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florencemtrash · 6 months

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The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Eighteen

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Nothing super specific, but things get pretty dark (at least in my opinion). Mentions of torture.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Azriel grabbed Rhys by the front of his jacket, hands shaking horribly despite all his efforts to stop. It had started this morning, when another disastrous attempt to talk to Andrian had left Azriel with his mind in shambles, knife pressed against his own throat. It had been going on for weeks now. Someway, somehow, Andrian would find a way to break through Azriel’s defenses and force him to relieve his worst memories. Sometimes he dreamt of his burning hands. Mostly he thought of you, and the day he’d nearly killed you.

“Tell me you didn’t,” Azriel growled desperately. “Tell me!”

It was too easy for him to pick out when his brother was speaking with Feyre, and something about the way Rhysand had been looking at him— like he was a fraction of a second away from splintering into a million pieces — told Azriel enough about who had been sent for. You were the only one who could calm him. The only one who could do what he and Rhys had failed to do.

Violet eyes shone from a perfectly handsome face. A face he knew too well. A face that he wanted to punch right now.

“I’m afraid I can’t, brother,” Rhysand responded gravely.

Azriel slammed his fist against the wall instead, taking out a chunk of granite that spit grey dust into the air. He swore beneath his breath, pacing the hallway and trying to steady his racing heart. He’d never wanted you to see this place. He’d never even wanted you to step foot on the island above, its rolling peaks a stark contrast to the tunnels below where Azriel conducted his business. Business that stained his hands a thousand shades of red.

“You’ve been working yourself ragged, Az, and Andrian still hasn’t said anything. Not to you. Not to me. We need to know all we can about Koschei. Vassa’s on the brink of madness. Henna’s dead. I can’t even get past Andrian’s mental wards. What the fuck are we meant to do?”

“So you thought to go behind my back and bring Y/n into this?! She’s not something for you to use, Rhys.”

“She’s already in this mess.” Rhys reminded him, as he often did. His eyes softened as he looked to the locked door at the end of the hall with its small, rectangular window. Bars breaking up the lamplight glowing from within. “And you know she’d agree this is the best course of action. She’ll be able to do it.”

Azriel’s hands shook. “Give me another week and I’ll get us the information we need. Tell Feyre to turn around. Don’t bring Y/n here.” Don’t let her see this part of me.

“The boy doesn’t have another week. He doesn’t even have a day.”

The shaking traveled throughout Azriel’s entire body. His eyes darkened and he began the process of hiding his heart away within the void that curled inside of him. That wicked beast that was always on the verge of swallowing him whole.

Feyre winnowed you both to the outskirts of the northern territories and you went from sweating in your fur-lined leathers to shivering in the knee deep snow. The Illyrian Mountains rose behind you like predatorial rows of shark teeth and the endless sea stretched in front, slate grey and empty except for lonely ripples of sea foam. Through the frosty haze you could make out a smattering of islands, each with their own tooth-like tips capped with snow and ice. Feyre looked at you, her eyes leaning more towards blue now that she’d tapped into the Winter Court’s power to stave off the cold.

The Warren was protected by wards that made winnowing impossible, so you let Feyre scoop you up in her powerful arms, wings growing from her back like unfurling shadows before the ground dropped away from her feet and she took off into the sky.

You clung to her shoulders, eyes slamming shut so you wouldn’t have to look down at the churning black waters and the rocks they crashed against. If you were to fall now, you could only hope you drown before the waves ripped your body to pieces against the rocks like meat torn between a pair of canines.

You stayed frozen and tight as a coil until the rush of wind stopped and you no longer felt your stomach creeping up into your throat. You could have dropped to your knees and kissed the ground if you weren’t sure your lips would freeze there. You did shove your hands into the gritty sand though, breathing slowly through your nose until you finally had the strength to stand.

Feyre led you down the long stretch of beach, waves whistling in the wind — a haunting, beautiful melody, like a woman crying.

Azriel had discovered The Warren centuries ago. After a particularly brutal brawl that had left him with a broken arm and cracked ribs, he’d taken to the skies, desperate to escape the hard packed floors and burning scent of sex mixed with alcohol that seemed to invade every corner of the Windhaven barracks. He’d been fighting over a woman, a woman that had been dragged into the rowdy common room trembling with the telltale sign of a whisky haze over her burnt umber eyes, dress ripped and muddy.

Did it even matter that he’d brought her back untouched to that leaning house with its wooden slabs frosted over and the chimney coughing up black smoke like a diseased lung? Azriel had wondered as he flew without a destination in mind. And when he’d finally collapsed on the island, frozen ground beneath his hands and knees and spitting out blood from his cut up gums, his shadows had tugged him towards the gaping mouth of The Warren, urging him to explore a darkness that was his and his alone. It had been his escape. A safe place in the world that had so few. But when Rhysand became High Lord and he the Spymaster, Azriel hadn’t hesitated to give up The Warren in the service of the Night Court, adding it to the long list of sacrifices he made so that he might actually start to feel like he deserved his place with his family.

You stilled in front of The Warren’s entrance, black walls glittering and damp from sea spray. Jagged, cracked bone rocks hovered overhead like axes ready to fall, jutting out of a cliffside and curling over the beach in the shape of a hunched back or an unhinged jaw. Wind whistled from within like asthma — high-pitched and keening.

“This is where you keep all your prisoners.” You weren’t asking a question, merely stating a fact.

Feyre had had little time for explanations back at the House. She’d focused on defending your body against the frigid cold to come, her mind split between you and Rhysand as he worried over Azriel from miles away.

“Not all of them. Only the ones Azriel finds useful.”

“The ones he plans to torture for information.”

From somewhere deep within the earth you swore you heard the clanging of chains, a growl, and a desperate groan that had the hair on your neck rising.

Feyre’s usual warmth was gone, replaced by something with more tact and less care. “This isn’t a place for the faint of heart, Y/n. And neither is Azriel. He’s tried to hide this from you, but it’s as much a part of him as anything else and if you care for him as much as I believe you do, you’re going to need to get used to this.”

There was the faintest flicker of doubt in your heart. “Andrian… he’s just a boy… you haven’t—Az hasn’t—”

“No,” Feyre said quickly. Horrified. “Azriel found him weeks ago trying to slip back into Day Court. We brought him here because it’s the most heavily warded place in Prythian and because the world needs to be protected from him as much as he needs to be protected from the world.” She grabbed your hands. They felt cold as ice. “Y/n. I swear to you, we haven’t hurt that boy. We won’t hurt him.”

“I know. I just… I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Already you felt sick to your stomach just for asking. Azriel was many things — dangerous, cruel to those he felt were deserving of it, maybe even murderous at times — but he was still Az… and you weren’t afraid. Not even as you let Feyre lead you into The Warren, and you were swallowed whole.

The mouth of the cave quickly narrowed into a tunnel before turning at a severe angle and twisting like a corkscrew downward. If it weren’t for you and Feyre’s glowing bodies, you might have missed one of The Warren’s slick steps and tumbled down forever.

You passed by two offshoots, each branching out into their own secret tunnels that whispered and echoed and smelled faintly of blood. Coppery and sour.

One of the rooms you walked through smelled like metal and limestone. The rust-colored ground and drain in the center of the floor told you all you needed to know about its purpose and before you could stop yourself, before you could even think about whether this was truly a good idea, you found yourself pressing a hand against one of the chains hanging from the ceiling.

If Feyre was right and this was truly a part of Azriel — something horrible that needed to come with all of the good that he was — then you wanted to know. You felt that you had some right to know, and if it was the power the Mother had granted you, then you would use it when you saw fit.

Feyre froze when your power flooded the room without warning, feeling the energy and fury radiating off your skin without even turning to look at you. You kept the memories a safe distance away, but drank in the knowledge of every horrible hand that had hung from that ceiling like you were reading a list of names from a book. You read their crimes. You read every drop of blood that Azriel had spilled on the ground.

“Y/n?” Feyre asked tentatively, fearfully, when you blinked and released the chain.

She had every hope the bond would snap in place for you soon and that you’d help end Azriel’s centuries of loneliness. That you might be the one to finally show him he was deserving of kindness. But to love Azriel as he was, with all his rough edges and the pain he could inflict as much as he carried… it was not for the faint of heart.

“I understand why Azriel wanted to hide this place from me. This part of him,” you said quietly and to no one in particular. Not even to Feyre. “But he shouldn’t have.” Your eyes turned harder than stone. “They deserved it. Each and every one of them.”

Feyre stood, shocked into silence, and it wasn’t until you gripped her arm and nudged her into the next room that she found she was able to walk again.

You passed by more hallways and more rooms, some disturbingly clean and empty, others with chains hanging from the ceiling or littered on the floor. But the strangest part was, you could smell Azriel within these cramped walls, and that alone made you quicken your steps.

You chased that familiar scent, walking confidently through the dark and passing Feyre until you were spit out in a long, neat tunnel with one metal door at the end. Tendrils of shadow flickered from around the corner.

“Azriel?”

Your heart pounded in your chest when you saw him leaning against the wall, hands folded behind his back. Rhys’s eyes flickered to you, then to his mate as she followed closely behind. Azriel stiffened, his eyes locked and heavy. Shadows tugged at his eyes and accentuated the sharpness of his cheeks. He looked like he hadn’t slept since the day he left you… which wasn’t so far from the truth. Because the whole time he’d been here, he’d been thinking of you, and the ways you might hate him for what he did and the sick corners of his soul. For—

You sailed into his arms, wrapping yourself around his torso and pressing your face into the hollow of his neck. Part of your mind chastised you, calling you silly and desperate as it reminded you it had only been ten days since you’d last seen him. But you didn’t care. It felt far longer than that. Too long.

You needed this almost as much as he did.

You disappeared behind his wings, cocooned safely in membranous folds and shadows that kissed your skin. Azriel himself buried his face in your hair, feeling some of his worst worries dissipate. You hadn’t run away. You hadn’t been so disgusted as to leave just yet.

“Y/n,” he murmured your name before kissing your temple. “Gods, I missed you.”

“I would hope so.” You murmured into the curve of his jaw, “I might be a boring bookworm but I’m better company than this place.”

Azriel winced. “You have no idea.”

You missed the pointed look that Rhys and Feyre threw your way, but Azriel didn’t. He was tall enough to see over your head as Feyre pointed to the door at the end of the hallway, eyes glistening. They had come here for a purpose, and the sooner it was over with, the sooner they could all go home.

Azriel’s arms tightened around you. “I didn’t want you to come here. I didn’t want… I didn’t want you to see the things I do.”

“I know.” You traced the curve of his jaw, thumb smoothing over his cheek. “But I’m not afraid, Azriel.”

His eyes flickered from fear to relief to love, like one of those picture books you had to flip through to see the scene play out.

“You’re not?”

You shook your head no. Then you kissed him on the lips and whispered the words for him and him alone. “I trust you. You’re the most terrifying thing here anyway, and you’re mine.”

Yours.

Azriel quitel liked the sound of that.

Even here in the dungeons burrowed beneath empty frozen lands, Azriel found it within him to hope. Horrid creatures might be hidden elsewhere, creeping like slugs under the earth that he’d have to crush beneath his boot or tear treasured secrets from, but for now you were still by his side. For now you were still his and he would always be yours.

You looped your arm through his and moved towards that door at the end of the hallway, steeling yourself for what you already knew was behind it.

The light from the barred window flashed warm and cool then warm again. Light warped and pranced. The scent of rot hung in the air, humid and choking. You touched the door handle, feeling the magic fall away like it recognized you and opened up into a makeshift, but quaint bedroom. There were no windows here for there was nothing to see below ground, but some of Feyre’s landscape paintings hung on the wall. Faelights bloomed overhead, throwing light and heat on a child’s bed with green sheets, a table, and a bookcase overflowing with an assortment of puzzles and novels and toys. You felt your blood turn cold. They’d once belonged to Nyx before being repurposed for the little boy trembling on the floor.

You stared at him in horror.

The little boy who’d been so violently bright that morning in the marketplace was dull. Although he was wearing fresh clothes, his skin had turned a stone gray, black marks dotting his once silken, silver skin like a disease. He was aware of his condition, weeping on the plush rug cut in the shape of a flower as he batted at his arms, willing them to turn healthy again.

“No no no no no no,” he sobbed. He grabbed at his pillowy hair in frustration and tugged. A cloud of fragile strands came away and he cried harder, trying to stick them back to his scalp.

Rhysand’s face was broken and pale. He tried not to look at Andrian. He was too young. Reminded him too much of his own son.

“You were right.” Rhysand’s voice was hollow, laced with a pain that grabbed your throat and squeezed. “Koschei did kill him. He’s been dead this whole time.”

“NO!” Andrian screamed. “HE DIDN’T! HE PROTECTED ME!”

Fat tears rolled out of filmy eyes, dusty and brown as pond water. Rage filled him with new energy and he tried to attack your mind as he’d already done with Azriel. But there was something altogether different about your magic, something flexible that morphed and rearranged your mental walls until it felt like he was trying to attack himself.

He gave up when your walls didn’t fall, and chose the physical route instead. You recoiled as he took a swipe, bony arms reaching out in an awkward lunge. But his legs were too weak and crumpled beneath him. He looked like a fish laid out to rot on a summer day — bloated and slick.

“Koschei brought him back to life for his powers—”

“HE LOVES ME! PAPA LOVES ME!”

“To use as he saw fit when the time was right.”

“But he can’t survive being separated for so long from Koschei’s power, can he?”

Just like Vassa. Left on their own without their maker they couldn’t handle the curses that had been placed on them. They’d bend until they broke… unless they found another way…

“The killings,” You murmured as the pieces slowly fell into place, “He killed those Librarians and the tailor and the florist…” You didn’t want to be right about this. You prayed to the Mother that you were wrong.

But Azriel read the thoughts in your eyes and nodded. Feyre could only stand still and Rhysand couldn’t do more than speak out in that dead voice of his.

Andrian had killed those fae, not just to send a message, but because that was the price for going against nature, for being brought back from the dead. Power demanded balance. To stay alive, Andrian had needed others to take his place. Those Librarians and the Velarians hadn’t been murdered. They’d been sacrificed.

What Koschei had done to this boy — what he’d turned him into — made you want to crawl into a dark corner and stay there forever.

Andrian’s sobs died out. A crack of lightning followed by unnerving silence that had Azriel’s blood freezing in his veins. Andrian wasn’t much older than he’d been when he’d first been tossed into that dark cellar. When his brothers had set his hands aflame.

“He loves me,” he declared, as if saying it would make it true. He stayed curled up in a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth on his heels. “He stayed when Henna left me. He wasn’t afraid of me like the others. He took care of me.”

But Koschei hadn’t taken care of him. He’d taught Andrian to love him. To worship him, because that’s what he craved above all else. He’d helped the boy control his powers and had allowed him to live so he could send him off to die when it was most convenient. You’d thought Henna was Koschei’s perfect soldier, but you were wrong. Andrian was. He’d been broken and molded into something that should never have existed. He’d been sent to Prythian after his sister’s death to take her place. A boy who would have no choice but to return to the lake or die trying.

And he was dying. You could see it clear as day. Two teeth clinked onto the floor and Andrian’s hands flew up to his mouth. He whimpered, eyes locking on you like you might be able to fix this.

You wanted to beg Rhys and Feyre to do something, to fix him, but it was a useless endeavor. They wouldn’t have brought you here if they could just reach into Andrian’s mind and end it all peacefully. Andrian was too powerful for that. But you could use another way.

You approached him like a wild, injured animal, grimacing when he tried to run at you only for his ankle to twist and then snap. He fell to the floor in a pathetic sprawl.

“Hey there, little feather.”

Andrian paused at that familiar nickname, watery eyes looking up. You said it just like Henna had once upon a time. The same inflection in a differently pitched voice. His lips trembled.

“She left me.”

You shook your head before kneeling on the ground in front of him. He smelled of death. It clung to his linen shirt and trousers. It clung to the few strands of hair still woven into his scalp, skin so thin you could make out his skull.

“She didn’t leave you, Andrian.” You poured your voice out over him, as soothing as you could make it, forcing the tears down. “She thought you’d died and that you’d stayed dead. She had a little ceremony for you out near the willow tree and buried your favorite toy beneath it with a handful of water lilies. Do you remember it? The little wooden doll you dressed up like a soldier with the red cap and the silver shoes?”

He clamped his hands over his ears, shaking his head while his weak neck teetered dangerously atop his shoulders.

“Andrian—” You pulled his hands away and in a bold, dangerous move brought them to your temple and slowly lowered your mental wards. You didn’t give him free reign, but rather guided him through snippets of memories you’d taken from Henna before her death. They all revolved around him. Before, and even after Koschei had poisoned their minds, Andrian had remained her true priority.

The boy’s eyes flashed from anger to confusion then, finally, to despair.

“She didn’t leave you.”

Andrian waited a few moments that had your heart seizing, then rushed into your arms, tightening them like a vice around your shoulders and burying his face in your hair. You held your breath, but tightened your grip. You weren’t his sister, but you were the closest thing he had.

Slowly, like sand falling through an hourglass, you felt his arms weaken and fall from your shoulders. He stared at you, wide and terrified as his hand snapped off at the wrist and fell to your side in a grey heap.

“Make it stop. Please make it stop.”

You smoothed back his hair, shoving down the tears that threatened to fall. His eyes were white now and unseeing. “It’s ok, little feather. It’s ok.”

“I don’t—” Even his voice was crumbling apart. Raspy and broken like cracked glass. He had little time left. The fight in him gone. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go to that dark place. Please don’t make me go.”

Azriel had been watching the entire time, trying not to picture the little boy with dark hair, weak wings, and bandaged hands. He went so, so still.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. It’s going to be ok.” You promised. You forced your trembling lips into a smile.

He took in a rasping breath. “Will you go with me this time, Henna? Please.”

You gritted your teeth, brows furrowed in an effort to stay here instead of turning and sprinting back to the surface.

“I will. That’s why I came” You brushed his hair away from his forehead, saying nothing when the wispy white strands were torn away from his scalp like silk… just like the memories of Koschei’s lake you plucked from his mind without him knowing. You swallowed the pain of what you knew was coming. “I won’t let you be alone.”

He went quiet after that. Maybe his voice had deteriorated beyond saving, maybe he finally felt at peace. All you knew is that you needed to keep brushing his hair and holding onto his hand when he laid down and placed his head in your lap. He was like a little windup doll that had run out of string. He kept breathing until he finally stopped.

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Author's Note:

So... this was a rather sad one, bit of a tonal shift if you ask me, but I wanted to wrap up the stuff with Henna and Andrian before we continue on to other things.

BUT, you have to appreciate when Y/n walks into what's effectively a torture chamber and goes "yeah, nope, still in love with Azriel." It's just one of those things that gets brushed under the rug but like... this guy's WHOLE JOB is inflicting pain upon people.... and you know what, it's a fantasy book, so who the hell cares. We stan Y/n being supportive of Azriel's career lol

#the shadowsinger and the inkbird #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel shadowsinger

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acourtofthought · 16 days

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This is the equivalent of a guy meeting a beautiful girl who ignores him in favor of kneeling down for doggy kisses from his fur baby (those kinds of girls are catnip for dog guys)

And this is the kind of girl who already has no problem calling bullshit on Az:

That kind girl is necessary for someone like Az.

#gwynriel #azriel shadowsinger #gwyneth berdara

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tadpolesonalgae · 6 months

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Fear of the Cold[***]

Dark!Ghost!Azriel x reader

Synopsis: after tormenting you for a month, slowly driving you closer to insanity, he finally makes his appearance. Eager to claim you after being denied for so long.

warnings: noncon, dark!az, fingering, strong references to past noncon

a/n: I was struggling with some writer’s block, so of course I ended up coming back here

word count: 3,124

-Fear of the Dark-

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The small cardboard box remains tucked in your pockets at all times, boxes of matches stocked in every room, easily available should the night…find you again.

The house—once deceptive with its semblance of warmth—is now barren and cold. Unlived in and alone. No matter how clean, or how messy you make it, you struggle recall which side of the barrier you lie on. After his visit, crossing into your own world where he should have been unable to, you worry he’d somehow been pulling you under.

You’d thought you were above the ice, but maybe you’re already below it, trapped beneath a layer thin enough to see through but not thin enough to break. Slowly drowning, not even an inch from an unbreakable surface.

Every time a stray draft breezes by, you feel a phantom touch on your throat, like the gentle drag of scar-roughened fingers, stroking placatingly against the fur of a pet. As if it will be some kind of reassurance.

He hasn’t appeared since that night—almost a month ago by now—yet you feel no further away from him. Like you’re trying to run up the snow-capped mountains, but the ground beneath you just slips out from under your feet, pulling you back down into his cold, dead embrace. Sometimes you wake drenched in sweat, lungs aching as if hands had been wrapped around them, squeezing the life from them, to hurry you over onto his side. Other times it’s nothing as overt; when once you had been met with confusion upon not being able to locate a familiar object, now you’re met with dark resign, knowing he’s been moving things again. Moving plates right before you, dragging salt shakers across the table, chandeliers swinging slightly when you know there is no breeze in your house.

Though by far the worst was when you’d been on the verge of sleep one night, tiredly making it to your bed to change. You’d pulled back the covers and found a night gown laid out for you, warmed beneath the sheets. Pale and diaphanous, so sheer it was ghostly, lace wound at its hem like cobweb. You don’t possess anything like that. All your clothes conceal skin, keep it warm against the harsh bite of the desolate mountains, hide it from phantom eyes that watch from the dark.

————

The day is coming to its end, though the constant grey of the skies makes that difficult to tell, every shade blending into the next one, keeping you pithing an inescapable loop. Sometimes you wonder if time is passing at all.

Fatigue weighs on your lids as you stand to put away your plate, making to move to the sink when the porcelain in snatched from your fingers and shattered against a wall, pale shards glittering on the floor boards. A breath hisses beside your ear, skin prickling with cold beneath the harsh exhale, and you freeze. Hands shaking as you stare at the shattered plate, replaying what had happened in the blink of an eye with painful scrutiny. There had been no warning, no dancing shadow nor a drop in temperate—just volatile aggression searing up from nowhere.

You swallow heavily, eyes frenetically dancing through the room, searching, searching for some kind of cause, a way you might be able to predict him in the future, but there isn’t so much as a mote of dusk out of place. Not even an awareness ticking at the back of your mind, no feeling of being watched.

“Leave me alone,” you whisper, softer than a breath.

A slam comes from deep with in your house, like a cellar door being whipped shut, able to feel its vibrations through the bare soles of your feet. Reverberating up into your bones. You turn about skittishly, eyes darting to one side of the room then the next in the same second, frantically searching for him so you don’t have to keep guessing, anticipating where he’ll come from next, what more havoc he’ll wreak to subject you to his kind of fear.

A cold breeze kisses up your throat, and it’s the only sign you need to start running, bolting from the room, plate forgotten as you race through the halls. You have no goal in mind, just desperate to flee from him, to escape his hunting grounds, but your heart continues pounding, passing by doors closing as you near them, the heavy metal grating noise as bolts are slid into place on the other sides, curtains hissing shut as your feet hit the floor, drawers shaking as you keep pushing forward, unknowingly corralled, herded in your own home.

You should have known where you’d end up.

It’s the bedroom on the highest floor you reach, frantically running inside as you chase the illusion of safety, slamming the door behind you and locking it with surprising swiftness.

You stumble back into the room, arms shaking, heart pounding, breath misting as it cools in the air, surprisingly cold for indoors—too cold. You turn around to look over the room, to find all the windows either open or smashed. Shards of broken glass line the outskirts of the chamber, ice frosting the windowsills, floorboards slightly snowy. The room looks wrecked.

A force builds at your back, but you don’t even have the time to turn before something is wrapping over your hips, pressing hard against your back, keeping you in place. You don’t need to turn though to know who it is, and as the final dark grey of day melts into the inky black of night, a small part of you crumbles.

“Leave me alone,” you breathe into the darkness, kept incapacitated by his iron hold on your body. Ice kisses against the shell of your ear, and your breath hitches, trembling beneath his touch. The darkness shakes at your back, and you’re certain he’s laughing, ghastly stuttering breaths brushing over the nape of your neck, before frozen lips graze the intimate expanse of skin.

“You can’t do this again,” you whisper, trying to unstick your limbs, but you feel a pressure over your sternum—a hand gliding up slowly between your breasts, fingertips brushing at your throat before gripping lightly.

“So warm,” he breathes, pulling you deeper into his deadened embrace, nosing at your cheek. “So alive.”

“Azriel, stop,” you whisper, shaky palms trying to pry his corporeal touch from your skin—to no avail. He’s stronger than you even after death. Even as a ghost. Phantom. Whatever he is now. A wraith.

“You can’t do this again,” you breathe, pressure building behind your eyes. “I beat you. I won. You can’t come back.”

“I came back for you,” he returns, icy lips curving in a cruel smile against your soft skin. “You can’t escape from me, little thing. You should know that. I’ll always come back for you.”

“I don’t want you to!” You whisper, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to squirm at least enough to reach your pockets. The smallest amount of light will be enough. You have to believe it will be enough. Just one match, struck against cardboard.

It took him down once. It can take him down again.

“So warm,” he murmurs, fingers stroking across your skin, his forearm tightening across your middle, pulling you back into his body, cold enough to be hewn from the same stone these mountains are made of. Jagged, icy, and utterly deadly. Too much for you to ever handle. “You’re so warm,” he repeats, voice shaking with something that sounds almost like reverence. He inhales slowly, breath trembling as his head dips, mouth tracing the elegant curve of your throat, and you manage to shove your hands into your pockets, fingers fumbling with the small box.

“Azriel…” you breathe out softly as his lips graze your neck. “I…missed you…”

He falters at the whispered confession, and you shove away from him, whipping round as you strike the match.

Flame sizzles feebly to life, but it’s more than enough, casting the room in a faint glow as you use your body and hand to shield it from stray breezes that’ll wash in from the shattered windows. You can’t even swallow as you meet his gaze again, cold and unforgiving as it takes you in.

“You don’t belong in this world,” you whisper, fingers trembling but you keep a hold of the match. Even if it burns your skin, you’ll hold on to this small light you have. “Go back to where you came from.”

Shadows swarm over his shoulders, building higher, denser, wreathing his wings and making him into something much larger, impossibly more deadly as he looms, flame casting a shadow on the back wall that does not match his silhouette.

Azriel shakes his head, displeasure lining his features, angered by the trick.

“Did you not learn last time?” He mutters lowly, and you stumble when he steps forward closer to the flame. You retreat, legs shaking as he encroaches further, pushing you back into the room, pushing you further from the door, your only escape back into what feels now like the world of the living.

“Fire can’t hurt me anymore.”

The darkness surges forward, smothering the flame in the blink of an eye. So fast that you barely clock as he crowds your space, palms biting into your shoulders, icy mouth crushing down upon your own, shadows pushing you tighter, squeezing you together until there isn’t even an inch of space to be found between your bodies. The box of matches falls to the floor, useless and discarded, his boot crushing down on them as he swallows you whole in his shadows.

You writhe, trying to pull against him, trying to squeeze your hands between you, to push at him, to claw, scratch and scrape, anything to get him away. You can’t do this again. But he’s entirely dominating, mouth hungrily devouring you, tongue stroking against your own as his hips press flush with yours. His hand tangles in your hair, arm banding around your lower back, palm settling over the curve of your hind, squeezing as he growls against your mouth.

Azriel pulls away for a moment, only to lower his mouth to your throat, teeth sharper than icicles as he nips and bites, pushing marks into your skin that you’ll have to face in the morning. A reminder of his presence. How you’ll never escape him.

You cry out as he tears himself off you, able to hear his deep breathing, hungry for more, tired of waiting, and he shoves you backward. Shadows flit about the mattress as you fall back on it, at once attempting to scramble away but those dark tendrils bind your wrists, lightly tugging, keeping you from escaping too far as he prowls onto the bed. Your heart pounds as his fingers skate up your ankle, brushing over your shins, taking your night gown with them.

“Azriel stop,” you demand shakily, trying to press away, trying to press tighter into the headboard, to press further from his touch. “You can’t—…you can’t do this again.”

“Watch me,” he murmurs softly, palm tipping the fabric over the curve of your knee, so it slides up your thighs, pooling at your hips. “You’ll enjoy it even more than last time. I promise,” he whispers, a faint curve to his hellish mouth. “We can go slow…” He pushes your legs apart, and you shiver beneath him, teeth chattering slightly in the cold, under the iciness of his touch.

“What would—…what would your brothers think?” You manage out, trying desperately to dissuade him. “You know they wouldn’t forgive you.”

If he won’t listen to your words, maybe someone else will have a sway with him. But he chuckles lowly, hand cupping your jaw, thumb stoking over the crest of your cheek and you sink into the pillows in attempts to hide from him. “If they knew the kind of strain you put me under,” he murmurs over your lips, “the kind of pleasure you bring. They would have buckled long before.”

“You’re disgusting,” you breathe, and his eyes gleam in the dark, practically glowing with predatory hunger. “You know you enjoyed it last time,” he taunts quietly, hand vacating your jaw, trailing down your collar bones, fingers grazing your breast, their pads circling your nipple lightly, before continuing down. “Practically soaked me. You can’t lie to me, little thing. I know you too well.”

You flush with humiliation at the reminder, shame tasing foul at the back of your throat, because he’s right. A repulsively large part of you had enjoyed it. He’d taken you over the edge more times than you could count, each orgasm turning your mind numb, making your muscles spasm with liquid pleasure.

“You’re going to hell, Azriel,” you say softly, lower lip wobbling as your heart pounds, his hand settling between your thighs. His cruel mouth curves. “I did,” he replies, “when you tried to send me away from you, I found out what it was like.” His fingers stroke down your centre and breath mists before you as you inhale sharply, exhaling heavily, breath stuttering as he plays with you, prodding at your entrance. “But I survived, didn’t I?” He smiles, tendrils of shadow curling beneath your night gown, pulling it further out of the way, pulling you further down, until you’re entirely trapped beneath him. “I survived, and came back for you,” he breathes, “my love.”

“I’m not your love,” you spit vehemently, eyes gleaming with wetness as tears well, despite your attempts to blink them away. “You’re messed up in the head. Whatever you think love is—it’s repulsive.”

His fingers slide in, and your lips part, hazel glinting as he devours your expression, how your spine arches a little.

“Then what does that make you, hm?” He muses softly, long fingers curling inside of you, “as someone who’s receiving it.” His thumb presses to your clit, and you squirm, tears spilling over as you try to shift away, hips winding as you struggle to move. “Fuck, stop it,” you cry, shadows allowing your hands to slip free, to find placement on his broad shoulders, fists slamming against them repeatedly as he works you with a familiarity even dying couldn’t remove from him.

Even the searing burn of fire couldn’t purge him of his malevolence.

“Stop it?” He hums, as if it amuses him, fingers scissoring inside of you, watching how you gasp at the ministrations, giving reactions that only sing to the pleasure you’re feeling, heat beginning to dawn across your skin, liquefying between your thighs. “I think you’re enjoying it quite a lot.” His fingers pull out, and you pant in the silence, eyes squeezed together as you treasure the reprieve, hoping he’ll leave now. Now that he’s taken something from you again. It should be enough.

Your eyes crack open when you hear those wet noises, soft and saturated as he licks your flavour from his fingers, humiliation unfurling in your abdomen, and you turn your head to the side, again closing your eyes in attempts to block him out. Digging your nails into his shoulders.

“You taste wonderful,” he chuckles lowly, before cold palms are pushing your thighs apart again, and you brace for the intrusion of his fingers, but instead—

“Azriel!” You almost scream, voice too hoarse to reach that volume, tears becoming heavier as his mouth seals over your cunt, the ice of his tongue contrasting with the heat that’s gathered between your legs. “Azriel, stop!” You cry frantically, hands moving to try and push him off, to grab at his soft hair and pull him away, but he groans when your nails drag over his skin, grinding his hips into the mattress, and you stop almost instantly.

His tongue swirls over your clit, suckling gently, teeth occasionally scraping, just to keep you on edge, his shadows wrapped over your waist, flooding across your chest, seemingly eager to play with your breasts. How they pinch and rub at your nipples, giving light tugs as if in reprimand for attempting to banish him.

“Azriel, please,” you beg, though you can hear the slight breathlessness to your voice, horror coiling in your gut. It can’t happen again. He can’t make it feel right again. His pleasure is disgusting, a cruel manipulation of what it should be, contorting into something it’s not.

His rough palm wrap over the top of your thigh, forcing you wider so he can slide his fingers back in, and a moan has spilled out before you can stop it.

You want to slap your hand over your mouth, but the shadows pin your wrists to the bed, more pleasured noises gasping from your throat as he rubs against those spots inside of you, fingers gently stimulating parts that make you tremble. Arousal fills the room, and you can feel the weight of his attention of you as he pushes you further, delighting in the slow climax he’s bringing you to, dragging it out as long as he can bear, after being denied of you for so long.

Heat swells beneath his touch, and your back bows from the mattress as he curls his fingers, as if beckoning you forward to tip over that edge. His tongue swipes over your clit, swirling with more pressure, and the pleasure breaks, crashing down as you squirm beneath his touch, toes curling as you try to scramble away. “Az—Azriel! Stop! I can’t…!”

He pays you no mind, eager to taste your high, licking up every drop of arousal as it fills his mouth, starved away for too long for him to allow you the mercy of a reprieve.

Overstimulation hits you hard, back curving as you gasp heavily, clawing at him in a way you know he finds pleasurable, but do out of instinct, trying to escape the high he’s forcing you through.

Azriel only pulls away once you’ve stopped scrambling, taking in the hot flush of your body, the arousal that’s slicking your thighs, that’s sitting on his tongue. He could continue for the entire night, but he doesn’t want to spoil anything for you. He has his own events planned out, and he needs you to digest this night first, before he can progress. He knows if he moves too quickly you might simply fall apart in his hands, and then he would be left with nothing.

But if he takes his time, gently stretching you out, delicately putting his pleasure into your body—then you will bend and buckle to his shape. Then he will be able to have you as he pleases.

At last feel your warmth encompass him entirely.

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

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dark!az taglist: @honeyandhalfmoons

#dark!azriel #dark!azriel x reader smut #dark!azriel smut #dark!ghost!azriel #dark!ghost!azriel x reader smut #fear of the dark #fear of the cold

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milswrites · 7 months

Text

A Mother’s Love

~ Azriel X Fem!Reader

Summary: When their family that Azriel worked so hard to build is threatened, their children having been taken in the night, Azriel and the Reader must do everything within their power to ensure that they get their kids back home safely and uninjured. Angered by this injustice, no one could predict what lengths a mother would go to in order to protect her child.

Warnings: Kidnapping, angst, violence, gore.

Notes: I am not a mother but I channeled my love for my cat into this fic. No one messes with my fur baby!

The news was delivered to you like an omen of death. Your children had been taken. Stolen from their beds in the late hours of the night by an unknown force. A shaken Feyre had been the one to break the bad news to you, having heard it first hand from Cassian.

Poor Cassian who had been eager to give your children a taste of the Illyrian lifestyle now they were both flying well, whisking them away to Windhaven with promises on his lips that what they would experience there would put hair on their chests. Poor Cassian who was now having to deal with the aftermath of their disappearance, devastatingly overwhelming guilt settling in his soul. He had failed to protect your children. His nephews.

You didn’t blame him of course, nobody could have predicted what had unfolded under the cover of moonlight last night. You wouldn’t blame him, even when you frantically winnowed to the camp and entered their bare room only to see droplets of thick crimson blood spattered on their once white sheets. The sheets which were now stone cold from the absence of their heat.

No, there was only yourself to blame. You could have spent months, standing there in the empty room, clinging to the empty sheets of your missing children, coming up with ways this would have ended differently. Alternative realities where you did not allow them to leave with their Uncle, instead keeping them safe in your home, surrounding them with your loving presence at all times. But no amount of wallowing or wishing for the events to have not transpired would bring your children back to you. You had to stay strong for them so you could act.

Yet when your husband came crashing into the room, having fled his latest mission instantly once Rhysand had managed to get through to him, the dam that had been holding back your emotions broke.

Raw sobs broke from your drying throat, your chest heaving with the effort it was taking to breathe. Azriel, whose eyes had bulged wide at the state of the disheveled room before him, wasted no time in rushing to your side in order to pull you into the safety of his arms. However, not even the strong, grounding grip of your husband would make this right.

“It’s going to be alright,” his wavering voice whispered into your ear, unsure whether he was speaking to you or himself, “we’re going to find them. We’ll bring them home.”

“Why’s there so much blood, Az?” You harrowingly cried out between your sobs and heaved breaths, looking up to the pained face of your mate, “They must be so scared.”

Azriel stilled, taking in the room once more as he pulled you even closer to his chest, the uneven beating of his heart against your cheek filling you with even more dread. “They’ll be ok” he pathetically reasoned, tears falling down his own cheeks to match yours, “Rhysand’s got everyone out searching for them now. I’m going to go too, but we should take you to Amren first, you shouldn’t be alone.”

His words were enough to stop your crying, fire burning in your eyes as you sternly replied to your husband, “if you think I’m going to sit here and do nothing whilst my sons are in danger then you are sorely mistaken Azriel. I’m going to get them back.”

“Ok…ok,” he relented without a fight, knowing no amount of force or convincing would result in you not taking part in the rescue of your children. His shaking, scarred hands reached for your cheeks, wiping away the stray tears that remained. “My love, I’m going to need you to be strong. They’re going to need you to be. No distractions” he searched your eyes for any trace of weakness or panic as he spoke, not wanting to risk you also being in death’s path. Losing your children was an unimaginable agony he could scarcely describe, losing you too would surely be the end of him.

“Let’s go get our boys Azriel” you willed, not wanting to waste another minute talking whilst they were in the enemies hands.

~~~~~

Long gone were the days in which you bore weapons, having made the difficult decision to lay your swords down and leave the Night Court’s army upon the discovery you were with child. It was a tough call to make, leaving behind the job that you had worked so hard and so many years to get. But with Azriel being constantly under the threat of danger in his line of work it needed to be done, ensuring the unborn child would still have a parent if anything ever happened.

As difficult as the decision was to make, it all made sense from the moment you laid your loving eyes on the innocent face of your first-born son. The child, barely a minute old in your arms, had stolen your life without even trying. He had commanded your love and protection from the minute he was born and you were only too willing to provide it.

This same feeling of an otherworldly type of love, the love only a mother could understand, returned upon the birth of your second son. A child just as perfect and virtuous as the first. Your new role in life was clear, there would be no more spine-chilling and adrenaline pulsing missions performed for Rhysand, you would dedicate your life to your sons. Lay down your arms and become a new type of warrior, a mother.

And you had, passing every ounce of love and knowledge you held onto your children. The cool touch of the hilt of a sword long forgotten as you have had no need to strike one in twelve long years. No evil forces to fight against, you had enjoyed a peaceful life with your family. Until now. Until someone had cruelly ripped your life away from you.

The cold metal of the sword felt alien in your sweating palms. You gripped the hilt tightly, forcing yourself to become familiar with the weight, testing it out in fluid swings and powerful hits against Cassian’s whilst you waited for any form of news from Rhysand or Azriel who were out searching. Unwilling to let your rusty skill be the reason for your children’s death.

It was clear to you what must be done, what you had to do to ensure the safety of your family. Because of this you were more than welcoming to the blinding anger that burned deeply in your veins, fuelling your body. You would battle through a whole army with only your teeth and nails if it meant seeing your two sons safe on the other side.

It was the waiting that hurt more than anything, the feeling of being useless, standing there doing nothing whilst your sons were likely being tortured or worse. Releasing your frustration through practicing with your sword could only do so much, and after a few hours of training Cassian was stopping your actions, warning you to save some energy for the fight ahead.

So you sat in painful silence, praying to the Mother, Cauldron and every other powerful being you could think of. Begging them for mercy, to spare the lives of your faultless children who had not yet been given a chance to make something of themselves in the world. Praying for the future they deserve to have.

It was the grim face of your returning husband that broke you from your silent pleading, words heavy on his lips, “We know where they are.”

~~~~~

It was a fortress. An array of deadly defensive weapons, swarming with heavily armed guards who were all fitted with glistening, strong armour which would be difficult to pierce. It was so perfectly defended that it would take a fool to attack it. A fool, or a viciously enraged group of people who would stop at nothing to get their family back.

You advanced swiftly and quietly, using the dense foliage of your surroundings to your advantage. Finally, you were here. All that stood between you and having your darling sons in your arms again were the large stone walls of the fortress and the hundred unsuspecting men waiting inside.

Of course the rest of the inner circle were there to help, but to you - whose children were trapped inside this cursed fortress- it may as well have been you against the world.

You began your attack viciously, running the sharp tip of your sword through the unsuspecting guards throat, silencing him before he could raise the alarm and alert the other soldiers of your presence. Unblinking as his body dropped to the floor, you continued moving forwards, not wanting to waste any more time waiting and standing uselessly by. The time to act was now.

You crept along the wall, pushing forwards until you reached another enemy, this time slicing your sword against his stomach, bloodied guts pooling out onto the grass below. By this point the alarm had been sounded, shrill bells ringing out from inside the keep, no doubt having been made aware of your presence from the brutal attack of one of your friends.

The increased number of soldiers flooding out of the gates you so desperately needed to pass through didn’t phase you, they were nothing but unwelcome obstacles in your path.

You fought bloody and hard, allowing the untamed beast inside of you to roam free. It was carnage. Sword clashed against sword, bits of limbs and spatters of blood flying everywhere until the ground was no longer visible beneath the pile of bodies that covered it.

Unstoppable, you worked your way through the group, slashing and stabbing anyone who stood in your way, all the while releasing the most feral of cries from your lips. Screaming every ounce of agony and pain these men had brought you into their shocked faces as you killed them. Crazed and unstable, your unpredictable actions caused the enemy to hesitate with their advancements and yet you had no problem in cutting them all down.

You could feel the blasts of heat and untameable power emitting from your surroundings, caused by your equally furious family, but you couldn’t stop and bring yourself to look at the devastation they were unleashing, not while your children were still inside. So you kept moving onwards, rushing through the gates alone. Slashing here and cutting there. You weren’t actually sure how present you were in your own body, unable to feel the scratches and cuts which were leaking viscous blood down your arm. Perhaps the mother had heard your prayers and granted you the strength to battle on without pain. One mother understanding another’s plight.

Each step you took towards the keep, towards your children, saw a wave of energy and brutality wash over you as you continued to fight viciously. Some men bravely stood their ground against you, staring into your wild eyes as your weapons clashed together. Others tried to run from you in fear, not wanting the last thing they see to be the sharp edge of your sword. You showed no mercy to either of the two.

Chasing after their retreating forms you would not relent, killing everyone in your way. Until a firm hand meeting your shoulder startled you. Whirling around you raised your sword in preparation to strike a devastating blow, only to be met with the concerned face of your husband, of your mate.

“It’s over,” he explained, hand roaming down your arm towards your sword as if to take it from you, but you flinched from his touch and pulled your arm back to yourself in retaliation, “Feyre’s got them. They’re safe. It’s over.”

“It’s not over!” You growled at him, his arm coming back to grip yours and preventing you from chasing after the fleeing soldiers. Azriel roughly yanked you towards him, wrapping his large arms around you, shielding you from the horrific sight of the scene around you and the retreating backs of the cowardly men.

“It’s over,” he repeated, resting a gentle hand on the back of your head. Your own head was shaking in disbelief against his chest. “No” you whimpered, wriggling in his arms, “Az, they’re getting away! We can’t let them get away!”

He shushed you, hand keeping your head sealed tightly against his chest whilst the other one travelled down to take your sword from your bloodied hands before throwing it to the floor. “Please my love,” he begged, lips pressing against your filthy forehead, “your children need you. Our children need you. Please come back to me.”

You were shaking in his embrace. Wondering how in good conscience you could allow those men to escape, the people who had stolen your children from you. “Cassian can handle them, you need to stop” he tried to convince you, the mating bond sharing your thoughts with him. “You fought so bravely my love,” he continued, hugging your trembling form, “it’s over now. We need to see to our sons.”

~~~~~

You did the best to clean yourself up with what you could find. Using a scrap of material to lamely attempt to wipe the dried blood from your skin, not wanting to scare your boys with your bloodied form. Not wanting them to see their mother like this.

Your blinding fury had subsided, your husband having talked you back to reality. The only need remaining was the one to take your children in your arms and never let them go.

Hands sealed together for support, Azriel led you through the winding empty halls towards where Feyre was hiding from the fight with your sons. Turning round the corner, you finally laid your watering eyes on them, scratched and a little bruised but otherwise unharmed.

Your relief was so overpowering you began to sob once more, salty tears streaming down your face as you ran over to the two boys, dragging them into your open arms in order to give them a blisteringly tight hug. Littering their heads with grateful kisses, the boys giggled. Squealing as they wiggled in your tight grip trying to get away from your overbearing display of affection.

Azriel approached where the three of you were tangled together in a heap on the floor and forcefully threw his arms around you all, covering your small but perfect family like a comforting blanket. “You are never leaving my side again!” You cried in-between kisses delivered to their flushed little faces, Azriel following suit and leaving a gentle peck on each of your son’s cheeks.

“My poor babies” you couldn’t help but wail, crushing them a little bit tighter into you, fearful to ever let them go.

“It’s ok mum,” They managed a small grin as they looked up to your distressed face, “we knew you would come and get us! And dad too!”

A happy sob broke from your lips at their words, laying a final kiss to each of their foreheads before speaking, “I would have gone to hell and back to find you if I needed to. Your dad too.” You cast your mate a loving smile whilst still huddled in your embrace, heart filled with joy at the family he had given you, at the family you would both kill to protect.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: This was my first time writing a proper fight sequence so I hope it flows and makes sense!

#acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #sarah j maas #azriel x reader #a court of thorns and roses #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger #azriel oneshot

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thelov3lybookworm · 10 months

Note

I was listening to hyunjin's Ice Cream and this idea came to me loll. Idk if you do these kinda requests but can you do a fic inspired by the ice cream lyrics? 🥹🥹

Azriel with reader who's really cold but he's still hopelessly in love with her? (I love hopeless romantic az 🫶🫶) but not too much angst please I need fluff and happy endings, otherwise my heart wouldn't be able to take it 😔

Ice to cream

Summary: Azriel has a stoic exterior, and no soul has ever really seen what is underneath.

But then he met someone as cold as ice, and was ready to be her sweet cream.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: okayyyyy i feel like sweet cream sounds weird but my brain thinks its cool so ignore it 😉

also, i looooove you anon, thank you for this ask ❣️

enjoy!

•○🌑○•

That day had been like any other.

Azriel had been walking down the winding streets of the city of starlight, whistling to himself.

It was rare that the shadowsinger whistled, but that day he had simply been feeling like it. It was also shocking to his own self how carefree he had felt that day and had decided to take a walk instead of locking himself up in his office and finishing up reports while wallowing in self pity since Rhys had banned him from visiting the third Archeron sister.

The day was beautiful, nothing to signal that the shadowsinger's life was about to be turned upside down.

Azriel had been walking past a bookstore, and there was nothing that could have prompted him to turn his head to look at it, but maybe some unseen forces were at work, because he glanced at the storefront, and then decided to step inside for a moment.

The inside was cosy, the light streaming in from the multiple windows not too harsh, dust motes dancing as if to an unheard song. The store was quiet except for the occasional turn of a page or the purring and meowing of a cat.

Azriel had no reason for going into that bookstore, but once there, he decided to see if he could find a small book to read when he felt like lazing about and not writing reports.

Walking through the multiple aisles, Azriel let his gaze wander.

It was some time later, when his fingers were absently caressing the spine of a book in the fantasy section and he was about to leave without a book because nothing caught his fancy, that a loud, irritated meow sounded nearby, and Azriel winced.

A blur of orange fur in his periphery caught his attention, and the moment he glanced to his left, a cat shot out from between the shelves, knocking over some books and racing towards him.

Azriel stood frozen, until another meow sounded, and a black cat and pretty female came into view. She had an annoyed look on her face as she chased the two cats, and, in his whole five hundred years of existence, Azriel had never thought he would experience at love at first sight.

He wasn't one to judge whether people deserved his time and love by their looks. He usually tried to know them personally before he did.

But here she was, chasing two cats as they knocked over books, and Azriel could not breathe.

Azriel's shadows whispered that if he caught hold of the cats, he might be able to talk to her.

The spymaster wasted no time, scooping up the orange cat as the female picked up the snarling black cat.

She panted heavily, holding tight to the wiggling cat. Azriel didn't have to struggle though, the orange cat simply stopped moving the moment Azriel's shadows swirled in front of its eyes.

The female sighed, muttering something about food in the black cat's ear, and that finally managed to get the animal to calm down.

She glanced up at Azriel, shaking her hair out of her face, her face emotionless.

She walked forward, grabbing the orange cat from him with a mumbled thank you, then walked away. Azriel raised his hand to call for her, but she had already left.

Disappointment hit him from all sides, from his own self as well as his shadows, and he was left to wonder why.

Azriel left the store without a book that day, and the pretty female had not even glanced at him as he left, and that gave Azriel a purpose.

He would have to return.

To get a book, of course.

•○🌑○•

Azriel feared she would beat him in his broody spymaster act if given the chance.

It had been a month since Azriel had first visited the bookstore, and so far, he had come nearly everyday to the store in hopes of getting her to talk to him. And, obviously, to find a book to read.

He had been unable to get any responses from her as of yet that were not one word answers, but Azriel pretended that he was making progress. That he was beginning to crack the hard shell around her.

Currently, she was arranging some books, balancing precariously on the ladder that lay against the tall shelf. Azriel watched, alert and tense in case she lost her balance and would need assistance.

It didn't take long, as she winced a moment later and started rubbing her eyes with one hand, his shadows whispering of how dust had gone into her eyes.

Azriel was next to her in a moment, his grip tight on the ladder as he smiled up at the female, and she glanced down, a frown on her face.

She put the books in her hand back into their place before she began descending the ladder. The moment she touched the ground, she scowled, turning to Azriel.

He blinked in confusion, though he still kept that smile on his face.

"Were you trying to look up my skirt?"

His smile faded, and his eyes went wide as his brain registered how inappropriate his actions might have seemed.

"I- no- I would never- I-" He sputtered, at a loss for words.

The female gave him an unimpressed look, turning away.

Azriel was frozen in place for a moment until his shadows whispered to him about how this was a good opportunity to talk to her. They screeched in his ears, and that finally got him moving as he followed behind the female, tripping over his own feet as he tried to get her attention.

"Hey! Hey wait!"

She paused behind a shelf, half turning to him.

"I was not trying to look up your-"

"Doesn't matter if you were. Happens often enough that it doesn't bother me."

Azriel froze, his brows scrunched. She made to continue walking, but his shadows shot out, the ones next to his ear letting out an exasperated sigh.

The female glanced down at her hand in confusion, to where the shadows were twisting around her wrist and weaving through her fingers.

The female's eyebrows rose, and she looked up at him.

He pulled them back hastily, heat rising in his neck and face. "Um. Forgive me. They sometimes don't want to be controlled and do whatever they want."

She turned to him with a sigh, and Azriel had to wonder if he was dreaming when he saw her lips twitch in the slightest.

Master is not dreaming. He is simply dumb. A shadow whispered as it bobbed away from Azriel's ear, swirling around itself as if in a dance.

Azriel squashed the urge to snarl at it.

"What do you want?" Azriel whipped his head to look at the female, finding her staring at him with a bored expression on her face.

He cleared his throat. "I would like to know your name."

"Why do you want my name? Are you going to put some enchantment on me?"

Azriel opened his mouth to deny any harmful intentions, but again he got distracted by his shadows' whispering.

We wish to engrave it on master's skin.

The heat Azriel's face increased.

"I-I just want to know. No reason..."

She studied him for a moment. "Y/n."

Oh it will look beautiful carved on master's chest.

It will look better on his face.

On his forehead. No one would then try to steal him away.

Or maybe on his hips-

Or butt-

To the outside world, it would simply look like his shadows were floating leisurely in the air, but Azriel could barely think straight through their unnecessary commentary.

"A-Azriel. I am Azriel."

She snorted, turning away. "I know."

He followed her as she stalked through the shelves, his mind having stopped working the moment she gave him her full attention.

"How do you know that?"

"You are not really subtle with who you are."

"Oh?"

"Everyone knows you are the spymaster of this mother forsaken court."

If anyone else had insulted or even thought something bad about his court, they would be chopped into pieces and thrown into the Sidra before they even took their next breath, but then again, Azriel's brain had stopped working, and all he could think about was the fact that she knew who he was.

"So you've heard about me?"

"Yes."

"So can I ask you out to eat with me?"

She froze in her tracks without warning, and Azriel, who was usually very good on his feet, rarely stumbled, even when drunk, slammed into her, taking both of them down.

She wiggled under him, trying to get him off of her, and he scrambled to follow her wish.

She glared at him as she straightened into a kneeling position, dusting off her clothes.

"What makes you think that?"

"Nothing." He mumbled, embarrassed that he was acting like a young boy who had only learned the concept of reproduction and how it happened.

She climbed to her feet, but Azriel's hand shot out to grip hers.

Master finally did something right without having us guide him.

We must celebrate.

Azriel decided he was going to kill his shadows, but that would have to wait for now.

"Please. I want to take you out."

Y/n studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she sighed.

"Fine."

A sudden burst of excitement took over Azriel, and he jumped to his feet.

"Amazing. Can I pick you up at sunset today?"

She nodded, and before Azriel could even realize what he was about to do, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against her cheek. Then he simply turned away, and sprinted out of the shop, already thinking about what he would wear and wich restaurant to take her to.

As he left, he didn't watch as the female who had captured his attention with a few cold looks, who was as cold as ice, lifted her hands and ran her fingers over where his lips had been a moment ago, her eyes blown wide and lips parted.

She stood there, unmoving, for mother knew how long before she glanced around, hoping no one was near.

And then, she let herself smile.

A shy, unbelieving smile as her face flushed.

And there, in the dark shadows between the shelves, her ice exterior began to crumble.

Cracks appeared.

Cracks in which he would plant himself so deeply, so thoroughly, and begin to weaken the mighty walls around her heart.

•○🌑○•

Azriel Taglist: @darthdumbasss @foreverrandomwritings

General Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686 @cassie6392

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