#prythian around the worlds

[briaberri]

Dreamy Dawn 2: I imagine that credit to the radiantly enlightened and ever poised sophisticate that Thesan is, he sponsors guilds of several masteries: painting, literature, classical dance, architecture, music, landscaping. In addition to his unparalleled healers schools, the guilds tour Dawn Court villages, especially as gifts to the peregrine guard based across the mountainous realm.

[rhysazriel]

Only Angel [Mafia!Azriel]

SUMMARY: Azriel's a dangerous Mafia leader, Y/N is his favourite dancer at his strip club. His usual Friday night dance turns into something a little more. (6.2k)

WARNINGS: mentions of the mafia and illegal activities, kissing, teasing, swearing, smut; dirty talk, sexual intercourse, spanking, fingering, lap dance.

A/N: This is a rewrite of a very old fic from an old fandom I was in. I’ve edited it the best I can to fit around Azriel’s character, so I apologise in advance if anything appears out of place :) 

Azriel owns a lot of businesses. From stores to hotels, to apartments to clubs. To many, he's a man of business, a man of money. To those aware of the world around them, he's a man of the mafia. Powerful and dangerous. Maybe that's what caught her eye all that time ago, the mysterious aura that bubbled around him.

Y/N's been a dancer at his club since it opened three years ago. It started as a joke between her friends. She was fresh in college and desperately needed a part-time job to pay her bills after she was laid off from the bakery she'd been working at. Callie had mentioned a new strip joint opening on the outskirts of Prythian, that it was a more underground, elite sort of club.

Y/N had laughed it off, joking that she'd look into it and then didn't think of it anymore. But after two weeks of job hunting and no luck, she found herself bumping into a group of young women in a restroom at a bar, and somehow snagged herself an interview at said club.

Eria Vanserra, manager of the club, had hired her the second she opened her mouth and her pretty little voice spoke her name. Y/N was attractive, there was absolutely no doubt in that. She had that look of pure innocence in her eyes, but her lips were wicked. 

The girls had trained her up, taught her the basics on the pole. She's grown close to them, thinks of them as her sisters more than colleagues. They're a team, have each other's backs when new customers try to take advantage and hype each other up for when the regular 60-year-olds come in and request private sessions. 

Y/N -- or rather Angel -- only offers private sessions for one customer: The Boss. They met just over a year into her employment, and it was on their first greeting that Azriel took an instant liking to the devilish dancer, and she took the same approach with him. 

Y/N's been teased for it relentlessly; snickers made from a few of the girls that didn't like how much Azriel liked her, but she didn't care then, and she doesn't care now. Not when every other Friday night, he has her booked for an intimate performance in the back room -- the room that's only ever reserved by him. 

It's been a long week. Classes were cancelled due to some ongoing investigation with one of Y/N's professors, and so she's been able to pick up shifts every night at the club. Shadow's is an elite place, and Y/N knows it. It's a home for the best dancers and the richest of men that sneak off to get their fix. 

It's not a brothel -- at least, not primarily. And none of the girls is ever forced into anything they don't want to do. That's one of the first things Eris made very clear. 

You're here to dance. Private sessions are your own choice, and anything that goes on behind closed curtains is your decision. If you want to offer extra services, the club doesn't touch that money.

Y/N's never been one to stray from the pole. She knows her strengths, and she knows her weaknesses. She's strong, it's obvious, but even the strongest of dancers find it unsettling to be behind a closed curtain with a strange man that clearly can't get much outside of what his money can buy.

The thought unsettles her, but she's never let her own discomfort project on the other girls that spend hours in private rooms with a different man every twenty minutes. They're the real talent, she thinks. Inspiring and badass, and Y/N wishes she had that extra ounce of confidence that they do.

Or at least, she used to wish so. Before she met Azriel -- before he started watching her whenever he stopped by. For two years, she's the only dancer his honey eyes have watched, and something about that knowledge gives Y/N all the confidence she thinks she'll ever need.

Because she's the one that gets under the mafia leaders' skin. His eyes are always on Y/N. She's the one that occupies his mind and tightens his pants from her presence on the pole. It wasn't until almost five months ago that Azriel made a move to ask for a private dance. 

He's done it before, many times. He's had his dick sucked more than he can remember behind those red curtains, but never by a woman as captivating and as talented as her -- his Angel. 

Azriel still remembers the first time he laid eyes on her, upon that risen stage with soft lights offering a halo effect on her silhouette. He saw her hips first, her long legs as she wrapped them around the poll and jutted her ass out deliciously. Then he saw her face -- those angelic eyes and sinful lips, and he knew he was fucked.

He remembers pulling Eris to the side, eyes still on her as he asked who the fuck she was, and why someone so beautiful was working for him. Remembers the way Eris told him her stage name, how it had his cock springing to life in appreciation for the way she moved. 

It all seems like a lifetime ago when he thinks back to it. And while there have been plenty of Friday nights that he frequents the club, he's yet to take things outside of the red room. 

And it's not that he doesn't want to, because he does -- more than he wants a lot of things. But Azriel is a man of honour (even in his line of work), and he's never been one to pressure a woman into something he wants. 

But Angel isn't like any woman. Not to him. 

Azriel deems she's by far the most precious thing he's ever laid eyes on, and he has a need to hold and protect her and show her just how a woman like herself deserves to be treated. 

He could give her the world, and they both know it. 

Tonight is like every other late Friday evening. Y/N's dolled up to the nines as she reapplies her lipstick. She's been at the club since seven, and three dances later and a round of waitressing, it's nearing midnight. Y/N's ready to go to bed. 

She's ready to call it a night, to tell Eris she's heading out early after picking up so many shifts in the week. Not only because she's tired, but also, Azriel hasn't shown up yet, and he's never come this late before. 

Just as Y/N is adjusting her bra straps, she sees Mor’s head pop out through the corner of the door through the mirror. The blonde has a wide grin on her face, and she knows exactly what that suggests. 

"He's here."

Y/N rolls her eyes. "He's also late. My shift ends in ten minutes."

Mor pouts out her lips, shaking her head, and her breasts bounce slightly on her covered chest. "But he's asking for you. And stop pretending like it's such a burden. You love when he shows up, and he loves when you dance for him. We all know it. Quit acting like you don't secretly enjoy it." She bites back, stomping her foot to make her point and Y/N spins in her chair to look at her full on.

Mor raises her brows. "All the other girls would kill to dance for him, to have him ask for them. Myself included. Stop acting like a brat and put on a fucking show."

Y/N isn't given a chance to reply because Mor is sauntering out of the dressing room, and she's left alone to swiftly get ready. She pretends to ignore the rampaging butterflies in her stomach at the idea of seeing him again. 

She's never scared, could never be. Y/N knows Azriel would never hurt her. But, she's nervous. Azriel always gives Y/N his undivided attention when she's dancing for him, and it's intimidating and exciting all at once. His eyes are so dark and calculated, and he's always so damn respectful when she sits on his lap­ -- never wanting to make her uncomfortable. 

Sometimes, Y/N just wants him to take charge. Even knowing exactly what he's capable of, she wants him to take her. Ravish her. Have his way with her. She wants him to completely dominate her, and often, Y/N finds herself wondering what would happen if she riled him up enough to get him to that state. 

If she acted like a brat, would he throw her over his lap and spank her?

If she talked back, would he pull her hair or spit in her mouth?

If she asked for him to touch her, would he grip her ass and kiss her neck?

Y/N's mind swirls with the unanswered questions every time she sees him, and it's getting a bit much to keep to herself. She's getting tired of being a little plaything to him –- not that she has the right to be upset, but she is. 

She doesn't like that he only comes to her every Friday night. To the club. Is she not worth more than two hours a week? 

Then spirals the anxiety.

Is he only coming to her because he thinks she's easy? Is he doing it because he knows he'll never have to do anything more than let her dance? Is he doing it out of pity? Because he thinks she's lonely, so it's to make her feel special? 

Is Azriel even attracted to her, or does he just do it for shits and giggles? Does he go back to his brothers and his men and laugh about her? At her? Is it all a bit of fun to him?

Y/N gets too in her head, and then the idea of seeing him again is revolting. She doesn't know him -- she can't say whether her thoughts are crazy or valid. She doesn't know the kind of person he really is -- despite the rumours. 

But though she goes through these motions, Y/N pushes them to the back of her head and gets on with it. She puts on her smile, and she dances. 

Azriel tends to book her out for an hour at a time, sometimes two hours if he's feeling extra needy or he has the time. And he's generous with his money, too. Typically, he pays double for her time, which is a month's rent for Y/N but pocket change for him.

It makes her feel dirty, but she has to remind herself that actually, this is her job and he does have the money and means to pay for her time.

That's all he's doing -- paying for her time. For her. Like some sort of cheap and easy prostitute that he can go to whenever he needs a fix. And she never touches him (not under his clothes), but it still makes her feel dirty.

Y/N knows what the other girls do in the private rooms; the type of shows that they offer. She doesn't judge them, she could never. They're all in the same or similar boats: broke and trying to make a living, to make ends meet. But none of them dance for the owner. None of them are ever requested by him. 

Y/N takes a deep breath and composes herself. She can't look in the mirror for a moment longer because if she does, she'll start seeing every flaw she has, and she'll never leave the damn dressing room. 

The club is busy, it always is on a Friday night. There's a party in the upper left tier, a few dancers that have been hired for the night and Y/N is more than pleased that she wasn't booked for it. It's a bunch of frat boys celebrating one of their friend's birthdays, and from Y/N's place on the lower deck, she can already recognise a few familiar faces from her classes.

The last thing she needs is for people to know she's an erotic dancer at one of the most elite, secret clubs. 

She doesn't bother questioning how the younger men know about the place. 

Y/N makes her way toward the private booths, and the one to the far right has its curtains closed. She takes a deep breath, knows he's sitting behind it, waiting for her.

She doesn't give herself any time to hype herself up or change her mind, because she's pushing through the red velvet curtain and closing it behind her. 

The booths are all the same. Dim lighting and velvet cushioned seats. The walls are deep, silky pink, the furniture all an intoxicating shade of red, and in the centre of the rounded chair, Azriel sits. 

His legs are spread wide, dressed to the nines in a slick black suit, and his bulging arms are outstretched across the back of the chair. 

He's shed his blazer, has it hanging on the side, his shirt sleeves folded up to his elbows, swirls of black ink coating his dark complexion. Everything about his attire screams power and sex, and Y/N hasn't even looked at his face yet. 

"There’s my pretty girl."

Her eyes dart up, his lips are parted. There's a knowing smirk on his pink mouth, and Azriel's eyes are a glimmering caramel under the dim light. Y/N thinks he's never looked more handsome, but that's always her thought whenever she sees him.

She can't help the contagiously shy smile that tugs on the corners of her plump lips. 

"Little late tonight," she mentions quietly. 

He doesn't say anything, and his eyes are too busy taking in her appearance. He hasn't seen this outfit before; a lilac cami bodysuit, entirely of lace. The chest of it is plunged yet lifted, and her supple breasts look the most inviting they've ever been.

Azriel struggles to wrap his head around the sight of her -- he always does. Always thinks she looks even prettier every time he sees her.

Azriel finally shrugs his shoulders. "I'm a busy man, Angel. Thought you knew that by now." He doesn't take his eyes off her, he can't.

Completely fucking mesmerised.

Y/N shrugs. "Must've been extra busy to be this late." She tells him.

Y/N is making her way closer, her hips swaying with every small step and Azriel's sure he can feel his cock twitch in his pants from anticipation.

"I was starting to think you weren't going to come."

He raises a brow as she settles herself in his lap, his scarred hands–that she’s never shown any distaste to–slowly yet respectfully finding her waist.

"Oh, I always come, baby."

She knows there's a double meaning to his statement — can tell by the smirk on his lips and the tone of his voice. Always a smooth talker.

Y/N decides that if he can play, so can she. 

"I wouldn't know."

Azriel's the one to stop her hips from moving on top of his, and he chases her gaze to lock eyes. She's deadpanning -- void of emotion on her pretty little face and Azriel thinks this newfound side of her is the sexiest thing he's witnessed in a long time.

He cocks a brow. "Playing like that tonight, are we?" He asks, his thumbs pressing into the fleshy skin of her side.

Y/N shrugs her shoulders, plays coy. "I don't know. Are we?"

She twists the question, unsure where this surge of confidence is coming from, but she isn't about to back down from it, from him.

She wants more than just a lap dance. She thinks Azriel does too.

Azriel stays quiet for a moment or two like he's toying with the idea of having his way with her -- of letting her have him.

He squints and tries to look for an ounce of uncertainty or hesitancy. He comes empty, finding nothing short of confidence and desire. But has she thought it all through?

Has she thought about what this could mean? Has she accepted the fact that they may never see each other again -- something so silly because Azriel quite likes the girl, but if he kisses her, touches her -- what if it inherently puts her in danger?

She senses his dismay and offers an ultimatum; one that she knows she'll win. 

"Because either we are, or you need to find a new dancer."  

The threat awakens something in him. Something primal — animalistic. His eyes flash, darker and darker until his swelling pupils almost completely drown out the honey in his eyes.

His grip on her hips tighten, and Azriel forces her closer; lace-clad chest bumping against his clothed one. "I don't want a new dancer." He tells her. His voice is firm, tone even and stable. He knows what he wants, and now, she knows it's her.

Y/N lets her fingers reach for the longer curls on the nape of his neck. She intertwines her fingers around them, generously tugging, so his head pulls back just enough for her to use her other hand to grip his chin. Azriel's lips are parted, eyes hooded. He can feel her breath fan across his face as she brings hers closer.

"But that's all I am to you, right? Just a dancer?"

He isn't sure what she's doing -- whether she's fishing for something more or if she's about to walk out of the booth and leave him panting and painfully hard.

He plays into it, though. Let's see where this is going.

"More than just a dancer, baby." He promises.

Y/N ghosts her plump lips over his. "Yeah?" She breathes, her voice an airy whisper and Azriels got the perfect fucking sight of her cleavage. Reckons he wants nothing more than to bury his face between her pert tits.

He nods. "Mhm, you're my Angel." He tells her.

Azriel's hands reach around for her ass, grabbing handfuls and pulling her cheeks taut. He removes his hand and strikes it back down on her warm, fleshy skin. Y/N jolts into his body, teeth gnawing painfully on her lower lip to bite back her desperate pleads and whines.

Azriel gropes her again, massaging her cheeks and grabbing fistfuls. "My Angel."

His. She's all fucking his.

Her breathing is laboured as she takes in his words. Y/N tries not to let him see how riled up they make her, but she knows Azriel can see straight through any facade she tries to hide behind.

"Well, if I'm an angel, that must make you the devil."

Y/N's words echo through his mind, and his grip on her waist tightens in a squeeze before it loosens. His eyes find her chest, lip taut between his teeth.

"Maybe I am. Tell me, Angel… are you really ready to be corrupted?"

His eyes find hers, low and hooded and full of so much excitement and darkness, he gets lost in the way she pulls him in. Y/N's hands find his on her waist, her fingers gripping over his and his hold tightens again.

She rolls her hips against his crotch. "Maybe that's exactly what I want," she whispers, her lips trailing over the shell of his ear and her warm breath fans across his neck. "Maybe I'm already a little wicked."

She pulls away, nose brushing past his but he doesn't let her put any more distance between them. He wants her close, likes the feel of her warm breath on his face, likes the sweet scent of vanilla and coconut that's splattered on her skin and lingers in his mind.

Her lips are parted, as is Azriel's, and he can see the little peek of her glistening tongue, teetering between her teeth. His own does the same, subconsciously matching her teasing and his length throbs beneath her; something they both feel but neither say.

"If we do this, there's no going back. You're not just a fuck to me."

Y/N's heart skips, her heat quivering and chills run down her spine. So she is more to him... but what will this mean after?

"If I'm not just a fuck, then what am I?" She pries.

Azriel nudges the tip of his nose with hers. A smirk ghosts on the corners of her lips as they brush against hers. "My Angel," he whispers. "My only Angel."

Y/N envelopes Azriel's lips in hers, fingers reaching for the back of his head and they tug at the curls on the nape of his neck. It's hot, fiery. She can feel her soul ignite in bursts of white flames, and Azriel's no better at controlling himself.

His mind is foggy, judgement clouded, but he knows he never wants to live a day without feeling her pillowy lips on his. So he kisses her harder, grips her hips with such force they both know she'll bruise by morning. But she loves it, loves the idea of having him mark her and the animalistic part of Azriel craves it too.

"I'm not gonna go easy on you." He warns her breathlessly through the smacking of lips, but Y/N rolls more rigid atop him; pulls his hair that little bit eager.

"Good," she pants, pulling away. "I want it hard."

Y/N stands between his thick, parted thighs. She lets her mouth water as her gaze takes him in. Azriel's no better. His cock is leaping eagerly in his pants at the sight of her. Perfect body in a perfect set, lips swollen and eyes wholly fucked. Her hair is a mess, lipstick smudged and fuck, does he want to shove her face into his silk pillows and ram her little pussy from behind until she can't breathe.

"You're gonna kill me, Angel." He chokes out through his lust-filled daydream, chest heaving in anticipation.

Then she starts to sink to her knees and rubs her palms up his inner thighs, and Azriel about loses it. He shakes his head, breathing hard through gritted teeth and his hands find her wrists, halting her movements.

He shakes his head as he pulls Y/N to her feet, dragging closer until she's straddling him again. Azriel's hands cup her jaw, fingers tangled in her hair. "Gonna take my time with you, have you squirming beneath me until you beg me to stop." His promise has her drooping eyes flutter close, and her lips parting. Thinks she's the sexiest thing he's ever laid eyes on.

His nose bumps hers, lips touching but they don't kiss. "But right now, I need you to be a good girl and turn around." 

Azriel's voice is stern, commanding. It makes her pussy throb and clench and gush, and he knows it. She nods and moves on trembling legs, turning so her back is to him, and Azriel's hands find their home on the swell of her ass.

There's something about him being so strong and dominant to her that has Y/N a puddle of arousal and submission.

She bites back a squeak as he smacks a palm down on her cheek, her eyes squinted closed while Azriel licks his lips at the way her flesh moves with the force of his strike. "Perfect fucking ass."

Y/N gnaws on her bottom lip, teeth piercing the skin but the slight sting of pain only spurs her on -- makes her even more eager for him. She sways her hips, ass a perfect peach shape as she does so and Azriel grips her hips and forces her on his crotch.

Her arousal is sticky against the lace of her panties as she can feel the thick outline of Azriel's cock when she gets seated over his clothed centre.

"Holy shit," she gulps.

Y/N has heard the rumours, the ones that are whispered in the shadows of the night -- of the one that's half man, half something else.

Now she can feel him directly beneath her, and Y/N's mind is heavy and clouded. "Feel how hard you make me?"

His lips are ghosting across her ear; teeth nibbling hauntingly on the shell of it which sends shivers down her spine.

Y/N nods, breathless and wanton. She can't make sense of anything, but she knows she wants this -- needs this.

"Use your words."

She swallows, shaky whimper teetering on the tip of her tongue. "Yes, I can feel you."

Azriel's sick behind her; full of himself as she strokes his ever-growing ego. There's something about hearing her so vocally express how much she wants him, how much she can feel him that has Azriel seeing stars. He isn't blind, he can see just how desperate and hungry the woman is, but a little verbal confirmation never hurt anyone.

His hands rest upon the globes of her ass again, swatting and smoothing however he pleases. The hits have her jolting and shrieking — they have tears stinging at her eyes but fuck, she wants more. She needs it harder.

"Please," she coos softly.

Her voice is cracking and unsteady like she's walking on eggshells.

"Please." Azriel mimics, voice high and childish, one that has her squirming in his lap.

He spanks her again. "Please, what?"

There's a pause of silence as Y/N attempts to catch her breath. She knows what this man can do to her, how he can make her feel. She knows he'll be far from vanilla, and maybe that's exactly what she wants and needs.

"Please, sir." She breathes. "Fuck me."

Smack!

A shrill shriek tears through her chest, and Azriel strikes his palm back down on her skin. His other busies with his belt, tugging it open and popping the button of his pants. He drags down the zip, a sound that echoes through her ears and sends shivers down her spine.

Y/N looks back over her shoulder, her hands steadying herself on Azriel's parted knees when she sees him. Thick, long... oozing with his sweet arousal that she wants to suckle up and swallow down her throat.

His cock stands tall, smacking against his lower stomach and he's big -- better than anything Y/N's ever had before. Her mouth waters at the sight. She can feel her cunt pulsing when his scarred hand wraps around his length and tugs deliciously at himself.

She whines, eager and needy. Azriel's eyes are on her ass, hasn't even realised that she's looking back at him.

He toys with the lace of her panties that disappears between her cheeks. Looping his pointer finger under the fabric at the top of her ass, he lifts it and bunches the lace in a fist, effectively tugging friction across her cunt as he gets a better view of her ass.

She's glistening, he can see. Y/N's pussy is swollen, and the sides of her lips threaten to spill out of the fabric that barely covers her.

"I'll fuck you, baby." He tells her.

Azriel tugs the lace to the side, her pussy soaked and perfect. He swipes a thumb through her wetness, swirling around her tight hole and bringing his thumb to his mouth as he suckles her arousal.

Sweet. So fucking sweet.

He grasps his cock in his hand again, pumping a few ample times before holding himself at the base and lining up with her sopping cunt. Azriel teases her for a moment, smacking the ruddy head of his prick against her pussy and she whines, rolls closer to him.

With a sick grin, Azriel massages his tip against her hole, jutting softly as he pushes in just enough to get comfortable. A low whine echoes through the room, but neither of them knows who it belongs to.

His hands find her hips, squeezing at her flesh. "But you won't be dancing on that pole for a few days."

Lifting his hips and pulling her down by hers, Azriel sheathes into her at once. Her frantic gasp tears through her lips, and her eyes are wide and watering with complete bliss and pain.

Azriel's gritting his teeth, sharp breath spitting through between them. He can't believe how fucking tight she is, and Y/N is fairly confident she can feel him so deep in her fucking stomach.

"Such a tight fucking cunt, Angel." Azriel's mind is in turmoil, can't quite fucking believe a cunt can feel this good.

Y/N is no better; she's a quivering mess on top of him, her grip on his clothed knees surely carving half-moons upon his skin but if it's causing Azriel any pain or discomfort, he seems to love it.

"So big, feel so full," she whines out.

Her ass is nestled in his lap, the coarse hairs of his pubic bone tickling at her supple skin and Y/N rolls her hips experimentally against his. He's still gripping her hips as she moves, her cunt clenching deliciously around his length and he's positively amazed by just how fucking tight she is.

"Yeah? Feel me in your tummy, Angel?" 

She's nodding, whining filthily, and she can't comprehend how sex can feel this good. One hand of Azriel's snakes around her body, tips of his fore and middle finger massaging tight circles on her clit.

Y/N's cunt is on fire, swelling and pulsing and fucking gushing all over the thickness of Azriel's entire dick. He's a mess below her, though. He can't believe how well she's taking the entirety of him.

She's snug, tight — warm and fucking soaked. The feeling of her swallowing him up is completely euphoric; has Azriel's eyes rolling to the back of his head.

His rhythm on her clit is furious; strong, tight circles that have filthy cries and moans slipping past her flawlessly painted lips. Y/N's still gripping his knees, hips rolling and pussy squelching.

"Yeah, right in my tummy. God, it's so good. Don't stop, Azzy... please don't stop."

Y/N is a blubbering mess, eyes squeezed shut and jaw slack. She bounces quickly on top of him, feeling every vein and ridge of his thick cock as it pounds into her and tears her apart. Her walls are slick around him, desperate to milk him dry and take his sticky cum.

Azriel lets his eyes focus on her ass, the way it's spread just a little and how the imprint of his ringed hands are starting to bloom on her supple cheeks. Azriel's eyes divert lower when he sees it, sees her take him.

Her lips are swollen, clinging to his length as she comes off him. The base of his cock is soaked, the start of a creamy ring forming around him and Azriel can't get enough. He relents his assault on her clit, makes for her ass instead and pulls her cheeks as far apart as he can. 

His hands massage her skin, saliva welling on his tongue and parting his gritted teeth for a split second, he spits down on her puckering hole and rubs the lubricant across her ass.

Y/N keens at the touch -- the welcomed intrusion -- and bounces faster. Azriel's thumbing at her hole, teasingly rubbing the tip of his thumb around her but it has her a quivering and desperate mess.

"Please, please." She pants out, head falling back and eyes tightly shut.

Azriel gnaws on his lower lip, biting back a smirk, but his hooded eyes are a dead giveaway he's having the time of his life. "Yeah?" He rasps. "Want me in both your holes, Princess?" He baits. He knows it's exactly what she wants.

Y/N nods quickly, crying and pleading for something. He knows precisely the effect he's got on her right now, the power Azriel holds over her, (not that he sees it that way, but knowing she's in such a besotted state from him playing with her ass a little, is feeding Azriel's ego tremendously.)

"Now that's not very Angel-like of you, is it? Angel?"

A shriek leaves her lips as the tip of his finger pushes through, immediately enveloped in warmth and softness. She's blubbering, can't make sense of fucking anything and it feels so damn good.

Azriel never anticipated such a reaction from her, but he's got it, and he fucking loves it.

"Who would've thought," he pants, feet firm on the ground as he fucks up into her cunt, completely obliterating her soul, "that my Angel likes having her sweet little ass stuffed?"

A borderline pornographic cry teeters past her silky tongue, and Azriel's mind is keening. She's still as she hovers over his crotch, letting him fuck her however he damn well pleases. His pace is fast, cock brushing every overwhelming part it reaches as he pushes his thumb deeper into her ass.

"Your Angel," she whimpers out, eyes watering and thighs spasming. "I'm yours, all yours. Only want you stuffing me this good."

Her words are drawled in a matted string of barely comprehendible syllables, but Azriel can understand what she's saying.

"Yeah? Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, sweetheart."

"Cum! Please, cum in me, wanna feel it."

Azriel curses silently behind her, can't believe how fucking perfect this woman is. His balls feel tight, can feel her squeezing him harder and he knows she's about to come too.

"Yeah? It's gonna be a lot baby," he warns. "Think you can handle it? Think you can take my cum, Angel?"

Y/N nods quickly, vigorously. "I can take it! Please, I promise."

She's despondent, like a child. The need in her voice spurs Azriel to his edge, and as his cock bloats and shoots his arousal across her walls, she reaches her own high of euphoria.

They're both panting, grunting and moaning and whining. Y/N's gushing around his cock, creating a decent spillage on the base of him but even as he softens, he's still quite hard.

Azriel doesn't move, no. He makes no endeavour of pushing her off him. Instead, Azriel slowly pulls his fingers from her ass and cooing at the winces and whimpers that resound through the private booth. He shelters his arms around her waist to pull her back flush to his chest.

They both whimper, bodies spent, and eyes hooded. The back of Y/N's head is lounging on his shoulder when Azriel finally gets a glimpse at her face.

Totally fucked.

A wheezing laugh rumbles deep in her chest, and he reaches for her face, cupping the side of her jaw and guiding her lips to meet his in a messy, wet kiss. She pulses around him.

"You're fucking phenomenal."

Another breathy snicker falls past her lips to his. Azriel pinches her hips. "How are you feeling?"

Y/N puffs, eyes fluttering as she slowly raises, bites back the whine she wants to pout at the hollow feeling of him slipping from her cunt.

"The big bad Mob boss wants to know how I'm feeling?" She tantalises.

Azriel watches her make quick work of pulling her panties back over her cunt, halting his cum from leaking out and down her thighs, but he makes no effort to tuck his softening, yet still majestic, length back in his pants.

He lies back with his arms outstretched across the back of the oval couch. "He does," he agrees. "Cares about you, if you didn't already recognise that."

Azriel doesn't miss how she shies away from his gaze, turning her back to him to alter her outfit and to take a moment to compose herself. He takes the opportunity to fix himself too, before he's right behind her, nosing at her hair.

"I meant what I said, Angel," he murmurs. "You're not just a fuck to me."

Y/N turns, chin raised as she eyes him. Her shoulders are strained back, and Azriel knows she's making this posture move to assert confidence, and he doesn't doubt her one bit.

"Then what am I? And don't say your Angel."

"You're a strong, elegant, smart, badass, sexy, intelligent, confident woman," he begins, his hands finding her hips. "And I want you. I want you all to myself."

She peeps, her heart thumping sporadically in her chest. For a moment, it's like the mind-blowing sex from just seconds ago has been utterly omitted.

"You trust me enough for that?" She asks, and Azriel knows precisely what she's asking.

Does he trust her with who he is and what he does? Does he have trust that she will keep her mouth shut and not see him differently when she learns what he's truly capable of? Does he trust that she's all about him?

Azriel quirks a brow. "Do you trust me?"

Does she trust him with her life, because that's what it boils down to? Does she trust him enough to put her life in perpetual danger? Does she trust that he will only desire her, that he will put her before his work? Does she trust that he will never harm her?

Y/N nods. "I trust you."

Azriel drops his head, face closer to hers and the tips of their noses brush.

"Then I advise you to get your things and let me take you back to my place. Because you're in for a long fucking night, Angel."

Thank you for reading!! If you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a reblog and leaving some feedback!! <3

[utterlyazriel]

let me keep you company

a/n: a wee break from the doom & gloom of wtssf! it's unedited so i want no flack for that thank u <3 enjoy <3 wc: 5.1k whoops synopsis: You're studying in Velaris and a certain Shadowsinger catches your eyes in more than one way. It takes a while to realise the shadow keeping you company means more than you expect.

For the record, you had never met a Shadowsinger before.

You'd never even seen one. Sure, you’d read about them briefly in your studies and almost every Fae in Prythian had heard about them in whispers and rumours.

Rumours that increased more so when a Shadowsinger rose to become a hand for the Highlord, his own personal spy. Then became the spymaster of the entire Night Court for the next Highlord.

But beyond gossip and unfinished chapters within the scripts of your libraries, the knowledge of Shadowsingers is far limited. They’re rare. For all you know, Shadowsinger’s are a ghost— moving as a shadow, disappearing in and out of the darkness of the world.

You had never met a Shadowsinger before—so it makes sense that you hadn't an ounce of a clue what to expect.

Staring at him now, 6 feet something of pure muscle, you're a bit embarrassed at your own surprise.

Because he's probably— no definitely— the most beautiful Fae you've ever laid eyes on. His hair is tousled and dark, his glorious tan skin that's mostly hidden beneath the black of his fighter leathers, and his amber eyes that laid on you for only one long moment. Breathtaking is the only adequate word for him.

All that beauty and he's a Shadowsinger.

And it's not like you thought he wouldn't be like, well, any other Fae. But also... you kinda did? Mother, you should've known Freya was tricking you when she said they were all just shadow-y corporeal forms.

But she's also not entirely wrong there. There are dozens of wispy shadows that hover around him in constant motion, dipping and flying around his shoulders and if you look close enough, you can see how he seems to ripple at the edges. Shadows blur the edge of his very being.

You wonder if he can disappear into them all together, if that was one of the abilities granted with them. Does he control them? He must, you think, if the title is Shadowsinger.

But looking at him now, his beautiful face turned to face the Highlord you should definitely be listening to, they flit about almost absentmindedly, as though they have a mind of their own.

One curls up by his ear and you watch it, fascinated, more and more questions springing up in your mind— what do they feel like on skin? Do they make any noise? Is that what they're doing now? Talking to—

A sharp elbow jabs into your side, making you jump.

Your head whips to the side, an instinctive scowl almost overtaking your face before you plaster it over with a smile, realising your mistake. Your mentor, Sergei, clears his throat and smiles awkwardly ahead at Rhysand. You blink and take another moment to realise you've been asked a question.

"I'm— I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" You try not to sound as mousy as you feel but the question comes out as a squeak anyway. He is the Highlord of the Night Court after all. You suddenly feel very foolish for being so easily distracted.

Thankfully, Rhysand regards you with an easy smile. He's leaned back in his chair, relaxed, and his violet eyes dance with humour as he flicks his gaze over to where you had just been staring.

"That's alright. Azriel is a piece of eye candy, I can't blame you for staring," He all but purrs, a hint of mirth pulling at his lips as he casts another glance at his Spymaster. You're taken aback by the casualness of his words.

Rhysand continues. "I was only saying that for the duration of your stay, you'll be hosted in one of my homes, the House of Wind. You aren't afraid of heights, are you?"

A smidge of fear pinches at your stomach because, honestly, you aren't overly keen on the idea. But you know better than to turn down the generosity of a Highlord.

You take another glance at the wings of his Spymaster and General and pray that it's not too high up.

"Not... much." You answer honestly.

There's a chuckle from the side of the room and your head swings around at the noise. It's not the Shadowsinger, though he looks as though he's politely trying not to smile, his chin ducked. It's the General, just as beautiful as his brother but in that more rugged way.

He flexes his wings out a bit, showing off their mighty wingspan. "We'll rid you of that fear in no time."

You try for a smile but it might be closer to a grimace.

"Fantastic." You say, not managing to put all your enthusiasm into the word like you hoped.

Another sharp jab of Sergei's elbow in your side. The Shadowsinger, Azriel, huffs a quiet laugh, his amber eyes flashing up to steal another look at you. You try your best not to fluster.

It's going to be a long two months.

—

As Sergei's apprentice, you're expected to shadow him through his allowed time within Velaris.

Which means if he goes to the library, you go to the library.

There's just one problem; the library is down in the city and your temporary home is up in the mountain. The quickest way down is with wings.

Rhysand— or just Rhys as he had told you to call him— had relayed the information that you could ask either Cassian or Azriel to escort you if you didn't wish to take the stairs.

Cassian, the General, had been the one to fly you down and back the first couple of times you had asked and you weren't in any particular hurry to relive the experience.

Cassian was nice and he was more than friendly but seemingly incapable of understanding any fear of heights. You weren't sure if that was just the only way to fly— swooping and dropping fast enough to make you shriek— but it certainly seemed to be Cassian's way.

Which leaves you with the option of either asking the Shadowsinger or taking the stairs.

You get down about two hundred steps before you start to regret your decision. But, also, how in the Cauldron were you supposed to ask him to take you? (Never mind that you had asked Cassian quite easily, albeit very nervously.)

Oh, hi Shadowsinger who I can't stop staring at for both your abilities and your handsome face—care to sweep me into your arms and carry me places?

As if, you snort to yourself.

You take the thousand stairs all the way to the bottom and trot towards the enormous library, pretending your thighs aren't aching with overuse or that you're out of breath. Thankfully, the library itself isn't too far from the House of Wind, carved into the same side of the mountain.

As expected, Sergei is less than pleased with your tardiness.

"Sorry," The word rushes out of you in a wheeze, probably too loud for the library, as you scuttle in the entrance. A few priestesses turn their heads to look at you and you cringe, raising your hands in apology. "Sorry, I'm sorry,"

You focus back on your mentor and try to catch your breath, all while you explain. "I took the stairs and it took—" You huff out a breath. "—way longer than I thought."

Sergei's face softens a bit at your explanation, his face taking on a pitiful smile. "Still not enjoying the flying?"

"You are?" You ask in response. The thought of Sergei, your old-Fae mentor, swept up in Cassian's arms as he dips and dives makes you chuckle just a bit.

Sergei shakes his head as if to change the topic of conversation, deciding you've wasted enough time already. He turns, beginning to head further into the library and you follow behind him closely, eager to brush over your early morning fumble. The cavernous structure within the mountain yawns out ahead of you and you get all of two moments to wonder just how deep down it goes, when—

"You did not ask for a ride this morning."

Azriel steps up beside you, seemingly from nowhere, his steps falling in time with yours with ease. You jump, startled, and your footsteps falter for a moment. You're relieved to say that you only make one embarrassing noise in your surprise.

"I— oh, it's— I mean, I just..." You trail off, feeling flustered. "...like to walk."

You chance a glance up at him. He's wearing that same polite expression from yesterday, as though he's trying not to laugh and you get too caught up in the swirlings of his shadows to remember to be properly embarrassed. Both of you walk in tandem behind Sergei, slowly descending into the lower levels of the library.

"If you insist," He says, his voice low. It sends something warm down your spine and you pray he doesn't notice how your body temperature is definitely climbing.

His amber eyes pin you with another look, his lips twitching into a small smile. "However, if Cassian is giving you trouble, I would be happy to provide a smoother ride."

You flounder for a moment. You don't want to get anyone in trouble.

"I— he's not giving me trouble," You stammer.

Azriel smiles a little wider as if he can tell how polite you're trying to be. He slows to a meander and you realise only after you walk past him, it's because Sergei has stopped himself, turning down one of the many aisles.

You skid yourself to a halt and turn back, praying your flaming face isn't as obvious as it feels. You're not entirely sure if Azriel is accompanying you today but you're sure that Sergei would've mentioned it if he was.

You dip your head in a strange, awkward bow motion. Then point to the aisle Sergei disappeared into.

"I'll be... going this way."

Azriel's smile grows, like you've told a joke, and he ducks his head. He peers up at you through his dark lashes and you wonder if anyone's ever told him how damn beautiful he is. Probably. You're probably the last in a long line of people. Mother, his eyes though.

"If you don't wish to make the hike the other way," He murmurs.

He extends one of his hands and you watch the dozen shadows swarm around it, one of them separating from the pack to dive to the ground. It shoots forward and spins around your ankle, almost happily. "Just let the shadow know. I would be happy to assist."

When you look back up, he’s already gone without a sound. You try not to look so surprised— you’ve seen someone winnow before but you’re almost certain that the way Azriel moved about silently was something else altogether.

“Y/n!” Sergei’s voice echoes down the shelves, reminding you that you’re still late. You throw a quick glance around to check but it's fruitless; you can’t see the Shadowsinger anywhere.

You turn and bustle down the aisle quickly, not wanting to keep Sergei any longer. It takes only a second to notice the sole, black shadow that dances along behind you.

Guess you have company.

—

Okay, so, the shadows are definitely their own little guys.

Mainly because you can’t imagine how Azriel would be controlling them when he’s nowhere in sight.

And this one shadow is being awfully helpful.

The first time you drop your quill, knocking it to the ground as you lean over one of the many intricately carved desks, trying to reach another book, you don’t even notice it fall to the ground.

In fact, you have no idea how many times it’s picked up your fallen quill that you’ve undoubtedly knocked over countless times— only that it had given you the fright of your life to have it hover before your face, gripped only by the wispy shadow Azriel left with you.

“Holy shit!” You gasp, your loud voice echoing in the quietness of the library.

Sergei's head whips up, his eyes narrowing at the intruding sound with evident disapproval. You quickly snatch the quill out of mid-air and sink down in your seat. Gods, the echoes in here were doing you no favours.

“Sorry,” You whisper. Your eyes dart down to the shadow that retreated to your side, flickering around your ankle more wildly. “Er, thanks.”

It feels a bit silly to give thanks to something you’re not sure can hear you. But you figure if it can pick up your quill, you're better off using your manners.

Sergei gives you a somewhat bewildered look and you try to appease him with an awkward smile. It works enough for him to continue his work but not without one more lingering glance of worry in your direction. Great. You're talking to shadows and your old-man mentor thinks you're a bit nuts.

The shadow continues its helpful endeavours, following you when you head down different aisles at Sergei's request. It dances across the shelves, dissolving occasionally just to puff back up somewhere else, pulling your attention this way and that. It's playful. Friendly.

You deduce by the end of the day that you know even less about Shadowsinger's than you had thought. The abilities and personality of just one shadow are uncanny; like a silent friend keeping you company. You imagine that Azriel rarely gets lonely with as many as he has. Maybe you'll ask him.

When Sergei and you wind back up the staircases and he dismisses you for the evening, heading into the city for his own further business, you stand at the mouth of the library and ponder if you'll be brave enough to summon the Shadowsinger.

The shadow is still with you, circling your wrist absently. You peer down at it and think of all those stairs. Somewhat nervously, you raise your hand and try to be as casual as possible about talking to a shadow on your hand.

"Hi." You start, trying not to feel foolish. "Um, well, I guess I'm done for the day. Could— could you, if he's not busy that is, uh, let Azriel know? I don't mind waiting if he is."

The shadow zips off barely before you can finish your sentence and your head swings to watch it go, disappearing somewhere to your left.

You can't help but be a little amazed at its speed—it must be an incredible networking system to have a thousand little spies running around for you. No wonder almost all Shadowsingers tend to end up in the same line of work, you think to yourself, still peering in the direction of the shadow when—

"Y/n."

Even though he's said your name soft and quiet, Azriel still manages to take you by surprise. You jump and turn, all in one motion.

"Mother!" Your hand holds over your chest, relief curling in at the sides as your fright ebbs away. "That was fast."

"You called," Azriel responds, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. He gives you an almost shy smile.

It makes you fluster a bit and you gesture to the exit awkwardly and wordlessly, if only so you don't have to come up with a response to his intense and endearing answer.

Together, you wander out from the library and creep towards the edge of Velaris. It's a beautiful city and more than deserving of its title, especially when viewed from the House of Wind. You turn and cast your eyes up the mountainside, your familiar nervous fear pitching up from your stomach.

Then you look at the warrior beside you, tall enough that he's got what feels like more than a head's height on you, with his wings reaching above even his own head. His jaw is sharp and his eyes are already on you as your gaze trails up his face. Fuck. He's really pretty.

Now you're nervous for an entirely different reason.

"We can still take the stairs if you wish," He says, his hand sweeping back to the path you had followed along this morning. His shadows move with his hands, a black vortex that whirls around and around. "I'd be more than happy to keep you company."

Mother, he's not helping you in the slightest, being so perfectly nice to you. You regard the stairs and think back to how many hours it took before your thighs stopped aching—and that was on the way down.

"No, we can- we can try flying again." You say, nodding to yourself as if it'll help quell your fear. It takes another moment to realise that means you'll be bundled up in his strong arms, held against his broad chest and you feel a little shiver run through your body at the thought.

Azriel notices it too, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "You're sure?" He checks.

You nod, not meeting his eyes, trying to keep your nerve. Flying is already something you're not keen on. Flying whilst being swept up in the arms of a Shadowsinger who you think is the most beautiful Fae you've ever seen? You send a silent prayer to the Mother that you don't do something embarrassing, like puking down his front.

"Let me know if you're uncomfortable at any time," He says softly and then he bends his knees slightly, one of his scarred hands resting on your lower back as the other scoops beneath your knees. He lifts you as though you weigh nothing.

It's impossible not to flush as you get nestled against his firm chest, your hands panicking for a moment as you try to think of a normal place to put them. Around his neck? On his chest? Either of them feels far too intimate for a man you've known only a week.

"You don't have to but I would suggest holding on," Azriel comments with a smile, his chest vibrating with the words. You nod, agreeing with him, but don't make a move to do so, only holding your hands out in front of you to indicate you're not sure where to put them.

The shadows adorning his shoulders move on their own, their friendly presence easing your nerves as they slither down to circle around your wrists. There's a gentle tug and you let them move your hands til they're wrapped around Azriel's neck, moving you much closer in the process.

Gods, your faces are close together. Another couple of inches and you could probably press your lips to his perfect ones—a thought that makes you fluster all over again. Was he getting prettier every time you saw him? For not the first time, you thank the Mother that it was Rhys with the daemaeti gift and not Azriel.

"Ready?" He checks, which is sweet. Cassian had just shot up into the sky the first time, without any warning.

You grip your arms around his neck a little tighter and then nod. "Ready," You say, quieter than intended.

You catch just a moment of Azriel's demure smile, your heart swooping at the sight, before you're both launched into the sky with one flap of his wings.

The noise that escapes you is one you're less than proud of, a squawky sound noise of panic that you bury into Azriel's neck. You expect him to laugh like Cassian had, not meanly but playfully, but instead Azriel's arms just tighten around you. As if he was assuring you that he would not let you fall.

By the time you're up at the House of Wind, Azriel making a far more graceful descent than his brother, you're less freaked out and more ready to point some accusatory fingers in the face of the Night Court's General.

That bastard had been fucking with you! The flight with Azriel proved as much, considering how much calmer and smoother it had been. You couldn't help but say as much as you were placed down from Azriel's hold, glad to be back on solid ground.

"I have some words for Cassian, Mother above," You ramble, straightening out your rumpled clothes from the flight. "Did he think I was kidding when I said I was afraid?"

Azriel smiles at your fieriness, his shadows calmer than they were in flight, moving about lazily. His eyes take a fleeting glance at the house behind you before focusing intently back on you.

"Cassian can have a strange sense of humour at times. He means well." He says. Then he grins. "I should like to see you tell him off— not enough people do."

You hmph. "Maybe I will."

You suddenly realise the closeness between you and Azriel, close enough to feel the warmth of his body. His scent of cedar and mist swirls around you, tantalizing and alluring in a way you've never known before. You take a step back to contain yourself.

"I—uh, well, thank you very much." You say, as sweet as you can. "For the ride."

Your eyes catch on one of his dozen shadows and you smile, observing them for a moment. "And the shadow. It was excellent company."

Azriel brightens, an expression of surprise crossing his face before he schools it away. He smiles, brazen and breathtaking. When he speaks, he sounds a little disbelieving. "You like them?"

You nod quickly, noticing how one of his shadows has snuck off again and circulates your ankle speedily. You laugh at the ticklish feeling of it against your skin.

"They're incredible." You breathe, meaning every word. "I imagine you must've ge—"

"Apologies, y/n." A smooth voice cuts in, Rhys stepping up somewhere behind you and stealing both of your attention. He dressed in more casual clothes than you last saw, but not quite Azriel's fighting leathers. "Azriel here is needed for some brief business. Do you mind if I borrow him?"

The way he poses the question, as if Azriel is yours, does something wonky to your heart. You flounder for a moment, stepping back and waving your hand in the direction of the Shadowsinger.

"Of- of course, by all means." You trip over the words and hope you don't sound too eager to escape his company. That couldn't be more untrue.

You turn back to Azriel and fix him with a smile, hoping it's not as nervous as you feel. "I'll... see you around?"

Azriel steals a glance to the side where Rhys awaits before he nods with another reserved smile. Hold on, is that pink on his cheeks?

"Let me know if you need any more help getting to and from the library. I'd be happy to assist."

And then with a quick nod to you, he walks off to join Rhys, his wings tucked in tight, careful to not nudge you. You watch them go, unable to stop yourself from letting your eyes wander down. Damn, all that training did wonders. What was that saying? Hate to watch 'em go, love to watch them leave.

Ahead, Rhys abruptly laughs and peers back over his shoulder, letting you exactly how well you had shielded those thoughts. You flush and scurry into the house as if it'll save you from the embarrassment of what's just happened. You only hope he won't pass the message on to Azriel.

—

It continues like that for the rest of the week.

Azriel carries you down the height of the mountain and leaves you with a promise that if you need anything, you can tell the shadow and he'll come to find you.

The shadow keeps its usual playful company. Beyond retrieving your dropped quills, it helpfully turns the pages of books for you. When you're focused on what you're writing, it nudges back any loose strands of hair. Once it even brings you a flower from Mother knows where. One single Lily of the Valley, left resting on your desk.

It makes you wonder; are all Shadowsinger's shadows like this? You can't help but imagine these niceties are shaped by Azriel's own soft nature.

Today, whilst you study in the vast caverns of the library, you get an unexpected visitor.

As you take your time scanning through the books in one of the vast aisles, you realise the Fae coming down from the other end of the aisle is none other than the Highlady herself.

"Feyre!" You greet warmly. The two of you had met before when she had taken duties in your home court and if it weren't too bold, you'd say you consider yourself good friends. Feyre smiles, glowing like moonlight, as she realises who it is.

"Y/n," She says your name sweetly and her hug is just as such. She pulls away, ready to inquire about your studies when she spots the trailing shadow behind you.

"Making friends, I see," She comments. Her eyebrows raise almost teasingly as if she's made a certain insinuation. You take a moment to notice what she's referencing.

"It's nice," You say, a defensive lilt to your tone. You hold out your hand and the shadow jumps at the opportunity to skitter around it playfully. "It's like a little friend."

Feyre smiles at your words but chuckles a little. "Except Azriel is anything but little."

You pause at her words, glancing down at the shadow and back up at Feyre. "What do you mean? I thought— they're not- I mean, aren't they...?”

You trail off, unsure of how to word the question you're trying to ask. Feyre smiles, her gray eyes glittering with mirth as she realises what you're figuring out.

"They're all his. Azriel's. He controls them." She tilts her head a bit, watching the shadow that drifts about your hand and wrist. "True, they roam a bit on their own but... Not like this."

"Oh," You murmur, thinking back to that first day in the library.

The playful shadow that lead you back and forth, picking up your quill and turning your pages. It was him, all along.

Something immeasurably warm starts to glow in your chest, a thread that loops through your heart and sends the valves into overdrive. Its warmth grows, something molten hot beginning to bleed in your chest— and it feels wonderful. It feels right.

"Oh," You gasp as you figure it out.

Feyre grins, watching you piece together what the rest of the inner circle has clued together from the very first day. She stands to the side and gestures to the entrance of the library with a tilt of her head.

"Go on then," She urges you.

For a moment, you think back to Sergei who sent you hunting for a certain manuscript Cauldron knows how long ago but the thought is washed away in an instant. You can feel it now, the strong tug in your chest. The connection that binds you to another.

You stride past Feyre, giving a quick thanks! and all but run up the spiral staircases, heading for the entrance. The shadow pings along with you and as you near the top, you look down at it and say through huffed breaths, "You better go get him."

He's waiting by the time you get there.

Against the setting sun, for a moment there's only the silhouette of him— a warrior with tall wings, the edges of him rippling like a mirage. He might just be one; an oasis in your life, the answer that you've been searching for for centuries. You can't believe you didn't notice.

Your footsteps echo on the marble as you march right up to him and Azriel watches you closely the whole time, his amber eyes soft but his expression hinting at his nervousness. Gods, he's wonderful. You can't believe he gets to be yours and you get to be his.

"How long have you known?" You ask because it's the first thing on your mind. You're nearly panting from the exhilaration of your sudden exercise, from the dawning future that's blooming right in front of you. He's your mate. Gods, how could you have missed it?

Azriel smiles, that same tentative one that's been driving you crazy all week. His wings give a little shake behind him, a giveaway of his nerves.

"I... suspected from the beginning." He chooses his words carefully, wary of how you might respond.

You can't help your little gasp, feeling even more of a fool. You curse, ducking your head before you glare back up at him, no real heat in your gaze. You have the urge to give him a little shove, just for keeping you in the dark.

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

One of his shadows spins up unexpectedly, dancing across your shoulders and tickling your cheeks gently. You startle in surprise but something sweeter curls up in your chest at the tenderness of its touch.

"Believe me," Azriel says with a quiet chuckle, his amber eyes darting over your face intensely. "I've been trying."

You melt. Eyes locked with his, you move slowly, letting your arms drift up to drape around his neck like they've done every morning and evening since he began flying you around. You realise acutely that Cassian's behaviour, his shoddy flying, had likely been on purpose. You laugh a little, eyes creasing shut in pure euphoria.

Azriel's hands find your waist and you can feel the slight tremble in them.

"In my defense," You murmur, pushing up on your toes. You're close, so close, your lips hovering just an inch from a kiss—his shadows go wild around you both. It makes you grin. "I had never met a Shadowsinger before."

"Yeah?" Azriel breathes shakily. "Disappointed?"

He says it like a joke but you can hear the note of sincerity in his tone. His hidden worry that he isn't all you dreamed of. It's nearly laughable how wrong he is.

This close you can see his long lashes and every shade of brown in his eyes. You wonder if you'll ever get used to how beautiful he is. Part of you hopes you never do.

"Not in the slightest," You say, nearly a whisper.

Then his lips are on yours, pillowy soft skin against yours, and it feels like coming home. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you til you're breathless and the glow in your chest could rival the sun in its warmth.

He kisses you and every atom in your body hums and fizzes and comes to life — and all you can do is hold him tight and kiss him back, just as fiercely.

Breaking the kiss to catch your breath, you pant and grin brazenly at Azriel, at your mate, happier than you've ever been. Faintly, you realise that you won't be heading home when the two months of your study are up after all.

Not when you have a man who looks at you so reverently, who kisses you like there's oxygen hidden in the plush of your lips, who holds you like there's nothing more precious in the world.

Not when you know that home is right here, in front of you.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Lose your temper

Summary: Only loses his temper for her.

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Word Count: 805

Warnings: azzie being a protective pookie 🥹

A/n: hello hello i come bearing gifts after the tiny hiatus. might get my laptop back soon so dont you worry ill be back soon. ive mostly been focused on writing my wattpad books but though you all deserved a lil treat too so here i am 😌

also ps (edited) this was inspired by someones reddit post about having the sweetest father who threatened to hand a man by his intestines if they did not leave his wife alone and i think thats precious 🥺

HAVE FUN YALL

ENJOYYYY🥳

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Being the daughter of the spymaster, it almost made Hazel seem like some sort of elite fae that some feared while others pitied. The people that feared her, Hazel could understand the place they were coming from. But it was the other group that befuddled Hazel.

Why would they pity her? Did they think her father was an abuser of some kind?

Of course, he towered over a lot of people, and his physique made him known as a ruthless warrior. And yeah, maybe he also did have the most spectacular reputation to go with it, but it did not warrant people thinking he bullied Hazel too.

Or maybe it did, but Hazel could not bring herself to understand that part.

Azriel had always been the most gentle, calm and loving parent anyone could ever ask for. He was the furthest thing from mean. Hazel had never seen him get angry or raise his voice.

And it made Hazel wonder. What would be the situation in which Azriel raised his voice?

Hazel knew the one person Azriel loved the most was Y/n. He could act all he wanted when he wanted to irk Y/n that Hazel came first for him, but Hazel knew that if it came to it, he would sacrifice the whole world, her and then himself to please his wife.

And so when she asked her father, his answer came as no surprise.

"Dad, will I ever see you lose your temper?"

He laughed, his eyes not leaving the vegetables he stirred in the pan for lunch. "Maybe if someone bullies your mother, you just might."

Hazel smiled, nodding. She turned to look outside the window that faced their porch, looking at all the people that passed. Their house was in one of the quietest areas of Velaris, and so only sparse groups of people lingered around, mostly kids and housewives.

As she continued pondering his answer, her eyes fell on her mother returning from the market nearby. Hazel grinned, beginning to turn to her father to tease him about it, but then she looked closer at Y/n.

She looked disturbed, brows furrowed and lips pursed.

"Dad?"

Azriel hummed, glancing at Hazel.

"Does mom look worried to you?"

Hazel heard him draw closer, peering over her shoulder. "Mom?"

"Yeah, look."

Hazel glanced at Azriel, watching as his brows drew together and his jaw hardened.

"A male’s following her."

Hazel blinked, then turned to look. Sure enough, she saw a man come into view, jeering at Y/n’s back. Y/n was almost to the gate that opened into their lawn, and she kept glancing back at the man.

"He’s dead if he doesn’t leave."

Hazel would have smiled, but the seriousness in her father’s voice told her he wasn’t jesting.

The two watched as Y/n tried to shut the gate behind her, but the man’s foot wedged inside as he smirked triumphantly at Y/n.

And the presence of Azriel was gone from behind Hazel.

The door opened, and Hazel turned in time to see Azriel practically fly out the door, Truthteller clutched in his hand.

Oh, someone’s dying today.

"Back off!" Hazel hurried over to the door to peer out at the scene, eyes wide as her father called out.

The man’s face crumpled in fear, and he took a step back from Y/n, who turned to look at her husband. If Hazel had to be honest, it was quite funny watching one of the most feared males in all of prythian stand in front of his house with a red shirt and a stained apron on, threatening a male in broad daylight without a care.

"I swear to the mother if I see you ever again, you are going to be buried before you can even blink." Azriel growled, brandishing his dagger.

"For-forgive me, sir. I did not know she was yours-"

"And that should not matter. Don’t let me catch you harassing another female again, or-"

But that man was gone.

Azriel turned to Y/n, smiling. "Are you alright?"

Y/n grinned at him. "I am."

Azriel effortlessly grabbed the bags from his wife’s hands and shifted them to one of his, then wrapped the other one around her waist.

"Did he do something?"

Y/n shook her head, laughing. "You almost killed him before he could."

Azriel grinned, smug. "Glad to hear that."

He led his wife inside the house, casting a searching look outside before closing the door. Y/n shot Hazel an exasperated smile behind his back, making her giggle.

Hazel had always wished to have a love like her parents, but each day, she wondered if she would rather stay by herself.

Because there was no way there was someone out there who loved as Azriel loved Y/n.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

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[utterlyotterlyx]

In Another Life

Azriel x F!Reader

Summary - Once upon a time, a certain Shadowsinger found his mate in the right person but the worst time.

Warnings - a pure fluff fest, a little bit of angst, fated mates, descriptions of loss and grief, mentions of death

Note - This is my first fic back after a bit of a hiatus so be nice please haha, I'm getting back into the groove x

"Avoir elle est avoir les etoiles."

Azriel's shadows and ears alike perked upward at the familiar yet foreign tongue that had drifted through the room, finding him where he stood in a far corner, away from anyone who may be wanting to keep an eye on him.

Balls had never been something he was keen on, always attempting to find an excuse to be elsewhere whether it be a mission or some pitiful plead to stay home.

But his ire didn't quite meet him in the instances where he knew that his mate would be present. His perfect, beautiful, untamed mate.

To have her is to have the stars.

Eris' wickedly devious drawl played in his mind. The newly appointed High Lord of Autumn had always had an affinity for you despite you only finding your feet upon Prythian once a year. Eris didn't seem to care that you had a mate, albeit, a mutually yet unofficially rejected one, and seemed to believe that he would be able to turn your head quite easily.

The Nether was the place you had called home after the rejection of something you had begged the mother for your entire life. Azriel wasn't sure how it had happened, not only how you had become a stranger to him so quickly, but how exactly you had ripped open the fabric of time and space with anguish once your brother had died in your arms; creating another world that lived only thanks to your lifeforce, a place where those you had lost remained, a place you had followed them to.

Each year, you would store enough energy away to keep that pocket world safe for a few hours just so that you could return to the surface.

Azriel counted down the days until he would be able to lay his eyes on you again. Prythian was also used to holding a collective breath, feeling the power of you coil around them, turning the air electric just as it would go before a thunderstorm ravaged the skies.

Then you were there.

As ethereal as always, dressed in the finest of silks that coursed from your breasts to your feet, the fabric washing over each curve on the way down. Sleeves fell lax from your shoulders, and you hair was as it always had been, loosely curled and flowing down your spine.

It was Amren who had gone to you first, she always had; the two of you had been close friends when you had called Prythian your home. With a genteel grin, you swept the firedrake into your arms, your soft giggles becoming the sonnet to Azriel's dreams as he watched your lips tilt upward and body relax as you welcomed more into your embrace.

Accepting the bond hadn't been an option once Fin had passed, you had ripped open that world so fast and knew that Fin, and whoever else now lay in there, wouldn't survive another lifetime without you. Azriel had understood. He had walked you to that rippling portal edge and left you there with his kiss indented into the back of your hand, with perhaps a small promise that one day you'd both have what you truly wanted.

Before that, Azriel had doted on you whole-heartedly. Thanks to Mor and Amren he knew all the things that you deeply and secretly adored, most of them he already knew from making it his mission to know you from the inside out, but he appreciated the tips nonetheless. Azriel courted you like a true gentleman, holding doors open and bringing you so many bunches of flowers that you had run out of vases to put them in, which only meant that he had to go and buy you more.

Azriel knew that you had a guilty pleasure for red velvet cake, so he made sure that every week he would collect two small cupcakes to sit at the Sidra edge to eat with you. Books held a special place in your heart, so he ensured that he would fine every new published book before you could and add it to your impressive collection. He knew the exact place that you liked to be kissed, at the corner of your mouth between your lips and dimple; and where you liked to be touched, that being on your elbow or the small of your back.

He didn't like to admit it, and he never did easily, but the day you left him had been the worst day of his life. A period had gone by where he refused to leave his room because he sheets still held your scent, of morning mountain rain and fresh springs; he also refused to eat for awhile, not being able to stomach it thanks to the bond coiling in terror inside of his soul.

Life without you was dim, but he kept it together each year for you, just so that you didn't worry, just so that you never felt bad for choosing to spend whatever time you could with the brother you loved so much.

From what he knew, The Nether was a dark and cold place, born from the despair inside of you from the moment you had lost Fin. The world you had created represented your anger and sadness. You had told him one year that it rained a lot, and that the palace where you lived was broken in so many ways, just like you. Azriel could tell that it was a dreary place because you seemed to get more pale each time he saw you.

He had always believed that you were brought into the world to make the sun cry with jealousy, and he had told you as such one more than one occasion.

Once you had done the round with your once shared family, letting go of Rhys and Feyre with a small pinch on the formers cheek, your eyes found him in his usual corner, like they knew exactly where to drift to next, and his soul set alight by the glimmer of adoration he found laced within them.

It only took you a moment to excuse yourself from Rhys and cross the amber lit ballroom to stand before him, peering upward through those lusciously thick lashes that he used to run his fingers over. After a longing sweep over his face, you smiled, "Hello, Az."

Mother above.

Even your voice was enough to make his knees tremble, so siren-like, it was as warm as embers and as sweet as honey, but sultry in ways that Azriel had never seen in anyone else.

"Hello Poet," he smirked at your rolling eyes and the slight huff that fell from your lips. You had always hated the little nickname, but didn't mind it so much when it came from him.

One of the things he was most thankful for was the way nothing ever changed between you; you both knew how much you loved one another, and how long you'd both happily wait until the time was right.

The way the lights of the Autumn Court ballroom caressed your skin was mesmerising, it made you almost glow in the cream dress that you adorned, a simple gown that had Azriel turning into a rabid beast inside. "How is Fin?"

The smile on your mouth faltered, and your brows twitched, and look so vacant came over your eyes that Azriel's heart almost stopped at the sight of it. Shaking it off, you forced a smile, one too big to be real, and told him, "He's doing well. He's been making me insane with the damned piano in the foyer."

Much like how The Nether matched your melancholy, there were sentimental items within it that you had pulled from Prythian. The piano was one of them. It was the item that made Azriel realise that you were mates, when he heard you playing a blissfully calm melody accompanied by your infamous voice, singing a sonnet of love and loss, of hope and dreams. The song was about him, you had later admitted, and that did was make him love you more.

Though, the flicker of sadness in your eyes did little to convince Azriel that things were alright, and he sent a mental message to Rhys of it, of the forced smiles and glazed orbs, and of how you kept on fidgeting with your fingers, a thing you only did when you were hiding something.

It didn't take a literal spymaster that long to figure out your tells.

Azriel played along, "Surely he isn't that bad?"

With a supple shrug, you answered, "He quite good at it actually. It just reminds me of different times."

Of times when our lives were entwined.

"I dreamt of you the other night," you told him nervously, glancing around and sending warm yet curt smiles to anyone that passed, just hoping to get a glimpse of that holy face. "It felt so real. You were sat at the piano beneath the open roof. The rain had stopped for a moment but the stone was still wet and puddled in places, but you were playing such a beautiful song, and all I could was stand at the doorway and watch you. I didn't want it to end, and part of me thought for a moment that it was real. That something was real."

"Y/N," Azriel frowned, fingers brushing against the cool of your wrist, "What's happened?"

Consciously realising where you stood, you took Azriel's hand in your own, and pulled him from the room into one of the many hallways that descended from it. You pulled him all the way to the other side of the castle, only stopped at a large window that looked out onto the warmly lit gardens that you had walked in often once upon a time.

Turning to your mate, you couldn't help but allow your mask to fall, "Fin is gone," you admitted, holding onto yourself to keep yourself together.

Azriel took a step forward, raking his hair back and lifting your chin from the ground to meet his eyes. "What do you mean?"

In the moonlight was when Azriel looked his best, with that pallid cascade falling over his face, illuminating the sharpness of his eyes and jaw, and the hollows of his cheekbones. He always dressed to impress you, always opting for his usual black attire, but he knew how much you loved the open collar, just delicious enough to show off the contours of his chest.

"It was good for a long time, we were happy," you spoke softly, allowing Azriel to take your arms in his hands, "But he started to get sad, he started to feel like he didn't belong there. He said it was too cold."

"I never meant him to feel like that, I swear. I was so desperate to not lose him that I didn't realise that his soul might not harmonise with the darkness I had created," Azriel brushed his fingers over your cheek, tucking back a loose strand of hair behind your pointed ear, waiting patiently for you to carry on. "I let him go. I let him go to find another world that has everything I couldn't give him. He left me a little while ago, and I suppose that I needed some time to come to terms with it."

Azriel felt his throat tighten, he knew how much you loved Fin, how you would have done anything to make him happy. You loved that boy so much that you ripped time and space apart so that you could be together.

"Y/N- I'm so sorry," he gathered you into his arms, rubbing his fingers in circles atop the small of your back whilst your tears dampened the silk of his shirt.

"He's gone."

The pain in your voice made his essence rage with agony. Azriel nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in the scent of you so deeply that it may stain his lungs for eternity. He pulled back, still keeping a firm grip on you as he pressed his forehead to yours, allowing his breath to fan over you skin in the hope that it would centre you slightly.

"I know you feel like you're alone, Poet. I promise you that you're not. Fin was an amazing boy, and I know that he loved you in ways that you may never understand. Do you know how happy he was when he found out that we were destined to be together?" Azriel asked, accepting your stifled nod as a sign to continue, "He was overjoyed by it, all he ever wanted was for you to be happy. And, I think that on some level, he knew that The Nether wasn't right for either of you. Fin didn't want to hold you back, and I think he loved you so much that letting you go was the only way to ensure it. He knew you never would have left him, not voluntarily."

"I feel so lost," you all but whispered into the air, sniffling and using your pale sleeve to wipe the tears falling down your cheeks.

Azriel took your face in his hands, one that he had held in the same way more times than he could count, "Then let me guide you home, Poet. Let me help you. You are the sun, y/n, you deserve to shine once more."

If you didn't already love Azriel so deeply, then you could have sworn that you had fallen in love again in that moment. Part of you believed that you didn't deserve him, not after you had chosen to leave him, not after you had reduced your bond to a single visit a year. But Azriel had waited for you his entire life, and he would continue to wait for the rest of his days, be it old and senile or rugged and beautiful, your Azriel would always wait.

Without wanting to miss another moment, you rose on the tips of your toes to connect your lips to his in what could only be described as a life-altering kiss. The bond that had been cold for so long burst to life, shrouding you both in tendrils of gold that weaved through your hair and launched your collective shadows onto the grass below the windows.

His lips were soft, and his hands gripped onto your face before finding your hips, and Azriel knew that if he died from lack of oxygen that he could happily walk into hell knowing that he had held heaven in his hands.

Once you had both pulled back, panting and glowing golden with your fists furled into the silk of his shirt, you managed to smile and brush your nose against his. "Home," you uttered gently, stroking the back of his neck, "Sounds like a lovely idea."

Author's Note

First fic back, eek!

I'm so sorry if you don't like this - it's been so long since I've posted and I'm just trying really hard to get back into my writing style x

If you love it then yay! And if you want more then as always, let me know!

[safetypinxtales]

Lonely with you | Azriel

summary: it seems like everyone's found their mates, except you. On a sleepless night you turn to your friend, in hopes that being alone, together, will feel slightly less lonely.

words: 1.5k

warnings: fluff, feelings of loneliness, thirsting over our boy az and his thighs, kind of just a drawn out drabble, some angst, generally just softness, Azriel with a book needs a warning in and of itself, very slight jealousy, neutrally described reader/no reader description, no use of y/n, PINING

notes: haven't written in years, and never befor for Azriel, or anyone from acotar, so bare with me. Not sure what I think of this, nor what the future might hold, but I had some time off uni and this idea that I just couldn't seem to get out of my head. Hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

part 2

You knew what picture was waiting for you in the living room of the House before you even rounded that corner. The distinct sound of pages turning, the hint of whiskey in the air, and him. 

That scent that was just so distinctly Azriel it almost made you forget that echoing emptiness in your chest. 

The sight that greeted you as you entered the room belonged in a museum, or at the very least at the front of some Day Court scribe’s lecture hall, being studied by the brightest minds in Prythian. You wanted to commission Feyre to paint it from your memories so it could be immortalized, even if just for your eyes. Because by the Gods, it was mesmerizing. 

Azriel sat – no, sprawled across one of the couches, those thick, muscled, sweatpant-clad thighs so deliciously, invitingly, teasingly spread apart. The book in his hand was not one you recognized, but then his taste in literature was slightly more… sophisticated than yours. But that just made it all so much more enticing didn’t it? The thought of this gorgeously dark, winged male consuming deep, meaningful art? It would make any sane person fall to their knees. 

The hazel of his eyes didn’t show any sign of surprise as his gaze met yours. He knew you were coming, most likely courtesy of the shadows leisurely curling around his shoulders. Cauldron, was he a sight…

… And your friend. Unfortunately.

“Are you just going to stand there all night or will you eventually move?” Right, right. How long had your feet been rooted to the floor? Judging by the humorous tone of his voice and that boyish sparkle in his eyes, probably a tad too long. 

Forcing your body to take a step, and another, you tried to think of something – anything to say. 

“Sorry, I–... I just didn’t expect you to be here is all,” liar, “I guess you caught me by surprise”. It wasn’t the best excuse in the world, but with the situation at hand it could have been a lot worse. Like, a lot. Besides, it’s not like you could have told him the truth.

Sorry Azriel, it’s just that I have been desperately yearning for you for the last couple of years and seeing you like this, looking all boyfriend-y, has me nearly swallowing my own tongue because of how perfect you look. I am just humiliatingly obsessed with every single little thing you do, as well as horrifyingly lonely to a default. In a non creepy way, of course. 

… You would rather free-dive off the dining room balcony before ever admitting that to him. 

His brows furrowed as he observed you, like he could see the lie written across your face, before humming lightly, almost as to himself. He reached a hand out to the glass resting on the coffee table and brought it to his lips, taking a sip of the amber liquid inside. Your eyes were trained on his mouth as he lowered the glass. Trained on the candlelight reflected in the alcohol wetting his lips. Those shiny, pouty, full–

His tongue slipped out and delicately swiped across his lower lip, licking off the remnants of the whiskey from the glass in his hand, and it took everything in you to not whimper at the sight. 

Cauldron boil you.

Needing something to ground yourself, you made your way over to pour yourself a glass of whatever Azriel was drinking and collapsed beside him on the couch, trying to roll that stubborn stiffness out of your shoulders.

”Can’t sleep either?” He asked you on a slight chuckle. 

“No, not with them going at it like bunnies,” you sighed, “how is it even possible for Cassian to… you know? I mean, not only is it day after day, but all night, non-stop? You need– I mean not you specifically, I don’t know anything about your sexual habits, just– just males in general,” oh Gods, “you– you need to rest, at some point – right?”

Azriel took in your flustered state, and pursed his lips as if to keep from laughing. His amusement did not help your case at all, only making the heat crawl further up your neck, your ears positively aflame. 

“I guess the mating bond has its perks,” he surmised, and you couldn’t escape the huff that exited your nose. 

That damned mating bond. The very one the Mother seemed to be handing out left to right lately, to everyone except you. And Azriel. But unlike you, he was a damn catch and could have anyone he’d like. 

“Am I an absolute wench for being jealous of Nesta? And Elain? And Feyre?” You whined as you threw your head back on the couch.

“Not at all,” Azriel’s raspy voice comforted you, easing the tightness in your stomach. You still felt like one though; Nesta was your best friend and you were happy for her, but still–

“It’s just so unfair! They were born like, yesterday! I have been suffering through a mostly miserable existence for over five centuries now and I have never even come close to a connection like they have,” you rolled your neck, “I am over the moon for them, don’t get me wrong, and I hate to make their happiness about me–“

“But being alone around people who… aren’t, can be very lonely,” Azriel finished and your heart clenched as you looked at him. Beautiful, kind, caring Azriel. One of your best friends, and the male you were hopelessly, devastatingly in love with. 

Knowing he, too, was hurting was painful in itself, but also slightly comforting. Knowing you weren’t alone in your loneliness. 

“You’re in pain,” he mumbled, and you opened your mouth to answer, but you couldn’t. Because it wasn’t really a question was it? “Your shoulders,” he noted, “they’re tense.”

“Oh, it’s fine, really. Nothing to worry about, just a small kink,” you tried to brush it off, but he looked at you with such intensity it made your whole body tingle.

“No it’s not,” it was like he could see right through you, “No, you have been worrying your neck ever since you sat down.” He pondered a moment before he sat up a little straighter beckoning for you to move closer. “Come on, let me help you with that.”

Your mouth fell open. 

Was he insinuating he wanted to rub your back? Your half naked, barely-nightgown-clad back. With his hands. Those magical, beautiful hands. Oh Gods.

Your attempt of a protest died in your throat at the slight raise of his eyebrows. He was not to argue with.

He marked the page he was on and placed his book down on the table in front of you, his eyes not straying from you once. Like he was afraid you would bolt if he looked away, even just for a second. 

In his defense, you very well might have.

A shaky breath released from your lungs as you put your glass down and readjusted your position on the couch until you were situated between his legs. With your back facing him, you carefully pulled your hair over one shoulder to give him better access, trying to block out the thoughts of how incredibly warm those bite-able thighs of his were.

The warm calluses of his hands on your skin set you ablaze, and as he carefully started to massage out the knots in your upper back you swore you could have melted, then and there. 

You couldn’t help leaning in to his skillful touch. You also couldn’t help the breathy groan that escaped you as he started to work on a particularly tense area. 

Or how your heart rate picked up as you heard what you swore was Azriel’s breath hitching in response. 

You basked in the intimacy of the moment, fully enjoying all of his undivided attention. 

The gesture, the moment, it all felt so domestic and comforting that the constant emptiness in your chest started to close over. Even if just for now. Even if it was all borrowed; a lovely, elusive fantasy – you let yourself feel whole. 

You barely registered his hands slowing to a stop, or the new found looseness in your shoulders. Barely registered as his hands slid down your arms and slowly tugged you back towards his chest. 

Not until you were engulfed in his warmth, his arms wrapped around you did you realize how well you fit together.

Like two pieces of a puzzle.

“Be lonely with me tonight,” his breath tickled your ear, “please.”

You knew it probably wasn’t wise. That tomorrow, when all of this would be gone, the hurt would resurface. The loneliness even heavier than before. But you couldn’t get yourself to care. To tell him no. Tell yourself no.

Instead you burrowed deeper in his embrace, closed your eyes, and even if just for tonight, you let his warmth fill the void in your chest. 

Until that void had been replaced by a vibrating, golden, glow.

[potatoplace]

I Hate It Here

ACOTAR x Archeron!Reader

The Afterthought: Chapter 2 | series masterlist

part one | part three | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: You are brought back to Velaris against your will, and forced to stay in the city by your supposed family. You slip into old memories and imaginings of the life you could be living whenever able, terrified of your new situation.

Warnings: suicidal ideation, slight disordered eating, toxic family, shitty Inner Circle, mentions of slut-shaming uhhh I don't think there's anything else

Words: 6.7k

Author's Note: it's heeere I'm so excited for this part! I hope you guys all like it, I know I made a few... choice decisions in certain places lol. Poor girly with the bathtub 😫 but the ending in this part is not near as sad as it was going to be. Hope you like iiiit 🫶

18+ only pls

🤍💔🤍💔🤍

You weren't sure how long you had been walking, hardly registering where you were going when he appeared in front of you.

Azriel.

You shook your head at him. You wouldn't consent to going anywhere with him.

Feyre would be the next to accuse you of being a whore if you did...

"Come with me, Y/N. You're going to freeze to death out here," Azriel said quietly, extending a hand to you.

"No. I don't belong there."

He let out a long sigh. "You belong with your sisters. Just come with me. Feyre is worried."

"Feyre is..." You scoffed. "Feyre is worried? Was she worried when I didn't show up for dinner that everyone was at? Or only when I was no longer in that city? Because from where I'm standing, no one in that city has cared for me in months. So no, I don't belong with my sisters. I belong with humans. Now let. Me. Leave," you hissed at him, legs already moving to walk past him and continue your journey.

"You'll die tonight, if you don't come back," Azriel informed you, as though you hadn't already realized that.

"And the world would be just the same without me in it."

Another long, heavy sigh from behind you- then arms were wrapped around your middle, holding you tight as you fought against him with all of your pathetic, human strength. You managed to rip a nail through his wing, causing him to hiss in pain and drop you. Before you could make your way to your feet, he had you in his arms again, this time carrying you through the swirling void of night that accompanied him at all times.

A moment later you were back in that house, in the middle of the living room where the rest of the inner circle was sitting, all eyes on you.

Azriel's arms dropped from your waist in an instant, the warmth of his body leaving your side as he took his place, leaning against the wall next to the fireplace.

"What were you thinking?" Feyre asked angrily as she stood from her spot on a couch next to Rhys. "Do you have any idea of what could have happened to you tonight?"

"Do I-" you shook your head. "Of course I know what could have happened to me, I'm just a human. Any single person in Prythian could kill me if they wanted to."

"So why did you leave?" Rhys asked quietly, in a tone that you knew meant danger.

You turned your eyes back to Feyre, doing your best to ignore her mate who still terrified you. "Do you remember what day it is, High Lady?"

Feyre looked confused for a moment, before understanding filled her eyes. "Oh, Y/N... I... I forgot. We were celebrating finally getting the Illyrians to let females train whenever they want," she explained, but you weren't buying it.

"Oh, well that's fine. You forget the day that I spent over a week preparing for, the entire day cooking for, all to celebrate something that just happened. Did you once think to find me? To invite me to this celebration?" Feyre's silence was enough of an answer for you. "I don't belong here. You should have left me in the human lands, thinking you all died. I would have been happier that way. Nesta and Elain hate me, I cannot speak to Lucien or Cassian out of fear that their mates will kill me, the rest of you ignore me unless I've done something wrong. I do not belong here," you hissed, doing your best to throw all of your hurt and rage into your words.

"You do belong here, Y/N," Feyre said tearily. "You're our sister."

You stared down at her coldly. "Am I? From where I'm standing I am just a weakness for you that you keep close so you won't be hurt. I haven't felt like your sister since I arrived."

"That's not tr-" Feyre started, but you cut her off.

"Take me back."

"What?" Nesta asked sharply from behind you, and you could feel her anger rising, the hairs on your arms standing up.

"Take me back to the human lands. I would rather live alone in poverty than spend one more day living in this place."

"You will not," Nesta snarled, a hand clawing at your shoulder. "You would die within a week with the wall down."

"I managed just fine on my own for three months before Feyre came to get me."

"Nesta is right, Y/N," Rhys said, drawing your eyes back to him. "You will not leave Velaris. Anywhere else is too dangerous for you to be, with your connection to us."

Rage flooded your system like it never had before at the thought of being kept here until you die. "I will not be kept like some prisoner in this city. I refuse."

"You have no choice," Feyre said softly, the final nail in the coffin.

"Then kill me," you said, fully hoping that they would. "Kill me and put me out of my misery, if I am not able to leave this horrible place. I do not belong here, and I do not want to belong here anymore."

Tears were pouring down Feyre's face at your confession, the last sight you saw before you slipped into darkness.

🤍💔🤍💔🤍

When you woke, your body was warm, resting underneath blankets on a comfortable bed.

You could almost imagine that you were back in that hut, surrounded by your sisters as you huddled for warmth.

But it was wrong... your face was too warm, no longer chilled by the slight breeze that rattled through the house in winter, and there was no soft, quiet breathing from your sisters sleeping.

You opened your eyes, met with the familiar pale blue ceiling of your bedroom. You would guess it was the early morning, with how dark it was.

What happened...?

It was difficult, getting your brain to remember how you ended up in your bed... After all, you had hardly slept in it ever since Elain had snapped at you so many months ago, the idea of another door keeping you safe too comforting to not indulge in.

But once you remembered... ice cold terror flooded your body.

You had been in the middle of yelling at Feyre- at all of them. And suddenly now you were in your bed?

Rhysand had used his powers on you.

And you were helpless to stop it.

You turned onto your side and curled into yourself for a moment, hoping that making yourself smaller would be enough to loosen the fear gripping your heart. After a minute, you gave up, standing from your bed and pulling a thick blanket and soft pillow with you into the bathroom, making your safe little nest in the bathtub.

The blanket and pillow you had used last were still there, adding extra cushion and much needed warmth to the metal tub.

So you curled up, a pillow at your back and your knees pulled to your chest as you huddled under one blanket and pulled the edges of the bottom one up, cocooning yourself in soft cotton.

Sleep found you easily, your body and mind exhausted still from the disappointment and realizations of last night.

Your dreams were filled by half memories, half imaginings of being back in that little run down cottage, your sisters and father around you as you huddled in front of the fire, drinking hot water from chipped mugs.

"Y/N?" Feyre's voice asked, waking you from your sleep. You raised your head for a moment, considering answering her. But your recent interactions with her had you placing your head back on its pillow, tucking your knees further against your chest, ignoring the way your body had started to ache. She knocked on the bathroom door once, twice. "Just... come out when you're ready, Y/N. There's breakfast downstairs if you'd like." Feyre sighed, loud enough for even your ears to hear, but walked away, leaving you in blissful silence.

You let yourself drift off again, conjuring images of you curled up in front of the fire, your head in your father's lap just how he'd let you when you were a child.

The next time you woke, your bladder forced you awake, and by the time you had relieved yourself the muscles in your body were screaming for some kind of movement. You walked around your room for a few minutes and stretched your body, sighing as some of the tension left it.

All too soon, your stomach was growling at you, angry with you for having ignored it for... however long you had been asleep.

Sighing, you moved back to the bathroom and disassembled your makeshift bed, replacing the fabrics where they initially belonged so that you could bathe before going downstairs.

The last thing you wanted was for Nesta and Elain to make snide comments at you.

You tied your hair up in a bun- you didn't feel like going through the effort of washing it at the moment. After drawing the bath, tendrils of steam coming from the water, you stripped yourself of the pink dress you had worn for Bounty Day and slipped into the water. Your muscles eased quickly, the heat of the bath drawing out the stress they carried.

You nearly fell asleep again, and if not for the gnawing of your stomach you would have let yourself, as the tub had an enchantment to keep the water warm until emptied. But you forced yourself to wash, using a soft cloth and a lovely lavender and orange soap bar that you had picked out a few months ago while shopping for Nesta's birthday.

Once you deemed yourself clean enough, you stood from the bath, nearly slipping as you stepped out. A disappointed sigh left your lips and you shook your head at your foolish, human clumsiness.

You dried off quickly and padded back into your bedroom. You slipped on a simple white cotton dress, and a pale pink dressing robe over the top. After putting on your slippers, you stood in front of the door, steeling yourself for whatever you would face outside of your room. A deep breath in, then out, and you opened the door, stepping into the hallway.

The walk to the kitchen was quick, and it was blissfully empty when you entered. You set about making a pot of tea for yourself, bringing water to a boil in a kettle on the stove. While it was heating up, you grabbed one of the trays used for when someone wanted breakfast in bed and placed a teapot and cup on it, as well as a bowl.

You looked around the kitchen, scrunching your face at the options available. Your eyes caught on the windows looking out to the garden, noting the stars in the sky.

Just how long had you slept for...?

Shaking your head, you turned back to the bowl of fruit sitting on the counter. Your hands reached for an apple almost big enough in size that you couldn't grasp it.

You grabbed a small cutting board from a cabinet and a knife out of the block, then washed the apple before setting it on the board. The kettle was just starting to whistle, and you removed it from the heat before it could wake anyone sleeping upstairs. After you measured out a small amount of tea leaves into the teapot's helpful strainer, you poured enough water in to make at least three cups of tea. You were making a soothing lavender and chamomile blend, one that never failed to send you to a dreamless sleep after having a few cups.

Leaving it to steep, you returned to the cutting board, carefully cutting the apple into small slices. Once it was cut, you placed the slices into the bowl on your tray, then washed the cutting board and knife, leaving them in the drying rack.

You removed the strainer from the teapot after deeming it to be strong enough, and emptied the leaves into the trash before washing it as well.

All that was left was to carry your bounty upstairs, without waking a soul.

Tray in your arms, you made your way back up the stairs and into your bedroom, letting out a small sigh of relief once you had closed the door behind you. The tray was placed on your desk, and you took your seat.

The first pour of tea was always your favorite, as it was always at the perfect temperature. You brought the steaming cup of tea to your lips, closing your eyes as you took the first soothing sip, letting the warmth of it wash over you.

The apple was delicious, crisp and sweet and tasting of autumn. You made sure to savor the taste- you weren't sure when you would next venture out of your room, seeing as you were still terrified to see any who would be in the River House.

Even your sisters... Though Feyre was the main change, you supposed, seeing as she had let her mate use his powers on you, when she had promised that neither she or Rhys would ever do so.

Your second cup of tea was still warm and soothing as you finished off the apple, but when you got to the third and final cup, it was only lukewarm.

A problem that any of your sisters would surely be able to solve...

By the time you finished your tea, you were tired enough to fall back sleep, but first you forced yourself to return to the kitchen, feet stepping carefully on your journey to stay undiscovered. You washed your dishes quickly and returned the tray to its rightful place, then made your way back upstairs.

Your door was shut behind you, another successful mission in avoiding those you once considered family.

The bathtub had dried, and you brought your blankets and pillows back in with you, reassembling your makeshift bed once again. Your crawled between the blankets, content to stay between them forever as warmth cocooned you. Your mind drifted, once again conjuring scenes of you living with father once more, tending to your little herb garden and cooking to your hearts content.

Two weeks- or perhaps more- passed in the same manner, with Feyre knocking on your bathroom door every morning or so and waking you from your slumber. In the nights you would crawl from your blankets and return to the kitchen for a pot of tea and whatever fruit or vegetables were available and easy enough to eat without cooking.

Your stomach had protested loudly for the first week before settling back into the cold, quiet hunger that your body had adapted to for most of its life.

One morning, your solitude was broken by Morrigan pounding on your bedroom door, jolting you from your sleep and driving fear into your heart.

"Come to the door, Y/N, or I won't leave!" She yelled from behind the wood, persistent knocks following her words.

You sighed and turned your head back into your pillow, determined to ignore her.

"I brought you tea! Please just come to the door, Y/N? You can tell me to leave and take the tea, even," the fae offered, and your stomach rumbled in response.

Tea... wouldn't be bad, you thought to yourself.

But you hadn't bathed...

Morrigan's knocking only grew louder as you debated with yourself, fear and hunger warring in your mind.

"Y/N!"

You grumbled to yourself as you rose from your spot, shouting "I'll be right there!" when her knocking somehow continued to increase in volume. You opened the bathroom door and headed to your wardrobe, tugging a dressing gown over your nightgown.

Turning the door's handle was difficult, fear of the unknown still lingering in your gut, but the blonde on the other side of the door was in fact holding a tray of tea when you finally managed to open the door.

"Good morning!" Morrigan chirped, a bright smile on her face as she met your eyes. Her warm chocolate eyes seemed genuine, allowing some of the tension in your body to leave as you looked at the tray.

A pot of tea, two cups, and a plate of diced fruit, cheeses, and smoked meats.

She obviously wanted to join you... And she had been kind enough to bring you not only tea but food as well. That made up your mind.

"Would you like to come in?" You asked quietly, stepping aside to let her into your bedroom.

"I would love to, thank you Y/N." Morrigan breezed in and placed the tray on top of your bed before taking a seat on one side, feet pulled up so she was sitting with her legs folded in front of her.

You shut the door and followed her, taking a seat on the opposite side while she poured tea into a cup. She handed one to you first, warmth instantly flowing into your fingers, before pouring her own.

You took a small sip, closing your eyes at the bright taste of mint and ginger. "I... Thank you, Morrigan."

"Oh, call me Mor, Y/N. And it was really no trouble, I've..." She paused. "I've wanted to talk to you, check in on you after everything that happened. I know that we haven't talked much, since you came to Velaris, but I would like to change that. I know what it is like to feel so out of place that you can barely fathom living... I know how difficult it can be, when you don't have the support you need," Mor confessed. "I do wish I had noticed how uncomfortable you felt, before you had to tell us so bluntly."

Tears pricked your eyes as she talked. You wished it had been the same, as well.

"It isn't your fault, Mor..." you sighed. "You don't have the same... Not responsibility to me, but the past connection. And it is not as though you were the one to bring me here."

Mor gave you a sad smile, her eyes understanding. "I know, but you are a part of this family, and you are supposed to feel like you are as well."

You nodded your head in agreement, though you didn't quite agree. You felt... You felt as though your family had been lost to you, long before you came to Velaris.

The two of you sipped on your tea in a comfortable silence for a while, your eyes darting down to the small spread of food frequently, until your stomach made its discomfort known. Loudly.

Instead of Mor reprimanding you for it, or telling you to eat, she simply began eating herself- something you were grateful for. You followed her lead, slowly eating a few pieces of what she had brought up. Between the food and the several cups of tea, your stomach felt pleasantly warm and full, more than it had been in a long while.

"I have an idea, if you're up for it," Mor offered once the two of you had finished both the tea and food, her brown eyes looking at you hopefully.

"What did you have in mind?" You asked, mind already wandering to what she might ask you. Maybe a favor for Feyre, to get you to talk with her?

"I have a little skincare routine that I do every morning, and even though your skin is absolutely gorgeous as is, I thought that maybe you would like to join me? It's one of the few things that helps me feel a bit better when I'm having a rough day."

You blinked at her for a moment, the idea of her wanting to spend more time with you not having crossed your mind.

"I... I'm not sure that I would be any good at it..."

"Oh, nonsense! It's pretty simple, and I'll help you out with it. And if you hate it, we can stop at any point. Please?" She asked with so much sincerity that you nodded in agreement. The smile on her face when you did made you feel nice, and like she wasn't being forced into spending time with you.

"Yay!" Mor cheered. "I'll be back with everything in a few minutes. Do you want me to bring another pot of tea as well?" Mor asked, a sparkle in her eyes.

"If it's not any trouble for you, please," you replied, eyes tracking her as she stood from your bed and brought the tray back into her arms.

"Of course it isn't, Y/N. I'll be back in a little bit, okay?"

You nodded, and stood from the bed to open the door for her, shutting it softly behind her.

So far... This morning was nice. Mor is nice.

She returned in a few minutes, a fresh pot of tea and her supplies on the tray.

Over the next hour, she helped you cleanse and moisturize your skin, doing the same herself. You felt silly at first wearing the clay mask that she had spread over your face, but seeing Mor in it as well made you feel giggly, the two of you laying on your bed and talking about clothes. She made you promise to let her take you shopping once you felt ready to leave the house again, and you had her promise to teach you to do your makeup- though in softer colors than the bold reds and black that she preferred.

You drank most of the second pot of tea, happily consuming it, and along with the pleasant company of Mor, you were feeling warmer and more alive than you had since Bounty Day.

"So... Do you feel a little better?" Mor asked after you had both rinsed your faces and applied one last layer of moisturizer, this one smelling of strawberries.

You thought about it for a moment- you felt lighter than you had in months. "I do. Thank you again, Mor. This was really nice," you said, a small smile on your lips as you looked at her.

"Good, I'm glad. If you want to do it again, say... Tomorrow, just let me know," Mor said with a bright grin on her face.

"I... I'd like that very much, Mor," you said sheepishly, still in slight disbelief that she wanted to spend time with you.

"I'll stop by at the same time tomorrow, then." Mor gathered her things and left your room, leaving you in silence once more.

As much as you had enjoyed her company, you felt... tired, now. You glanced out the window, noting that snow was falling on an already thick layer coating the ground and buildings below.

You hadn't known it had snown at all recently.

With a shake of your head, you brushed that thought off and returned to the bathroom, your blankets-

Oh gods, you thought to yourself. Did Mor notice?

You were slightly ashamed that you felt unsafe enough to sleep in the perfectly comfortable bed you had been given, but... You couldn't bring yourself to care enough to move back into the bedroom to sleep. Instead, you burrowed yourself into your blankets once again, telling yourself that someday you would sleep in the bed again.

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

Your time with Mor the next morning became a daily occurrence for the next week, and a way for you to better tell the passing of time.

Feyre had stopped coming to your bathroom door every morning, replaced instead by the blonde that you were getting closer to considering a real friend.

One morning, you woke early enough to take a bath before Mor showed up at your door. You had just finished dressing when you heard arguing outside of your door.

"I will not ask her for you, Feyre. You can go in there and ask her yourself, but I am not going to use my friendship with her for your benefit. Once you work up the balls, come back. She might talk to you then," Mor said angrily to your sister.

That shocked you.

"I'm not trying to use-" Feyre paused. "Fine, I will come back later."

"Good. Now go away, I don't want you to scare her."

A few seconds later, Mor knocked on your door. You opened it, and found her carrying the usual- a pot of tea, plate of food, and plenty of her skincare products.

Besides her argument with Feyre, your morning together went as usual, and you had nearly forgotten about the incident until Mor was about to leave.

A knock on the door had both Mor's and your heads snapping to it.

Mor sighed. "I should be going, then, Y/N. Just... Hear her out, for a moment at least?"

Your scrunched your nose up but nodded. "Thank you, Mor. Will I see you tomorrow?"

Mor's head bobbed as she picked up her things. "Yes, but the next few days I'll be staying in the Hewn City, they tend to get a little more problematic the closer we come to Starfall," Mor explained.

Your heart sank a little bit, but you smiled at her anyways. "I hope it goes well. I know you don't enjoy being there much." You almost wished you could go with her, to be out of this city for a little while.

"Thank you, Y/N," Mor said with an appreciative smile. "Would you get the door?"

"Of course." You did so, opening it to see a nervous looking Feyre. Mor passed by her and headed down the hallway. "Would..." You hesitated. "Would you like to come in?"

Feyre smiled at you, one filled with tension. "I would, thank you." She followed you into your room, closing the door behind her and coming a few feet into the room, leaving at least your height's distance between you. "I wanted to speak with you about something- well, ask you something, more."

"Okay..."

"I- Would you be willing to come to dinner tomorrow night?"

You stared at her in confusion. "Why tomorrow?"

Feyre's brow furrowed at your question. "It's your birthday tomorrow."

Oh.

You had forgotten your own birthday. It didn't surprise you much, with how distant your mind had been recently. Only in the past week had you fully recognized the passage of time, thanks to Mor's visits each morning.

"Oh, uhm... I-" you paused. Dinner would mean... seeing Nesta and Elain and Rhys. "Uhm. Would... Who would be there...?"

"All of the Inner Circle, I think," Feyre replied, a frown on her face when she saw your own. "What's wrong?"

You were silent for a moment, trying to come up with something that wouldn't make you sound as weak as the truth. But nothing came to mind quickly enough, with Feyre still staring at you with her worried blue eyes.

"I'm... I'm afraid of Nesta and Elain... And Rhys," you admitted, looking at the floor.

Feyre sighed. "I'm sorry about what I had him do, Y/N. I really, truly am. You were just so panicked and talking-" Feyre paused to close her eyes, one tear making its way down her cheek. "Hearing you explain how you were feeling, I wanted you to have time to calm down some. I didn't... I didnt know how horribly you feel living here, Y/N."

It was your turn to sigh. "If... If you get Nesta and Elain to behave- or at least not say anything nasty to me- I will come to dinner."

"Really?" Feyre asked, her watery eyes looking into yours. "I was already able to convince Elain to bake a cake for you- your favorite, white chocolate raspberry. And Nuala and Cerridwen were more than happy to make your favorites."

Your heart lifted in your chest. "You really planned a dinner for me?" You asked hopefully, willing them to not be crushed.

"I did, Y/N. It's the least I could do, with everything I haven't been doing."

You nearly reached for her, to pull her into a hug. But-

You were still afraid, still upset at being kept in Velaris.

She would have to earn your trust back.

"Thank you, Feyre. I'll see you tomorrow night."

Feyre nodded at you, a small smile on her face. She turned to leave, but paused before she did, as though she wanted to say something else. Instead, she left your room, shutting the door softly behind her.

Dinner tomorrow...

You sighed. It will be fine. It has to be.

🤍🤍❣️🤍🤍

The next morning, you woke with an awful cramping in your stomach, your body feeling slightly like you had the flu.

One use of the restroom proved that was not so.

Your cycle had come.

On your birthday. Just your luck.

Thankfully you had woken early enough that Mor was likely still sleeping, the sun's rays just barely peeking over the horizon.

You could take a bath. A nice, scalding bath to soothe the aches of your cycle. And you did just that, soaking in the water until the sun had risen.

Still, you felt dirty climbing out of the bath. Every cycle, you felt more and more disgusting with each vile look Nesta and Elain would throw at you.

Nesta and Elain... You would have to see them today.

Tears filled your eyes at the thought of dealing with them later.

At least you would still have your morning with Mor.

You finished dressing just before Mor arrived, tying your dressing gown as she knocked on your door.

"Good morning, Y/N," she said after you let her in, her arms filled with the usual fare. "Do you want a pain potion or anything, sweets?" Mor asked after she set the tray down on your bed.

"No, I'll manage fine," you said, still disappointed that everyone else can scent your cycle.

Mor nodded her head in understanding. "Well, if you change your mind, feel free to come to me for one. I know your cycles aren't quite like mine, but they're painful nonetheless. But for now, Y/N, I'd like to wish you a very happy birthday. Feyre says you're turning twenty?"

You bobbed your head in confirmation as the two of you took your seats on your bed. "Yes, we're just a few days under a year age difference." Mor poured out tea for the both of you, today it was your favorite lavender and chamomile blend. "Do you... Do you know what Feyre has planned for this evening?" You asked nervously.

If you knew what to expect, maybe it wouldn't be as bad.

"Well, there's the dinner, obviously, and I do believe that we all got you a gift- at least I did, and Elain made a delicious looking cake for you! I do think that's all, though, Feyre thought you wouldn't like a huge celebration right now."

"Feyre would be right... I'm nervous enough as it is..."

Mor smiled softly at you. "You know what will help with that?"

"What?"

"Doing our skincare! It'll get your mind off of tonight!"

You shook your head at her. "I should've guessed, Mor," you laughed, but followed her into the bathroom anyways.

And Mor was right, as she usually was.

The two of you dozed off on your bed while you had masks on, only waking up once Mor accidentally kicked you in her sleep.

The two of you were still giggly by the time she left your room, your spirits much higher thanks to the lovely blonde that had become your friend over the past week.

By the time dinner rolled around, you were cramping more than before, and feeling absolutely exhausted from keeping yourself awake all day.

You hadn't realized how tiring just being awake was, even with your mind traveling back to that little cottage for most of the day.

Still, you bathed once more, a quick one this time, and dressed in a modest, dark green dress.

Now the difficult part... Making it downstairs. In the daytime.

Your hand rested on the doorknob longer than you cared to admit, your body warring with your mind, knowing who was waiting downstairs.

You managed to get out of your room, very slowly making your way downstairs as dread filled your stomach.

Surely Feyre could get your sisters to behave for one night, right?

The dining room of the River House was packed when you finally entered, the entire Inner Circle being present along with Nuala and Cerridwen.

Good- two extra friendly faces could never hurt.

"Y/N!" Feyre exclaimed when she spotted you, and she quickly made her way over to you. Her hands clasped yours. "I'm so glad you came down, sissy," Feyre said, using the old nickname she had given you.

"Me too," you replied, only half meaning it.

"Well, dinner is just about ready if you want to take a seat. Mor and I saved a seat between us for you, if you'd like?" You nodded and let her lead you to your chair, which was next to an excitedly bouncing blonde.

"I can't wait to give you your presents, Y/N. I think that mine are the best!" She boasted.

Your nose crinkled as you smiled at her enthusiasm. "I'm sure everyone's presents are nice, Mor."

"Yes, but mine are the best. You'll see after dinner."

"I'm sure I will..." You said quietly, and it was then that you noticed the eyes on you.

All of the eyes on you.

Nesta was looking at you like she wanted to stab you, or perhaps burn you alive with her silver flames. Elain's look had less outright hatred, but hurt all the same.

Still, they said nothing.

Thankfully, Rhys's eyes looked more concerned than angry, as they had been the last time you had seen him.

You turned your eyes to your plate. White porcelain with delicate silver flowers painted onto the rim. Pretty.

"So, what all do you want?" Mor asked a few minutes later, drawing you back into the present.

You looked up and noticed that dinner had been served, all of your favorite dishes that Nuala and Cerridwen had made for you since you met them on the table.

"A little bit of everything...?" You said, unsure if that would be okay. No one stopped Mor from loading up your plate with a whole lot of everything, leaving you with a dauntingly full dish set in front of you.

There was no way you could eat all of that in one go, with the way you had been eating... Or rather, avoiding eating recently. The most consistent meals you had were your small breakfasts with Mor.

You resolved yourself to eat a small amount of each, and see how you feel then. After all, there was still Elain's best cake to have later.

The dinner was more pleasant than any you remembered, though you hardly spoke to anyone. Mor and Feyre seemed to have picked up on how anxious you were, both of them touching your arm or hand to draw you back to the moment when you stared at your plate too long.

But then it was time to retire to the living room, you seated on the couch across from the fireplace that you had avoided for so long now...

Gifts were given, more than you had anticipated.

Feyre, Elain, and Nesta had all gotten you cookbooks. Feyre's was of traditional Night Court recipes, your favorites marked with bookmarks. Elain had gotten you one on desserts of the Solar Courts. And Nesta had gotten you a book of soup recipes.

All of them would be thoughtful... If they had taught you to read.

Still, you smiled when you opened each one and said thank you, though your heart had sank lower at the reminder that they had forgotten your illiteracy, had forgotten that you barely knew your letters, if that.

Amren's present was next, a pretty set of pink opal jewelry. You smiled at the tiny fae, barely managing to meet her eyes. She was still... unsettling, though she had never done anything to you.

Then Rhys presented his, a book of human fables, explaining that Feyre had mentioned how much you had adored them as a child.

That much was true, but... It was the same problem as with the cookbooks. You thanked him but refused to meet his eyes.

Cassian was next, who had gotten you a box of sweets from the chocolate shop you had gone to a few times, all of them ones that you had ordered more than once. It was thoughtful enough, and you knew if he'd gotten a more personal gift, Nesta might have...

You didn't want to think about that.

Azriel was next after Mor told him that she would be presenting her presents last no matter what. He had gotten you a beautiful teapot and set of teacups, all enchanted to keep the tea at the perfect temperature for up to twelve hours. The bottom was a pale pink that faded into white at the top, with delicate irises painted on the sides. It was perfect.

Along with it, he presented you with a large box of different tea samples.

"Whichever ones you enjoy, let me know and I will buy you full sizes of them, alright?" Azriel asked after presenting you with it, and you nodded in agreement. "Thank you, Azriel."

There were at least ten teas you had never tried before, though these were all from a store that you had never been to.

To say you were excited for all of the new flavors would be an understatement.

Mor sighed after seeing his present. "Mine ties for first, I suppose... Here, Y/N," she said, handing over a large box to you.

You opened it, eyes widening at what was inside. It contained a beautiful pink bedding set, all of the fabric so soft to the touch you wanted to bury yourself in it the moment you felt it. There was a second blanket, one that was buttery soft and in a pale purple.

These would be a wonderful addition to your bedding.

"And... Here," Mor said as she gave you a large bag, this one filled to the brim with skincare and makeup products. "I wanted you to be able to keep up the routine, even while I'm gone. And I picked out some shades I thought would look pretty with your skin tone."

"Thank you, Mor." You leaned over to hug your friend who was seated next to you, so happy that she had thought of you so much.

"It's my pleasure, Y/N."

A few moments later, your presents were covered in shadows before disappearing, and you looked to Azriel.

"They're in your room, I thought it would be easier to have them taken up for you," was his answer. You nodded in acknowledgement.

"How about cake now?" Feyre said excitedly, clapping her hands together as she stood. "Elain, come help me?"

Elain started to follow Feyre, but as Feyre passed Cassian he held out a hand to stop her, nose tilted to the air.

"Feyre... Is...?" He took a few more deep sniffs. "Oh mother, are you pregnant?!" He asked, standing up and embracing her before she could confirm or deny.

"Oh, Feyre, congratulations!" Elain exclaimed, the next to hug her.

"Yes, yes, I'm pregnant," Feyre said shyly. "I wasn't planning to-"

"We have to celebrate!" Cassian announced, already pulling Feyre into the kitchen where everyone else followed.

You were excited for your sister, of course you were... But it stung, seeing the first time you had seen everyone in so long become a celebration of Feyre so quickly.

You said a quick congratulations to Feyre, though you weren't sure she heard you over the tenfold increased volume in the kitchen.

Then you made your way upstairs, back to your room, back to your bathtub.

At least you had a new blanket to keep you company, and new tea to have the next time you woke.

So you settled in, snuggling down into your now cozier makeshift bed. There was less fear in your heart, now that the obligation of seeing people was over. But the cramps were ripping through you, causing you to curl in tightly on yourself. Maybe you should have asked Mor for a potion after all...

Until you drifted off, you could hear them celebrating below, another reminder of how out of place you still feel.

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[prythianpages]

Next to You | Azriel

Azriel x Reader | The world is ending and Azriel does all he can to be next to you.

warnings: angst, this does touch on death/dying (character deaths/reader death), end of the world, mentions of blood/injuries

word count: roughly 3,400

a/n: You can thank Lady Gaga & Bruno Mars for this lol. I was supposed to post this way earlier but I decided to rewrite some things last minute.

Death had come, manifesting in a cloud of heavy darkness. So dark it made Azriel’s shadows appear light and shiver at the sight. The darkness was rising from every crevice, every corner and a low, rumbling growl shook the earth beneath him. 

Koschei was here.

The sky began to darken, the sun being swallowed whole by the vast darkness much like the warriors at his side did. Shadows writhed and swirled around him, whispering and frantically urging him to run.

But Azriel’s eyes were still fixed on the spot where Rhysand was standing. Where Rhysand had stood.

Koschei had suddenly unleashed his wrath upon Prythian, taking each court down one by one. He saved the Night Court for last but he took its High Lord first. Feyre had stayed behind with Mor and Amren at the riverhouse to protect Nyx. Rhysand had been struck with such brutal force and swallowed by Koschei’s void of darkness so swiftly that Azriel still couldn’t believe it.

Not a single trace was left behind of his best friend, his brother, his High Lord.

Rhysand was gone. Just like that.

There was no time to grieve, no time to scream. Koschei’s men were advancing, their swords and arrows drawn and ready to continue their relentless attack. Azriel, Cassian and Nesta fought back alongside their own soldiers or what little remained of them.

It was no use. They were vastly outnumbered and no help would come as the Night Court was the last one standing. It felt as though the battle had already been lost, the sickening smirk on Koschei’s pale face sealing their fate. 

The ground buckled and split, jagged cracks tearing across the cobbled streets like veins of chaos. Trees swayed violently, their roots torn from the earth and the sounds of fae screaming rang out in the distance. All signs of life were being ripped apart at the seams.

Azriel’s gaze darted to Cassian, and an overwhelming wave of dread twisted deep in his gut. The Night Court General, usually so unbreakable, now stood battered and bloodied, his eyes void of any hope. Defeat clung to him like the grime smeared across his face. Nesta reached for his hand, their fingers threading together in silent solidarity.

A look of understanding passed between them. 

“Go,” is all Cassian said.

Azriel hesitated, his chest tightening with wild emotions. There were words burning on his tongue—words he never thought he'd have to say. But he couldn’t force them out. He didn’t need to. Cassian nodded once, his eyes conveying further understanding. A final, silent farewell. A nod that Azriel returned. 

And then he spread his wings wide, launching into the air. The wind howled against him, his shadows shuddering nervously, sensing his panic and wanting to soothe him. But they, too, could see that the end was near.

**

Azriel had never feared death.

As an Illyrian warrior and the Night Court’s spymaster, he had long prepared for it, accepted it as an inevitable part of his life. He was willing to die for his court.

But then he met you and everything changed.

Suddenly, the thought of dying filled him with terror. The fear of leaving you behind, of never being able to say goodbye. The idea of dying without feeling your touch one last time, without whispering how much he loved you. That was more frightening than any enemy he could ever face.

The words you had exchanged earlier were rushed and hurried, Koschei's attack taking everyone by surprise. He hadn’t said goodbye. He had only just enough time to promise to come back to you. 

And that’s all Azriel could think of in this moment–in what could very well be his last moments–is keeping that promise.

Smoke and dust choked the air, Koschei’s darkness thickening. He doesn’t turn around in fear for what he’d see. He kept his gaze forward, watching in distress as buildings shattered. The city of Velaris was crumbling apart around him. 

He ducked and wove through the falling stones and debris, doing his best to avoid the death arrows that seemed to be coming from every direction. His hazel eyes were sharp and focused. Even as pure fear clawed at his chest, making his heart race and hands tremble.

Your name was a prayer on his lips that manifested into a mantra of desperate hope.

The bond between you thrummed and sung madly. What once was a source of comfort was now only magnifying his fear. He could feel your terror, feel the frantic rhythm of your uneven heartbeat, echoing through the bond like a scream.

Azriel’s eyes locked on the House of Wind as it came into view, his wings straining as he pushed harder against the air. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, pushing past the protests of his muscles, the stinging of his injuries. The mountain the house was on trembled beneath the force of the quakes. His breath caught in his throat as one of the house’s spires broke away, crashing into the rocky expanse below.

He folded his wings in tight, landing hard in the courtyard, barely keeping his balance as the ground beneath him bucked and split. Cracks spidered across the stone beneath his boots, but he forced himself forward. Determination burned bright in him, every second counting. He had to find you, to be next to you.

Inside, the walls trembled, stone and dust raining from above as the ceilings began to crumble. He barreled through the halls, his destination clear. The library. He had left you there, hidden away with the priestesses and some of Valkyries, who had vowed to defend in case the attack reached them.

He thought you would be safe there. That he’d defeat Koschei and his army of death. That he’d return to his family and be able to hold his nephew, who has only had a taste of the world, in his arms again. That he’d be returning to you with the promise of tomorrow and a future where the two of you could start a family of your own. 

All those hopes and dreams were dying along with the world around him. The cruelty of fate knew no bounds. It continued to weave its harsh and bitter threads and when Azriel threw open the library doors, his heart stalled in his chest. Panic gripped him, raw and unyielding, flooding his veins like ice. So cold that he found it hard to breathe.

Because there was nothing.

No priestesses. No Valkyries. No you. 

Only darkness.

Koschei’s death magic had hit the library first. The clouds swarming below let out a hiss from the faint light that dared to creep in through the doors.  Azriel’s shadows slammed them shut, trying to hold the darkness back. The House’s energy pulsed faintly, aiding his shadows and taking over. Whatever magic remained of the House directed itself at repelling the evil force that had invaded its walls.

His shadows scattered, darting through the ruined halls, desperate to find you. But the gnawing fear clawing at his chest felt insurmountable, a type of desperation he had never known. He reached for the bond, tugging on it with everything he had. He pulled and pulled on those threads, frantically searching for any response. 

Tears stung his eyes when, at last, he felt your response.

“Please,” he rasped, his voice trembling, the word a plea torn from his soul. He didn’t know who he was begging—the shadows, the House, or the Mother herself.

His shadows moved, drawing his attention away from the door that shuddered under the pressure of Koschei’s darkness. His head snapped up as he realized where you must be.

Azriel bolted back up the stairs, his shadows scouting ahead and darting through the debris and cracks. His head began to pound and vision blurred from his injuries but he pushed on. The connection through the bond grew stronger, the tug more insistent. 

She’s safe for now. Not hurt, a shadow reported to him but he needed to confirm it for himself. Needed to see you with his own eyes, feel your presence. 

His legs trembled as he pushed forward, his lungs burning. When he finally reached the door to your shared room, he shoved it open with more force than necessary, his gaze sweeping around, wild with fear. 

And there you were.

The sight of you nearly buckled his knees. Relief washed over him in a crashing wave.  You stood on the balcony, your back turned to him, silhouetted against the dimming sky. Koschei’s creeping darkness loomed on the horizon, thick and unnatural, swallowing the sky and closing in around the House of Wind. 

The sense of relief he had felt was abruptly cut short. Time was running out.

His shadows reached you first, swirling around your feet, urging you to turn. When you did, his heart clenched painfully.

Your eyes, wide and teary, were full of fear and despair. You clutched something tightly against your chest—his cloak. Your fingers trembled as you gripped onto the fabric as if it were a lifeline.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” your voice quivered. “I thought–I thought I wasn’t going to see you again…”

Azriel crossed the distance between you in the blink of an eye. He pulled you into his arms, wrapping you tightly against him, cradling your head to his chest. His embrace was fierce, almost desperate. Only when he buried his face in your hair, breathing in your scent, did he finally allow a few tears to slip from his eyes.

“I’m here,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. He repeated it, softer this time, as if trying to convince himself. “I’m here.”

You pulled back slightly, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. Your hands cupped his face, thumb gently wiping at his tears. When your eyes roamed over his face and then lowered, a sob tore through your body, more tears spilling from your eyes.

“You’re hurt,” you choked out, taking in the gashes and bruises marring his skin and wings, the torn leathers barely holding together. The agony in your eyes when you met his gaze once more was far more tormenting and painful than his injuries. 

Azriel shook his head, his breath ragged and labored. “It doesn’t matter.”

The world outside was falling apart—literally crumbling into darkness. Azriel was dying and every breath now tasted of bitter and agonizing defeat. He could only hope that the Mother would spare him some mercy and grant him more time so that he may go with you. 

“You’re bleeding,” you whispered, your hand reaching down to touch the blood that soaked through his leathers. It stained your hands and Azriel removed your hand from his side, placing it back onto his face, not caring over the blood that now smeared his face.

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeated as if he could force the pain away with sheer will.

Because you were the only thing that mattered to him at this moment. You are his everything. His only reason to keep fighting, to keep breathing.

You let out another sob, the sound like a dagger, piercing straight through his heart. “I don’t want this to be the end,” you whispered, your words shattering him further. 

“I know, baby, ” Azriel replied. His grip on you tightened, his wings curling protectively around your frame as though he could shield you from anything, as though nothing in the world could touch you while he was near. 

He wished he could take away your pain, your fear. That there was something he could do to stop the darkness invading the world. His brows furrowed in anguish, whether from his wounds or your suffering, he couldn’t tell. He leant his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, feeling as though he failed you. As your mate, he had vowed to protect you, to shield you from harm, to always keep you safe.

“No,” you said firmly, sensing his regret and shame through the bond. 

“Azriel, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. The best partner I could’ve ever wished for. I thank the Cauldron every day for blessing me with you so” –your face tightened, the very thought of Azriel’s shame and sense of failure cutting deeply through you– “so don’t for a second think you’ve ever failed me. Not then, not now."

"I love you so, so much."

His eyes opened wide, searching yours, and there he found only love. His heart swelled with emotion, eyes filling with more tears. “I love you, too.”

And then he kissed you. One last time. The saltiness of your tears mixed into the kiss but he didn’t care. Azriel cherished every taste of you, savoring the bittersweet blend.

The harrowing sound of stone breaking and collapsing followed by more screams had you tensing and breaking apart. Azriel’s shadows circled around you both, forming a protective barrier as the world around you got darker and darker. The floor groaned and splintered beneath you and a shudder coursed through you as the air grew unbearably cold around you.

Unbridled fear and panic surged through the bond, so intense he could no longer tell where your emotions ended and his began.

“Look at me,” Azriel murmured, his voice soft but laced with a tremor, betraying the emotion he was holding back. He looked at you, his eyes tracing every feature of your face, indulging himself one more time.

Azriel’s shadows let out a hiss and your breath hitched. Koschei’s darkness had finally reached your room. But Azriel refused to let the overwhelming emotions suffocate you both, refused to let things end this way. 

 “Look at me,” Azriel said again, holding your face firmly in his hands to keep your head from turning. There was a slight tremor in his fingers as you looked back up at him, tears slipping continuously. He offered you a smile that was trembling yet still warm and comforting. “That’s it, baby. Just keep your eyes on me.”

The stone above you began to crackle and Azriel pulled you closer to him, held you tighter. “I’ve got you. In this life and the next. I will find my way back to you.” 

His eyes looked into yours, those hazel irises filled with raw vulnerability, a fierce determination. Your lips trembled as you nodded, struggling to form words past the lump in your throat. Yet, slowly, you managed a smile of your own. 

The world was ending around you, Koschei’s oppressive shadow of death looming.  He could take anything and everything he wanted. Except for this. He could never take what lived between you.

Because not even death could tear you apart, sever the thread that bound your souls.

Azriel swallowed hard, pressing his forehead to yours. His chest heaved with the effort of breathing, each inhale more shaky.  “Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow,” he whispered, his words straight from the vows he made to you during your mating ceremony. 

“And wherever we go, we'll face it together, ” you breathed, the ache in your chest nearly unbearable, mirroring the one in his. Yet, beneath the weight of fear, a fragile sliver of hope flickered. 

And Azriel couldn’t help but think back to how he’d always imagined his end would come. Brave, fearless and alone. A warrior’s death. It was the way he’d been raised and trained to believe he should go. 

But this… this was something far greater. 

He found a deeper kind of bravery. The courage to love so deeply and fiercely, even at the darkest of times. To face death not with a sword, but with you in his hold and feel whole. There was something tragically beautiful in facing the end with you by his side...

A sudden chill swept through him, paralyzing him. The warmth between you two began to fade yet your gazes remained locked. Unwavering and resolute.

Was this it? The last shard of light before the darkness consumed him? The scene around him began to dissolve, your image flickering like a candle in the wind. 

The last thing he saw was your eyes before the world faded into black.

just kidding!

Azriel startles awake, eyes wide and frantic, searching through the darkness. He blinks and he realizes that it’s not completely dark, that he's in your shared room and it's warm and comforting. Moonlight trickles in, casting a soft glow on you and he feels like he can breathe again. You’re nestled in bed beside him, turned on your side and facing him. He watches as your chest rises and falls gently, features soft and peaceful.

So different from the you he had seen moments ago and a stark contrast to the way his chest is currently rising and falling. Rapidly and uneven, driven by the hammering of his heart.

It had all been just a dream. A nightmare.

A strand of hair falls across your face, and Azriel’s eyes catch the movement of a shadow. The one that much rather prefers to be by your side than his. It peaks over its hiding spot, your hair, to face Azriel.

Though his shadows don’t have eyes, he feels as if it is blinking right back at him, slowly assessing him. It gives a shudder and then, another shadow darts from the corner, stirring the rest awake. They rise from were they had been hiding and resting, rushing back to him in a heartbeat. 

Master is safe, they whisper as they brush up against his arms and wrap around him. Before he can reign them back, some of them flutter toward you, doing the same. Master’s mate is safe.

It was just a nightmare. You both are safe.

The cool caresses of Azriel’s shadows have you shifting slightly and they coil back as you blink your eyes open. Sorry, they whisper. Some of them retreat back into hiding in the corners, merging with the ordinary shadows of the room. The ones hovering at his side continue to whisper their reassurances, intent on calming and soothing their master.

“Az?” Your voice is heavy with sleep.

You begin to push yourself up and Azriel scoots closer to you, one of his wings draping over you to keep you in place. His hand reaches out for your face and he pulls you in close until your noses nearly touch.

Concern immediately flashes in your open and wide eyes as you must sense the lingering unease through the bond.  “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Azriel murmurs, still groggy and shaken from the remnants of his nightmare. But as he studies you—the warmth in your gaze, the absence of the fear and despair he had seen in his dream—his anxiety begins to ebb. “I am now. It was just a nightmare.”

Your brows furrow in doubt, and he brushes his thumb along them, soothing the crease. Your hand then reaches for his chest, right over where his heart is still racing and your frown deepens. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can bring you some tea.”

Though his wing remains draped over you, he hooks a leg around you for added security. “I’m okay,” he reassures you, leaning in to nuzzle against your nose. When he pulls back, he can still sense your worry so he adds: “I don’t need tea. I just need you.”

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he breathes back almost immediately.

He covers your hand on his chest with his own, feeling his heart begin to calm with each passing moment. He then brings your hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to your palm before resting it against his cheek. He can feel the warmth that blooms in your chest at his touch and reciprocates the feeling through the bond.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he echoes softly.  “Now, go back to sleep.”

“You too,” you huff out, the sound of small disbelief strangely soothing to him at this moment.

Azriel grins, his tense muscles slowly easing. “You first.”

He lets out an amused exhale as you slightly roll your eyes at him, but he can tell sleep still clings to them. After one more assessing look at him, you let out a sigh and finally, close your eyes. His gaze is tender and loving as he watches you drift back to sleep, your features softening. The grin on his face eases into a contented smile when you shift even closer, instinctively seeking his warmth.

This time, the last thing he sees before closing his eyes is your peaceful face, the lines of worry smoothed away. No trace or hint of fear or panic. Only tranquility.

And as he sinks back into the embrace of sleep, he feels relaxed and secure, knowing that the promise of another tomorrow still awaits for the both of you.

a/n: Did I get y'all? Honestly, I was going to leave this without that last scene but then I thought that was too cruel so I stayed true to the song "I just woke up from a dream." I watched this scene between Cersei & Jaime from Game of Thrones so many times to help me write this because I wanted it to give the same vibes.

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith

[riddlesb1tch]

Imagine that you and Azriel are cuddling. His head is resting on your chest, his arms are tightly wrapped around your waist, and your hands are aimlessly exploring the expanse of his back, feeling the toned muscles and his soft skin. 

“Y/n?” Azriel asks, turning to face you. He rests his chin on your chest, turning to you with those honeyed eyes filled with love and adoration. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Anything,” you say with a smile. 

“Why did you choose me?” he asks with slight vulnerability but also genuine curiosity in his voice. 

“Like choose to date you?” you ask. He nods in confirmation. “Because the first time I saw you, I thought you were the most handsome male I’d ever seen, and so I came to talk to you.” Azriel slightly blushes at that. “Then when you spoke to me, I thought you were incredibly fascinating, and so I kept asking you questions. And when I spoke, you patiently listened, and I thought ‘I can speak to him forever.’ And then you told me you liked me, and I thought I was the most special female in Prythian,” you reminisce with a smile. 

“You are,” Azriel affirms. 

“And then we had our first date where you were so adorable, because you were so shy and blushing the entire time, and I thought ‘I wanna hold this beautiful man and hide him away from everything bad in the world’.” 

You feel Azriel’s heart rate increase at that sentence, his hold tightening ever so slightly, and the look in his shifts from adoration to devotion, a profound sense of love and awe for the female he was lucky enough to call his. 

“And then?” he asks in a raspy voice full of emotion. 

“And then the first three months of our relationship happened, and I thought ‘I have never met a more perfect male in my life.’ And then the next six months happened and I thought ‘I wanna be with this male for as long as I live’,” you conclude, smiling at the beautiful male who looked awe-struck by you. If you had never known what a loving, devoted gaze looked like, Azriel’s gaze right then was the perfect example. 

“How am I worthy enough of you?” he asks finally. 

“You’re a pretty terrific male, shadowsinger. Don’t underestimate what you’re worthy of,” you say, kissing his lips.

[really-fanny-longbottom]

only in my dreams [part three]

summary: the beginning of the end.

warnings: mentions of death, violence, abuse and burns.

pairings: azriel x reader, eris x reader

words: 8.9k

A feeling of numbness began to invade you from the top of your head to your toes.

As you closed your eyes and calmed your breathing, you felt your shattered heart one last time before focusing on your emotions and feelings and bringing them to the surface.

Realizing that it was impossible to reach all of them, you focused on those whose presence had become a habit and which had begun to suffocate you day after day. 

Jealousy - upon seeing that Azriel's courtships were not intended for you.

Pain - realizing that the Spymaster eye's weren't looking for you the way yours did for him.

Insecurity - thinking that you will never be enough for the Shadowsinger that occupied your thoughts.

Sadness - understanding that you will never find yourself in the arms of the person you most want to hold you.

Broken heart - when you realize that the male you love will never love you back.

You let them emerge, and when they did, you let them swim back and forth as you dug your way through them looking for that little switch. 

The switch that was about to solve all your problems. In a few moments, it would mend your heart and bind it with a steel chain around it, to prevent it from breaking again - from feeling again. 

After digging your way for a few more seconds, the switch came into your reach and as you headed towards it, you noticed the darkness that surrounded it.

The darkness that would invade your veins and corrupt your heart - the price to pay.

By reaching for the switch with an invisible hand, you let the happy memories with your friends replay in your mind, granting one last wish to your aching heart. 

It was while reliving those memories that you were hesitant about what you were about to do, seeing the good times you had spent with the friends that had become your family.

Nesta, Gwyn, Emerie, Rhys, Cass, Feyre, Mor and Amren - all their faces appeared in turns bringing a slight smile and a feeling of comfort. 

But it shattered when the image of Azriel and Elain holding hands and exchanging smiles invaded your mind without permission. 

You would never be her and he would never look at you that way.

That was your breaking point.

You wouldn't continue to suffer for a male who didn't even dedicate a second of his time to acknowledge you.  

And just like the snap of a finger, the hesitation disappeared, anger replacing it, making the invisible hand reach out and finally complete its task. 

With a simple click... 

You turned it off. 

And become darkness. 

-

A storm was heading towards Prythian. 

Black clouds haunted the sky, an immense darkness hid behind them, preparing to release its confined monsters at the right moment.  

The Courts were dominated by gray — a consequence of the storm that was about to break. 

The trees had lost their color; the flowers and food planted in the gardens stopped growing; the water in the rivers and seas was still, with no wave being formed; the animals had fled and a crushing cold forced every inhabitant to stay at home.

The sun was nowhere to be found. 

With no explanation from the High Lords for what was happening, the inhabitants were left at their mercy to conjure one.

'This is the work of witches,' some said.

'Prythian is dying. It's the end of the world,' said others.

But the rumor that most circulated among the Courts? The rumor that many believed but were too afraid to say out loud? The rumor that due to fear was whispered between ears or past written in letters?

Someone had disturbed a powerful being, and this was the result of their wrath.

Now, Prythian was condemned to face their punishment. 

The entire extension of Prythian seemed cursed, but no Court was worse than the Night Court.

Mainly Velaris.

All eyes that fell on the city would only take a second to identify it as the epicenter of the storm.

After all, that was where the 'curse' itself began. 

-

Velaris was paused in time.

Flying over what was once vibrant and full of life, Velaris, Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys continued their search.

They flew through the empty streets, past the closed shops, with no sign that anyone lived there. 

If the males didn't have the age they have, they would never have believed that this had once been the City of Starlight. 

It all started four weeks ago. 

Four weeks since Madja's drastic revelation about you.

Four weeks since the last time any of them had seen you.

You had disappeared without leaving any kind of trace.

While Amren, Nesta, and Feyre read all the books Helion had lent them about rare powers, Mor on the Continent trying to find someone who knew more about empaths, the males were tasked with finding you.  

The brothers had already flown over the entire Night Court to try to find any trace of you - but without success.

It was as if you had simply evaporated.

They went as far as contacting Eris to find out if the Heir knew anything about you. 

Although they didn't get any information regarding you, the males ended up discovering that Eris himself was looking for you.

Apparently, your news powers had reached the ears of Beron, awakening his interest in you.

Unfortunately, this wasn't the first time Beron had been interested in you. 

News in Prythian never took long to reach all the Courts. 

When the first rumor about an empath in Prythian emerged, all the High Lords were agitated, especially when that same empath was one of the members of Rhysand's Inner Circle.

Empaths were very rare, with only two recorded in the last twenty thousand years, so the extent of their powers and capabilities remained a mystery. 

Rhysand had to set up a meeting and introduce you to the High Lords personally to prove you weren't a threat. 

And you weren't. The High Lords saw firsthand what a caring, kind, and gentle person you were.

They saw your abilities as a healer and the purity in your eyes.

You were the epitome of kindness. 

There was no reason to fear you.

Until now. 

They could barely believe what you had become. It was as if the girl they had met decades ago had never existed. 

As if it had been nothing more than a dream. 

Helion was the first to find out about your situation when Rhysand came to him.

Rhysand will never forget how Helion said you must have suffered too much and too long in silence to be able to become what you became. 

The warning that followed still haunted the male in his sleep 'Do not underestimate her, Rhysand. It's innocent and pure people like Y/N who can find the deepest darkness within themselves when motivated to do so. She may not have been a threat before, but she certainly is now.' 

The truth that no one wanted to admit was that they were scared of you.

Scared of your new powers and what you would be able to do with them. 

And now Beron was looking for you. 

You were never a violent or aggressive person. In fact, in all the years since you joined the Inner Circle, they had never even seen you raise your voice.

But now...with your emotions turned off, and your powers, if Beron finds you and you feel threatened... 

They weren't sure that Beron would come out alive from that confrontation.

They didn't know how far you would go to protect yourself, but there was one thing they knew: they needed to find you quickly.

-

On a distant illyrian mountain, in an unpopulated zone, an abandoned cabin had been improvised as a laboratory.

The cabin contained only three rooms: a bedroom, a bathroom, and a living room/kitchen.  

This last room was the largest of the three, but due to all the tables that filled it, it gave the impression of being the smallest.  

On the tables against the walls were various dried plants and flowers — in other words, dead. 

You were sitting on a wooden stool in front of one of the tables in the center — that one was loaded with green plants and flowers with colors ranging from blue, red, and yellow.  

Your eyes studied a sunflower while your hands surrounded it with a darkness they emitted.

You watched as the poison began to spread through it from the root to its petals — how it began to lose its color and wither with each passing second. 

This has been your occupation for the last four weeks.

Ever since you discovered your new powers, you have dedicated yourself to learning about them.

All those sleepless nights, the days with little food in your stomach, the headaches, and the hours you spent sitting had been rewarded.

You could poison a entire plant or in a specific place of your choice, it could spread quickly or slowly, it could be deadly immediately or last for hours, you could remove the poison and bring the plant to its original state.

But the most interesting part? You had accidentally discovered during one of your experiments a few days ago that even after its death, you were able to control it. 

That's what you had spent the last few days working on. 

You believed this was the final step to achieving your full power. 

You watched closely as the flower reached its final stage. You could feel its vitality fading away at your fingertips. 

With one last movement of your hand, the flower reached its end.

Letting a few seconds pass, you took the opportunity to readjust yourself on the bench and stretch a little. You felt the muscles in your arms and back relax instantly. 

You didn't know how long you had been sitting here working on the flower, but when you looked out the window and saw the light of a new day outside, you realized that a few hours had passed. 

With your eyes finding the flower once more, you ignored the headache that was beginning to form on the right side of it, you had had many lately preceded by a bad night's sleep because of the nightmares that had invaded your mind for almost two weeks. 

You had never had nightmares before, and these were mysterious. You couldn't understand them no matter how hard you tried. 

You let go of that thought, pushing it deep into the back of your mind, and focused your attention on the task at hand and extended your hands towards the flower. 

This was the moment of truth. 

Slowly, with each rotation of your wrist, the flower started moving.

A big smile appeared on your face as you watched the flower move with the direction of your hands — following your lead. 

Your attention shifted to your hands as you realized what was happening.

Your glow was changing color. 

Transforming.

What used to be darkness was now a bright red. 

The reach of your full power. 

However, your moment of triumph was interrupted when your ears perked at the new sounds outside of the cabin.   

Footsteps.

Several of them.

The cabin only had one entrance and one exit, and that was where the intruders were headed.

You knew exactly who they were. You knew they were looking for you. They had come very close to finding you the last time, forcing you to move. 

Luckily for them, back then, your priority was learning your new powers, but this time? This time, you were irritated.

Your eyes didn’t leave the flower when the cabin door was kicked open and five Autumn soldiers burst into your small laboratory.

You had heard that Beron was looking for you, but you thought the male wouldn’t be stupid enough to send his soldiers to the Night Court — especially Illyria. 

Apparently, you were mistaken.

The soldiers began shouting orders that you ignored.

Did Beron really think he could capture you? Use your powers as he pleased? 

Without warning, the cabin door slammed shut, the hinges creaking.

The males' heads turned toward the sound faster than humanly possible, yet they dared not move when a melody followed — one that sounded like a lullaby.  

With trembling hands and legs, the soldiers tried to maintain their composure as they turned in the opposite direction. 

"Tell me," your voice rang out across the room, "Which one of you can winnow?" 

There was a deadly tone in your voice, enough to send shivers down the males' spines and cause doubts in their beliefs.

Your voice was light, calm, and delicate like a siren's song luring its victims to their death.

In a matter of a second, regret settled in the eyes of the soldiers, too scared to even remember that they had been questioned. 

When none of them responded, you moved just an inch on the stool, allowing the soldiers to see what you were doing.

Without making any noise or sudden movements, the males began to walk backwards slowly while they increased the strength with which they gripped their swords, their eyes still fixed on the scene they were witnessing — a dead flower being guided by the action of your hands that subjected it to what could only be described as the dance of death. 

The noise of a soldier swallowing the lump in his throat reached your ears, the same one that made the wise decision in answering you. "All of us."

The small laugh you let out made them shrink.

"Well, that's perfect," you finally turned to them, "that way, I don't have to waste time guessing.” 

Mouths dropped at the sight of you. The eyes that held nothing behind them, the long hair down to your waist, the simple long white dress you wore, your bare feet, and the smile that would scare away the bravest warriors. 

Behind you, the flower continued to dance without ever stopping. 

One of the soldiers gripped his sword tighter. “Wh...What...What's that supposed to mean?” his voice failed to hide the fear that was rising from him. 

You stood up.

The soldiers backed away even more, their backs hitting the wall behind them.

"By the Cauldron..." one of them muttered. 

Five too-fast heartbeats filled the silence of the room. 

You smiled.

“I need you to deliver a message to Beron for me.”

The soldier, who was on the far left side, began to search for the doorknob at an unnatural speed.

The smell of fear was palpable in the air. 

"Lucky for me that you all can winnow, but unlucky for you," you took another step, watching their faces change as they realized what was about to happen. "I only need one of you to deliver the message." 

The last thing the soldiers saw was your eyes turning red before everything exploded. 

-

Azriel didn't know how many hours he had been flying or how many laps he had already made over Velaris.

Lost in his thoughts, the male made the mistake of looking down. 

He flew over a small, familiar house at the top of a street.

Inside the small house, there was an old healer with her face stained with tears and pain in her chest caused by a worrying heart. 

The old healer was in the same position as the previous days. Sitting at the window in her living room, waiting for her beloved niece to return. 

But with each passing day, Velaris grew grayer, taking a bit of the old female's hope with it. 

Guilt struck his heart. 

The last time he had seen Madja was five days ago. 

Nuala and Cerridwen had prepared several casseroles to help the old female through what was the worst time of her life.

Feyre offered to take them, and Azriel and Cassian volunteered to help. 

The Spymaster expected Madja to kick him out or release her anger on him, but she never did.  

The healer welcomed him with open arms and prepared him some tea as thanks for his help. The suffering in her was visible; red eyes, low voice, bent posture, slumped shoulders, and several handkerchiefs soaked in tears on the living room table. 

How could things have gotten to this point?

The promise Azriel made to himself flashed through his mind — he would bring you back into Madja's arms.

The movement of Cassian's wings broke his trance, and Azriel's eyes left the small house and resumed his flight.

Four weeks without any information.

The males even thought that you might have left the Night Court and gone to a different one. 

But no wards had been passed, and they would know if anyone had passed them. 

So wherever you were, you were still within the borders of their Court.

But where? 

The brothers flew to meet each other, and when Rhys was preparing to speak, something happened. 

A surge of power ripped through the Night Court with a red flash accompanying it. 

The mountain and the ground shook, the water rattled, and somewhere, screams were torn from the throats of the citizens in their homes.

The males were sent straight to the ground, their wings and Illyrian strength not enough to keep them in the sky. 

Azriel, Cassian, and Rhysand had to protect their eyes from the intensity of the flash while trying to remain stable on a shaking ground and ignoring the overwhelming feeling they felt as the wave of power passed by the entire Court.

So many thoughts ran through their minds.

What was happening? Was Prythian being attacked? Were the girls okay? 

After a few more seconds, the flash began to diminish until it disappeared completely, leaving only the remains of something red all over the sky.

The mountains and the ground regained their stability and the rivers their calm. 

As they raised their heads, the brothers saw what appeared to be red powder falling from the sky and towards the ground.

Cassian was the first to pick up a small amount and rub it between his thumb and index finger, trying to decipher what it could be. 

With no answers, Cassian turned his attention to the males sitting next to him, checking for injuries, and noticed that they were both doing the same to him.

After checking that both they and the city were okay, the three of them took to the skies, and their eyes immediately found the source of the wave of power — Illyria. 

The Illyrians would never attack them. They could be brutish and arrogant, but they were not stupid, leaving only one possible explanation. 

"Y/N." Azriel whispered.

"It's her," Rhys confirmed as he stretched out his hand, where remnants of the red flash landed on it. 

Shock did not fail to appear on the males' faces. None of them mentioned what they had just witnessed, but all three knew.

Your power has grown.

You were stronger. More powerful. 

Cassian broke the silence, if his brothers weren't going to talk, then he would "She knows," a silent agreement hovered between them, It was only a matter of time before you found out about your new powers. 

"What do you think she's doing with it?" A bad feeling invaded them at the General's words.

Something big was about to happen. 

They all knew it.

"We should go back." Rhysand ignored his brother's words — he wasn't prepared for this conversation.

"What?" Azriel protested, his wings beating faster with the anticipation of going to look for you. "We finally know where she is, and you want to give up?" 

"No one's giving up, Az," Cassian placed his hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down, "but look around you. You just felt her power, and we've been flying for hours. We can't go to her like this." 

Azriel removed his brother's hand from his shoulder, a bit harsher than he intended, but he couldn't stop the anger that filled every word of the scream he released next. "What, you think she's going to attack us?" 

Cassian's wings lowered a little, and he didn't hide the look of defeat he felt nor the hurt it caused in his chest when he said what had to be said "I don't know."

Shock ran through the Shadowsinger's body, making him move away as if those words had burned him. 

Cassian let out a small sigh before continuing, "That's not our Y/N, Az. We don't know what she's capable of, and we have to assume the worst-case scenario." 

When Azriel tried to protest again, Rhys stopped him. "Cass is right. We'll be back in a few hours when we're recharged."  

Azriel knew they were right, but the guilt that invaded him didn't let him rest so easily.

"Besides, we need to know if the girls are alright."

Azriel nodded. If Helion's words were truly true, if you now posed a threat, then they couldn't risk surprising you without being prepared. 

That single thought hurt him more than a sword strike, but that was the new reality they faced. 

The males resume their flights but with their destination being the House of Wind.

There was nothing they could do for now. All that was left for them was to wait.

Azriel looked back.

To the mountains where you were.

The mountains that hid you from him.

Or the mountains that protected him from you?

-

Eris Vanserra was having a long day, and there was no sign lurking that it was about to end. 

As he walked through the halls of the Forest House, Eris let his mind wander to the meeting he had just left.

Beron had just made his alliance with Koschei and the mortal queen official, but that wasn't what bothered the young Heir.

His father had also told his council that his search for you was not over. Not even when the only soldier who had returned described word for word what had happened in Illyria. 

The soldier's testimony did not have the same effect on the High Lord as it had on his council. 

While the old males had shrunk in their seats at the description of your powers, Beron had moved closer as if to hear better. 

A hand slammed down on the meeting table hard enough to stir the liquids in the crystal glasses that sat in front of each member.

"Speak, boy!" Beron demanded.

"She... She's different, High Lord. I've never seen anything like this before, not even with Hybern."

"Be specific! Do I look like someone who has the patience for riddles?"

"Death." The soldier said quietly, as if afraid that the walls might have ears.

Beron stood up from his seat at the revelation, curiosity gnawing at his body. Eris leaned back from his chair and gripped the arms of the chair in an attempt to soften the shock that this news had caused him, while Beron's council struggled to regain color in their faces.

"She looked like Death." The soldier finished before being dismissed.

When the door to the meeting room closed, the council erupted in screams. 

The males of the council tried to dissuade Beron from his search for you but without success, as was to be expected. 

His greed grew, as did his hunger for power. Now knowing what you were capable of, his desire to find you was now even greater, with the several soldiers who had left the Autumn Court with orders to find you as soon as the meeting ended as proof. 

That was what bothered him. Not the change in your powers, not what happened with the soldiers — his soldiers — but your well-being.

But why?

He was beginning to think he had lost his mind.

Eris had even made the mistake of staying after the meeting ended to try to persuade his father to continue searching for you.

That had earned him the burn on his shoulder that he now bore. 

What was going on with him? 

Why hadn't you left his mind in these last few weeks?

His brain was telling him to ignore the situation and focus on the potential war with the Death God that was becoming more real with each passing day. 

But his heart... his heart was telling him to write a letter to Rhysand asking about you. To know if they had found you yet or if they had any clues about you.

Anything to comfort him.

Little did he know that this would not be necessary because when he opened the double brown doors that led to his room, his eyes met those that appeared in his dreams. 

There you were — sitting on his bed with one leg over the other in what looked like a tight black dress.

A smile formed on your lips as you stared at the male in front of you. "Did you miss me?" 

-

"That was Y/N?" Nesta's voice was so low that if Cassian hadn't been right in front of her, he probably wouldn't have heard her.

"Yes." Cassian confessed to her as he witnessed the pain appearing in his mate's eyes.

Cassian didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her.

This situation was difficult for everyone, but the General knew it was especially so for the female he was trying to comfort.

Your relationship with Nesta was different from everyone else's. It had started out as rocky as a bad day, but just as bad days never last forever, neither did your beginning. 

Before you knew it, you and Nesta were laughing together, exchanging books, walking arm in arm, and going almost everywhere together.

You had become sisters.

And the thought of losing you caused her more pain than she could have ever imagined.

As Nesta pulled away from her mate’s arms, she faced her brother-in-law.

“What’s the plan?” You had fought for Nesta, never backing down, never giving up, and now she was going to do the same for you.

Rhys’s eyes softened, and he squeezed Feyre’s hand tighter before answering, “Cass, Azriel, and I are going to Illyria, see if we can find out where she’s hiding.”

Nesta nodded, but before she could speak, a voice interrupted her.

“How will you know where to go?” Elain asked.

“We’ll follow the trail of the power surge. That should be enough to tell us where it started.”

Elain nodded in understanding before her eyes flicked to Azriel. 

The male was quick to look away, focusing on his brother. 

"She might not be there anymore." Cassian pondered. 

"Still, it's worth a try." Feyre spoke a few seconds later. 

Rhys gave her a weak smile that didn't reach his eyes — Feyre mirrored it. 

An awkward silence fell over the family. 

These past few weeks had been the strangest they had ever experienced. Sometimes, it felt like it wasn't even real, but rather a never-ending nightmare — sometimes they had to pinch themselves to make sure they were awake, and this was actually happening. 

"I'll go with you." Nesta broke the silence. 

Cassian knew there was no point in arguing, so he just nodded, wrapping his arms around her. 

Azriel nodded as well before turning to Feyre and asking the question everyone was eager to know the answers to.

"News from Mor?"

Feyre let out a long sigh before shaking her head.

"We received a letter earlier. She arrived in Rask three days ago but hasn't found anything yet. She says there's an old male who's experienced in rare powers, but it might not mean anything," Feyre let out another sigh, "she says she'll let us know when she finds something." 

Every day, they waited anxiously for a letter from Mor. With hope fading by the day, they believed more and more that the answer lay on the Continent.

Azriel was interrupted from his thoughts by a gentle touch on his shoulder, and he turned to find the middle Archeron sister standing in front of him.

"Can we talk?" She asked softly.

Looking back and seeing the rest of his family chatting, Azriel nodded and followed Elain into the hallway.

When the female in the pink dress tried to touch his hand, he pulled away faster than her brain could process.

Azriel remained silent, letting Elain start a conversation he had no desire to have.

"What happened that night?"

His response ended up being a frown rather than words, so Elain continued.

"The night of our date. You never showed up at the restaurant," When Azriel stayed silent, she continued, "I know you went looking for her, Azriel. I heard Madja say you went to the clinic looking for Y/N. Why?" 

Azriel had the answer, but it wasn’t with Elain that he wanted to share it. 

And as if his brother had heard his thoughts, Rhys appeared in the hallway, telling Azriel it was time to go. 

Azriel didn’t look back before following his brother and taking off. 

- 

Eris checked that no one was around his room before closing the doors.

The male leaned against the door for a few moments as if to make sure you were real.

"You're here."

Your smile widened. "I am." 

Eris matched your smile and moved to sit on the wooden chair in front of the bed before undoing a few buttons on his shirt and moving to unbutton his boots.

"Did Beron get my message?" 

"He did." 

You watched him for a moment before speaking again. "So you know about my powers." 

"I don't care about your powers." He was quick to respond. 

"What about your soldiers?" 

"They shouldn't have threatened you." 

"But he keeps looking for me." 

Eris continued to untie his boots as he confirmed your statement. 

"I told him to stop but he wouldn't listen." 

"Hmm," you slowly stood up before stopping in front of him, "is that how you got that burn?" 

Eris's hands stopped immediately, and without moving much, he directed his gaze to the white shirt that had fallen down when he bent over, now revealing yet another of Beron's marks. 

Eris sighed and stood up, leaning his back against the wood of the chair. 

His golden eyes met yours and he didn't look away, not even when he considered what lie to tell. 

"I saw your mother when I was coming here." 

You moved closer. 

"She was applying what I think was a cream to her bruises." 

Eris closed his eyes. He had heard about the argument his parents had had a few days ago when he was away at meetings. 

His mother hadn't told him anything but he had assumed how it had ended. 

The Heir felt a weight on his legs and arms wrapping around his neck. When he dared to open his eyes, he found yours a few inches away. 

"Do you want me to kill him?" 

The question took him by surprise. No one had ever dared to say such words. 

"Would you do it if I said yes?" 

It was no secret that Eris dreamed of the day he would put an end to Beron's reign. One of his greatest goals was to free Autumn and his family from the clutches of that male. 

"For you, yes." 

Eris laughed and tilted his head back only to be grabbed by the chin by a hand smaller than his and meet your eyes again. 

"I'm serious. Say the word and it will be done."

The owner of the golden eyes was lost for words. No one had ever cared about him like this.

Not knowing what to say, Eris brought your lips together.

You kissed him back almost immediately, adjusting yourself on his lap.

Eris broke the kiss just long enough to say, "I was worried about you." 

You laughed into the kiss, responding with a quick, "I can take care of myself, prince."

Eris laughed back, "I know, but I missed you." 

His response did something to your heart — something you couldn't quite put your finger on. 

It would be a lie if you said you came here just to warn him about his father. 

For some reason, this male made you feel things that shouldn't have been possible. 

Your brain was telling you to pull away, to leave, but that thought was forgotten when your heart answered for you. 

"Then show me how much you missed me." 

And so he did.

-

Darkness. Silence.

Were the first two things you came across.

Total darkness surrounded you.

You couldn't make out what was around you. No matter how hard you tried to squint your eyes, they couldn't make out any kind of shape, not even a shadow.

No noise could be heard — wherever you were, silence dominated that place.

What was going on?

How did you end up here? What were you doing here?

"Hello?" 

You didn't get any response back, which led you to assume that you were alone. Whether that was a good thing or not, you didn't know, but something told you that you were about to find out. 

As you took a step forward, you stretched out your arms in the hope of finding a surface that you could use to guide yourself.

It took several steps until you found what seemed to be a wall. As you let your hands run along it, you realized that its surface was rocky and damp and that your footsteps echoed.

Always with one hand on the wall, you let yourself be guided to whatever was waiting for you on the other side. 

Seconds.

Minutes.

Hours.

You didn't know how long you had been walking, your hand already cold from being pressed against the wall for so long.

Just when you were beginning to think that the darkness was endless and that you were lost or trapped, that there was no way out, something answered your worries.

A weak beam of light entered your field of vision, indicating the path to salvation. 

In what seemed like a matter of survival, you ran towards the light that gradually grew brighter as you approached.

The moment the light became a little stronger, you realized that you were inside a cave when you saw the entrance.

When you finally left the cave, you saw that the light that was offered to you came from the moon, hence its dim brightness. 

Without any intention of returning to the infinite darkness, you walked towards the trees that led you to a lake.

The lake was large, surrounded by pine trees, and with only the moonlight illuminating it and reflecting on its water.

The view was enchanting. It reminded you of one of those places where people would go when they needed to be alone or to think.

A place that would become someone's favorite place — where they would feel nothing but tranquility and security.

Where they could escape reality and take a break from their problems for a few hours.

Unfortunately, not everything is as it seems.

Just as a wolf can seem affectionate and friendly at first, causing its prey to let its guard down moments before attacking, this lake also seemed like a place of peace and not one of danger. 

Your feet took you to the edge of the lake, where you crouched down and stretched out your hand to be enveloped by the water.

The water was pleasant and reminded you of summer days. You were swinging your hand from side to side when something caught your attention.

There, reflected in the lake, right behind you and a lot taller, emerged a dark figure. 

A figure that was impossible to make out, could it be anything — a person, an animal, a shadow?

Acting on instinct, you turned as quickly as possible, and the only thing you could find was darkness accompanied by a deep voice.

"Come find me." 

-

Your eyes flew open.

Your breathing was fast, as was your heartbeat — as if they were in a race that they both wanted to win. 

A line of sweat ran down your chest while another on your forehead followed suit.

You sat up slightly in bed as your eyes quickly adjusted to the dark room.

You saw the desk in the middle of the room where the pile of letters still stood, the tall windows that were covered by brown curtains, the fireplace where there were still traces of the wood that had burned a few hours ago and finally — the warmth that rested against your back.

You were still in Autumn.

In Eris's room.

The male's arm was around your waist, his chest against your back, and his previously closed eyes were now open.

Those golden eyes that did something unknown to your heart.

Eris sat up, remaining behind you, bringing his free hand to brush your hair away from your bare shoulder where he placed a light kiss.

You could have sworn your heart skipped a beat at the brush of his lips against your skin, but you attributed those thoughts to your sleepy state. 

With his arm still around your waist, he pulled you towards him until your back was resting against his bare chest and your head on his shoulder.

"Is everything okay?" Eris asked, barely above a whisper.

What was he doing to you?

How was it that after everything you had done to protect your heart, this male could undo it with just a touch? 

"Little fox?" 

You closed your eyes at the nickname. Your cheeks felt hot — from the nickname or from the male holding you?

You felt a warm hand take its place over your heart, a gesture so simple yet meaning so much.

Your heart began to stabilize, your body to relax, and your breathing to return to its normal state as Eris began to make small circles with his hand.

"I'm okay, Eris." You couldn't help the small smile that pulled the corners of your mouth upward until your dimples appeared. 

This was becoming too real — too deep.

You had to get away. From this male, from this place — from everything that reminded you of a certain Heir with red hair and golden eyes that reminded you of the sun

"Are you sure, little fox?"

Whatever this was between you and this male couldn't continue.

How could he be having this effect on you?

"Mm-hmm." Your response was followed by a light kiss on your temple before another was placed on your cheek.

What was this feeling in your belly? Why was your heart reacting like this?

You had to put an end to this. You were going to tell the male that whatever this was was nothing more than a bit of fun.

You were going to pull yourself out of his arms, forget about his lips, put on your clothes, and leave.

You made your decision.

You didn't pull away when Eris pulled the two of you to lie down.

You didn’t protest when he laid your head on his chest and wrapped an arm around you.

You didn’t stop him when he covered you with the blanket.

Your mind felt heavy — what had you been thinking about earlier?

You snuggled closer to him, placing one of your arms over his stomach and tangling your legs with his.

You kissed his chest, and he ran his hand briefly through your hair.

A vague sense of thought passed through your mind — you had made a decision, hadn’t you?

You couldn’t remember. 

-

The next morning, Eris woke up alone in his bedroom, now lit by the light of a new day.

He did not find your figure on the left side of the bed. Instead, he was surprised by a piece of parchment.

"I had to go, I have some business to attend to. Don't worry, prince, you will see me again."

Eris fell onto the bed with one hand hiding his face but not enough to hide his smile.

A warm and welcoming feeling filled his heart.

For the first time in all his centuries of life, Eris Vanserra was happy. 

So happy that he didn't notice that his burn had been cured.

- 

The Inner Circle was gathered in the living room with Amren back from her home. 

Rhys had shared the vision with everyone that the four of them had encountered in the cabin — or what was left of it. 

Rhys, Cassian, Azriel, and Nesta were still lost for words. Their minds couldn’t form thoughts — too busy trying to process everything they had seen in the cabin. 

The plants and flowers, the evidence of your power in the destroyed walls and soil, the soldiers, and… the dead flower that still danced. 

Every time they closed their eyes, that was the sight they were greeted with. 

Feyre sat on the arm of the chair with a hand pressed against her chest. “Y/N… the soldiers. Are you sure it was her?” 

When everyone remained silent, Azriel took over. “It was her. The soldiers had traces of her power. We don’t know where she went, but we believe she couldn’t have gone far.” 

"I couldn't find anything in Helion's books," Amren said, "what do we do now?" 

Several sighs were let out, and then "I think we should-" Azriel couldn't finish his thought due to the change in the air. 

As his family immediately took up defensive positions, he realized he wasn't the only one who felt it. 

Everyone's eyes found the source of the change — the door to the living room. 

It was early morning, the light illuminating the room completely, but somehow, darkness could be seen beyond the door. 

Everyone's hands began to find their weapons. 

It was impossible to break into the River House — Rhys had placed the wards himself. 

The darkness moved. 

Azriel didn’t wait for the threat to strike first. 

His centuries of training, experience, and combat kicked in. 

In an instant, faster than the blink of an eye, Truth-Teller was flying through the air, about to strike his target. 

Until a hand stopped it. 

The darkness began to dissolve, revealing you behind it. As you walked into the room, the knife was still immobilized in your hand. 

As surprise and shock grew on the faces of what you once recognized as your family, a smile grew on yours. 

Your eyes flickered through violet, blue, brown, and silver ones until they stopped on a pair of hazels. 

The Shadowsinger’s knees nearly gave out before you spoke. 

“Now, that’s no way to welcome a lady.” 

-

You walked around the room as you took in the decor.

The Inner Circle had moved to sit on the couch as they watched you.

"I like what you did with the new place. Fancy." You said as you ran a finger along the dining table.

As you walked to the couch, a smile still on your lips, you stopped to pour yourself a glass of whiskey before sitting down next to Nesta.

"Hello, friend." You said as you took a sip of the drink that burned your throat.

"Y/N."

When Nesta showed an intention to speak again, you quickly turned your gaze to the males who were sitting on the couch opposite yours.

"I heard you were looking for me. How cute." You said with what could be detected as false emotion.

"Where have you been?" Rhys asked you.

"Oh, you know. Here and there," your hand slid down your leg, stopping at your knee, "by the way. Beron made his alliance with Koschei and that human queen official yesterday." 

Amren gave you a scornful look, "And how do you know that?" 

A cheeky smile filled your face. You rested your arms on the back of the couch and crossed your legs as you replied, "I was with Eris yesterday." 

Seeing her roll her eyes, your smile widened before you met the eyes of the female who had become like a sister to you.

Nesta watched as you stared at her with blank eyes and no emotion on your face — pain struck her heart as she didn't recognize the person in front of her. 

"We saw the cabin." 

Azriel's voice broke your eye contact with the female and made you focus on him. 

"Oh, yeah? And what did you think?" 

Amren answered, "Monstrous." 

Your gaze met hers. “I was just protecting myself.”

“Were you?” she asked, “or were you trying to show off?” 

Your eyes turned red, and the room began to shake as you let your power surge to the surface.

Cassian, Rhysand, and Azriel widened their eyes as the Archeron sisters tried to hide the fear that filled them. 

You stood up from the couch and walked towards the female without ever breaking eye contact or missing a step.

"Be careful, Amren," As you approached her, she began to retreat her steps. "If I were you, I would choose your next words wisely."

The ancient one's back touched the wall, and you noticed her breathing become faster. "You don't want to anger me." 

As you glanced one last time at Amren, you gave her a smile before heading for the door. 

Azriel was quick to stand up. “Where are you going?” 

Your feet stopped, and you glanced over your shoulder. “Leaving, obviously.” 

Just as you were about to resume walking, you were interrupted again. 

“No.” Rhys answered this time. 

This made you slowly turn in your place — it took all of Rhys’s strength not to flinch at the look in your eyes. 

Cassian, who was next to him, murmured, “Careful, Rhys. Don’t get on her nerves.” 

Rhys glanced at him sideways before swallowing the lump in his throat and letting out his High Lord voice. 

Although he didn’t show it, he was shaking inside, but he hoped this would work on you. 

"You're not going anywhere. Now that you're here, I want you under my supervision at all times. I forbid you to leave Velaris." 

Everyone held their breath as they waited for your reaction. 

They were all surprised when your answer was "Fine. Do I have a room here or will I have to sleep in the garden?" 

One by one, they sighed in relief before Rhys spoke again "Of course you have a room here." 

"I'll take you." Azriel walked forward before anyone could protest. 

After climbing the stairs, turning left, then right and another right, they reached the door to your room. 

Without hesitation, you opened the door and when you were about to close it, a hand stopped you. 

"Azriel, no. I have a headache and I just want to sleep." 

Azriel was surprised by your answer but now that you were in front of him, he didn't want to wait any longer. 

"There's something I want to tell you. About that night." 

"Honestly, I don't care." 

"I didn't go to meet Elain. I went looking for you," seeing the confusion on your face, he continued, "I went to the clinic that morning but I didn't find you-"

"I wasn't there."

"I know and-"

"Azriel." Cassian's voice trailed off, drawing your gazes to him.

"Come," when Azriel tried to protest, Cassian was firmer, "now."

"Thank the Cauldron." And with that, you slammed the door in his face. 

- 

After dinner, the members of the Inner Circle entered the living room where Amren was on the couch with an old book on her lap.

No one had commented on what had happened.

Not out of fear of Amren but out of fear of what it would mean to admit it out loud.

Feeling your power, the closeness they felt — they weren't ready for this conversation even though they knew they would have to have it sooner or later.

"What are you looking for?" Feyre asked the elder.

When the silver-eyed female didn't answer, the High Lady approached and read the contents of the book.

Her eyes widened "You're reading about Koschei?"

The others approached.

"Yes, what Y/N said earlier made me think."

Azriel sat down next to her "About an alliance with Beron and the queen?"

"Yes." Amren kept her eyes on the book.

Cassian took the seat across from her and rested his arms on his thighs. “Why?”

Amren sighed and closed the book, setting it down on the small coffee table.

“Think about it. Koschei has been on the lake for thousands of years, right?” When everyone had settled down, she continued, “So why act now? With all the centuries he had to free himself from the lake, why now?”

Not liking where the conversation seemed to be going, Rhys approached the table and picked up the book, turning it over in his hand. “What’s your theory?”

“I think he’s waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” Nesta asked.

Amren stood and went to pour a glass of wine. “Not for what, but for who.” 

"Amren." The High Lady said. Everyone realized that this was not going to be a simple conversation. 

"He's a sorcerer and his powers weren't neutralized, we realized that when he cursed Vassa. So what other spells can he do?"

The General ran a hand through his hair before sighing "What are you trying to say?"

Amren looked at the High Lord who was already looking at her, with a nod, she indicated to open to page one hundred and forty seven.

Rhysand followed her indication but it was the only thing he could do because the content was in an ancient language — long lost.

"What does it say?"

Amren cleared her throat to answer and for the second time that day, the Inner Circle saw her get nervous.

"It's a spell to see the future."

"What?" Everyone asked in unison.

Elain spoke for the first time since all this began "I thought only seers could see the future."

Amren shook her head in denial. Rhysand looked at the her and like a snap of fingers, the situation became clear in his mind.

"You think he used this spell to see when would be the best time to act."

Amren nodded. She grabbed the book and flipped through the pages until she found the one she wanted.

"Koschei needs help to break the spell that is binding him to the lake. He needs someone powerful. Very powerful."

Her gaze met Azriel's. "I think Koschei used the spell and saw when that someone would appear and has been waiting ever since. He needs someone with a power that he can relate to. I think-"

"Y/N." Nesta murmured.

All eyes moved to her but Nesta only looked at Amren.

The ancient one didn't need to say anything to confirm Nesta's thought.

"Koschei is a Death God," her eyes remained focused on the silver ones. "Y/N is a necromancer. Her power involves death and we have all just witnessed how powerful she is." 

"No..." Azriel blurted out as Feyre covered her mouth with her hands. 

"Amren?" Feyre asked. 

The female simply nodded her head. 

"If Koschei saw the future, he saw what was going to happen to Y/N," Rhysand began, "he waited until her powers changed to act." 

Silence fell over the room. 

This was bigger than they had thought. They had all thought their only concern would be Beron, but little did they know how wrong they were. 

A second passed. 

Two seconds.

Three seconds. 

"Koschei was waiting for Y/N." 

Azriel was the first to move, followed by the others.

"Y/N!"

They all ran towards your room. 

"Y/N!" 

Their hearts were pounding as they got closer. 

"Y/N!" 

Just a few steps away, several prayers were sent to the Mother for you. 

"Y/N!" 

The door to your room was knocked down and the space was invaded by seven people. 

Your room was dark. 

Your bed was unmade and empty. 

And you were nowhere to be found. 

It was too late. 

- 

You were at the lake again. 

The lake surrounded by pine trees and illuminated by the moonlight. 

The lake that promised tranquility and safety. 

'Another nightmare' you thought to yourself. 

The figure appeared again reflected in the lake but this time in front of you. 

You followed its reflection until you found it hovering over the lake. 

Anyone else would have backed away, screamed or even run away. 

But you were not just anyone and whatever this was, it didn't scare you. 

You walked closer until your feet were greeted by the water. 

"Who are you?" 

The figure approached and beneath the cover of darkness you could make out the shape of a man.

"My name is Koschei. We finally meet, Y/N." 

Your face remained neutral, without a trace of shock or surprise. 

"How do you know my name?" 

A deep chuckle rang across the lake, making its water vibrate.

"I've been waiting for you."

It was only when the man shrouded in darkness placed a hand on your shoulder that you realized this wasn't a nightmare. 

- 

Pryhtian shook as a great flash invaded the sky, dyeing it red.

The houses shook.

People screamed.

Animals fled.

The cold increased.

But it was only when they looked back at the sky that they realized what had happened.

The clouds changed color.

The darkness that had been hiding behind them advanced.

The storm was here. 

A/n: Thank you for reading! There will be one or two more parts (I haven't decided yet) and I have a lot of ideas to finish it off in style!

[Masterlist]

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*if you asked to be tagged and you weren't, it's because I couldn't find your blog.

the beautiful dividers belong to @cafekitsune

[ceoofyearning]

Say Yes to Heaven - Lucien

Pairing: Lucien × Reader

Summary: You find the bed empty upon waking up. Bundled in your blanket, you head out to find Lucien and demand that he warm you up.

Tags & Warnings: Fluff, suggestive but nothing explicit (if i miss anything, let me know)

Word Count: 1077

Links: Masterlist

Sunight creeps languidly through the heavy drapes, heralding the persistent call of the waking world. The day has come, and in minutes, the entire room is bathed in golden light. You’re forced to relinquish the last dregs of sleep clinging to you. You roll over expecting to find Lucien beside you, only to see that his side of the bed is empty. You run your palm over the sheets and find them still warm.

With one last stretch, you pull yourself out of the bed and onto your feet. You wrap the blanket tightly around your shoulders, not ready to give up their warm embrace just yet. The manor is deathly quiet as you pad through the hallways as if the rest of the world is as reluctant to wake too. The persistent chill of winter remains in the air, the tiles as cool as ice beneath your feet. The blanket trails on the floor behind you, and you can already imagine the legendary scolding Jurian would give you if he were to catch you. You imagine Vassa would only laugh at you, if she wasn't too busy being a bird.

Thankfully, no such altercations occur, and you find Lucien sitting in the library, busy reading what you assume are reports from Prythian. He’s lounging by the fire, clad only in his rumpled, unbuttoned tunic and plain trousers. His legs are carelessly spread, his cheek resting on his hand - the picture of relaxed nonchalance. Lucien wears finery like a fine suit of armor, his bravado like a sword secured at his hip, and it’s rare to see him so unguarded, so candid. When he spots you, all bundled up, by the door, a bemused expression makes its way across his face.

“You left,” you sniff indignantly.

His only response to your complaint is a smirk. So you pad deeper into the room until you're standing in between his legs. The smug look on his face only seems to grow at the increased proximity.

“Why?” He asks. “Did you miss me?” Lucien’s eyes trail down your body with deliberate slowness, stalling over your exposed thighs. His hand comes up to grasp the side of your hip, a movement made instinctually, naturally, as though his existence only makes sense when you’re there, with him.

You don’t deign to respond, but you let him pull you onto his lap. He wraps his arms around you, tucking you under his chin as he continues to read. You sink onto him, enjoying the heat that perpetually radiates off his body. He’s basically a sentient furnace, your love. Your hands trail beneath his shirt and he jolts the moment your cold hands make contact with his skin.

“Mother’s tits, you’re freezing.” He exclaims, wiggling in his seat.

“Because you left,” you retort, running your hands languidly over his back. Goosebumps rise in the wake of your touch. “This is your doing, miscreant.”

Lucien cackles but recovers. “Apologies, my lady,” Lucien says with exaggerated gravity, his hand over his chest. “I’m adequately chastised. I’ll be sure never to abandon you in bed again.”

“You better,” you threaten, trying to fight the smile from emerging on your lips. “Or else I’ll find someone else to warm my bed.”

Lucien stiffens, holding you tighter against him as if readying to fight off anyone who dares to draw near. With his hand on your chin, he lifts your head to meet his gaze.

“What was that?” He speaks, something dangerous lingering in the depths of his words.

You raise your brow in challenge. “I said, if you keep leaving me I’ll find-“

He shuts you up with his lips on yours, but it’s a soft fragile thing. His lips move against yours like the back and forth of a waltz. Lucien pulls you tighter into his embrace, enveloping you in the scent of sandalwood, cinnamon, and smoke. You melt against him and think that you could stay like this forever, as long as you’re with him. You want to lay here even as the world cracks and burns around you, until the both of you are covered in ivy, moss, and memory.

As if sensing the direction of your thoughts, Lucien deepens the kiss. Your lips willingly part for him and he licks into your mouth, eager for a taste. His hands are molten against your skin, kneading the pliant flesh of your hips from where your nightgown has ridden up. You can feel his chest expand as he inhales your scent as if reminding himself that you’re with him, in this moment, and there you will remain until your body gives out from the force of loving him.

Eventually, the two of you have to break the kiss. Just there, his forehead on yours, breathing the other in. Idly, you tap your finger over the freckles on his chest, parsing them like constellations in the night sky. You wonder what prophecies you’d be able to divine in the shapes they take. You press a kiss on the freckle over his beating heart, and Lucien shudders beneath your touch.

You move to the wealth of freckles spread across his cheek, over his nose, then on his chin. Lucien pretends to be preoccupied with the reports, but it’s a losing battle. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, and you plant a soft, chaste kiss at the upturned corner. You kiss him like he’s an object of worship, and only your heart, your body, your whole being would be a worthy sacrifice.

“Is that the only thanks I get for being your sentient, walking furnace?” He teases, brow arched, but not unkindly. “Threats and a few kisses?” Beams of sunlight hit his face like a lattice of amber, accentuating his sharp features, and setting his russet eye ablaze. And it strikes you just how damn pretty he is, scars and all.

“I’d prefer it if my sentient furnace did not walk away at all,” you retort, raising your brow in turn.

“Ungrateful,” he teases, even as he begins to trail tender kisses over your neck. “You’re lucky I adore you, dearly.”

You huff, pretending his words haven’t set you aflame in a way only he can.

“I suppose,” you begin, tapping your finger over your chin. “I could be persuaded to thank you properly if you go back to bed with me.”

Lucien glances at the report and pretends to consider it for three whole seconds, before setting it down the table with finality. He smiles, as bright as the sun, beautiful, blinding, yours.

“Let's go then,” he says, as he easily carries you back to your room.

AN:

Hello! I’m new to this fandom & I’d love to hear your thoughts. 💙

i’ve been so obsessed with Lucien recently. I made art of him and I love how people kept mentioning his freckles so here is we are. + I hate the cold and had the thought that Lucien would be the perfect person to cuddle up to in winter.

[briaberri]

Dreamy Dawn 1: The luminous Steven Yeun embodies Thesan, HL of Dawn to me. In my imagination, I see a soft light drenched hanfu inspired paradise. Sunrise tea rituals, resonant guzhengs, sculptural gingkos, and bamboo forests mountains gilded with waterfalls make it the most breathtaking of all the lands.

[illyrianbitch]

Of Our Own Devices — Part Five

For @erisweekofficial Day 5: War

Pairing: Reader x Eris

Summary: Since the moment he first tasted hatred, Eris Vanserra has harbored one relentless goal: to rid the world of his father. Now, the time has come to wage the war he's been preparing for his entire life—the war against his own blood.

Warnings: well... death, violence, cruelty, injury, mentions of animal abuse, animal death, mentions of child/spouse abuse. basically, we go into eris's mind as he kills beron.

Word Count: 5.1k

authors note: i'm not a huge fan of long fight scenes, so here is my spin on one. i thought it was important to show that wars are not only won on battlefields. this might be one of my most favorite writings.

Part Four | Part Six

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Eris knew that war wasn’t just physical; it was mental, political, emotional. He was a curious child, indeed. A collector. He'd collected secrets, absorbed the hatred and indifference around him like an animal adapting to its environment.

It taught him every skill he held dear. 

Eris was skilled in combat, of course. He'd trained himself to be. He fantasized about killing his father with his own hands, dreamt of watching the life leave him, longed for the feeling of his father's power draining into his own veins. But he knew this war would, inevitably, be won another way.

He understood that true victory was achieved through subtler means. That with the right words, with the right plan, you could convince a foe to destroy himself before you ever laid a hand on him. 

Eris scanned the room, his gaze sweeping across his men. They were scattered, blending seamlessly among the guests, but each one met his eyes the moment they felt his attention. Subtle nods. A flicker of recognition in their eyes. They were ready—every one of them, waiting for his signal, prepared to do whatever was necessary. 

Without needing to turn his head, Eris could feel the weight of Rhysand’s gaze on him, the High Lord's presence nearly tangible, a suffocating pressure that seemed to reverberate in his mind. As much as Eris hated to acknowledge it, to feed into his inflated ego, Rhysand's power pulsed like an unseen echo.  His father feared it for good reason, hid his fear through disdain, through disgust.

 Eris had seen Tarquin in another far corner. He’d managed to sway the young High Lord, convincing him that his rule was inevitable, promising that he could prove himself where his Father had faltered. He'd seen something in Eris's eyes. And somehow, it had worked.

Spring was absent, as expected. Tamlin had yet to appear in any event, had yet to return to his proper existence. Eris knew he should feel some semblance of empathy, that he should feel for a fellow male wronged by the cards dealt, a male who made errors under the presumption of the greater good. But he didn't.

 Winter was also absent—Vivianne had blocked any chance of their participation, had convinced Kallias to flee in haste and not spare a moment for the princeling. Eris had anticipated this, of course, had known that Mor’s influence would weaken his alliances in certain courts.

He had worked with Helion, though it had taken time and effort to even secure a meeting. Eris attributed Helion’s openness to Rhysand’s ability to balance his hatred for Eris with his vision of a stronger, united Prythian. Even he was shrewd enough to recognize that. 

Now, Helion stood poised and ready, a few feet from Rhysand, his eyes scanning the crowd as if he were searching for something specific, seeking for something he had yet to find. Dawn was unable to attend, but Thesan seemed more open to Eris's words, seemed willing to hear him out despite his presentation the last time he was in his court, his words during the High Lord meeting. 

It was enough.  

Because Eris wasn't relying solely on them.

His alliances were tools for strength and backup, sources of power he lacked himself—like the ability to cloud the minds of those who might intervene.  But other than that, Eris believed in his own abilities, believed in his rage even more.

The moment he had been preparing for his entire life had finally arrived. Every piece was moving exactly where he needed them to be.

Except for you.

Eris’s jaw tightened as his gaze fell on you once more. You hadn’t moved since the dance, your eyes still locked on him. He should have known better. 

His heart pounded harder in his chest. 

He almost growled in frustration, willing you to leave. Begging you, silently, to turn away, to walk out of the room before things spiraled further. But you didn’t move. You stood there, defiant as ever, and he knew in his bones that you wouldn’t leave him—not tonight, not ever, maybe. It was a comfort and a curse all at once, and he hated himself for expecting you to be anything but exactly what you always were: stubborn, unshakable, and entirely unwilling to leave him at surface level.

Eris thought he would've convinced you to leave, that you would've left the ball and never looked back.

He wanted you to give up on him. 

Well, perhaps wanted wasn't the right word. He needed you to give up on him. But the conversation of tonight had steered a different way, he'd felt a tug in chest, a longing to say something to you that you would hold onto. He wanted to make things right if this night didn't go as he had planned. Just in case. 

His hands clenched into fists, anger simmering under his skin. It wasn’t directed at you—no, it was at himself. For dragging you into this, for wanting you there even now when he should have been protecting you, not keeping you in the line of fire. His thoughts raced, but before he could find a way to fix this—to get you out of here—Beron's voice cut through the room.

“Thank you all for joining us this evening.” Beron’s voice carried a chilling glee as he addressed the assembly, his dull, dead gaze sweeping across the gathered guests. “Your presence here is both an honor and a testament to our shared interests.” 

Eris resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

His father stepped down from his throne, his movements slower than usual, though not without their characteristic arrogance. With a subtle struggle masked by his usual flair, Beron flicked his wrist, summoning long banquet tables in a grand, sweeping motion.

Eris knew what to expect—the feast was an integral part of the Autumn Equinox ball, a hallmark of Beron’s gatherings and a grotesque display of excess. It wasn’t just about wealth; it was Beron’s way of reminding everyone of his power. The elaborate food and endless wine were symbols of his dominance, meant to impress, to intimidate. Everything served had its own twisted meaning, every bite meant to feed not only the stomachs of his guests but Beron’s insatiable ego.

“Let this night be remembered,” Beron said, a thin smile creeping over his lips, “For it is not just a feast, but a celebration—a dedication.”

His eyes finally settled on Eris. “To my eldest son, my heir," He drawled, his voice mocking. “So powerful, isn’t he? Could stand here—just like me.”

The room fell into a hushed confusion. From the corner of his eye, Eris noticed Rhysand and Feyre exchange a subtle glance. Then he took notice of the slightest of movements from his men and Beron’s guards alike, their hands inching towards the hilts of their swords. 

“Why don’t you step forward? Take a seat." Beron’s grin sharpened as he gestured toward the throne looming behind him. "Tell me, is it warm enough for you?”

Eris didn't move. There was something in his father's eyes that unnerved him more than usual, something that prickled at his skin. Eris wanted to turn and look at you, wanted to find some feeling of comfort. He resisted the urge, resisted as he had for centuries. 

Even Eris’s brothers seemed to sense the sinister glint in Beron’s eyes, stepping aside from their usual positions, retreating from his throne and his shadow. Their movements were hesitant, almost apologetic, but they did not challenge Beron or attempt to shield Eris. Instead, they distanced themselves, as they often did.

Eris felt a sharp pang of betrayal. It was expected, of course, but it hurt him still. He had loved them, raised them, spent countless hours teaching them how to hold a sword, how to pet a hound— shared with them the fragments of compassion he had left. 

If Beron chose to make a move against him now, if he decided to execute him as he had done to others, as he had done to Lucien’s first love, Eris knew his brothers would not intervene. They would not rise to his defense. They would, instead, hold him down, their faces betraying no sign of conflict or hesitation. The years of affection and teaching he had given them would simply vanish, be replaced by a cold compliance that made them unrecognizable.

Eris didn’t loathe them for their cruelty. He understood their desire for acceptance, their need to survive in the oppressive shadow of their father. They weren’t as strong as he was—that was a fact Eris had long since accepted. But he did harbor a certain resentment, a bitterness reserved for those who shared his blood, for their spinelessness. It was a raw, bitter hatred born of disappointment, for they had succumbed to the very weakness he had fought to overcome.

Yet, deep down, Eris knew that hatred was unfair.  They weren't as strong as he was. They had found safety, a semblance of life, in aligning themselves with Beron, in becoming mere extensions of his will. They were each equally awful, equally numb, void of the personality and warmth that once marked their youth.

His heart ached when he reflected on it too long, when he looked at the males before him and saw only shadows of their younger selves—reminders of who they might have been before Beron had shaped them into tools of his power.

Beron’s lips twisted. “Seems like you’re stuck. Not enough energy? Don’t have the appetite?” His voice took on a mocking softness. With a sudden cruel smile, he motioned for the feast to be revealed. “Perhaps you need something to satiate you.”

Eris felt his stomach twist, but it didn't show on his face, didn't show in his stature. He’d perfected it over the years, that calm, amused mask. Yet beneath it, something churned—something he couldn’t name.

And then the reveal came.

With a nod of Beron's head, attendants moved swiftly to unveil the centerpiece of the feast.

The array of food was lavish, an impressive display of excess. But as the cover was lifted, a collective gasp rippled through the room, followed by a collective step back. Eris’s hearing fuzzed, his breath catching in his throat as a wave of despair crashed over him.

There, displayed as if it were the grandest prize of the night, was one of his hounds. One of the first he had ever raised, ever loved. The animal stared back at him, its body bound, gagged with an apple.

Slain and displayed as a macabre trophy. 

The sight sent a shudder through the room, a sense of disgust even reaching the eyes of Beron's soldiers, of the males standing around the room. 

And clearly, like a piercing alarm in the dead of night, Eris could hear your voice—a sound of horror, of sadness—interwoven with his own, as if your emotions were etched into his own heartbeat. But now only anger consumed him. He saw red.

Beron wallowed in the shock, bathed in it like a pig in mud. 

“My dear son, so arrogant, so ready to take my place. I hear the chatter.” He gestured disdainfully toward the hound. “What a shame that your beloved playthings aren’t immune to the cost of defiance.”

Eris took a deep breath. 

“You’ve spent your entire life preparing for this," Beron walked over to two of his guards. They presented him with two ornate swords. “How satisfying it must be to finally face your grand plan.”

He turned and threw a sword at Eris’s feet, the blade skidding across the floor with a clatter.

“Pick it up,” Beron commanded. “If you’re so eager to prove yourself, then do it properly. Give your court a show.”

Eris’s gaze followed the sword. While Eris knew he didn't need to fight to win, he wasn't going to miss out on a bit of fun, wasn't going to resist his chance to decorate himself in his father's blood before his plan came to fruition. He felt eerily calm, felt strangely numb, as he bent down to retrieve the weapon, feeling its weight settle into his hand.

The first time Beron had struck Eris with true malice, he had been no older than sixteen. Instead of the usual heavy hand, Beron had chosen a different method of discipline that day. 

He had targeted something deeper—something soft.

Eris was still young at the time, but old enough to have developed a bond with his hounds, creatures he had raised and trained with care. Only one of his brothers had been born at this time, too young to understand his affection for the animals, but Eris—Eris had always felt responsible, protective. He'd been the one to fight for them in the first place, had managed to summon the courage to convince his father they were useful, needed for the Court. 

It was a simple mistake during hunting, on a trip Beron had granted them all to take. Eris had let the hounds range too far ahead, and when one of them startled a stag too soon, Beron saw red. Instead of turning his fury on Eris immediately, he called for the hound.

Eris’s stomach had dropped when he saw his father’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching in that way that signaled violence was coming. But it wasn’t for Eris—yet.

Without hesitation, Beron grabbed the dog by the scruff and brought his hand down with a sickening crack across the hound’s side. The sound of bone snapping and the sharp yelp that followed was enough to freeze Eris in place, horror clawing at his chest.

“Your mistake,” Beron had snarled, glancing at Eris as the hound crumpled to the ground, whimpering. “It’s only fair it pays the price.”

Eris had wanted to run to the animal, to shield it, to beg his father to stop, but Beron’s gaze had pinned him in place. The message was clear: any sign of weakness would only make things worse.

“That’s the thing about care,” Beron continued, voice calm, detached. “It makes you vulnerable. Weak. Never let them see.”

Eris's weakness wasn’t something entirely physical—it was the things he loved, the things he couldn’t afford to lose. He was sixteen and wanted to be great. He was sixteen and loved his family. But he knew, then and there, that Beron would never hesitate to use those things against him.

So Eris learned to mask it all, to bury the things he cared for deep beneath a layer of cold indifference. He learned to find the weaknesses in others and use them before they could be turned against him.

Find the thing that makes them vulnerable, Eris collected, and exploit it until they're weak. 

Beron’s vices had been his easiest prey— his pride, his paranoia. 

Beron was already acting out of fear, already on edge. He was quick to draw his sword, quick to make rash decisions. Who could blame him, Eris thought, after he’d come across those letters? He could still feel the seething anger, remember the way Beron’s face had twisted as he read those messages from his high-ranking officials, his allies.

They spoke of Beron’s incompetence, of their desire to betray him. It was so convenient how Eris’s brothers had intercepted those letters, so strangely timed that they ended up exactly where Beron would find them on that fateful night.

Beron had been so angry, so furious, that he hadn’t realized the writing in the letters carried Eris’s careful hand. The curve of the a’s, the dotting of the i’s. Eris hadn’t even fully attempted to hide it. It was a fun little game.

The first strike came fast, Beron’s sword flashing in the dim light as it clashed with Eris’s blade. The impact rattled up Eris’s arm, but he held steady, his face betraying nothing. His father advanced again, faster, more aggressive, but Eris met him blow for blow.

“You think you can stand against me?” Beron spat, swinging again. His strikes were wild, reckless, fueled by a rage that had long since burned out of control. “You think you can take what’s mine?”

Eris sidestepped the blow. “I think you’ve already lost it,” he said, parrying another strike. The blade sliced through a thin layer of skin on his father's arm, the fine fabric soaking up a pool of crimson. Beron’s lips curled in a snarl. The blows were becoming harder, less controlled. 

“Ungrateful whelp,” he hissed, “After everything I’ve given you, everything I’ve done.”

“Done to me,” Eris corrected, as his blade deflected another attack. The steel met his father's skin once more. 

He could feel the fury rising, could see the cracks forming in Beron’s controlled facade. Every swing was growing sloppier. Eris bit back a grin. 

Beron’s face twisted with rage, his teeth bared. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Playing your little games, whispering in the shadows.”

Eris didn’t flinch. His eyes locked on his father’s, unblinking, steady. “I learned from the best.”

As expected, Beron was desperate to prove his strength, his dominance. His face reddened, the veins in his neck bulging as he swung wildly. 

He kept his soldiers at bay, clearly wanting the court to witness him vanquish his son with his own hands, to send a powerful message. But as the fight wore on and Beron’s frustration mounted, Eris could see the flicker of temptation in his father’s eyes, the near impulse to call upon his troops.

Beron would be sorely surprised if he made the call. 

Eris briefly registered the movement of a few of his men, clad in his rich green colors, subtly inching closer to Beron’s soldiers. They didn’t advance to engage, no, but shared a knowing look with a few of the crimson-clad guards.

Before his brothers were born, Eris played often with his mother. She taught him countless games—strategy and thought alike. It was during those moments that Eris learned the most dangerous moves were the ones no one saw coming. He realized that the easiest games were often played with those unaware of the parts they were playing. At school, he could win every game if he hid just enough of the truth, allowing his tutors to think they knew the rules, when they didn’t know half of it.

Infiltration had been a long game. 

It had taken Eris years, centuries, to meticulously cultivate and train the right individuals. It was thanks to him, whether his father acknowledged it or not, that Beron's men were stronger than ever. His newest soldiers, only a couple hundred of years old, had risen swiftly in rank, filling positions of power precisely when Beron needed them most. They emerged just as Beron’s senior troops had fallen ill of a strange form of Autumn Fever. The healers had said it came with the weakened state of soldiers, that their bodies were too tired to fight off such potent infections. Their weakened state created an opportune void. 

The new recruits had seamlessly integrated, even believing themselves to be loyal supporters of Beron. Eris had been careful with them, had played the part of a helpful heir. They were eager for power, viewing their positions as a win-win—high-ranking regardless of whatever outcome. Eris had demonstrated his own worth, had shown his influence by granting them such positions. Without even trying, he'd earned their loyalty, ensured they had no reason to doubt him. 

They remained loyal to their benefactor. 

After all, everyone wanted to feel like they'd be on the winning side. 

The clashing of steel and the cries of combat filled the room. Eris felt the sting of a fresh wound on his side, a searing pain that only seemed to heighten his sense of power. He fought through the pain.

In the chaos, a fleeting thought crossed his mind—he hoped, with a fervent intensity, that you weren’t watching. That you had found a place to hide, tucked away safely from the brutality of the scene. The notion that you might be witnessing this carnage, seeing him in his raw, bloody glory, gnawed at him. 

He pushed the thoughts away. He couldn’t afford distractions now.

There was a time and a place for them. Because sometimes, distractions— disruptions— were useful. They could turn tides. 

The mercenaries were easy to hire. 

They didn't ask questions, didn't question the gold they were handed. Eris truly believed, deep in his core, that they found it fun, found enjoyment in creating chaos in the court's infrastructure. He was sure it was cathartic for them, therapeutic for these court outsiders to ruin the place they despised, to be paid to do so of all things. 

The acts, though not catastrophic, were enough to inconvenience Beron, to create issues in his supply lines. All of the small riots, the court disturbances—each one had begun to eat away at his composure, had begun to sow seeds of doubt. The constant irritation of these minor upheavals fueled his rage. It angered him to think that his lower-court members, the very people who had sworn loyalty to him, would dare to believe they could challenge his authority. In his mind, it was an affront to his pride. Beron was driven to prove himself repeatedly, to show that he was still the supreme ruler, to assert his dominance even more cruelly than before.

Eris moved with a grace that belied the savage intensity of the fight. If this fight, this moment with his father, were a symphony,  Eris was its masterful conductor. Precise, deadly. With a swift maneuver, he brought his blade to Beron’s neck, the tip dangerously close to ending the High Lord’s reign.

Beron’s eyes widened, a flicker of fear momentarily breaking through his usual composure.

As Eris had suspected, Beron's need to reassert control following the disturbances had led him to become increasingly harsh and unforgiving, to become the cruelest version of himself.  It wasn’t just the overt displays of cruelty; at times, even Beron’s own loyal men were visibly taken aback by the severity of his punishments. The once-feared High Lord now seemed to revel in his own brutality, meting out harsh reprisals for the smallest perceived slights. 

Citizens of the Autumn Court had begun to pray fervently for change.

Eris took note of their desperation. He began to frequent churches and visit temples more often, subtly goading the very prayers that begged for relief from Beron's tyranny. He felt a pang of guilt for the suffering inflicted on those innocent fae who bore the brunt of Beron’s cruelty. The weight of their pain was not lost on him. 

But their suffering was a necessary sacrifice for a greater cause. The freedom of all, the chance to redeem the Autumn Court from the grip of a tyrant, to restore his own tarnished name. 

Eris’s sword was struck from his hand with an almost too-easy motion, as if he had allowed it to happen, had planned for it. But Beron didn't notice, didn't think too much of the act as his grin widened. 

He examined the blade of his sword. Then, with a dismissive flick, he tossed the sword near where Eris’s lay, the clatter echoing through the chamber.

"My son," Beron sneered. "Let me show you how a real ruler fights."

He took a step forward. The crowd took a step back. And then, Beron threw a heavy punch at his son, the impact so forceful that Eris swore he heard a crack. As Eris staggered, Beron’s demeanor shifted, his mockery giving way to raw aggression. He moved in and began to deliver a relentless series of blows. 

There had been a point where Eris feared he might have undermined himself, might have jeopardized his plans. A moment where Beron confronted him, unevenly calm, about his meetings with Night Court trash. When he'd unleashed a fierce punishment in response to his alliance with Briallyn falling.

Beron had seen Eris for what he truly was: a significant threat. 

Beron was not stupid. 

But he was easily distracted, easily provoked. The more Beron’s attention was consumed by rage and suspicion, the less he could focus on the real threats closing in around him. Eris had shown submission, a form of fear, and his father's attention shifted to other alleged wrongdoings, other supposed acts of treachery.

Beron’s fists hammered into Eris with unrelenting force, each punch landing with a sickening thud. Eris’s world narrowed to the sharp pain with each strike. His father was monstrous now, uneased at how quickly his son seemed to fall. 

When Eris finally fell to his knees, he was barely conscious of the cold floor beneath him. His father's grip on his neck was ironclad, dragging him upright. He felt the trickle of his own blood mingling with the sweat on his face, the warm, metallic taste filling his mouth.

Through every blow, Eris's cheeked ached with the desire to smile. 

As a child, Eris had seen eager men tear each other apart in brutal brawls, rage consuming them entirely. He had watched with cold fascination as he stirred up hidden snakes beneath fallen leaves, prodding them into a vicious battle. He'd seen them strike and coil, each one consumed by its own fury.

He realized, even as a child, that the evil eat their own.

 All he needed to do was provoke them and step back.

Beron's supporters were as simple as he could be. Animals led by their desires, by their emotions. It had been endlessly entertaining to create disunity between them. Each faction, desperate to curry favor and secure their own power, began to betray one another. The resulting chaos caused Beron to question everyone’s loyalty, leaving him isolated and paranoid. The more they scrambled with conflicting stories and accusations, the more Beron became convinced that everyone was deceiving him. They all suffered. They all fought.

Beron’s eyes blazed with fury as he picked up his forgotten sword and pointed the blade at Eris. 

"Fight back!"

But his son did not. 

Eris had exploited Beron’s vices with a precision that only years of calculated cruelty could achieve. He was observant, had to become his father to know how to defeat him. And one thing about Beron: he indulged. He was gluttonous to his core, carelessly so. 

Beron’s high-ranking members had wanted to gift him something of luxury—something they’d only heard whispers about, whispers that they couldn’t trace but were plentiful. Interesting how that worked, Eris mused, how easily rumors could spread. But everyone wanted to get into the High Lord’s favor, so they pursued it, presented it to Beron. He accepted it with greedy, sin-sticky hands.

Beron hadn’t wanted the faebane antidote, never had enough contact with the poison to recognize it—didn’t know what it tasted like, how to test for it. It helped that, over the years, the crafters of Prythian had become inventive, altering and manipulating it, infusing it into drinks that were delectable, even addictive. The gradual degradation of Beron’s grasp on reality only made his anger more volatile. Eris wondered how his father hadn’t noticed his deteriorating health, why he never questioned why his strength seemed to ebb or why his flame flickered erratically when summoned.

But Eris also understood. Beron’s pride prevented him from admitting any weakness, from seeking help. He was desperate to maintain an image of invulnerability. What good was a High Lord who couldn't handle his liquor? 

What good was a High Lord who grew sick? 

None at all.

Eris took another kick and the slash with a stoic defiance.

“This is your chance, boy. Take it. Take it before I rid you of your pathetic life.”

Eris’s response was a grim chuckle, his laughter punctuated by a spray of blood. His chest ached with every breath, yet he couldn’t stop the dark humor from spilling out. 

"I already have."

When Eris was nineteen, a male his age was stung by a bee. It was a seemingly inconsequential event—just a small, buzzing creature that landed on the boy’s skin. Yet, within hours, he was dead. The sting had triggered an allergic reaction so severe that the male's immortal body couldn’t cope.

In the aftermath, as Eris watched the reactions of those around him, he learned a profound lesson. The deadliest threats often come in the most unassuming forms, in the things that are overlooked—vital to life, but neglected nonetheless. 

Beron lunged forward, blade aimed straight for Eris, for the heart he often forgot he had.  But just as the weapon descended, Eris’s gaze shifted to something behind his father. Despite the searing pain, despite the specks forming in his eyesight, a smile managed to curve Eris's lips. 

A wave of pride, of relief, washed over him as he watched his mother—sweet, neglected, and unassuming—strike true, slicing through Beron's back with a smooth, lethal precision.

The force of the strike caused Beron to stagger, his blade’s path shifting, falling and cutting deep into a lower area of Eris’s abdomen. With his slackened grip, the blade fell from his father's hold. Eris grimaced as its weight dragged it out of his flesh, as it went clattering to the floor beside him.

His vision was clouded with pain, but he remained transfixed as his mother moved with a fierce grace. Her hand, now wreathed in bright, licking flames, grasped Beron’s throat. With the other, she twisted the blade deeper into his father’s body, the fire searing his neck.

Eris’s ears rang, drowning out all but the relentless drum of his heartbeat. Despite the chaos, he could make out his mother’s voice, the words crisp in the oppressive silence.

“This is for my children.” 

There was a sputtering sound from Beron, sick and wet, as the blade was twisted deeper. Eris felt a burning sensation, pain so overwhelming it took his breath, his vision blurring as the agony consumed him. It was beautiful and excruciating all at once.

He had never felt so alive, so broken at the same time. 

Beron’s body crumpled beside him with a lifeless thud. Eris blinked through the haze.

Around him, chaos erupted—people running, screaming, power crackling in the air. He strained to focus, his gaze drifting past Beron’s corpse, and through the chaos, he saw something glorious. 

An angel, perhaps. Something of breathtaking beauty. The glow around it, a song that called to him. Rushing toward him, screaming his name.

It was you.

 At least, he believed it was you.  Eris wasn’t sure anymore.

No, he managed to tell himself, it was you. He knew you. 

He knew you the way one knows the pull of the moon on the tide, the way his soul knew the other half of itself.

It was your voice, mingling with the din of madness, your voice that called to him. Eris wanted to close his eyes at the sound, to bask in the feelings it stirred. You fell to your knees beside him. 

He felt his mother’s hands on him, steady and warm.

Then, everything went black.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

authors note: hi guys how did i do??? i just think the idea of a sneaky lil eris letting the people around him fall like dominos is sooo entertaining. i strongly do believe his rise to power will be rooted in SUCH small, calculated moves hes made around people.

a big thank you to my love @sarawritestories for reading this for me<3 mwuah

eris week/of our own devices tag list 🫶🏻: @i-know-i-can @scarsandallaz @anainkandpaper @ratgirl2020 @nyenye @rcarbo1 @katana180-blog

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound-blog

@melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

@angel-graces-world-of-chaos

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Ten

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

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

Warnings: Mentions of cannon-typical violence. Azriel and Y/n have a late night conversation. Fluff and other stuff.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“Gwyn says hi by the way.” 

Azriel choked on his coffee, bitter flavor rising in his throat. Nesta sauntered into the kitchen, cool eyes glaring at the back of his head. Your familiar silhouette was nowhere to be found. 

Not here. His shadows whispered. With Rhys.

“Calm down you idiot.” Nesta’s voice dripped with unrestrained contempt as she poured herself a cup and sat. His tan skin glistened with sweat after his morning training session, inky tattoos splashing across his bare chest and trailing over his shoulders, down his back, and up to his neck. In the cloudy afternoon light it was difficult to tell where his shadows ended and where his tattoos began. 

“Y/n’s not here. You’ll have to walk around half-naked some other time.” 

Azriel winced. “That isn’t what—”

Nesta brushed him off with a wave of her hand, eyes narrowing over her mug. Azriel felt like a bug pinned down under a microscope. A crushed butterfly about to hang.

“How is Gwyn doing?” he asked gingerly, casually. 

“She’s fine. Believe it or not, the world did not end when you broke up with her.”

Again he flinched. “I’m sorry, Nes,” he whispered rather pathetically. 

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to. But you already know that.” 

There seemed to be no shortage of people he needed to apologize to: Elain, Mor, Emerie, Gwyn, even Lucien — especially Lucien. His cheeks burned to think of the absolute mess of things he’d made. Feyre had been the quickest to forgive him for the debacle with Elain and Gwyn. But as Cassian had mentioned at dinner, there was a reason everyone was staying away from the River House, and the reason was him. 

Two years ago he’d challenged Lucien Vanserra to a blood duel for Elain’s hand. It had felt so right at the time, so obvious: three sisters for three brothers. But it was only when their deaths had loomed over her head with shocking reality that Elain realized what a horrible mistake she’d made. The mistake they’d made together. 

“Call it off,” she’d commanded him, blocking Lucien’s bloody, heaving body. The son of Autumn’s sword had been kicked away, scraping across the rock with an eerie scream and disappearing over the cliff edge. But Elain had stayed, soft brown eyes begging, “Do this and I will never forgive you. What we did… it wasn’t right. It was a mistake.”

A mistake, she’d called it. Years of silent longing and bare bone brushes of their hands in dark hallways. All a mistake. Those words had haunted him. They’d chased him into Gwyn’s kind arms where he once again mistook the friendship he felt towards her as love and broke her heart in the process. Add that to his lackluster response to Mor’s coming out and… well he had a lot of work ahead of him. 

He hoped he would be forgiven in time, but that didn’t mean he’d twiddle his thumbs until that day came. He scoured Prythian’s publishers for new releases of adventure, mystery, and romance books — the raunchier the better — and they showed up every month at Cagniv Library like clockwork. The priestesses still thought it was part of a trade bargain with the Day Court. He’d sent Elain and Lucien plenty of letters and gifts, but either they weren’t being opened or they weren’t bothering to respond. He wouldn’t blame them either way. As for Mor and Emerie, they were gone with the wind, too busy infiltrating lands and enjoying an extended honeymoon on the continent to bother with him. 

That cold stillness in Nesta’s eyes transformed into pity. It was hard not to be reminded of her own failures when she looked at him. Seeing him angry. Watching him crawl into the darkest corners of himself and burn every bridge he crossed had been a shock to Nesta’s system. A plunge into freezing waters that brought pain and clarity. 

She sighed, rubbing her temples. “Just give them time, Az. They’ll come around. If they did it for me, they’ll do it for you.” “I think our situations are rather different.” 

“I don’t.” 

“You didn’t try to kill anyone.”

She grimaced. “I came close.”  

He stayed silent for a long while. He washed his cup. He dried it. He put it in the cupboard. 

“Can you—can you please not tell Y/n?” he begged. His voice was small and quiet. He’d been a fool in the past and made terrible decisions in the name of love. Mor, Elain, and Gwyn. They’d all lived more in his mind than in his heart — people he could never fully grasp, and therefore never lose. They’d been safe. Easy. 

It didn’t feel that way with you. You felt solid and warm, even if he’d only touched you once. You felt more real to him than anyone else. You felt like someone he could actually have. Which meant he could lose you before you’d even become his to lose. 

“You can’t keep her in the dark forever. Not about your history, not about the bond. If you’re going to learn anything from your brothers, learn that.”  

“I know,” he whispered. “I just want to get it right this time.” He had to get it right this time. “I want her to fall in love with me because she wants me, not out of some sense of obligation. I want…” I want to be worthy of her.  

Nesta shook her head, a laugh escaping despite her best attempts to stifle it. Azriel looked at her like she’d gone mad.

She giggled again. “It’s funny. For a male as handsome and desirable as you, you have the worst fucking luck with women. The Mother must have a twisted sense of humor.” 

Maybe she did. But Azriel was still enough of a romantic to hope that he had learned from his mistakes, and that his bad luck would end with you. 

You shoved the notebook off Rhysand’s desk, loose papers flying out like uncoordinated doves. 

“I told you notetaking was a futile effort.” The High Lord didn’t even look at you, too busy searching for invisible dirt beneath his manicured fingernails.

You groaned and dropped your head against the book he’d handed you two hours before. 

Rhysand had to smile at your frustration. It was a wholly different experience teaching you magic compared to teaching Feyre. With Feyre, her greatest barrier had been her lack of knowledge (and her hatred of him at the time). She’d been thrust into the world of fae without preparation, but it had left her malleable and adaptable. It was like teaching a newborn how to walk — a mind that could absorb more because it knew so little.

But you knew too much. You could spout off magical theory at the drop of a hat. You were a pedagogical master with a thousand mnemonics to your name. You were the first to wake in all of Velaris, making your way to the Library before bodies could fill the streets, and you only returned when the crowds had either turned in for the night or gone out to drink until daybreak. You swallowed every history book on the Night Court, Clairvoyants, daemati, and death gods until you felt untethered from the earth — until your mind began to float outside your body, buzzing with thoughts that never went away. 

But none of that mattered. Your power was an immovable object that couldn’t be controlled by logic or studying. 

You shoved against that power now.

“Good,” Rhysand nodded, leaning against the window, “You’re getting better at it.” 

He lingered in your mind, hovering over the depths of your emotions and memories like a bird ready to break water. It had taken some time before you felt comfortable with the intrusion. Your first lesson together, Rhysand’s presence in your mind had made it impossible to focus. Panic had seized your mind and your body until you could do nothing more than brace your hands and feet against the chair’s leather upholstery. You could have sworn you saw a head of silver hair to your left. The gentle pitter patter of rain had sounded like dripping blood. 

It wasn’t like that anymore. Henna had left you with a useful skill — you could wind your consciousness around Rhysand and keep him there, suspended in that indescribable space where your thoughts lay so he could do no more damage than you permitted him. 

Through your mind he felt the narrowing of your power. You imagined it like a blanket wrapped around your body, suffocating but familiar. It was this power that laced your skin and made contact with others so hard. You imagined the fabric shortening, creeping up your arms and legs, curling around your torso and squeezing like a snake. Inch by inch you tightened it around you, burying it within your chest instead of carrying it openly like a wound. 

You held a music book between your hands — Nyx’s to be exact. The little Lordling showcased a certain aptitude for the piano his father could only dream of, and being as young and protected as he was, the worst kind of emotion imbued within its pages was agitation. You could hear one of the ballads written within it as clearly as if Nyx was sitting beside you plucking out the melody. 

Tighter. Tighter. Tighter. You swallowed your power. Pulled what was outside inwards. Slowly but surely the music faded away until the book was as all books should be — silent. 

Sweat beaded your brow. This was the most difficult part — not tuning out the music, but keeping the volume at zero. 

Rhysand checked his watch. Waited. Checked it again. 

You lasted thirty minutes before your power burst out along your skin once more like a thousand prickling needles. You shuddered, half-disappointed, half-grateful that you could hear the melody again.

Rhysand clapped his hands, slow and proud. The grandfather clock in the corner of the room was dangerously close to five bells. Rhysand nodded. 

“Perfect timing. We’re done for today.” 

“I can go for longer,” you pleaded. 

“I know you can.” Rhysand pushed off the wall, polished leather boots gleaming. He was wearing his Illyrian leathers this time, the scent of wind still clinging to his skin after a visit to the northern war camps.

Old Illyria lasted thousands of years. The clans used to flow up and down the Steppes, following the tundrabeast that lay claim to those mountainous regions and were said to speak for their god Ramiel — Starbreaker, Night Herder — after whom the mountain is named. They don’t move with the cold winds anymore, even if they’ve kept their names: Ironcrest, Bloodborn, Windhaven, Seawhip, Hawkseed, Timberbane, and a dozen others. And they don’t make sacrifices, although the Blood Rite might be a close—

Rhysand rapped his knuckles on the desk to grab your attention and splayed his fingers wide. “I also know that the moment I dismiss you, you’ll scamper off to the Library to work until you can’t see straight.” 

You shifted in your seat. “I like it there.”

“That’s besides the point. If you keep going at this pace you’ll burn out. Then you won’t be able to help anyone. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” 

Your eyes widened ever so slightly. You hadn’t thought he’d noticed. “I know what it feels like to burn out and it’s not going to happen anytime soon. I promise.” 

Rhysand suppressed the urgent need to roll his eyes as you gathered your things and walked out the door. “And here I thought I worked too much,” he muttered beneath his breath. 

You carried Henna’s journal tucked within your new Librarian robes — black with ivory detailing and wide sleeves that narrowed at the wrists. You kept a hand on it during late nights at the Library. You ate with it propped open, black splotches swimming across the page like worms. You slept with it beneath your pillow. 

But alas, it would seem the book was going to make you work to wring meaning out of every odd symbol.

You were muttering to yourself as you walked back and forth in front of the fireplace. You’d effectively commandeered one of the reading rooms on the seventh floor, leaving the library only when required for Rhysand’s lessons. Helion’s most recent letter lay open on the table with Cherp’s resting just beneath it. A map hung crooked on the wall, four athenaeums circled in bleeding red ink alongside a list of books that had gone missing — the ones that people knew about at least. 

The Alcove, Ares House, Folkmen’s Bard, and most recently, Argot’s.

 Three Librarians dead. Their throats slit. Blood dribbling down their burgundy robes as they’d sat hunched over their desks. The week before it had been two from Ares House caught swaying from the third floor balcony. 

No one has any idea how it happened. The wards were never set off. Nothing in the Library was disrupted. I tell you this only because you deserve to know what’s happened to your people. Continue your training. Continue your research. Do whatever you need to do. But leave the court business to me, dear. I’ll write to you again when I can.

~ Helion 

“It doesn’t make sense,” you mumbled, drumming your fingers against your hip where the book remained silent. “None of this makes sense.” 

You’d used every ounce of Rhysand’s training on the book. You’d imagined your power sliding over it like water, fire, needles shooting through cowhide, a hammerstrike, every metaphor imaginable. You’d glared at it with an intensity that would have disintegrated a lesser object. 

When that failed, you had moved onto solving the murders and thefts at your father’s court. You couldn’t content yourself with sitting in one of the cushy, high-backed chairs in Rhysand’s office sipping imported tea in porcelain cups while athenaeums were on lockdown. 

The pattern was shockingly simple — Koschei was going after books that could be traced back to him. Books that might give his enemies the upper hand: folktales alluding to him and his siblings, translated texts from old Bauldish that might have proved useful in deciphering Henna’s book, secondary accounts of the age before High Lords ruled. 

If you were Koschei you’d go after Godswoods next — the collection of athenaeums dedicated to religion. Then on to The Gallows — the athenaeum on death and dying. The two were intricately tied to one another, but people tended to write books on dying before coming up with explanations for what comes after. You’d spent a great deal of time there following your mother’s death, and you could picture it now — solemn black bookshelves looping around a circular room that tapered up into a point like a blade pointed to the sky. 

You finished writing your letter to Helion, along with the list of books you wanted pulled from the archives. Cagniv Library may have been a glowing beacon in the Night Court, and a place of sanctuary for the priestesses, but it was nothing like you were used to.

You held the paper out in front of you, Helion’s glimmering pen tucked behind your sharp ears, and blew. The black letters lifted off the page and faded away like a breath in cold air. The message was already writing itself back into existence in Helion’s office.

“It doesn’t make sense.” 

You scribbled out another note, this one for yourself with another pen. You ripped it to pieces and fed it to the fire. 

What was Koschei looking for now? Was he still looking for the book that now rested against your hip, or had he turned to some other prize? And why kill the Librarians and set all of Day Court on high alert? 

Henna had been careful. She’d stayed hidden until she was forced to tear down the Alcove to get the book. Whoever was causing the killings now was either a showman or a fool. They left bodies hanging from rafters. They carved smiles into throats. They let the Librarians know what they were stealing whether they meant to or not. They left patterns scattered among wreckage for someone like you to figure out. 

It all felt… juvenile for lack of a better word. Someone young. Someone who wanted to prove themselves in a loud way. Someone whose ego hadn’t been tested yet and wasn’t listening to Koschei’s commands in their entirety. 

Azriel. 

You couldn’t help but think of him. 

Azriel was nothing like that. 

He wasn’t loud. He didn’t vy for attention. He didn’t seek the light in a room. His confidence was quiet and true. His kindness took the shape of the shadows that lingered by your ankles. It took the shape of the robes you wore now. He was the only one who’d seen them at The Alcove. He was the only one who could have requested the court seamstress to make a copy and leave it hanging in your closet.

No. Azriel was nothing like that.

Azriel’s eyes lit up like embers when you slid through the front door, weary but bright-eyed and cradling your journals against your chest. The shadows he’d left behind with you slithered across the floor like mist. 

She’s been in the Library all day. Working. The shadows whispered in his ear. She thought about you. 

Azriel smiled. He’d thought about you as well. “I was wondering where you’d gone.” 

You gasped, closing the door louder than you intended. You’d developed a talent for sneaking in and out of the River House unnoticed to the point where Cassian considered hiding bells in your pockets. Nyx had tried to do it as a joke, but you’d caught him giggling too loudly in your bedroom. 

You brightened immediately, a broad smile appearing on your face. Azriel felt his heart leap, then quiet as he caught the scent of parchment paper. 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow?” You whispered, tip-toeing through the dimly lit hallway to where Azriel was in the sitting room. You sank into the couch with a groan. The hardwood desks at the Library had not been kind to you. 

He shrugged and brushed back his wind-thickened hair, shifting to face you better. A crumb-coated plate lay on the table and he still wore his leathers. He must have just arrived home. 

“I flew as quick as I could. I wanted to be home.” With you. 

He’d gotten so used to the feeling of you sleeping across the hallway that he’d flown the last three days without sleep. It was worth it to see you again. From the looks of it, you’d not fared well in his absence either. Your eyes had that glassy, half-there sheen: a perfect mixture of exhaustion and mind-crackling clarity. 

“And how were the Mortal Lands?” You tucked your knees beneath you and leaned against your hand, fighting the sleep that seemed to grapple for you now that Azriel was home. His wings were spread wide and you resisted the urge to close the last few inches between you and the talon that glimmered in the faelight like obsidian glass.

You’d never been that far south. You’d never had reason to. But Azriel flew far and wide. The Continent was now Mor’s domain, but the secret goings of Prythian and the Mortal Lands belonged to him and him alone. The Spymaster of the Night Court. The Shadowsinger.

Azriel shook his head. “Quiet. Koschei hasn’t touched them yet as far as I can tell, and the Mortal Queens don’t care. They seem to think that they can handle Koschei because he’s agreed to bargains with them in the past.” 

You made a noise of disapproval. “Like they handled Hybern? The only reason they’re still standing is because fae fought their war.” 

The scattering of human armies that had arrived on that battlefield had belonged to no crown. They’d either fought for the bloodlust or the money. You could respect them for that. 

Azriel tipped his head to the side, following the curling of his shadows around his shoulders. “But they are still standing. They don’t know what we sacrificed to keep them safe. That’s the problem with humans. They forget too quickly and get complacent” 

“It would seem we have the opposite problem. We can’t help but remember everything,” you said, with no small amount of bitterness. 

He wanted to keep you talking. He wanted your thoughts. Wanted to fall asleep to the sound of your voice after three weeks of silence. You weren’t aware of it, but the bond had felt thin the further he’d traveled away from you. Like a tightrope stretched to its snapping point. Now that he was back, and you were here, his heart didn’t feel like such a strenuous burden.

He smiled. “I think that’s just you. I know plenty of fae who are forgetful and empty-minded.” He leaned back, stretching his wings out to the side, and winced. They were whipped raw and tender from the flight. 

Without thinking you got up and moved to the fireplace, feeding wood to the flames until it crackled happily. There was a reason Cassian and Azriel loved to bath their wings in sunlight every chance they got. The heat helped the soreness and eased the wind’s rough edge. 

It also drove color into your cheeks and set your hair alight in a soft golden haze. You were a marvel. An angel with a halo to match and Azriel drank in the sight. 

“Like who?”

“Cassian.” 

You smirked and chucked the last of the wood into the flame’s gaping mouth. 

Cass was far from empty-minded, but after decades of being feared as the Lord of Bloodshed he was grateful that people loved him enough to be just a little mean. He gave and received friendly blows like kisses on the cheek and smiled all the wider for it. To threaten his life was the same as saying I love you. It must be why the Mother had made Nesta his mate. She said I love you to him all hours of the day. 

Azriel asked you what you were thinking, and when you told him he felt some of that pain slide off his shoulders like rain. He threw his head back and laughed until his chest started to hurt again and you thought about how rare that sound must be, and how much you loved it. 

“How are the others? Rhysand told me Feyre’s sister is down there along with your friends.” 

Azriel sobered up quickly and cleared his throat. “Yes. Elain, Lucien, Jurian, and Vassa.”

His voice caught on two names: Elain and Lucien, and it didn't escape your notice. He sounded... nervous.

“And? Are they alright?”

He rolled his shoulders and looked out the window to the inky black sky. Vassa would be sleeping now in her human form, and if she was lucky, she’d wake up in the morning still within the manor’s grey stone walls. Safe. Home. 

He shook his head gravely. “They’re nothing short of terrified. Koschei has Vassa under a spell that would normally keep her tied to his lake. He let her go during the war against Hybern and he’s been allowing her to stay, but… everyone’s just holding their breath and trying to prepare for the day he’ll take her back.”

You shivered and wrapped one of the spare blankets around your shoulders. You couldn’t imagine a life where every waking moment held the risk of being torn away from everything you held dear. The anticipation would have broken you more than the act itself. 

“I’ve heard of her. The firebird.” You murmured softly. You imagined a creature with glowing eyes, blue-red feathers streaking behind like ribbons set on fire. Azriel narrowed his eyes in confusion, and you explained, “Ares House records all wartime information. I read the reports. We’re very thorough.”

Azriel smiled. “I would expect nothing less.”

Silence passed in comfort, and you couldn’t stop thinking about Vassa.

“Do you think they’d be able to stop it if Koschei did make her go back?” 

“I don’t know, Y/n.” And it was driving him mad to have Koschei hanging around like a forgotten word at the end of his tongue.

“I hate this,” you spat out, “The not knowing. I hate it.” 

Azriel stared at you, hazel eyes silently begging you to continue. Shadows curled around your body, gently tugging you closer to him until your knees were a whisper away from touching. 

You both sighed softly into the quiet air. Even the River House seemed to be at rest for the night. The usual background hum of cooking and cleaning were absent. It was just you and the Shadowsinger. 

“How are things going? With the book?” 

You slipped your hand through the slit in your robes and pulled it out. The gold chain rustled, glowing faintly from your touch. 

“It’s going.” You shoved the book back out of sight. You couldn’t even stand to look at it after the hours you’d spent agonizing over its pages. “Rhysand’s been teaching me to contain my power better. I can actually touch some things now.” 

But not him. Still not him. And it was killing you. 

Azriel gave another one of his small smiles. The ones that never failed to make the world a smaller, more manageable place. “That’s good.”

“I just… this may sound silly but, I’m not used to things being this hard. With my powers a lot of things just sort of came naturally for me. But now people are dying and I’m just sitting here on this very expensive couch and I can’t do the thing I was brought here to do and I… I don’t like feeling this useless.” 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Azriel murmured. He closed the space between you even more, shadows hovering over your face in silent permission. When you didn’t pull away they brushed back the strands of hair that had fallen over your face with a cool, silky touch. 

Azriel was all calm darkness and you imagined that if you reached out to touch his chest your hand might just slip through him like he wasn’t there at all. He seemed too good to be real. 

But he was real, and he was sitting close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath fan your cheeks. 

“You’re not useless. Never believe that. Not even for a second. And even if you were useless, it wouldn’t matter. You’re worth more than the things you can do, remember?”

“I remember.” Your voice was quiet and thick. 

You rested your cheek in the crook of your arm as you gazed at him wearily. 

Azriel kept his hands out in the open, one hand reaching across the couch cushions before stopping mere inches away from yours. His shadows closed the remaining distance, slipping in between your fingers to mimic Azriel’s touch. 

“Did you uncover any more secrets of mine while I was gone?” Azriel asked as your eyelids began to droop. 

“I confess I forgot to look. But maybe now that you’re here, I’ll start again,” you mumbled into the encroaching dark.

“I look forward to it,” were the last words that filtered through your ears before you fell asleep to the untranslatable whispers of shadows. 

Nyx bounded down the stairs, leaping the last six steps before landing soundlessly on the floor with a soft bend of his knees — just like Azriel had taught him. Feyre gave a proud nod before ruffling his ebony hair and Rhysand beamed. 

Let me. Feyre adjusted the wrappings around Rhys’s chest that kept Velaria’s plump body swaddled and comfortable. Her pink lips opened in a yawn that had both mates sighing. 

“Uncle Az!” Nyx raced forward towards the sitting room and then froze, mouth opened in a surprised oh.

Azriel slept like the dead on the floor, chest rising and falling with the beat of his gentle breath. You lay stretched out on the couch, one arm propped beneath your head and the other dangling over your waist and off the cushions. Your fingers swayed an inch above Azriel’s chest, shadows swimming over his torso and creeping up your arms so that even in sleep you were connected to one another. 

Feyre gasped softly at the picture. The sunlight blanketing the both of you in peach fuzz. The faint uptick of Azriel’s lips and the smoothness of his brow. The way you looked like you were bleeding into him. The black of his shadows and your robes. 

Rhysand rubbed Nyx’s shoulder and kissed Feyre’s cheek.

Let them sleep, Nyx. We’ll get breakfast at Huth’s today.

Nyx let his parents lead him towards the door without protest. He’d never seen Uncle Az sleep so soundly in his life. 

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

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Author's Note:

Yeah... this slow burn is burning... but I just love it so much and I love writing all the sweet little moments they have and their conversations with one another and I hope you're enjoying it as well.

[parkerslatte]

Incompatible | Part One

Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: none

Summary: Y/N Archeron was a human living in the land of the fae. For her own protection, the Inner Circle keeps her in Velaris, safe and protected. One day, Azriel invites her to a meeting after seeing her close into herself more and more. There she meets the one who flips her whole life upside down.

A/N: This is a request from @talesofadragon , thank you so much for sending it in, it definitely helped with my writers block :) also this will have a second part and possibly a third so keep an eye on for those soon!

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

Y/N Archeron remembered the day she returned to the house her two younger sisters lived in and found it completely destroyed. It had only been three months since she had last visited as making the journey across the human lands was a tiring one that Y/N did not make very often. Far from the village her sisters lived in, Y/N lived mostly alone with a large stretch of farmlands and woodlands. The closest neighbour to her was nearly a mile down the road. But Y/N liked that, she liked the peace living on the farm brought her. 

After she moved when she was freshly eighteen, Y/N sent most of her earnings to her family and lived off of the bare minimum. But she was happy, probably happier than she had been in a while. 

Now years on from that, at twenty-eight, Y/N continued to sit at the table in the town house and watched the world go by. She tried to concentrate on her book or anything else but she couldn’t, her mind was elsewhere. It always was this past year. Occasionally someone would walk by but Y/N made no effort to make conversation. All she wanted to do was leave the damned house. 

Y/N was only a human living in the land of the fae. When she first arrived, she was happy. She was back with her sisters and she was in a new place to explore. At first, Rhys allowed her to walk the streets of Velaris, browsing the shops and market stalls. Soon that transitioned to her needing an escort wherever she went and very soon after that, it turned into Y/N being locked up in whatever house everyone decided that week. Today was the town house. She knew that her family were only looking out for her and only wanted to protect her. After all, Y/N was not immortal. She was not fae. She could bruise easily, was far weaker than anyone else around her. 

Y/N sighed yet again and threw the book in her hands to the floor. She didn’t understand why she was here anymore. Y/N knew that she was of no use to anyone around her, she felt more like an inconvenience if anything. They should have just taken her back to her own damned farm.

“Hey,” Azriel said, approaching the eldest Archeron. “I came to check on you.”

“Of your own free will or because you were forced to?” Y/N snapped back. She instantly felt guilty. Since she was brought to Velaris, Azriel had been nothing but kind to her. They all had but he was the only one who had gone out of his way to talk with her everyday. Her sisters had stopped doing that when they had either begun their own families or had gone travelling. 

“My own free will if you really want to know,” Azriel said and sat down in the chair next to hers. He glanced down at the book on the floor. “Did the book really deserve that?”

“It probably deserved a lot more than that,” Y/N said, bringing her legs up onto the chair. She looked back out of the window.

Azriel sighed. “Y/N, look, I know that you don’t want to be here–”

“What gave you that impression?” Y/N interrupted.

Azriel simply ignored her. “But you are safe here.”

“I could have been safe at my farm,” Y/N said. “There was no need to bring me here. Feyre and Nesta are both busy with their families to sit with me anymore. Elain is busy travelling the continent with Lucien. I don’t have any friends here–”

“I am your friend, Y/N,” Azriel interrupted her. “And all we are trying to do is protect you. The whole of Prythian knows that there is another Archeron sister and they all know that you are human. If anyone were to get to you, it would put you as well as your sisters in danger. Because you know that they would do anything to get you back safe.”

Y/N sighed. “I know but this is not a life, Azriel. All I do is sit indoors and waste away. I am not even allowed to go outside anymore. Whenever there is a meeting happening, I am sent away to the furthest possible room. I feel like a prisoner, Azriel. You may not see it, but it is how I feel.”

Azriel sighed and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Y/N said. 

“To a meeting,” Azriel answers. 

Y/N huffed and turned back to the window. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “Have fun.”

Y/N expected to hear Azriel’s retreating footsteps but she didn’t. Slowly she turned her head and found him standing there, his hand outstretched. 

“What?” Y/N asked.

“Are you coming or not?” Azriel asked. 

Hope lit up Y/N’s heart. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” Azriel said. 

Y/N stood up and threw her arms around the shadowsinger, nearly knocking him off balance. “What will the others say?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Azriel said. “If they say anything, let me deal with it.”

“Thank you!” Y/N exclaimed, pulling back from Azriel.

Azriel chuckled. “Don’t thank me yet. You are going to hate it once you realise how boring these meetings are.”

“I don’t care,” Y/N said as Azriel began to lead her to the meeting hall. “As long as I can actually be involved in something, I’ll find entertainment in anything.”

As soon as Azriel opened the door to the meeting hall, all eyes were on her. Y/N didn’t shrink away, she lifted her chin and looked around proudly. There weren’t many in the room at all, in fact there was only one new face amongst everyone else. Y/N studied him and, upon inspection, decided that he was the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on. His copper hair sat neatly on top of his head, a singular strand falling across his forehead. His fashion sense was immaculate and Y/N wanted to study the embroidery on his jacket up close. 

As Y/N moved her gaze back to the man’s face, she found him looking at her, a smirk pulling at his lips. Y/N gave him a small smile. 

A chair scraped across the floor, drawing Y/N’s attention away. 

“Azriel, what is she doing here?” Rhys asked, his voice low and deadly as he spoke to Azriel.

“I thought she could sit in on a meeting,” Azriel shrugged, pulling out a chair for Y/N. One directly across from the handsome man. “You and everyone else made Y/N read books on fae politics, so I thought she could see a political meeting in person.”

Rhys tried to remain calm but Y/N could easily see the anger and tension slipping through the cracks. 

Cassian was the next to speak up. “Az is right Rhys. Y/N must learn about all of this at some point. And there’s nothing like the present.”

Rhys’s gaze hardened on Cassian before he turned back to face Y/N. He offered her a small, barely there smile. “Very well.”

The stares of her two sisters burned into Y/N as she looked down at the table. Y/N hadn’t seen Feyre and Nesta in at least three weeks, but Y/N had to admit that by fae standards, three weeks was not a long time. But to Y/N it was, especially when there was barely anything she could do to pass the time. 

The chair next to Y/N scraped across the floor and Azriel sat down next to her. Y/N turned her head to look at him.

Thank you, she mouthed. 

Azriel gave her a small nod before he turned his attention to Rhys as he began to speak up. Y/N had to admit to herself that she did not find any of what Rhys was saying particularly interesting, but she still felt glad to finally be included in something. 

The meeting felt like it had drawled on forever and Y/N had learnt to block everyone out. Though, if Y/N had to admit to herself, whenever the man with copper hair spoke, she found herself tuning into the conversation just to hear his voice. Not only was he the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on, his voice was the most beautiful she had ever heard. Y/N wasn’t sure if one could fall in love with the sound of someone’s voice but she already had. 

Y/N shuffled in her chair and finally looked up from where she was looking at the small crack in the table. Her back ached from her lack of movement and the uncomfortable seat she had found herself in. The sun outside had begun to go down, casting the room in a faint orange glow. The expression on Y/N’s face saddened as she looked at the sunset. All she wanted to do was go outside and bask in the sun on her own. She wanted her own place to live without the constant feeling of being babysat. All Y/N wanted was her own life back. 

Cassian cleared his throat and it interrupted Y/N from her own thoughts. As she zoned back in, she made eye contact with the handsome man again. He was looking directly at her, a gleam in his eyes that seemed like…concern. Y/N didn’t avert her gaze. Something within her made her not want to look away. She was swimming in his eyes and she would happily drown if she had no other choice. 

The corner of the man’s mouth twitched and Y/N couldn’t help but mimic that movement, fighting the urge to smile. Nothing had made her smile properly in a while but just simply from looking at this man, she wanted to smile, share that experience with him. Y/N pressed her lips into a thin line and averted her gaze, only for a quick second. As her eyes met the man’s once more, a small smile pulled at his lips.

“Eris,” Rhys interrupted and the man reluctantly looked away from Y/N. 

“What?” The man, now known to Y/N as Eris, said sharply. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Rhys’s gaze flicked between Eris and Y/N and his gaze darkened the smallest amount. “I asked you if there was anything else you wished to discuss.”

Eris leaned back in his chair. “Actually there is one thing. I would like to know the name of the beautiful woman I have not been introduced to yet.”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “Her name is–”

Eris held up his hand, cutting Rhys off. “Ah, I did not ask you for her name.” Eris turned his attention to Y/N. “I would like her to introduce herself.”

Y/N briefly glanced at her sisters. Their expressions did not give away much but for some reason Y/N had a feeling that neither of them wanted her to introduce herself. It only made Y/N want to do it more.

Y/N plastered a bright smile on her face as she faced Eris once more. “I’m Y/N Archeron.”

“Y/N,” Eris repeated, her name sounding like poetry on his tongue. “A beautiful name to match such a woman.”

Y/N’s smile only brightened. 

“Now all introductions are over, I will see you out, Eris,” Rhys said. 

“I can see myself out Rhysand,” Eris replied, standing from his chair. “Although I would not complain if the beautiful Y/N walked me out.”

Y/N felt Eris’s eyes bore into hers and she couldn’t help the heat that rose to her cheeks. 

“I–” Y/N began to speak but she was cut off by Rhys.

“She will not escort you out, Eris,” Rhys said.

“I’m sure Y/N can speak for herself, Rhysand,” Eris said, his eyes not leaving Y/N’s. 

Reluctantly, Y/N shifted her gaze from Eris to Rhys. The High Lord’s violet eyes hardened and Y/N knew exactly what that look meant. It was a warning. Y/N then looked at her two sisters. Feyre did not seem to mind as she slightly nodded at Y/N. Nesta only looked at Rhys’s annoyed expression in amusement. Y/N looked at Cassian and Azriel. While they didn’t say anything, the protective look in their eyes said enough. Though as her gaze met Azriel’s he shrugged. Do what you want, his look seemed to say. It doesn’t mean that I need to like it.

Y/N turned back to face Eris. “I’ll escort you out.”

Instead of a smirk, Eris plastered a pleasant smile upon his handsome face. Y/N pushed back her chair, it scraped loudly against the floor. She could feel the eyes of everyone on her yet she was only focused on one. As she walked around the table to meet Eris, he offered her his arm. Y/N took it gracefully, feeling the hard muscle beneath his jacket. 

As soon as they were outside of the meeting room, Y/N let out a long breath. She looked at Eris to find him already looking at her. 

“I can feel how suffocated you are,” Eris said, his eyebrow knitting together in concern. “I know the feeling all too well myself.”

Y/N sighed. “This is honestly the first time I have ever been allowed to do anything on my own in a long time.”

“I cannot imagine how that must feel,” Eris said. “If I were in your shoes, I would simply run for the hills.”

Y/N’s lips twitched. “Don’t you think I’ve thought of doing that?”

“I don’t see why you don’t,” Eris said, as they finally stepped outside. Y/N lingered in the threshold of the doors. Eris’s concern seemed to heighten. “How long has it been since you have been outside?”

“Well only a few days since I moved from the House of Wind to here,” Y/N said. “But actually being outside and feeling the sun on my skin, quite a while.”

Eris scoffed. “Moved around? You are not a piece of furniture.You are a human being.”

“Exactly,” Y/N replied. “A human being. I am not fae. I am not safe if I am to live and walk around in daylight.”

“That is no way to live,” Eris said. 

“It is the way I have been living for nearly four years now,” Y/N said. 

“Well why don’t you and I change that,” Eris said, trailing his hand down Y/N’s arm to intertwine their fingers together. Y/N smiled as she felt his warm palm against hers. “Step out into the sun with me.”

“But it is sunset,” Y/N commented.

“It is said that that is when the sun looks the most beautiful,” Eris replied, nodding his head in the direction of the large hill obscuring their view of the sunset. “We will get a perfect view just up there.”

“I don’t know,” Y/N said, stepping back from Eris, though she didn’t release his hand. She didn’t want to release his hand. The warmth she felt from it was unlike any other. 

“Don’t do that,” Eris said softly.

“Do what?” Y/N asked.

“Shrink into yourself,” Eris said, lightly pulling her so she stood close to him. “Come with me. It is only over the hill after all. I can walk you back here safely after.”

Eris’s expression held no ill intent and deep down Y/N already knew that for reasons she couldn’t explain. Y/N nodded her head slowly. A wide smile spread across Eris’s face and Y/N couldn’t help herself but smile back. His smile was infectious. 

Together they stepped out of the townhouse and Eris led her further away from the building. Y/N’s eyes lit up as she felt the warm sun on her skin. They stopped at the top of the hill as Y/N’s eyes widened in wonder. It had been a while since she had seen such a beautiful sight. 

“I have to admit that this sight is rather beautiful,” Eris commented. “But the sights in Autumn are even better.”

Y/N turned her attention to Eris. “Perhaps I can see them one day?”

Eris smiled. “I would happily take you now if you wanted.”

The smile fell from Y/N’s face. She glanced back towards the townhouse. “I would love that, but…”

Eris glanced at the house. “They won’t let you.”

“It is their way of making sure I am protected, though I just feel trapped all the damn time,” Y/N said. “I hate feeling useless and that my life has no meaning. I rarely see my sisters because they are busy with their own families or travelling. I am not even allowed to train to pass the time, I am considered too delicate apparently, even for the training dummies. I just want to finally leave this court. I want to go back to my farm.”

“Your farm?” Eris asked.

“Before my sisters were turned into fae, I lived on my own farm hundreds of miles away. I sent most of the money I made to my sisters. I lived on the basics but I was happy,” Y/N explained. “I would kill to go back there.”

“Why don’t you?” 

“Well everyone inside of that house for starters but by now I am sure it is run down. I didn’t have anyone to help out on the farm, only the occasional person passing through if they were in need of work,” Y/N explained. “I am sure that it is not the cosy home it used to be by now and if I’m being honest, I do not have the motivation to even think about remodelling it.”

“What if you had help?” Eris suggested. 

A small smile creeped onto Y/N’s face. “Eris, are you offering to help me?”

“Perhaps I am,” Eris replied, taking a small step closer. “And if I was, Y/N Archeron, what would your answer be?”

“I would say–”

“Y/N!” Rhys called from the townhouse. 

Y/N rolled her eyes and turned to look at Rhys. He stood in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest. Y/N sighed. “I should get back inside now.”

As Y/N went to take a step back but Eris gently gripped her hand. “I take it that it would be impossible to convince you to come with me.”

“It wouldn’t be impossible to convince me,” Y/N said. “But convincing the Inner Circle to allow me out of sight is near impossible.”

Eris briefly looked at Rhys before looking back at Y/N. “Maybe I can convince them.”

Y/N laughed. “I’d like to see you try.”

“I take that as a challenge,” Eris smirked. “Mark my words, Y/N, that by this time three days from now, I will get you out of that house.”

Y/N linked her fingers through Eris’s. “Well I cannot wait until you do.”

Eris lifted her hand and pressed his lips against her knuckles. “I will look forward to seeing you again, Y/N.”

“Y/N,” Rhys said, interrupting Y/N from responding. 

“Rhys,” Y/N greeted. 

Rhys turned to Eris. “I see that my sister-in-law has escorted you out, maybe it is time for you to take your leave, Eris.”

“I was just leaving,” Eris replied, a gleam in his eye. “I have a very important letter to write tonight.”

Eris slipped his hand away from Y/N’s but Y/N found herself wanting to take his once more. The immediate coolness that wrapped around her hand was far from pleasant and she missed the warmth Eris provided. 

“I will see you very soon, Y/N,” Eris said, that gleam still shining brightly in his eyes. He turned on his heel and walked away without turning back. The light shone on his copper hair and Y/N wanted nothing more than to follow him. 

Rhys offered his arm to Y/N. “Let’s get back inside.”

“Before someone sees?” Y/N replied sharply. She walked ahead of Rhys the short distance to the town house. Though she felt a fluttering in her stomach and waited in anticipation to see if Eris’s words would come true. 

[utterlyotterlyx]

Can I request something where Azriel has to pick up Nyx from school one day and thinks his teacher is cute & is very flirty with her?

Yes! Love this idea so much!

When I Kissed The Teacher

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary - Feyre loves Nyx's teacher but loves playing matchmaker even more. After sending Azriel to collect Nyx from school one day after feigning a studio related emergency, she's very happy to learn that Azriel's affections are completely in the palm of your hand.

Warnings - none really, just cuteness all round

Feyre had always been worried about sending Nyx off to school, even though she believed Rhys when he told her that the schools of Velaris were the best in Prythian, she couldn't help but feel anxious that he wouldn't thrive.

Then she met you, and all of her worries faded away.

You were everything Feyre wanted in a teacher for her child, it had taken a lot of weight throwing to get him into your class, it was full to the brim of children from higher born families, only wanting the best for their offspring. Feyre wasn't even surprised.

It was clear how much you cared about your children, in nurturing them into intelligently creative creatures. Other teachers focused solely on the academics, but you had a passion for the arts, you said creativity helped children to find their passions and grow into more compassionate and joyful souls.

Nyx had run into her arms when she had come to collect him that first day, babbling on about what a wonderful time he had with you. Miss Y/L/N. Feyre had never seen such wonderment in his eyes when he told her in that broken infant language how great you were. Everyone's worries about Nyx becoming a shell had vanished.

The little thing had returned home with paintings, reciting poetry from your favourite passages; he had the desire to read, making different voices for the different characters like he had learned from you. Nyx was well and truly flourishing.

Feyre had insisted that you walk home with them one afternoon, since you only lived five minutes from the River House and it was on your route home anyway. From that walk, Feyre had learned much about you, that you were from Spring but left after being disowned by your family for wanting more from life than being married away to be used as a breeding tool. After that you had travelled the continent, making many friends along the way and opening your mind to the world before settling in Hewn City, only to be brought to Velaris on Rhys' orders because he had heard of your talents and passion and wanted it taking root in the children of his city.

The more you spoke, rambling on about art and books and theatre, did Feyre come to the realisation that a certain someone would be absolutely besotted with you. When you had hugged Nyx goodbye, ruffling his hair and telling him you'd see him in the morning, did Feyre begin to hatch her plan.

Azriel wasn't one for sunshine and rainbows, but even he had to admit that Nyx's and Feyre's gushings about you had him intrigued, even Rhys had commented on how sweet you were, seemingly very fond of how Nyx was excelling under your wing.

"Az, would you mind grabbing Nyx today? I have to head to the studio, delivery emergency," Feyre floated past him toward the door, a thin cloak fitted around her shoulders to protect her from the afternoon summer breeze that drifted along the Sidra.

"Uh, yeah. Sure," he waved Feyre from the house as she dashed down the path shouting over her shoulder what time to be at the school for.

The sun was beginning to dip in the sky but warmth still flew through Velaris, Azriel walked along the winding paths and up the hill to the school, the skittering sound of children's laughter filling his ears as he approached. Parents parted as he walked down the cobbled stone path, not wanting to graze against his wings with slight unease in their eyes. Azriel was used to it by now, the looks of disapproval, the slight fear in the people he passed.

The bell rang and birds shot to perch on the branches of the trees that surrounded the plush gardens teeming with bright flowers and wildlife. Children began to file out from the open door, grabbing their bags and running to their parents with wide smiles, excited to tell them what you had taught them that day.

Azriel spied the inside wall littered will paintings and cards, all addressed to you, as well as a wooden table filled with the gifts the children had no doubt made their parents purchase for you.

Then he saw you, and the Shadowsinger audibly gasped. There you were, dressed in a loose white blouse with stringed corset, an earthy brown skirt that fell to the floor covered in colourful handprints that reached your thighs, your hair was unbound and baby hairs whispered along the sides of your face.

You were sunshine. You were radiant.

Nyx's hand was curled in your own as you led him out of the classroom and Azriel could have sworn he'd never seen a brighter look on anyone's face as the little man searched the crowd, "Uncle, Az!"

Your gaze had also fallen on him and you drank in his smile as Nyx left your grip and hurtled to the Shadowsinger, his grin was large, showing off all of his teeth as he bent down and wrapped Nyx in his toned arms, laughing loudly and asking about his day before standing up.

"I don't think we've ever formally met," you held your free hand out, your other carrying Nyx's bag, "I'm Y/N, well, Miss Y/L/N."

You were as soft as summer rain, adoration in your orbs, and you radiated purity and grace. Azriel glanced at your outstretched hand, sliding his own into it and feeling a force of gravity will him closer to you, "So you're the one that has Nyx ready for school at the crack of dawn," he felt relief when you didn't recoil at his hand in yours, the hands that usually made people grimace, "Azriel," you giggled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your pointed ear.

High Fae.

"Guilty as charged," your voice was like butter, smooth and rich, the perfect balance of femineity.

"Can't say I blame him," he smirked at the heat that rose to his cheeks, at the sheepish smile that tugged at your lips.

"That's very nice of you to say," one of your students walked past you, waving goodbye, and Azriel watched you bend down and fix her jacket to her body, telling her to have a lovely weekend in the sun, "Nyx has had a lovely day today. He just keeps on flourishing, it's remarkable," you had told him once you had risen again.

"I'm sure anyone could flourish with you around. Must be the Y/N effect," he cocked his head to the side at your giggle, just happy to be able to examine the woman who had Nyx all excited every morning. Feyre and Rhys were right, you were remarkable. Like a rainbow rippling in a storm.

"Must be it," the birds jumped from branch to branch around you, like they wanted to keep an eye on you for as long as possible, flitting to the bird houses you had erected by the pond of ducks and in the trees.

"Would you like to walk home with us? Feyre mentioned that you didn't live too far from the house?"

Your mouth fell into the perfect o shape, "Oh, I wouldn't want to impose-"

"You're not," Azriel smiled, looking down at Nyx, shaking his little hand and asking, "Is she, Nyx? Would you like Miss Y/L/N to walk home with us?"

"Yes!" Nyx shouted and you laughed, a laugh that made the edges of your eyes crinkle, you disappeared into the building, returning a few moments later with you satchel, locking the door and taking Nyx's free hand in your own after handing his bag to Azriel.

Azriel was positive that he'd never seen Nyx shine so brightly.

The walk home was full of light chatter, you made Azriel laugh more times than you could count, and Nyx was pointing out random things along the way, looking up at you for approval and tapping his feet on the ground when you nodded and smiled.

From the house, Feyre watched through the curtains as Nyx ran up the path, and kept watching as Azriel lingered behind, she wished she could hear what he was saying to you. But as you smiled, and blushed, and then nodded at the Shadowsinger who was kicking his feet like a schoolboy, she knew it was going well.

Strong arms wrapped around her midsection and her back hit a hard chest, his deep chuckle vibrated through him and his warm breath fanned against her ear, "Playing matchmaker again, darling?"

Feyre hummed with a gentle smile, accepting the peppering kisses over her shoulder as she watched you walk away, looking back at Azriel and waving before turning the corner, "I think this is my best one yet," she told Rhys, noticing the pursed smile on Azriel's lips and the faint pink tinge to his complexion as he followed Nyx up the path.

"I'm inclined to agree."

SO CUTE!

Thank you for the request! x