst shines in his dark eyes, he releases me from his bruising grip with a dark laugh. 

“Curious little thing.” One of the men whispers. 

“This is a terrible place for a gentle creature like you, Lady” He whispers, his pointed finger ghosts the cut of onyx on my hand,  “luckily for you I am feeling merciful.” 

“I am not as gentle as I look, Ser.” The three Darkbringers laugh before waving me off with a final scrutinizing look. 

“Now fly back to your cage, little bird.” 

Traversing the narrow aisle of the tavern I find myself adrift amongst the dancing tide of patrons. A throng of women, clad in gauzy robes and underthings, twirl in merry rings like a flock of dancing water nymphs; their garments twisting and contorting like columns of technicolor seafoam.The cruel laughter from the dance floor pulls me deeper into the wretched heart of the pleasure house. Lurid whistles and a series of vulgar gestures rouse my attention. A female; dressed in spider silk and lace coils around a portly merchant at the games table. She slips into his lap with a serpentine grace. I watch as the merchant’s weathered hand traces the line of her throat to the swell of her breasts. Smacking his hand away, the woman laughs, it is a beautiful, false thing that glitters in the pallid light.

“Well, girl I hope you fuck better than you play cards.” The merchant complains, laying down his deck of crimson cards. The female curls a painted hand around the cuffs of his tunic and whispers into his ear and the merchant's mouth curves into a lurid smile. One thick hand draws down her stomach, the other brushes the flesh of her thigh, slipping under the folds of her robe between her legs to get to her --

Oh.

I avert my eyes at the scene as a blush kisses its way along my neck and chest at the intimacy of it. 

The merchant rises from his seat at the table, taking the female slender hand in his. The whispered words they exchange are too low for me to hear but her answering smile is enough to know it was something wicked. The female rises leads the merchant towards the sleeping chambers beyond the emerald curtains. 

I watch as the merchant's shadowy figure is swallowed by the darkness as the curtain is drawn. My attention lingers far after they are gone, leaving only the smell of salt and jasmine in their wake. 

I think about what it must be like. To be desired. To be touched with that kind of reverence. 

I am overcome with a strange, prophetic awareness.; dreams of shadowed light and a bleeding star, scarred hands that track the constellations as they reign over the black tapestry of the sky.

The high-arching symphony of strings and lyres blossoms in the feverish heat of the tavern. The soft melody of the lyres seems to echo off of the high, domed ceiling, as the heavy beat of a drum joins the cacophony of sound. It’s a hypnotizing, deeply sensual beat, that is unlike anything I have ever heard. Primal and carnal. 

I find myself adrift in the sway of the dancing sea. Slowly, I make my way along the length of the bar, reaching out to touch the gauzy jade curtains, parting them slowly --

“I don’t think you want to go in there, Mistress.” The lilting voice of the wraith warns. 

“Why not?” I ask curiously, lowering my hand from the curtain.

The wraith laughs prettily, her cerulean eyes glinting in the dying light of the fire. 

“Some don’t appreciate an audience, Sweet girl.” 

“An audience?” I ask. 

Through the darkness of the antechamber, I see the silhouettes of the whores and their patrons, writhing and undulating with the beat of the drum. Their bodies twisting and contorting like columns of seafoam. The beat of the drum is punctuated by panting breaths and lilting moans, and the vulgar sound of men as they find their pleasure. 

“Oh.”

The wraith laughs again, her painted lips curl into a wicked smile.

“Is it your first time here, Pyhtia?” The wraith leans in, the rich tenor of her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. Fear coils in my stomach and my grip on the emerald surface of the bar tightens. 

“What is it that you are accusing me of?” I try to emulate her melodious laughter and my eyes narrow in faux concern. 

“You needn't lie to me, Pythia. Your secrets are safe with me.” Her words resound in my head and realization dawns. She’s daemati. It has been so long since I have been in the presence of another that I forgot about maintaining my own mental shields. 

“That type of secret is not safe with anyone.”

“What could I gain from exposing it to anyone? I wish you no ill will.” She returns. 

“You’d earn the Lord Protector's favor, of that I am certain --.” 

The wraith's face twists into a grimace and her sapphire stare hardens to a cold, wicked thing. “I have no need for that viper’s favour.”

The venom laced in her voice speaks to the malice she holds for this place, its patrons and the cruel light of Hewn City. Many within the court resent the way in which we live, clinging to the slivers of power we are allowed, cowering in the darkness of the mountain. 

Things are changing as of late, war looms ever closer and whispers of dissent from the continent bring about unrest in the people. Many turn to the High Lord and his Lady for liberation from the dying vestiges and brutal traditions of this court. For many years I myself have lived in servitude and isolation, serving Keir, The Lord Protector and Steward of the ancient mountain city. 

As his coveted oracle; a conduit for his own power.

A cruel wind cuts through the heat of the pleasure hall as the doors open to announce an influx of new patrons. Three men, dressed in court robes enter through the archway, each shaded in shadows and dark wisps of power. My heart hammers thunderously in my chest as the men enter the heart of the establishment. 

“A flagon of wine and some dice, Arik.” The Darkbringer announces to the man behind the bar. My face pales from where I stand. These men are my personal guard; and though kind, they are truly formidable and unwaveringly loyal to my keeper. 

It was Ares who stole back my dagger from the archives when it was taken from me. It was Eros who brought me black dahlia flowers on my birthday last year. And it was Valyrion who told me the histories of the court my father had once been heir to. 

These men, these good men, are sworn to a monster, and they must do monstrous things to survive here. 

As we all must. 

I veil my face with the hood of my stolen cloak, tucking my hair into the collar so that it is concealed from view, and my face obscured almost entirely. I glance back towards the entrance. 

Leith will be waiting for me outside and my hour is almost up. 

If he comes looking for me and the guard see him…

I take another tentative look across the room and observe the men crowded around the game table with women hanging off them, like a swarm of beautiful and merciless harpies. 

“That one’s usual girl looks like you --” The wraith whispers to me, casting her own gaze to Ares who stands alone near the fire. 

“She’s busy with her favorite client upstairs. Perhaps you might retrieve her and make your escape.” Slowly, I turn to the wraith who takes my hand gently and leads me along the length of the bar and to the foot of the stairs. 

“You will find Aelle on the second floor -- take sanctuary there. I’ll come for you when your friends are occupied.” 

I hold her hand fondly and press a gold coin into her palm. 

“Thank you.” She presses a chaste kiss to my cheek and ushers me up the stairs. As I descend the steps of the pleasure hall, I slip a hand between the folds of my cloak, fingers ghosting the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh. 

The upper levels of the house are painted a deep emerald color and the flickering fae lights saturate the long, narrow corridors in onyx wisps of shadow. The room at the end of the corridor is stepped in near darkness, veins of indigo and navy that obscure everything in blue-darkness. The mantle is hung with half-burned candles and a garland of foxglove and jasmine. The furniture looks as though it has been carved from the black wood of ash trees and the armchairs in front of the dying hearth are embroidered with dark floral motifs and silver threads. 

I draw in a sharp breath and the scent of pine and night-blooming jasmine shrouds me in its icy kiss. 

A flash of seraphic light illuminates the room and a deep voice, shaded in nightshade calls out from the blue-darkness.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

[azriellls]

az x f!reader — writing #1

• summary: azriel can’t stand the torment of loving you and being unable to show it • pairing: az x fem! reader • warnings: none, just angst. food?

Cassian’s laugh, so rich and full, pulled you out of your reverie; spoon still in hand, your untouched porridge atop it long gone hard and cold. For the past ten minutes, you’d been trying and failing to get down the breakfast spread out in a buffet before you: bread and butter, seasonal fruits; all courtesy of Rhys’ stocked townhouse kitchen. But every time you tried to eat, the leaden weight in your stomach grew heavier. The absence of one particular male at the table was a tangible, physical thing.

But your surroundings snapped back to you then: the faces of all the people, bar one, that you loved the most in your war torn world. Feyre, to the right side of Rhys, had her hand lovingly placed atop his, but her eyes were flitting to you at short intervals with an increasing, almost motherly, concern.

You could tell within seconds that a private conversation flowed silently between the two of them. Knew it as surely as you knew it was about you. About what to do next, and how.

Indeed, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d laughed as fully, as heartily, as Cass.

With a slight shake of your head as if to refocus, you spooned in your mouthful of oats. Chewed, swallowed. Did it again. Again. Again. Again.

Across from you, beside Cassian, this time Morrigan caught your attention. Out of everyone in your found family, you often felt she understood you best: that your trauma bond was one that ran so unspeakingly deep, between two females that had been broken and made themselves reborn.

Now, her eyes were tender, painfully so, as she sought out your own. Beneath the table, her shoe clad foot bumped yours, and you took the message as if her voice had spoken in your very own head. Come on.

It wasn’t chastising. Never would Mor, a sister to you in soul if not in blood, be chiding. Food was fuel, and they all knew it, too. Had fought enough battles, enough wars, to know it.

And the Cauldron only knew what they’d face today to make you regret not agreeing.

Still, Cassian and Amren continued their sniping back and forth across the table; what they’d been saying, you couldn’t have said, but the rumble of voices was a sure — albeit distant — comfort.

There was still most of the breakfast spread left, a veritable feast with no chance of going to waste when surrounded by such warriors.

Or, as you and Feyre liked to say, an excess of Illyrian babies.

You shut down the thought as you deliberately didn’t think about the one conspicuously absent.

As if it was a physical thing, you knew your sorrow bled out into the room; knew it was pretence that kept your friends laughing, and joking, and talking into that deep quiet.

As if on cue, Cassian and Amren’s bickering slowed, then died out altogether.

It wasn’t until that scent caught you in the gut that you realised quite why it had.

Azriel’s presence took all the air from the room, the townhouse, the world, as he took one step over the threshold. Around him, his shadows were an extension of himself: that inner darkness you knew lingered in him, that you loved dearer than your own self.

Of course, he’d known you’d be in here — those lithe whorls of living night never missed a trick, especially not when it came to you.

So it was a surprise, a shock hit to your gut, when Az’s broad frame filled the doorway, and he walked in, swift as though born on a wind, and made to the seat beside yours.

It had been a month — longer, even — than he’d been this close. Than he’d been within range of even speaking. At every chance, he wouldn’t deign to say a single word; would leave a room, no excuses needed when it was him, just because he knew you would soon enter it.

No one, as far as you knew, could discern exactly what had gone wrong between you —you certainly couldn’t. But you did know how they spoke about it in your absence, and it never sat well. Even though you knew it was for love of you both, it didn’t work to lessen the sting.

The proud, stubborn insult of it. Of being what they had to discuss.

The pains the others took to restart conversation almost brought you to tears, your heart been hammering against your ribs like a struck bird of prey trapped in its cage.

Between you and Azriel, tension thickened and wrought the air heavy with its taste. His shadows twined around his shoulders and you knew they whispered to him; could swear you sometimes felt them watch you — speak to you — as they did him.

One breath in, one out. With impossible focus, you looked anywhere but at the Shadowsinger, holding fast to the deep timbre of Rhys’ voice, and Feyre’s responding, light laugh.

The easiness between them, the intimacy that came so readily, so naturally —

You couldn’t help but turn your eyes to the male seated beside you, hoping for something, anything, some sign that he was there, just that he cared for a second —

All at once, the room changed. Azriel’s chair was pushed back with the ease and assurance of the warrior he’d always been. His tall frame seemed to fill the whole room as he stood from the table and crossed to the doorway.

He didn’t utter a word as he left, as his scent was carried on a phantom wind.

But you could’ve sworn you heard that whispering, heard it pull at something deep inside your core, deeper even than your heart as he walked from the room. From you.

Your family met your eyes, guilt and disappointment twin aches on their faces. No no no. You couldn’t stand their pity.

Even worse was the genuine sorrow not only for you, but for who they’d lost as well.

When was the last time the seven of you had eaten together, a full meal? When was the last time you’d laughed together like you used to, as a unit, as a family?

You couldn’t bear to keep count any longer.

•~•

Azriel hadn’t made it three steps out of the dining room before he could’ve fallen to his knees. He might have, were it not for him knowing that you all watched his back receding from view — he knew, even without his whispers, how acutely you all mourned his presence.

But what could he say, or do? Azriel had thought of going to Rhys, of telling him — confirming to him — what he suspected he likely already knew. That was, judging by the way he’d met his eyes just before you turned his way.

In that one look, every unspoken word between the two brothers had passed. It was a flat, unyielding look, tinged with a sympathy he couldn’t stand. Toeing the line between brother and High Lord wasn’t always easy, and it never was now. Not with this.

Not with you, his mate.

And when you’d turned your head, those wide searching eyes so damn trusting, so achingly hopeful as they sought out his own —

Your scent had lifted up from your hair with the movement, and that had been Azriel’s undoing.

He’d had to get out of that room before his heart caved in on itself. He’d had to get out, get out, and now that he was he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think around the ache in him —

Not even his shadows, in their swift stealth and silence, could quiet the voice in his mind; a child’s voice, his voice. Unloved unloved unloved.

Every day, every time — those words, and that same voice.

So if this was the price he had to pay then so be it. He would pay it, and be done. He knew exactly what he didn’t deserve.

Would never deserve.

Because if you found out the truth, if you knew for one second what you actually were to him —

He’d rather be the one to do the leaving than be left.

[sirenpearldust]

Winter

Pair: Azriel x reader (platonic)

Word count: 997

Warnings: Angst, death, funeral

It snowed.

The streets were empty as the young man wandered aimlessly through the night, his breath visible in the frosty air. 

He had no destination, no purpose - just the need to escape, to lose himself in the stillness of the empty streets.

His nose was red and running, a casualty of the biting chill.

He pulled his jacket tighter against the cold that seeped into his bones.

Above, the city sky was void of stars, the only light coming from the faintly flickering street lamps, their glow weak and on the verge of dying. 

He remembered how she used to complain about them back in their school days, saying they were useless when she walked home. 

Years had passed, but the city still hadn’t changed their lightbulbs. He smiled sadly, memories of her still hurt him.

Maybe it was just meant to be.

Maybe Azriel was destined to endure nightmare after nightmare, trapped in a relentless cycle of darkness.

He had forgotten about her and now she was gone.

• •

He hadn’t checked on her in a while, too caught up in his own world.

She had always warned him, told him it was a possibility - but he never thought it would come to this.

The last time they shared a coffee, she had confessed it quietly, her fingers tracing the rim of the cup. She was lonely, she said, and needed him, her closest friend.

Both had relied on each other, their friendship kept them alive through the chaos of school and home. 

But after graduation, their paths crossed less and less, month by month, until the phone stopped ringing altogether.

Until he got too busy, and she kept waiting, for a text, for a call, for something. 

But it never came.

The day they met up, she told him how sad it made her that he never reached out first.

She thanked him and they started reminiscing about old times, sharing how their lives had changed.

He told her about the girl he was interested in.

She listened, nodding, though her eyes seemed to drift somewhere far away.

She told him how living with her parents was draining, how their abusive they still were and how numb she felt. 

Nothing about her life had really changed. 

She felt guilty for burdening him with it, but the words slipped out anyway.

He talked about his own life, how everything was going so well for him.

She was happy for him and smiled brightly.

For a moment, Azriel forgot everything else around him, as he watched her face brighten up.

It made him feel like a young boy and all warm again.

She looked cute as she drank her tea.

But what he didn’t notice were her eyes, empty, lifeless - dead. 

The sparkle that used to draw people in, was gone.

• •

Two days went by, she waited.

The phone pinged, he remembered.

She smiled, he held his promise and everything felt fine again.

She called him and he answered.

They talked for three hours.

He missed talking to her, how easy everything felt.

She missed feeling so alive, how free she felt.

It was the last conversation they would share.

• •

She wrote and called him.

He didn’t answer.

She cried, lying broken in her bed, as the tears rolled down the side of her face. 

He had promised he would be there this time and help her.

Days turned into weeks and the distance between them stretched further.

• •

It snowed the day she called.

He picked up the phone, smiling softly as he watched the snowflakes fall.

It was her younger sister.

He checked his phone display.

The profile picture stared right back at him, it was her number.

He asked her confused why she was using her sister‘s phone.

Silence followed, until a sob broke through the quiet.

“She died,“ her sister whispered.

He chuckled, thinking it was a joke, asking her if they weren’t to old for pranks.

But her sobs wouldn’t stop, each one raw and desperate, as the reality for him slowly settled in for him.

She was gone.

His phone lit up with notifications, one after another.

Texts from friends, all sharing the same news.

He was one of the few that had gotten a call.

• •

The funeral was held two days later.

Her family insisted she be buried in her home country, her final wish.

She was buried in a cemetery near the mountains, where the snow laid like a blanket over the graves all winter. In the spring, however, life broke through, as the flowers grew beautifully around the graves.

One letter was left behind and read aloud at the funeral.

It was all too heavy for him, to hear how unloved and unneeded she felt.

She no longer wanted to be a burden. 

She apologised, asking for forgiveness from God and from those she had left behind.

• •

The way to the hotel afterwards felt endless, the weight of the day still pressing down on him.

Her family had returned to their home they had kept here, the place where she had spent every summer, the place she had once talked about bringing him.

He lay down on the bed, the room cold and silent, the snow falling outside.

He couldn’t sleep, every time he closed his eyes he saw her.

He would never see her again in this life.

He couldn’t help but feel at fault, he should have never broken his promise.

He read their texts over and over again, went through every conversation they had, replayed every moment together. He missed her more and more, with every second.

Loving her was easy. 

Why did he distance himself?

He should have listened better. She had told him years ago that death was inevitable, especially for her.

She had known she would die young, a truth she had accepted long before. 

Wether by her own hand or God’s grace and now he was left with the crushing reality.

Main Taglist: @bubybubsters @fieldofdaisiies

[tadpolesonalgae]

First of all, I love the take on mixing magical healer with scientist. I've not read a fic before that touches on the side of brewing potions and testing out cures and it's such a cool idea!!

Second of all though, and much more importantly, I love how you characterise Azriel in this, with him being so openly affectionate but still remaining relatively quiet! I love fics that touch on the softer sides of intimacy like this, and you really captured that cosiness of bed and the warmth and solidity of being held!

Such a lovely fic to read, thank you for writing it! <3

Please go to sleep.

Summary: your mate forces you to stop working and take some time for yourself.

Wc: 1k (short and sweet)

Written for this request: Hey, Could you do prompt no.94 for Azriel?❤️✨

Also hi, I’m alive. Just getting my butt kicked by a very busy work schedule right now. Sorry this is so short but work is slowing down again so I’ll actually have more time to write. Also I wrote this on my phone.

I sat up at the desk, the words in front of me swimming as I forced my eyes to focus on them. Hands still stained blue from the last pot of ink I had clumsily knocked over with my sleeve. I just had to get this recipe written down. The healing potion that neutralized faebane, the one thing I had been working on for months. I needed to get this test run written down because it was the closest I had been to figuring it out. I knew it was right in my grasp and I could sleep once I was done.

At the thought of sleep, I could feel my eyes growing heavier. My traitorous body demanded I crawl into my soft bed that would smell like my mate. I shook my head again, like I could displace the need. It worked for a second, a deep breath left me as I struggled to recall just how much bittergreen I added to this batch.

The creek of the door had my eyes flickering up slowly before I pulled my focus back to the book in front of me. I fought back a sigh as shadows swirled around my wrists attempting to pull me up.

“You should be in bed, sweetheart.” Azriel’s voice carried from the door.

“I will in a little bit.” Was all I responded with.

“It’s three in the morning. You woke up early to start working and I know you didn’t take a break to eat dinner.” He huffed, his shadows wrapping tighter around my arms to drive home is irritation. A wave of shock went through me at his words. Had I really been at this for that long?

“I didn’t realize…”

“You’re half asleep right now. This will still be here in the morning.” I didn’t hear him walk behind me. His hand ran lightly down my neck and over my shoulders and I couldn’t fight the urge to lean back into him. His hand went to my hair, strong fingers rubbing the tension around my temples. The careful attention made my sleepy eyes burn as I tried to blink them open.

“Az, I need to-“

“No. You need to sleep. I’ll help you with this tomorrow. After you’ve gotten enough sleep.”

I didn’t want to fight with him over this. It was like he could feel his victory. “Plus, you’re not going to be able to read that anyways.” He looked over my head at the book in front of me. I followed his eyes and saw the illegible chicken scratch my handwriting had devolved into. I fought the urge to cry as I noticed the hours of hard work I had wasted.

Azriel held out his hand and with a defeated groan, I took it. When I stood up my legs screamed in protest. Not noticing how heavy my body suddenly was. I tried to take a step and would have collapsed into a pile if it wasn’t for my mates strong arms holding me to him.

He didn’t waste a second in sweeping my body off the floor and into his arms. His shadows swirling around me, clearly concerned for me.

I closed my eyes as I nestled further into his chest. Breathing in his comforting scent as he carried us to our room. I think I fell asleep before he could put me down or maybe I lasted a little longer than that but I barley felt the warm blankets before sleep overtook me for good.

I woke up the next morning burning up. Azriel was fully laid on top of me. Still sound asleep. I wiggled slightly, trying to sneak out from underneath the furnace that was Azriel when he slept. A small huff left his lips as he wrapped and arm around my waist. I waiting for him to wake up but he still seemed to be out for the count. I sighed and decided to close my eyes again. Realizing I had no chance in moving him.

When I woke for the second time, I was noticeably cooler. Azriel was laying across from me, fingers tracing small patterns along my bare stomach. His soft touch immediately making goosebumps rise in their wake.

“Good morning.” He said as I rolled over to face him. I smiled and moved over until my face was against his chest.

“Good morning. Care to tell me why I’m not wearing any night clothes?”

“Well someone wouldn’t let me put them down long enough to get them on. But I had to get your corset off of you at least.” His eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m sure you tried very hard.” He chuckled and continued his earlier patterns along my skin. “Thank you.” I said, moving closer to press a small kiss to his lips.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I know we would both work ourselves to death if the other didn’t stop it.”

“You’re not wrong.” I gave him another, longer, kiss. His hands paused to wrap around my waist.

“I just want to see you happy.”

“And naked.” I finished for him. He shrugged and gave me a boyish smile that made me want to do anything but get up. I kicked my leg free of the thick blanket and wrapped it around his waist.

“Well I know what would make me extremely happy…”

The thought trailed off as he pulled me closer to him. His hands and lips tracing all thoughts of work far away.

[cressidagrey]

Holy Ground - Chapter 1

Summary:

Nobody knew that Azriel found his mate. Until she nearly died. This is the aftermath.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), Inner Circle Bashing (kinda), Referenced/Implied Sexual Assault, Referenced/Implied Domestic Violence, Discussion of Religion(?), Chronic Injury/Pain/Illness

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

It was late enough that the House of Wind had quieted down for sleep. Late enough that it was dark outside…Late enough that her room was pitch black. Irena was curled underneath her duvet, staring at the wall when she felt the first touch.

Not from another person. Oh no.

This touch was utterly magical.

Irena felt her mate’s shadows wrap around her wrist softly, feeling slightly cool to the touch and squeeze slightly in greeting.

“He’s home?” she breathed the question. The shadows squeezed twice in answer. “Can you bring me to him?” Irena requested softly.

Two more squeezes.

She held her breath as the shadows descended on her. Not even the wards of the House of Wind were a match to them if they really wanted.

Azriel had explained it to her once…told her about the difference between winnowing and the shadow walking he did, from one patch of shadows to the next…

And for her…for her these shadows were more than willing to bend the rules. They snuck her from the Priestesses’ dormitory to her mate’s room and back again before anybody was the wiser. 

Irena reappeared in one corner of his room moments later, her eyes blinking as she took in the faelights that were still on. The curtains were drawn and she watched the shadows lock the door and pull back the thick, heavy furs that covered his bed.

They were there just for her. Irena seemingly was always cold. So Azriel had made it his mission to find her the thickestfurs he possible could for her to cuddle underneath…

 In her own room she only had woolen blankets and a few crinkly quilts. None of these ever managed to keep her as bone deep warm as her mate did. But then, she hadn’t dared to take any fur back to her room yet. She was worried that then it was maybe a bit too obvious that she had an illyrian warrior go hunting whenever he could so that she was wrapped in warmth. 

Irena could hear water in the bathroom, so she simply limped to the bed, regretting the fact that she hadn’t brought her cane. She winced as she made her way across the room, the pain from her injury flaring up…she sighed as soon as she reached the bed, relieved that she could sink down onto the soft mattress.  

Irena buried herself in the thick furs, letting out a sigh of contentment. The bed smelled like her mate, like mist and cedars, and she breathed in deeply, taking comfort in his scent.

The sound of the running water stopped and Irena sat up slightly, anticipation coiling in her stomach. A moment later, Azriel stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp from his shower and bare chested.

She swallowed at that sight.

She couldn’t help herself, her eyes traveling over Azriel’s broad shoulders, the expanse of his chest and the ridges of muscle in his stomach. The linen pants he wore draped low on his hips, and she couldn’t help but admire the sight of him…It wasn’t until Azriel cleared his throat that Irena realized that she was staring, and she tore her eyes away, feeling a flush creeping up her cheeks.

“I see the shadows were impatient,” he told her with a crooked smile. She looked up at him, her heart beating a little faster at the sound of his voice. "They may have been a little enthusiastic," she replied, her smile a little shy.

He crossed the room in five quick strides, his wings trembling…and then he was suddenly near enough that she could reach out to cup his cheek.

“Cauldron, I missed you,” he whispered, leaning into her touch.

Irena felt a rush of warmth at his words. "I missed you too," she replied softly, her fingers tracing the lines of his face. "The days feel longer when you're gone."

She could see the weariness in Azriel's features, the tightness around his eyes and the lines on his forehead. "You look exhausted," she said softly, concern lacing her voice.

Azriel let out a breath. "It was a long mission," he admitted, sitting down next to her on the edge of the bed. "But now I'm home."

Irena reached out, taking his hand in hers. "And I'm glad you are," she said, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. "You can rest now."

Azriel looked at her, his expression softening. "Being here with you is already making me feel better," he said, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead

She tipped her head up…and then he brushed a soft little kiss against her lips and she melted.

Being with him…not once had he hurt her. Not once had he laid a single finger on her in a way that hurt. She had never thought she would have that. Not after what she had endured before. Not after what had happened to her.

Every priestess had their own scars. Some rougher than others. Some more visible.

The limp that Irena was left with was one of the more obvious ones.

She leaned into the kiss, her arms coming up to wrap around Azriel's shoulders. She knew that he would never hurt her, knew that he respected her boundaries and her space in a way that no one ever had.

She shifted when she felt the twinge in her hip, but he already picked up on it.

“The weather?” He asked her softly as he moved them, slipping her under the many many furs and then joining her.

Irena nodded. "It always acts up when it's about to rain. And the weather lately has not done me any favors." She sighed, snuggling into his arms. "But I'm alright. Just a little stiff. Your hands?” She asked softly.

Azriel flexed them slightly, thumb brushing against the naked skin of her forearm. "Do they hurt?" she asked, her voice gentle. She knew that he had been in pain for so long, that his hands were a constant reminder of it. 

Azriel shook his head. "Not right now," he said softly. "Holding you makes it better." He pulled her closer, burying his face in her neck and taking a deep breath.

Irena felt a rush of warmth at his words, her heart fluttering in her chest. "I'm glad," she said softly, running her fingers through his hair. "Being with you makes everything better for me too."

Everything.

She heard a growl from somewhere to her right, muffled through the walls and she pinked, just as Azriel sighed.

“One day he will learn how to use a damn sound shield,” he muttered under his breath, even when a thin blue film was already surrounding them. Blessed silence.

Irena couldn't help but chuckle at Azriel's muttered remark about his brother. "Well, we all have our shortcomings," she said teasingly. "At least you know how to use a sound shield."

Azriel just rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to her temple.

They kept their relationship quiet. It hadn’t even been on purpose at first. It had just happened.

Nobdoy knew. They both quite liked. Maybe in another year or two. Maybe in a decade.

Who knew. Until then it was just them. And nobody needed to know about it.

Irena smiled as she rested her head against Azriel's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. 

She liked the secretiveness of their relationship, the way it was just theirs. And maybe, in another year or two, they would reveal it to the world. But for now, she was content just being here with him, cherishing every moment they had together.

She sighed, feeling a sense of contentment settle over her. "Just us," she said softly, her fingers drawing idle patterns on his skin. "That's all I need."

Azriel hummed agreement, his fingers tangling in her hair. He pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. "Just us," he whispered, his breath warm against her skin.

She fell asleep like that, safely and warmly ensconced in his arms. She was safe, she was warm, and she was loved. And there was nowhere else in the world she would rather be.

The night seemingly was too short. 

Irena stirred awake to the feel of soft kisses being pressed to her face. She opened her eyes to find Azriel's face hovering over hers, a soft smile on his lips. "Good morning," he whispered, his voice rough with sleep.

She smiled, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face. "Good morning," she replied, her voice drowsy as she stretched out, feeling the stiffness in her hip from sleeping on her bad side.

"How's your hip feeling?" Azriel asked, his gaze going to where she had been massaging the sore spot.

Irena flexed her leg slightly, wincing as she did. "A bit stiff, but manageable," she said, trying to sit up. Azriel immediately helped her, propping some pillows behind her back to help her sit upright.

She smiled up at him gratefully. "Thank you," she said softly. "It's always worse in the morning, but once I get moving, it loosens up."

Azriel nodded, rubbing circles on her hip with his thumb. "I know," he said softly, his eyes filled with concern. "I just wish I could take your pain away."

She reached up, gently tracing her fingers over his face. "Just having you here helps," she said earnestly. "You make everything better, Az."

Azriel's eyes softened at her words, a small smile quirking his lips. "I'm glad I can be here for you," he said, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her lips. "You make everything better for me too."

Another kiss before he sat back. 

“What are your plans for today?” He asked her sweetly.

“Paperwork,” she said drily. “Look through some new research topics and tell people off if it’s an insane endeavour. Figure out what to do with the overflow of brussel sprouts Ananke has managed to produce in our garden.” 

Azriel made a face at the mention of brussel sprouts. "Ah, yes, the brussel sprouts. I had almost forgotten about those," he said, a teasing note in his voice. "I have my own pile of paperwork and reports to get through, so I'll be stuck at my desk today. But at least we'll be miserable together." He leaned in to press a quick kiss to her forehead "The shadows will bring you tea,” he promised her softly. 

Irena smiled at Azriel's teasing and the promise of tea.

They always did that. Ever since the mating bond had snapped nearly 2 years ago…whenever she was alone, Azriel’s shadows made a pest out of themselves. They plied her with tea and cookies and made sure she actually went to all the meals. Kinda like an extremely fussy pet that insisted that their owner kept themselves fed and watered.  But they were so sweet about it that she couldn’t manage to make herself dislike it. 

She loved it. 

"That sounds lovely," she said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "I'll hold them to that tea delivery. And we can commiserate over our paperwork mountains this evening."

Azriel chuckled. " And I'll listen to you rant about all the ridiculous research proposals you get. You have the patience of a saint, you know that?" he told her seriously. . 

Irena laughed. "Oh, I have lost my patience more than once with some of those proposals," she said with a grin. "But someone has to keep the rest of the scholars in check. And it looks like today, that someone is me."

He pressed a last kiss against her forehead…and then the shadows whisked her away, making her reappear on her own bed, the soft light of early morning filtering through her curtains. She smiled at the thought of Azriel using his shadows to sneak her back into her room. He was always thinking of others, always trying to make things easier for her.

She pushed herself up out of bed, wincing slightly as her hip protested the movement. It was time to face the day.

***

“How did your talk with Merrill go?” Emerie asked Gwyn curiously. Nesta only listened with half an ear during the cooldown stretches.

“She was in the same good mood as always,” Gwyn muttered.

Nesta rolled her eyes. "I don't know how you handle her, Gwyn. She's always so...Merrill."

Gwyn chuckled. "Yeah, well, I've learned to just let her comments roll off my back. It's not worth getting worked up over…and it it gets really bad, I’ll tell Irena.”

Irena? “Who’s that?” Emerie voiced what Nesta was thinking.

“You haven’t met Irena yet?” Gwyn asked surprised. “Neither of you?!” 

Nesta just shook her head. 

She was pretty sure she had heard the names a few times…but Irena had never been one of the Priestesses that had turned up for training so Nesta had never really thought twice about it. 

Clearly an oversight. 

 “Irena is probably the only person Merrill respects other than Clotho. Officially she handle all the administrative tasks surrounding the library. Signs off on new acquisitions, on new research projects. You want a book we don’t have, you go to Irena,” Gwyn explained. “But that’s not all she does…she also handles all the other accounts and expenditures, and organises the sewing circle.”

Nesta raised an eyebrow. "So she's basically in charge of everything that's not related to actually shelving books," she said, her tone slightly dry. "Sounds like a busy job."

That was an understatement. 

Gwyn laughed. "Yeah, pretty much. And she's really good at it," she said, a hint of admiration in her voice. “And she always stays so calm, even when thinks are really hectic.” 

"She sounds like a saint," Emerie said with a laugh, stretching out her arms. "Any idea why Merrill respects her so much?"

“Irena isn’t somebody to be trifled with,” Gwyn said drily. “Also Merrill’s little party trick with the wind? Last time she did that to Irena, Irena told her that she lived through worse, so Merill could just stop behaving like a toddler that can’t control her magic.” 

Nesta smirked. "Well, that's certainly a way to shut someone up," she said amused. "Sounds like Irena isn't afraid to stand her ground. I like her already. Why doesn’t she come to training?”

“She can’t,” Gwynn said simply.

Nesta raised an eyebrow. "Why not? Does she have some sort of physical limitation?"

Gwyn hesitated for a moment before answering. "She does," she said finally. "She was severely injured before she came here and it left her with some lasting damage to her hip and leg. She can't do a lot of physical activity anymore, so training is out of the question. She can’t walk without using a cane.” 

Nesta's expression softened with sympathy. "That's rough," she said sincerely.

“She did tell everybody else to at least try it once though,” Geyn said with a smile. “At least the ones of us that are physically and mentally able. She does some stretching exercises for the ones with similar impairments to hers in the evenings a few times a week.”

Emerie nodded. "It's good that she's trying to help others in a way that she can," she said. "It's not easy to live with a physical limitation…” Emerie said softly and Nesta looked to these ruined wings that hung from her back. Emerie probably understood this better than most. She paused, then added, "I'd like to meet her sometime."

Gwyn smiled. "I'm sure you'll like her," she said warmly. "She's smart and incredibly kind. We can go see her this afternoon. She can usually be found in her office.”

That’s what they did. After training and lunch, Gwyneth walked them to an office near where Merrill’s was located. The door wasn’t closed all the way and Gwyneth knocked.

“It’s open!”

They stepped inside, finding themselves in a neat, organized office. A bookcase stood against one wall, covered in neatly stacked papers and ledgers.

Behind a desk sat maybe one of the most beautiful females Nesta had ever seen.

Pale ivory skin,  dark brown hair, carefully braided away from her face that fell to her waist and dark doe eyes. Tall and slim and delicate.

She looked up as they entered, eyes lighting up when she saw Gwyn.

"Gwyn," she said warmly, setting aside the papers she was working on. "What brings you by?"

"Hey, Irena," Gwyn said with a grin, approaching the desk. "We just came from training and decided to drop by and see you. I wanted to introduce you to Nesta and Emerie. I couldn’t believe that they haven’t met you yet!"

Irena rose from her chair, moving out from behind her desk to greet them. As she walked forward, Nesta was struck by the way she moved. There was a limp in her gait, noticeable and distinct, but she carried herself with confidence and grace. 

"It's lovely to meet you both," Irena said, offering them a warm smile and a nod of her head. "I’ve heard a lot about yout two. It's nice to finally put faces to names."

Nesta returned the smile. "Likewise," she said politely. "Gwyn told us that you’re the one who manages all the administrative work here. It must keep you busy.”

Irena nodded. "It certainly does. I try to keep everything running smoothly, from acquisitions to research to the accounts," she said with a chuckle. "It's a lot of work, but I enjoy it. It’s like running an estate. And I was raised to do that." She said that so simply. 

But of course, if she was indeed a…highborn girl, than that would have been what she was raised to do. It was what Nesta herself had been raised to do. 

"That's impressive," Emerie spoke up. "I don't think I could handle all that and keep my sanity intact. My shop was more than enough for me."

Irena laughed. She was even prettier when she laughed. "Oh, I'd be lying if I said it was always easy. There are definitely days where I question my own sanity. 

“Did you get new tea?” Gwyn complained at that moment. “I swear you always get the best one!” she was poking at the delicate dark blue teapot that stood on a low table. 

“I did. I think it’s from Dawn,” Irena answered. 

Gwyn pouted. "You always have the best tea," she said, pretending to sulk. "It's not fair."

Irena chuckled, gesturing towards the small table in the corner of the room where the steaming pot of tea sat. "Help yourself, Gwyn," she said, her tone fond. "You know where the cups are."

Gwyn beamed, already opening the cabinet beneath. "You're the best, Irena. You know that, right?" she said, pouring out a cup for herself and taking a sip…and then she suddenly found the plate of delicate, wafer thin, chocolate covered cookies next to it. “And cookies!” She gasped.

Irena just laughed. "Of course, you find the cookies," she said, her tone amused. "Just try not to eat them all, Gwyn. I do not have an infinite supply."

Gwyn just grinned at her, reaching for a cookie. "I make no promises," she said, biting into the cookie with delight.

“You’re welcome to tea and cookies, too, by the way,” she told Emerie and Nesta drily as she sat back down behind her desk. “I am sharing. I am nice like that.”

Emerie grinned. "Thanks, Irena," she said, helping herself to a cup of tea and grabbing a cookie. Nesta followed suit, taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of Irena's desk.

Irena looked up from her work, watching as Gwyn and Emerie made themselves comfortable with their tea and cookies. "So, what brings you to my office today? Other than the free food and drink, I mean. Not that I mind, of course." she said with a smile, her tone light and teasing.

Emerie took a sip of her tea before answering. "Gwyn was talking about you earlier, and we were curious to meet you. And also, the free food and drink is a bonus," she said with a shrug.

Irena chuckled. "Well, I'm happy to provide, then," she said, taking a sip of her own tea.

Gwyn grinned. "And the cookies are delicious, as always," she said, nibbling on one. "You always have the best treats here, Irena. It's like a little hidden perk of coming to visit you.”

Irena smiled. "It's the least I can do, considering all the work you girls do here," she said warmly. "You deserve a little something sweet every now and then."

“Irena?” There was another knock at the door, a priestess that Nesta was unfamiliar with. 

“Meera, what happened?” Irena asked immediately and Nesta took in the tear tracks on the other females cheeks.

“You told me to come to you if Merrill got…bad again.” Meera said weakly, arms crossed in front of her like she was holding herself together. “I don’t want to work with her anymore.”

Irena's expression immediately softened. "Oh, Meera, come in," she said gently, gesturing for the other priestess to enter. "What happened? Are you alright?"

Meera took a hesitant step forward, her hands trembling slightly. "I...I don't want to work with Merrill anymore," she said again, her voice quavering. "She was mean, Irena. She yelled at me for no reason, just because I asked her a question."

Irena's eyes narrowed at that. "I see," she said, her tone firm. "Thank you for coming to me, Meera. I'll speak with Merrill and make sure this doesn't happen again. You don't have to work with her anymore if you don't want to. There are plenty of other people you can partner with."

Meera sniffled. "Really? You can do that?" she asked, her eyes widening in disbelief. "But...but Merrill said that I had to work with her because nobody else would want to, because I was too slow and clumsy and useless."

Irena's expression hardened, her spine straightening, and Nesta realised absentmindedly that beneath the exterior of a well brought up lady, was a spine of pure steel.  "Merrill had no right to say that to you," she said firmly. "You are not slow or clumsy or useless. You are smart and capable, and you deserve to be treated with respect. I will make sure that Merrill understands that, and that she apologizes to you properly."

Meera looked at her with wide eyes. "You...you really think so? That I'm smart and capable?" she asked, her voice small and uncertain. "I...I don't think Merrill would apologize. Not to me, at least. She never does."

Irena's expression softened again. "You are smart and capable, Meera," she said firmly. "Don't let Merrill make you doubt yourself. And I promise you, I will make sure that she does apologize. She may not like it, but she will do it. No one deserves to be treated the way she treated you." She gave Meera a reassuring smile. "Now go and rest. I'll handle everything from here. And if you need anything at all, don't hesitate to come to me. Alright?"

Meera nodded, sniffling again. "Okay," she said softly. "Thank you, Irena. I...I appreciate it. More than you know." She turned to go, slowly making her way back out the door.

"If you'll excuse me," Irena said grimly, rising from her seat. "I need to go have a word with Merrill now."

“She has been…especially crabby lately,” Gwyn said with a grimace. “I came to her with some research questions yesterday and she nearly bit my head off.”

Irena nodded, her expression hardening. "I've noticed," she said with s sigh. "And it's not just you, Gwyn. She's been snapping at everybody, and it's unacceptable."

Gwyn winced, “Yeah, she can be...a handful," she said tactfully. "But I don't know what's gotten into her lately. She's been worse than usual."

“I imagine it’s because I turned down her latest research proposal and told her that unless she finds a spell crafter to work with, it’s a no. ” Irena said darkly. “It’s too dangerous.”

Gwyn's jaw dropped. "You turned down one of her proposals?" she asked, stunned. "I thought you always approved everything she did, as long as it wasn’t something completely insane."

Irena sighed. "Usually, yes. But some of her recent ideas were too reckless an too dangerous. I can't let her conduct experiments without supervision, especially with the type of thing she's been proposing lately. The potential for harm is too high."

“What did she want to do?” Nesta sled curiously.

Irena's expression darkened. "She wanted to experiment with some very powerful and volatile forms of magic, without any safety measures in place. I am not letting her experiment with dismantling some ancients spells that we don’t even fully understand what they actually do. It was...too risky, too dangerous. I couldn't in good conscience allow her to proceed with such experiments." She shook her head. "It's not an easy job, being the one to tell her no, but it's necessary. We have to protect ourselves, each other, and the library.”

Everyone was quiet for a long moment, processing what Irena had told them. Finally, Gwyn asked in a small voice, "Do you think Merrill is okay? I mean...she's not usually this bad. Even when she gets mad or frustrated, she's never been this unreasonable, this mean before."

Irena's expression softened slightly. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "I know she's been under a lot of stress lately, and maybe I've been too lenient with her in the past. But this behavior is unacceptable. I'll do my best to get to the bottom of it and see if there's anything I can do to help, but Merrill has to be willing to accept help for anything to improve."

“Still her behaviour with the other priestesses can’t continue. This is the third time this week one of them came to me crying,” Irena said darkly.

Gwyn's eyes widened. "The third time? I didn't realize it was that bad."

“The third time,” Irena said with a sigh.  "I've been trying to keep an eye on her and keep her in line, but she's been pushing back hard lately. And it's not just with the acolytes either, she's been a terror to everyone. It's like she's a walking black cloud, just spreading her bad mood everywhere she goes."

Nesta's eyebrows furrowed. "Do you know what started all this? She's always been prickly, but this is on a whole other level."

“Merrill is used to get whatever she wants,” Irena said. “And when she doesn’t…, she can’t deal with that,” she said with a shake of her head. I know how difficult it is to deal with Merrill. Believe me, I'm used to it by now. But this behavior towards the other priestesses is can’t continue. She can't keep getting away with treating them poorly. It’s not fair to them, and it's not good for the library. Wish me luck,” Irena said drily, as she picked up an intricately carved cane. “I’ll go talk to her.”

Gwyn nodded, looking concerned. "Be careful, alright? Merrill's in a mean mood, and she's not exactly in the best state of mind right now. She might lash out at you."

Irena gave her a weary smile. "It's not the first time I've had to deal with her like this. I can handle it."

With that, she gathered up some paperwork and her cane and headed out the door. Gwyn watched her go, her expression worried. "I hope she'll be alright," she said softly. "Merrill can be quite vicious when she's riled up."

Nesta nodded in agreement. "She's always had a sharp tongue," she said. "But lately, she's been downright nasty. I can only imagine what Irena is walking into right now."

[liahaslosthermind]

~𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭~ Series Masterlist

Summary: In which the Inner Circle find out just how good their Spy Master is at keeping secrets

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞

The Inner Circle has questions they need answered, too bad the one person they rely on for secret information is also the one who doesn't want to answer it.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨

The strange scent of an unknown female and a... love letter

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

𝑻𝒐 𝑩𝒆 𝑨𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒅...

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Hear me out…. Gladiator Bat Boys

[bookwormjust]

A Night with Nyx (established relationship with Azriel, sweet moment with a sleepy Nyx)

The late afternoon sun cast golden light across the House of Wind, the warmth of the day lingering as the Inner Circle gathered for their usual relaxation. It had been a peaceful afternoon filled with laughter, stories, and a delicious spread of food. You and Azriel had spent most of it curled up together, your mate’s wing draped protectively behind you as everyone basked in the rare, calm moment of family bonding.

As the day drew to a close and everyone began to part ways, Feyre gathered up a sleepy Nyx, who had been nodding off in her arms. His small body was curled against her chest, his eyes half-closed as he blinked slowly, fighting the pull of sleep.

But just as Rhys stood and reached for Nyx, the little boy stirred, his drowsy voice breaking through the soft conversations.

"I want to stay with Auntie and Uncle Az tonight."

Everyone paused. Feyre and Rhys exchanged a glance, and a soft chuckle rippled through the group. Rhys smirked knowingly, his eyes flashing with amusement as he turned to you and Azriel. “Looks like you two have been claimed for the night.”

Azriel, sitting beside you, had his shadows swirling faintly around him, his eyes lighting up as he glanced from Nyx to you. He had a soft spot for the child—everyone knew that. But the idea of spending the night with a tiny, wriggling toddler wasn’t exactly his idea of rest. Yet, you saw the way his face softened, his affection evident despite his usually cool demeanor.

You smiled, leaning into him slightly. “Of course, Nyx can stay with us.” Your voice was gentle, knowing Nyx was moments away from falling asleep entirely.

Feyre sighed, smiling gratefully. “Are you sure? He can be a handful, even when he’s tired.”

Azriel chuckled, his hand resting on your lower back as he nodded. “We’ll manage.” His voice was calm, steady. And while his expression was composed, you could sense the tenderness in his tone. There was something about Azriel’s quiet strength that even a small child like Nyx seemed to be drawn to.

Rhys grinned, bending down to ruffle his son’s hair. “Good luck, then,” he said, his voice teasing. “Don’t be surprised if he takes over the entire bed.”

You laughed softly as Feyre handed Nyx over, his little arms reaching for you sleepily. As you held him close, the warmth of his tiny body against you, your heart swelled. Azriel stood, wrapping a protective wing around both you and Nyx as you moved to leave.

As the two of you walked back to the townhouse, Nyx nestled in your arms, you felt Azriel’s hand brush against your back. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

You glanced up at him, amused. “It’s one night, Az. I think we can handle him.”

Azriel’s shadows danced around his feet, betraying his own soft amusement. “It’s not him I’m worried about. You know he’s going to want to sleep between us.”

You laughed quietly. “We’ll survive.”

As you entered the townhouse, Nyx had already fallen asleep in your arms, his tiny fists curled up against your chest. Azriel gently guided you upstairs to your shared bedroom, where he helped you settle Nyx in the middle of the bed. The little boy immediately sprawled out, taking up as much space as possible, his small body looking even tinier on the large mattress.

Azriel stood beside the bed, watching the scene with a rare, soft smile. His shadows had calmed, swirling lazily at his feet, reflecting the quiet contentment in his soul.

You slipped into bed beside Nyx, and Azriel followed, lying down on the other side. He carefully spread his wings to create a barrier, ensuring Nyx wouldn’t roll off the bed in his sleep.

For a moment, the room was silent, save for the soft, steady breathing of Nyx between you. The warm glow of the fireplace cast flickering shadows across the room, creating a serene atmosphere.

Azriel’s hand found yours beneath the blanket, his fingers lacing through yours as you both lay there, watching the peaceful rise and fall of Nyx’s small chest. The quiet intimacy of the moment wasn’t lost on you—Azriel’s love for you, for this newfound family you had created together, was clear in every silent gesture, every gentle touch.

“I think he’s officially claimed you as his favorite aunt,” Azriel whispered, his voice low and filled with affection.

You smiled softly, squeezing his hand. “And I think you might be his favorite uncle.”

Azriel’s lips quirked in a soft smile, his golden eyes gleaming in the dim light. “Well, I can’t complain. He’s a good kid.”

You both lay in comfortable silence, the weight of the day slipping away as you watched over Nyx together. There was something profoundly beautiful about the way Azriel, the shadowsinger feared by so many, was so gentle, so loving, with those he cared about.

And as you lay there, cocooned in the warmth of your small family, you couldn’t help but think that there would be many more nights like this in your future—full of love, laughter, and the quiet strength that came from being together.

[bluepandastarfish]

I feel the message!

Also wish I could knit tho, honestly seems like a useful hobby but I don't have the dexterity :(

I'd assume it was unwanted?

Azriel x reader

a/n: something short, because I've been tired lately (a total of 130 hours worked over a fortnight)

warnings: like, the tiniest smidge of angst; some Azriel fluff ;)

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"So, how has it been going?"

Your brows furrow slightly, glancing at him confusedly, before a bright grin explodes across your mouth, bringing a twinkle to your mate's eyes. "Someone took one!!" You exclaim, jumping up and down, lightly patting your hands together as that warm and bubbly feeling swooshes through your body, heart soaring with pride. "I checked the basket this morning and the beetle scarf had been taken!"

Azriel smiles, one of those smiles you know he can't help, wrapping his arms around you tight. You allow him to for a few moments, before wriggling free and shoving your hand into your pocket, fishing about for a bit before pulling free a folded note. Your eyes are still bright and crinkled at the edges as you show it to him.

Winter will be a little easier now.

Thank you for the scarf.

Azriel's features soften as his eyes run across the handwritten note, pulling you close once more, lips grazing the crown of your head. You squeeze him back, inhaling the warm scent of him, pulling him down in lungfuls and trying to keep from jumping with joy.

You pull away firmly, a big smile on your face as you pluck the note from his fingers. "I'm going to work on the next one," you tell him, softly, "Can you handle dinner? I want to try and finish this one off tonight."

"As long as you remember to get up and stretch," Azriel returns, equally hushed, pressing a kiss to your brow. "And you have to promise to pay attention to me over supper. I know you enjoy knitting but I miss you sometimes, okay?"

You smile, pressing into his warmth. "I will," you whisper, pushing up onto your tiptoes to kiss his soft mouth, nipping once at his lower lip before pulling away. Azriel chuckles, squeezing your waist before releasing you, watching fondly as you patter away toward the living room where you'll take up your knitting needles and nestle yourself into the indentation he's made in one of the armchairs a distance from the fireplace.

He's happy you've found something to focus yourself on, at least for a little while.

He knows how loud your mind can get, when not preoccupied.

--------

"Have you stretched even once today?"

You start, blinking up from your knitting needles, apparently having not heard him enter.

He sighs, guessing the answer will not be what he's hoping for.

"Come on," Azriel encourages, moving over to where you're seated, holding out his palms. "We're going for a walk. Up you get."

You pull a face. "I just need to do a few more rows...? Then I'll be done...!"

Azriel raises a brow, "How many more?" Your lips purse, averting your eyes, huddling deeper into the armchair. The edges of his mouth pull upwards, shaking his head. "Come on, you know you need to stretch. Have you been doing this all day?"

"But I want to get as many done as possible," you grumble, getting to your feet and carefully setting aside your knitting. "It's coming up for winter, and I feel like I'll be better able to speak with other people if I have this going for me..."

"And taking a few hours a day to stretch and keep your blood flowing won't hinder that," Azriel assures, voice lowered as his hands wrap themselves cosily around your waist. "So come out with me, and keep yourself in good health."

You roll your eyes, but hurry to get ready. You can check the community basket outside your house on the way out. See if anymore notes have appeared since the first one from a week ago.

--------

Frost has begun swirling itself onto leaves in the mornings, etching its pretty patterns into the window panes, setting the puddles of water that gather in the uneven pathways that join the streets.

You know things have been difficult in this town, and people are working hard to rebuilt what was lost. Helping each other out when they can, coming together to share joy, keeping each other afloat. More than ever it's needed, as winter looms ahead.

How badly you want to be a part of that community.

--------

The notes have been dwindling, but that's to be expected as winter melts into spring, and spring into summer. They're always a joy to receive, and you keep them in a small box by your bedside, a separate, smaller compartment for the notes left by Cassian, who tried to alter his handwriting so you wouldn't know it was him. You appreciate the effort, and you know he means well - you'd undoubtedly do the same if it was any of the others; it's important to support friends and family - but it would be nice to hear from other people in the community you're trying to integrate yourself into.

People aren't in need of jumpers and scarves as much in the warmer months, but still, you want to have enough in when the frost returns. You know how much you enjoy the fresh mince pies the baker sometimes has out at the end of a day - Azriel doesn't enjoy sugar as much as you, so you'll end up taking one and offering him a bite, which he usually accepts. And you know how happy the baker is whenever you thank her for sharing the ones she hasn't managed to sell that day, so they aren't wasted.

At the new year, Azriel had mentioned a small gathering that took place in the local temple on the seventh day of the week. A day for crafts and creation, for anyone to join.

At first you'd been nervous to attend, but it had been that group that had suggested placing a box, pad, and pencil out for anyone who might want to leave a note. Some people might be too anxious otherwise, one had reasoned, and you'd noticed a little change at first, but sure enough after a while the scarves would continue disappearing without a note left behind for you to know if they'd been a help or not.

It's become a routine by this point: knitting in the afternoons and evenings, taking a walk around the village with Azriel, then returning back to eat, and promptly falling into bed, lights out. And in the evenings when Azriel is feeling more relaxed, he'll accompany you in the living room, signing papers and jotting down notes in his diary while you keep tucked to your armchair, needles clicking occasionally as you continue winding the yarn into warm, colourful patterns.

You sever the yarn, tying off that final row, and slowly get to your feet, knees making a clicking noise as you stiffly make your way across the room to Azriel, holding out the child-sized blanket you've finally completed after a fortnight of work. Your eyes are drooping, knuckles stiff and achey, but you hold it up for him to look at, smiling brightly. "What do you think?"

Azriel sets his work aside, that familiar smile curving his soft mouth as he takes a look at the patterns, the even spread of the stitches, tension carefully measured. All the hours of work put into creation. "It's lovely," he murmurs, slowly making his way down the blanket, taking his time with each pattern, occasionally turning the knit over to have a look at the flip side. "You're sure you want to give this one up? It's so beautiful."

You laugh, "what would either of us need it for? It's far too small." You seat yourself on the arm of his chair, hand settling on his shoulder. "I'll miss it a little, though." You whisper, leaning into him as you look at the blanket. "I've never tried doing so many patterns in one piece. Usually scarves I just repeat the same ones - this is the first time I've done so many alternations."

"You think it's one of your best?" Azriel murmurs, glancing up at you.

"Definitely." You smile, nodding. "It's going to keep someone very warm, this winter."

--------

There's no note, and it's gone.

Teeth prod at the interior of your lower lip, shoulders sloping a little.

It had been your best work so far.

You heave a sigh - neither you nor Azriel would have any use for it, you remind yourself. It's good that someone else has it now, hopefully keeping a little loved one warm. Warding the cold nights away.

You take the pencil in your hand, but the point is still sharp. Still fine for use. And the pad is still full, at least a few dozen thin sheets of note paper left beside the empty, open basket.

You don't knit that day, deciding to give yourself some rest, taking Azriel's place in the armchair and huddling down until he's finished with work. Inhaling the remnants of his scent from where they're clinging to the fibres of the fabric.

The hours fly by, then a familiar palm is resting on your shoulder, guiding you back to consciousness. His scent is much more concentrated now he's near, and you take a deep inhale of him, arms lethargically wrapping around his neck. A chuckle tickles your throat, then his own arms are sweeping beneath you, pulling you from the comfy chair and into his comfier lap. "Ready to walk?" He murmurs, fingers grazing your hair, playfully stroking patterns down your back while his shadows weave between your fingers, tentatively roaming over you, making their analyses of the day, checking your state.

"Is it time for a walk already?" You mumble through a yawn, shifting closer to him, greedily taking down as much of his heat as you can. "It was morning just a few minutes ago..."

"You're going to be awake all night if you don't expend some energy," Azriel chuckles, getting the both of you to your feet, guiding you to the front door.

It's already fairly dark by the time you're outdoors, a cool breeze skittering up your sleeves, making you shiver. Azriel notices, pulling you closer, "think you can make the ribbing a little tighter? The wind will be kept out then." You hum noncommittally, not particularly stirred by the option, just hugging your scarf tighter.

There are still quite a few people out, and you can't really help the way your eyes stray, hopefully searching for a familiar pattern, or series of colours.

Maybe you should take a break from knitting for a while. Give yourself some time to rest in the evenings once you're finished working, instead of trying to relax yourself with a different form of work.

Hobbies are supposed to be fun.