#azsazz next gen

[azsazz]

Cherries, Juniper, and Orange Slices

Daddy!Eris x Reader

Summary: This one is a req from @acourtofmenandthirst: Eris' daughter drawing his scars on her doll.

Warnings: Mentions of scars.

Word Count: 1,639

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Eris peeks his head into the room, amber eyes drifting towards the cot his son, Rook, is currently crying in. The young boy, hardly a year old, has an iron grip on the bars caging him inside the intricately carved wood of his bed. Thick vines and leaves cut into the dark lumber, choked by his little fingers.

Tears stream down Rook's chubby cheeks and Eris coos, pushing into the room. Sunlight creeps in through the light linen curtains. The stained glass creation hung in the window casts colorful shadows across the creamy yellow of the walls. 

“My poor son,” Eris huffs dramatically, lifting Rook from his cradle. He’s clothed in only his nappy, reaching up to cling onto his father’s pressed shirt as if he’ll never let go again. 

Eris hopes he doesn’t. His children are growing up much too fast.

Rook sniffles, resting his head in the crook of Eris’ neck, and hiccups. Eris pats soothing motions into his son's bare skin, peppering his freckled cheeks with loving kisses as he calms his youngest child down. He rocks the little boy, waltzing up to the big windows and pushes the curtains open, letting the afternoon sun shine in full force. The room overlooks the small orchard in the back of his quaint home. Trees he’s planted himself with help from you and your daughters, an important tradition to your family. 

It started on your first date. Eris had already known you were the one—love at first sight—and kept his home away from home a secret from his family, only using it to escape Beron’s throes when he really needed it. Briar, he named it. He had cooked you a hearty meal with the most expensive, luxurious wine he could find, and after a delightful dinner, he’d walked you through the nearly empty rolling hills behind his home, hand-in-hand.

You’d commented how the fields needed more trees and had gushed on and on about what he could do with the space. His shadow hounds had run by your feet, chasing each other through the ankle-high grasses, and he’d immediately taken you to his mount and settled you in front of him, taking the both of you into town to purchase some seeds. 

It has been tradition ever since. Birthdays, anniversaries, births, deaths, any and all celebrations the both of you would go into the yard and plant a tree. Maude loves her cherry trees with all her heart, and Eris is convinced the only reason his daughter ventures outside is to pluck the fruit off the trees and stuff herself silly, stumbling back into the house with stained fingers and lips.

A juniper tree for his other daughter, Juniper. This one was harder to acquire, but thriving well in the backyard, closest to the home. June doesn’t seem to understand the value of the tree yet, but someday, Eris knows that she will.

And a sweet orange tree for his little boy Rook. It had been one of your cravings when you were pregnant with him, and to plant the tree only seemed fitting. Rook devoured any little orange bits he was given with the biggest smile on his face.

He makes a grabby hand for the tree, smart enough to know where his favorite treats are from. 

“You hungry, little man?” Eris asks, and Rook babbles in response. He lifts his son, blowing raspberries on his bare stomach that has cheerful giggles bursting through the room. Rook’s auburn eyes shine up at his father, laughing only harder when Eris catches a whiff of his nappy, grimacing. “Alright baby, let’s get you all cleaned up first.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

“Why is our son naked?” you muse, allowing Eris to press a kiss to your cheek while you scoop the last of the cookie dough onto the tray. Your mate and daughters had been helping you, but the girls had been more interested in eating the batter their father kept sneaking them, so you shooed them away to play with their dolls while the cookies baked and you patted Eris on the butt as he went to check on Rook. 

Your son keens, pressing his own open mouthed kiss to your cheek. It’s all slobber and suction, but you can’t help the beaming smile that splits your cheeks anyway. 

“Because he keeps burning them off, Fawn,” Eris answers you, nose wrinkling as he turns to the babe, “Isn’t that right buddy?”

Rook screeches in excitement as his father tickles his stomach. It isn’t abnormal for your son’s power to be flaring up with his emotions. You’d gone through similar situations with Maude and Juniper around this age as well. You still have the burn marks of waddling feet branded into the wood to prove it.

Placing the tray of cookies into the oven, you reach out to take Rook from your mate. “Such a little stinker,” you tease, bopping your youngest on the nose. He retaliates by grabbing a fistful of your hair and you curse mentally, knowing you should’ve tied it out of his reach. 

“Where are the girls?” Eris asks, peeking around the kitchen for any leftover cookie dough. In his mission to steal as much as he could for his daughters, he’d forgotten to sneak a taste for himself. The mixing bowl sits soapy in the sink and he deflates a little.

“Coloring in the den,” you answer, eyes twinkling. Your stomach swoops still at the sight of Eris, even more so whenever he interacts with his children. You knew he was loving, but seeing him like this, completely at ease with no worries tightening his shoulders, he looks ethereal. “Why don’t you get them washed up for some cookies?”

“Yes, please,” Eris says, stealing a kiss from you. Rook squeals and you swoon.

Leaving Rook with you, Eris takes off into the next room. He finds Maude and Juniper spread out on the floor, their coloring supplies strewn about. Thylix and Codon, two of his hounds, laze around both girls, having taken it upon themselves to become their guards. They hardly leave his daughters alone, often choosing to sleep beside their beds at night, though Eris knows his daughters let them jump into bed with them as soon as the door shuts behind him. 

“What are my baby girls drawing in here?” Eris asks, tiptoeing forward. They startle and the hounds’ ears perk up at the sound of their master, but they don’t move. His daughters look up at him with those big, round russet eyes, and Eris knows immediately that they’re doing something they shouldn’t be.

“Daddy,” Maude pouts, hiding something in front of her. Eris’ brows furrow as he wonders what she’s keeping from him, but her younger sister, Juniper, holds her doll up in the air, proudly. 

“Daddy!” June yells, pushing up onto wobbly legs and racing towards him. Eris scoops her up and she squeals, bringing her doll with her, showing off her artwork to her father. Marker streaks across the face of her plaything, reds, oranges, and pinks adorning the cheeks and dress, across the doll’s eye.

“What’s this, Junie?” Eris asks, admiring her artistic abilities. There’s potential, but if she’s going to continue her artistic streak, he better get her something more appropriate to color on. Maybe sign her up for one of the local—or Night Court—art classes.

“It’s Daddy,” she answers, beaming up at her father. His heart swells, but he doesn't seem to be comprehending what Juniper is trying to convey.

He looks around his middle daughter to his oldest, still in her spot on the ground. Her cheeks are pinked with a blush and she’s pouting at her little sister for ruining the surprise.

“Care to explain, Maude?” Eris asks, though he’s not really sure if he wants the answer.

She sighs, shoving up to her feet. She holds up her doll in front of her face like she’s going to get in trouble for what she’s done, but Eris doesn’t understand why.

Until Maude explains. “We drew your scars on our dollies,” she says, and it all clicks. The one across his cheekbone from when Beron has nicked him purposefully with the edge of his sword before he set foot into his first war. His father had said the scar would help him relate to his legion the more roughed up he looked. 

Another, peeking out from the strap of the doll's dress, right above her heart. It’s a rendition of the brand on his chest, another gift from his father. He tries not to let his children see his scars, especially that one in particular, but she must’ve seen it when she’d crawled into your bed after a nightmare perhaps.

Eris’ eyes prickle but he blinks the emotion away. His throat is thick, and he distracts himself by taking a second look at Juniper's toy. Upon catching her fathers gaze on the doll, Maude speaks again. “Junie drew Uncle Lulu’s eye scars on hers. I told her we were supposed to be drawing only yours, but she didn’t listen,” Maude huffs a little, annoyed that her younger sister didn’t follow her direction.

“That’s…that’s very thoughtful, Junie,” Eris places a chaste kiss on her forehead and she grins. “You both did such a wonderful job.”

“You’re not…mad?” Maude asks, staring up at him nervously.

Juniper kicks her legs, trying to escape Eris’ grip. He lets her down and she abandons her doll, racing for the kitchen where she can hear you talking to her brother.

Eris kneels, taking Maude’s hand in his and tugging her into his chest for a hug. “No, Maude, I’m not upset. I’m impressed.” 

“You really like it?” she asks shyly, pulling back so she can look him in the eyes.

Eris nods once, firmly. “I love it, Maude. You made me look perfect.”

[azsazz]

Winter Winds

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon req: ik you probably won’t get to this in a while but i just read “in ribbons” and absolutely loved it!! got me so hot and bothered. anyway, thinking abt az, reader, and the kids got me thinking…what if the entire ic and their kids are all at wind haven for some trip or something. the oldest kids are pre teens, a bit older maybe. while at the camps, someone attacks the reader and she’s like seriously hurt. like seriously seriously hurt. az goes ballistic, and all the kids get so worried. but especially the older ones, maybe wren baz and zuzu, they get super angry and want to help az get revenge for their mother? 

Warnings: Injury, mentions of blood and gore. Traumatized children but they are otherwise unharmed.

Word Count: 4,921

Notes: You didn’t think I forgot about posting today, did you? Silly. I didn’t make them pre-teens, they’re I guess a bit younger than that but close, but I think I’ve got most of the idea in here, except the revenge part. Sorry about that and sorry in advance this one’s kinda sad.

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“Daddy?!”

His son’s frantic voice slices up his spine like an icy blade, plunging deep and cleaving him in half.

At the sound, Azriel’s body flashes hot with adrenaline and everything else slows to a crawling pace.

He spins on his heel instantly, ignoring the grumbling of the camp warlord who’d been reporting to him, now muttering under his breath about letting his savage brood run wild in the camps, that he doesn’t know how to raise them.

His family means more to him than anything, and that terrified shout from his son to grab his attention isn’t one he’s heard in years.

Something is very very wrong.

Azriel’s heart stammers in his chest like the frantic beat of wings in war when he locks eyes with his second oldest son, Baz.

He shouldn’t be out here alone, even if he has been in the training camps for nearly two years now and knows his way around. If any of the warriors had grabbed him and thought to teach the Azriel a lesson through his child…the spymaster shivers at the thought.

The more pressing concern, the one that makes his brows twitch into confusion and fuels his feet forward and nearly halts his heart in his chest, is that young Baz isn’t dressed for the cold. The Illyrian mountains in the peak of Winter could give even the most attuned warrior frostbite in mere minutes, and Baz isn’t even wearing a coat.

Worse yet, there’s tears streaming down his ruddy cheeks, cherry red from his journey.

He must’ve run the entire way to meet him in boots that are untied and tripping him in his haste to find his father. If someone’s stolen his jacket Azriel will be the last thing they see as he–

Azriel’s slipping out of his own coat, uncaring that the snaps rip open by the base of his wings. He needs to get his son bundled up, and quickly, before he comes down with something worse than the cold Azriel already knows is in his future. He scoops Baz into his arms, wrapping him carefully and hugging him close to his chest. His shadows swirl around both of them, already preparing to winnow them away.

“What’s wrong buddy?” he’s whispering, wiping the tears from his son's bruning face. Sometimes he and his older brother will get into arguments that have one of the boys running to Azriel in a fit full of tears but never something quite like this. Baz knows how to put his coat and tie up his boots and not to run across the camp alone–

The little boy in his arms releases a sob that nearly shatters the snowy peaks of the mountains surrounding them, “Mommy–”

He doesn’t need to continue. Azriel winnows them back to the house without a second thought, hugging Baz tightly to his chest, lips pressed to the crown of his sweaty black hair. He hopes that his son can’t feel him trembling, fisting his hands in his coat to stop the shaking. If something has happened to you he doesn’t know what he will do. How he will survive.

But he would’ve felt it, if there was something wrong, through the bond you share. He lets his shields slide down, reaching out for that golden thread, the one that feels like warm summer winds in the night sky, your hand caressing his soul.

There’s nothing.

Azriel gives a sharp tug but receives no response as he and his son arrive in a mass of black shadows on the front porch. The bond grows more taut with worry the more he tries, desperate pleas for you to respond that go unanswered as he shoves the door open with a heavy boot. 

The house is in complete chaos.

His shadows scatter immediately, searching and returning with whispers of bloody fingerprints on the counter top, streaking across the wall in his bedroom, on the doorknob to the bathroom, while he frantically searches the room for the rest of his children.

Horror coils his gut at the scent of his mate’s blood, thick in the air. It makes him choke, hot and heavy in the back of his throat.

Azriel sets Baz down, nearly tearing the door off of its hinges when he shuts it and turns the lock. He allows himself a single drawn out breath while his mind reels for a plan of action.

Wren looks more worried than his little brother, though Azriel knows that his eldest is trying his best to keep his emotions together for his siblings.

He had a screaming Jax in his arms, the younger boy clearly distraught about the heightened feelings of anxiety and concern smothering him. He reaches up for Azriel as Wren carries the struggling babe closer, trying his best to keep hold of his brother.

“Dad,” Wren breathes a sob of relief, but Az notes the twins in their playpen, Malos’ cries are loud enough for the silent wailing babe beside her, four sets of tiny hands curled around the brim of the pen with white knuckled fingers.

“Wren, I need you to watch your siblings for a little bit longer, okay?” Azriel’s voice is strained with tension as he calls out to Rhysand in his head, his golden eyes a hair wider as he searches the room for Zuzu. He rubs a reassuring thumb across Wren’s cheek and over Jax’s hair, trying to calm the little boy down. “Uncle Rhys and Uncle Cass will be here any minute, alright bub? They’re going to take us all to the River House.”

Wren’s lip quivers but he’s squaring his shoulders as he looks up at his father, “Mommy’s hurt.”

“I know,” it pains him to say it, but by now he knows, “I’m going to get her, will you and Baz help the little ones put on their shoes please?”

Wren nods and sets to work helping his father while Azriel rushes towards the bathroom where his shadows have located both Zuzu and you.

He finds Zuzu is sitting in front of the bathroom door, banging on it as she wails for you. Her throat must be raw from the screaming because she sounds horse, tears dripping down her face and snot bubbling from her nose.

Azriel hears Rhys and Cassian appear in the living room, and he lifts Zuzu up from under her arms as Cassian appears, his first thought to help his brother.

“Az–” Cassian sounds nervous for his brother. When he’d gotten the call a short time ago telling him that he and Rhys needed to pick up the children because something had happened to you his heart dropped, terrified for his best friend.

“Just take her, please,” Azriel pleads, letting the worry he feels coat his words. His throat is tight with emotion and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to keep himself from going berserk because he can see the red painted handprint on the brass knob and the smell of your blood is overpowering.

“I’ve got her,” Cassian nods, and the look in his hazel eyes gives Azriel brings forth that last shred of hope as his brother turns away and he twists the knob.

His knees nearly give out at the sight of you, unconscious and lying in a pool of your own blood. You look paler under the luminescent faelights, the hand holding together the gaping wound in your side now slack in the puddle of crimson.

Your name is a cry of helplessness on his lips as he dives forward, knees cracking against the tiles as he slides closer, pressing his fingers to the pulse point in your neck and caressing your face with the other, a shaky hand brushing the hair back from your face.

His shadows have alerted him that you’re breathing, but barely so, and he releases a shaky breath because he wasn’t able to feel the barely there beat of your pulse beneath his fingers with how badly they’re desensitized from his own burns and the pounding of his own heart.

But Gods–the gash in your side is something a warrior would receive in battle, like you have taken a long sword to the side, your flesh tearing open, muscles and blood and–

No, he doesn’t want to think about whether he sees an organ or not. No, he needs to focus on stopping the bleeding. Azriel can’t help but think, his beautiful mate…who has done this to you?

Rhys and Cass both appear within seconds, having called for the best healers in Velaris to the River House, where his children now are, under the care of the High Lady and Inner Circle themselves.

“Az,” Rhysand murmurs, hardly louder than a simple breath as he takes in the state of the room. His spymaster, on his knees in a pool of your blood as he tries his best to stop the bleeding. The towel you had grabbed is already sopping wet with blood and there’s no signs of it slowing.

His wings are drooped low behind him, the slippery warmth of the floor against the thin velvety skin is a reminder of exactly how much blood you have lost.  Had he been any later, had you not sent Baz–

“Help me.”

It makes both brothers freeze, the utter helplessness, the devastation in Azriel’s voice, so small, so soft, unlike anything they’ve ever heard.

They jump into action.

“Az,” Cassian approaches him like he’s approaching a wild beast, unsure of how to approach this side of him, soft footing and hands raised in surrender. The spymaster lets his brother place a hand on his shoulder, turn him from his spot so that they’re looking at each other.

Cassian has never seen Azriel so panicked, not in the 500 years they’ve been best friends. Not through the wars, the nightmares, the births…not even through the mild complications you’d gone through when the twins were born. No, he was a solid wall, not an ounce of emotion had cracked through the barriers he had built, but this…

His chest heaves with every breath he takes, short and quick and filled with anxiety. Azriel’s hands are vibrating when Cassian takes them in his own. He doesn’t care that he’s kneeling in your blood, that Az’s hands are slippery with it, all he cares about are his friends.

“Az,” he tries again, and the usual honeyed gaze of the shadowsingers meets his own. He’d startled him. Can see the swirling emotions racing behind his eyes; the hatred, the scared, the utter fear, his mind unable to grasp onto one feeling long enough to put thought into it. “We’re going to take you to the River House, okay?”

He’d carry him if he had to, but Rhys can get the job done. There’s worry that Azriel might explode, break completely in his hands and let the beast within him finally take over. And if that happens, he’s glad the children are far away, because no one, not even Cassian nor Rhysand, will stop him from turning the Illyrian camps into nothing more than a tornado of black mist.

Azriel isn’t seeming to comprehend what he’s saying, head tilting down to look at where his hands rest in Cassian’s grip, thumb sliding through the cooling blood on his hands like it’s not the ichor of his mate, painting his hands the color of Cassian’s siphons.

Rhys comes around the both of them, crouching to place a hand on each of their shoulders. The wisps of darkness that carry them through the planes of the continent must strike something within Azriel because he’s tensing under his touch and wrenching away.

“Az,” Rhys commands softly, hands raised to show no sign of wanting to corral his brother’s anger, “The babes are right in there.”

The reaction from his statement is near instant, locking down his emotions little by little like the scales of his armor retracting into his leathers, until there is almost nothing left.

Azriel spins on his heel, already heading towards the shut door between him and the muffled cries of his children on the other side.

Cassian steps into his path, stopping him. 

He watches the spymaster assess him with a trained eye but Cassian’s already weighed his brother's reactions in his head, being a true warlord himself. There is no way he will let the children see their father like this, worked up with their mother’s blood all over them.

Rhys draws the attention of the shadowsinger again, both Illyrians goading him like a tiger waiting to strike, “(Y/N) is this way. She’s with Madja and her best healers.”

The sound of your name strikes him low, chest caving and reaching down the bond for you again, knowing there will be no response, a wall of icy metal stopping him from entering.

Azriel glances at the door again, but makes his way towards the room you’ve been hauled off to, worried for your wellbeing.

The saliva is thick in his mouth as he ascends the stairs, his brothers tight on his flanks. His hands are curled into tight fists and he can feel the cracking of your blood on his hands in a way that would normally be calming if it were anyone else's blood, but not yours.

Never yours.

He pushes into the room and doesn’t look at the wound or the few nursemaids that are crouching over you. He doesn’t look at the bowls of water stained crimson, the towels dripping or the clothes they’d cut you out of, he keeps his focus on your closed eyes.

He’s quick to find his place at your side, perching out of the way as he reaches for your hand but freezes when he catches sight of his own.

“Here,” Cassian’s soft voice has him looking up, the warlord holding a freshly damp rag for him to take, not even a touch of red on it.

His throat works against a swallow as Azriel takes it, scrubbing his hands like he’s the one who’d rubbed his skin down to the bone and left these scars.

He does the best that he can without spiraling. He’s had blood on his hands before, many times, but the fact that it’s your blood has him reeling, immediately stopping the work on cleaning his own hands in favor of helping you clean yours.

When he’s done he hands it back to Cassian who gives him a soft nod and a sad smile. Neither are the things he wants to see right now. All he wants to see is you opening your eyes and looking at him, smiling, laughing, unharmed.

There’s nothing else to do but wait, which he does so quietly, stroking his thumb across your forehead while his other keeps your limp hand firmly tucked in his grasp. 

He doesn’t look at the wound they’re stitching up, but he can’t help himself from reaching down the bond every few minutes, silently praying to the Mother that you will respond.

His brothers wait by the door. Rhys lets Cassian get cleaned up and check on the children while he watches Azriel from across the room, his own heart aching for his brother in this situation, to be near his own mate at a time like this.

But he stays put because that’s what any of them would do for each other, even when Cassian comes back, hands clean and clothes new, no traces of your blood on him.

They know that there will be no moving Azriel from your side to clean up, so they don’t even try. When Feyre dips her head into the room, catching a glance at you and your mate on the lone bed, a handful of healers working frantically around, they share a look.

It’s Rhys who approaches him this time, making sure his footsteps are heard by the shadowsinger as he nears.

He watches Azriel’s shoulders pull up taut, his spine stiffening and shadows curling his rounded ear that the High Lord is approaching.

His golden gaze is a harsh glare, a warning to stay away, and although Rhys understands the look, it still hurts.

“Az, maybe you should get cleaned up,” he suggests softly, keeping a healthy distance away from the bed. The healers have started sewing up your wound, having been able to stop the blood and stabilize you, and their work will be done soon.

The shadowsinger’s face doesn’t change as he looks back down at you, dismissing Rhys with that single action.

“The kids,” he tries, “They’re worried. They want to see you.” 

Azriel nearly startles at the mention of his children. They’d been half scared to death when he’d last seen them, frantic and worried about their mother just as much as he was. He can see them all clearly, Wren trying to be strong, Baz’s red face wet with tears, Zuzu and Jax and the twins all crying out for help, understanding that something was horribly wrong.

“The kids,” he murmurs, as if he’s not even there. Azriel pets your hair again, smoothing his fingers down your cheek, across your lips, finding their way to the juncture of your jaw and throat, where your pulse is.

Rhysand waits with a baited breath as Azriel counts, comes to whatever conclusion in his mind that he can, grasping for some sort of sign that you might be okay.

The beating of your heart is constant, evened out even though one of the nurses has already told him as much. He won’t leave you if he doesn’t think you’ll be okay.

But he knows you would want him to make sure the children are okay, so he places a kiss on your hand, ignoring how the warmth hasn’t quite returned to it completely, before settling it comfortably at your side and standing from the bed.

He follows his brothers from the room and as soon as the door snicks shut behind him and the wail of Zuzu is carried to him on the whisper of a shadow, he breaks.

He makes a break for his children, his flight sense kicking in but he’s hauled backwards into the arms of Cassian, holding him tightly across the chest as he struggles. 

If he were in his right mind he’d be able to figure a way out of his hold.

“Az, you have blood all over you,” Cassian grits, his breath puffing with the struggle of keeping Azriel in his hold. He’s writhing like an animal, trying to tear his way through whomever he needs to to get to his family. “You can’t go in there like this. You’ll scare them.”

That makes him stop struggling, worming his way out of Cassian’s touch.

“But Baz didn’t have a jacket on–”

“He’s already been looked at by a healer,” Rhys supplies, trying to calm the skittish shadowsinger.

“And Zuzu’s been screaming her head off,” he retorts just as easily, mind reeling at how his children must be feeling.

“She’s been given a soothing tea for her throat,” Cassian adds, fiercely protective of them as he is his own children.

“And Jax–”

“Jax is an empath,” Rhys agrees, ushering Azriel towards the other end of the hallway, “And it’s normal for him to react like that with all of the emotions running rampant in the room at the time. You need to calm yourself down if you are to hold him, your reactions will harm him more than Wren’s. For now he’s fine. They’re all okay, Azriel. Here and in one piece, waiting for you.”

Azriel’s wide eyes are glossy as he looks between his brothers, back and forth as if he’s searching for anything other than the truth there.

He won’t.

“They’re okay?” he asks again, not quite sure he believes it.

Both of his brothers nod, “They’re okay Az. Promise.”

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

You feel like utter shit.

Like you’ve been carved down to the bone with a blade. There’s a pounding in your head and when you open your eyes the room spins, bright with light. Your head goes with it, the whispers of words striking like a bell tower to your brain.

“(Y/N)?”

That voice silences everything.

You squeeze his hand, blinking against the faelights until the three Azriel’s you see finally become one, perfect, mate.

“Az,” you breathe.

He bites his lip, hardly able to contain the relief he feels in this moment. He knows you’ve just opened your eyes but he’s squeezing his shut tight and resting his forehead gently against your own.

And the bond floods with warmth, his breath catching in his throat.

“I’m here,” your free hand finds his hair, smoothing through it the best that you can in your weakened state, “I’m here, Love.”

He nearly whimpers, would have if his mind hadn’t gone immediately into spymaster mode, seeing you awake.

He pulls away from you all too quickly, sitting straight in his spot beside you, the golden glow of his iris’ swimming with dark shadows.

“Who.” he asks, and it’s not a question. It’s the only word he can get out, voice dipped in steel and as sharp as the blade he’s been filing for the days you’ve been under rest.

“Some old relative,” you cough, throat dry, and you hiss at the pull in your stitches. Azriel is quick to help you drink some water down, soothing the roughness in your voice and the pounding in your head. “Claimed to be so, at least.”

“Fucking bastards,” he spits, the shadows in his eyes sweeping into hot, angry flames, “I’ll kill every single fucking one of them.”

“Az,” you sigh. You love your mate dearly and this is about as normal a reaction as you would expect from him, but you’re so achingly tired. “Are the kids okay?”

He shudders at the thought of something happening to your children and kisses across your knuckles, your hand in his shaking ones. 

“Yes, the babes are fine.”

You settle a bit more, knowing that truth. The fact that Azriel has referred to them as babes shows you just how terrified he truly is.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers, propping his chin where your hand is holding his.

“Tired,” you offer, because you’re afraid that a joke might push him over the edge. “Can I see my babies?”

Azriel looks like he might protest. You’ve been changed and brought to a different room once the painkillers and healing drinks the nurses had forced down your throat had begun to work, but he thinks of his rowdy children and your fresh injury, he worries for you.

But you’re pleading, “Please, Love. I need to see them.” And he gets it.

Because he finds himself needing to see them as well.

“Drink some more water, tell me what happened, and I’ll get Rhys to bring them in.”

You hold his gaze, nodding finally. 

Azriel helps you drink some more water, nearly a whole glass before you begin.

“I was on my way back from the mercantile,” you start, swallowing harshly as you wrack your brain for what had happened. “Just a quick trip to get some treats for the little ones,” you laugh dryly, tears welling up in your eyes. Azriel’s quick to thumb them away, caressing your cheek with his warm hand.

“I didn’t see him coming until it had already happened,” you admit shamefully. Your mate had taught you better than that and you had failed him.

Your mate sends nothing but warmth down the bond because while you may have been taken by surprise, he knows you didn’t go down without a fight.

“I didn’t understand how bad it was until after he was laying in the snow next to me and I looked at my torn coat and saw all the blood.”

You remember crying out as his blade slashed across your body and took you to your knees. You’d been able to act through the pain, kicking a foot out behind you and sweeping your attackers feet from under him. 

It was easier to pry the longsword from his hands when he was gasping for air and even easier to make sure he never took another breath again.

“I don’t remember getting home,” you exhale a shaky breath, “I was just holding my side and there was so much blood Az, so much blood.”

He shushes you softly, upset with himself that he’s asked you to share this story. If he had known your attacker was dead he wouldn’t have asked and before he can try and stop you you’re already continuing.

“I was afraid to go home,” you admit, and his hand clutches yours tighter, “I didn’t want the babes to see me like this.”

Your admission hangs over the both of you, loud in the otherwise silent room.

“I’m glad you did,” Azriel’s voice is thick with emotion, “If you hadn’t and I had lost you…”

“You didn’t,” you reassure, maybe for the both of you, “Let’s not think about that.”

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever be able to think about anything else but he nods, agreeing.

“I hid it the best I could, but you know Wren,” the thought of your oldest brings a smile to your face, “He’s so smart, that one. I told him to watch the babes for me while I went to clean up and he tried to talk to me, tried to ask me what was wrong but I just kept going, telling him that I was fine and would be out in a minute…” you trail off because you weren’t out in a minute. On the floor unconscious in a minute more like.

Azriel kisses your knuckles, lingering on your fourth finger before he answers, “He told Baz to come get me. I was talking to a commander and he came running up screaming and crying out for me. Scared me shitless I tell ya. Didn’t even have a coat on.”

Your eyes bulge and you try to sit up, distressed over your son out in the mountains without a coat, “Is he–'' your question is cut off by a hiss and Azriel’s on his feet guiding you back down onto the bed, gentle hands on your shoulders. 

“He’s alright, Love. They all are. Got them all checked on while they were helping you. Not even a sniffle,” Azriel soothes. He relaxes when your shoulders droop and you settle back into the pillows.

“Thank you,” you whisper, thumb brushing across his knuckles, “I love you.”

“I love you too, (Y/N). So fucking much,” he breathes, shuddering when you caress his cheek.

You tug on him weakly, puckering your lips for a kiss that he easily ducks down for, the tension melting away from his body now that you’re awake in his arms.

“Can I see them now?” you ask as soon as you pull away. Your mate huffs playfully, already calling out to Rhys in his mind.

The door slams open, Wren and Baz racing into the room with the Inner Circle hot on their heels. Rhys is holding Zuzu, Feyre’s hugging Jax close to his chest while Cassian and Nesta each hold a babe, their own boys trailing in behind them.

Azriel shoots to his feet, catching his two oldest sons around their waists before they can launch themselves at you.

“Mommy,” Wren cries from his father’s grasp and Baz bursts out into tears at the sight, reaching over Azriel’s shoulder for you.

“Az, let them go,” you scold lightly, but caress the bond, thankful for stopping them before another injury could happen.

“Boys, you need to be gentle with mommy, okay?” Az holds each of their arms, making sure that his order has been received by each son before slowly letting them go.

They’re both on your uninjured side, Baz tumbling into your arms. He climbs up onto the bed and you hold him close, letting him cry into the crook of your shoulder, reaching out for Wren with tears in your own eyes.

“Hi baby,” you whisper, voice thick.

“Mom,” he breaks, tears spilling as he climbs up next to Baz, letting you run your fingers through his hair.

You bite your lip, holding your boys as close as you can, before looking around the room at the rest of your children, your family. 

Each one is looking at you with smiles, some pained, some relieved, some teary, and you know that if something had gone wrong, that your children would be in the best of hands.

Your teary gaze slides back to your mate. He hadn’t looked away from you while you were taking everyone in, seeming to know exactly where your mind had just been. But he doesn’t want to think about that right now, all he wants is to hold you and his children as close as he can, forever and always.

Cassian hands Knox off to Azriel as he rounds the bed to your injured side, taking the spot next to you to block your injury as he gestures to his brothers and their mates to bring forward the rest of your children.

Let us know if you need any help, Rhys speaks to Azriel and the shadowsinger nods, looking at you with the babes all curled in close, hugging each other tight.

He knows they won’t leave you now, but he doesn’t care because everyone is here together, in one piece.

One big family.

[azsazz]

Divine Darkness

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: az sending his shadows to check up on you during long missions!!!!!!!!!!!

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 775

Notes: Okay, this one just HAD to involve the babies. 💙

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The babe on your hip squeals in your arms as shadows swirl around the both of you in an excited frenzy. You laugh, ducking to narrowly avoid missing one as it skitters out of the way of Baz’s grabby hands. They lift your hair off of your shoulders as they wind around the both of you, and you watch admiringly as your first born, Wren, stumbles into the room in a fit of laughter, shadows at his heels.

“Daddy,” Wren squawks, beelining straight for your legs. He wraps himself around you, tiny wings fluttering at his back, swatting at the tendrils as he hugs you tightly, the shadows tickling over his soft skin. “Please!”

Azriel often liked to send his shadows to check in on you and your sons while he was away. In the three years that you had had Wren and Baz, with a baby girl on the way, he’d requested to stay within the Night Court as much as he could. Rhysand understood, of course he did, and while Azriel’s spies were just as trustworthy as the spymaster himself, this mission could not be had without him. 

He must be up at the safehouse, nestled in the thicket of trees between the Spring Court and the Human Lands. It was the only way he’d send the darkness to check in on the four of you, half of the flock of shadows missing, begrudgingly on scout for their master instead of here, playing with you and the babes.

You suck in a breath as the barrier separating your bond from reaching out to his slides open, flooding you with longing and warmth from what the shadows darting in and out the doors carry on the whispers of night. 

Sending a wave of love right back to your mate, you smile as one of the shadows circles around your middle, a gentle caress to his daughter. The smaller tether slips up your arm and brushes against your cheek, a kiss all its own.

Your heart pangs in your chest. You miss him, and while Cassian is more than helpful watching your two rowdy sons so you can get off of your feet, it isn’t the same as having Azriel around. Your mate loves his children with every morsel of his soul. He’d never had that, a real family, just the one he’d chosen for himself, and he wanted nothing more than for all of his children to grow and love each other. He’d been a nervous wreck when you found out you were pregnant with Wren, didn’t think he’d be a good enough father, but he’d been the most helpful partner throughout your pregnancy and when your oldest was finally born, you could see it from the very first time that Azriel laid eyes on him that he’d be the best father a tiny babe could ask for.

Soon, the shadows seem to say, a stroke across your knuckles, threading through your fingers. Wren screeches, batting the shadows off with a spoon he’d snagged from the countertop where you’d been preparing a sweet treat for your boys before a cozy night in with their mommy. You let them sleep in your and Azriel’s room with you last night and they will again tonight, what Azriel didn’t know won’t kill him. He is a sucker for most things when it comes to the children, but allowing them to sleep in your room too often wasn’t one of them. Azriel likes to have his alone time with you, worshiping your body like he’s done since you’d first met. Hel, it’s exactly the reason you’re pregnant with babe number three right now, the tiny being kicking out as if she senses her father’s presence nearby.

Little Baz squirms in your arms. He’s caught one of the shadows, gripping it tightly between chubby fingers and he giggles while it struggles. You know it’s just your mate playing with the toddler, the shadow isn’t a tangible thing, and it will escape your second born's clutches when Azriel calls them back to him so you can help the babes wind down.

You set Baz down to play with his brother who has gotten bored of fighting nearly imaginary beings with his spoon. He’s abandoned the shadows riling him up in favor of whining to you about how he would like his treat now, cheeks red and sweat lining his forehead from exertion. You puff a breath of laughter at the disheveled sight of him and a prideful feeling thrums down the bond from your mate, squeezing your insides in the best way. 

Tomorrow, he’ll be back in your arms tomorrow.

[azsazz]

Here for You

Azriel x Reader (Zuzu Centered)

Summary: Anon Request: could we get something zuzu centered? we don’t get enough of the girls, and it would be so sweet to see az being a girl dad and y/n being a girl mom for a bit 🥹 maybe them being super excited to finally have a baby girl, when she’s really young or something? whatever you thinks best!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,076

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“C’mon Zuz! Keep going, you’re almost there,” Azriel shouts from your side.

You can’t contain the smile on your face, beaming as your daughter races across the open field on her little legs, kicking the ball with a determined look on her face. Her sleek black hair is twisted into tight plaits courtesy of her father, who had – like all things – studied the intricacies of braiding until he was near perfect. There had been many late nights you and your husband had spent together, letting him practice different hairstyles on you while you read, tucked up as far into his warmth as you could, giving him gentle reminders and praises on his final looks.

Zuzu also has dark streaks of paint on her cheeks, a gift from Uncle Cassian, who’d also given her a pep talk before her Moonball game had started. Between him, Azriel, and Rhys, you didn’t know who was cheering the loudest for your little girl, and your heart is bursting with joy at the pride your family is showing in the matching ‘Zuzu Rules’ shirts Rhysand had made for their final game.

Malos pouts where she’s been jostled in Azriel’s arms, on the verge of falling asleep when he’d excitedly begun cheering as Zuzu was passed the ball. Nesta notices at the same time, and is quick to take the babe and soothe her, waving a dismissive hand to Azriel who gives her an apologetic look for a brief moment before returning his gaze to the Moonball game before him. 

He’s nearly vibrating with excitement, and you’ve had to pull Baz out of the way as his wings flared when one of the children on the other team had stolen the ball from Zuzu. 

She’s certainly come a long way since her first game, where the same thing had happened and she’d tried to pummel the child into the ground for doing so. You had glared at your husband and his brothers who had all ducked their heads to hide the grins they were biting back. That was their girl.

Even your older sons had stopped their game of playing warrior to come cheer on their sister, their cousins pushing between all of the tall adult legs for a better view.

One of the children in a navy jersey chasing Zuzu towards the goal suddenly trips and falls into the grass with a surprised gasp but Zuzu doesn’t take notice. Unfortunately, you do, shooting Baz a warning look that says he’s going to get in trouble when he gets home. He’s only eight but he’s already learned a multitude of tricks with his shadows, and to an untrained eye they would’ve thought the child had merely tripped. You knew better than that, and by the way Baz switches sides with Wren so he’s standing further away from you with red cheeks and hunched shoulders, he did too.

Even Knox is intently watching his sister race across the grass. The midnight purple of her jersey brings out the ribbons in her hair, provided by her Auntie Elain and Uncle Lucien, who hadn’t been able to make it, as they were visiting Day for a surprise getaway. 

“Come on baby, come on baby,” you mutter under your breath as she goes. Two children from the opposing team are blocking the way and if she uses her wings again she won’t be able to join the team next season, so you pray to the Mother she doesn’t flare those little wings wide and sweep these kids off of their feet.

“Yes, Z!” Wren jumps, shouting at his sister as she side-steps the offending players. He’d taught her that move when Uncle Cassian hadn’t been playing very fair in the backyard. Everything she’s learned about Moonball had been from her brothers and the rest of her family. She’s a warrior through and through, tough as nails and never backs down even when she was learning with all of the roughness her brothers and male cousins showed. Asteria hadn’t shown interest in the sport, instead she liked playing with her dolls and putting them in poses to draw in her coloring book.

“You got this, Zuz,” Baz encourages, while Jax claps his tiny hands and chants her name over and over again.

Your entire family holds their breath as she sets herself up to kick the ball into the goal. The child in the goal has a ready stance that’s startling for that of someone so young. He looks nearly professional, arms spread wide, knees bent, with a determined look in his eye. He and Zuzu had faced off before, and even her brothers had complimented how good he was at the sport.

Zuzu had scored against him this season once. The other time she had the chance, the little boy had blocked her ball from hitting the goal and you almost hadn’t stopped the rest of your sons from running out onto the field to defend their sister from the goalie who had gloated more than Cassian when he’d won the annual snowball fight, a smug smile on his face.

She’d been more determined than ever, immediately asking her brothers to go out into the yard with the instruction not to go easy on her.

Zuzu cocks her leg back. There’s steely determination in her fierce eyes. Her mouth is set in a firm line as she stares down the child like he’s her worst enemy.

And maybe he is.

The entire field is silent as her leg swings forward. The ball goes soaring through the air, looking like a shooting star, and everyone waits.

The child in the goal pushes off of the ground, throwing his body sideways into the path of the ball.

But he’s too late.

Your family erupts in mass of cheers and excitement, storming the field to gather the star player in congratulations and celebratory hugs. 

She’s beaming, grinning like the day you and Azriel had told her that she was going to have a little sister.

Azriel hikes her up on his shoulders, spinning her around as the other parents gather their children and usher them away, but you don’t care, so utterly proud of Zuzu for scoring the winning goal of the game.

Her braids flop against her shoulders as she twirls, giggling like a mad woman and hands raised in the air in victory. 

“I did it! I did it,” she screams.

And you couldn’t be more proud.

[azsazz]

Undercover

Jax x Reader [Next Gen Fic]

Summary: Anon Req: This one is for S, who wanted a better insight on Jax. A little combo of what you sent me-"or just a drabble about him and his mate (who is helping the IC with something but she doesn’t know about the bond) and how he tried to deflect the bond bcoz it’s a bit too much for him" and "since he’s an empath he has the ability to see bonds so imagine his surprise and the excess flood of emotions he feels when the bond snaps for him" (i hope this finds you💙)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 972

_________________________________________

This must be what the victims of his father’s torture must feel like, he thinks.

It itches at his skin, and no matter how hard he tries, how high he builds those walls to block it out, it’s still fucking there.

It gnaws on his skin like maggots on rot, featherlight wings beating in his ears like the hummingbirds Malos favors so much. It’s a constant, these days, makes Jax ache to dig his fingers into his skin, but not even the bite of pain would be enough for him to draw his attention away from that tether inside of him, lassoed around his heart.

And you don’t seem to feel a goddamn thing. You’re completely unknowing of the barbed rope you’ve coiled around his heart with your presence alone. How could you not realize the agony he’s in? How can you not feel the thundering of his heart whenever you are near?

He stands in the corner, shadows wreathed around his shoulders, eyes pinned to you as you move about his uncle’s ballroom, flanked by Castor and Sif. You’re wearing the darkest color of silk you could find, and if there’s a chance that you do know he is your mate, it would be this.

But he knows that you don’t know. He knows almost everything that is going on in the house, how everyone is feeling. How Baz is tingling with excitement as a couple waves his way, cheeks pink and bashful. How his father’s heart warms at the sight of his mother laughing with his uncles mates. How you and his cousins flutter with nervousness whenever a handsome fae male asks you to dance.

A whisper of darkness curls around the shell of his ear from the libraries below. A slight comfort, an invitation, should he need to escape the party and confide in the monster contained to this home.

Jax brushes the feeling away, gaze pinned to you. It’s overwhelming most times, being around this many people. Even a long dinner with the entirety of his uncle’s Inner Circle sends him almost reeling, though his powers have come a long way since childhood. He can block strong emotions out, manipulate them to his advantage, but the one he’s always had trouble reigning into submission has always been love.

He knows that a part of him doesn’t want to block the feeling out. It’s so raw, so breath-taking, it feels like he’s high with it when he’s surrounded by the emotion. It glows a minty green, swirling throughout the air of the ballroom. A new trick Jax had picked up while honing his powers, the ability to see auras and emotion in the air from just a glimpse. 

A blink, and it’s gone, and he’s still leaning against the wall with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, watching you twirl around in your pretty dress.

Knox is the first of his siblings to find him still lingering near the door. His family understands that events like this are not ideal for Jax, but he always makes sure to attend, say his hellos, and stick around as he practices blocking out the onslaught of emotions beating against the walls in his mind like a sledgehammer. 

He’s made it all of four hours this time.

And the party will rage on all night. He doesn’t usually care about missing out on the festivities, but with you here, he can’t force himself to leave. He’ll endure a thousand people's emotions to be able to glean a droplet of yours, even if you don’t even know he’s here.

You’re still here? Knox signs, slipping into the darkened corner with him. His youngest brother’s shadows wreath around their feet, and it’s not that Jax notices he hasn’t seen Malos in an hour and a half. Maybe he should leave, see if they can get into some sort of trouble. At least he’d be surrounded by his sister’s cool, calm, and collected character.

He hadn’t expected Knox to be the one to find him. Normally, it’s Baz’s shadows coiling tight around his wrists and dragging him across the ballroom, shoving a shot of liquor into his hand and keeping watch for their father while Jax slams it back, the heat burning his throat. Knox has been otherwise occupied with his own mate, who he’d had the pleasure of finding years ago. Jax remembers how the shock had burst from his mouth in the middle of dinner when he’d found out about Knox’s mate. He’d almost fallen from his chair.

It had felt different than this, though. Knox’s emotions had felt like his veins had burst into flames, the emotions held so tightly in his chest. The bond Jax feels with you is much different. It’s a calming breeze, a cool rush of relaxant in his blood. It makes his head dizzy, and he wonders if it will change when the bond becomes known for you. 

Jax nods once, and Knox’s gaze follows across the room. He’s not trying to hide the way that he’s looking at you, knows that Knox won’t tell a soul…except for Malos, but he knows the twins will take this to the grave if he asks them to.

Mate, then? Knox asks, but he already knows the answer. Jax is not easy to read but he knows his brother. Can see it in the tightness of his mouth, the tightness in which he’s clenching his fists, that predatory glint in his glowing eyes as he watches a male twirl you around the dancefloor. Why not go get her?

Jax shakes his head in response, finally ripping his gaze away from you as the song ends and you bounce over to his cousins, giggling and blushing. He allows the shadows to pull him deeper, towards the exit. “It’s not time yet.”

[azsazz]

One cat never stays one cat~ I wonder how the reader will react when Az gets one more cat home 🥺

okay but what if its not a kitten, but something else...😂😏

"Daddy! Mommy! Look," Zuzu squeals excitedly, running up to the house.

She and her brothers had been playing in the large backyard while you and Az prepped food for their dinners, watching them through the kitchen window. The creamy skies are a plethora of oranges and pinks, the sun dipping slowly behind the red mountains lining your backyard.

The location of your home was important to both you and Azriel when selecting to build your dream home, and having a spacious backyard overlooking the mountains for your children to run around and for your family to have the privacy you needed was one of your top wants when looking for land.

You look up from the sandwich you're currently cutting the crusts off of, and your mate pauses, halting his action of spreading jam on bread.

Zuzu's hair is plastered to her head with sweat, cheeks flushed and her wings fluttering behind her excitedly. Her violet dress is rumpled and smudged with dirt and her knees are red from where she's fallen on your walk in town yesterday, too eager to get her favorite ice cream from town.

"What is it, Zuz?" Azriel asks, putting down the knife and bread. He rounds the corner, moving towards his daughter with a soft smile and brushing the sweaty hair from her eyes.

Your children often brought you rocks and things from the backyard to show off, sometimes the odd toy Azriel or their uncles liked to stop by and hide for them to find.

Zuzu beams up at her father, dark eyes sparkling, grin wide. It makes your heart flutter, the love that they have for each other, your mate and his daughter.

"We found another kitty!" She exclaims, and your brow furrows. You knew that Zuzu was a bit disappointed that her new kitten, Elixir, had taken a liking to Jax and Azriel more than her, and it seemed like she brought it upon herself to find another pet to bring into the family. You however, aren't so sure about this.

Six children and one cat are already a handful, you're not entirely sure you can handle another. And if Zuzu has claimed two pets, it will only be a matter of time until Wren asks for a fish or Baz finds a Naga-hound to befriend. Maybe they've found another kitten in the barn and it can live out there but they can still visit it.

You share a look with your mate and pull away from the counter to move closer. Your stomach is already knots, the 'no, you can't keep him' on the tip of your tongue, when she calls for her brothers.

Baz stumbles through the back door and into the kitchen. He's struggling with the lump of black in his arms, huffing and puffing as Wren leads the way, holding the door open for him.

Your heart stops in your chest with such a force your knees nearly give out when the light catches on Baz's arms. It looks like one of Jax's stuffed animals come to life. It's nearly as big as him, its silky black coat shining in the light. It's whiskers are long and twitching, and it licks its lips, revealing sharp teeth.

"Oh my Gods," you exclaim, scooping up Zuzu into your arms as Azriel launches himself towards the animal in Baz's arms, gripping it by the scruff and hauling it from his grasp.

It's a wildcat.

"Dad," Baz pouts, reaching up for the animal. He wants to hold it, he found it, and it's his, not Zuzu's. "He's mine!"

"No, he's not," Azriel responds, holding the baby wild creature away from his sons. He doesn't even know how they found something like this, but he has an inkling the shadows creeping slowly out of the room have had a hand in this. "You can't keep this!"

"Please?" Wren begs, eyes round as saucers. He's pulled Baz to his chest and they both blink up at you and then Az, pleading. "He's so cute!"

And...you'll give them that. The thing is only a baby, chewing on his paw and blinking around the room with gold eyes, all but purring in Azriel's grasp. It doesn't look bothered in the slightest, nor aware of the tension in the room.

"He might be cute now, but when he's fully grown and bigger than all of us, you won't think so."

"You don't know that," Baz crosses his arms over his chest, looking like you and Azriel have utterly betrayed him. It makes your heart ache but you cannot allow them to keep this creature. "Shadow is a nice kitty."

"He's not a kitty—you named him already?" Azriel asks, exasperated. Leave it to his children to capture and bring home the beasts of Prythian. "I'm sorry, but we cannot keep this one, Baz."

"Fine," he huffs, turning his chin down, "We don't have to keep Shadow, if we can get another kitten."

Your mouth parts in shock, looking between your three eldest and this ruse they've come up with to try and blackmail both you and your mate into getting another kitten.

You share a look with Azriel, a knowing one. He doesn't like this as much as you don't, and you set Zuzu down next to her brothers and stand by Azriel's side, staring down at your intelligent children.

"Go wash up for dinner, now, while I bring Shadow home."

[azsazz]

About Last Night

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Req from @noteonthepolaroidpicture : all of the baby bats either in velaris or in some other court (maybe autumn n they’re older along with Maude or something) plan to sneak out and go to Rita’s (or some bar in another court) and baz is very much ‘they cannot catch all of us’ and of course they all get caught but it’s a very admirable effort by them. And Knox is very much ‘I told you’

Warnings: Creepy guy hitting on Zuzu and Asteria, drinking, partying, mentions of blood.

Word Count: 5,211

Notes: A little taste of the older bat babies a lot of you have been wanting. Enjoy! 🥰

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“Look Giddy, I know you want to see your girlfriend and all that, but if we get caught, we’re in deep shit,” Wren argues, a stern look on his face and arms crossed tightly over his puffed out chest, trying to seem like he’s the one in charge.

He isn’t.

“If we get caught,” Gideon defends, before adding as an afterthought, eyebrows furrowed, “And she’s not my girlfriend.”

He rolls his eyes at all of the knowing looks his sisters and cousins give him at that little statement, cheeks tingeing red in betrayal.

“Besides,” he brushes off, coming around to Baz’s side. He slings an arm over his cousin's shoulders, an easy grin replacing the frown he’d just been wearing, knowing the younger male will be the easiest to convince to agree to his antics, “If we don’t go, we’ll have no cool stories to share when we’re older.”

Wren's mouth parts, another protest on the tip of his tongue but Gideon’s quick to cut him off, “And, if you don’t think that our parents are guilty of sneaking off you’re only playing yourself, Wrennie.”

The latter cringes at the use of his childhood nickname, sharing a look with Nyx.

“You’re not talking about a different bar Giddy, you’re talking about a whole different court,” Sif wrinkles her nose at her older brother, and Castor agrees.

“And one in Autumn.”

“Fine,” Gideon responds breezily, but the rest of his family knows he’s not about to let this crazy idea go. “Stay here. Go to the same hole-in-the-wall our parents have been going to for centuries. Baz and I will go. Right Bazzy?”

Wren's younger brother takes a moment, looking around the circle at each of his own siblings. Wren, with his wide eyes, pleading with him silently not to agree. Zuzu, looking as bored as ever, giggling with Asteria over some male she’d seen in Summer. Jax is as stoic as always, but that pinch in Baz’s gut tells him that his younger brother could use the excitement.

And the twins. Malos, who’s picking the dirt from under her nails with the curved tip of her most precious blade, smirking while Knox speaks into her mind–

The group startles as someone stumbles out the backdoor of the bar and into the alley, clearly drunk out of their mind. The bassy music and loud conversation spill from the building until the heavy door swings shut, cutting it off abruptly.

The male digs deep into his pockets, grunting as he struggles to free his hand from the tight fabric once he’s grasped whatever is so important, unaware of the eleven sets of well-trained eyes watching him, grinning triumphantly when he produces a thickly rolled snout.

He places it between his lips, bringing his free hand to the end of the joint, and with the snap of his fingers a flame flickers to life. Knox’s brows twitch while Malos’ eyes widen with intrigue at the blatant use of magic.

The male hadn't noticed the large group of young adults arguing, for they’d all gone silent in his presence, watching the drunkard struggle with his treat. He suckles at the tip of the joint, holding his breath to let the smoke leech into his lungs, before exhaling all of his worries away, white smoke curling from his mouth like the few shadows sweeping around the group protectively.

Mirthroot.

The male coughs into the crook of his arm at the strong flavor, the smoke sticking to his throat, and finally seems to realize that he’s not alone. He blinks once, twice, trying to clear the glaze from his vision.

He staggers closer to the group, not picking up on the way they all bristle, wings tucking closer to their backs with tension.

It’s Zuzu and Aster he stops next to, of course it is. They’re dressed scantily, ready to head into the bars and immediately wander off from the rest of their families in favor of prowling the dance floor for potential suitors, waiting by the bar drinkless until males and females alike send one their way.

Zuzu looks over her shoulder at the man. He’s a half head taller than her in her heels, not handsome, but not quite ugly either. So she forces her red painted lips into a sultry smile, batting her eyelashes, the face she’s mastered, one that will get her almost anything she wants from any stranger.

It works, the corner of his mouth lifts in response, gaze flicking towards Asteria who’s also smiling at him like he’s the most handsome thing they’ve ever seen, watching with round eyes as he brings the joint to his mouth for another drag, pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

“Two very pretty girls,” he grins, sidling up close to Zuzu. His voice is like gravel, like he’s smoked a tinge too much mirthroot tonight, “Might I have the pleasure in–”

“Yes,” Zuzu agrees immediately, plucking the joint from his grasp. The male’s mouth parts in protest but Asteria’s stepping forward, trailing a red dipped nail down his alcohol stained shirt.

“We’ll look after this while you go inside and get us some drinks,” her smile is alluring. He seems to mull it over for a second, hazy gaze drifting down to where her hand is on his chest, up to her gleaming violet gaze and then over to Zuzu, who has his joint hanging limply between her clawed fingernails.

He agrees then, stumbling back a step as he rushes to get the pretty females their drinks, calling over his shoulder in a rough slur, “Be right back. Don’t go anywhere, pretty girls!”

Malos makes a face while Castor seems awestruck at her older cousins who snicker to each other as the male gives them one last eager look before dipping back inside. They mentally take notes at how easy Zuzu and Aster have made it look.

The males of the group relax slightly now that the male has swooped inside like a knight on a mission from princesses, although, they suppose that’s nearly what they are, with their parents titles. Tension melts from their tight wings. It’s much too early for their talons to be ruffled by some asshole in the street.

“You’re not going to smoke that, right?” Nyx points disgustedly at the man's joint in Zuzu’s grasp.

She rolls her eyes, red lips curving into a wicked grin as she stubs it out on the side of the building and holds it up with sparkling eyes.

“Let’s see what this will get us in Autumn.”

“Not you too,” Wren groans, brushing a hand through his dark hair, free hand on his hip. He looks towards Jax and the twins for some sort of reinforcement, even though he’s the oldest of the six.

“Knox says we’ll get caught,” Malos provides in a bored tone, sheathing her knife and crossing her arms over her chest. She doesn’t want to burst Wren’s bubble, but a part of her is itching to go, to explore a different court.

Wren breathes a sigh of relief but it’s short lived because Baz’s mouth curls into a splitting smile. All of his siblings groan at the sight, knowing exactly what that look means.

“Anyone else care to wager how far we’ll get before mom and dad find us?”

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

Maude Vanserra meets them at the border of Autumn, her younger sister and brother in tow.

She’s thrown herself into the arms of Gideon, who, despite telling his sisters and cousins that Maude is not his girlfriend, secretly is.

Juniper perks up at the sight of Sif and Castor, nearly flinging herself into a group hug with her two best friends, while Rook grows smaller under the lingering gaze Malos throws his way. The youngest has been forced out of the palace by his sisters, who, for once, actually want him to go out with them.

He’s a dashing young male, with his unruly amber hair brushed back from the glowing embers of his eyes, a crisp white shirt hanging off of his thinner frame, the first two buttons undone in haste.

He’d much rather be at home, reading strategy books or playing whatever wraith he can find in a game of chess, especially when he catches sight of Gideon and Baz, two of the loudest troublemakers in Prythian.

“C’mon,” Maude squeals, grabbing Gideon’s hand and tugging him along to the front of the group, “Let’s get this party started!”

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

Chlo’s is nestled in the foxholes of the Autumn Court, a place where none of the Night Court children had been before. In fact, they're pretty sure they aren’t allowed to be in here, not because of who their parents are, but because the city reminds them of Velaris, hidden and protected from above ground.

There’s music in the streets, not dissimilar to the music found in the Night Court. Bonfires litter the foxholes as they walk, males and females alike gather around the fiery pits, dancing and drinking and laughing the night away.

Knox shakes out his wings, brushing off the uncomfort he’s feeling from being unable to see the stars in the sky, sharing a look with Jax, who looks equally as uneasy.

He’s regretting not slinking away with Malos, who never truly let herself have a night off from Spywork, their shadows whispering in his ear her whereabouts.

Even Wren has given up on complaining once they’re entered the bar.

It’s nothing like Rita’s, that had been around for ages. Chlo’s is all dipped cedar and dark pine, flanked by a pristine cafė and a rundown storefront that claims to do psychic readings. Faelights beam in colored glass jars that are swinging throughout the room like strobes. The folk music from around the bonfires disappears as the plucky strumming of the guitar and deep bass of the drums plays unabashed, the bodies of fae and creatures alike gyrating to the lust lined music.

“Now this is awesome,” Zuzu breathes, dark eyes casting around the room in wonder. She peels away from the group with Aster on her heels, mirthroot joint tucked behind a pointed ear as they beeline towards the bar, eager to try the autumnal flavored drinks.

Castor, Sif, and Juniper head for the dance floor, giggling like school girls as they slip through the crowd with ease, hands linked together like the flower children of Spring.

Even Jax seems to be feeling lighter, absorbing the would-be overwhelming emotions filling the space, had he not mastered his powers at a younger age. The air is filled with excitement, carelessness, and a hint of lust that makes his throat thick. His hazel gaze glosses over as he revels in it, mouth twitching into a blissful smile.

Nyx and Wren find them an unoccupied table, settling into the chairs with minor struggle, the wings at their backs shifting awkwardly to wrap around the backrest. Jax slips into an empty seat without complaint, looking lighter than he has in years, while Knox kicks out another with a heavy boot, flipping it around to straddle the high back of the chair, wings resting comfortably at his back.

Baz, Gideon, and Maude move towards the bars for drinks, leaving Rook standing nervously at the table full of tall winged males, clad in all black and as intimidating as the cauldron itself.

He really should’ve stayed home, the youngest Vanserra thinks as he slumps into one of the empty seats.

Knox blinks, looking around the bar with all-seeing eyes. He hasn’t called his shadows back, figures it would be safer for Malos to have them creeping along with her while she’s snooping through the Autumn Court. He sends her a mental note not to stay out too long, to which she replies immediately, Missing me already?

Dearly, sis, he replies with a roll of his eyes.

Her laughter echoes in his mind and with quick word that she’s already on her way back to meet them, she’s gone.

Knox tries to settle into his seat, but finds himself at a loss. Malos is on her way and he’s with his siblings, but the bar is nearly too dark for him to be able to sign across the long table to Wren on the other side, and he isn’t sure how to conversate with Rook, if he even knows sign language, and Jax seems to be strangely in a world of his own right now, so fiddles with the thick ring on his finger while he waits for his drink.

Wren and Nyx are in deep conversation when a tray full of drinks slams down on the table between them, held by a grinning Baz.

“You’ve got to try these,” he exclaims, handing out shots to Nyx and his brothers. Maude and Gideon follow with their own trays, pitchers of drinks and a multitude of shots line each, presumably for the rest of their party.

Wren sniffs at the glass Baz hands him. The singing smell of alcohol burns the back of his throat and the tinge of cinnamon chokes him as he swallows the dark liquor down. He makes a face, frowning up at his brother.

“What in Mother’s name is this?” Nyx asks for both of them.

Baz shrugs, clinking his glass against Gideons and Maudes who’s cups are raised in a silent toast to themselves, “I don’t know but it’s awesome, isn’t it?”

The two oldest share knowing looks, well aware not to trust what Baz suggests because it’s most likely the thing that will get them in trouble.

Rook takes his like a pro, slamming the empty glass onto the table and quickly reaching for another. His pale, freckled cheeks have a rosy blush to them from just the first drink, and all of a sudden the first few undone buttons of his shirt don’t seem like they weren’t clasped because he was rushing, but now seems purposeful as his shoulders loosen with the alcohol.

The drink turns out to be some sort of cinnamon moonshine Maude had told them would put them on their asses when they’d each eagerly reached out for a second shot.

Jax forgoes the liquor, opening his senses more and more, letting the happiness and fun wash over him, loosening his tight shoulders. He turns to speak to his youngest brother, catching the prick of discomfort he feels when his eyes lock on a pretty female slinking through the crowd.

His mouth goes dry at the sight of her and he’s quickly mumbling to the youngest as he slides from his chair, “Be right back.”

Knox puffs out a silent breath as he watches his brother go, slinking through the writhing bodies with the stealth of a snake. He sits up in his chair, trying to follow Jax’s path but he loses him quick enough, slumping down, fingering the rim of his glass.

His dark eyes cut to the clock behind the bar, taking note of the time. He knows that their father is going to catch them, there’s a guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach that says so, but even so, it’s nice to see Gideon with his girl, his siblings letting loose.

If only he himself could do the same.

Rook looks as bored as he is, tipping back on the two hind legs of his chair, a drink clasped close to his chest as he watches with sharp eyes both the party members and the crowd around. Knox watches intently as the youngest male does so, the gleam of his golden necklace catches in the bouncing faelight but the shadowsinger can’t quite make out the shape of it.

He averts his attention before he gets caught.

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

Malos stalks into the bar thirty minutes later, her itch to spy around the Autumn Court unfulfilled.

She’d wanted to find out more about the shadow hounds she’s heard so much about, looking to try and lure one out with her own shadows, but hadn’t caught sight of one of the protected animals of the Court.

She pushes through the bodies without a care, and no one dares call her out for her actions once they see her glower, the massive wings and fighting leathers. They don’t even know about the numerous weapons sheathed within them.

She almost wants one of them to bite back at her, stir up some trouble. Preferably someone at least twice her size or with a knack for fighting. 

She feels up for a little challenge.

But no one does, not even her older sister when she brushes through her and Aster, her shadows trailing her like obedient dogs.

Zuzu tugs on her hand but it’s not a fight she wants, laughing tipsily as she tries to get Malos to dance with her.

A smile tugs at the corner of Malos’ mouth, all she will allow before she’s twisting Zuzu into a spin, twirling her right into Aster’s arms. The pair spill into a fit of giggles before deciding to get another drink.

The younger sister takes the unoccupied spot next to Knox, scooping up an abandoned shot and knocking it back like it’s nothing. It’s sweet, the taste of cinnamon coats the back of her throat like syrup and she grimaces at the taste.

Not even her Aunt Nesta would drink this shit.

She doesn’t even get a chance to speak to her twin before Nyx is sliding into Jax’s empty seat, slinging an arm over her shoulders with an easy grin on his face.

Malos blushes at the contact, trying to shove the older male off of her. The heir doesn't budge, just plants a wet kiss to her cheek and beams, holding up another drink for her to take.

“Where’ve you been?” Nyx asks loudly–knowingly–in her ear.

She cringes away on instinct, glaring at the sly look on her twin's face, who blanches under her gaze, smartly averting his gaze to try and catch a glimpse of Jax.

She can smell the liquor on his breath. It’s hard not to, with all of the empty glasses littering the table. He’s faring better than Baz and Gideon though, who have their arms wrapped around each other's shoulders, drunkenly serenading Maude and Wren, who are only encouraging it.

“Around,” she replies smoothly, voice even like her father taught her.

If she’s going to be Nyx’s spymaster some day, she’ll have to keep practicing.

“You need to catch up,” is all he replies, cheersing his glass against hers.

Reluctantly, Malos takes the drink, glancing at Knox on the other side of her.

How much longer?

Should be any minute now, he replies, arms crossed as he leans on the tall back of the backwards chair, looking as relaxed as ever for someone who’s awaiting the downfall of their plan.

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

Baz should’ve seen it coming, he really should have.

But he’s having too much fun in the Autumn Court, with their fast-paced music, whimsical drinks, drunk and partying with all of his family. It’s everything he wanted tonight and more; dancing with the girls, trying to out drink his brothers.

His shadows are hissing in his ears but the bass is too loud and he’s not focused, can’t quite hear the urgency over the fun that he’s having. He bats them away when they ruin one of his toasts, and Rook nearly topples out of his seat when they skitter his way.

Three things happen all at once.

One. 

The shadows beneath the table awaken, shifting and slithering around each of the Night Court children’s ankles and pulling tight, chaining their legs to the ground.

They startle, sharing wide eyed looks between each other and harsh swallows of guilt, knowing they’re in deep shit.

Two. 

Sif and Juniper’s beaming smiles drop, looks of terror replacing them as they catch sight of the bulky figure striding for them. The crowd parts easily, some grumbling about how the night is going to turn chaotic from the sight of those broad wings, some sneering at the Night Court females.

Castor hasn’t noticed, back to the looming male. She’s having fun, buzzing from the spiced cider she’s had and dancing wildly to make her sister and Juniper laugh. Her eyes are shut tightly, grin stretching across her face so hard her cheeks ache, until she runs into the brick wall of the male at her back.

She spins on her heel, ready to tell them off but her mouth goes slack as she stares wide-eyed up at him, a firm frown on his face.

“Dad?”

Three.

A shadow crawls over the shoulders of the two females at the bar, drinking in the attention from a group of fit fae males while they await their cocktails of choice.

If they had been paying more attention they would’ve felt the rippling power throughout the nightclub, seen the fae lights flickering overhead.

They share a quick look and a low curse, before Zuzu and Aster paint on their most innocent faces as they turn towards the crow of darkness standing at their backs.

The High Lord of the Night Court stands behind them, arms crossed over his chest, a disappointed look on his face. Rhys has even put on one of his most extravagant crowns for the occasion, dark painted iron and gleaming onyx gems that drink in all of the light.

The young warriors surrounding them cower under the harsh violet gaze of the High Lord, slowly backing away in hopes he won’t notice.

“Let’s go,” he growls, grabbing each female by their wrists and winnowing away into nothingness.

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

“Knox wins, again,” Malos mutters, crossing her arms over her chest and rolling her eyes.

They’d all been dragged back to the Night Court without a word from their fathers, and now they’re all standing in a line before them, mothers and fathers furious with them for their actions.

Her twin looks down the line of siblings and cousins, a smirk on his face that clearly states ‘I told you so,’ but when his fathers withering glare turns his way he ducks down bashfully, shrugging in defense, signing a lame ‘I’m sorry,’ that he knows will do nothing to get him out of trouble.

“This isn’t something to be won,” Rhysand scolds. His heart hasn’t stopped racing since he’d learnt of his children’s venture to the Autumn Court. And while Beron was no longer an issue at hand, there are many other things that could’ve happened had he showed up any later. “This isn’t some game!”

Rarely have they seen the High Lord like this. Once, when they’d ruined a High Lords meeting by releasing a young snowcat they’d found roaming outside during their snowball fight in Winter, and the other, when they’d all banded together when they were young, trying to steal a slice of the enormous Starfall cake before dinner. The entire table had fallen to the ground, destroying all of the desserts in front of the entire party. They were sent to bed early that night.

Azriel hasn’t spoken. He’s absolutely fuming at what the children have done. A part of him feels so stupid, his shadows screeching in his ears hadn’t been enough to wake him from his deep slumber, after having taken you three times since arriving back from a long trip to the Steppes.

His children had done well in choosing tonight to sneak out, he had to give them that.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do with them. Interrogate them all separately like he used to do when they were younger, though he knows that his children had learned some of his ways and have most likely made up a story to all tell their parents.

On the other hand, it’s quite obvious who the masterminds behind the plan are.

But Cassian asks anyway, slipping easily into the voice he uses when he’s commanding an army, “Who did it?”

For a moment, none of their children move. There isn’t a twitch of a hand, a flicker of a gaze to point out the culprit. 

At least, not until Rhysand and Azriel let their power leech a little.

That would always get them to break.

The rest of the children flinch, frantically pointing at Baz and Giddy, who sway in their spots, though they’ve seemed to sober up tremendously since getting caught, knowing they’re in deep shit.

They seem to realize at the same time that they are pointing at each other, frowning and protesting at the same time, “Hey!”

“Basil, Gideon, stay put,” Rhys’ tone is fierce, a pointed look pinning the two young males to their spots, “The rest of you, get out of my sight.”

None of the other children dare to respond other than quickly filing from the room with you, Feyre, and Nesta on their heels.

Azriel studies his son intently. His eyes are glossed over, cast downwards to the floor because he knows he’s in trouble. There’s a leaf shaped shot glass tied around his neck and Azriel can smell the stink of moonshine from where he stands.

Gideon isn’t much better off. Mouth bruised and neck littered with love bites from the eldest of the Vanserra daughters. His hair is a disheveled mess and his shirt is rumpled.

They look utterly guilty.

Rhys takes the lead. He’s acting as High Lord first instead of concerned father and uncle, since this incident is a multi court disaster, and he knows his brothers are too infuriated with their sons to speak right now.

“Do you know how much danger you could’ve put everyone in?” Rhys asks, violet gaze unwavering, “I had to send a raven for permission to retrieve you all.” He’s disgusted, they can tell. Baz can hardly look at his father, for fear of the utter disappointment he’ll see.

Gideon opens his mouth to respond but Cassian is quick to silence him, “I don’t want to hear it, Gideon. This is the most foolish thing you’ve ever done! And putting your sisters into that kind of danger all for a female? What were you thinking?”

His son shrugs, biting his tongue because he wants to yell back that Maude isn’t just some female. Baz tries, “But we had Wren and Nyx with us! And Malos and Knox! And Jax! We’re all trained, we know how to defend ourselves!”

He doesn’t know what’s worse. The fact that Azriel responds with an icy calmness, when Baz wishes he would raise his voice and scream at him, or the fact that of course, his father is right.

“That’s not the point, Basil. You may know how to defend yourselves, but in a different court, should something have happened, it would not be so easy to help you out of it.”

The shadowsinger’s frozen with anger, with fear. He’s immediately brought back to his childhood, when he was locked away from the rest of the world. If his children had been seized and locked away like he was…he can’t even think about it, the churning in his stomach is enough. His mind is racing a thousand miles a minute, and hasn't calmed since getting all of the children back to safety in the Night Court. 

He’s afraid he’s losing his mind.

A gentle thrum vibrates in his chest, like a purr. You, calling out to him through the bond, sensing and sharing his fears, but trying to be supportive in the only way you know how while you’re in separate rooms.

He eases only slightly.

“Your brothers and sisters are not spymasters yet, you should remember that,” each word tastes like acid, he hates the fact that he even needs to be having this conversation.

Baz’s shadows pick up on the well-hidden emotions of his father and his throat goes thick with emotion.

“Dad–”

“Enough, Basil,” Azriel raises a hand in response, shaking his head slightly, “Hear your punishment with no complaints. Then, we are going home.”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbles, cheeks burning with shame as he steps back next to Gideon to await his punishment.

Rhys looks back and forth between them, trying to decide a punishment worthy of sneaking out the court. He knows that Gideon is a young male in love for the first time, and his heart squeezes in his chest at the thought of what he was like when he was young and in love.

And Baz…he knows Baz means well, that he wants to please his siblings, wants them to have a fun time no matter what they are doing. He has much to learn, if he ever wishes to be as good a spymaster as his father or warrior like his uncle.

“Gideon,” Rhys starts and the older of the two looks up, ready to accept his punishment, “You’re to help Aunt Elain out in the gardens. You’ll be–”

“But what about my allergies?” he protests loudly. A harsh look from Cassian shuts him up, huffing quietly, “Yes, High Lord.”

“Basil,” Rhysand turns to his other nephew, “You’re going to spend one hour a day with Bryaxis.”

Baz’s mouth drops open in shock. He glances to his father whose eyes have widened only slightly, before they get that familiar gleam, and he knows he’s speaking to his High Lord.

You can’t put him down there, Azriel hisses to his brother.

And why not? Rhys’ brows twitch but he doesn’t avert his gaze from his nephews.

This is Baz we’re talking about. Baz and Bryaxis? I can’t even imagine the kind of friendship my son will have with the beast…what kind of trouble they’d get into.

Shit, you’re right, Rhysand agrees, before amending his punishment, “I’ve changed my mind. Baz, you will be bringing Amren her dinner for the next two months.”

“Fuck me truly,” Baz mutters under his breath because she’s a way scarier beast than the monster in the library is.

Gideon can’t help but to be relieved with his punishment, mild compared to his cousins. He’ll take an itchy nose over having to take blood to Aunt Amren anyway.

“And the both of you are on doubles for training until your father’s deem you sorry enough to stop,” his violet eyes cut to Cassian’s, then Azriel’s, a hint of amusement glimmers there before he finishes addressing the young males, “Starting this morning. At first light, which is now only an hour away. Rest up.”

They are definitely going to make their son’s hangovers a living hell.

Baz bites back a groan, shoving Gideon when the older boy starts for the door. He stumbles and throws a glare over his shoulder at his cousin, but chooses not to say anything because the entire thing was his idea and Baz hadn’t ratted him out, even though he easily could’ve.

“And one more thing,” Rhysand calls after them, and they turn slowly, a bad feeling settling in the pits of their stomachs. 

“You’ll be walking the stairs in the House of Wind, right now.”

“Try not to be too late for training, boys,” Cassian adds, siphons flickering with his words.

He owes Baz big time.

[azsazz]

To My Heart

Knox x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: Oh my gosh Knox is so adorable he has my heart and the head canon that he writes letters to his mate makes my heart melt

Warnings: None

Word Count: 759

Notes: You guys he’s just so cute 😭

_________________________________________

Knox sighs, head propped on curled fists as he watches the night sky. He’s leaned across the deep stone of his balcony, and as much as seeing the smattering of stars and the bright moon hanging high above him calms the male, he’s buzzing with nerves.

He’s tired, beyond so but he can’t sleep, and won’t until she writes him back.

His mate. The word still makes his heart rush in his chest, and he curls his fingers around the pen he’d been playing with to expel his nervous energy. His book sits open and abandoned on the lounger behind him, sketchbook tossed to the side in frustration because he couldn’t get the curve of her lips just right. Loose papers ruffle in the wind from where they’re pinned under the weight of his supplies, a gentle flutter that reflects the pounding of his heart.

Gods, he must be crazy, he thinks, pushing himself away from the overhang. Knox paces the short distance, stretching his wings as if that might stave off some of the nervous energy zipping through his body. She could be asleep, and for a fleeting moment he thinks he might just run and jump off the balcony to find out for himself. He doesn’t want to scare her away when she hardly knows the truth.

But he’d felt her amusement ringing down the bond as he read his letter. Or he assumed she was reading his letter. She could be doing several things instead; baking those treats she seems to like or maybe she’s also reading, lost in the adventures of her novel, not noticing the letter delivered on a bed of darkness.

His hands have a tremor to them, and he stuffs them into his pockets instead, rolling his eyes when his twin’s voice rings through his mind.

What are you doing? Go to sleep.

I can’t, he sends back, trying not to sound defeated. He doesn’t have an excuse, can’t think of one because he truly is bone tired after the day he’s had, training with his father and uncles this morning until noon before he’d been dragged out with Baz for drinks by the Sidra. That, had turned into his older brother stark naked in the cold waters, flirting with a wraith whose red, hot cheeks could’ve boiled the river dry.

Well, all that thinking is bothering me, she responds, and Knox knows his sister is scowling. It makes his lips twitch into a smile, her banter helping to distract him. And some of us need our beauty sleep.

He snorts. I didn’t know my twin was replaced with Zuz. Tell me sister, no midnight rendezvous? He knows she’s been sneaking out just as much as he has lately, and even though his shadows are shared with his sister and he can talk into her mind, even he doesn’t know where she slinks off to in the late hours of the night.

Not tonight, Malos yawns lazily and he cringes because he hates when she does that in his mind. Now fuck off and go to bed.

Love you too, Mal, Knox says, rolling his eyes once more as he feels the strong, steel shield of her mind slides back into place.

And then Knox is pacing again. Maybe he should go for a fly, the open air always makes him feel better. But if she does write him back then he might miss it and that’s the last thing he wants.

His attention is drawn to a whisper of darkness drifting across the night sky like its own cloud of black. It shrouds the moon as it passes and his heart jumps once, twice. Knox all but snatches the neatly folded paper from the grasp of night. He takes a deep breath and can smell her on it. It makes him shiver, like she’s right there with him, the scent of stardust and sugar invading his senses.

The flourish of her writing makes his heart ache. How delicate the curves of her letters are, how light, so the ink doesn’t seep through the paper, the thought she’d gone through to make it look so perfect for him. He traces the letters of his name idly, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he stares, heart calm in his chest as he fingers over the shape of the heart, hastily drawn and still wet, as if she drew it and sent it off before she could change her mind.

Knox takes a deep breath and opens the letter.

[azsazz]

Between Me and You

Azriel x Reader (Jax Centric)

Summary: Anon Request: Is it Jax who likes to meet creatures? Will we see him interacting with Bryaxis at some point? he is an empath, so he must feel the power that must emanate from the library too 😳👀

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2,102

Notes: this one’s for all the Jax girlies.

_________________________________________

“This doesn’t seem like such a good idea,” Wren presses worriedly, grip white knuckled on the railing as he stares down into the dark abyss of the library. Uneasy.

“It’s not a good idea,” Baz agrees, crossing his arms over his chest and rolling his eyes at his older brother. Irritated. “That’s the point of the bet. And Jax wouldn’t have agreed to it if he wasn't able to handle the consequences, right J?”

The youngest of the three chooses not to respond, instead swallowing harshly at the darkness of the bottom of the library. He had in fact made the bet, but he should’ve known by now that Baz would find a loophole in the terms of agreement that would cause him to lose.

They’re not even supposed to be in here alone, though they rarely listen to what is asked of them these days, the naughty oldest sons of you and the spymaster thrive off of a little chaos. 

A part of him thinks he catches sight of something moving, but when Jax’s wide eyes flicker over to that part of the basement there’s nothing but the deep void staring back at him.

They’d grown up on horror stories of the beast that resides in the bottom of the library. Something that had been unleashed during the great war and had chosen to come back and live in the dark, dusty library at his uncle’s house. 

And Jax understands better than his brothers. Had felt the fear creeping from his Uncle Cassian when he had spoken of the creature prowling below, begging for company. The emotions he’d felt from one of the most powerful Illyrians in regards to the beast has his limbs coiled in fear.

“Alright, better get on with it now,” Baz shoves him towards the ramp, “Before mom and dad notice we’re gone.” 

“Baz–”

Apprehensive.

“Wren,” the second oldest snaps, glaring. Displeased. “There’s no going back now. Unless you want them finding out about these…” He shoves up the sleeve to his shirt to show the dark tattoo coiled around his forearm. Jax feels the one on his own skin tingling with magic it’s made of. It does nothing to calm his pounding heart. Fear.

They aren’t supposed to be making bargains either.

“It’s fine, Wren,” Jax replies. Lies. He tries to give his oldest brother a smile but he can’t seem to force his lips to curve upwards, not when Wren’s nervousness is cracking the thin walls he’s built up.

He hasn’t quite mastered how to block out other’s emotions yet, especially when he’s in a fragile state himself, and in close proximity with his older brothers he can feel Wren’s concern seeping through the seams and even Baz’s apprehension as he takes a step downwards, and continues.

It’s now or never.

But Baz is right. If their parents find out that they’ve been making petty bargains and dares they will surely receive a harsher punishment than if he goes down to the bottom of the library to visit Uncle Cassian’s old friend, right?

His legs wobble with each step downwards. The weight of his brothers’ worry mixed with his own crash over him. He can hardly hear his own footsteps over the pounding of his chest in his ears. Closer and closer he gets to the bottom, and each flight he descends is one step further from his brothers, from safety.

Terrified.

Jax peeks upwards, trying to spot his older brothers at the top of the ramp, but they’re nowhere to be found. It’s too dark from him to see, the light growing dimmer the closer he gets to the bottom, and his brain is telling him to scream up to them, turn around and run, but he can’t, the stinging of the bargain on his arm is growing, knowing that it’s about to be fulfilled.

So he keeps going.

Jax freezes when he steps off of the winding slope into the beast's home. It’s eerily quiet, the kind that screams threats. He clenches his fingers tightly together, palms clammy and fingernails biting into his skin, trying to ground himself.

He doesn’t feel a thing all the way down here. It’s like his senses are muted. Like he can finally breathe.

Something moves not far from him, but there’s no use in trying to discern what it is. He can’t see a thing in these depths, not even the skylight that had been put in for the creature shines all the way down here. 

He swallows harshly, trying to follow the movement anyway. It’s not quite a slither but he can hear the dull scrape of claws all around him and it reminds him of the way his Uncle Rhys can look into people’s minds.

He wonders if Bryaxis can do the same.

Jax doesn’t know much about this creature, other than the fact that it’s terrified his uncle so much that he shudders every time it’s mentioned and had begged them all not to bring it up ever again after that fateful dare, the one that had so obviously given Baz the idea.

He startles as the creature sniffs the air, releasing a knowing hum that makes the hair on the back of his neck stir. It’s intrigue, Jax recognizes, letting his powers reach out to the beast. “You smell…familiar. Son of darkness and death. What is your name?”

Jax shifts his weight onto his other foot as a shiver slides up his spine. Son of darkness and death. Might that be his father the creature is referring to? He doesn’t know if he should say, and doesn't think he should trust this creature, for the beast hasn’t mentioned his uncle by name either. 

He could lie, tell Bryaxis that his name is Baz. Or Montauk, the boy at school who’s always giving him trouble. One side of his mouth curves upwards at the thought.

“Why are you smiling?”

Oh shit. The smirk falls from his lips.

“My name is Jax,” he answers, proud that his voice only shakes a tiny bit.

“Jax,” the beast hisses, savoring it. Maybe it’s imagining what he will taste like when it tears the flesh from his body.

He squeezes his eyes shut, shoving the thought from his mind.

The creature moves again and he’s trying to map out its movements, reaching out to feel the emotions rushing through its body. It’s overwhelming and confusing, the amount of feelings the beast is experiencing. Hunger, excitement, dread, longing, all thick in the back of his throat, filling his head so quickly that Jax tries to shut it down the best that he can, panting as he tries to focus on closing his emotions down one by one.

“What are you doing in my home, Jax?” Bryaxis prowls, and the suspicion in its voice pulls to the front of his mind, the emotion consuming him.

“I’ve come to tell you about life,” he wheezes, and does not expect the creature to let out a belly laugh at his response.

“And what do you know about life, little one?”

Curiosity.

Jax sighs, finally relaxing as he forces his powers into control, “Seems like too much sometimes.”

He feels the flare of intrigue, mirroring that of his own for the creature down here.

“You…” the creature trails off, and Jax swears he can feel its hot breath caressing his hair, “Have felt a great deal.”

Jax’s mouth drops in surprise because this thing, this Bryaxis knows what he is? Maybe he can convince the creature to–

The darkness turns sideways and so does the emotions radiating off of the beast. Annoyance. Fear. Defensive. His father’s cobalt siphons appear in a flash right before him, wings flaring wide to protect his son and for a fleeting moment Jax wonders if his dad can see down in these depths.

He doesn’t get the chance to ask. There’s a tang of emotion, something that he doesn’t have the time to decipher because his father is wrapping a hand around his bicep and the shadows swallow them whole–

“What were you thinking going all the way down there?” Azriel bursts immediately when they're once again on solid ground. He doesn’t give Jax the time to get his bearings, adjust to the bright faelights around the office.

He blinks, recognizing you as his eyes adjust. You’re sitting in one of the study’s chairs, a hand pressed to your stomach with worry. Jax doesn’t even need to read your emotions, you’re wearing your concern clear on your face as you spring from your chair and move towards him.

He lets you hug him, even opens his senses a little to revel in the rush of relief you’re feeling. It makes his shoulders relax, the tension and adrenaline seeping from his body.

Azriel doesn’t even wait for his son to respond, pacing across the office with worry. He’s sheathed his knife at his side, and runs his scarred fingers through his inky black mane. Jax could laugh at how comical it is that his father is striding around the room but yet his footsteps are silent.

He’ll have to tell his brothers all about it later.

“Who put you up to this?” Azriel asks, but he’s not a rat.

They stare at each other, both silent and watching. Jax looks everything like Azriel in this moment, steely eyed and stoic, slightly eerie in a way. He knows that his father already likely knows exactly who’s put him up to this, or has the ability to find out quickly if he doesn’t, but Jax doesn’t care about the lecture or the punishment, finally realizing what that quiver of emotion he’d felt from the beast as he was whipped away was.

Your hands on his shoulders are grounding, and you flood the bond with reassurance and comfort that Jax feels tenfold. He sways beneath your grip.

“It’s lonely down there,” he blurts, feeling utterly calm and safe, he’s able to honestly speak his thoughts.

You coo, smoothing your son's hair back, sharing a look with your mate.

“Lonely? How can it be lonely? It wants to be there, it’s its home,” Azriel nearly growls, not nearly as close to calming down as his son is. He’s the one who had to track the beast across Prythian, trying to get it to return to the library. He’s seen that creature, knows what it can do, what it has done to fae and armies alike. The thought of what it could have done to Jax makes his fingers curl in fear.

His son shrugs, a concerned twitch to his brow. “It has feelings, dad.”

Azriel’s pacing stops at his son's words, staring down at his fourth born. He always seemed more grown up than the rest of his children, because his abilities as an empath made him so. Azriel’s heart aches at the thought that his son has had to carry such a burden, because he would do anything to protect him if he could.

The spymaster knees in front of Jax, placing a gentle hand on the forearm that is now free of any traces of the bargain he’d made with his older brother. Azriel smooths his thumb over the still smooth skin of his son, eyes soft and understanding.

“Do you want to go back down there?”

Jax looks up, eyes wide and mouth parted in shock. Is his father really asking him if he wants to go back downstairs to visit Bryaxis?

“We can put a ward on you, and you’ll need a chaperone, but if you want to visit Bryaxis, I will come with you.”

“Really?” Jax asks, surprised. You, however, are not, knowing that your mate will do anything for his children. You flood the bond with warmth.

Azriel nods, holding his son's gaze.

Love.

The spymaster is normally one to suss out the reactions of others before they appear on their face, but he’s not expecting Jax to fling himself into his arms, wrapping his hands tightly around his neck.

Azriel catches his son, hugging him close to his body as he wobbles backwards. His wings flare out for balance but he’s too late and he tumbles onto his ass. None of it matters when Jax is beaming up at him with the biggest smile he’s ever seen from his son, shouting “thank you’s” excitedly over and over and over again.

You can’t help your own teary smile as you watch your two loves embrace each other, both looking incredibly happy with the outcome of this event.

And maybe sometimes Baz’s plans work out for the best.

[azsazz]

Torrential

Knox x Reader

Summary: Anon Requests: “Hey I love your writing could you do a fic about Knox and his mate?” & “Knox supremacy” 

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 4,362

Notes: This is quite a bit different than what I’ve written thus far, but I hope you enjoy anyway. I wanted to try to write a little something for Knox since he’d be the love interest if I ever wrote my own book so here we go, Knox girlies stand up 💙

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You tuck your dark robes tighter around yourself as you hurry along the unbeaten path. The heaviness is a comfort, thick and soft despite the thin metal links sewn between layers. Protection camouflaged by its emerald fabric, a disguise at night as much as it is a shield.

It isn’t cold, but the forest after the sun has dipped behind the ruddy red mountains is eerie. Your only company is the clicking of beetles, howls from packs of wolves in the distance, and the soul in the jar clutched tightly to your chest.

Your High Lord had demanded it of you, to slay the otherworldly creature roaming his lands and return its soul to the river to be washed back to where it had come from. Hel.

It had been one of the most terrifying things you’ve ever encountered. A perfect mix of a beast that stood three times larger than any male you’d ever met. Its pincers snapped loudly, echoing throughout the hilly lands of your home, and they were the size of your forearm. Its ivory talons dug up the soft ground as it growled and clawed at you in a warning.

Those very talons had shredded your side in a fateful swipe that you couldn’t dodge. The beast had stomped on the end of your cape and in your desperate attempt to outrun the creature the strings of your hood had tightened around your throat, yanking you off of your feet. All of your breath had escaped your lungs.

Through the stars in your vision and the pain in your side, you’d managed to dodge the pincers on their swipe downward, ready to stab through you and wave your limp body around like a trophy. They’d lodged into the dirt as you rolled away, and it had given you just enough time to stab your knife into the underside of its jaw and through its skull, effectively slaying the beast.

The long jagged claw marks carving open your side had hurt, but your advanced healing combined with the enchantment from the High Lord hadn’t taken long for your skin to stitch itself up, leaving an irritated pink scar in its wake.

The Night Court isn’t a place you find yourself visiting frequently, but the instruction from your High Lord had been to dispose of the creature's soul in another territory, and you weren’t one to argue. As his hand, you’d do anything that he asks, even if it means completing a job that you’d graduated from working every once in a while.

The soldiers originally sent after the beast were no match for its large but nimble body and quick reflexes. You’d seen off a group of five men and only two had returned, one with talon marks that nearly carved his face in two, an eye missing, and a broken jaw hanging agape. The other soldier had fared better, though the way that he was limping and the trail of blood that followed told you that he’d probably been grabbed by the creature’s pincers.

The High Lord had executed them without a second thought and sent you in their place.

A branch snaps beneath your foot and you cringe, stilling your body. If a member of the Night Court catches you in their land – returning a soul no less – you’d be tried for your crimes in front of the High Lord and his family. You’d heard that in the years since his children had grown, they’d adopted positions within his court as spymasters, warriors, lords and ladies of court territories and the sub-courts they ruled over. One child had even been ordered as keeper of the river, arguably one of the most taxing roles in the court.

The river – aptly named Psychē, for the souls it houses, is a direct line to Hel. Rumor has it there are four hidden waterways throughout the continent, though this is the only known. The remaining three have not yet been discovered, or if they have their founders kept that information close.

You hardly know how it works. Your High Lord had told you nothing of the intricacies of returning a soul to the underworld. He’d sent you off with a knowing look, that you would do well by his name and come back unscathed. The charmed pendant on a silver chain he’d wrapped around your throat was for protection, should you need it.

Your instructions included capturing the beast's soul before it escaped into the night sky, trekking into the eerie lands of the Night Court, and disposing of the soul without getting caught by the riverkeeper.

If you got caught, you’d surely be dead.

You stiffen as the sound of the breaking branch ricochets through the lush forest. Your hand tightens around the jar nestled to your chest and your heart skips. You keep your breathing soft and calm, listening for any signs that you’re no longer alone.

It’s nearly too dark to see. Your only light is the bright stars guiding you to your destination. You’ll know you’ve reached Psychē once you stand directly beneath the Alizer star. The High Lord’s instructions echo in your head.

He’d also mentioned the silvery glow the body of water would give off when you were near. A reflection of the moon and the withering souls reaching up for the sky. You’d heard that they’d make nearly any bargain to become one of the stars.

You knew better than to swear on the Psychē. It is your job for Mother’s sake. Capture and kill those who have done wrong by their bargains, by their court. Slay beasts and creatures alike. Trap those who do not belong to this realm and let the riverkeepers decide their fate.

The thought sends a shiver up your spine.

There’s a faint tap against your chest. The soul trapped in the container slams itself against the side, trying to shatter the glass to escape. It only bounces off of the magicked jar. You bite back a smirk, pulling it from between your robes and giving the crock a rough shake. The wisps of the once beast shatter inside and it begins to swirl around in a mass, trying to weave itself back into a semi-conscious state.

You snort at it, returning it between thick layers of mossy robes as you continue your journey.

The brush begins to thin and you gasp as you enter a clearing. In the center is an ethereal-looking river, just as it had been described to you.

The waterway opens into a pool of light, shining brightly against the thick trees. It looks like a body of liquid metal, like stars fallen to the continent and melted into something more, something that snatches your attention and makes you want to bathe in it. One side of the Psychē thins out into a trickle, and you wonder if you follow where it would take you. Hel perhaps. It must not be an easy trek to the underworld. The other end of the river tapers slightly, the water sweeping into the swirling pool of light.

The clearing looks as if it’s never been touched by anything in the time it’s been here before any fae or wild creatures were put on the continent. There are no tread marks in the grasses from passersby, no animals seeking out the river or its lush waters. Now that you’re paying attention to it, the clearing is silent, like you’ve stepped into a secret, or worse, a trap. No sound coming in and no sound leaving.

Stumbling forward on suddenly weak knees, the thought that your High Lord has sent you on a mission that you won’t be returning from crosses your mind. You take a steadying breath, shaking the silly thought away. No, he wouldn’t do that to you, you are his favorite and his hand for Mother’s sake. Of course, he would want his dearest pet back.

Quickly and quietly you kneel before the edge, peering into the sparkling abyss. Your robes sweep up on a phantom wind that makes your hand tighten around your jar protectively, the other sliding to your weapon at your waist. The fabric pools around you as you lower yourself to the ground, settling around you in dark waves.

The Phychē’s calming silver waters ripple with lost souls. Your breath hitches at the sight.

You don’t know if they’re on their way to or from Hel, if they’re sentenced to swimming this impassible boundary between the living and the dead, screeching and screaming to the Mother for mercy.

You think they might be praying to the wrong entity for help.

With one last cautionary glance, you settle. You untuck the container from your chest and place it between your knees, keeping a tight grip on it just in case the beast tries to break through it again.

You pull your large hood back, revealing your face to the river and the night sky.

Taking the jar back into your hands, you grip the lid with one and the body with the other, twisting the top a hair looser. You’re eager to get this mission over and return to your lands, to your palace, where the High Lord eagerly awaits your return.

A loud wail startles you and your head snaps to the darkened woods around you. Beaming light from the river washes the brush bright around you, but no glowing eyes are staring in your direction, no glint of fangs pulled back from snarling lips. There are no other sounds to lead you to believe that there’s someone out there watching you.

The screech grates down your spine like steel on steel, drawing your attention to the metallic waters before you. The soul's gray form swims beneath the surface of the water, treading against the magic with all of her might to stay in front of you.

It’s a soul that has made that sound, you realize, shuddering. She’s a tiny little thing, nearly half of the size of the other wisps of lives swirling around her. She calls up to you but you don’t understand what she’s saying. The language isn’t something you’ve ever heard.

Apparently, souls from all realms live within the Pyschē.

The curious part of you wants to reach in and grab her, pluck her out of the busy stream of souls and hear her pleas, let her loose upon the Night Court. It’s clear she wants to bargain, they all do, if the shouts and moans of the other churning spirits tell you anything. Promises that they’ll never be able to fulfill, in exchange for your help.

But the warrior in you knows better. Not to reach your hand into the silvery pool of light or to bargain with a soul. You don’t know where they’re from, who they’ve worked for, why they’re here. Though, if they’re in the river to Hel, you know it mustn’t be good.

The beast beats against the wall of the crock frantically as you lower it toward the glowing river. Your hands are ready to twist the lid off and spill its soul into the weeping waters.

The shadows of night fracture like cracking ice.

The air around you drops to sub-zero and you freeze, arms outstretched over the silky waters. You can see your warm breath mingling with the cool air and something tingling at the back of your neck. Your heart thunders in your chest.

Even the souls fall silent.

Like an ink droplet falling into the clear waters, the Psychē bleeds black. The center of it grows with a fountain of darkness, quickly spreading over the surface of the river. The onyx shadows swallow the light and the screeches of souls within grow louder, more frantic as they try to slide away from the entity that’s overtaking their path.

You tighten the lid of the jar, tucking it quickly beneath your robes as you fumble desperately for your weapon.

Fingers circling the hilt, you’re just about to pull it out from its holster when your muscles spasm to a halt, freezing in place. You wince, or, you would wince at the thing clawing your head inside out, stiffening your muscles against your will as it spears your mind. The power is strong, much too strong for you to break its hold, even with your years of practice.

It makes your throat bob and your chest hurt.

You can’t even blink, can’t scream as onyx talons split through your skull, searching, learning. It looks at all of the secrets in your head, even the ones you’ve thought you’d buried deep down inside your wounded soul.

A bead of sweat rolls down your cheek and you itch to swipe it away.

Shadows seep in from all around, slinking their way down trunks of trees and sliding through the tall grass like snakes. It’s so dark that you can hardly see, the moonlit pool offering no light with its inky covering. The seething darkness is unmistakable, as the shadows gather and curl in the center of the smoky river that once was, brushing away to reveal a male you’ve only heard of from horror stories.

The riverkeeper.

The sight of him is terrifying in itself. Your chest hurts from how hard your heart is pounding. You can’t even blink or huff out a breath to dispel his dark shadows around you. There’s no air in your lungs to scream or room in them to gulp down the death-coated air. You are completely under his lock.

The passing tales you’ve been taught spin in your head. Those of a youthful male, the youngest of the shadowsinger of the Night Court, a starless entity much stronger than any living creature in Prythian.

Death incarnate. 

And it is your judgment day.

Some have said that he deserves to live in the deepest depths of the Prison. Others rally for a public death of Hel’s keeper, the population terrified of his abilities. He lives in all darkness and is made from it.

Most of what you know about him is lore. You’d heard of powerful beings but none with magic quite like this. How he’s able to manipulate the night into your deepest fears. A child’s trick for him. You’ve been told that nothing and no one has heard the crow of his call, his true voice, for the day that if you do, it will be the last thing you ever hear, his baritone tone projecting into your head like the sweet call of death, unable to resist its song. His face will be the last thing you ever see.

The hiss is caught in your throat as you struggle futility against his mental holds. It’s pointless, you know, but you try to escape the iron grip he has on your mind anyway.

They’d told you of the monsters roaming in the shadows, but never the ones made from them. 

Nevertheless, as the tall male shrouded over you pulls his dark hood back, you’ve frozen again of your own accord, but still his doing. 

You didn’t expect the monster to be so…handsome.

Silky black hair sweeps across his brow on the wind his shadows create. They twirl around him like bloodthirsty snakes, eager to reach out and constrict your body and drag you into the river of souls before you. His thick brows are curved downward over narrowed golden eyes that are the only light source in the clearing. His angular features are set into an impassive glare, staring directly into your soul.

His stalk looks more like a glide, like he’s an ethereal being all of his own. He is, when you catch sight of his large wings poised tightly to his back, talons sharp like the tip of a sword. They’re just as dark, silky smooth skin absorbing the night.

He is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

He forces a patch of shadows to disperse and you squint against the sudden light of the glowing pool he’s opened up. Whatever he’s doing, it doesn’t look good, and your heart pounds loudly in your chest. 

Instead of pulling you into the Psychē like you thought he might do, a tendril of darkness dips into the light. It’s exquisite, the black against the white waters and you’re mesmerized, staring on with awe.

Until his shadow plucks up a soul.

The contour of black carries the soul to him where it settles by his side, a pet delivering its toy to its master. The soul in its icy death grip shouts vulgarly as it struggles desperately in the shadows' grasp.

With a sweep of the riverkeeper's hand, the soul goes limp, glowing eyes fogging over with an unfocused look. It stares directly at you.

Your spine tingles as his shadowy purr settles into your bones.

“Are you on your knees because you knew you’d be begging for my mercy?”

Your brows itch, aching to pull into a furrow. The voice isn’t coming from the riverkeeper, instead, it comes from the soul clutched in the grasp of his shadow. He mustn’t be able to speak or doesn’t want you to hear his true voice.

If it does incite your last moments alive, you’re thankful.

His words are amused but his tone is deathly serious as it fills the clearing with a powerful boom as if he’s unaware of how loud he’s being. There is no mirth to his features to let you know that he means anything other than business.

He is the riverkeeper, after all.

You choke on a breath as he releases his hold on your mouth. The rest of your body stays still as stone beneath his strong power.

“You,” you choke on the word. Your surprise is clear, as is the shake of your voice.

His golden eyes gleam.

“Me.”

His voice is its own whisper of death, even though it isn’t even coming from him but from the soul beside him. It’s rough like the shadows twirling around him like guard dogs. One circles closer to you, swimming in front of your face as if interested, so you do the only thing that you can do with your unrestrained mouth; curse and blow at it like a child.

He cocks his head slightly, intrigued by your response.

“What are you doing at my river, sweet creature?”

Your mouth pulls into a frown at the name.

“Don’t call me that,” you grit and his gaze flickers brighter. His hold on you turns near painful, your spine popping as he forces it to straighten. A warning to you, knowing that he can tear you apart at any given moment.

“What shall I call you then?” He’ll give you this mercy, so you better answer.

“(Y/N),” you choke, gasping a heaving breath once he relaxes his hold and lets you settle back into the earthy ground. You glare at him with all of your might but it doesn’t seem to affect the male.

“(Y/N),” the soul purrs. You know that it isn’t his voice but it sends shivers up your spine nonetheless.

“You have a name, don’t you?” you question.

“We all have names,” he answers bluntly.

You bite back a curse. “What’s yours?”

His wings twitch at his back and his shadows crackle, scattering around the clearing. They look like they’re hissing but you don’t know for sure. Apparently, he doesn’t get questioned much.

“My name need not be known by murderous, sweet creatures,” he answers, voice like cold death. There’s that word again. Sweet. No one’s ever called you that before.

It makes something in your chest flutter.

The glass crock tucked against your side pings as the creature’s soul makes another attempt to escape, uncaring of the literal devil you’re staring down.

His dark brows furrowed. A shadow curls around his rounded ear, whispering something to him that makes his gold eyes sparkle and his fingers twitch with interest.

“What is it you’ve got down there?” he asks.

A muscle in your jaw twitches with effort. “It’s the soul of an Alphrachne. I was feeding it to you.”

Silky smooth laughter echoes throughout the clearing. It startles you, the sound of anything other than threats and violence coming from the soul he’s controlling. You remember then that he’s young, hardly a few years older than yourself, and that he seems to have a wicked sense of humor.

“I do not eat souls,” his gravelly voice is amused, “I see them to their final destinations.”

“And where might that be?” you grit, struggling against his hold. You’d thought that while he was laughing his grip on your mind might slip and you could free yourself. No such luck.

“It will take a lot more than a bit of struggling to get out,” he responds. Goosebumps rise on your arms as he continues simply, “Hel.”

You knew it.

He seems interested in the creature’s soul you’ve brought forth anyway, golden eyes flickering down to your robes as if he can see through the thick material.

“An Alphrachne, you say?” the soul questions, unfocused eyes glimmering under his power. The voice sounds intrigued almost. 

Of course, he knows what the beast you’ve brought is. His brother Jax has taught him everything there is to know about the creatures crawling the lands in this realm and the next.

He’s heard that they are enormous. Bigger than Uncle Cassian. With sharp pincers and long talons. And you’ve captured one’s soul all on your own, armed with only a single knife and a healing spell around your neck.

His mouth twitches, impressed.

“Let’s see it then,” he reaches a hand out and you glare, limbs still obeying his commands. They don’t move from your sides.

“I’ll let you see it if you tell me your name.”

The amusement flees from his gaze. 

“Is that a bargain, (Y/N)?”

Your throat dries and your swallow catches, “No.”

He laughs again and your thighs quiver at the sight of his sinful smirk, the way his fascinating glimmering eyes glow with something else. Something akin to curiosity but warmer.

“Clever girl.”

His words are paired with a caress of razor-sharp claws against your mind. They’re much sharper than the Alphrachne’s, a tease of a scratch to let you know that it won’t take much else for him to break you completely.

You don’t deign to respond.

“And what happens if I take it from you?” he asks, and it's nearly playful. He wants to banter with you, he wants to see what you’re capable of.

“I’ll kill you.”

“And I’ll drown you in the river. Maybe I’ll even use that jar to keep your soul in like a little pet. I’m sure my brother would be more than happy to dissect your soul.” His voice slides like ice down your limbs and your breath puffs out in front of your face. You shudder.

You nearly fall forward into the shadowy abyss that is the river when he releases you from his hold. You pitch forward but shadows sweep upwards from their murky depths, righting you on your haunches.

Every muscle in your body aches from trying to escape his grasp. You gulp down heaving breaths of air as you stare up at him, his handsome face stoic but gold eyes focused, watching as you grab fistfuls of your deep emerald robes and clutch them tightly to yourself.

The soul beside him lets out a huff of impatience and you scramble for the jar. You pull it from your robe and offer it to him with a shaky hand. Even lifting the lightweight jar seems difficult with how tired your limbs suddenly are.

He uses his shadows to carry the jar on a dark wind to him as if he’s afraid to come closer to you. Surely death himself isn’t scared of a girl like you, but he stays in the center of the pool on his throne of darkness.

The crock looks humorously small in his hand and it’s only now that you notice the swirling tattoos inked upon his tanned skin. They look like his shadows, rivers of black circling his fingers and crawling up his arms. If you squint you think they may be moving.

He admires your capture with bright eyes, twisting and turning the jar. The soul inside quivers, pressing itself against the glass as far away as it can, cowering in fear, knowing its fate now.

Should’ve been quiet then, you think to yourself, having no mercy for the beast.

The riverkeeper's mouth quirks up at your words and you’d forgotten for a moment that he’s inside of your head, listening to all of your thoughts.

Your eyes go wide with realization. If he can hear your thoughts that means that he knows you were thinking about how handsome he is. 

Fuck.

His lips pull high into a wicked smile. One side curls higher than the other and it’s the first imperfect thing you’ve noticed about him, yet it still makes your breath hitch.

Those shining eyes snap back to yours.

The darkness moves, pulling in from all corners of the clearing like a tidal wave of black. They sweep around him and you throw an arm up to shield your eyes as they draw from the river, its metallic moonlit waters shining full force.

“Do not let me catch you here again, (Y/N),” the soul’s eerie voice says. You lower your arm and squint against the brightness to see him one last time. “I will not be so nice next time.”

“Wait,” you blurt frantically. You don’t know why you’re calling for him, why a part of you doesn’t want him to leave. His shadows falter, coming to a stop and it feels like they’re all staring at you, along with the soul in his grasp and his molten golden eyes. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

He studies you for so long, shadows sweeping around him that you’re afraid he may not answer after all.

But his harsh gaze softens as the soul speaks one last time before disappearing into a puff of black smoke.

“My name is Knox.”

“My name is Knox.”

[azsazz]

Daddy!Az Fic Order

Alrighty, here is the current timeline for the Daddy!Az fics I’ve written!

PSA: Some fics may only include one of the children because there was once a time where I didn’t know how many kids they’d have, but for the timeline this is how it would go.

Family Dynamic (sets up the children’s birth order, not including Malos and Knox, they’re introduced in Two is Better Than One)

Hush Little Baby (Wren Centric)

Here’s to Tradition (Wren Centric)

You Too (Wren Centric)

Can’t You See? (Wren Centric)

Concord (Wren Centric)

Come Back

Burning Man

Summer Daze

Two is Better Than One

Taciturn (Baz Centric)

The Calm Beneath the Storm

Cuddle Me In (Jax Centric)

The Rowdy Bunch

The Honeycrisp Grove

Winter Winds

Sticking Together

Snatched (Knox Centric)

No Tricks, Just Treats

Unwrapped

Into the New (Zuzu Centric)

Here for You (Zuzu Centric)

Between Me and You (Jax Centric)

The Safeguard

Warrior Status

About Last Night

Low key feels like there should be more fics here...I did my best to put them in order for you <3

[azsazz]

So I’ve gotten a lot of messages about what the bat babies look like and I usually don’t have an answer but after yesterday I went on a spree trying to find pics for all of them (even the non bat babies) and this is what I’ve come up with

Azriel’s Kiddies:

Top (left to right): Wren, Baz, Zuzu

Bottom (left to right): Jax, Malos, Knox

Rhys’ Kiddies:

Nyx & Asteria

Cass’ Kiddies:

Gideon, Castor, Sif

Eris’ Kiddies:

Maude, Juniper, Rook

Lucien’s Twins:

Scout & Bandit

Tamlin’s Daughter:

Linden

This is just personally how I would picture them, so don’t come at me if you don’t like them 💙

[azsazz]

Our Souls Are Stars and Mine Is Forever Yours

Gideon x Maude

(Cassian’s son and Eris’ daughter ~ Azsazz Next Gen)

Summary: Starfall Week Prompt 1: Character A introduced Character B to their favorite Starfall tradition. 

AKA: Gideon and Maudes first kiss.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,335

Notes: Wanted to try and write something for these two 💙

________________________________________

His Uncle Rhys had told him about this very spot. Up on the balcony above the party, the perfect place to get a moment alone and view the beautifully colored stars as they glide through the night sky. The best place to kiss someone for the first time.

The High Lord had said it was unmatched, his violet eyes glowing vibrantly as he had told him and his cousins all about his favorite Starfall in all of the years he’s seen. It was the year Aunt Feyre had officially become his, the stars that had painted their skin with luminescence and the laughter and the kiss that followed. 

Gideon wants that.

And who better to have his first kiss with than the girl he’d been chasing for years without even realizing it? Maude Vanserra. Her name is a delicacy in his mouth, a portrait in his brain, a brand in his soul. The mere thought of her has his palms warming and his heart fluttering in his chest, stomach twisting with nervousness.

He’d known Maude for years, since they were children and Eris had brought her to a meeting with him, his pristinely dressed and well-mannered daughter clinging tightly to his neck. She was in that stage where she wanted to be wherever he was, and with Beron out of the picture and on better terms with the Night Court, he had let the little girl tag along. Of course, he had also brought a large platoon of soldiers to keep the children of Night away from her. 

She had been a true damsel in distress, even from that age.

And Gideon liked being her knight in shining armor. To save the heiress from her tower and ride off into the moonlight with her had been something he’d thought about for quite some time. He couldn’t help but stay away.

In return, Maude was determined to dig her way into his heart with her fiery spirit that threatened to burn down any weariness he had about committing to the Autumn female. 

His father had told him that it was just a childhood crush, that he’d outgrow within weeks. Weeks of thinking about the caramel color of Maude’s eyes turned into months obsessing over the ruddy red of her hair. How it blazed in the sun like the fiery pit in his stomach. Months of dreams of long auburn hair morphed into a year of reminders of her; the smattering of golden freckles across pale skin like the stars in the night sky, the cherry of her plump lips as he looked out his window at the garden of roses in full bloom, the absolute perfection of her laugh, matching the sweet melody sweeping through the Night Court streets.

And finally, he’s decided to make his move.

Getting Maude to agree to be his date to Starfall wasn’t the hard part. No, it was overbearing parents and the thought of a daughter spending the evening away at the Night Court with all of the troublemaker children Eris had wanted his own brood to stay away from.

It had been letting the information slip to his nosy cousins that he was finally ready to make a move on Maude.

They hadn’t stopped pestering him for weeks, snide comments at the dinner table that had their parents’ eyes narrowing and asking leading questions. Gideon’s harsh glares did nothing to stop their teasing, only had their heads ducked together, stifling their laughter behind their hands until their faces were red with it.

But he’d successfully slipped away from the prying eyes of Nyx, Wren, and Baz, who’d made sure to keep him and Maude within sight the entire night.

Her hand is warm in his, and she is the embodiment of a Goddess.

Dressed in a silvery pool of gossamer fabric, she shines. He’d even seen his sisters and cousins draw her into conversation, gushing about the beauty of her dress when they’d first caught sight of the glimmering ball gown.

Maude’s auburn hair glowed around her like a thousand suns swept perfectly into alignment, all for this moment.

All for him.

Gideon’s breath still hasn’t returned from the first time he’d seen her tonight, looking very much like the royalty she descends from; chin lifted and shoulder poised like a perfectly docile lady. But he knew her better than that, saw the way her creamy eyes shone with mischief as she watched Baz and Nyx glance from the dessert table around the room, cheeky smirks on their faces as they plotted under everyone’s noses.

She doesn’t speak, lets him lead her up the spiraling staircase up onto the balcony. Maude can sense his nervousness. The way that his hand is still tucked into hers, clutching it a little tighter than normal, his breath baited and his lip between his teeth.

He takes her toward the iron rails and heaves a deep breath, trying to calm the racing of his heart. He’s unsure of what to say, how to fill the screaming silence. The smear of stars should be flitting through the sky in no time, and while Gideon had meticulously planned out exactly what he was going to say to Maude, he hadn’t thought about when the perfect timing to admit his feelings would be.

“Giddy,” her voice draws him away from his circling thoughts. Her tone is soft, a lullaby that he’s never forgotten. She places her hand over his own, white-knuckled from how firmly he’s grasping the railing. One of her perfect eyebrows is quirked in question. “What’s going on?”

He looks away from the bright stars and once again he’s taken by her beauty. She’s perfect in every way and his heart tugs in his chest at the soft look on her face, the way that the corner of her mouth is quirked in a smirk, like she can read his mind.

Gideon swallows harshly, turning his hand over so he can grasp her fingers for support. Her smile only grows as he does so, and she gives him a reassuring squeeze even through her questioning eyes.

“There’s something I want to tell you,” he breathes, shifting on his feet as if he’s unsure of how to approach this.

His father had told him the cheeky ways he’d gone about winning his mothers hand, snarky remarks or suggestive comments that had the hard-willed woman weak in the knees no matter how hard she tried to hide it. But Gideon had seen it in action, and while Maude always laughed at his proud remarks, something in his heart was telling him to be serious.

But not as serious as his Uncle Azriel. While the stoic male had been known to prove his interest in ways other than words, Gideon isn’t quite sure that’s the route he should take with the spitfire Autumn female before him.

Maybe sweeping her off of her feet and dipping down for an off-guard kiss like his Uncle Rhysand would be the best option.

Maude’s giggle makes his heart soar and his mind calm. Her cheeks are rosy from the glass of champagne Zuzu had given her, and her molten caramel eyes shimmer in the moonlight.

“I figured that’s why you had wanted me to come up here with you,” she answers happily, a teasing tone with a smile to match.

He can’t help but grin back at her, rolling his eyes at her words. “Right. Right. Of course.”

The more she talks to him the steadier his heartbeat becomes, as if she’s leading the beating of it herself. A coat of warmth flows from her to him, sending shivers up his spine.

“You really need to practice what you’re going to say, if this is how long it’s going to take you.”

And the thing is, he did practice this moment. He’d stayed up late for weeks, unable to sleep because he was playing out the different ways that this could go in his head. Then he’d moved to the mirror, staring at himself as he repeated the words over and over again like he was presenting a report to his classmates. Hell, he’d even practiced on Knox, swearing his cousin to secrecy to keep this to himself, even from his twin.

None of the ways he’d thought this would come about were anything like this.

Gideon steps into her, placing his other hand on her hip. He’s an entire head taller than her and she has to crane her neck back to look up at him, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Her copper hair falls away from her face at the action, revealing her smooth pale skin that looks ethereal under the glimmering moonlight.

They’re close but not touching. He’s afraid that if he takes a deep enough breath he’ll feel all of her body that he so desperately wants pressed against his. He hadn’t even had the time to ask her to dance yet.

Gideon opens his mouth to speak, the rush of the admission filtering to the tip of his tongue without question as she beams at him, brushing her delicate fingers across the sleeve of his shirt to slide around the back of his neck.

“I really want to–”

The shadows in the corner of the terrace shift and the words die in his throat as he zero’s in on his target. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, glaring at the movement. Gideon’s fingers tighten on Maude’s and there’s something inside of him that wants to tug her closer and protect her, throw himself in front of her to keep her from danger, even though he knows exactly who those shadows belong to.

His heart clenches when the smile falls from Maude’s face. She peeks over her shoulder, following his line of sight. “What?”

“Baz, I know it’s you, get the hell out here,” Gideon barks towards the shadows.

Maude’s lips part in confusion, until the darkness melts away to reveal a sheepish looking Basil standing near the door. 

She places a reassuring hand on Gideon’s chest when he starts grumbling under his breath. He’s seething, can’t have a single moment alone to ask Maude the question that’s been haunting him for weeks. 

And where there is one son of the shadowsinger, there are surely more.

“Where’s Wren?” he asks in such a tone that even Baz knows he’s not fucking around.

The younger brother bites his lip, pointing past the balcony the two of them are standing near. 

Both Gideon and Maude lean to look over the railing and sure enough, Wren is there, flapping his wings to keep himself near the edge where he can hear their conversation clearly. 

Gideon raises an eyebrow at his cousin. How he’s managing to keep the beating of his wings so soft is a trick he’s going to have to ask him how to do later.

“Get the fuck up here, now,” his growl shatters the peaceful night. “And where is Nyx? I know he’s around here somewhere.”

Not that he needs to be. His nosy cousin could probably already be in either of their heads if he chooses to, no matter how strong the barriers of his mind are. 

Gideon twists on his heel as the princeling appears from thin air next to Baz. He leans against the side of the house, champagne flute tucked in his hand. He looks every bit like his relaxed father, but the facade slips slightly when he senses just how upset his cousin is with him. 

“Giddy,” Maude tries to ease the anger seeping from the male next to her with a gentle hand to his chest but he doesn’t relent, ready to give his cousins the scolding of a lifetime.

“You three,” he spits, his hand tightening on Maude’s hip slightly. The three males are staring at him like they’ve never seen him before, as if a star soul had slammed into him and is possessing his body. Usually he’s as carefree as any, but when it’s something to do with Maude, he’ll always protect her first. 

“Gideon,” Maude’s voice raises over the beginning of his ascent on his family, halting his words before he says something that he doesn’t mean. His brows are furrowed and she doesn’t like the deep frown on his face, vows to help him get his cousins back before the night is over, but as the first star streaks across the night sky, glorious in all of it’s amber hue, she has something else on her mind.

Her lips part with awe, attention fully drawn to the being slipping through the sky, its path as sure as the one it took on the same night the year before. 

Gideon can’t stop watching the way she’s looking at the star. The tension loosens from his body and he can’t think about anything else but the hopes that she’ll look at him like that someday. He tugs her closer on instinct, and the way she wraps her arms securely around his waist and rests her head against his chest has him feeling like the luckiest male in Prythian.

He holds her while the stars pass by, one turning to three and more join until the entire sky is lit up with colorful objects, glittering and racing each other as they pass. 

He’s aware of his cousins slinking away, to join their families downstairs or to give them privacy. Either way, he’s grateful they’ve finally taken the hint.

“Maude,” he asks softly, snagging her attention away from the attraction.

His heart stutters in his chest. Her eyes are glittering with tears at the beauty of what she’s seen and it makes Gideon ache in all of the best ways.

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, caressing her face. He won’t take up much more of her attention, he wants her to enjoy her night with him.

Gideon leans down to kiss her, and his heart soars right up alongside the stars.

It feels like he’s finally home.

________________________________________

@starfallweek

[azsazz]

baby Jax is an empath, he will have many battles ahead of him, that's a tough and strong power from what I've read. but was he gifted by the cauldron or is reader an empath too and he just inherited it? idk if powers are just inherited, it would make more sense if they were

Honestly I love him being an empath, it suits him perfectly. It's inherited from readers side, somewhere along the muddled lineage it's made itself known again and had chosen Jax as the perfect conduit for the power. He'll struggle with it a lot when he's younger because no one really knows how his powers have developed so quickly but by the time he's an adult he'll be so powerful, like can we just imagine–

Jax standing stoically in the shadows on the outskirts of the room, much like he normally does. They're all there. His siblings. His parents. The rest of the Inner Circle and their families.

She's there too. He can't stop watching her, she's beautiful. But there's someone trying to gain her attention, a male who's smile is a little too slimy for Jax's liking, his eyes suggestive and the empath doesn't need to use his powers to know that she doesn't want this male anywhere near her.

So he does what he does best. Rolling his shoulders, he takes a glance around the room, making sure that his father's shadows are nowhere in sight, before he releases a touch of his energy towards the male bothering her.

He watches his eyes go wide, the twitch to his brows, trying to understand why he's feeling such things. An overwhelming amount of emotion pouring through his body. His spine straightens and his hands shake. His lip quivers and the male tries to blink back the tears, speak past the emotion thick in his throat. He doesn't want the pretty female before him to know, so he turns away quickly, frantically searching for the exit. The female before him takes her chance, now that he's distracted, and slips away.

Jax can feel her relief.

[azsazz]

Jax is so sweet, even with Bryaxis 🥺🥺🥺🥺 Uncle Cass must be mad when he finds out

"There's no way I just heard what I did. Rhys, tell me I didn't hear what I think I heard," Cassian gapes, turning to the violet eyed High Lord.

Rhys studies Azriel for a moment more. There's a slight furrow to his brow from the news, pondering if it's something he should allow. He knows the beast that lives in the darkness of the bottom of his library, had been the one to spend an hour a day with the creature so the rest of his family wouldn't have to, and now Jax is interested in making friends with the beast?

"I think we did just hear what we think we heard, brother."

"No," Cassian shakes his head, reaching for the bottle Azriel's already sliding across the table top, "There's no fucking way your child is interested in talking to that–that thing!"

"I told you you were going to need a drink for this," Azriel mutters, watching as Cassian ignores the glass he's trying to hand him in favor of flicking the top of the bottle off and going straight for the kill, downing a hefty gulp of the dark liquor.

"Of course it was going to be one of your kids," he sighs, rolling his eyes, "I just thought it would be Baz."

The corner of Azriel's mouth lifts because, yeah, that does sound like Baz.

"Please don't let Jax bring a lantern. He's too young to see that, hell, I'm too young to see that thing again."

"You know, Bryaxis probably doesn't like you because you keep referring to it as a 'thing,'" Rhysand supplies, trying to pry the bottle from Cassian's hands to pour himself a glass. The warlord doesn't give an inch.

Cassian's face scrunches, "What?"

Rhysand rolls his eyes, abandoning the bottle in favor of grabbing a fresh one, a more expensive one. "Cass, please tell me that after all of this time you haven't forgotten that the shadows in Night whisper."

Cassian blanches and Azriel thinks he might just pass out in his spot. He recaps the bottle, cradling it in his arms as he makes for the door.

"Well, they don't fucking talk to me," he exclaims, pausing at the threshold to look over his shoulder at his brothers. "Az, you can tell Jax to tell Bryaxis that I'm sorry for all of the mean things I've said about it since the incident, but there's no way in hell I'm ever going back down there, especially now."

He doesn't wait for a response, and Azriel takes the glass Rhys hands him, the High Lord raising his in a toast.

"To Bryaxis forgiving Cass."

"Here, here!"

[azsazz]

I feel like bryaxis has the potential to be Jax's friend

Like whenever his emotions get too overwhelming or he had a bad day

Maybe he would like to go down there and just sit for a while in the calming darkness and possibly even chat a bit

"What's wrong, little shadow?" Bryaxis purrs at the fourthborn child of the spymaster.

Jax sniffles, burying his head further into his knees, tucked tightly to his chest.

He's been visiting his new friend regularly, and while Bryaxis wasn't much of a talker, Jax found their silence nice.

He did not expect the creature to speak now. Especially when he'd come down here to be alone.

"There's this boy at my school. His name is Montauk. He always gives me trouble, pushing and shoving me, calling me names..." Jax trails off, his tiny hands clenching into fists, "But I've felt his true emotions, and he's just a sad, scared little boy too."

"Want me to get rid of him?" the creature asks and Jax blinks.

"You could do that?"

"If you release me from this library I will do whatever you ask of me, little shadow."

The boy shifts uneasily, kicking his feet out straight as he's reminded of just how terrifying this creature can be.

Maybe he shouldn't have come down here without his dad.

"Daddy says I'm not supposed to make bargains," Jax's eyes glisten in the darkness, searching for the beast he hasn't ever seen. His father wouldn't let him bring a lantern down into the pit of the library no matter how much he begged.

He blamed Uncle Cassian for that.

There's a brush of amusement from Bryaxis, who inches closer to the small boy, who is stepping back as he feels the presence of the beast closing in on him.

"We are...friends...are we not?"

Jax freezes in his spot, brows furrowing, "We are?"

Bryaxis makes a sound that Jax takes as laughter, fanning across his face, brushing the silky hair back from his forehead.

"Well, I wouldn't offer to ki–get rid of someone for just anyone, little shadow."