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olive-main · 2 months ago

Note

oooo if you’re interested would love to see your take: reader is Azriel’s mate, nobody knows. The inner circle keeps trying to set him up with females (including Elaine & Gwyn). They like reader but don’t view her as an option for being his partner. Lots of angst, she’s hurting, she overhears them saying she’s not an option for him. Up to you what happens for her and Azriel. Loved your last story, and that you wanted more angst ideas!! And if this isn’t what you’re looking for, all good!

Between Us Alone

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel’s mate overhears a conversation that shakes her confidence in their hidden bond, but he reminds her that love, even in shadows, is unbreakable.

Wc: 1.2k

A/N: Annndddd welcome back to our regularly scheduled programming. This time I come with the gift of some fluff (with angst ofc bcs duh—who do y’all think I am?) Enjoy the happy endings while they last…..evil laugh

Masterlist

——

The corridors of the House of Wind were quiet, save for the faint hum of conversation that drifted from Rhysand’s office. You’d gone looking for Azriel, hoping he might steal away from his “boys’ night” early and join you at your shared apartment.

A secret, the two of you. Hidden in plain sight. Quite fitting for Rhysand’s spymasters.

It was exhilarating at first—the quiet smiles across rooms, the fleeting brushes of hands, and the stolen glances when no one else was looking. But there were cracks now, small fissures of insecurity that made you wonder if keeping the bond private had been the right choice.

Your footsteps slowed as you neared Rhys’s office, voices clear now, though you didn’t mean to eavesdrop. You were about to knock when you caught the sound of Cassian’s boisterous laughter.

“Oh, come on, Az,” Cassian said, his tone teasing. “You’ve been spending all that time with Gwyn. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“Gwyn’s sweet,” Rhysand added. “And she clearly enjoys your company. You’d make a good pair.”

Your heart clenched painfully, the words hitting you like a physical blow.

Azriel’s reply was quieter, almost unreadable. “Gwyn is a friend. I’m not looking for… that.”

Cassian scoffed. “You say that now, but it’s been centuries, Az. When was the last time you even tried to let someone in? Gwyn’s perfect for you—kind, strong, clever. She gets you.”

“She’s not the only option,” Rhys said smoothly. “There are others. Nesta’s mentioned a few priestesses who would be good matches.”

Cassian nodded in agreement. “There’s also Y/N.”

You pressed your hand to the doorframe, your breaths shallow as you heard Cassian say your name.

“No, I don’t see them together. They rarely speak to each other outside of missions and a few shared words at dinners.” Rhysand says with a shake of his head as if the thought of you and Azriel together was the most unlikely thing he could think of.

You shouldn’t have stayed, shouldn’t have listened, but you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. They didn’t mean to hurt you—you knew that. You’d always been on the periphery of their circle, a friend but never a true equal in their eyes. Azriel’s shadows had been your sanctuary, his quiet love a solace you cherished.

But to hear them speak so casually, as if you weren’t even a possibility…

Azriel’s voice cut through, firm and unyielding. “I don’t need you to play matchmaker. I can handle my own life.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” Cassian said, clearly amused.

“Drop it,” Azriel snapped, his tone brooking no argument.

The room fell silent after that, but the damage was done. You turned and fled, the ache in your chest twisting tighter with every step.

—

The space you shared with Azriel was small but cozy, tucked away in a quiet corner of Velaris where no one thought to look. It was your haven, the only place you could truly be yourselves without prying eyes or whispered questions.

But tonight, it felt suffocating.

You sank onto the couch, wrapping a blanket around yourself as the doubts clawed at your mind.

This charade was necessary. You both knew that. If they ever found out you and Azriel had been together for months—years, now—it would complicate everything. Not just for him, but for you.

As Azriel’s partner, you worked in the shadows as he did, your work as vital and delicate as his own. Secrecy was second nature to you both, and you’d agreed early on that revealing your bond—to anyone—was too risky.

You’d thought you could handle it. But moments like this, when they talked about Azriel’s love life like you didn’t exist, like you weren’t his, made you question how much more you could endure.

You told yourself it wasn’t Azriel’s fault. He hadn’t encouraged them. He’d even told them to stop. But the weight of their words lingered, stirring fears you’d tried so hard to bury.

What if they were right? What if Azriel deserved someone like Gwyn, someone who could stand beside him without the need for secrecy?

You didn’t hear the front door open, too lost in your thoughts to notice the familiar sound of Azriel’s footsteps until he was standing in front of you.

“Something’s wrong,” he said immediately, his hazel eyes scanning your face. His shadows swirled around him, restless and sharp. “What happened?”

You shook your head, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing. Just tired.”

His brow furrowed, and he crouched in front of you, his hands resting gently on your knees. “Don’t lie to me.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly broke you. You looked away, your throat tightening as you tried to hold back tears.

“Y/N,” he said softly, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Tell me.”

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. But you couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“I went to Rhys’s office,” you admitted quietly. “I was going to find you, but… I heard you all talking.”

Azriel stiffened, his jaw tightening. “What did you hear?” He already knew. There was only one part of the conversation that could’ve had you so distraught.

You swallowed hard. “They… they were trying to set you up with someone. Gwyn, mostly. Rhys mentioned others.” You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “They said I wasn’t even an option.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his shadows curling tighter around him.

“They didn’t mean it to hurt me, I know that” you added quickly, seeing how Azriel was ready to go back and pummel his brothers. “They don’t know about us. But… it still hurt.”

He exhaled sharply, standing and pacing the room. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “They had no right—”

“They care about you,” you interrupted. “They want you to be happy. And maybe they’re right. Maybe you’d be better off with someone like Gwyn. Someone who—”

“Stop.”

The word was a command, sharp and unyielding. Azriel crossed the room in an instant, kneeling before you again. He took your hands in his, his grip firm but gentle.

“Don’t you dare doubt this,” he said fiercely. “Don’t you dare doubt us.”

Tears spilled over, and he reached up to brush them away, his touch achingly tender.

“You are my mate,” he said, his voice breaking. “You. Not Gwyn, not anyone else. You are the only one I want, the only one I will ever want.”

“But they—”

“They’re idiots,” he said flatly. “I’ll deal with them. But don’t let their ignorance make you doubt what we have.”

You searched his face, finding only unwavering certainty in his eyes.

“I love you,” he said, his voice softening. “More than I thought I was capable of. And I don’t care if they don’t see it. I see it. I feel it.”

A broken laugh escaped you, relief washing over you like a tide. “I love you too.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could shield you from the world.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I never wanted you to feel like this. I thought keeping the bond private would protect us, but if it’s hurting you—”

“It’s not,” you said quickly. “Not really. I just… I needed to hear this. To hear you.”

He pulled back just enough to press his forehead to yours. “You’ll never have to doubt me again.”

——

Aren’t they just so sweet *sigh*. Thank you for reading <3

Requests are still open ;)

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assriels · 11 months ago

Text

lessons in touch

pairing: azriel x f!reader

summary: azriel’s curiosity and penchant for spying reveals exactly why you’ve been more…enthusiastic in bed lately

word count: 5.8k :0

warnings: smut (not super detailed)!! 18+ mdni pls, az being nosy

a/n: this is one of my faves so far :’) i have this persistent silly headcanon that az is the biggest busybody of them all and that’s why he’s so good at his job

masterlist

banners by @/cafekitsune <3

Sex between you and Azriel was far from boring. It was a well known secret that Azriel had a predilection towards kink and experimentation, so your adventures with him between the sheets never left either of you dissatisfied. Far from it, actually.

Being with him was always pleasurable, wonderful, and unrivaled by any you’d had before him. During girls night, you had always attested to his prowess, said that his skills of observation extended past the battlefield and very much into the bedroom. And his wingspan…you would neither confirm nor deny whether the theory around Illyrian males and their wingspan was true, much to their chagrin, but the mischievous smirk that curled your lips was all they needed to confirm their suspicions.

Azriel was a skilled lover; he knew your ins and outs, understood almost innately how to coax pleasure from you with a simple, well placed brush of his fingers. More often than not, Azriel had you in a puddle on the floor before he could even take his pants off. Which, ordinarily, was a more than welcome skill — you loved how well he knew you, adored how he loved you so much that his brain was like a file cabinet of information about things you liked.

But you’d grown frustrated lately, more and more desiring to reduce Azriel to the same pleasure filled putty that he so often did with you. His composure was infuriatingly ironclad; you knew he felt the same primal, overwhelming desire that you did — such was the nature of the mating bond — but he was much better at masking it.

In short, you wanted to know what made him tick, what made him beg and whimper and plead with you to touch him. You’d been mated for a year now, and while his desire for you never waned, you had yet to find the one thing that made him sink to his knees and beg the way he so easily coaxed you to do for him.

It was no secret that your mate had a bold competitive streak. But your own stubbornness rivaled his own, leading to long, long card game nights and sparring matches — much to everyone else’s entertainment.

Though you knew you had no reason to feel such competitiveness when matters of the bedroom were concerned, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance that Azriel had so easily figured out how to make you squirm in a multitude of ways — with all your cards on the table — while you were still somewhat in the dark about his most favored bedroom inclinations. Azriel kept the secrets of his hand close to his chest.

So you vowed to yourself that you’d figure it out, test his composure to see how exactly to make that beautiful, calm countenance crack. It was like a game, but one you were more than willing to play and even more determined to win.

Ever the observer however, Azriel caught on to the changes in your excitement beneath the sheets, amusement and adoration coursing through his veins as he reveled in your sudden vigor, never shying away from a challenge.

You had been more experimental in your bedroom endeavors as of late, asking him to bend you this way and that, introducing things that he never thought you’d be interested in — not that he was complaining in the slightest. Though your differences were strikingly obvious, Azriel would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious about where your sudden interest in various sexual niches had sprung from.

Initially, it was all fun and games; if you wanted to explore then so be it — he’d match you stroke for stroke every time. But eventually, his nosiness had wedged its way deep into each crevice of his mind until he was all-consumed, curiosity devolving into a burgeoning anxiety.

Was something wrong?

Azriel was positive that if you were bored you would tell him. Had you heard something from one of the others that spurred you to want to explore more? Had you felt as though you had to introduce novelty every time to please him?

You had to have known that was far from the truth; no matter your state, Azriel had always made it clear to you that you were the most exquisite creature he’d ever had the privilege of knowing, let alone laying with. He didn’t think there was anything wrong…at least not for him. Maybe you felt like something was missing.

“Penny for your thoughts, brother?”

Rhys’s voice snapped him out of his anxious musings. Azriel hadn’t realized that he was pacing so furiously he could have worn a hole through the floor. Both Rhysand and Cassian had been watching with amusement glinting in their eyes. After all, it was a rare sight to see their ordinarily calm and stoic shadowsinger so worked up.

The same poker face Azriel had worn to win countless games of cards against his brothers masked his features now, but the twitch in his brow and the near missable ruffling of his wings were tells that Cassian and Rhysand were well acquainted with.

The shadowsinger had never perfected his stone faced indifference when he was thinking of you.

Cassian ventured a guess, “Have you upset Y/N?”

Cassian had meant to tease, but the way Azriel stayed silent had his eyebrow arching in question. Azriel ignored the curious glance from his brother as his mind ran in circles once more.

Had he upset you? Was your sudden experimentation in bed some roundabout way of telling him that he had done something to hurt you? No, no…that didn’t make sense, he was being illogical.

Or…Had he somehow missed picking up on something that you liked?

Your sudden interest in sexual exploration was far from a problem, but he got the niggling sense that you were up to something, playing a game that he wasn’t privy to. And he wanted in.

Azriel was private by nature, never revealing more of his relationship with you than absolutely necessary to his brothers, not wanting to overshare in fear that he’d fall victim to their incessant teasing. But this…maybe it would be useful to get their opinions about your sudden change in interests? Cassian and Rhys were both mated males afterall, and maybe there was something Azriel was missing. He would never admit it to anyone but himself, but he fell victim to his crippling neuroticism more times than he’d like to. Curiosity and anxiety were two sides of the same coin.

So he indulged and told his brothers of your sudden vigor in bed, enthusiasm to try something new every single time. You’d been insatiable as of late and he didn’t know why; nothing had changed that he knew of and it was concerning him, he couldn’t stand not knowing.

“So,” Rhys started tentatively, narrowing his eyes in confusion, not quite grasping the issue that Azriel was so hesitant to endorse. “Y/N is trying new things in bed.”

And elsewhere, Azriel thought with a ghost of a smile on his lips. He’d leave that part out, though; Rhys probably wouldn’t appreciate knowing the details about the going-ons in the dining room of the townhouse. And the gardens. And the hallways.

“And you’re complaining?” Cassian asked, incredulous, similarly at a loss for his brother’s concern.

“I’m not complaining, Cass,” Azriel groaned and slumped unceremoniously into a chair (much like an irritated school child who’d been caught doing something they weren’t supposed to), immediately regretting his poorly thought out decision to confide in his brothers. “I’m just confused. I don’t know what she wants.”

“Have you considered asking her?” Rhys inquired, infuriatingly teasing smile curving his lips.

Azriel deadpanned and clicked his tongue, not believing that Rhys would assume he was so inept at communicating with his lover, “Of course I’ve asked. She just says nothing’s changed. I believe her, but it’s still bothering me and I don’t know why.”

Both Cassian and Rhys resisted the urge to laugh, mentally conversing about how Azriel’s affections for you often reduced him to an adolescent-like lovesickness, begging and willing to please. Az had been this way since they were children; fiercely competitive and subsequently pouty if he didn’t have the upper hand, always wanting to know and learn everything he could.

This side of the shadowsinger was one that did not make an appearance often, reserving itself until he was around the few he trusted wholeheartedly.

The past couple of centuries saw even less of this endearingly childish and competitive Azriel – even around his closest friends – as Night Court duties and his identity as Spymaster overshadowed most opportunities to be vulnerable in his relationships.

But when you came around, light began to spark beneath the shadowy depths of Azriel’s countenance as you slowly coaxed him to trust and love as fiercely as everyone knew he was capable of, with the reckless abandon that his childhood self so easily embodied.

“Maybe check her nightstand,” Cassian teased with a wink, only half joking, as a quiet happiness bubbled within him at the small glimpses of Azriel’s vulnerability. “Some of Nesta’s best kept secrets are hidden there.”

Before Azriel could furrow his brow and chastise his brother for snooping through his mate’s belongings, a realization hit him.

Nesta.

You had been spending an awfully large amount of time with the eldest Archeron sister in the library lately, choosing to hole up there in lieu of your other hobbies when you weren’t training or engaging in your various other Night Court duties.

But Nesta would be a dead end. There was no way he could approach her without tipping you off to his secret sleuthing. Though he and Nesta were friends, her loyalties laid with you; there was an unexplainable female camaraderie between you – a chosen sisterhood, if you will – and if he asked if she knew anything about what was going on, she’d go running to you, mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

The conversation with his brothers was about as helpful as he initially thought it would be, and he let himself succumb to their jokes about how wrapped around your finger he was. Azriel had endured it graciously, knowing better than anyone that they were right, that he was indeed wrapped so tightly around your little finger that he was unsure of where he ended and you began. That he would gratefully stay in the palm of your hand for as long as you would allow.

But that night, after you had told him not to wait up for you because you’d be having drinks with Feyre and Mor, Cassian’s voice reverberated insistently in his mind.

Check her nightstand…best kept secrets…

Azriel resisted the urge to snoop for all of ten minutes before his inherent nosiness clouded his judgment and got the better of him; afterall, his love for secrets is what made him such an effective spymaster. Before he knew it, he was rolling onto your side of the bed, inquisitive hands pulling open your bedside drawer.

Hidden among the small stack of books he had given you was a thick novel with a cover he recognized, but gave no second thought.

It was a book you said Nesta had lent you. When he asked if you liked it you said it was “only okay” and that you’d let him know if he should read it when you were finished. Despite your lukewarm review, however, it had never left your side, and he had found you on more than one occasion cozied up with it in your hands, cheeks dusted with a heat he knew all too well.

Azriel was well aware of the content of the books Nesta favored, often lending a reluctant ear to a whiny Cassian whenever she paid more attention to her books than him.

But there was no way your sudden excitement for novelty in the bedroom could be inspired by Nesta’s smutty recommendations…right? He leafed through, assessing hazel eyes quickly skimming the paragraphs, catching glimpses of the prose that had you so enraptured.

Azriel felt the back of his neck heat.

It was smut, as he assumed. But this was truly…filth. Pure, unadulterated, filthy smut.

Azriel was a lover of all books, never having been one to categorize or judge them by popular opinion. And, to be completely fair, he had read a decent amount of books filled with sex and romance.

But…he was sure that the acts detailed in this one would make even the Court of Nightmares’s debauchery look saintly. Even Azriel, who had been correctly assumed to be the kinkiest of the Inner Circle, felt tame in comparison to the words flickering across the pages of your book. How did you read this with such impassivity on your face?

Azriel snapped the book shut with such force the pages blew a cool, gentle breeze onto his heating face. He tried – and failed – to not picture you in the position the main character in your book was described in, unintentionally sending a soft hum of his burgeoning arousal down your bond. He was beginning to understand your desire to replicate the more salacious scenes detailed in your novels.

Having fun without me, Az? Came your teasing inquiry in his mind, as he meticulously replaced all of your belongings into your nightstand.

Don’t be nosy, he quipped back, extremely aware of the irony of his statement. And then after a beat he added, answering your question with a sincerity that never failed to grip your heart, Never without you, love.

You left him waiting for a response a little bit longer than you normally would as you attempted to control the thundering beat of your heart in your chest. You were convinced that no amount of time could ever diminish the effects that Azriel’s blatant display of love had on your composure. As much as he was wrapped around your little finger, you were just as tightly wrapped around his.

I take back what I said earlier, wait up for me.

Azriel smirked to himself, feeling a flare of triumph, It’s a date, then. Maybe I’ll find something interesting to read in the meantime.

If you caught on to his sly insinuation, you did not let on, just continued bantering with him for a few moments before returning your full attention to your friends, who were no doubt attempting to extract morsels of information from your obviously lascivious exchange with your lover.

But that night – even after Azriel had promptly fucked you into a blissful oblivion – had yielded no more information about your recent proclivity for finding a new kink, so Azriel did what he did best and spied.

He kept a watchful eye on the books you read, and tracked the times you asked him to try something new. He spent more time in the library than necessary under the guise that Rhys had put him up to some research.

Which was only half of a lie. He was in there to do reconnaissance, yes, just not for Rhys.

Azriel scanned the bookshelves for anything that seemed like it had been recently replaced, pages still clinging to the sweet scent of your skin. A title he recognized caught his eye and he slotted it out of place, flipping through the pages to confirm his suspicions.

This book was shorter than the others he’d seen you carry around, but certainly no less obscene. A smirk pulled at Azriel’s lips as he read a dog eared chapter that you had clearly marked for inspiration, recollections of your most recent tryst in his office flooding his awareness.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

You had sauntered into his small, private study at the House of Wind, short dress skimming the curves of your thighs as you bent to greet him with a kiss to his cheek. He’d been distracted at the time — surveying maps and cross referencing with ancient textbooks — and barely tore his attention away from his work long enough to squeeze your hand in greeting.

But you didn’t seem to mind, opting to make yourself comfortable and purveying the books neatly organized on his shelves. When you’d found a book you thought would be interesting enough — though probably not quite as interesting as the one you’d just finished, per Nesta’s recommendation — you settled into the armchair across Azriel’s desk, shoulders against one armrest as your legs draped over the other.

Azriel looked up at you then, soft smile curving his lips. He loved when you kept him company while he worked; somehow, whenever you were around, work never seemed nearly as daunting or overwhelming.

You met his gaze with your own grin, silently communicating your support of him in the way that only mates could, tugging gently on the bond before winking at him and resettling your attention back to the book in your lap.

The both of you worked in that wonderfully comfortable silence for a while before Azriel caught you fidgeting out of the corner of his eye. The sun had begun its routine descent below the horizon, cool breeze stirring the sheer curtains framing his windows. Though summer had plagued the days with heat and humidity, the nights were still cool as the last dregs of spring eked away.

He looked up, intending on asking if you needed anything — a blanket, maybe — but the words died swiftly in his throat when he eyed a flash of bare skin as you swung your legs to stand, showcasing just enough for him to clue in to the fact that you were indeed not wearing underwear. Or anything else under your dress, if the peak of your nipples beneath the silk was anything to go by.

Selfishly, for a brief moment, Azriel decided that maybe keeping the windows open wouldn’t be so bad.

He pried his eyes away from your form making its way back to his bookcase, and instead attempted to tamp down the raging lust stirring in his belly so he could focus. But the mental picture of what he knew lay beneath the barely there fabric of your dress coupled with your scent made the lines on the map he was studying blur into nonsense.

Though intelligent and compassionate at heart, Azriel often found himself a slave to his baser male instincts when it came to you. There was little – if anything – you could do to quell the raging need to touch you, kiss you, be near you at all hours of the day; his desire for you was a constant hum belying his daily routine. He had not one iota of self control when you were involved, much to his simultaneous thrill and chagrin.

Inwardly, he cursed himself as he stole another glance at you as you stretched onto your toes to reach a book on the top shelf.

Beauty incarnate, truly, he thought. Azriel’s eyes tracked each slope and valley of the lines of your body, taking his time to commit each curve to memory, the way he should have been doing with the maps sitting now uselessly on his desk.

You looked at him over your shoulder, small pout on your lips, “Az, can you help me? I can’t reach.”

Azriel’s heart leapt. It’s like you were doing it on purpose, and in hindsight you definitely were. But despite the gnawing adoration encouraging him to fall to his knees and worship at your feet, he stood with the cool grace of someone unperturbed by their mate’s subtle seduction.

Azriel obliged you, coming up behind you, one hand curling around your hip to steady himself as the other reached easily to the top shelf to grab the book your fingertips skimmed. As he leaned forward, you could feel the hard planes of his chest against your back and you wanted to abandon all your plans to slowly seduce Azriel into a puddle on the floor, but you remained steadfast in your decision. Nesta had pushed a book into your hands and said she tried this once with Cassian and that the resulting hours were pure heaven, and you wanted to test the theory, curiosity rivaling that of your mate’s.

You barely registered Azriel putting the book in your hands, too lost in the warmth of his familiar touch. But you composed yourself quickly, leaning back into him to kiss him in thanks, not so subtly pushing your ass back into his hips. A feeling of revelry settled in your chest when you felt him already half hard beneath his pants, his fingers curling tighter around your hip.

Oh so reluctantly, you pulled away, perfect picture of obliviousness as you plopped back down on the armchair you were occupying previously.

Azriel thought he would collapse in on himself when you went to sit back down. You had him so tightly ensnared it was like he was still in the midst of the initial mating frenzy. He briefly wondered if the mind-boggling need for you would ever go away, though part of him knew hoped it never would.

He took a moment to compose himself — if that was even possible when one’s mate was clearly playing a dangerous game of seduction — bracing himself with one arm steady against the bookshelf.

Despite how much Azriel so greatly wanted to shirk his responsibilities to bend you over his desk, he wouldn’t. Not yet anyway. The work day wasn’t quite over, and the plans he was making for you would surely last too long to finish his research afterwards. So he steeled himself and took a deep, steadying breath, willing his blood to fill his head again so he could think with some semblance of clarity.

Though at baseline, he always found it difficult to think rationally when you were around.

While Azriel was trying — and failing — to regain his composure, you were feigning extreme interest in the book you had selected at random: The History and Systems of Fae War Treaties.

If Azriel had been paying any attention to what you were reaching for, he’d have caught on to your ploy, but luckily for you the mere sight of you was enough to render him at least somewhat incapacitated.

You took a peek at him over the back of the chair, triumphant satisfaction crooking your lips into a mischievous smile. Maybe this would be the day he finally cracks, you think to yourself.

But as the sun dipped lower beneath the skyline of Velaris below, and as Azriel stubbornly worked away at his desk, you felt the tiredness of the day settle into your bones, pull you deeper into the plush leather of Azriel’s loveseat. Cassian had run you ragged with training this morning, and Rhys and Amren had your mind working tirelessly as the three of you attempted to draft a peace treaty in a meager four hours.

But you wouldn’t sleep, not yet, not until you had reduced Azriel to a beautiful, orgasmic mess in his chair. Not until the hazel of his eyes were blown dark with desire and pleading as you straddled his hips.

The next hour was a fight to stay awake as the words on the pages in your lap began to blur into obscurity, mind muddling with theories and questions — though the book was an off handed choice, you couldn’t deny that the information was coincidentally incredibly pertinent to the discussion you were having with Rhys and Amren earlier in the day.

The telltale sigh of a day’s work completed pulled your attention away from your book, gaze settling on your mate. His hair was mused in a way that told you he had spent the last however long skating his fingers through it, but as always it fell perfectly across his forehead in defiance of the tiredness creeping up his neck.

Azriel’s eyes met yours and apparently your coy seduction earlier still held his body in a vice, evident in the way he stood and stalked to you. There was a cool, domineering edge to his movements and you knew your plan had worked to a degree, but the determination you had to break him down had leeched out of you the same way the night had stolen the day’s heat.

You hummed in satisfaction as he leaned down to kiss you, the pressure gentle and so, so sweet. A stark contrast to the dark and tempting storm of desire Azriel flooded your senses with down the bond.

Never once breaking the contact of your kiss, he’d wedged a knee between your legs as one hand braced against the arm of the loveseat while the other danced at the hem of your dress, endearingly asking for permission.

Your mouth curved against his and you guided his hand up to your hip, gasping delightedly when his hand tracked further up your waist, bringing the hem of your dress up with it as he slotted your hips more comfortably against his leg.

His lips traced a scalding trail of open mouthed kisses against your jaw, your neck, a chuckle rumbling deep in his chest that had your hips rolling against him.

“So bold for me,” he said, his hand skating across your unclothed skin while he urged your hips to grind a little harder against his thigh. You gasped, the pressure so wonderfully perfect against your cunt.

Though your initial intention was to get Azriel all hot and bothered, you couldn’t deny that the game you had set yourself up in had the same effect on you; the lingering, almost lazy path his eyes swept over your body every time you shifted across from him left heat singing between your legs, untamed longing for you dancing down the golden thread between you.

“Az…” you rasped, arching your hips up to meet his still clothed body, the top of your dress pushed languidly down to your waist as Azriel played slow music on the skin of your breasts. The loveseat was a cramped fit at best, but Azriel’s surprising flexibility and dexterity made it work despite the general largeness of his wings and frame. He’d made even the smallest corners of the House work for your sexual escapades.

The memories of all the scandalous little happenings you two have been partaking in the past few months flitted across your mind’s eye like an erotic slideshow, and you groaned. Legs tightening around his in desperate search for more friction, more contact, more of him. His name on your lips again was a wanton plea, a sound so wonderfully obscene Azriel almost came in his pants.

“Hmm?” He hummed, closing his lips around your nipple, teeth gently tugging before his tongue was quick to soothe the ache. The way your hips were grinding so shamelessly against him had his head spinning with a swirling mix of lust and love, and he clung to the last shreds of self discipline he had. It was all he could do to not tear both of your clothes off and sink himself deep into your brilliant warmth.

Azriel had always been patient, mastery over his desire was a skill he’d honed meticulously over the past few centuries — though you had a way of quickly unraveling his self control with one flutter of your eyelashes. But he wanted to make this last for you, wanted to draw out your pleasure for as long as possible. So he pressed his thigh more firmly between your legs, his own hips slotting against the side of your body.

You gasped at the feel of him, of how hard he was against your hip, and you tried to reach him, tried to get him to release some of the tension you knew coiled in his belly. He groaned deep and breathless when you pressed insistently against him, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he continued his ministrations on your body.

Azriel’s hands were everywhere, trailing paths around your breasts, up your neck, into your hair, and between your legs the way he no doubt was doing with the maps on his desk earlier.

It was infuriating how close you were already, how swiftly the tables had turned (though you half blamed the sudden onset of your fatigue the day had cursed you with), how with one well placed touch you were on the brink of collapse at Azriel’s mercy yet again.

He was urging your hips faster now, his fingers and lips making quick work of all the places he knew would have you keening. And before you could even register that he was still fully clothed, hard cock still straining against the confines of his pants, you were falling, breathless and dizzy with release.

The night had been far from over. You came twice more in that godsdamned loveseat – once with his fingers buried inside you and another time with his head between your legs – before he whisked you away to your bedroom where you finally, finally felt the delicious stretch of him inside you.

By the time the sun was making its appearance over the horizon once more, you had lost count of how many times Azriel had you begging.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Though your spicy little rendezvous in his office – and encore in the bedroom – wasn’t quite an exact replica of what played out in the book you had apparently just read, Azriel had thought your coy seduction had its intended effect. He’d been so fucking desperate for you that he couldn’t wait until you were out of his study to have you coming for him.

But, as he skimmed the pages of the chapter you marked, he couldn’t help but think that maybe he wouldn’t mind being fully at the mercy of your whims, wouldn’t mind submitting to the pleasure that you so easily coaxed from him. He was already always so eager to please you, so willing to crawl to the ends of the earth for you if you had so much as suggested you wanted him to.

“Azriel?” Nesta’s voice dripped with wicked amusement, effectively pulling him from his erotic reverie. “I never thought I’d see you in this section of the library.”

Fuck.

He hadn’t anticipated that he’d run into Nesta, a severely idiotic oversight on his part considering the House’s library was something akin to her own personal sanctuary. Azriel turned slowly on his heels to face her, mind working in overdrive to come up with a viable excuse for him being there.

“Nesta,” was all he came up with. Pathetic.

Her smirk turned deadly when she realized he was floundering. Arms crossed over her chest, chin tilted ever so slightly upwards, she looked the very portrait of smug amusement; he would expect nothing less of his friend who moonlighted as Lady Death.

Nesta’s eyes dropped to the book he forgot he was holding, and her eyebrows shot up in understanding, “Ah, I just recommended that one to Y/N. She gave it a hefty five stars. Said it was…intriguing.”

Nesta’s sly comments were enough to confirm Azriel’s suspicions that you were taking bedroom inspiration from the arsenal of smutty books the House stocked. And, with the way Nesta was biting her tongue, he could tell that she knew exactly why he was there.

Cassian, that fucking mouthy bastard.

Before Azriel could open his mouth to tell her that it wasn’t what it looked like – even though they both knew it was exactly what it looked like – Nesta stalked past him, pulling books off the shelf with striking precision. With a stack of five books balanced on one hand, she took the one Azriel was holding and reshelved it.

“These are Y/N’s favorite,” she said, this time with a little bit more softness and understanding as she placed them gingerly in his arms. “I’m sure she’d love if you read them.”

Azriel scanned each cover, a fond smile working to tilt the corners of his lips. You did love these; he had been familiar with these covers long before you were even mated, always keeping a lovingly watchful eye on the things you enjoyed, filing the knowledge away in his mind for later.

“Thanks, Nesta,” he said sincerely, adoration for you filling his chest with warmth as he remembered the excitement lighting your eyes while you read these books, cute flush radiating off your cheeks.

Nesta only nodded, giving his shoulder an encouraging few pats as she stalked off to another aisle, no doubt scouring the shelves for a new read.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Azriel told himself that he’d only read a few chapters — for research — but he hadn’t realized that he’d spent the better half of his day off lounging on the loveseat in his study.

Despite his previous reservations around the smutty books you’d so lovingly treasured, he found he was enjoying them — and not just for the well written, detailed sex scenes that you were pulling ideas from. He was two-thirds of the way through the second book, in the midst of the big climax, when you snuck up on him.

“It seems you’ve discovered my dirty little secret,” you said coyly, arms coming up behind him to snake around his shoulders.

Azriel jumped at your sudden appearance, inwardly cursing himself for teaching you how to sneak up on someone so effectively. He closed the book swiftly, feeling a flustered blush creep up his neck.

You pouted and rested your chin on his shoulder, “Aw, you were just getting to the best part! Don’t stop reading on my account.”

Azriel groaned but gave in, leaning back into your touch, “Don’t tease me.”

“I would never tease you, my love,” you said mockingly before kissing his cheek. “It is really the best part, though. The paint scene—“

Before you could regale the details of the main characters’ sexual escapades, Azriel took your chin in his fingers and slotted his lips over yours in a silent plea to stop your innocent tormenting. He reveled in the way you kissed him back without pause; he didn’t think he’d ever get used to the way you loved him as eagerly as he did you.

“Dirty little secret, huh?” He quipped, lips brushing yours as a bemused smirk lifted the corners of his mouth. You rolled your eyes as you made your way around the back of the chair, gesturing for him to uncross his legs so you could settle yourself on his lap.

Your weight was a welcome comfort as he continued prodding you, “Is this why you’ve been so…eager lately?”

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” you admitted, winding your arms around his neck as he scoffed in mock disbelief.

“Give me some credit love, I notice everything when it comes to you.” Came his quick response.

You pursed your lips, half in childish dissatisfaction that your little game was over, “I just wanted to know how to get you to beg for me. I needed ideas.”

Your nonchalance belied the wicked sensuality of your words and he chuckled, wrapping his wings around you both before mapping a scathing trail of kisses up your neck. The pillowy feel of his lips brushing your ear made you shudder, his teeth nibbling playfully at your earlobe as he hummed deep in his chest, “We have a lifetime together, there’s no rush. But since you want it so badly, shall I show you how well I can beg for you?”

Azriel’s offer sent an exhilarating shiver down your spine, and you so desperately wanted to give in, wanted to watch him come undone beneath you as he pleaded with you to touch him. But you shook your head despite yourself, competitive stubbornness the only barrier between you and what you wanted.

“I want to earn it, make you want me so bad you can’t help yourself.”

Your words were a breathy murmur that nearly had Azriel flipping you over right there on the too small lounge chair, but he resisted, prioritizing his assurances that you were the only thing he wanted every second of every day.

“That’s the thing, beloved,” he whispered in your ear, deep voice doused in honey reverberating in your bones as your desire flared so wildly it made you lightheaded. His hand, calloused palms rough against your skin, skated beneath the hem of your dress to grab hold of your hip and move you so you were straddling him.

This was the image you played over and over in your mind. The unbridled, unrestrained look of pleading in his eyes that blew his pupils wide, that had his hips shifting against yours in a display of just how much he wanted you.

“I always want you,” he continued. “I’d beg for you like I am dying of dehydration and you are my oasis. Just ask, and I’ll do exactly as you say.”

You were mesmerized, finger tracing the sharp contours of his jawline before ending at his chin, tilting his gaze up with the same practiced dominance you’d seen him slip into countless times before. You savored the way he shuddered at your touch, pretty lips parting as his chest heaved.

The corner of your mouth quirked, your breath a ghost over his lips, “Show me, then.”

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flowersforjude · 10 days ago

Text

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐬

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Azriel x Fem Archeron!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | After surviving the Cauldron’s brutal transformation, you struggle to reconcile the person you once were, all while grappling with an unexplainable pull toward Azriel.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 6,813

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Nightmares, Emotional hurt/comfort, Training, Angsty mating bond things, Unhealthy sister dynamics, Protective sisters Nesta and Feyre, Good friend Rhys, Kisses.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Here’s the promised part two of To Keep You From Breaking. It is a long one so grab a snack and buckle up!

masterlist | part one

The water was everywhere.

It filled your lungs, choking you as cold, unrelenting talons dragged you beneath the surface. You thrashed and kicked, but it didn’t matter. Your limbs were useless against the force pulling you deeper and deeper and deeper. The water seemed to whisper to you, taunt you with your weakness, curling around your ears like a lover’s breath, soft and cruel.

You tried to scream, but the sound drowned in the inky black water. Your body burned; you could feel everything changing, shifting despite your inner pleas for it to stop. Bones stretched, skin seared, and something inside you broke, cracking like fragile glass.

I never wanted this!

Your thoughts spiraled, desperate and wild, even as the Cauldron’s magic seeped through your veins. It poured into the hollow spaces of your mortal heart, reshaping you into something else—something eternal.

You were sinking.

Down, down, down—until the surface above was gone. Nothing but shadow.

And then you saw it.

A clawed hand, pale as snow, reaching its talons from the depths, curling towards your ankle—

You shot up in bed, gasping down greedy breaths of air. The room was quiet; too quiet, you could hear your heart beating against your ribs. Your hands trembled as you wiped the sweat from your brow. Your chest rising and falling in rapid, dizzying bursts.

The embers in the hearth glowed just faintly, not enough to warm your frigid skin. Stiff fingers fisted the blanket in your lap, gripping it tightly as you tried to shake the remnants of your nightmare.

The Cauldron’s water still seemed to surround you. Flowing up through your nose each time you took in a shaky breath. Trying to dispel the leaden water from your lungs was almost always impossible.

Almost impossible if it weren't for—

A soft knock sliced through the silence.

You couldn’t help it as you flinched at the sound, turning towards the door. You already knew who it was. Seconds after your mind had conjured the thought of him…you knew.

“Azriel?” Your voice wavered even with your attempt to mask the anxiety in it.

The door creaked open, and there he stood on the threshold. Shadowed and still, large wings looming behind him. He looked so familiar standing in your doorway. Like he belonged here, anywhere you were really. Ever since the moment you shared with him in this very space when he offered you the first solid comfort you experienced since…everything.

He didn’t speak right away. His eyes scanned the room like he could feel the traces of terror from your nightmare. One of his shadows slipped around his shoulder, darting forward.

It brushed along your cheek in a soothing manner that made you want to lean into it. You could see Azriel’s readiness to call it back if you so wished, could see his hope that you wouldn’t just as well. You wouldn’t, and he knew that, but in the weeks of your growing friendship, he had promised to uphold all limits you set forth.

Truthfully though, it was rather hard to keep his shadows at bay around you. Their odd behavior had coaxed many laughs from you in the last few weeks. The Shadowsinger had become increasingly more irritated with his sentient companions. It was almost as if he thought they were doing it on purpose.

“I’m sorry I woke you.” You spoke the apology as the shadow weaved itself between each of your fingers.

“You didn’t.” Azriel said, his voice rich and seeping with warmth. “They did.” He gestured to his shadows as he stepped inside the room. The door whispered shut behind him, as soft as his voice.

“They felt your fear.” He explained upon seeing your confused expression. The way he spoke the words sounded so natural, so right. As if the pieces of himself—his shadows, his quiet presence—belonged to you as much as they did to him.

You didn’t know how to respond to that yet. This odd pull between you and Azriel was something you still couldn’t wrap your head around. And he offered no explanation to any of the strangeness.

He crossed the room with the same silent grace he always carried. His shadows didn’t hover close to him. Instead they lingered at the edge of the bed, rolling over the mattress, like mist reaching for the sun. He knelt by the bed rather than sit on it, his wings folded at his back. A few wisps of shadows curled up your arm, gentle and slow as they offered their comfort.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Azriel asked, his voice sonorous, but hesitant.

Your throat tightened at the softness in his tone. He wasn’t pressing, never. He would leave if you asked him. If you insisted you were fine.

But you weren’t.

And he knew that.

“Yes…” The word felt as fragile as you did.

It took him a single heartbeat, and then he stood. Settling himself beside you in the bed as you moved over an inch or so. His back rested against the headboard, and his wings shifted, dark and broad, as he curved them slightly around you both.

His shadows trailed lazily along the bed, blanketing the mattress as they floated towards you. As if craving the closeness. Azriel didn’t call them back either. As if he wanted to siphon off some of the proximity to you for himself. The thought filled your mind with a fuzzy, silly notion.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

The quietness wasn’t unbearable with him. You both often sat in silence with each other, content enough to just have one another for a moment. But blame it on your nightmare; something about it tonight left you restless. You shifted a bit, your hand brushing his for a split second.

You froze when he whipped his head to face you. His fingers grabbed hold of yours. It was the most forward he had been with you so far.

“Mother! Your skin is like ice.” He exclaimed, thumb ghosting over the back of your hand. “Is it always like this for you?” Something in his voice had shifted, taking on a more rougher tone.

You swallowed, willing your hand not to tremble in his grasp. “I–I guess.”

Azriel studied you for a long moment, some emotions he wouldn’t let you see long enough to decipher, stirring faintly in his expression.

“Come here.” He murmured at last, the words soft but edged with steady resolve. “Please.”

You hesitated, but whether it was his plea or his hand already curling tighter around yours, you allowed him to pull you to him. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, guiding you to lean into him until your head rested lightly against his chest. His wings curved slightly, draping like a shield against the cold air.

Everything felt so right. Correct in a way that you didn’t know existed. His warmth bleeds into you, slow and all-consuming. Azriel’s hand slid over your arm, careful as his thumb brushed absently against your skin—soft, reassuring, as if grounding you to this moment.

As your breathing evened out, and the claws of your nightmare drifted, you felt that all too familiar tugging upon your heart. Something picked at the thread in your chest, making you shudder. The ache that always followed its arrival settled, causing you to question once more what it was that hummed between you.

—

“What are you doing?”

The deep male voice behind you sent a jolt of surprise through your body. You gasped, stepping back slightly, placing a hand to your heart in an attempt to steady it as you spun around—only to find Azriel standing there.

You were momentarily surprised that you hadn’t heard him approach or that his shadows hadn’t raced away from him to greet you first like they often did.

Azriel’s lips parted slightly, his hazel eyes flickering with a small amount of amusement. “I’m sorry,” he said after a pause. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s alright,” you murmured, forcing a small, sheepish smile.

You turned away from him, shifting your focus back to the training yard below. Feyre and Cassian moved in fluid, practiced strikes, their sparring a dance of strength and precision. It was mesmerizing—the way your sister met Cassian’s blows with calculated ease, her newfound power woven into every step, every block.

Your sister was back from the Spring Court, having dismantled it from the inside, exposing Tamlin’s allegiance to Hybern for the betrayal it was. It was good to see her again, truly. You think you would have been used to Feyre leaving and coming back by now. But you found yourself still missing her each time. Her stay in the faerie lands the first time around had left you missing her, even when Nesta told you not to because she wasn’t coming back. And now, even with you all back together again, she was still High Lady, still someone with a world on her shoulders.

You had missed her.

You missed all of them even if Nesta and Elain were still in the same house as you.

You really did love your sisters, all three of them, even if it didn’t come across that way sometimes. Things between the four of you had been…tense to say the least. Even before everything had changed. Nesta and Elain, like you, were still coming to terms with what had happened to you all. And Feyre playing her role as High Lady of the Night Court left her with a never-ending list of duties.

Even with your sisters always surrounding you, you felt alone so often. Alone and weak. It had been months since the Cauldron remade you, but there were still days, too many days, when you felt like you were dying and being reborn all over again. Still days when you looked at your hands and barely recognized them, when your own body felt like something borrowed rather than something yours.

It was pathetic.

Nesta had her anger and icy resolve to help her through. Elain had her quiet grace and subtle strength. And Feyre had…well Feyre seemed like she had everything. You were happy for her; she deserved nothing less than the happiness she found here in the Night Court.

But you…you had nothing it seemed.

A booming laugh sounded from below as Cassian guffawed at Feyre managing to sweep his feet out from under him. Graceful and quick and powerful.

Your fingers curled over the balcony railing. You wanted that. The skill, the confidence, the ability to protect yourself. You didn’t want to fight, just to know how if you ever found yourself in the position of having to defend yourself or your sisters again.

Azriel’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You want to train.” It wasn’t a question. It was a knowing statement, one spoken as if he had reached inside you and plucked the truth from your mind.

You swallowed, keeping your eyes on the yard below. “Yes,” you relented. “But I don’t ever want to have to fight someone…hurt them. So it would be useless for me to learn.”

He was silent for a long moment, and you felt the weight of his gaze settle over you like a second skin. His shadows curled at the edges of your vision, shifting restlessly, as if they had something to say on the matter. Finally, he spoke. “Knowing how to protect yourself isn’t the same as wanting to fight.”

You glanced at him, at the way the wind tousled strands of his dark hair, at the flickering torchlight casting golden glows against the sharp angles of his face. His expression was leading, like he was coaxing you to the decision he knew you wanted to make. And his voice—his voice—was nothing but gentleness and patience.

“I know,” you admitted, looking away. “I just…I've already changed so much.”

Azriel exhaled softly, the sound barely audible over the howl of wind and the distant grunts below. He came to stand beside you, close enough that his wings brushed your shoulders and his warmth seeped into you as his scent of night-chilled wind and cedar wrapped around you.

“I can’t begin to understand what you’ve been through,” he said quietly. “But we are likely going to war soon.” His wings shifted slightly, a sure sign of some internal debate, and his fingers flexed against the stone railing. Then, carefully—hesitantly—he spoke. “I would feel better if you at least learned the basics of defense.”

Your breath caught slightly.

When he looked at you, there was something attentive in his eyes. Measured, as if he was weighing every word as he said them. There was no demand or expectation in his voice. Just gentle concern, wrapped in a layer of caution, as if he wasn’t sure how you’d take it.

You paused, not because you disagreed, but because the idea of it—the idea of war, of needing to know how to fight—made your stomach tighten.

“I don’t know if I can,” you confessed, voice softer now. “I—I don’t want to hurt anyone, Azriel.”

His expression shifted, not to pity like you would expect from anyone else, but to a kind of hushed anguish. Like he was pained by the thought of you being forced into yet another thing you didn’t want.

“You won’t,” he said, and though his voice was still careful, there was something firm beneath it. “It’s just to be sure no one can hurt you.” He went silent again, only for a single beat this time, before something resolute took root in his eyes. “It’s about making sure I don’t lose you before you ever get the chance to see how strong you really are.”

Your heart stuttered, and for a moment, you could do nothing but look at him.

Azriel, who barely knew you, not really, not yet. Azriel, who kept his distance unless you gave him explicit permission to come closer, who treaded so lightly around you like he was afraid of pushing too hard. Azriel, who had just admitted—however indirectly—that the thought of something happening to you was something he thought about.

You swallowed thickly, glancing away. Grimacing as that pull in your chest flared again. If his words hadn’t stolen your breath away, the tugging around your heart would have.

“Okay,” you whispered at last. “You’ll be training me, though, right?

His shoulders seemed to relax. He allowed his lips to turn up just a bit at the corners in a ghost of a smile. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else to teach you,” he said. “We’ll start tomorrow.” And even though his voice was as steady as ever, you could hear something else beneath it.

Relief.

—

You weren’t sure what to expect the next morning when you met Azriel in the training yard. He was already there when you arrived, the sky just barely touched with the first hints of the sunrise. He stood at the center of the ring, wings tucked in but still imposing in the most alluring way, his cobalt siphons catching the pale morning light. He didn’t say anything as you approached, but his shadows stretched out towards you in greeting.

“To start, I need to see what you’re capable of.” He was all business today, apparently. His voice held an air of detachment in it that you hadn’t heard from him yet. But there was something about the way he watched you, the way his shoulders remained a little too stiff. His shadows curling more instinctively around your wrists, your ankles—like they weren’t entirely convinced this was a good idea.

Both them and their master seemed…nervous.

Azriel started towards you, closing the distance between you to catch your wrist in his tight grip. “Lesson one,” he murmured. “Try to pull away.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but you kept your face neutral, your heart hammering as you looked up at him. His eyes were unreadable, but the warmth of his skin, even through his fingerless leather gloves, was startling against your own.

“Try to pull away,” he demanded again.

You jerked your arm back, not surprised when nothing happened. He didn’t tighten his hold, he didn’t need to—he simply absorbed the force like you weighed nothing.

You huffed in mild frustration. This was going to be a long morning.

Azriel’s mouth twitched, like he was fighting back a smile. “Again.”

You did as he instructed, yanking, pulling, and jerkering against his grip on your wrist. It did nothing. After your fourth failed attempt, you scowled. “This seems unfair.”

His brows lifted, but he didn’t let you go, didn’t even loosen his hold. “Most things in a fight are.”

You exhaled sharply, shifting on your feet. You hated feeling weak. Hated how easy it was for him to hold you in place, to remind you just how little control you had over your own body.

He must have sensed your frustration because his voice softened slightly. “You’re thinking about it the wrong way. Strength alone won’t get you out of this.”

You glanced up at him. “Then what will?”

He finally let go, stepping back just enough to give you space to breathe. “Leverage.” He reached for your wrist again, this time slower, and you let him take it.

He guided your free hand up to press against his own, showing you where to aim. “If someone grabs you like this, don’t pull back. Use their grip against them.” He tightened his hold slightly. “Step in, twist your arm—like this—and push against the thumb.”

You hesitated but followed his instructions, stepping into his space and twisting just as he’d shown you. To your shock, his grip broke. You stumbled back a step, blinking. “I—”

He nodded in approval. “Again.”

You swallowed and let him take your wrist once more, forcing yourself to ignore how effortlessly he handled you. This time, you moved faster, following his guidance until you wrenched free in a smooth motion.

A slow smile—real this time—curled at the edge of his lips. “Good.”

Something warm flickered in your chest.

He stepped back and lifted a hand. “Now, try to hit me.”

You froze. “What?”

Azriel’s expression remained calm, but there was something knowing in his eyes. “You won’t hurt me.” That wasn’t what you were worried about.

You hesitated, flexing your fingers. “I’ve never hit anyone before.” You paused. “Well, unless I could count that time when I was ten and I punched a boy for picking on Elain.”

His brows arched in barely concealed amusement. “Did it work?”

You scrunch your nose in distaste. “Not really. I mean, he cried, but Nesta had to handle the rest.”

His lips twitched again, but he didn’t let the moment linger for too long. He lifted his hands, palms open in a silent invitation. “Consider this your first fight then.”

Your stomach twisted, but despite that, you lifted your hands in an awkward stance.

Azriel studied you, his gaze flicking over your posture, assessing. You braced yourself for some harsh critique, for him to tell you that you weren’t ready, that you weren’t strong enough—

But he only nodded. “Relax your shoulders. Keep your weight balanced.”

You did as he said, exhaling slowly as you adjusted your footing.

“Good,” he murmured. “Now, hit me.”

You hesitated, biting your lip. “You want me to punch you?”

A glimmer of challenge crossed his features. “I want to see what you’re capable of.”

You scowled, but before you could talk yourself out of it, you threw a punch. He dodged it effortlessly.

Your fist cut through the empty space where he had been a heartbeat ago, and then—before you could react—his hand caught your wrist and twisted gently behind your back, guiding you into a hold you had no hope of escaping.

Your breath caught as his chest brushed against your shoulder, his wings shifting behind you. He didn’t press too hard, didn’t restrain you in a way that felt overwhelming, but—Mother above, he was close.

“Too slow,” he whispered against your ear, his voice a low rasp.

You barely heard him over the roaring in your own head. The same warmth that always flickered to life when you were with him—the same inexplicable pull—tightened in your chest like a thread being wound too taut. And he tensed behind you just for a moment, but it was there you were sure of it. Like he felt it as well.

You felt like you were overheating. Wherever his body pressed against yours was blazing like a wildfire, even with the thick leathers separating you both. You couldn’t speak, but it wasn’t like the way your throat closed up when the Cauldron’s waters drowned you over and over again. It was because your very soul seemed to thrill at his touch, and if one word was spoken, it would shatter this marvelous moment.

The only thing you could think was yes! This is right. You and him. This close…sharing the same breath.

“What is going on?” Nesta’s sharp voice cut through the air like a blade.

Azriel had moved before you could even register the sound of your sister’s voice. One second, his warmth was pressed against your back, his breath feathering against your ear, his hands carefully but firmly locking you in place. The next there was nothing.

A rush of cool air filled the space he had occupied, and you barely had time to blink before you turned and found him standing a few paces away, his expression once again unreadable, his shadows curling tightly around his shoulders as if he’d reined them in at the last second.

Nesta’s piercing gaze swept between the two of you, her arms crossed, suspicion and scrutiny written all over her face. “I thought you said he was training you,” she drawled, arching a brow.

You swallowed, willing your pulse to slow as you turned to face her fully. “He is.”

“And that is what training looks like to you?” She snapped, her voice like a whip. Her eyes went to Azriel, hard as tempered steel. “I suppose you told her it was all alright.”

Your face flamed, but before you could say anything, Azriel spoke up. “Nothing untoward was happening.”

Nesta scoffed, taking a step closer, her expression twisting. “Oh, I’m sure. I’m sure you painted a grand picture of bravery and glory all so you could sink your hooks into her,” she hissed. “You fae males are all the same. You think I don’t see the way you follow her around with that love sick puppy routine, how your shadows are always twisting and curling around her. She doesn’t need to train like some warrior; she needs you to leave her be!”

“Stop it!” You shouted, unable to bear hearing her further degrade Azriel and his intentions. “Azriel told me I could train, yes, but I asked him to be the one to do it.” You took a deep breath as Nesta surprisingly kept silent. “And he’s been a wonderful teacher so far,” you continued. “I want to do this, Nes. I have to, for myself most of all. I cannot feel weak anymore; I won’t.”

Your sister simply blinked at you, her eyes showing no recognition or understanding of your emotions. “You’re throwing yourself into something you don’t understand.” Without another glance at either of you, she left.

You could only stare after her, her last words ringing through your head. You couldn’t help but feel like she was right in some way. You didn’t understand. Not this new world you had to call home, not this body that didn’t truly feel like yours anymore, and certainly not whatever was between you and Azriel.

You didn’t understand the way his presence soothed you. Didn’t understand the way his shadows wrapped around you with a possessiveness they didn’t show to others. Didn’t understand why you felt like you needed him close, like your very bones ached in his absence.

And he hadn’t explained it either. Almost like he refused to.

The silence that lingered after Nesta left was heavier than a thousand bricks, pressing against your ribs, weighing down your breath. Azriel stood beside you, unmoving, his shadows curling at the edges of the ring like they weren’t sure if they should reach for you or retreat entirely. His face was carefully neutral, but there was something dark flickering in his hazel eyes. Something he wasn’t saying. And you had seen that expression of his before.

Your throat tightened. You should have let it go. Should have taken a deep breath, squared your shoulders, and moved on. But you couldn’t.

Not when your sister’s words still rang in your head. Not when doubt curled in your gut like a living thing. Not when that pull—that strange, unrelenting tether between you and him—had been thrumming inside you since the moment his hands had touched you.

You turned to face him fully, lifting your chin. “Why didn’t you tell her she was wrong?”

Azriel’s gaze flickered, but his expression remained guarded. “Would it have made a difference?”

You clenched your jaw. “That’s not the point.”

His wings shifted. “Then what is the point?”

You exhaled sharply. “That she thinks you have some ulterior motive. That you’re manipulating me into—”

“I’m not,” he cut in, his voice quiet but firm.

You swallowed, something hot crawling up your throat. “I know that.” But that wasn’t what you were really asking. And from the way his shadows coiled tighter, from the way his gaze searched yours as if trying to decide how much to say—he knew it too. Your heart pounded, but you forced yourself to take a step closer. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Everything around you went still.

You met his eyes, searching his face. “I don’t know what this is,” you admitted, voice bordering on pained. “Why do you feel so… familiar to me? Why is it easier to breathe when you're around? Why are you able to comfort me more than my own sisters?”

Azriel’s throat bobbed, but he didn’t say anything.

“Why?” You cried.

His breath came slow and measured, but you weren’t imagining the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for you but was forcing himself not to.

You took another step forward, desperate now. “Azriel—”

“I can’t,” he murmured.

The words hit you like a slap as your stomach twisted. “You can’t?” You asked. “You can’t what?”

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to take the words back. But he didn’t. He only exhaled sharply and took a step away. The space between you was small, but it felt like a chasm. “I need to go,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper of despair.

Something in your chest cracked. You could feel it opening up like a split in the earth. Before you could say anything, before you could ask, beg, or plead—he was gone, shadows swallowing him whole. And you were left standing there, fists clenched, your heart aching with a truth you couldn’t grapple with.

—

Azriel

The past days had been unbearable. Every hour without you—without your voice, without your presence—felt like something had been carved out of him, leaving only raw, open space where you should be.

And yet, he had stayed away; he had made himself stay away.

Because if he got too close, if he let himself give in to the pull of the bond—the bond you didn’t know about—he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. Wouldn’t be able to keep the truth from spilling from his lips. And he had convinced himself that you weren’t ready for that truth. He had convinced himself that he was doing the right thing.

But now, standing in the town house library, facing Rhysand’s scrutinizing stare, Azriel was beginning to wonder if he had been wrong.

Very, very wrong.

Rhys leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely over his chest, one brow arching in a way that said he had already figured out why Azriel was here before he even opened his mouth. “You look like hell.”

He didn’t bother denying it.

Rhys exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Let me guess—it’s due to you and a certain pretty Archeron sister still avoiding each other? I’m sure it’s been nothing short of agony for you.”

His jaw tightened. “It’s not just me.”

Rhys’s expression softened slightly. “I know.”

A shift in the air made Azriel glance toward the doorway—just as Feyre stepped inside, her gaze not unkind but determined. His stomach twisted; of course she was here. You were her sister after all.

“Feyre, darling.” Rhys cautioned his mate.

She didn’t spare him a second glance as she settled her gaze on Azriel. “She’s in pain.” She said directly, crossing her arms over her chest.

He looked down in shame, unable to find the right words to say.

Feyre sighed, her voice more subdued but no less forceful. "I won’t say anything about it to her, Az. It’s not my place, but she’s my sister, and she’s hurting. You have the power to stop that, so stop it.”

The words hit him like a blade to the chest. Because he knew. He knew you were hurting. Knew you were confused and aching and searching for answers that only he could give you. But still, he waited, shied away from telling you the truth. That you were his mate, the one made for him just as he was made for you. The one who he would move mountains and oceans and cities for.

Rhys watched him carefully, his violet eyes sharp with understanding. “You’re afraid she won’t accept it.”

Azriel clenched his jaw. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—admit it, but the truth was written all over his face.

Feyre exhaled, shaking her head as she moved closer, her expression shifting from stern to something gentler. “It’s alright to be scared.” She hesitated, then softer, “I know what it’s like to have a bond dropped on you before you’re ready. But she’s already suffering trying to figure out what’s happening between you two. You can’t keep avoiding her.”

Rhys studied him from where he sat, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. “You know she’s going to figure it out eventually.”

Azriel nodded along. “She shouldn’t have to figure it out on her own.”

“Then tell her.” His brother said simply.

He turned away, tension rolling off him in waves. “She just got thrown into this world. We’re on the brink of war. She’s still trying to find her footing. How am I supposed to burden her with this?”

Feyre scoffed, exasperation flashing across her face. “Do you hear yourself? The only thing burdening her is not knowing why she feels the way she does around you. I see it, Az. She looks for you everywhere. And when you’re not there, she just looks…lost.”

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut, guilt lancing through his chest like a dagger.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” Rhys added.

He turned, frustration sharpening his voice. “What if she doesn’t want it? What if she doesn’t want me?” You were still reeling from everything, from the Cauldron, from the war that loomed over them all. What if adding this to your plate made you resent him for keeping it from you?

Feyre softened slightly. “She already trusts you more than anyone.”

He swallowed hard.

Rhys sighed. “Look, we’re not telling you to confess your undying love for her, but at least tell her what this is. What you are to her. Let her decide what to do with that.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, battling with himself on what he should do.

Rhys leaned back again. “Or, you could keep avoiding her, letting her think she’s losing her mind over something she doesn’t understand.” He arched a brow. “Your choice.”

Azriel glared at him. But he knew the longer he waited, the more he risked losing you. And that thought—losing you before he even had the chance to try—was something he didn’t think he could bear.

—

The window seat in your room seemed to be your favorite place in moments of personal crises. You couldn’t draw yourself away from the pane of glass; there wasn’t even anything interesting to look at out of it. But your body remained rooted in place, your nails picking and pulling at your cuticles on their own accord.

When a knock sounded at the door, you felt a sense of deja vu come over you. But you weren’t foolish enough to believe it was him again. Not when he’d been running away from you so intensely. You had spent the past few days in a haze, going through the motions, trying to shove down the ache that had settled in your chest. The absence of Azriel had been practically unbearable. You hadn't even realized how much of your world he had become until he was gone.

You had searched for him everywhere. Looked for him in the training yard, in the halls of the House of Wind, in the shadows that used to brush against your skin as if they missed you, too. But he had been avoiding you.

And it hurts.

You swallowed, your throat tight as you stared at the door. You didn’t want to get your hopes up that it was him. But maybe…"Come in," you murmured, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.

The door opened slowly, and your heart felt like it might give out. But then Azriel stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a gentleness that felt deliberate. His wings were tucked in tightly, his shadows curling and shifting at his feet, restless and uneasy. He looked… exhausted. Tiredness lined his hazel eyes, his jaw taut as if he had spent days grinding his teeth.

You sat up a little straighter on the window seat, hands clenched in your lap. Neither of you spoke for a long moment. Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“You’ve been gone.” You said, hating how fragile your voice sounded. “Why?”

His gaze flickered, something pained flashing through his eyes before he schooled his features into neutrality. He stepped further into the room, but not close enough to touch. Not close enough to give you the answers you so desperately wanted. “I thought it was for the best,” he said quietly.

You let out a soft, bitter laugh. “For who?”

He flinched, just barely. You saw it in the way his fingers twitched, in the way his wings tensed ever so slightly. “For you,” he admitted, his voice rough. “Because I—” He exhaled sharply. “Because there’s something I need to tell you, and I didn’t know how.”

Your heart pounded, that strange pull tightening in your chest like an invisible thread being drawn taut. “Tell me now,” you said, the words coming out more like a plea than you intended.

Azriel stared at you, searching your face, his expression unreadable. And then, as if coming to some silent decision, he moved. He crossed the room in two strides, sinking to his knees in front of you. The sight of him like that—kneeling—stole the breath from your lungs. His hand lifted, hovering inches from yours, as if he wanted to take it but wasn’t sure if he had the right to.

"You've felt it," he murmured. "Haven't you?"

Your breath hitched. Felt what? The way his presence soothed you like no one else could? The way your body seemed to recognize him before your mind even had the chance to? The way your soul ached in his absence? "Azriel," you whispered.

His eyes were burning embers as he finally—finally—took your hand. His thumb brushed along your skin, a barely-there touch that sent shivers up your spine. “There is a bond between us,” he said at last, his voice hoarse. “A mating bond.”

The words hit you like a physical force, knocking the air from your lungs. You stared at him, your heart slamming against your ribs, your mind reeling. A mating bond.

You were Azriel’s mate.

The world tilted. Everything—every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every unspoken word—suddenly made sense. You felt like a fool for not putting the pieces together before. “You knew,” you whispered. It wasn’t a question.

Azriel closed his eyes briefly, his grip on your hand tightening. “Yes.”

You inhaled sharply, a storm of emotions swirling inside you. “For how long?”

His throat bobbed. “Since the moment I had to watch them toss you into that cauldron, not being able to stop it.”

You sucked in a breath, your hands trembling in his. A sharp breath rattled out of you, and suddenly, the room felt smaller—too small. The walls pressing in, the air too thick. Memories surged forward, slamming into you with the force of a tidal wave. You had tried so hard to bury them, to pretend they were nothing but fading nightmares, but at his words, the dam broke.

You saw it all.

The dark, swirling water.

Nesta’s screams.

Elain’s hand torn from yours.

The hands shoving you forward, forcing you down, down, down.

But you also remembered through the haze of terror there was him. He’d been lying on the ground; you remembered him crying out in pain. His body and wings were wrecked from whatever injuries had been inflicted upon him. You hadn’t registered it at the time, but now in your memories you swore you’d seen him try to crawl to you. You had been too lost in your own fear, too overwhelmed by what was going on.

“That long,” you whispered, your voice shaking.

“Yes.” His voice was barely more than a whisper now, filled with something jagged, something broken. "I had to watch them take you, hear you scream, and I didn’t know why it tore me apart. And then I felt the bond snap into place as you were dragged from the waters.”

You sucked in a breath, your hands trembling in his. The thought of him going through that all on his own. Injured, in pain, and then discovering his mate had just been brutalized. You couldn’t imagine how he felt. But still, he kept it from you. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I was afraid,” he admitted, his voice cracking around the words. “Afraid it would be too much for you. Afraid you wouldn’t want it.”

Tears burned in your eyes, but not from sadness or anger—from the sheer weight of it all. “I thought I was going crazy,” you choked out. “I didn’t understand why I felt this way, why I needed you and hated being away from you. Why I—” You broke off, shaking your head. “You should have told me.”

“I know.” His voice broke. “I know, and I’m so—” He exhaled sharply, looking away. “I thought I was protecting you.”

You swallowed thickly, staring at him—the feared Shadowsinger of the Night Court, on his knees before you, looking every bit like the man who had spent centuries breaking and putting himself back together again. And now you understood why it had always felt like you were breaking with him.

Azriel lifted his gaze to yours, and the raw vulnerability in his hazel eyes nearly undid you. “Say something,” he whispered. “Please.”

You could barely breathe, barely think. So instead, you did the only thing that made sense. You surged forward, capturing his face in your hands, and kissed him.

He froze, his body going rigid, as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. But then he moved, his hands grasping your waist, pulling you against him like he had been starving for this. His lips were soft but urgent, reverent but desperate, and you met him with equal fervor. Because you had been starving. Starving for this, for him, for the truth neither of you had spoken aloud. Azriel made a low sound in the back of his throat, his shadows curling around you both like a cocoon, like they wanted to keep you like this forever.

The bond between you flared, roared—a golden tether that snapped into place, no longer quiet, no longer hidden. And you felt it. All of it.

Tears burned in your eyes as you parted. A single tear slipped down your cheek. “You’re my mate.”

“And you’re mine.” His voice was raw as his grip on your waist tightened. He kissed you again, again, again—like he needed to memorize every part of you, like he needed to prove to himself that this was actually happening.

Your tears ran down your cheeks, falling to your lips, making the kiss taste salty. But you didn’t care because for the first time since that Cauldron had stolen your mortal life, you didn’t feel lost.

You felt found.

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I played with the timeline a bit to draw things out longer, so it doesn't completely line up with the book. But it's so subtle I think it'd be easy to ignore.

I hope you all enjoyed this and it was worth the long wait! <3

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