#rhys was in a lose-lose situation there

[krotiation]

this soundtrack genuinely makes me so emotional like damn. the jack vs fiona scene at the end of ep 2 is already so perfect and then they had to go make this beautiful as hell ost with it too. those bastards

[illyrianbitch]

Are We Still Friends? — Part Four

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: You navigate the aftermath of your confrontation. Azriel takes his first steps toward making things right.

Warnings: brief mentions of injury, bruises, and physical fighting. nyx being a cute baby. some fun introspection. reader is tired and overwhelmed. az is honest and open (hallelujah)

Word Count: 7k+

Part Three | Series Masterlist | Part Five

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Rhys was trying to be serious. 

He truly, truly was. 

From behind his polished desk, he looked every inch the High Lord—back straight, jaw tight, fingers drumming against the wood. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again, as though he couldn’t decide where to start.

You shifted in your seat, your body aching in strange places from the fight. The cut on your cheek throbbed and the bruising across your knuckles made every twitch of your fingers tender. But none of it compared to the strain in your cheeks—from holding back a laugh.

Feyre was perched on the arm of a chair beside you, Nyx cradled in her arms, his tiny fingers gripping the fabric of her flowy blouse. She wasn’t looking at you—refusing to, actually. Her gaze was locked firmly on her son, her lips pressed together in a trembling line, but you could see the corners twitching with suppressed amusement. You kept your gaze on her, waiting until the burn of your stare would render too hot for her to ignore. 

It didn’t take long.

Feyre’s resolve crumbled as soon as her eyes met yours. She let out a laugh—sharp and bright and loud in the too-quiet room.

Rhys’s head snapped up. “Feyre, please. Not you too.”

Not you too. Morrigan had found the situation just as amusing. 

Her laughter only grew, and Nyx joined in, making incomprehensible happy gurgles in response to his mother’s amusement. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, though she didn’t sound sorry at all. 

She passed Nyx to your open, offering arms, and crossed the room, wrapping her arms around Rhys’s neck. Her cheek brushed against his as she murmured—loud enough for you to hear, “You have to admit it’s funny.”

Rhys groaned, glancing at you. He opened his mouth, probably to protest, but you cut in, your voice laced with mock sternness as you bit back a smile. “Yeah, Rhys. You have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” he replied, fixing you with a look. “It is not funny.”

You gasped dramatically, adjusting Nyx in your lap and covering his tiny,pointed ears. “Don’t teach your son it’s okay to lie.”

Another groan. A hand dragged down his face, but his lips twitched as though fighting a losing battle. Finally, with a resigned shake of his head, he muttered, “Alright. Fine. It’s funny. But—

His words faltered. 

“I am sorry,” you offered, filling the silence. You raised your free hand solemnly. “I lost my cool. That’s my bad. But in my defense, she really had it coming.”

Rhys casted a look at Feyre, who was leaning against the desk now, a smile still tugging at her lips. He shook his head again, sighing. “Maybe so,” he conceded, “But I can’t have our court’s emissary beating one of our citizens in broad daylight. It’s not a great look.”

“It wasn’t broad daylight,” you corrected, your attention shifting to Nyx as you untangled your hair from his iron grip, grimacing as the motion pulled at your scalp. “The sun was setting by the time we were done.”

Feyre let out another laugh, the sound powerful enough to pull a snort from her. 

“And,” you added, “It was, at most, semi-private.”

“Unbelievable,” Rhys muttered, though there was no real heat in it.

Nyx babbled again, his chubby hand reaching for your hair once more. 

“Okay, alright,” you said, straightening in your chair. The ache in your body flared as you moved, but you ignored it, your focus on Rhys. “You’re right, Rhys. I have a title and an image to uphold. I should’ve acted better. Tell me how to fix it, and I will.”

Rhys’s gaze lingered on you, as if the longer he stared at you, the easier words would come. Then he leaned back in his chair, his attention flicking to Feyre. They were in each other’s minds, you realized, talking in that way only they could. You could pick up the signs now, even subtle—a faint twitch of her lips, the softening in his gaze, even the rhythm of their blinks syncing up. 

Finally, Rhys looked back at you, then down at Nyx, who was still babbling in your lap. When his gaze returned to yours, there was a thread of warmth beneath his voice. “You’re the most, objectively, rational of us all. If you say there was reasoning, then I believe you.”

You gave him a grateful smile.

“We just have to prepare for some damage control,” Feyre said. “It’s not exactly comforting for our citizens to see three of their highest-ranking officials fighting in the streets.”

“Three?” You frowned. “What—”

You were cut off as the door creaked open. All three of you turned as Mor stepped in, a large grin on her red painted lips. She was holding something small in her hand, and when she held it up, the light caught on the all-too-familiar jewelry.

“Don’t forget. She also found these,” Mor sang as she entered fully. She tossed two bracelets into the air, catching both effortlessly before holding them up again for emphasis. “So, I think that’s enough for a pardon.”

Rhys stood, crossing the room in a few long strides as Feyre followed. He took one of the bracelets from Mor, inspecting it carefully.

“What did you find?”

“What Y/n heard was right,” Mor said, rolling the other bracelet between her fingers. “It’s a simple listening charm. Very basic.”

Rhysand hummed. “And how does it work exactly?”

“It’s an anchored spell.”

“What does that mean?” Feyre asked, frowning. “An anchor?” 

“It means the spell needs an anchor to function—a tether to keep it active and contained. Like a balloon tied to a string.” Rhys explained, his tone turning clinical. “It’s simple magic. The charm was designed to spy on whoever it was bound to.”

“And it was bound to who? Az?”

”Actually,” Mor said. She nodded towards you. “It was bound to Y/n.”

You weren’t paying full attention, not as you played a game of tug-of-war with Nyx and a strand of your hair. When the words finally hit you, you blinked, glancing between Mor and the bracelet in her hand. “What? On me?”

Mor nodded once more as Rhysand said, “Interesting.” 

”And this was in Azriels room?” Feyre asked, looking over at you. 

“One of them,” you confirmed. “The other Selene was wearing.”

Feyre’s gaze flicked to the cut across your cheek. “So she put it in Azriel’s room, but bound it to you?”

“No one tends to go into Az’s room.” Rhys frowned. “So she was only interested in conversations you were a part of.”

Of course. A bitter laugh bubbled up, but you clenched your jaw, forcing it down. You reminded yourself of what you’d seen earlier— the insecurity, rather than the malice you’d anticipated. Still, a certain annoyance lingered. Was her relationship with Azriel so fragile that she couldn’t talk to him? Were you so unapproachable that she couldn’t come to you? Instead, she planted a charm. To spy. 

”Can I see it?” You asked. 

Mor stepped forward, holding it out, and Nyx reached for it first, his tiny fingers desperately grasping at the shiny surface.

“This isn’t for you, buddy,” Mor cooed, crouching slightly. “This is Aunt Y/n’s special bracelet from her secret admirer.”

You shot her a flat look. “Secret admirer, my ass.”

Mor grinned, but her gaze flicked over you briefly, her teasing dimmed by something else—concern, maybe. Feyre stepped forward, lifting Nyx from your lap as you examined the bracelet.

“So what do we do with it now?” You glanced up at Mor.

“I can pay Helion a visit. Break the charm.” 

“Alright,” Rhys said, the word accompanied by a considering hum. “But first, let me talk to Selene and Runa—Runa was the other one, right?”

Hearing her name sent a wave of irritation coursing through you. Your grip on the bracelet tightened instinctively as you nodded, the cool metal digging into your palm. You held it out for Mor to take, watching as she then took the second one back from Rhys. He studied you for a moment, his gaze drifting to your clenched fists.

“You’re just too great,” He said with a small grin. It was very father-like in its presentation, like he was trying to cheer up a sad child. “It’s intimidating.”

You rolled your eyes, but his attempt worked— the easy cadence chipping away at the tension in your shoulders, managing to coax a reluctant smile to your lips. “So I’ve been told.”

Your attention shifted to Feyre as she rocked Nyx gently in her arms. His soft breaths had already settled into the rhythm of sleep, and something in you softened at the sight. Your smile deepened, this time warmer, more genuine. Feyre caught your gaze, then glanced at her mate.

“It’s his bedtime,” she murmured, her attention returning to you. “And maybe you could use some rest too.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Mor cut you off, her hand already brushing against your arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said softly, though there was no room for argument in her tone.

“I’m fine,” you tried to insist, but she gave you a look, leading you out of Rhysand’s office. You gave both him and Feyre a quick goodbye. 

“Walk or winnow?” Mor asked once you were in the hall, tilting her head.

You thought it over for a brief moment. “Winnow,” you replied.

She nodded in agreement, the corners of her lips curving upwards. “Probably for the best,” she said, “Wouldn’t want you to find another citizen to fight on the way home.”

You moved to swat at her arm in mock indignation, but she was already gone, her laughter echoing faintly as she winnowed away. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Mor was humming a small tune as she led you to your bedroom. She had a few more items in her hand since the last time you saw her, only a few moments prior.

“Sit,” she instructed, nodding towards your bed. Without waiting for a response, she pulled your chair from the small desk, its legs scraping sharply against the floor. Usually, you might've winced at the sound, but tonight it barely registered. You were too tired, too lost in your own thoughts to be fully aware of your surroundings. 

You lowered yourself onto the edge of your bed, hands folded in your lap, watching as Mor set her haul on your bedside table: a first-aid healers kit and a small jar with a golden lid, the faint scent of herbs already wafting from it.

“Whats that?” you asked, motioning towards it as Mor sat down.

“I stopped by Majda’s earlier,” Mor replied, grabbing the jar and offering it to you. 

You gingerly took it, running your fingers along the small glass. A healing balm, you gathered from the label, crafted and spelled to sooth the tenderness of injuries.  “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” she replied, fixing you with a look. She held her hand out in a silent request, and you granted it, placing the jar back in her soft palm.  “I ran into Adrin while I was there, too.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. I think he has a crush.” 

Your brows furrowed. “On you?”

“No,” Mor laughed. “On you.” She twisted the lid off, the scent growing stronger, fresher. “This was practically free when I mentioned your name. He says hello, by the way.”

You rolled your eyes at the tone of her voice, at the small quirk in her lip.  “How generous of him.”

Adrin was one of Madja’s recent apprentices, a male from the Dawn Court. Over the past year, you’d developed a sort of friendship with him—inevitable, given how often you stopped by Madja’s for elixirs, balms, or to request healing for one of your family members. Adrin was sweet in a way that stood out, especially for someone of his stature and wealth. Humble, easy to talk to. You’d always enjoyed your small conversations with him, none of which had ever felt particularly flirtatious. 

But Mor liked to do this—tease you about romantic prospects where there were none.

“He seemed very sad to hear you were hurt,” she teased, dipping her fingers into the balm. “Here. Give me your hands.”

Reluctantly, you stretched out your hands, knuckles bruised and raw. She took them, her touch gentle as she worked the balm into your skin. It stung at first, then cooled, easing the ache. 

“He’s cute,” Mor said lightly, noting your silence.  “You should consider it.”

“Mhm,” you replied, not really listening. “Maybe.”

Mor glanced up at you, her hands pausing briefly before she resumed. “What are you thinking about?”

You shrugged and stared down at your hands, tracing the patterns of Mor’s thumbs as she smoothed over the worst of the bruising. “I don’t know. The whole thing, I guess.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t just beat them both.”

A small laugh slipped from you, unexpected. You were quite proud of how diplomatic you’d managed to be given the circumstances— though, you were sure diplomatic wasn’t the word Runa would use.

“I think,” you began, “I just figured it wasn’t worth it. At least with Selene, it wasn’t personal. There’s nothing I could’ve said to her that’d be worse than what I imagine she already tells herself. Runa just… said the wrong thing at the wrong time.”

Mor nodded with an amused smile, tilting your chin up with a finger so she could dab the balm along your jaw. On a hit you hadn’t even noticed until it started throbbing an hour later.

“Still. A listening charm is kind of insane,” she said. Her tone was measured, but you caught the edge of anger beneath it. “Can you imagine what else she could’ve heard?”

Your chest tightened. You nodded. Although not to the extent you might usually have, you had thought about it—the implications of the bracelet, the act Selene had committed, the idea Runa had planted. It was almost laughable. Your court was condemned for its supposed cruelty, led by a High Lord as infamous as Rhysand, yet citizens still felt emboldened enough to pull stunts like this. In any other court, Selene and Runa would’ve faced very different—more permanent—consequences.

“I don’t want to think about it too much,” you replied after a moment. “I’ll just get angry, and I’m kind of over that. It’s exhausting.”

“You’re better than me,” Mor muttered.

“Not really. I’m just tired.” You said simply. “Selene did a bad thing. She’s lucky it didn’t cause a serious disaster. I don’t feel the need to play the Mother’s role. Rhys will deal with her.”

Mor sat back, a faint grin tugging at her lips. “And in the meantime, I get pretty jewelry.”

You raised a brow. 

“What?” Her grin widened. “Like we told Rhys, it’s only a basic listening spell. If I’m in possession of both charms, and I’m not talking to you, then no one’s hearing anything.”

“And if you lose one?”

She raised an eyebrow, slowly twisting the cap back onto the jar. “I won’t,” she replied simply. And you knew that was the end of the conversation. Mor guided your head to the side, leaning in to inspect the cut across your cheek.

“That bitch got you good, though,” Mor muttered. She touched it gently, and you grimaced. “All this from that bracelet?”

“It was chunky,” you replied dryly. “And I think Runa split it open much further.”

Mor scowled. “If I see her, she's as good as d—”

“Mor.”

She sighed dramatically. “At least tell me you got her good.”

You gave her a look and her grin widened. “Gods, I love you,” she said, shaking her head. “You might be the most terrifying one of us all when you’re angry.”

A smile tugged at your lips, the faint pull of it brushing against the ache in your cheek. The sound of a laugh started to rise in your chest when a low voice cut through the moment.

“I would agree.”

You jumped, and your head snapped toward the doorway— where Azriel now stood. 

Your chest tightened at the sight of him, the moment’s levity collapsing under his presence. Instinctively, your eyes ran over him, taking in every detail. He looked tense, wings drawn in tight to his back, his posture stiff. Shadows hung close to him, unnervingly still. Disheveled, too—his hair was a mess and faint bruises bloomed along his face. His hands were hidden by his shadows, but you’d bet they bore the same marks as yours. Three officials, Feyre had said. You now knew the second. 

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

Mor snickered beside you, drawing your attention just as her brows lifted in amusement. She turned away from him and faced you instead. “You hear that, Y/n? He’s sorry.”

You raised your own brows, gaze flicking back to him. “So those words do exist in your vocabulary.”

The bite didn’t feel as satisfying as it should have. It felt hollow, old. Azriel’s jaw tightened, his chest rising as he drew in a measured breath. After a moment, he stepped forward. His gaze lingered on you for another moment before he turned to Mor.

“May we have a moment alone?”

Mor’s eyes narrowed, the sharpness in her gaze dragging over him like a knife. She didn’t answer right away, looking back to you instead, searching your face for permission. Despite yourself, you gave her a small nod.

Her displeasure showed in the faint widening of her eyes, but she stood anyway, brushing her hand against yours in passing. Her touch was soft, careful not to press too hard against the bruises. “Love you,” she murmured. “Let me know if you need anything else tonight.”

You gave her a small smile, nodding again as she walked past Azriel. His shadows recoiled from her, drawing a dark outline along his arm. She casted one last glare over her shoulder.

“Idiot,” she muttered, loud enough for both of you to hear. Then she was gone.

The silence she left behind felt suffocating, a heavy thing that settled over the room. You avoided Azriel’s gaze, focusing instead on the healer’s kit sitting on the bedside table. You reached for it, but Azriel held up a hand to stop you.

“I can do it myself,” you said. 

“I know,” Az replied softly. “But let me. Please.”

You hesitated. He looked troubled, guilt heavy in his expression, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The conversation had been inevitable, long overdue. Might as well get it over with while he tended to the cut on your cheek.

Besides, you were too exhausted to care. 

“Fine.”

Azriel gave you a small, unsure smile—grateful, almost. He disappeared to the bathroom, and when he returned, he sat with a wet rag in hand.

You tried to hold on to your anger, to avoid his eyes, but your resolve began to falter the moment his shadows began to twist around your arms. They moved languidly, curling up your wrists and brushing your fingers as you played with your hands in your lap. You focused on them instead of him— on their quiet presence, the personality in them that so few ever noticed. You’d missed the way they felt like him.

Azriel began unpacking the kit—clean cloths, antiseptic. The smell made your nose scrunch. You took in the bruising on his face—on his cheek, a split near his eyebrow, even on his lip. Strange, strategically unplaced.

“What happened to you?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

“Cassian happened.”

And there it was— the third official. You wanted to probe for more details, were even tempted to make a joke out of his current appearance, but your irritation held you back. You stayed silent as he cleaned the wound, as he dried it. When he soaked another cloth with antiseptic, he looked at you.

“I owe you a big, proper apology.” 

You didn’t look at him, even as his words pulled at you. “Yeah.”

He paused— like he was thinking, like he was ashamed— and took a deep breath before he said, “Many, actually.”

You didn’t respond. You just nodded, watching him from the corner of your eye. When the cloth touched your cheek, you winced. He grimaced, eyebrows furrowing in apology.

“Sorry,” he murmured. 

Another pause. 

“You were right,” he said, his focus staying on your cheek. “And I should have listened to you.”

This time, the pull of his voice was strong enough to draw your attention. As he leaned closer to begin cleaning the cut, you studied his face—the sharp line of his jaw, the crease in his brow as he worked with precision. 

“I’m always right,” you muttered, and the words had more mirth than you’d expected. You supposed that was natural with Azriel, an instinct of sorts. Even when you were unhappy with him. “You’re going to have to be specific.”

Something softened in his expression—just for a second. But you saw it. You could’ve sworn you saw the faintest hint of a smile tug at his lips, heard a soft breath of amusement. His molten eyes met yours briefly.

“You were right about Selene.”

Your chest tightened. You didn’t know why, but his gaze burned. You couldn’t hold it for long and looked back down at your hands, letting the shadows weave between your fingers. You wondered what information Az knew— wondered who told him. If it was Mor who had talked to Cassian, if it was Cassian who then, in turn, had given Azriel the whole story. Had they fought beforehand? What for?

“I broke up with her,” Azriel added. “When I heard about what happened.”

You looked up, but Az’s gaze was no longer on you. “You did?”

He nodded. You tracked the bob in his throat as he swallowed. 

“There’s no coming back from what she did.”

Azriel set the cloth aside, carefully wiping away the excess antiseptic. He seemed unnervingly calm for the situation—for the invasion of privacy from someone he’d been intimate with. You’d expected something more. Anger like you’d seen with Eris, confrontation like he’d shown Lucien. But, instead, he was gentle. Maybe it should’ve bothered you, that he seemed so unphased at your current state. It didn’t. If anything, you were grateful. You would’ve been too tired to deal with anything else. 

You studied him closely. This side of him—tender, unguarded—wasn’t a side he let many see.

Your thoughts wandered back to Selene. It made sense, in a pathetic, strange way, why she might have done what she did. If she’d seen this side of him, this kindness, this care... how could she not have wanted to protect it? How could she not have gone to extremes to keep it?

You thought about it for a moment. Came to the realization that the love Azriel offered was probably worthy of madness.

“Because she spied on you?” 

It was a stupid question. But the urge to ask had persisted, so you voiced it anyway. Azriel stilled, his hand pausing mid-motion. Slowly, he turned to look at you.

“No,” he said, his voice softer. “Because she hurt you.”

His words landed with a force that sent your thoughts spiraling.

“Although,” Azriel added quickly, “The spying was definitely a dealbreaker.”

He was making a joke, you realized. Or a small attempt at one. And somehow, it settled something restless in your chest.

“She didn’t mean to,” you heard yourself say before you could stop it. 

The moment the words left your mouth, you cursed yourself. What the hell were you doing? You had no obligation. No reason. It was counterproductive, if anything. Rhys was bringing her in. You had every right to trash her, right here, to Azriel himself. To tell him over and over that you told him so.

But you didn’t. Maybe it was because she’d mattered to him—enough for him to trust her despite the flaws that had undone her. Even if that truth made your chest ache, you wanted him to make his decision with all the facts.

Your care for Azriel wasn’t something led by your pride.

“Selene didn’t mean to hurt me,” you said again, more certain this time. “It was an accident.”

His eyes softened as he observed you. You swallowed and shrugged. “Runa was the one who actually did.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Azriel said. “You were in that situation because of Selene.”

A beat.

“Because of me.”

The air between you thickened. You tried to focus on anything else, anything but the way your chest tightened, the way your heart thudded faster than it should. But you couldn’t. Your eyes stayed locked with his.

You thought about the past week, how something had shifted between you. The distance that had grown, how long it had taken him to reach out.  Azriel was someone who didn’t apologize easily. You knew that. But it hurt in ways you didn’t expect because you’d always thought you were different. That your friendship, your bond, was worth the discomfort. 

You thought he’d make it right. That he wouldn't have let it fester for as long as he did, wouldn’t have felt comfortable leaving you simmering in your hurt. 

“Az?”

The name escaped your lips unguarded, and his face softened at the sound of it. His wings shifted too, just slightly, like tension bleeding out. You hadn’t said his name like that—without anger, without bitterness—for days.

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you actually apologize earlier?”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and his gaze flicked down, as if the answer was there, somewhere in the floor. “I—I didn’t know how.”

You let out a breath—annoyance, defeat, something too messy to untangle. “It’s actually really easy,” you muttered. “You just open your mouth and say the words ‘I’m sorry for being a dick.’”

There was a soft shuffle as Azriel leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. He tilted his head, trying to meet your averted gaze.

“Y/n,” he said softly. “I’m sorry for being a dick.”

You let the words settle for a moment before sitting up straighter. Met his eyes once more. You raised a brow, unimpressed. “A bit late, don’t you think?”

Azriel didn’t move, his eyes meeting yours steadily. He was closer now—close enough that you could almost feel his presence like a tangible, heavy thing. His shadows stirred, curling around your fingers, then shifting toward his hand. They tangled between you both, like they were tying you together, threading through the space that separated you.

“It is,” Azriel said. He looked down the second his words hit the open air. It reminded you of repentance, like a sinner confessing to a priestess. His hands rubbed together before he clasped them into a fist, looking up again.

Even then, his thumbs kept moving, brushing over each other in a way that gave him away. He was nervous.

“I messed up,” he said. “I knew I did the minute I repeated what Selene told me. But I’d messed up so badly that I felt like an apology needed to be big enough to make up for it. I couldn’t think of anything.” He took a shallow breath. “I—I was embarrassed.”

You frowned.  For Azriel, who stood in front of you, unwavering in the face of so many enemies, embarrassment seemed almost foreign.

“Embarrassed?”

“Yes.” His voice was quiet as he admitted it.

“What could you possibly have to be embarrassed about?”

Azriel’s face shifted, his eyes looking almost vulnerable, wide open, like you could see everything. Even his shadows slowed to a faint crawl. They seemed to be waiting for something. You weren’t sure what.

“That you were right. I was changing. For her. And I did it on my own.”

“What?” You barely breathed out, confused. “Why?”

“I just…” He hesitated, his eyes lowering. “I thought it might be for the better. That maybe this relationship, maybe Selene, could mold me into something else, something more…” He trailed off.

“More what?”

“Something—someone, more easy to love.”

Your breath faltered, and for a second, everything froze— like the sheer sadness in his voice was enough to freeze time. And then you were flooded with emotions, each different from the one that came before. Confusion. Anger. Pity. Heartbreak. You felt a deep, hollow ache at the idea that he truly believed he needed to change to be loved. 

For the first time, you weren’t sure what the right thing to say was. If there was one at all. All you could do, in the most genuine tone you could muster, was say, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Azriel’s gaze faltered, his expression shifting as though he wasn’t quite sure how to process your reaction. You glanced at his hands, pushing the rush of emotions back, then met his eyes again.

“You should never feel like you need to change. Not like that.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, but his eyes softened, and you found yourself focusing on the crease between his brows. It made him look so tender. So young.

Finally, he spoke again. “I was having a bad day that night you came to talk to me. I didn’t realize how I’d hurt you. I thought I just pissed you off, that you were angry.”

“Well, you did piss me off,” you said, your anger bubbling up once more. His expression faltered slightly at that, but you continued, “I’m still angry. You were dismissive. You made me feel selfish, like I didn’t have the right to care about you.”

The words caught in your throat, threatening to stick, but you pushed them out. You’d spent centuries enduring criticism from males in Prythian politics—males who dismissed your input no matter how educated or experienced you were. You knew how to let their opinions roll off your back, not to let them settle. But you never thought Azriel would be the one to hurt you. Make you feel silly. Stupid. Small.

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and his eyes darted away as if he was trying to find the right words. “It was all so stupid. I can’t believe I entertained her ideas—that I let my desire to be needed make me accuse you of having ulterior motives when you were just being a good friend.”

A good friend.

That was exactly what you were trying to be—and yet, the word hurt you. It made you want to wince like you had when Azriel pressed that rag to your cut. You thought back, unwanted, to Selene’s words, and your chest tightened even more. 

Was it possible for the room to be losing air? Maybe that would explain the stupid decisions you’d been making. The thoughts you could feel in the back of your mind. A lack of oxygen to your brain.

“So why did you believe her?” you asked quietly. Your voice sounded more tired now. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted after a long pause. “It doesn’t change what I did. It was cruel. It belittled you. And I’m sorry.”

You stared at him, at the set of his shoulders, the faint downturn of his mouth. He was sincere—you could feel it in every word, in the way his eyes stayed fixed on you, like nothing else existed in the room. You didn’t think you’d ever had someone apologize like this before, so open and raw.

And yet, something inside you still simmered. The anger hadn’t disappeared. Not yet.

“Thank you,” you murmured, “For apologizing.”

Azriel didn’t move. He kept looking at you, really looking at you, and you felt pinned beneath the weight of his gaze. His eyes had more green than Cassian’s. It wasn’t something you usually noticed—how the colors shifted in the light, how clear and startling they seemed up close. Now, though, you couldn’t seem to stop noticing, like every detail of him was suddenly magnified.

You wanted to stay angry. You deserved to. He’d hurt you, and that kind of hurt didn’t just disappear because he finally decided to show up and say the right things. But then his gaze held yours a little too long, his voice a little too raw, and that tightrope you’d built for yourself began to fray.  A sharp sting of guilt came, and you couldn’t shake it—couldn’t shake the growing realization that maybe you didn’t want to be angry at him. Maybe it wasn’t even anger anymore.

You cleared your throat as Azriel shifted his attention back to the kit, his shadows curling and shifting behind him. He grabbed a few butterfly bandages, his voice quiet when he spoke.

“You’re better to me than I deserve,” he said, almost to himself. “I think I convinced myself that it was a matter of time until the ball dropped—until you realized I wasn’t worth this friendship. I thought I’d finally reached that point. I almost just laid down and accepted it.”

You frowned at his words. 

Azriel always carried that shadow of self-loathing like a second skin, like he couldn’t believe anyone could see him as more than his darkest thoughts. As much as you wanted to heal him, to assure him that none of it was true, you knew better. It hurt to know that, after everything, he still didn’t believe it. Because, the truth was, Azriel wasn’t hard to love. It wasn’t hard to support him, to be his friend. He had his moments, as anyone did, but he was always there. Which, you supposed, is why the way he treated you hurt in such a deep, unique way.

The thought that he’d believed, deep down, that your friendship—your loyalty—could be so easily withdrawn, made something inside you ache. Made you sad. Angry. 

“I take back what I said earlier,” you murmured. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Azriel’s lips twitched as he searched your face for any hint of a joke. His shadows perched on the apex of his wings, watching you both. Then, when his lips curled, just slightly, they began to move once more. 

“I have my moments,” Azriel said, a half-smile playing at the corner of his lips. He glanced at you, checking if it landed.  “Maybe one too many head injuries is getting to me.”

“Maybe,” you said, the hint of a smile brushing your lips. “In that case, we should keep an eye on Cassian.”

Azriel’s breath escaped in a quiet, almost relieved laugh.  He carefully removed the butterfly bandages from their small packs, the silence settling around you once more. But the air felt heavy, like there was something unspoken hanging between you. Like you needed to say something to rid yourself of the pressure in your chest. 

“You can’t just lay down and accept it, Az,” you said, your voice firm. His eyes snapped to yours. “That’s not what friendship is. Not ours.”

Azriel nodded, his expression softening. “I know. I’ll do better.” 

You smiled faintly, nodding back. Watching as he turned his attention back to the bandages on your cheek, you took a slow breath. His scent washed over you as he leaned in, familiar and warm. For a moment, you almost let yourself close your eyes, just to breathe him in further, to let his scent linger. Had it always been like this? Or had Selene’s words made you overanalyze everything?

“I was shocked when Cassian told me what happened. I can’t believe that while I was busy kicking myself for not doing anything, you were trying to talk to Selene. Trying to be kind. Do you realize how crazy that is?”

His words weren’t disbelief—they were awe. As if he couldn’t comprehend why you’d chosen the harder path, the path of peace. You could barely believe it yourself, sitting with a scratched-up face and a mind full of unwanted revelations. But in the end, it had been simple. 

You’d done it for Azriel. 

You’d found sympathy for her because of Azriel. You’d set aside your anger, your pettiness, because you valued your relationship with Azriel more. Even after everything, after the way he’d treated you, you still believed in him. Believed in his ability to know what he wanted.

“Your happiness was worth it,” you said finally. “I didn’t want to be the one to stand in the way of it. To make things hard.”

Azriel stopped at that, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made you feel exposed in a way you’d never felt before with him. You shrugged it off, trying to play it cool, and added with a dry chuckle, “Also, I figured if I did the noble thing, I’d get to hold it over you for a few centuries.”

Azriel laughed—a genuine, rumbling sound. His shadows fluttered around him. “Yeah, well, you can. More than a few centuries, actually, because you came out with some battle scars.”

You almost spoke again, but the breath left your lungs as you felt his fingers gently press the butterfly bandages to your skin. It was almost funny to think about how angry you’d been—rightfully so. But now, with the feel of his hands on you, it all began to ease. A specific sense of healing, like the betrayal you’d felt—at least in part—was being mended. That Azriel tending to you now, with the soft touch he so rarely granted, proved that he didn’t mean to hurt you. That he did care. And maybe you could give him a little grace for being a flawed male.

When Azriel turned back to the kit, you touched your cheek, feeling the cut deeper than you expected. You hadn’t realized how long it was. Mor’s earlier reaction made more sense now.

Azriel glanced at the wound, then back at you, brow furrowing. “Is it okay?”

You nodded slowly, a soft breath escaping as you winced slightly. “Yeah, just tender. Thank you.”

He nodded in acknowledgment and moved to place the last bandage. And then, almost too quietly, he murmured, “I’m sorry I hurt you. I really am.”

“I know.” You hesitated before adding, “But you’re going to have to make it up to me. You know that, right? This wasn’t enough.”

Azriel steadied his gaze on you, leaning back to face you fully. Suddenly, you weren’t sure if anyone had ever looked at you properly. Not like this. Not as he said, “I will. I promise. In ways that are better than some baked goods.”

“Well… I wouldn’t mind some croissants. They looked good.”

Azriel chuckled. “Oh really?”

Soft tendrils of his shadows weaved around you as you nodded, biting back a smile at the tone of his voice. Something so lively. So Azriel. Although you were used to them, you resisted the urge to shiver as his shadows threaded through the ends of your hair. 

“That’s odd,” he said. “I seem to recall them looking untouched. Some even squished.”

The memory of how you’d grabbed the pastry in frustration, squeezing it in your hand, brought a small smirk to your face. You shrugged a little. “I was pissed. I couldn’t give in.”

“In that case, I’ll buy out the whole bakery.”

You rolled your eyes, but the hint of a smile was still there. It was probably obvious to Azriel.  “The Spymaster supporting local businesses by single-handedly buying out a local bakery. How noble.”

He smiled at that, his expression lighter now—boyish, amused. But his words were sincere. “Whatever you need me to do. I’ll do it.”

“And if I told you to swim naked in the Sidra at night, when it’s cold and snowy?”

“I’d ask Rhysand to make an order for all the children to stay inside.”

You laughed at the thought, and the atmosphere shifted. For the first time in a while, it felt like the world had stopped turning its back on you. The anger, the grudge you’d been cradling like a newborn babe, didn’t feel so heavy now. 

Azriel stood, folding the bandages and packing away the medical supplies, and you found yourself watching him without meaning to once more. You couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly… beautiful he was. There was something in the angle of his jaw, the way the light caught his features that made your breath suddenly catch. He was always handsome, of course, but this was different. 

A sudden wave of curiosity bubbled up inside you. Before you could second-guess yourself, you spoke.  You’d never noticed the sharpness of his eyes, the intensity in them, the way his wings twitched when his shadows curled against them.

“Can I ask you something?” 

He paused, looking down at you with that soft gaze. “Always.”

“Why did you want to change into someone more loveable? Why stay with Selene?”

Azriel’s eyes flickered away, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I… I think I was jealous.”

“Jealous?”

Azriel nodded. Something sad washed through him, made him blink, made his wings fall an inch closer to the ground. “Everyone around us is finding love. They’re starting new lives.”

Something sharp jabbed at you, a bitter feeling you didn’t quite understand. Was there something wrong with you for not feeling the same need to fall in love?

“I’m not,” you said. 

The expression that took over Azriel’s face was one you couldn’t describe, but there was a new kind of weariness in it. His lips parted as though to say something else, but instead, he simply shook his head with a small, wistful smile. “It’s only a matter of time, Y/n.”

You blinked. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re you. You’re amazing. It’s only a matter of time until you fall for one of your many suitors.”

You furrowed your brow, a bitter taste now settling on your tongue. You didn’t respond— didn’t know how to.

Azriel’s eyes darkened for a brief moment, his jaw tightening, but then his face softened. He exhaled slowly. When he spoke, his voice was quieter than before. “I didn’t think I could handle being alone when you moved on, too.”

The way he said it, the weight of it, made something ache inside you, like a deep hollow was opening up in your chest. You swallowed hard, wishing for something—anything—to ease the growing pressure behind your ribcage.

You wanted him to tell you more, to say something that would make sense of all this. But you didn’t know how to ask for that, didn’t even know what you wanted him to say. 

“Because you don’t want to be the last one standing?”

The silence that followed was almost suffocating. Azriel’s shadows seemed to quiet around you both.

Then, he gave you a half-smile—sad, lopsided, but somehow more real than anything he’d shown you in a long time. Not for months. Not since he began dating Selene. 

“Something like that.”

Before you could dwell on his words, on why they made you feel sad, disappointed even, Azriel finished packing up the kit and turned toward you.

“All done,” he said.

You blinked, pulled out of your thoughts, and nodded. “Oh. Cool. Thank you.”

You looked down at your hands, your fingers brushing over the growing bruises on your knuckles. Your hair fell forward, partially hiding your face, and before you could move it out of the way, one of Azriel’s shadows darted forward, tugging at the strand. You glanced up as he gently called the shadow back with a subtle motion. 

“So... how do I look?” 

Azriel's eyes flicked over you, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he reached forward, his hand brushing that same strand of hair from your face.

“Tough,” he said, slowly moving the strand back. “I think the bandages really bring out your eyes.”

And even though he’d done it a million times before, as Azriel tucked your hair behind your ear, something inside you cracked right open.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Part Five

authors note:

tending to wounds scene!!! tending to wounds scene!! mor has both bracelets??!? az and selene are done?!?! he's being weirdly calm abt the whole thing?!?! reader is THINKINNN...

now begins the fun time of reader wanting to let az grovel (bc he has entered his groveling era) but also overthinking everything and wanting him to just....go away. also fun time of reader having to prove to everyone that despite things she may...or may not... feel, her intentions with Az were neverr driven jealousy hehe

so fun!!! i have some fun ideas guys. thank yall for reading <3 i wonder if you can guess what might happen.... there are a few hints

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten  @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon  @glam-targaryen 

@cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg @evergreenlark 

@marina468 @azriels-human @book-obsessed124 @bubybubsters @starswholistenanddreamsanswered 

@feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @azrielrot @justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli 

@mrsjna @anarchiii @alittlelostalittlefound

@melissat1254 @secretsicanthideanymore

@m4tthewmurd0ck @beardburnsupersoldiers @isnotwhatyourethinking @tothestarsandwhateverend @raginghellfire

@angel-graces-world-of-chaos @acoazlove @paradisebabey @inkedinshadows @mellowmusings

@paankhaleyaaar @curiosandcourioser @thisrandombitch @casiiopea2 @w0nderw0manly

@rottenroyalebooks @jurdanpotter @casiiopea2 @gamarancianne @weesablackbeak

@booksaremyescapeworld @knoxic  @wynintheclouds @dacrethehalls  @louisa-harrier

[parkerslatte]

Different

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: none

Summary: Ever since Feyre arrived at Velaris, they have only ever known Azriel a stoic and mostly serious. But once his wife comes home, she sees a different side to him.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

Feyre watched as Azriel stood by the window. His shadows moved over his shoulders and around his ear as if whispering something to him. The expression on Azriel’s face was his same neutral one that only ever seemed to change the smallest amount. And only ever in the presence of the Inner Circle and even then there would only be a small hint of a smile. 

It was late at night and everyone was enjoying a relaxing night with a few bottles of Rhys’s expensive alcohol. So far, Azriel hadn’t moved from his place at the window, his back was rigid as if he was expecting something, though that was the only indicator that he was. His face was his usual stoicism, giving nothing away. 

“Az, are you ever going to get away from that window anytime soon?” Cassian complained. 

Azriel turned his attention to Cassian and scowled. “I’m busy.”

“Not busy enough to spend time with the people you love,” Cassian teased. 

“Az, sit down, you won’t miss anything,” Rhys chimed in. 

With a final look through the window, Azriel walked over to the rest of the Inner Circle and sat in the armchair. His back was tense and he was not fully relaxed. Ever since Feyre had known him he had always been somewhat alert to everything. 

While everyone continues with the card game, Feyre couldn’t help but pay more attention to Azriel than to the game. Like Feyre, Azriel didn’t seem to be paying any attention to the game either. Instead he stared at the table in front of him completely lost in thought. 

Elain, who was sitting on the floor beside Mor, looked up to Azriel. “It’s your turn,” she said. 

“Oh,” Azriel said before picking a card out of his hand and placing it on top of the pile. 

“That isn’t a card you can even put on top,” Cassian complained. 

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Does it matter? You change the rules when you’re losing anyway.”

“I do not!” Cassian exclaimed. “I take this game seriously.”

“Until you are losing,” Nesta mumbled under her breath. 

Cassian began to argue back, clearly becoming outnumbered in his argument. Feyre only watched on with amusement. 

However everything was quickly interrupted by a new voice, one Feyre had never heated before, cut through the argument. 

“I leave you all alone for a few years and everything goes to shit?” 

Everything goes silent as everyone stares at the beautiful female who had just entered the room. Before Feyre could even process everything, Azriel threw his cards back down on the table and rushed up to the female.

The female giggled in delight as Azriel’s arms wrapped around her and swung her around. Feyre looked at her two sisters, each of them held the same expression she did. Confusion. 

What shocked Feyre the most about the situation was the bright and wide smile stretching across Azriel’s face. She had only noticed now that he had dimples. 

“I missed you so much,” Azriel mumbled. 

“It has only been a few months for you,” the female replied. 

“That is too long for me. I always wish for you to be next to me,” Azriel replied and pressed his lips against the females. His arms circled her waist, making sure there wasn’t a single gap between their bodies. The female threaded her fingers through his hair, causing Azriel to sigh in delight. Feyre couldn’t help but feel surprised by this display of affection from Azriel. 

Feyre leaned back against Rhys. “Who is that?”

“Azriel’s mate and wife,” Rhys answered.

“What?” Feyre exclaimed. “None of you have ever mentioned her before.”

“That was Azriel’s decision,” Rhys replied, filling up his glass. “You see, Y/N works as a researcher all over the continent for me so she is rarely ever here so none of us can protect her. Azriel has made a lot of enemies over the years and if he were tied to her, she could be put in even more danger.”

“When was the last time they saw each other?” Elain interjected. 

“For Azriel a few months ago,” Rhys answered. “Those two weeks just before Solstice when Azriel wasn’t here, he was on the continent with her.”

Feyre watched as Azriel buried his head into Y/N’s  neck, holding her against him tightly. Feyre smiled at the sight. 

“It has been at least two years since the rest of us have last seen Y/N,” Cassian chimed in. “It would be nice of her to greet the rest of us.”

Y/N pulled away from Azriel to smile at everyone else. “Give me a break, Cass. If you were to go without a hug from your mate in a few months, you wouldn't be jumping to greet everyone else first.”

“She knows about us?” Nesta asked. 

Cassian nodded. “Whenever Azriel meets up with her, she always asks about you all. Apparently she has been excited to meet you all.” 

Feyre watched as Azriel and Y/N walked over to join the group. Azriel’s gaze never left Y/N for a single second. Feyre’s gaze shifted down to their joined hands. She hid her smile behind her glass. 

Y/N quickly greeted Rhys, Cassian and Mor with a hug and she gave a small nod to Amren. 

Azriel sat down on the armchair first and as Y/N was about to sit in the arm of it, Azriel pulled her down so she sat in his lap instead. His arms locked around her waist as his chin rested on her shoulder. Feyre was sure she had never seen him look so happy before, so at ease. The smile on his face was one Feyre had never seen. 

“It is great to finally meet you three,” Y/N said, her gaze flicking between Feyre, Nesta and Elain. “This one here,” she said, reaching to cup Azriel’s cheek, “has told me a lot about you.”

“It is great to meet you,” Feyre said with a smile. 

“So now that introductions have finished,” Cassian begins, “can we get back to the game now? I was about to win.”

“Is that because you changed the rules halfway through the game?” Y/N teased. 

Cassian rolled his eyes. “You know what, Y/N. I don’t think I missed you at all.”

Y/N chuckled. “We both know that’s a lie.”

Azriel laughed along with Y/N and placed a soft kiss to her shoulder. He looked completely different to the stoic and serious shadowsinger Feyre was used to. With Y/N, Azriel seemed like a completely different person. The tension had vanished from his body and his shadows, which were once sliding over his shoulders, were now caressing Y/N legs and arms. One of his hands caressed her thigh while the other threaded with hers. Feyre could see the goosebumps appear on Y/N’s skin wherever he caressed. 

Azriel whispered something into Y/N’s ear which caused her to turn to him, smiling wide, her lips hovering just above his. The glimmer in Azriel’s eyes was prominent as he looked at her. It was as if she hung the stars. There was so much love and tenderness in his eyes that it could only be described as something out of a romance novel. She had never seen him look so at ease before. It was if everything else had melted away and the only thing left was Y/N.

Feyre couldn’t help but feel giddy at the sight. 

“How long have they been mates for?” Feyre asked Rhys. 

“Nearly three hundred years,” Rhys replied, wrapping an arm around Feyre. “They have been married for longer, the bond snapped nearly fifty years after they were married.”

“They seem happy,” Feyre said, her eyes not shifting from where Azriel and Y/N sat. 

Rhys smiled at his two friends, friends he considered family. “They are. Azriel is always his happiest when Y/N is around. He always has been ever since they met.”

“Why does she go away for long periods of time?” Feyre questioned. “It feels like torture when I’m away from you for too long. I cannot imagine being mates to someone for three hundred years and only being able to see them every few months.”

“That is the way it has been through their whole relationship,” Rhys explains. “They both knew what each other did for a job and neither of them wanted the other to give it up.” 

“How long is she back for this time?” Feyre asked. 

“I hadn’t asked,” Rhys said. “But I have a small feeling she will be here for a while this time.”

Feyre frowned. “How so?”

“Because if I know anything about Y/N, it is that she would never decline a glass of my finest wine and so far she has declined every glass Mor has offered her,” Rhys observed. 

Feyre looked at Rhys excitedly. “Does that mean—?”

Rhys smiled. “They haven’t said anything so I assume that they wish to keep the news between them for a little while longer.”

Feyre smiled over at Y/N and Azriel. She caught Y/N’s eye. The beautiful female only sent a wink Feyre’s way, a clear indication that she had overheard her and Rhys’s conversation. 

“Az, it’s your turn,” Nesta said. 

Azriel throws all of his cards onto the table. “I think I am done for the night.”

Cassian groaned . “Really?”

“Really,” Azriel said. “I want to spend time with my gorgeous mate and wife.”

Cassian chuckled. “That is only an excuse because you are losing,” the general teased. 

Azriel rolled his eyes and swooped Y/N up in his arms. Her arms locked around his neck. “If you need us— actually don’t even try to contact us at all.”

Y/N threw her head back and laughed as Azriel carried her out of the room. Feyre could hear them laughing loudly even when the door was firmly closed behind them. Feyre leaned into Rhys and linked her fingers with his.

“I am happy for them,” Feyre said, her eyes staring at the door where Azriel and Y/N had left. 

Rhys kissed the top of Feyre’s head. “Me too.”

[solbaby7]

Calypso

pairing: azriel x reader

warning: swearing, mentions of being beaten, violence, murder, probably typos, based off a tiktok i saw (pretty sure this is based off a play or something along those lines)

summary: The sweetest member of the Inner Circle shows the Autumn Court the true extent of feminine rage.

[part 2 ]

—

“Something is wrong,” Azriel couldn’t stop pacing, heart thumping so hard in his chest he was sure there was an imprint beginning to etch its way onto his skin. A hand absently rubs at his chest, clothes feeling too tight and his brothers don’t miss the rigid raise of his wings. Shadows cloak his form, curling around his ears and tugging on his clothes in their own way of communicating the same thing he had. “Something is very, very wrong. She should be back by now.”

Rhysand try’s to remain reasonable—to regain control of the rapidly escalating situation but you were supposed to have been back nearly four hours ago.

At first, the High Lord had thought it was a good idea; that you’d be a pleasant change from Az’s domineering brood or Cassian’s incessant need to mouth off but the longer they waited the more Rhys considered that maybe he made the wrong call. “She’s gone on missions to Autumn alone many times before, Az.”

The shadowsinger nods in agreement but his stance doesn’t relax even a bit. “Sure but she’s never once been late getting back home. Never.” Saying the words seem to be confirmation enough, waiting one second—two before he’s retreating from Rhysand’s office and saying fuck it to any of the consequences that he would surely face if he got there and something had happened to you.

“Az,” Cass shouts from down the hall, bounding steps sounding against the polished floors as he falls in stride with him. “Just wait for one second.”

“If it was your mate, would you wait?”

“Of course not but we just need two minutes to assess the situation before just barging inside—this is Autumn we are talking about here.”

“I don’t care.”

Fingers rake through shoulder length hair, honey eyes clocking Azriel’s determined stride, the hard brow and strong set of his mouth. “I understand that but if it gets her killed—”

“Us waiting might get her killed,” Azriel snaps, nearly growling the words free; shadows stiffening at his shoulders in agitation. “I won’t risk it. I won’t lose her.”

There’s no room for fighting; not when Rhys and Cassian were too busy trying to keep up with Azriel’s brutal pace to cross the wards. Winnowing in a rush never did well on the stomach but the unease that churns in Azriel’s gut the moment they arrive at Autumns borders is anything but normal.

“This isn’t right,” Cassian insists, following behind with a watchful eye; every muscle in his body tense as awareness prickles to life. “Where are the guards? The hounds?” It’s too quiet, the sky too dark and yet Azriel continues on a path of his own making; following the pure string within to draw him back to his other half.

The spymaster rips through the trees, shoving aside offending branches with little regard for the noise being made. It works in his favor, stumbling at the right place at the wrong time judging by the frazzled guards and a High Lord soaked from the waist down. Complete silence fills the space; not even a bird chirps, no rustling of woodland creatures, no crackling cadence of crawling cicadas. “Where is she?” Azriel demands, voice dangerously low as he searched deeper within the bond; scrambling for further direction, desperate for the confirmation of your safety.

Beron Vanserra looks too smug, a devilish smirk crafting in the corner of his mouth. Auburn hair falls from its neat styling, clothes ruffled and Azriel knows he can’t be the only one who notices the petrified expressions plastered on the guards faces—the fact that none of them make a move to comment on Night Court breaching another’s borders without permission. “Where’s who?”

“You know who,” Rhysand says your name carefully, casually pressing forward until he stood before Azriel, serving as a barrier between a male withholding answers and another male willing to carve the world to pieces in order to obtain them. “Your meeting with her should’ve ended hours ago.”

“It never started,” Beron waves a hand dismissively, his clothes drying with the motion. Guards surround him, leaving a gap for visibility but their security is subdued; trembling with fear and eyes glistening with guilt. “She never arrived.”

Azriel’s grip tightens around the hilt of Truthteller, golden irises narrow to slits and his voice is but a hiss. “You’re lying.”

A brow raises, the overwhelming scent of whiskey and cinnamon muddled by sea salt and ocean spray; a confusing combination laced with a distress that did not belong to the High Lord of Autumn. “Do you have proof?”

Shadows creep up Azriel’s form, silently reminding its master of their presence and willingness to eliminate the threat no matter the outcome but before his lips can form words—an unnatural noise cuts through the air. The hairs on the back of his neck stands at attention, golden eyes surveilling every inch of dense foliage. “What was that?”

Its eerie and drawn out, almost like song but the melody held no comfort, no warmth.

“What did you do?” Azriel swallows thickly, shoulders uncomfortably tense as the humming continues, layered feminine voices piercing their ears like the sirens Cass always talked about around a crackling fire after too much to drink.

“I did nothing.” Beron shrugs, voice even and sure but the fear that settles behind his eyes isn’t equally well hidden. His body language betrays him, subconsciously shuffling closer to the readied guards that flank every side of their High Lord.

“Vanserra.” Your silhouette is barely noticeable when cloaked in the night and Azriel’s brow raises at the tears in your gown, the healing split of your lip—and where were your shoes?

Rhys calls your name, taking only a single step before Cassian’s iron grip curls around his arms, swiftly tugging him back and behind him. A general protecting the leader of his court as the scene before them became horribly apparent. “Impossible,” Beron whispers, not bothering to hide the disbelief—the horror. “You died.”

Azriel’s stance faulters, the stony expression unable to hide the unbridled pain that etches its way onto his features at the words.

But, you don’t seem phased.

In fact, you don’t seem much like yourself at all.

The soft glow of your light is replaced with a murky darkness; soiled by anger and the bubbling desire for vengeance and all of it is directed towards the copper haired male with a heart like coal and a soul filled to the brim with ash. “Get in the water.” You command.

“I am immune to your witchcraft, demon.” Beron scoffs your way, attempting to deflect the shake of his voice with the accusatory finger pointed to the High Lord of Night tucked safely behind his brothers. “Control your bitch or I will.”

Azriel pushes back the need to retaliate, golden eyes sliding from the male to the woman he loved; a woman who exuded unbridled feminine rage the longer you allowed such power to flow through you—power you always kept so bottled up, so contained. Soothed into submission by your kindness and grace, the love you shared with friend and stranger alike; all unleashed from the conclaves of their confinement. Az’s grip on Truthteller tightens and it’s a true test of will to tear his gaze away long enough to address Beron once more. “What did you do?”

The Autumn Courts High Lord goes still. The air seems to thin, the water bristling against the rocky shore; howling, shouting, demanding to rise—to bend at your will and follow out the revenge you seeked. “Tell them,” Your voice ebbs through the space between you, unnaturally controlled, unusually low and unbearably empty. “Tell them what you did to me and maybe I’ll show mercy.”

“I did nothing.”

A guard sucks in a shaky breath, sweat lacing his brow and it takes no more than a second before he’s released hold of his weapon and drops to the ground on his knees. “Forgive me.” He begs, hands pressed together as if he were praying. “I-I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.” Cassian regards Azriel with a sharp look, crimson Syphons brewing with power as every cell in his body screamed that something terrible was going to happen—that something terrible had happened and they were too late. Forced to stand by, frozen as you were molded into a woman they could hardly recognize. The pretty blue dress you’d left in is torn, ruined fabric sagging in ribbons, showing off collarbones covered in bruises shaped like fingerprints, in cuts that healed before their very eyes. Soaked hair hangs past your shoulders, dripping down your back as the wind whipped through what remained of your clothes. “I beg of you, please, have mercy.”

The apology does no good and before Cassian can work up a plan to get Rhysand as far away as possible, you’re already wrapping them in a dome of water so crystal clear it’s like glass; shielding them from your rage while providing a front row seat to the events long since forged in stone. “Rhys, can you get in her head?”

“I don’t have to,” Rhysand responds barely above a whisper, violet eyes so pale, pupils so pinpricked as the events were shoved at him at an upresendented speed. You, arriving as planned, joining the High Lord privately for dinner when the two sips of wine began to have your body feeling like a whole night of binging at Rita’s with the girls. The images project onto the other, Cass and Az watching with bated breath as they looked through your eyes, felt your disorientation, the fear, the disgust when hands roamed over your body. It took everything for Azriel not to break, to unleash horrors upon Beron Vanserra and every male involved as he watched you beg for them to let you go. Your shoes left in a hallway in your struggle, soft skin and prettily painted toes marred by the rough tugging, the crude remarks and sick promises to kill you quick.

Cassian’s stomach churns, food curdling from within when he feels you strain against the water, as they held you down and left you there long after your hands went limp.

They could feel the power within you, pumping back life into the tiny sliver of hope left, expelling the water from your lungs and replacing that beacon of light with something the High Lord of Autumn better understood. “Get in the water,” You say once more, stepping closer and the crashing waves seem to move with you, lapping at your bare feet, salving over aches and bruises.

“Or what?” He spits, struggling to grapple into whatever control he had left but his vile tone holds no weight in comparison to you and cold expression settling into your eyes.

“Or I’ll raise the tides so high, all of Autumn Court will die.” There’s no bite in your words, only pure promise; steps strong and filled with an uncapped power so strong it seemed to throb. The bustling waves behind you climb higher and higher, so high the skyline is blocked; so high that nothing else existed behind you but such torrential oceans filled with its creatures that thrashed and snapped their jaws to do as you pleased. “Say the words, Beron. Tell them what you did to me.” Azriel’s feels it before he sees it; the bubbling emotions, the swelling power inside of you coming to a head and begging to explode. “Say it!” You demand so furiously the same guard on his knees visibly flinches, thick streams of tears trailing down his aged face as his back bows in submission before their very eyes.

He sings like a canary, confessing to following their High Lords orders of sending the Night Court a message for foolishly in believing in peace. The male professes how one of the cooks were told to lace the wine to subdue her. He musters up the decency to spare the shadowsinger a pleading glance, spilling out useless apologies and promises to never do it again—how disgusted he felt harming a female; one who was so sweet and gentle but orders were orders.

No one speaks, the other guards eyes are as wide as saucers, mouths parted in utter shock as they await the repercussions of the confession; trembling like branches in the wind under the suffocating pressure of your power.

Beron doesn’t pay the sobbing male swathed in armor any mind. Instead, he’s trained on the fellow High Lord—borderline desperate in his command. “Control her. Please.”

“It’s all about control with you, isn’t it, Beron?” Each step closer has your nose curling in disgust, lip quirking in a snarl. “I should fix that.” Wind whistles around furiously, snatching through auburn hair and ripping the overly expensive cloak right from his shoulders. True terror sets root in cruel eyes and the hairs on the back of Beron’s neck raises; primal instincts warning him of impending danger—of inevitable doom. “I’ll make tidal waves so profound that both your wife and your sons will drown.”

“Seize her,” Beron spits, snapping out the words so fiercely that spittle shoots free but even his own protection detail realizes who’s really in control here and not one of them moves to appease the order. “Threatening a High Lord and his family is punishable by death.”

Birds screech their caws of great displeasure, wings fluttering furiously against the trees in such a frenzy that leaves fall free; taunting the end of one reign and the beginnings of another. You don’t feed into his poor attempts of deflecting, his words entering one ear and flying out the other. “You mistake my threats for bluff,” Swords clatter to the ground, Autumn soldiers sharply turning on the balls of their feet with full intent to run—to rush back to their wives and children for the false feeling of safety. You allow them a few strides as a kindness before unleashing the torrential downpour upon them; sweeping each one clean off their feet in their fancy armor. “You have lived more than enough.” Shades of deep red and burnt orange fight uselessly against the angry seas, rough tides swallowing up the soldiers garbled screams and washing them away.

Beron chokes on the salty water, legs pumping furiously against the current, his eyes burning and lungs filling with the catastrophic affects of your anger. “Stop!” His cheeks turn red, the veins in his neck straining against tanned skin and you find yourself fixating on the way his hands claw at his throat—fighting for the slightest gasp of oxygen.

“Did you stop when I begged?” The oceans cover land with ease, seeping past the borders with full intent to make good on your promises on destroying every inch of Autumn territory. “When I screamed for you to just please let me go?” Deep red shifts to an unusual shade of purple, water seeps from his nose and his eyes all but bulge out of the socket.

Choked noises sputter from Beron’s lips, an arm desperately clutching around the base of a tree to keep from being washed up. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” The water parts for you, allowing you a perfect path to the High Lord and you take your sweet time watching his struggle—his disarray. He looks so utterly boyish this way, his hair soaked over his forehead, lashes dark and clustered together under the force of ocean spray smacking at his cheeks like a million microscopic needles. “But, you will be.”

Eerie voices sing their song, layering over the other in a plethora of different pitches until Beron’s head snaps from side to side, eyes searching frantically for the source but he realizes too late.

Water wraiths and their siren sisters cut through the cool waters like a sword through the wind, their webbed fingers eager to grab at the deviant of a man responsible for savagely murdering countless of their brothers and sisters in cold blood just for sport. One of them pause, the features of her face rippling with the tide but there’s no mistaking the respectful nod of her head—one that you return.

You don’t linger to watch the rest, your anger fizzling out and all that’s left is the desire to go home and spend a whole week hidden in the sheets with your mate. If he’d still have you after all this. Bare feet trudge against the ground until you stand before your family, the barrier lowered. You can’t meet their eyes, the wounds too raw and their pity too palpable but the familiar comfort of cool shadows drape over you, evaluating and assessing before relaying their findings back to their master. “I—“

Azriel’s body collides with yours before the whole sentence can even form, strong arms wrapping you up and tugging you as close as he could. His hands go over every inch of you, muttering under his breath about how he’d never let you out of his sight again. “You’re okay,” His shoulders visibly relax, when he can’t find a hint of damage on you—not even a bruise. “Thank gods you’re okay.”

Your eyes slide past him, lips pursing as you prepared yourself for whatever came next. You’d killed a High Lord—there’s no chance anyone would just let that go. “Rhysand, I—“

“You didn’t do anything,” He swiftly cuts in, regarding you fondly even if his stomach swells with guilt at the thought of being the one who put you in harms way in the first place. “You’re safe and that’s all that matters.”

For now.

[bxlladxnnabxtch]

Delaying a Phantom

Rhysand x Reader

❀​🇲​​🇦​​🇸​​🇹​​🇪​​🇷​​🇱​​🇮​​🇸​​🇹​❀

Summary: Amren grapples with her loyalty to her High Lord and Lady. Meanwhile, said High Lady's fall from grace proves to be a major setback in her journey.

Read pt. 1 of Delaying a Phantom - HERE

Read pt. 6 - HERE

Warnings: Descriptions of injury/disfigurement, Brief mention of trauma flashbacks.

“What the hell are you doing?”

As soon as the trio had winnowed to the House of Wind, Amren had attempted to stage an intervention of some sort, if you could even call it that. It’s not like she was expecting him to drop everything that he was doing, but she was hoping to at least get some answers- or some semblance of a plan. She watched as Rhys tumbled into the first seat he saw, Mor eyeing them wearily.

A groan broke out of him, whether it was from the pain or the spontaneous interrogation, Amren didn’t care. She cocked her head to the side, black bob swaying with the movement. “Well?” Rhys cocked his head up, eyes finally falling on Amren, they flickered over to Morrigan for a second before he said “I am doing what is necessary.”

Amren’s eyebrow rose, and she shot a glance at Mor to find her examining her nailbeds, clearly already withdrawn from the conversation. “Care to input?” She asked, mildly annoyed at Morrigan’s carefree attitude. Morrigan’s head shot up, the blonde giving a non-committal shrug. “I don’t see how I’m involved in this.”

Amren shot her a puzzled look. “Your High Lady just fled your court, this guy-” Amren pointed to Rhys as he shifted in barely concealed pain. “-just brought another High Lords betrothed into our home, and we are on the brink of war. Remind me again how this doesn’t concern you?”

Morrigan shifted on her feet as Amren pointed out her willful ignorance. Her eyes darting between her and her High Lord. Her clear awkwardness had Amren floored. Did she think this didn’t affect her at all? Did she not see how this situation posed a risk to not only you, but the entire status of the Night Court?

Morrigan’s non-answer had Amren releasing a disregarding sigh. “You both need to get your head out of your ass.” She said, grey eyes settling onto Rhys yet again. “And you.” She began, turning her full attention to him. She crouched down, forearms settling on her knees as she squatted. She looked up at his face that was scattered in scuffs and newly forming bruises. She held no sympathy for him, her tone coming out slightly colder than usual. “Is it really worth losing her over this?”

Amren wasn’t about to dive headfirst into a fight between mates, it wasn’t her place. The last thing she wanted to do was take a few pages out of Azriel’s book and start a brawl with Rhys. She seemed to be caught in the middle, her loyalty being pulled taunt between the two of you, and if there was one thing she hated, it was picking sides. But regardless of the situation surrounding your disappearance, you were her High Lady, and she’d be damned if she didn’t at least try to make Rhys realize what he seemed to be doing to you.

Rhys head lolled; his eyes unfocused for a second before they snapped to attention at her question. “It’s worth anything to keep you safe- to keep her safe.” He said, tone laced with a sort of desperation that Amren had never heard come from him. Despite his apparent fretting, Amren scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her.

“Don’t fool yourself, boy. You aren’t doing this for me.”

Azriel’s shadow was more persistent than you’d thought it’d be. No matter how fast you flew, the wind whipping past you and catching on your cheeks, the relentless blow of it stinging your eyes, it was right with you. It zipped around you, clung to you almost like a mother, and despite how at first you found it’s constant presence annoying, you began to enjoy the way it swept around you. After all those years you spent Under the Mountain, you forgot just how much you loved to fly.

I mean, of course, you had flown when you were in the Night Court, but after Under the Mountain, you could never quite bring yourself to let loose. But even before, when you were free to fly whenever you wanted, you were always so busy you either didn’t have the time or used your ability to fulfill your duties. You never really were able to sit and appreciate just how much you loved the feel of it. The way your stomach dipped when you suddenly plummeted, the wind that kissed you and ran its fingers through your hair, and the view.

By the Cauldron, the view.

The lands of the Day Court sprawled out beneath you, rolling fields and steady streams that had a goofy grin plastering its way onto your features. You could see every tree that dotted the fields, the sparse houses that appeared every now and then. This was the closest to peace you had been in a long time. The feeling had you spinning in the air, your wings tucking in to do a complete roll that had butterflies fluttering in your stomach. The sun felt warm on your skin, the cloudless sky not doing much to stop the way it melted into your skin and had a warm, joyous feeling beginning to sprout inside you. Your tattooed hands extended, feeling the wind fighting to press them down back to your sides as you studied the line that separated the sky and the horizon.

A rush of pain violently burned its way down the bond so fast you wailed, your figure seizing.

And then you were plummeting.

You couldn’t get your wings to move, couldn’t will your body to do anything as it continued to lock up. The pain still fought its way through the bond.

Pain cascaded down your back and a choked, pained sound left you again before you hit the first tree.

You collided, and you felt the branches hurtling into you, the sticks scratching at you. They cut you open, ruthlessly scraping up against you as you crashed through the trees. It felt like you were getting pummeled, the leaves hitting your face before you finally felt yourself collide into the ground.

You were dying.

There was no other explanation. Pain overtook you like a blanket, searing your nerves and making a piercing scream break through you. You twitched, a sob leaving you as you dug your fingers into the ground. Tears slid down your cheeks as you gritted your teeth, chest stuttering as you tried to breath. Despite your efforts, you couldn’t get a breath in, and another wail left you with less air.

Your forehead rested in the dirt; the crater you had made from your fall didn’t provide any comfort as your body flinched in pain. You felt a brief wave of revolting nostalgia wash over you, as if it was raking its grotesque fingers over your senses. It reminded you all too well of the cell you had been in Under the Mountain, the grime that had grown to be a permanent fixture on your skin.

Another throb had you snapping out of the flashback, and you came to your senses well enough to realize that the pain was coming from your wing. You attempted to unfurl both your wings, beginning to stretch them out before a blinding pain had you seizing up again. Your left wing only twitched in response, shuddering against the pain that went through it. You craned your head, sweat beginning to bead on your brow as you laid your eyes on the damage you did. The membrane was still intact, but the drooping told you that it was obviously broken.

Fuck.

A yell of frustration broke from you, and you blinked away the tears blurring your vision as you fought your way through the pain, a hand coming to push yourself up. You hauled yourself to your knees, another groan leaving you and you pushed yourself to your feet. The weight of your wing pulled it down, and it had you clenching your jaw in an effort not to cry out again. You braced yourself on a nearby trunk, looking around for any obvious landmarks to tell you where you crashed. You swallowed thickly, attempting to asses how you were going to complete the rest of your journey on foot. Despite your best efforts, the pain made it hard to think. You were almost to the Dawn Court border, so you started with the obvious decision.

You needed to get your wing patched up.

[ellievickstar]

Sinner's Sacrifice

A/N: Here's part 2 of Bloodied Bonds , i'm going for alliteration in the title hahah. it's a lot shorter than the first part i wish i made it longer but i feel like i was stretching it out i know i know it sucks to wait for parts i really wanted it to only be two parts long but i really had a "my story has it's own ideas" moment T^T. I'm so so sorry towards anyone who thought this would be the last part I can assure you I thought that too. I hope you enjoy <3

Summary: As Azriel struggles to navigate a situation where he could lose you no matter what he chooses, take a look into his own heart.

Pairing: Azriel x Reader, Rhysand x Sister!Reader

Warnings: Elain slander, dying, self-sacrificing thoughts

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Azriel had lost count of how many hours it had been since he had threatened to eventually murder Elain.

And he was losing damned mind.

Every single day he had sat in the chair beside your sleeping form….you were breathing, which was an improvement from the heaving and choking in your sleep that alarmed Madja enough to order the inner circle to start taking turns watching over you. Madja believed that your condition improved because he was finally turning away from Elain, but that was what the bond sensed. Without your mind, your own belief to ensure your heart, your condition was bound to deteriorate again.

And yet you could not wake up so he could explain.

So he could apologise.

So he could beg for your forgiveness.

Everyday without making the decision to let Madja just remove the roots of the flowers seemed like a gamble, but after what had been discovered, what Cassian had caught Elain doing, the entire inner circle was not sure if it would be better to let your relationship go, or let you go.

Both scenarios, Azriel would lose.

In both situations, Azriel would lose you forever and a part of him felt like maybe he deserved it. If you ever woke up, ever wanted revenge to make him feel guilty for what had been done, regardless the fact that it had been out of his control, you would have gotten it in spades when he realised that his ignorance, his belief that he could help just one more person, his blindness to the Elain’s darkness, had caused him a situation that would cost him no matter what he did.

And in that, all he could do daily was hold your hand, and weep.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

“Go shower Azriel. It’s been three days,” Cassian said softly. The shadowsinger merely moved his head to gaze at his friend who leaned against the door frame. Not out of habit but because he genuinely needed the support. Azriel saw the eyebags under Cassian’s eyes, his tired exhausted expression not far from the one Azriel wore.

When Azriel simply shook his head, bringing his gaze back to his mate, not wanting to move another muscle, Cassian groaned.

“Azriel she won’t die within the time it takes you to take a quick bath, please, you need it,” However, Azriel once again did not move, this time not even deigning Cassian a response. The latter simply sighed before making his way towards Rhys’s office, pushing the door open to see Rhysand surrounded by various books, piles of them in the corner, some of them discarded with pages torn out.

“Rhys…?” Cassian knocked on the slightly ajar door.

Violet eyes met Cassian’s hazel ones and Rhys simply let out a breath before standing, checking the time by glancing at the window behind him, “Ah…it’s dark….I did not notice,” He simply stated awkwardly, moving to gather up some of the books from his desk, no doubt to bring it with him to his and Feyre’s room to further study until the waking hours of the next morning.

It broke Cassian’s heart to see his brothers in such a state.

Broke his own heart to see you lying there completely unconscious, every few days needing Madja to extract flowers from your throat.

The women of the house had isolated themselves to their own rooms. Mor came to your room every few hours to check on you however she stayed in her room surrounded by a similar book pile as Rhys, trying to consult her own oracles of truth to see if they had any answers. Amren had gone over to the summer court with Varian to see if they had any records that the Night Court did not, Nesta looked through the libraries with the priestesses, passing anything she found that may be useful to Feyre who scanned through them.

All this and nothing.

They had come up short.

Contacting Thesan, Helion, even Tamlin to see if there was any connections of the disease to the spring court, had come to nothing. No answers. No solutions.

Finally, as Cassian rounded the corner of the house he entered the room they had been keeping Elain in. There she was chained to the ground staring at the wall. For a moment Cassian would have felt bad for how hollow she looked, however his guilt was quickly swallowed by the anger he felt for what she had done to cause your current state.

“I see how you can help her…” Elain suddenly said, her eyes flitting to Cassian, “When minds connect, when you travel through souls,” She hummed before continuing to fiddle with the hem of her dress. Her cheeks were sunken in and hollow, her eyes now held a sharp and piercing stare instead of the soft glint. For once, Elain Archeron’s true colours were on full display.

At her words however, Cassian froze, his tone dropping to a dangerous timbre, “Do you know how to save Y/N,” Elain hummed, “I’ll tell you….for a price.”

“Do you really think that you are in a position to bargain?”

“She’s running out of time isn’t she?”

Cassian bit down on his tongue, hard. Storming out of the room he slammed the door shut, letting out a pained and frustrated roar.

Elain knew. Or at least there was a possibility that she knew. However, her calm demeanour and unflinching attitude showed Cassian no signs of lies. She knew how to save you but she wanted something out of it.

With a silent prayer, Cassian swore to himself he’d find the way to save you even if he had to pry it out of the memories in Elain’s dead body.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

“So she knows how to save my sister,” Rhys confirmed, Cassian nodded, “That’s what she claims. If she’s lying then she’s damned good at it, however she’s suggesting a bargain, I didn’t pry into the details she was thinking of.”

Not without Rhysand himself present.

Not without Azriel.

The three brothers looked at each other, Azriel’s hand was holding yours, had been holding yours since Rhysand and Cassian had come into the room saying that they had something to discuss.

“We should ask her what she wants,” Azriel muttered softly, his voice hoarse and raspy from not using it for a while.

“And if she asks for your hand?” Cassian challenged, “Then we’ll find a way to break the bargain like how Feyre and Rhysand did, but for now our focus is to save her.”

It was then Rhysand recognised his brother for once after all this time, the shadow singer who would do anything to keep you safe, the self-sacrificing spy master who would sacrifice himself, his choices just to save you.

“Let’s go then,” Rhysand concluded, standing from his stool, Cassian pushed off the wall he had been leaning against and Azriel graced the back of your hand with a soft kiss before standing, casting you one last glance before following his brothers out. Nesta replaced Azriel’s position on the stool, promising the shadow singer to keep watch of you until he returned.

Following his brothers down the hallway, Azriel’s mind flooded with memories of sneaking down these halls to get away with you, memories of coming home and seeing you in the hallway, collapsing into your loving arms. Thoughts of your love and you consumed him and he shuddered under the weight of his own grief.

He could not lose you.

He would not lose you.

And so as Azriel stepped into the room of Elain’s captivity, levelling her with a glare, inside Azriel knew that he would sacrifice anything just to hold you.

Part 3 is here!!

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

A/N: please reply if you want to be tagged in part 3 people tagged in part 2 will not be tagged again in part 3 unless they ask in replies. Thank you <3

Azriel taglist: @kemillyfreitas @going-through-shit @chessebookgirl @helloworlditsmesblo (please ask if you want to be added to AZRIEL'S taglist - this is NOT the same as part 3 taglist)

[throneofsapphics]

hiii can you grant my christmas wish??

I WISH FOR DARK POLY WITH ANYONE

- weird 🧠 anon 💗💗

dangerous hands

poly!feysand x reader

summary: Feyre and Rhys debate how to get through to you. 

warnings: dark poly!feysand, light smut, shoving

word count: 1006

a/n: yes I can! merry christmas to you!

Rhys ran his finger down your shoulder, you tightened under his touch. The corners of his mouth turned down, that was unusual. Usually his touch had the opposite effect on you.

He flattened his palm on your shoulder, the tense cord of your muscle beneath his fingers. Fingertips dug into your skin as he leaned down, his mouth mere inches from your ear. “Is everything alright, love?”

“Fine,” you replied, a moment too quick.

His hand moved, trailing across your chest to grip you, just firm enough for you to know he had control, that in a moment he could snap your neck and end your existence. He'd never do it, he loves you too dearly to let you die, even if that was your one true desire. Besides, your death would destroy Feyre, and he could never do that to her.

He tilted your head back enough for their eyes to meet. “I don't like liars.”

You swallowed, her throat bobbing under his grip. “I'm not lying.” Rhys released you abruptly, shoving her a few paces away. You stumbled, barely catching yourself on the table, fingers white knuckled around wood, breaths heavy, head bowed.

Rhys loved you, but right now he had other things to worry about. “We'll talk later,” he said, and watched as you fled the room. Probably off to tell Feyre, and in turn get him in trouble with his mate. Sometimes, his brothers and cousins words about you would pop into his mind, but he never questioned if they were right. He always knew they had to be wrong.

You were one of the loves of his life, after all. A burgeoning artist Feyre had discovered in the rainbow quarter and taken under her wing, and eventually into their household.

-

They promised they wouldn’t go into your mind again, not after last time

“But I know she’s lying to me. She’ll be asleep, she won’t know,” Rhys insisted, running a hand through his hair.

“That makes it worse. I don’t want to lose her either,” Feyre glanced at their closed bedroom door, “but that’s a sure way to make it happen.”

She had a different look on how to handle situations like this with you. Rhys would try to push his way through, attempt a hundred different ways of getting through to you, but Feyre had learned patience worked best, that you'd come to them when you were ready. After all, you'd already learned there was no getting away from them.

But if the time came where she had to draw a line between invading your subconscious and losing you? Feyre already knew which side she stood on. The three of you were made, destined, to be together, no matter what it took. No matter what lines might need to be crossed, but there was a balance and she was doing her best to strike it.

“Let's go to bed,” Feyre murmured to Rhys, leaning up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He turned and their mouths caught each other, meeting in a sweet night's dream. He backed her against the wall, hands around her waist. One leg parted hers, her head arching back as he pressed against her core.

Just before a gasp could escape her lips, his hand pressed over her mouth, his lips grazing her ear. “Can you make yourself come like this, Feyre darling?”

She nodded rapidly.

Minutes later, the door opened and they slipped inside. You were laid near the edge of the bed, one arm hanging off. Normally they'd roll you to the middle, but Feyre glanced at Rhys, the evidence that he hadn't been completely satisfied, and slipped into the middle of the bed.

Neither noticed when you slipped out in the middle of the night. Neither noticed when a lone figured crossed past the wards surrounding their home. Neither noticed as you tasted freedom, bittersweet on your tongue.

-

They could forgive any sin of yours, but this one was stretching it. You couldn't save yourself, you were vulnerable, in danger, and despite his attempt to move the moon and stars to get you back to them, Rhys couldn't find you.

He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the end of the now constantly disheveled strands.

Feyre was pensive, Nyx wouldn't stop crying, and Rhys? Rhys couldn't fix his mind.

They'd entertained the thought that you were taken for approximately five seconds, you'd been biting at the leash, so to say, for far too long for that to be reasonable, but they hadn't stricken it entirely. Did you stage your own kidnapping somehow?

Sleep. Rhys needed to sleep, his thoughts kept circling over and over to dangerous places.

He should've slipped into your mind, ignored Feyre's concerns, ignored everything raging against his instincts.

One week without you, and they were falling apart at the seams. Not even that, the entire world felt like it was exploding. He was back in the war, Feyre in spring with limited contact, but this time? He couldn't reach you, no matter how hard he tried. Had you been afraid they'd read your mind and find impenetrable barriers?

Had someone gifted you something to block them out? Did something like that exist?

This line of thinking was getting him absolutely nowhere, but every mental road he led down always brought him back to more…

“Fucking questions,” Rhys slammed his hand down on his desk. “I need a damned answer,” he whispered, a broken plea.

“I might have something for you,” Azriel appeared in the doorway. He wasn't surprised he'd managed to sneak up on him like that. It wasn't too terribly hard to do in his current state, at least for a shadowsinger.

Still, he lifted his head to meet unreadable hazel eyes as the male crossed the short distance between them, letting a folded piece of paper flop down on the table.

He unfolded it, and for the first time in a week, Rhys grinned. The type of grin that promised retribution.

[myfictionaldreams]

request: nyx x female reader where they’re matted but don’t know it and reader visits him at the illyrian camps and she gets hurt and nyx loses it

Don't Touch // Adult!Nyx (ACoTaR) x Fem!Reader

A/N: I can't even thank you enough, anon, for this request! I've been desperate to write something like this (especially including my sweet love Nyx; I have an entire headcanon/long-form story of him already, oops). Thank you for requesting! To you or anything else, please request more SJM fics, I am adoring writing them.

Warning: there is a description of visibly seeing the colour of bruising on the skin. Also, intense emotions and responses to situations due to the mating bond.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, angst, minor injuries, possessive behaviour/sex, obsessive behaviour, over-the-top reaction (or just right depends how you like your partners), threats of violence, aggression, rough sex, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie, size kink, intense emotions/sex, sex until passing out :)

Words: 6.3k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

"I've never seen you like this before, Mor" You observe your friend closely as the beautiful blonde woman checks her reflection in the glass of a passing shop.

Morrigan paused, where she was currently trying to perfect her already stunning hair. Trying not to baulk from the intense, fiery stare that turned your way as she raised a single well-groomed eyebrow and attempted to sound as unconcerned as possible, "I don't know what you're referring to. I'm acting completely and utterly sane".

Linking an arm with your friend, you both continued to walk as you sarcastically agreed, "Oh yes, of course. Except that was the tenth time you've stopped to stare at your reflection and tried to fix your already pristine hair, Morrigan".

Mor rolled her brown eyes playfully, moving closer as a brisk wind brushed over the two of you. "You already know I'm vain; why is it such an issue if I want to stare at myself?" she asked, leading in the direction the two of you were walking.

"I didn't say there was an issue. I'm just pointing out that we're heading towards a certain someone's shop, and she's going to love how you look no matter what". Mor hid her face for once, but you could still see the rosy colour deepening in her cheeks.

She quickly recovered by lifting her head and flicking the blonde strands behind her shoulders. "You're one to talk. I've seen you searching over your shoulder 50 times now. Wouldn't it be because of a certain family member of mine, would it?"

There was no hiding the grin that spread across your face as your pulse quickened ever so slightly. "Nyx doesn't even know that I'm in Windhaven. I might not even see him; I'm not here for him."

"Who says I was talking about Nyx? I'm pretty sure Feyre and Rhys are here too", she laughs as you shove your shoulder into hers playfully. As you both calm down, Mor's expression turns more serious. She glances at you, "I'm surprised he hasn't sensed you're here yet. I also don't necessarily think he'll welcome you with open arms; he's attempted to shield you from this side of his life. As hard as we are trying to change the cultures and traditions of the Illyrians, most of them are still unpleasant to be around, especially if you happen to be a female, wings or not."

"You didn't have to bring me here, you know".

"Yes, well, don't make me regret it. Stay nice and close to me, and anyway", Mor paused as she paused outside Emeries shop. "I needed an excuse to come here", she admitted with as much sheepishness as Morrigan would ever allow another person to see.

You couldn't help but grin as you squealed, "Ha! I knew it!"

The bell dinged above the shop door as you followed the blonde through the door. The answer, welcomed by Emerie by the counter, "There you both are! Welcome to Windhaven, stay away from the males, and please have a lovely time", she beams, walking around the counter towards Mor.

Glancing around to give both women a private moment, you admired her shop and eyed some of the winter clothing that would be perfect for the cold weather approaching Velaris in a few months. As you ran your fingers over the lining of a beautiful coat and casually suggested over your shoulder, "If you want, I can watch the shop if you two happen to find your way upstairs. Didn't you say you have some new socks in the back room?"

"Oh yes, thank you for the reminder!" Emerie played with your antics and took Mor's hand, dragging her into the back. Smiling at seeing their happiness, you couldn't help but let your mind wander to the man whom you'd been searching for from the second of landing in Windhaven.

You and Nyx had been friends since childhood. You'd spotted a young boy flying over the Sidra, mesmerised by the freeness of his movements, not watching where you were walking, tripped and scratched your knee on the pavement. Having watched it all from the sky, Nyx landed beside you and helped you home. He hadn't laughed like the other children; he'd shown compassion and kindness.

The son of the High Lord and Lady quickly became one of your closest friends, spending every waking hour possible together when you weren't in lessons or he was in training. Along the way, lines became blurred, and you were infatuated with one another. The relationship was intense, to say the least, and the two of you often joked about being mates, but no sign of the bond had occurred yet.

Not that this mattered to you. You were thoroughly and obsessively in love with Nyx, and he was with you. In fact, his obsession and possessive behaviour were renowned throughout Velaris. Every occupant knew that you were Nyx's; if a single hair on your head was out of place, he would bring all of the power of the Night Court down on them. It was extreme at first, but in truth, you were not much of a fighter, so being able to walk around Velaris with the reputation of belonging to Nyx was a relief.

Now, however, it had been weeks since you saw him as he'd been training with the other Illyrians, and even though he used his daemati skills to talk mind to mind with you or he left intimate little notes throughout your home, it couldn't ease the ache in your chest. So when Mor mentioned visiting Emerie's shop in Windhaven, you jumped at the opportunity to see, hoping you'd run into him, even if he didn't want you near the camps.

Lost in your thoughts of black hair and vibrant blue eyes, you'd not noticed that someone had entered the shop until a male growled from behind you, "Where is she?"

Jumping and turning on the spot, you looked the Illyrian over from the golden-brown skin covered in the darkest black tattoos that stretched up his neck and over the sides of his shaved head, leaving a tuft of hair down the centre. His membranous wings were widely spread as he stood in a defensive stance, fists tightly clenched at his side and armour creased from lack of care.

"Who?" you asked innocently, facing him fully and trying not to let his anger intimidate you even though you could already smell the sourness of your anxiety and fear in the air. The stranger walks forward, the tips of his wings knocking into a collection of hats, all toppled to the floor. "Watch where you're walking!"

The male stops a step away, tilting his head and frowning with even more vigour, "What did you just say to me?" As he took another step forward, you matched his step with one backwards until you were pressed against the wall with him towering over you.

"Just - Just watch it, ok? You're knocking over the display" You pointed to the knocked-over items, but he didn't take his eyes off of you, searching over your body until your skin crawled with discomfort.

"Wherever that thief is, give her this", he shoves the letter that had been screwed up in his meaty hands into your chest. You gasp out loud at the pain that rips through your shoulder, knowing it is going to bruise, and you have to look away to hide the tears that had formed as you grasp the letter and watch him leave.

It was only as the bell rang as the male exited that Emerie and Mor rushed into the room with a dagger in hand as they rushed to your side. If it wasn't for the shock and pain in your shoulder, you would have commented and jested how they both looked flustered with dishevelled hair and swollen lips, but this was the last thing on your mind now.

"Who was just here? Why do you smell of fear?" Mor asked as she rested a hand on your arm, looking at you furiously with concern.

"I don't know his name, but he gave me this for you, Emerie." You held out the letter, ignoring how your fingers trembled as she accepted it with a roll of her eyes.

"His name is Prumlos. He works closely with my uncle, and they believe they have rights to my shop. No matter how often I tell them, they keep coming back. Unlucky for me, he trains here in Windhaven and often brings new threatening letters from my extended family. He's a really brute", she pauses as she eyes you closely, "are you ok? Did he harm you in any way?"

Swallowing the thick lump formed in your throat, you attempt to compose yourself, not wishing to seem weak in front of these two strong females. Maybe you'd been sheltered too much throughout your life, but you didn't want to be emotionally broken just because one arrogant male was rude to you, even if your shoulder throbbed terribly.

"He just gave me the letter", you managed to spit out, not looking either female in the eye.

"Bullshit. I can still smell your fear; what did he do?" Mor demanded, stepping closer.

"Nothing! I mean, he was just an arrogant male and just wanted to scare me. I'm fine, really. But could we go, please? Sorry, I know we've only just arrived. Maybe I can wait for you in the High Lord's mother's home, Mor? I just need to be shown the way". You held your breath, waiting for Mor to answer, hoping she didn't try to question you further, but thankfully, she agreed.

"I'm sorry you've been shaken up; I hope it hasn't deterred you from coming to visit me every so often," Emerie smiled gently while holding your hand.

Thanking her, you and Mor left the store and began walking down the street. "Are you sure you're ok? I can see you're still shaken up; talk to me, Little star", Mor asks a couple of silent minutes later and hearing the nickname the inner circle had named you from a child finally brought a smile to your face.

But then Mor tried to link her arm through yours, and you couldn't help but flinch as the movement caused the pain in your shoulder to worsen. Mor noticed and stopped abruptly, turning you towards her, "He did hurt you, didn't he? Tell me so I can go and deal with him".

"No! Please, Mor, can we just go? You know I hate violence".

"Do you want me to go and find Nyx?" she asked, lowering her voice.

"No!" you say urgently, looking up at her with wide eyes, "Please don't, you know how he'd react. I just want to go to Rhys' mother's home and forget about the day. I'll speak to Nyx another time".

With great reluctance, Mor nods, and the two of you continue the walk back to the home. Once inside and next to the fire, you could finally stop and relax, especially as Mor offered you a hefty glass of wine to help your nerves.

After half an hour of sipping away at the absurdly expensive win, shoes off and feet tucked beneath you, Mor suddenly sat up further in her seat with a smile, informing you, "You're about to be a very happy female".

You're confused by her statement, but then you feel it: the connection in your heart is strengthening, like the missing piece to you was suddenly warming and filling in. The front door opened, and Feyre and Rhys walked in first, followed by Cassian and Nyx.

You're half aware of Cassian's joyful greeting: "Ah, Little star! You've finally come to join the camps. We'll have you trained in no time".

You stand quickly, eyes only on Nyx as he stands in the doorway, not breathing as he stares only at you. One second, you're near the table, and the next, you're running full speed towards him, sliding across the wooden floor with your socks, not that you care as you're suddenly in his arms.

The pain had diminished the second you were reunited with him. All you cared about was breathing him in, the relaxing scents of spice and lavender, the strength of his arms as they wrapped around your waist, keeping you up off of your feet that had tucked around his hips. Your fingers clenched into curling hair at the nape of his neck, not caring that it was sweaty from where he'd been training. He could be covered in mud, and you would have jumped into his arms with as much enthusiasm.

The others in the room pretended to look busy as he continued to hold you, his face moving into the nape of his neck, and he took a deep breath, breathing in your scents. Nyx's voice was like dark silk, wrapping around you entirely as he said, "I knew you were here. I mean, I thought I was losing my mind; an hour ago, the tightness in my chest eased".

You couldn't help but giggle, kissing his cheek, "That was me; I arrived about an hour ago". Pulling back in his arms, the back of your fingers caressed against his cheek, admiring the light stubble that had grown since you'd last seen him. "I like this", you admire.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his thumbs stroking circles from where he still held up your body.

"I came to see my best friend, of course", you claimed, watching his handsome features as his smile grew to a grin, the dimple in his cheek deepening beneath your thumb. "Yes, I came to see my best friend Emerie", you joked as Nyx rolled his crystal blue eyes before moving his face back to nuzzle against your jaw.

"I've missed you", he mumbles, not caring that you both had an audience and your heart clenched tighter at the need in his voice.

"I've missed you too, more than you could ever know".

"If you two aren't mates, I'll eat my trousers", Cassian quips sarcastically over the rim of his glass of wine. Mor slaps his arm for interrupting as you're lowered back to the floor by Nyx, but you still lean on the tip of your toes, pushing your chest against his to remain close.

Admiring the passionate way Nyx is searching your face, you turn to grin as Cass is over your shoulder when the sudden deathly shift in the air has you freezing. The faelights casting a golden glow across the house dimmed as the room became cold, the fire extinguishing in a single breath.

Your head spins as you turn back to Nyx, who is staring at the opening of your shirt beneath your neck.

"What's that mark?" Nyx asked, his voice a terrifying tone you'd only heard on a handful of occasions. Instinctively, you were stepping back, but his gentle hand grabbed yours, keeping you close. You can sense his family moving closer, and Nyx doesn't wait for you to answer his question. He carefully releases your hand and pushes aside the material of your blouse until your shoulder is exposed.

Glancing down, you could see now that where Prumlos had shoved the letter into your shoulder earlier had now formed a deep purple bruise. Nyx leans forward, sniffs your skin, and his spine instantly stiffens.

"Who did that to you?" he asks, voice thick with venom and anger.

You're unable to give him an answer as Mor is suddenly by your side, holding open your shirt to stare at the injury as she gasps, "I asked if he hurt you!"

"He?!" Nyx growls, looking between Mor and you.

Attempting to take a step away from both of them, you try and calm the energy, sensing it is escalating to a level that could not be returned from. It wasn't that Nyx was scaring you; it was quite the opposite, as his protection made you feel safe; you were just frightened that he would do something he couldn't undo and start a war within the camps.

"I'm fine; it doesn't even hurt anymore" you tried to reason, but that only made Nyx breathe heavily out of his nose as he turned to Mor.

"Who did this? Give me his name. Tell me right now, Morrigan!"

Thankfully, Mor didn't answer immediately and glanced at you from the corner of your eye, knowing that you didn't want to cause a fuss, so she didn't respond immediately, which only frustrated Nyx more in his crusade for revenge. "This is why you shouldn't have bought her here! I told you on multiple occasions that it wasn't safe!"

"Nyx, you need to take a breath; maybe you and your father should go outside and release some of that energy" Feyre tried to reason with him, stepping closer, but it was useless; Nyx was like a boiling pot of deathly anger. Shadows pulsed and darkened around him, travelling up the length of his muscular arms and around his neck. Rhys and Cassian finally began to step forward, moving into a warrior stance between Mor, Feyre and Nyx, even attempting to urge you behind them, but there was no way you were being forced away from Nyx.

Stepping toe to toe with him, your fingers moved back to cradling his face, forcing his now icey eyes onto you, and for a fraction of a second, he seemed calmer. "Nyx, please listen to me, I'm fine. Everything is ok, it was just-"

You were unable to finish your sentence because his knees buckled, and he audibly gulped down air as all signs of anger and pain disappeared from his eyes and tears lined the edges. "Nyx?"

"Mate", he whispers in awe, leaning his forehead against yours as his arms come around your waist, holding you delicately.

You could feel it, too, like an elastic band was tied around your heart, strengthening with each passing second. "I can feel it too"," you confirmed with glee, tears beginning to fill your eyes with the sudden realisation of what was happening. You and Nyx were mates. The Cauldron had blessed you both; even after waiting what felt like a lifeline for the bond to confirm itself, you both knew it had only been a matter of time. The relief was unlike anything you'd ever experienced before.

"Finally!" Cassian cheered, loosening his warrior stance to return to his glass of wine, raising it towards where you and Nyx stood in the entryway. "Welcome to the family, Little Star!"

You grin up tearfully towards Nyx, who in turn returns the joy, but that all disappears as the anger and rage return full force as he growls, "Someone hurt my mate". Moving away from you, he faces Mor and demands, "Tell me his name, Mor, I know you know it. Don't make me find it out".

Morrigan shifts, rolling her shoulders back as she looks down at Nyx, which is an incredible feat considering the fact that he is considerably taller than her. "Are you threatening me, Nyx??

"He hurt my mate!" he bellows at her, but she doesn't so much as flinch as she shifts her gaze to you, looking like she's contemplating a hundred thoughts at once. Then, without looking away, she confirms the man's name.

"Prumlos".

Nyx vanishes before you have time to stop him, and seconds pass before the ground trembles and shakes the home's foundation. 

"No! I didn't want violence! Why did you tell him, Mor?!" you gawped at the blond, who didn't look remotely sorry.

As Rhysand grabs Cassian and winnows away, Mor steps closer with Feyre at her side. "I told him because we protect our own. Not only has he hurt you, but he's also threatening Emerie; he deserves what's coming to him. In fact, I shouldn't have faltered with telling Nyx, that is my only regret".

You feel defeated and stare at your feet with a thousand thoughts dizzying your mind. Was Nyx ok? Was he hurt? When would he come back? He was your mate. Nyx was YOUR mate.

A pair of brown leather boots entered your vision as Feyre stepped close, wrapping an arm carefully over your not-injured shoulder as she directed you towards the table, kissing your cheek as she moved, "Welcome to the family, properly that is. You've always been one of us, Little Star. Now, why don't you take a seat and I'll see if we have any healing ointments remaining in the cupboards".

Thankfully, Feyre had found a purple ointment that had already worked enough that the pain in your shoulder was considerably less, and the colour of the bruising was now a subtle yellow. Nibbling nervously on the corner of your thumb as you awaited your mate's return, it finally dawned on you. "Wait, how am I supposed to do this? Aren't mates supposed to have a ceremony or something?"

"There can be a ceremony where you offer Nyx some food; we can organise it once we return to Velaris if you'd like? Or if you'd rather not wait, you could offer him food whenever you'd like", Feyre explained warmly with a gentle smile that matched Nyx's.

"I don't think I want to wait. We've all known we would be mates, and waiting for this bond has been slow, so I don't want to wait to accept his bond.

"Why don't you go and have a look in the kitchen? There might be something here", Mor encouraged with a nod towards the back of the house.

You scoured the kitchen cupboards for any sort of food, but with the house having not been in proper use for years, there was nothing except some stale bread on the kitchen table with suspicious-looking green mould on the edges. Even after ripping away the discoloured sections of the bread, you still eyed it with uncertainty.

Stepping out of the kitchen and returning to the dining area, you were surprised to find that Mor and Feyre had gone, and Nyx now stood calmly in the centre of the room, his eyes watching your every breath.

"Where did everyone go?" you ask, trying to fill the thick tension with some noise.

Nyx smiled, not enough to show his dimple but enough to have your shoulders dropping with ease as he stated, "I don't care where they've gone, as long as you remain". Those blazing eyes lowered to your hands as he sucked in a powerful breath as he looked at the stale bread that you were still holding.

As he took several steps forward, you couldn't help but ask, "What did you do to him?"

"What he deserved". There wasn't a speck of blood on his leathery uniform. "What are you doing with that bread?" he asked in a low voice.

You're unsure why you're so nervous when you answer, "Oh, um. It was meant to be for you. I can't find anything else for the mating bond, but it's stale and has mould over it. Maybe I can find a little shop here to find some proper food and serve that to you- NYX!"

Closing the gap between you, he takes the bread out of your hands and, without taking his eyes off of yours, begins to chew the bread that was so clearly dry and stale as he chewed for considerably longer than he should have.

As he finally swallows, you're reaching up for him, resting your hands on his chest and feeling the racing of his heart beneath your palms. "You're my mate", you breathe in awe, forgetting everything that had happened that day and only focusing on the man before you.

"I am. I'm yours, and you're mine", he states with as much wonderment as you felt in your soul.

Grinning up at him, you remind him, "Forever. You're mine forever". The tension beneath your fingers eases as he takes a steadying breath, and then his eyes lower to the edges of your blouse.

You watch with bated breath as he checks the mostly healed bruise. "I'm sorry if I frightened you earlier".

"Nyx, you could never frighten me, " you reassure and tip a finger beneath his chin so that he has to look at your face, not the injury.

"I've always wanted to keep you safe. Seeing that bruise on you today, I was ready to destroy the world to find out who harmed you".

"I know". You watch as he nuzzles into your palm, kissing the centre as you try to lighten the mood, "You're very intense, you know that, right" you say with a light laugh.

Nyx grins, that precious dimple capturing your attention. "I'm more than intense; I'm obsessed. I've been obsessed for years, and now, there's no escaping me" he chuckles as his hand cups around the backs of your thighs and lifts you up, your arms and legs wrapping around his firm body.

"I thought it was just me with the obsession", you retort whilst curling your fingers into his hair once more. Leaning your forehead against him, you both just breathe the other in, eyes closed and hearing the hearts beating as one.

"There hasn't been a second since you entered my life where I haven't wanted you to be by my side. I think I always knew, even when we were children. And now, you're mine".

"Officially", you joke with a giggle, squeezing your arms and legs more firmly around him.

"Officially, my mate", he agrees and then sighs, balancing your weight on one arm so that he could move aside your blouse and kiss the lightening bruise. "I don't want you to come back here again if you can help it. I don't trust these males".

"That's fine with me. I don't particularly want to return, no matter how lovely Emerie's shop is. I don't know how you can stand to be here, let alone train with them", you agreed wholeheartedly.

"You deserve to be in nice and happy places like Velaris, and I can deal with dreadful places like this. It's in my blood, after all". Nyx took a moment to admire your beauty before he stepped forward and winnowed the two of you into his bedroom in the River House in Velaris. "Finally back where we both belong. Now, you're wearing too many clothing articles".

"Wait, don't you have training?" you ask in confusion.

"Not anymore. They'll have to come here and fight me to drag me back to that shit hole tonight. I have other plans now anyway". As he finished talking, he gently eased you onto the navy silk sheets of his bed, resting his arm next to your head as he looked down at you.

You giggle as his hair falls into his face. Reaching up, you pushed the dark curls back to see him grinning at you with just as much glee. "Mmm, I love that sound", he admires before lowering his face to the junction of your neck, his lips pressing against the sensitive area, causing a shiver to burst over your skin.

"What sound?" you ask in a daze.

"You laughing. Your happiness. It's the best sound in the world", he groans as his lips travel up the slope of your neck before teasing your earlobe.

"You're being extra soppy today, Nyx", you say halfheartedly, secretly loving how open he was with his emotions.

However, the man above you freezes, his mouth next to your ear as he asks, "Say that again".

You know exactly which word he wanted you to repeat as you sigh happily, close your eyes and say, "Nyx".

He moans deeply, his hips rutting into the bed with a thrust as a shiver shakes his large frame. "Again," he asks as he lowers his hands to palm your breasts through your blouse.

It was your turn to sigh before whispering, "Nyx".

He lowers his body, kissing down your sternum as he unbuttons the material, exposing your bra and soft skin to him. Your fingers continue to weave through his hair, subtly scratching against his scalp as he doesn't stop on his journey lower. Next, he removes your jeans and socks until all that remains is your underwear.

He appeared to be a man possessed as he stared at you beneath him, biting your lip in need. With an easy snap of his fingers, he tore through the centre of your bra and pushed the useless straps off of your shoulders and down your arms and then repeated the tearing with your underwear.

Nyx utterly admired every inch of your body, his eyes full of emotions and desires. He seemed conflicted, though, unsure whether to spend his sweet time kissing and tasting every inch of your body. Still, as you spread your legs and directed him where you truly wanted him, he growled lowly, lowering his body until he kneeled next to the bed, arms wrapped around your thighs and feasted between your legs.

"Nyx!" you cried out, eyes closing and back arching from the stimulation.

The two of you had been intimate for years, both losing your virginities together and exploring each other's bodies; you knew one another better than yourselves. Nyx liked to show this off as he perfectly flicked his tongue and held you firmly with his hands; you were begging in a matter of seconds. The man bringing you closer and closer to the edge chuckled as he felt you tremble with restraint, knowing he was only doing enough to keep you on the very brink, loving the desperate little cries you released until it was all too much, and you cried out, "Please! Nyx!"

Sucking on your clit was all that he needed to do to have you spiralling into euphoric bliss. Your thighs trembled as they squeezed around his head, but he would happily be suffocated between your legs, so let the warmth of the press into his cheeks until you'd calmed down enough to relax the muscles.

Breathlessly, you looked down your body to where he was grinning, kissing the top of your pubis before licking his shiny lips.

"You're wearing too many clothes". The armour he was wearing vanished in a flicker of magic. Sitting up on the bed, your hands wound around his toned shoulders,  feeling the muscle ripple and move beneath as you tugged him closer and kissed him with all the desperation you could muster.

Both of you were moving with such urgency that your emotions were overwhelmed, tears spilling down your cheeks as you cried out the words, "Mine!" repeatedly. You'd heard of the frenzy after a mating bond is accepted, but you never anticipated it to feel this chaotic. You needed every single inch of him, wanted to taste his body, feel the warmth of his skin, and hear the moans from between his lips. There was too much to do, and your brain was engulfed with the need to do everything simultaneously.

Gripping onto his arms, you pulled Nyx so that he was now the one lying in the centre of the bed as you moved to straddle over his waist. With your lips still desperately moving together, tongue caressing and deepening into each other's mouths, your hands finally grasped around the thick, veiny length of your mate.

During any other intimate moment, you would have admired the sheer size of him or the beautiful sensation of him throbbing between your fingers, but right now, all you were desperate to do was give him pleasure.

Squeezing your fingers more firmly around the shaft, you moved up and down, using your thumb to smear the precum over the head. He shivered at the touch, his abs tightening and flexing as he groaned in pleasure.

"Need to be inside of you", he pleaded against your lips. You didn't need to tell twice as you roused high on your knees and direct the tip of his cock towards your drenched hole. You only gave yourself a second to adjust to the sheer size of him before you were rotating your hips and beginning to rock back and forth with increasing speed.

Nyx's arms wrapped around your spine, reaching to grasp onto the back of your shoulder so he had a good foundation to hold and fuck his hips up in time to meet yours. The firmness of his strokes had you seeing stars with how deep he felt. You were utterly consumed by Nyx.

The two of you were fucking each other with such a bruising pace that all you could do was dig your nails into his chest and ride him like your life depended on it. It was only a matter of minutes until you were coming, squeezing your walls tightly around his cock until he, too, was tipping his head back and grunting your name with his own pleasure.

You all but collapsed on top of his chest, greedily sucking in air that smelled entirely of him, and you couldn't get enough. It seemed he couldn't for you either as you continued to feel his hardness within you, not softening even after his orgasm.

Before long, with your face still plastered to his sweaty chest, your hips began to roll, his cock nudging deep inside of you.

"I can't fucking get enough of you", you gasp as he throbbed within you.

Nyx rolled the two of you over, so now he was on top, your legs repositioned so that they were against his shoulders, and you were all but bent in half, the angle meaning he could fuck even deeper.

"Yes! Nyx, please don't stop!" you scream, reaching over his shoulders and stroking the sensitive membrane of his wings, watching them flare behind his back.

"Say it", he begs, his eyes glazed whilst looking down at you.

"Nyx!"

"Yes! Say you're mine!"

"I'm yours!" Nyx moves harder, his hand slipping down your legs until his thumb could circle your clit.

"That's right", he grunts between thrusts, "And I'm yours. Forever".

You orgasm so hard you're sure you black out for a couple of seconds because, in the next breath, Nyx is beside you, spooning himself around you, kissing along your collarbones and stroking his palm down your stomach.

"I didn't go too hard on you, did I?" he asks with a rough voice.

You smile softly whilst reaching up to scratch your nails behind his ear, tucking the curls behind his pointed ears, careful not to snag the strands on the multiple silver hoops in his ear. "Not at all, I loved every second".

Nyx grinned, and the starlight that usually glowed in his eyes returned for the first time that day, and he was finally at ease.

"I can't believe you ate that stale bread", you say, laughing at the memory.

"I would have eaten the mould too if you'd given it to me. Whatever food you gave me, I would have accepted it with need in my heart". Those perfect lips of his began to kiss across your cheek and down your throat; however, now that the madness of needing to have sex with him had calmed for a moment, you could actually look him over properly, and that's when you noticed the doting of bruises over his arms and chest, all in different stages of healing.

You tense and ask urgently, "Were these from him? Earlier in the day, I mean?"

Nyx moves away from kissing your throat to look at what you're referring to, shaking his head and casually explaining, "No, they're from training. That asshole didn't have time to make a move against me before I-". You'd lost the ability to hear anything further as a fire burned so thoroughly throughout your soul that it momentarily stole your breath. Red burning anger pulsed in your soul, unlike anything you'd ever experienced.

Before a coherent thought could drift through your mind, you're pushing away from Nyx and climbing out of bed on unsteady legs. Needing to half crawl on the floor before righting your posture, you marched towards his bedroom door.

"Woah, Little Star", Nyx is suddenly in front of you, blocking your exit as he holds his hands up.

You try and push past him, but he just carefully eases you away from the door, "Let me past!" you shout in frustration, trying to wiggle past him.

"I don't think so", he responds gently and calmly.

"Nyx, let me out of this house!" You don't get far through as he moves to press your body against the wooden door.

"And what exactly do you think you're going to do?"

Baring your teeth at him over your shoulder, you continued trying to get out of his hold. "I'll kill everyone who harmed you!"

"Oh really?" Nnyx says lightheartedly and with a slight chortle. "You'll kill them? Miss' I despise violence'?"

You turn around so that you're chest to chest with Nyx, looking up at his with eyes so full of fury he actually bulked and softened his laughter. "Whoever hurt you doesn't deserve to live! They hurt you. My mate. MY MATE. They won't live to see the night!"

Nyx wasn't sure how to calm you down, having never seen you with such anger pulsing through your veins before, but he did what he thought was best: distract you. His fingers clutched desperately into your hair as his mouth pressed against yours firmly enough to cause bruises.

You fight and push against him at first, but then thoughts of anger and pain dissolve into lust and need as you're once more desperately grabbing him. Tearing your mouth away, you kiss down his throat, tasting the salty spice of his natural scent.

"These feelings, they will pass", Nyx reassures as he closes his eyes, thoughts entirely on your mouth as you close your lips around his nipple, biting the sensitive bud.

"So you get to have revenge on someone that wrong me, but I don't get to do the same for you?" you ask whilst looking up at him through your lashes, your nails scratching down his abs before grabbing his once more hardening cock.

He releases another long breath, trying to keep his composure as he thrusts into your palm. "I'm saying that I've had a lifetime of training, and taking care of one pathetic asshole was light work. The mating bond is the intense anger you're feeling, protecting my pride. Everything is so new and fresh, but it will pass Little Star. You'll understand that these bruises were all part of my training in a couple of hours. Everyone has similar marks, making the training brutal and volatile. So this feeling, it will pass. Anyway, you are not leaving this room naked with my cum still dripping down my thighs".

You're finally beginning to relax as your harsh touches soften until you're gently cupping his shaft and looking up at him sheepishly, "I thought you would have liked it if everyone got to see who I belonged to?"

Turning on the spot, you rested your hot cheek against the cool wood of the door and began to grind your arse against his cock, "Mmm, don't tempt me", he growls against the side of your face as he moves closer, bending his knees so he could position his cock into your cunt.

Nyx proceeds to fuck you so hard against the door that it begins to crack down the centre. But neither of you stopped for hours. Not until you were both thoroughly exhausted that neither could stand.

"I love you," he whispers against your lips as you teeter on unconsciousness's edge.

"I love you too", you tiredly say back, eyes drooping, and the darkness of sleep welcomed you into its abyss.

[flickering-chandelier]

The Sweetest Con

Pairing: Modern! Rhysand x Reader

Summary: You and Rhys are rival lawyers, but when a case stumps him, you find yourself in a situation you never thought you would be in.

Based on this request! 🩷

Warnings: Sorry to any lawyers out there, I do not know what I’m talking about lol.

Word Count: 3.2k

All morning you had been steeling yourself, trying to mentally prepare for the meeting that was about to take place, the lawyer that you were about to see. 

Rhysand.

Honestly, you figured you would rather go up against pretty much anyone else in the world. It wasn’t just that he was conceited and obnoxious, which he definitely was. It wasn’t even the smugness that was a constant feature of his face.

No, the real problem was that he was good. Really good. 

And he knew it.

You had been the city’s top lawyer until he showed up nearly a year ago. Suddenly he was giving you a run for your money and competing with you for the clients with the biggest names. 

It was maddening. You hated him. You really, truly hated him. 

Which, of course, he loved.

This case was pretty minor in the grand scheme of things. An ex husband and wife land dispute. Your client, Amelia, was suing Rhysand’s client, trying to get the house. The four of you, the plaintiff, the defendant, and the lawyers, were holding a meeting to see if this could be worked out amicably. You always liked to take an opportunity to avoid playing dirty if you could help it.

Rhysand, of course, was just the opposite. It had taken many phone calls and a lot of pleading on your end to get him to even show up with his client. 

He stared across the table at you now, his eyes dark, unwavering. He was trying to intimidate you, you knew, but you were holding strong. You had never been someone who scared easily. And you were determined. You would not lose this case.

---

You lost the case. 

Amelia folded, giving in, letting her asshole ex-husband keep the house that she had helped him buy nearly a decade ago.

You were furious. Not at her, not at anybody but Rhysand, who had somehow been able to persuade your client that he knew what was best. 

The clients had left, and you had packed up your things, partway out the door when Rhysand purred after you, “Hey, Killer?”

Your shoulders tensed and you turned back to glare at him. “Don’t call me that.”

Rhysand smirked, his eyes dancing with delight. “Better luck next time.”

As you walked to your car, you were absolutely sure. You hated that man.

---

Weeks later, you were combing through files in your office for a case you were working on when your office phone rang. 

You let out a sigh when you recognized the number.

“What do you want?” you asked, your tone sharp. 

A deep chuckle on the other end. “That’s how you answer the phone?”

“When you’re the one calling.”

“Fair enough,” Rhysand said goodnaturedly. “I was hoping you could swing by my office sometime in the next few days. Whenever it’s convenient for you.”

You couldn’t help but pause for a beat in confusion, both at the request, and at his genial tone. “Why on earth would I do that?” 

Rhysand sighed quietly, seemingly resigned. “I need your help.”

His office was about what you had expected. A huge, deep mahogany desk, black armchairs, black drapes to block out the blinding afternoon sun from the window behind him. It was dark and imposing, just like the man himself. As always, he was wearing an all-black suit, and as always, he was looking at you with a twinkle in his eye, like he knew more than you did. 

In this case, you supposed it was true.

“I don’t understand,” you said finally. “What could I possibly help you with?”

Rhysand leaned back in his chair casually, placing his hands behind his head. It irritated you how nonchalant, how in control he always seemed. 

“As much as I hate to admit it, Killer, you’re smart. You pay attention to details, pick up on important pieces that a lot of lawyers would miss.”

You narrowed your eyes at the vexing nickname he had given you, but decided to let it pass. “So?” you asked. 

“So,” he said, drawing out the word, “this case I’ve been working on… it’s gotten complicated. And I could use a fresh pair of eyes to help untangle it.”

You crossed your arms, your eyes widening slightly, unable to hide your shock. “Me? I’m really the one you want help from?”

He blinked. “Yes. Did you not hear what I said?”

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you said, “I heard it, but I still don’t understand. We work at separate firms. You and I, we compete for clients all the time. Working together under the circumstances… it’s unheard of.”

Rhysand leaned forward, clasping his hands on the desk in front of him, his eyes sparking, his mouth curling up into a smirk. “Wouldn’t that make it all the more fun?”

“Fun?” You asked in disbelief. “Working with you?”

His smirk only grew. “Oh, I’m very fun. I promise.”

You bit your lip, your mind whirling. This man bothered you to no end. You would rather work with anyone else. 

And yet… 

It had been months since you had a case you could really sink your teeth into, one that you felt really mattered. On top of that, once word got out that you two, longtime rivals, were actually working together on a case? This could be huge for your career. 

Resignedly, you said, “Tell me everything I need to know.”

Rhysand grinned. “Gladly.”

---

You could understand why someone might want help with a case like this.  It was intense, with contradicting witnesses, no clear evidence, and to top it all off, it was high profile. 

The two of you spent hours in Rhysand’s office, combing over files while Rhysand talked, catching you up to speed. 

By the time you felt like you had a solid grasp of the case, the sun had set. You looked up from the file in front of you, your mind spinning from all of the information. Rhysand looked exhausted, though infuriatingly, still completely put together. 

His eyes softened a bit as he looked back at you, his brows furrowing together slightly. “We can pick this back up tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” he said decisively, snapping the folder in front of him shut. “We're not going to get any more work done if we’re this exhausted anyway.”

You nodded, tidying up the many folders on your side of Rhysand’s desk before slinging your gigantic purse over your shoulder.

You had turned for the door, but stopped short at Rhysand’s smug voice behind you, “You want to grab dinner?”

Narrowing your eyes, you turned back to face him. “With you? Absolutely not.”

His eyes sparkled with delight, his mouth curling up into a smirk. “Why not?”

“I still hate you. Working one case together won’t change that.”

Rhysand laughed. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

For several days, you got through your to-do list at your own office as quickly as possible to give you and Rhysand ample time to pore over documents, make calls, and bicker about what steps to take next. 

It was exhausting working with him. Even though he had been the one to seek out your “fresh eyes,” he still always thought that he was right. 

“I’m telling you this guy’s a dead end. I’ve spoken with him twice already,” Rhysand said, clearly exasperated, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. 

“And I’m telling you that you’re wrong. We’re missing something here, I know it.”

Rhysand sighed, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Fine. But it’s too late to talk to him tonight, so we’ll have to pick this back up tomorrow.”

“Fine,” you said begrudgingly. 

He looked at you with resignation as you gathered your things, like he was regretting ever getting you involved. Then, he said matter of factly, “Let’s get dinner.” 

You scowled. “I told you--”

“I know, I know. You hate me,” he said, shutting down his computer and standing up, stretching his arms over his head. “But we both need to eat.”

He just continued looking at you until you rolled your eyes and agreed.

After arguing for several minutes, you finally chose a restaurant that you both liked, and before long, you were settled into a comfy booth with Rhysand looking across the table at you. He always looked like he was scrutinizing every part of you, like he could see straight through to your soul.

You hated to admit it, but his eyes… they shone even in the dim lighting, so blue they were almost purple. You had never seen eyes like his in your life. 

His eyebrow lifted, his mouth curling into a smirk, and you realized you had been staring for too long. Hastily, you opened your menu, scanning its contents, though you could still feel his eyes on you.

Once you ordered, he cleared his throat, pinning you with his stare once again.

“What?” you lashed out. You felt like he was driving you insane.

Blinking in surprise, he asked, “What?”

“Why are you always staring at me?”

He laughed, his whole face lighting up. “I’m pretty sure you were staring at me.”

“I was not,” you countered, but even to your own ears, your voice sounded too high, too defensive.

Grinning, he said, “You were.”  

You just rolled your eyes, desperately trying to think of a topic change. 

“Why do you hate me so much?” he asked suddenly.

That was not the topic change that you were expecting. You looked at him in surprise for a moment, then counted the reasons on your fingers, “You came into town and stole half my clients, you’re the most arrogant and smug man I’ve ever met in my life, you’ve beaten me in too many cases to count and then rubbed it in my face, you’ve given me a weird nickname that I don’t understand, and you clearly hate me.” 

You paused for a moment to look at him. He was gazing at you with the same smug, slightly amused expression he always wore. “Does that about cover it, or do you want me to keep going?” you asked. 

“I’ve never hated you,” he said simply, his eyes softening a little. 

Your eyes narrowed slightly as you tried to put the pieces together, to decipher this impossible man. He looked confident and calm as ever, but somehow, you believed him. It didn’t seem like he was lying. 

“Well. You could’ve fooled me,” you said finally, unable to tear your gaze from his.

“The rest is true, obviously,” he smirked, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you. “But I thought this was all friendly competition until you kept deciding to tell me that you couldn’t stand me.”

You couldn’t think of anything to say. You felt like your mind was completely blank and it didn’t help that he was still pinning you down with those ridiculously piercing eyes.

“Why do you call me Killer?” You eventually spat out.

His smirk turned into a real smile. “The same reason I wanted your help. You’ve got a killer instinct.”

You snorted in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“What?” he asked, laughing. “Yes, seriously.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, but you found yourself unable to resist a small smile.

He just smiled at you, and through the rest of dinner, somehow, you felt your hatred for Rhysand dimming. 

---

Things felt… different, after that dinner with Rhysand. You were both friendlier, less cordial. It seemed that you worked better together too, as you would bicker slightly less often. 

He still pissed you off sometimes, to be clear, but it didn’t feel as deep as it did before. The two of you would get dinner together a few times a week now, and you wouldn’t even talk about work for many of them. 

Rhysand and you were… friends.

You were still getting used to the idea. 

Rhysand seemed thrilled. You had never seen him in a better mood than he had been the last few weeks.

As the two of you sat at dinner that night though, you felt lost in thought. There was something about the case that you were missing, something that didn’t add up.

“What is it?” he asked, his eyebrow arching up.

You took a deep breath, tapping your fingers on the table. “We’re missing something.”

Rhysand looked at the table. “What, do you need more ketchup?”

Rolling your eyes good naturedly, you waved him off. “The case, Rhys. We’re missing something about the case.”

He furrowed his eyebrows and listened intently while you worked through your thoughts out loud, going over the notes and evidence you two had found the past several weeks, until it hit you. 

“The cameras,” you said hastily. “We’re missing footage.”

“How would you know that?” he asked. 

You explained your thought process, how you remember seeing a camera in a spot that you never saw in footage that the company handed over. 

“And if they didn’t give us that footage on purpose…” you trailed off.

“They’re hiding something from us,” Rhys finished.

You hadn’t felt like you had a real lead in ages. “We need to get back to the office.”

Rhys shook his head as he pulled cash out of his wallet and threw it onto the table. “We just need a computer. It would be faster to go to my place.”

You were too excited, too focused on the case to argue.

And so, that’s how you found yourself in Rhysand’s apartment.

The two of you were so engrossed in this revelation though, that you hardly noticed. You both sat at his dining room table, leaning in close over his laptop, focused on finding the missing piece that you so desperately needed. 

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed before you excitedly pointed to the screen, “There!”

Rhysand went completely still beside you as he saw what you were pointing to. The answer to all your questions. It was what you needed to solve the case, you were sure of it. 

You hadn’t realized how close you were sitting to him until you both looked at each other in disbelief, your faces only inches apart. 

“You did it,” he said quietly, his eyes shining. “This is exactly what we needed.”

It took all you had to maintain eye contact with him. You felt like you could fall right into his eyes and drown. 

When his eyes darted down to your lips for a moment, you felt your breath catch.

It didn’t seem real, somehow, when Rhysand leaned forward and met your lips with his, bringing his hand to cradle the back of your head comfortingly. Within a few moments, you were balling your fist in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to you. 

You gasped when he wrapped his hands around the backs of your thighs, picking you up in one fluid motion and carrying you to the couch, his lips trailing down your neck as he went.

Keeping his hold on you, he sat down on the couch, his hands trailing up to your hips as you straddled him, leaning in to kiss him again.

Rhysand. Your mind tried to make sense of it. You’re kissing Rhysand, of all people. And worse, there was fire flooding through your veins, your skin tingling with a need you hadn’t felt in a ridiculously long time. 

And it was Rhysand who was making you feel like this.

When his hips jerked up and met yours, when you could feel just how badly he wanted you too, all your thoughts went out the window, and you just needed him.

As if he could read your mind, his hands started to wander across your body, in all the places that you had suddenly become desperate for him to touch. 

After a moment though, reality began to set in again. Your mind began to wander. This had to be a bad idea.

Rhys felt the change in your body language and stopped what he was doing, leaning back to peer at your face. “What is it?” he asked softly.

“I…” you hesitated, unable to find the words. “I can’t.”

“Okay,” he said, gently guiding you off his lap so you sat next to him. “Are you okay?”

Your heart melted the slightest bit before you could stop it. “I’m fine. It’s just… this can’t be a good idea.”

“We hate each other,” you said, exasperated.

He blinked in confusion. “Why?”

Rhysand laughed incredulously. “You really still believe that?”

Your face heated. No. Obviously not. He had even told you himself that he never hated you. 

With a resigned sigh you said quietly, “No.”

“What’s really going on?” he asked softly. 

Biting your lip, you tried to think of a suitable answer, even when you finally recognized the truth in yourself. 

You had feelings for him. You had for weeks.

And if you let this happen, you would have to come to terms with that.

That, and the fact that he might not feel the same about you. That this could all just be a fun hookup for him. 

You couldn’t live with that. 

And you obviously couldn’t tell him that. 

“Nothing,” you said finally, quietly. “We just can’t.”

Rhysand shook his head. “I don’t believe you,” he said gently. “Please tell me what’s wrong. Did I do something?”

“No,” you said, your voice breaking. “You didn’t do anything.”

You hid your face in your hands and you felt him sit up straighter next to you.

“Then what is it?”

“Oh,” he said quietly after a moment. 

“Oh?” you asked, your voice muffled.

“Let me just make one thing clear,” he said, his voice still gentle but slightly more authoritative now. “This isn’t a one-time thing for me. I like you. I have since we met.”

You pulled your face from your hands and looked at him incredulously. “What?”

He nodded, the smallest smile gracing his expression, so different from his usual smirk. 

“Why were you such an asshole then?”

“I was just trying to get a rise out of you! I thought we were playing around, I didn’t know you actually hated me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. This whole time.

The two of you were quiet for a moment before Rhysand said, “This is the part where you say how you feel about me.”

You groaned, unable to form the words. 

So instead, you looked at him for a moment, at those gorgeous, purple eyes that you had become so accustomed to, and you kissed him.

--- 

A year later, you gave Rhysand a quick kiss before you both exited the car and walked into your very own law firm. 

Well, yours and Rhysand’s, of course. 

You got to work together on a fresh new case, one that you were both excited about. One that could really help people.

And you couldn't imagine being happier.

@loving-and-dreaming @birdsflyhome @hanuh @sheblogs @iambored24601 @thalia-as-blog @evergreenlark @ecliphttlunar @bookloverandalsocats @melmo567 @headacheseason @sillysillygoose444 @yourqueenlilith @mariamay02 @halibshepherd @azrielshadows1nger @cigvrette-dvydrevms @andreperez11 @lilah-asteria @marina468

[harrystylesfan2686]

Alone

Pairing: no one really.

Summary: Reader starts to feel left out in her own family...

Warnings: Neglection. Suicide thoughts. Self harm (in detail) please go back if any of these bother you. Your mental heath matters more.

A/N: I think I need therapy too...

Masterlist Part 2(Azriel) Part 2(Eris)

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Ever wondered what it's like to be alone?

It's a game, really. A game of utter self degradation. A game where there are only two players, you and your mind. A game where you never truly win and you always have to keep playing because your brain never tires.

A game which no one else realizes your playing until you lose and it's too late.

It's the game you have been playing ever since the Archerons joined the inner circle. You love them all, honestly. Thier different personalities was the first thing that drew you to them. You admir all three of them but the one thing you hate is how you got left alone after their involvement to your life.

Before them, you all relied on all of you for company and support. Now, everybody has their own person.

Rhysand has Feyre, Cassian has Nesta, Azriel has Elain, and Mor and Amren have found thier partners too but in case they aren't present, Mor and Amren, as crazy as it sounds, rely on each other. Just like that, everybody has a person to go home to, to come back safely for, to turn to for comfort.

You don't have anyone.

You hate going home because your bed is always empty. You hate going on missions because you know no one would be worrying about you every minute you gone. You hate celebrations because you have no one to dance with, to drink with, to end the day with.

You love family dinners. Even though you never get a chance to speak, even though you never talk to anyone, even though no one notices your presence. You love family dinners and meetings because it's the only time youre not alone.

It's doesn't matter if you're lonely, at least you aren't alone.

But in the game you're playing with yourself, after a while, you get too tired to challenge back with same force. You don't push back the mean thoughts your mind throws at you as insults. You listen to them, compare them to your situation and realise, you've been trying to win for nothing.

You slowly stop trying to protect yourself all together.

The first time you didn't go to a family dinner, you thought you would regret it later but you didn't, instead you felt glad that you didn't go because no one had come to get you, no one came to ask why you didn't show, no one cared about you enough to think why you didn't go.

So you stopped going at all.

You stopped doing everything with you 'family' and prefered being left alone.

You only met them when you had a mission together or anything related to work.

Just like that, today you had gone to one of the Illyrian camps at Rhys orders. He got report saying things haven't been going as they should there and wanted you to go check. But on your way back you had been ambushed by a group of six men wanting to kill you in the camp, they couldn't of course but you did come out of the fight with a large sward wound on your left side.

All you wanted to do was go home, rest, tend to your wound and sleep. You can give the report to Rhys tomorrow.

You let out a grunt and step in your house, immediately tense seeing a shadow of a person move the dark room. Your hand placing itself in your dagger straped to your thigh, you other hand on the left side of your waist pressing on your wound.

"Relax, it's just me." A familiar voice fills the silence as the fae lights turn on and Rhysands face becomes visible. You sigh in relief and furrow your eyebrows,"What you doing so late in my house?" You nearly snap, but hold back as respect for your high lord.

"You came late you were suppose to be here two hours ago." For minute it feels like he cares for you, and you allow yourself to believe that he was worried for you but you fantasy shatters the second he opens his mouth again. "You were supposed to deliver your report two hours ago. You know how important this is, I have other things to do too." His voice sharp as he scolds you.

"You're right, I'm sorry. I got attacked while leaving, it took time to fight them of. It was six against one but well I managed to survive, eh?" Rhysand's scowl deepens. "Tell me what happened there now."

Your eyes closs for a second whem you feel dizzy. "Look, how about you give me ten minutes to freshen up, and I also have a wound to–," You try to say but he cuts you off saying,"I don't have more time. Tell me right now what happened so I can get started on fixing things, then you can have all the time to fresh up as you want. My office, now." He doesn't leave much to room to argue and winnows you to his office.

You sigh and start speaking, repeating everything you noticed in the camp as Rhysand listens and writes down the report. Near the end, you feel another wave of dizziness hit you and put your head down to rest it against the backrest of your chair and groan when you feel pain shoot up from your injury from the movement.

Rhysand finally notices the source of your pain and his eyes flare,"You're hurt?" You scoff. "Yes. That's what I was trying to tell you before you winnowed us here."

"I didnt notice it. I'm sorry, you should go tend to it." He quickly dismisses you, finally letting you go back to your house.

As you look at yourself in the mirror, thinking how filthy and hideous you seem, you grit your teeth. Of course no one notices you. Look at you. You are ugly and filled with dirt and scars all over your body.

How could anyone look at you when you can't even look at yourself.

Your gaze falls to your wound, the big cut that spread from under you left breast to the start of your thigh. If was deep enough to bleed you dry.

Would anyone even notice if you did? If you don't heal and let the injury bleed you dead. Would anyone know that you were gone? That your body layed unmoving in the bathroom floor. How long would it take for someone to find you? Who would find you? Probably Rhysand when he needs you for his next mission.

You eye your dagger that you unshielded on your way in the bathroom. How long would it take for you to bleed out? Hours? Days? You didn't want that. That was too much. You don't think you can handle that much pain constantly. Maybe if you took that dagger and deepen your cut, you would bleed out faster. Maybe you would have a faster death. Sure it would hurt but at least you would be gone before someone found you.

You would be free. Free of the loneliness. Free of the feeling like you were a burden in everyone's life. Free of wanting Someone to care for you the way you see everyone else care for their loved ones. You would finally be at peace.

You gasp and blink out the terrible thoughts. Breathing heavy, you search for the cotton and Healing cream in the cupboards. You groan out with you don't find any of them.

You turn back to the mirror. Maybe your brain is right. Maybe this is a sign from Mother herself telling you to not let the wound heal and die right here, right now. Your gaze finds the knife again, eyeing the sharp edge. Would it really be that bad?

Your hand grips the handle of the dagger, bringing it closer to the cut. You let the cold mettle edge scrap the skin, an inch afar the start of the cut. The sharp edge slicing through skin like paper, leaving a line of crimson red blood, seeping out of the newly cut skin.

Your eyes widen as you observe yourself, keeping the knife near the cut but not touching it entirely.

It's... mesmerizing. The way blood slowly comes out of the skin, the small and steady lines created by your dagger are engrossing. And the pain, the pain is hypnotizing, slowing raising to the rest of your body. Your body feels electrified, there's snips of pain tingling through out your entire body, your ears buzzing with excitement. Your hands are shaking and eyes bluring but all you can focus on is how much you want to do this again. Feel your skin open beneath you knife again. Feel the pain that slowing raises with each extra inch of cut.

Oh gods. What have you done?

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[daycourtofficial]

I got cursed like Eve got bitten - part XV

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader | WC: 1.3k | Warnings: none

Summary: reports of a rare powered fae popping up in Illyria send Azriel and Rhysand on a journey through the past, unraveling a truth they thought long buried

Previous part | Masterlist

“How the fuck did she get that invitation?”

Azriel ran his hands through his hair as Rhys stomped into the House of Wind, his landing incredibly agitated. Azriel followed behind, remaining quiet as his brother yelled to no one in particular.

“Hello to you too, Rhys. Lovely weather we’re having.”

Rhys held up a hand in warning, the Lord of Bloodshed shrugging in response. “Now is not the time, Cassian. Someone invited my sister to a ball and I have no idea how they knew she was here, let alone who it was.”

Cassian shot up onto his feet, losing the look of amusement on his face, Nesta’s legs that were in his lap dropping as he stood. “What are you talking about?”

Rhys ground his teeth, spitting out, “apparently someone gave her an invitation to the Hewn City’s ball that’s at the end of the week.” He pulled the invitation you had handed over from his jacket, putting it into Cassian’s hands.

“Oh no, princess goes to a ball. Whatever will we do?” Nesta’s voice bordered on annoyance as she continued flipping through pages, underwhelmed at the discussion at hand.

Rhys stretched a hand out before quickly clenching it into a fist, stretching his fingers out again before balling them up. He repeated the motion a few times, desperate to keep his anger in check.

“No, Nesta, it is not that simple.”

“Are you sure?”

Rhysand took a deep breath. “Yes, I’m sure. This is a terrible idea and I don’t like any part of this.”

“She should be allowed to go where she wants.”

“I’m her brother, Azriel is her mate. I think we will decide what is best for her.”

If the ringing in Azriel’s ears would subside, he would have found humor in the looks Rhys was receiving from the Archerons.

“You’re too close to the situation, Rhys.” Feyre’s voice was raising with Rhys’s, matching his agitation.

“You’re damn right I am. We lost her once and I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize losing her again.”

Feyre gawked. “A surefire way to lose her is by denying a reasonable request.”

“What is reasonable about going to Hewn City?”

“That doesn’t matter - she wants to go.”

Nesta cut through their argument, her tone sharp. “It looks as if she’s trying to do the things she was expected to do as a princess, except she doesn’t have the memories to know that’s why she’s gravitating toward it. Maybe if someone told her-”

“No.” Rhys was quick to cut her off. “Absolutely not. No one tells her.”

Nesta put her book down, moving to face Rhys. “She’s been in Velaris for weeks, Cassian still isn’t allowed to see her. What’s your plan? What if she never gets her memories back?”

Azriel stood silently, watching Rhysand and Nesta argue. He didn’t know what to do. It had been weeks of agony, his every thought revolving around you and how to tell you and how to fix everything. Azriel and Rhys argued frequently over it. He desperately wanted to tell you, and he would defy Rhys.

He didn’t care. Damn Rhys being High Lord.

You were his mate.

But everytime he tried, just on the tip of his tongue, his words would stall, one thought creeping in over and over again: what if you don’t remember? What if he tells you and you merely laughed at him? What if he lost you once more?

He couldn’t handle it, so he hadn’t told you. He felt like a coward. He was a coward. He tuned out Nesta and Rhys’s argument, uncaring of what they wanted.

He can’t give you back your memories, but he’ll give you the only thing you’ve really asked for.

-

Azriel stood in the entranceway of the River House, his shadows slightly agitated around him as he paced back and forth.

“You look nervous.”

Cassian’s gruff voice did little to soothe Azriel’s nerves.

“Something’s off about this, Cassian. I can’t figure it out.” Questions raced through his mind. Who had invited you? Did they know who you truly were? Why? Why? Why?

You had been vague about the male who invited you, and Rhysand grew even more annoyed at his inability to clear through the web of your mind.

The shadowsinger was dressed in a black fitted suit, his jacket cropped to show off his trim waist, tattoos peeking out from beneath the collar of his shirt. Blue embroidery adorned the edges of his sleeves and his lapel. Cassian was similarly dressed up, but his shirt was unbuttoned much deeper than Azriel’s was, showing off his large chest.

“Everything’s going to be fine, Az.”

At his brother’s words, he turned quickly to see Cassian bouncing his leg, stopping the action at Azriel’s gaze. He held up a scarred hand, pointing. “You’re the nervous one.”

Cassian scrunched his eyebrows in mock confusion, a look Azriel had seen thousands of times over the centuries. “Me? Nervous? Don’t be ridiculous, Azriel.”

The shadowsinger approached his brother, leaning down to look him in the eye. Cassian leaned back on the couch, spreading his legs out further to avoid Azriel’s gaze.

“You’re scared she won’t like you, hmm?”

Cassian spluttered out a string of nonsense, looking sheepishly at anything except Azriel. “Don’t be ridiculous Cassian. She never liked you, why would that change now?”

Cassian gave a dry, exaggerated laugh. “Ha ha, you’re so funny Azriel. Perhaps you should join the circus.”

“And perhaps you should-”

The words died on his tongue as one of his shadows pulled his ear harshly, nearly snapping his neck at the angle they brought his head to. The pain didn’t register to him as the breath was knocked from his lungs at the sight of you.

You looked so beautiful as you stood in the entryway smiling at him. He took in a quick breath, stealing himself at the dress you chose. Centuries ago, Mor had helped him go through the clothes at your shared home, the dresses going into storage to prevent moths or any other creatures from destroying the materials. Mor had gone yesterday to pull some of the dresses from storage and helped pick out several of your dresses that she thought would be perfect for this occasion, leaving them in your room when you had been out earlier.

Azriel would never know what compelled you to pick the dress that you did - a beautiful, deep black material, a tight bodice that flowed past your hips, flaring out to allow the wearer to walk more easily. Dark blue flowered appliques were sewn across the torso and down the skirt. The last time you wore it, he had twirled you, the blur of the flowers resembling his shadows in the dark.

He wasn’t sure if putting your hair up was some subconscious memory of the way a piece had fallen out moments before your mating ceremony, Azriel’s hands tucking it away into the braid atop your head.

If he closed his eyes, he could feel the heat from that night. How warm it was from all the candles, how the moonlight peeked in through the skylights.

The only thing missing was your wings.

“Um, hi.” He had been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t even registered your approach. “Are you Azriel’s other brother?”

Cassian stood at your question, denying your outstretched hand in favor of wrapping his arms around you and twirling you around.

“Yes, that’s me. I’m Cassian.”

You swayed on your feet, slightly dizzy from Cassian’s twirling. “It’s nice to meet you. Do you do that everytime you see someone you know? Or just when you’re meeting someone for the first time?”

Azriel watched the question knock Cassian off balance, raising a hand to his chest like he had been struck. “It’s how I greet fae that I know I’ll like.”

Your smile was wide taking him in. “And how do you know that?”

“Because anyone my brother likes is someone I have to know.”

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[spore-loser]

Nesta was forced into the House of Wind to put her to work for the IC, not for her mental and physical health.

Very often, I see readers with misconceptions about Nesta's situation in ACOSF. They say she was only put in the House of Wind to heal her, that she had a choice in the matter, or that her lack of a choice was for her own good.

So first off, Feyre admitted it was about control and getting Nesta to work.

“Oh, so it’s about you saving face—” “It is about how it reflects upon me, upon Rhys, and upon my court when my damned sister spends our money on wine and gambling and does nothing to contribute to this city! If my sister cannot be controlled, then why should we have the right to rule over anyone else?”

(ACOSF, Ch.2)

If Nesta's well-being was the top consideration, she should have been sent to live with the priestesses and to see their counselor, the way both Mor and Rhys had done. Instead, Nesta was forced to work in the library as a punishment to humble her, without access to a mental health professional. 

If it was really about Nesta’s physical and mental health, then why are the human lands a "choice" she was given? She would be vulnerable there, having to hide away from human prejudice that would threaten her life. How is Nesta supposed to think that people who would leave her there care about her well-being? 

ACOSF's text revealed it was only the illusion of choice, but the question stands. Nesta was not made aware until she basically called the bluff. Her saying 'no' to the HoW and training was essentially choosing the human lands. But the IC didn't allow that.

So the human lands was just an especially undesirable "option" to get Nesta to more easily accept what the IC wanted. What the text directly shows is that she was never given a real choice. The IC said Nesta had one, but then forced her into what they wanted after she refused to "choose" it. 

“I’m not moving to the House of Wind,” Nesta said. “And I’m not training at that miserable village. Certainly not with him.” (...) “It’s not up for negotiation,” Amren said (...) “Like hell it isn’t,” Nesta challenged (...) “Your apartment is being packed as we speak,” Amren said, (...) “By the time you return, it will be empty (...)"

Feyre swallowed, but didn’t balk. “That is enough. You’re moving up to the House, you’re going to train and work, and I don’t care what vitriol you spew my way. You’re doing it.” 

[Feyre said] “That’s why you’re going to train at Windhaven. You will learn to control yourself.” “I won’t go.” “You’re going, even if you have to be tied up and hauled there. You will follow Cassian’s lessons, and you will do whatever work Clotho requires in the library.”  (...) “(...) Any free time is yours to spend as you wish. In the House.”

(ACOSF, Ch.2)

With her power, there is no way Rhys and Amren would ever let Nesta go. She was much too valuable and they wanted her for their tasks. Feyre was home-bound and Elain was never given the chance to step up. Even though Elain volunteered to help, was in a better place mentally and physically, had Amren and Feyre's backing, she was still just used as a bargaining chip to get Nesta to act.

Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, “There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be exposed to.” “But Nesta should?” Cassian growled.

Cassian glowered at Amren. “It’s not right to wield Elain as a threat to manipulate Nesta into scrying.” “There are harsher ways to convince Nesta, boy." (...) "We must head off this potential disaster before we lose the advantage. If we need to manipulate Nesta into scrying, even by using Elain against her, then we’ll do what is necessary.”

(ACOSF, Ch. 29)

If Nesta was only put in the HoW for her recovery, then why was she continuously put at risk to get the Dread Trove? It was extremely dangerous. She could have died and was sexually assaulted on top of that.

From the very beginning, the Archeron sisters were being manipulated to do what Rhys and Amren wanted. Rhys knew money was a sore spot for Feyre when it came to Nesta. Reading her bill item by item in front of everyone was an effective tactic to get Feyre to agree to his plans.

Rhys had read each item aloud. Bottles of rare wine, exotic foods, gambling debts … (…) Cassian knew there’d been previous conversations—fights—about Nesta. (…) But as Feyre wept at the table, he knew it was a breaking of some sort. (…) Rhys had laid a comforting hand on Feyre’s, squeezing gently before he looked at Azriel, and then Cassian, and laid out his plan. As if he’d had it waiting a long, long while.

(ACOSF, Ch.2)

There was no need to do that in front of others except to embarrass Feyre so she was more likely to accept his "solutions". Rhys and Feyre can trade information mentally and he didn’t even need to physically show her the bill, let alone read it out loud. Judging by how Feyre was with Nesta spending money in the cabin, she would have agreed to Rhys’ plan just by him giving a mind-to-mind total of how much Nesta spent.

Along with Cassian’s realization, we have textual evidence that Rhys wanted to plan something for Nesta since the events of ACOFS.

Cassian and my mate’s sister did not speak to each other at all. Nesta had successfully cloistered herself in some slummy apartment across the Sidra, refusing to interact with any of us save for a few brief visits with Feyre every month. I’d have to find a way to fix that, too.

(ACOFS, Ch.2)

Feyre suspected Cassian and Nesta’s mate bond since ACOWAR, where she and Rhys discuss the possibility. 

“Are he and Nesta …?” “I don’t know. Until the bond snaps into place, it can be hard to detect.”

(ACOWAR, Ch. 47)

So not letting Nesta train with Azriel was a way to make her spend time with Cassian, regardless of her wishes. 

And making Nesta train was not simply a way to strengthen her body and get in shape. As someone malnourished, suffering from an eating disorder, she needed time to nourish her body, to put on weight and muscle before she started training. In actuality, Nesta was made to train so she could go on missions for the IC and 'contribute to Velaris' as soon as possible. 

[Azriel said] “If Briallyn and Koschei find just one of the Dread Trove items—” “Let Nesta try it her way first.” Cassian held Az’s stare. “If we go in and order her to do it, it’ll backfire. Let her exhaust her other options before she realizes only one is viable.” Azriel studied his face, then nodded solemnly.

(ACOSF, Ch. 22)

“Nesta has to start looking for the Trove,” Amren said (...) Cassian met Amren’s gray stare. “Nesta’s been looking. Don’t push her.”  Rhys said from where he lounged at the head of the table, “She’s had the priestesses researching for her. I’d hardly call that looking.” (...) [Amren said] “We are on the cusp of another war. We let the Cauldron slip from our hands in the last one and it nearly cost us everything.”

(ACOSF, Ch. 29)

[illyrianbitch]

One Summer — Part Seven

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: One beach house. One festival. One summer to fall in love.

Warnings: reader is being chronic overthinker, some vulnerability & deep talks about anxiety, fluff!

Word Count: 4.5k

Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The day had dawned with a heavy weariness.

You’d all slept in late, dragging yourselves out of bed only as the sun climbed high. The last day of Summit had truly taken everything from you, leaving you sore, hungover, and sad that it was over.  Now, sprawled by the pool of the house, the world outside felt like a distant blur.

Feyre and the boys had been in the pool for a few hours now. You and Mor remained on the lounge chairs, too hungover and sore to join in, opting to gossip with each other and go over moments you’d missed at Summit. But she’d slipped away a few minutes ago to fetch more drinks, leaving you alone with your swirling thoughts. 

Despite your exhaustion, your mind seemed relentless, turning over thoughts that had been too quiet before. You barely noticed Feyre emerging from the pool and settling on the chair beside you, her navy blue towel with star prints spreading beneath her. The weight of her gaze on you made you shift slightly. You offered her a halfhearted smile before your attention drifted back to the pool. 

“You okay?” she asked.

”Yeah,” you said. “Just tired.”

From the corner of your eye, Feyre tilted her head, narrowing her eyes on your figure. “Really?”

You turned to look at her then, swinging your legs to the side of your chair to face her properly. “Yeah.”

”You know you can talk to me, right?”

You loved Feyre. She was easy to talk to, a loyal friend to her core. But Feyre was also a nosy person at heart. She prodded and poked, dug further at things that you often did. Sometimes it led her to grand discoveries. Other times it led her to getting involved in business she didn’t necessarily understand. 

You nodded, giving her a smile. It was genuine, albeit a bit strained, but Feyre seemed to see right through it. “I know,” you said. 

”So talk to me. What’s been up with you?”

You blinked. “What? Nothing.”

”Okay, fine,” She let out a small huff. “I was waiting until you brought it up. But since you haven’t, consider this me bringing it up. What’s going on?”

Feyre meant well— she always did— but she was never one to let go of things easily. It was a losing game to continue this with her, to repeatedly deny that something was going on in your mind that warranted such cautious, caring intervention. 

“It’s complicated.” 

Complicated felt like an understatement.  Your gaze traveled to Azriel for a split second, watching as he emerged from the pool, shaking his wet hair as he laughed at something Rhys said. 

“Complicated how?” Feyre pressed.

You realized that Feyre was probably the closest you’d get to someone who could understand your situation. She had started dating Rhys pretty soon after her split from Tamlin.  

But what if she didn't get it? Feyre had gone through so much with Tamlin, but their relationship had been significantly different from yours and Eris. They were co-dependent, turned toxic by their devotion towards one another. You and Eris… well, it was fine. Eris wasn’t a bad boyfriend. He did everything right. But he wasn't the one, it never felt right. 

“When you ended things with Tamlin, did you ever feel like…like maybe you were moving on too quickly?”

Feyres brows knitted together and, for a moment, you wondered if you’d said too much. 

“I did, yeah. But I realized it wasn’t about timing, really. Just about what felt right, what made me happy.”

You nodded, letting her words settle into your mind. You wanted them to sink into your anxious gut, to wash away the twists that had formed since yesterday. You resisted the urge to take another look at Az, to let your gaze linger on his lips. How many almost-kisses could you have with someone before they needed to be addressed?

”Why do you ask?” Feyre’s voice was low, soft, but there was an edge to it that told you she’d keep asking until she got an answer that satisfied her. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words remained lodged in your chest for a moment. Finally, you managed a breath. “I guess I’m just trying to figure out how to move forward without feeling like I'm leaving things behind too soon.”

Your words extended to thoughts far beyond Azriel too— extended to the worries about your future plans and what you wanted in life. 

Feyre tilted her head, studying you. She pulled her wet hair around her shoulders. “Are you worried about what people will think?” 

Not just people—- them. Azriel. The truth was, it wasn’t only about moving on too quickly, though that certainly was an issue. You felt guilty about moving on at all, like you’d already had your chance and wasted it. Wasted not only their time, but Eris’s as well. Maybe you didn’t deserve this time with them. You were intruding on something you should have forfeited the moment you made the wrong choice. And by the end of this summer, you might be choosing something over them again. 

“Maybe.” You paused. “I just don’t want to hurt anyone. Or feel like I’m doing something wrong.”

Feyre’s expression softened. You felt a pang of envy at how easily she seemed to brush off the guilt she’d felt. But you supposed thats what anger tended to do. Feyre had mended her guilt with the anger she felt towards Tamlin. You knew she was still working through that now, finding a balance between wanting him to be happy and loathing him for the way he made her feel. But she never wanted to talk about it, so you never asked.

“You’re not.” Feyre said. “You have to follow what feels right for you. Moving forward doesn’t always mean you're forgetting the past, it just means you're choosing what’s best for you now.”

You wondered then, how did one know what was best for them? How could you differentiate the feeling of fate and intuition from anxiety and guilt? You were barely an adult. You didn’t know what was best for you. But somehow all of them, your friends, seemed to have things figured out just enough. They knew what they wanted to do, where they wanted to end up. You should’ve just agreed to the plan and wiped it from your mind— let them guide you until you could decide for yourself. You couldn’t though. It didn’t feel right. 

Nothing had felt right for a while. 

“Yeah,” you responded, but your voice felt small, quiet like a whisper. You cleared your throat, giving her a smile. “Thanks, Fey.”

She offered a gentle smile in return, her eyes searching yours for any sign of what you were holding back. Before she could open her mouth to speak more, her eyes focused on something beyond you. 

“I’m back,” Mor sang, her voice light and melodic. She gave you a smile as she sat in front of you, occupying the space next to Feyre. 

“Did I miss anything?” She handed you a cup before  turning to look at Feyre.

Feyre had yet to pull her gaze away from you. You met her blue eyes with a sense of pleading. You hoped, deep down, that she understood what you were asking wordlessly, that she would keep what you’d asked to herself— not pry, not dig deeper or ask someone else to. Feyre bliniked and then she nodded, turning to Mor with a smile. 

“Nope,” she replied. “Nothing at all.”

You let out a small, relieved sigh and smiled, turning your gaze back to the pool. Almost immediately, you caught Azriel’s eyes fixed on you from the water. He smiled, and the knots in your stomach twisted even further. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You’d just finished brushing your teeth when your phone buzzed on the bathroom counter. Glancing down, you saw the notification light up the screen.

AzrielJoin me for a walk on the beach?

The corners of your lips twitched upwards. Another text quickly followed.

Your big muscles will scare away any nighttime threats.

It didn’t seem fair to spend as much time with Azriel when your mind was all over the place. You didn’t want to waste his time, to take him away from the rest of the group. But it was nearing midnight and you were sure the rest of the house had settled into their beds, so it wasn’t stolen time necessarily. You glanced down at your phone again, at the unopened text. Something inside you rattled, something restless that craved a moment with Az. 

You quickly pulled on a hoodie and walked downstairs.

Azriel’s face softened as you rounded the corner to the kitchen. He placed his phone in his pocket, pushing himself off of where he had leaned against the counter.

“Y/n.”

You smiled — a smile entirely too nervous to be casual— and gave him a sloppy salute. “Bodyguard reporting for duty.”

Azriel let out a small breathy laugh. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to join me.”

“And leave you defenseless?” You tsked. “I‘d never hear the end of it if something happened to you.” 

Azriel smiled, all teeth and warmth and joy. You reveled in the sight of his smile lines, in that dimple and the small, faint freckle that disappeared into it. He motioned towards the backdoor. 

“Ready?” 

You nodded, watching as he pulled a hoodie on. You tried your best not to stare at the exposed skin that showed when he lifted his arms—- truly, you did. But your eyes lingered for a moment anyway and a small blush rose to your cheeks. You’d seen Az shirtless countless times, he was practically shirtless all of today. But these intimate moments, ones where he wasn’t intending to show skin, made you flustered like a twelve year old boy searching for boobs on google. 

“Why the text? Why didn’t you just come up and grab me?”

Azriel shrugged, stepping to the side to give you space. He closed the door behind you. “I wasn’t sure if you were asleep and I didn’t want you to feel pressured to say yes. Texting you gave you the option to just… not reply and say you never saw it.”

He met your eyes and something inside you melted further than it had before, like a popsicle during midday. There was no doubt in your mind that Az didn’t think twice about his decision to text you, that he didn't realize how significant and meaningful the action really was. Even in its simplicity, it was so unbelievably caring. Words evaded you, so you gave him another smile and followed him down the path to the beach, slipping off your sandals the minute your feet met the sand. 

The beach was always quiet at night, peaceful in a way that made you feel lighter. Only a few minutes had passed since you and Azriel left the house, and now you sat side by side, sounds of the gentle lapping of waves and the occasional distant call of a seabird filling your ears. 

“Hey, uh, was everything okay earlier?”

You frowned, turning to look at Azriel as he spoke. His expression was soft, a sense of concern painted across his moonlit features.

“What do you mean?”

Az gave a half shrug. “I noticed you talking with Feyre earlier, when we were all swimming in the pool. Seemed like more than just casual conversation.”

You weren’t quite sure how to respond, whether to focus on how true his words were or the simple fact that he’d noticed. A joke slowly formed at the tip of your tongue, your eyes brightening as you opened your mouth to speak.

Azriel made a face. “Do not make some spy joke right now.”

You laughed softly and Azriel’s lips curved into a subtle smile, a knowing one. 

“Fine,” you said, jokingly exasperated. You scanned his face, taking in the way he sat on the sand, how the faint, cool, night breeze ruffled the loose curls on his head.  “You always seem to do that, y’know.”

Azriel blinked, his head cocking slightly. A small crease appeared between his furrowed brows. He was thinking— observing something that he would no doubt store for later. 

“Hmm?” 

You brought your knees to your chest, taking a moment to look out onto the dark expanse of the ocean. A wave rolled into the sand before you, foamy and glistening with reflected moonlight. You placed your arms across your knees and turned your head to look at him again.

“Read me so well,” You said. “I think with anyone else, it would drive me crazy…but not with you. It feels comforting. Like someone who knows what I’m really thinking.” 

“Not always,” Azriel said. His voice was soft, skittering across the sounds of the waves washing on shore. You watched him trace idle patterns into the sand with his fingers before he gave you a sidelong glance. “Sometimes I’m just as clueless as anyone else.”

A silence settled between you both. You traced the motions of the ocean with your eyes, following the waves that rolled onto the sand before you— they were getting closer, each one inching to where you dug your toes into the sand. But neither you or Az seemed to mind.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Az’s voice pulled you from the trace of the sea. He was already looking at you by the time you met his eyes again. There was a look in them that made your heart skip—a softness, a warmth that was almost disarming. 

You bit the inside of your cheek and then offered your hand to him, outstretched and palm up. Azriel knitted his brows, his gaze falling down to your hand. He frowned.

“Where's the penny?” You asked with a raised brow, suppressing the twitch at the corners of your lips.

Azriel’s eyes widened and a laugh left his lips, one of disbelief and amusement. It pulled a smile from him, too, and then he was sitting up straight. “Well that's not fair. I didn’t bring my wallet.”

You pursed your lips, pulling your hand back into your chest with a playful shrug. “Too bad.”

He scanned the sand around him, hands digging and shifting through the grains with focused intent. After a moment, he made a triumphant noise and looked back at you with an expectant face.

You frowned, but Az only nodded towards the hand you had pulled back into your chest. You caught his drift, placing it out once more, and he smiled— a tight, lopsided mischievous one— as he placed something in your hand. You laughed softly, the sound blending with the gentle crash of the waves as you observed the object. The seashell now in your palm was small, textured and ridged with a faint blue tint that shimmered under the moonlight. You met Az’s eyes.

“Do you ever feel like you just keep making the wrong decisions?” You toyed with the seashell in your hands, fingers running over its rough surface. “And now you don’t trust any decision you make?” 

Azriel’s expression softened. “All the time.”

“How do you deal with it?”

His gaze turned to the horizon, eyes scanning the endless expanse as if searching for his words among the open water. After a moment, he turned back to you, a small, almost sad smile on his face. “I’m not the right person to ask that.”

You nodded in understanding. In a strange way, it felt comforting to know Az wasn’t as prepared as everyone else, that his mind seemed to wander and drift the same way yours often did. You thought for a moment how comforting it might be to float with Az, to be lost with him in an open, blue sea. 

Azriel seemed to call your thoughts back even when they evaded you, yourself. 

You adjusted your position, turning to face him more directly. Sitting cross-legged, you held the seashell in your hands, now warm from your touch. “Graduation is coming up and everything seems to be shifting so fast, Az. I’m so desperate to find my footing that I think I'm just acting rashly or out of fear.”

Azriel turned to face you, shifting his position just as you had. There was something so soft about him now. You weren’t sure if it was the glow of the moon, the comfort of the sea, or the way your heart leaped whenever he laughed. But as he sat across from you, you wanted nothing more than to spill your entire mind to him, to reach forward and touch him, to wrap that curl that often fell on his forehead around your finger and tuck it back into place. 

“Maybe what you need is to find some balance,” He said. “Or, should I say a golden mean?”

There was a playful grin on his lips as he spoke. It made you smile a bit wider, though you were still confused at the tone of his voice, at the words he’d just spoken. 

“Really?” You raised a brow, your smile breaking wide open as Az’s eyes glimmered in wake of your realization. “You’re referencing Aristotle?”

Az only shrugged in response, the playful grin still on his lips. 

“And I’m the pretentious philosophy major.”

Azriel laughed and the sound resonated warmly within you, filtering through your lungs like oxygen.  

“I had to,” he said as he searched your face. His grin fell into something sweeter, something nostalgic and soft. “You gave a whole presentation on it in freshman year. About how disharmony produces difficulties, that we should strive for a desirable middle.”

A rush of emotion swept through you, settling at the very core of your being. And something blossomed in its path, something tight and giddy, electric and alive. 

“I-” You hesitated, blinking as you took in the person before you again, through a lens of even deeper admiration. “You remember that?”

Those were your exact words, too.

“Of course.” Azriel said, as if the question itself was silly to even ask. He looked back at the waves, his expression thoughtful, voice falling to a hushed tone. “I remember a lot of things from freshman year.”

Freshman year felt like a lifetime ago. You took another moment to admire Az, to trace the side of his face, the small bump on his nose, the dagger earring that hung from his ear. The Azriel before you was different in many ways— but not in the ways that mattered, you realized. Those things hadn’t changed at all. 

You weren’t sure if the same thing applied to you. You’d changed a lot since freshman year. Your mind sorted through those memories now, to Mor and Feyre, to your dorm and the roommate that you didn’t talk to anymore— the occasional instagram comment and birthday message didn’t count. One memory, however, kept resurfacing: that halloween night, that party, that stolen moment in the upstairs bedroom. What were the chances he was thinking of it too? 

“What else do you remember about freshman year?”

You waited with baited breath. This was his chance to back out, to let the conversation drift away if he wasn’t ready to revisit those memories. If he didn’t bring it up, neither would you. You’d bury it away for his comfort, let the memory sit and collect dust, only revisit it when you were alone.  

After what felt like an eternity, a small, almost wistful smile touched Azriel’s lips. He turned to you.

“I remember Halloween.”

You took a sharp inhale. “You do?”

Az nodded and that one curl bounced on his forehead as if on cue. “I do,” he said. 

“Anything specific?”

Please, you thought. Prove to me that you’ve thought about it, too. 

“We almost kissed that night.”

Gripping the seashell tighter, you took a deep breath and nodded. It was silly that a nod was all you could manage, all you could respond with as your chest constricted. A nod like he had just listed something from his grocery list rather than a memory that had shaped your feelings, a memory that lingered in your mind for years.

“Almost,” you pulled yourself to say. 

 “Almost,” he repeated quietly.

“Why didnt you?” You chewed at your bottom lip. “Why didn’t you kiss me that night?”

“What do you mean?” Azriel’s brow furrowed. “Cass walked in on us.”

You shook your head. You’d replayed the night in your head so often, had practically lived in it the months following— hadn’t been able to stop the repeat of it until you’d developed feelings for Eris. 

“No,” you said. “You hesitated before Cass even walked in.”

Azriel stilled, blinking slowly as he took a deep breath, his gaze drifting to the waves. 

“You looked so beautiful that night.” His voice was tender, his eyes locking back onto yours with sincerity. “I mean, you always do, Y/n. Always. But god, I was tripping over myself the entire night, trying to hype myself up. I wanted to kiss you so bad.”

A smile spread across your face as a nervous flutter bounced in your chest. “Then what happened?”

Azriel’s smile faltered and he swallowed hard. His gaze fell to his lap where he fidgeted with his hands. Your heart sank.

“It was so stupid.” He shook his head, his voice tinged with frustration. “So stupid. But some guy—some loser from Rhysand's frat—pulled me aside, told me my costume was great, that the scars on my hands were so ‘gnarly and gross’ they almost looked real.”

His eyes flicked back up to meet yours. The hurt in his expression was so evident that your heart ached at it. But it wasn’t just hurt Azriel bore, it was embarrassment.

 “Az…” 

He shook his head. “It was so dumb.” 

“Stop—” 

“So fucking dumb. But it got to me. And then I was with you, in that room, and when I saw my hand on your cheek... it felt wrong. I felt wrong. Then Cassian came in, drunk off his ass and sat between us. I thought it was some sign. I got so in my head that I could barely pull myself out for the rest of the semester. By the time I could face it, face you, you'd—”

You nodded, a pang of guilt settling in as you pulled your lips together. Eris had asked you out a month a half after, when that strange distance between you and Az had settled. 

“I know.” You ran your fingers over the seashell again. “I’m sorry, Az.”

“What could you possibly have to be sorry for?”

“That someone made you feel less than what you are.” You paused to take in his expression, to stare into his eyes, bask in the warmth they offered.  “And for Eris, too. I missed out on a lot of our friendship. I’m sorry for that.” 

Azriel’s expression softened as shook his head, a gentle smile forming on his lips. 

“That’s not true.” His smile widened slightly. “Even if it was, at least we’re making up for lost time now, right? Strong friendship.”

You laughed softly, but the feeling didn’t spread throughout your body. Friendship. 

Maybe too much time had passed for you and Az to be anything more than friends. The thought made you nauseous, sent a chill throughout your body.  Az’s eyes narrowed in on you as you shivered. 

“You’re cold,” he said. “We should probably head in; it’s getting pretty late anyways.”

You opened your mouth to protest but thought better of it. “Yeah, probably.”

You forced a small smile as you stood, shoving the seashell into your pocket. You avoided looking directly at Azriel. There was a pang in your chest that made it hard to breathe, disappointment mingled with an uneasy acceptance. Maybe this is what the shape of closure felt like, you thought, something akin to growth, perhaps. Uncomfortable but needed. 

With a final sigh, you turned to head inside, making slow, deliberate steps up the beach, the sand cool beneath your feet. Faintly, you became more aware of your surroundings, of the fact that the sound of the waves crashing seemed to carry a faint, hesitant call of your name. 

You paused and turned back toward the ocean. Azriel was jogging to catch up, his silhouette outlined by the moonlight. His breathing was labored as he stopped before you, eyes glimmering with something bright and searching. 

“I should’ve kissed you that night,” Az said. “And every night after.” 

He reached up and gently brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “I regret not telling you how I felt. It was torture watching you be with someone else, Y/n.”

You wanted to respond, but nothing seemed right—no words felt enough. You took a breath and let your shoes fall from your grip, resting a hand over his on your cheek. You reveled in the sensation of his touch, feeling the warmth of his skin and the subtle ridges of his fingers, the touch that was uniquely his. And gently, you lowered his hand, holding it with both of yours, fingers intertwining with his. A flicker of confusion passed through his face, the corners of his mouth turning down slightly.

With another breath, you closed the distance between you. 

Your lips met his with a tentative softness— a tentative brush of warmth that sent your stomach into a whirlwind of sensation. His lips were warm and inviting, moving against yours slowly, carefully, and the act of him kissing you back washed away any worry, any stress and guilt you’d felt recently. 

You drew back for a moment, breathing heavily as your eyes fluttered open. Azriel’s gaze was heavy, molten, and his lips remained parted as he took you in. Then, they curved upwards, and Az let out a breath, eyes brightening.  His smile was the last thing you saw before his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. 

Your hands found their way to the back of his neck as his mouth returned to yours, more insistent this time. This kiss was deeper, a hunger etched in every movement— a need to make up for lost time. His mouth slotted over yours, fitting perfectly in a way that felt inevitable, like you were always meant to end up here, in his arms. 

Your heart pounded in your chest, the sound of it echoing in your ears as you let yourself sink deeper into the kiss. You were sure he could feel it against him, perhaps even hear it, too. A gentle scrape of his teeth against your bottom lip made your knees weak and you wondered, for a moment, if this was what ecstasy felt like. You realized a second later that this was what right felt like. Nothing had felt right because it hadn’t been Azriel. 

When you both pulled apart, chests heaving, eyes glazed and mouths puffy, Az ran his thumb along your bottom lip. A beautiful smile graced his lips.

“I would’ve waited four more years for that,” he whispered, and then he kissed you again.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

author's note: two overthinkers who just get each other... i love them your honor. i want to sit on a beach and have someone give me a seashell :( now im excited bc theyre abt to be sooo damn cute with each other oml

also... check out the one summer graphic gallery for some hot drawings of the summer!boys and co. <3 literally foaming at the mouth theyre so attractive

as always, thank you for reading 🫶🏻 all of yalls comments n notes make me so happy.

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon 

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters 

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

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[lady-of-tearshed]

What defines you

Cassian x Reader

Cassian Week 2024

Day 1: Flying

@cassianappreciationweek

Sumarry: Cassian and Azriel have been sent on a mission while Rhys is away. Cassian gets back from this mission injured, and the prognosis of his wings recovery is uncertain.

Warnings: Mention of injuries, angst, Cassian self-loathing

Word count: 1,139k words

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

You jolted as Azriel walked out of the healer's room bloodied, face paler than usual, eyes wider too. His shadows were swirling all around him frantically, a poor attempt at covering their master’s raw terror. 

You tried to pass by him, to enter the room, but his large hand stopped you before you could open the heavy birch double door. “He doesn't wish to see anyone right now.” His voice was cold, firmly keeping you from entering the room. 

You had rarely seen Azriel refuse you anything. Your eyes watered as Cassian's cries echoed from the other room. “He's my mate.” You hiss. “I need to be there for him in these kind of moments-” 

“And I'm his brother. Yet here I am, respecting his wish.” He spat, completely losing his temper. You froze, you've never seen that side of Azriel. The male standing in front of you wasn't the Azriel you usually gossip with at family dinners, no. This Azriel was gone in this instant, the Azriel standing before you was the exact picture of the Night Court cold Shadow Singer. 

He ran his hands through his hair, not even realizing he'd spread your mate’s blood over it in his movement. “Look. He's in good hands. Madja’s doing what she can. He doesn't want to see anyone, that's it.” He mumbled, softening his voice this time. 

You couldn't be mad at him. This whole situation probably stressed him out as much as you were. You nod, stepping back from the door to rest your back against the opposite wall for support. You didn't feel like you could currently rely on your legs, as every wail of pain coming from Madja’s room made your limbs tremble. 

Azriel stood beside you, avoiding your gaze as he looked up at the ceiling. “I should've known there would've been an ambush.” 

“Where was Rhys? Where is he now?” You asked, venom was lacing your voice. All that burned inside of you was pure hatred towards the High Lord for his absence. 

And agonizing worry for Cassian’s fate. 

“He and Feyre are away to fix important matters in Day Court.” 

You looked incredulously at Azriel, your face reddening, burning, ready to burst. “So he's not here?! And he relied on you two to handle protecting the Night Court, alone?! All while asking you two to fly all the way to Illyria to fix other issues for him?!” 

Azriel didn't answer, didn't meet your eyes, only looked further away. 

Before you could burst out in anger again, Madja opened the door. She closed the door behind her and pulled out a white towel to clean her hands off the blood. Her eyes traveled between you and Azriel, letting out a long exhale.

She looked drained, exhausted…

“His vitals are stable,” She announced, looking at you as she tried to sound reassuring. 

“His wings?” Azriel asked and you shot him a glance. 

“He's going to live. That's all that matters. Thank you, Madja.” You tried to walk past her, but once again someone stops you from being your mate’s state for yourself. 

You almost growled at her, your instincts screaming to rip the head off anyone stopping you to reach your mate’s side. But the sad smile she wears is convincing enough for you to let her head stay intact. “He's not… Happy with the news…”

“What news, Madja?” You snarl, all muscles in your body tensing. Your hands curled into fists at your sides. 

“Don't look at me like that. I know, I'm ruined.” Cassian whispered weakly, turning his face away from you as you sat carefully on the edge of the bed. 

He still wore a visible frown on his face, his facial features twitching with pain with every move he did. His fractured ribs poked into his lungs with every breath he took.

But none of these aches could compare to the one of his soul. Every time the possibility of never being able to fly came up to the surface of Cassian’s mind, it crashed against him like a wave and drowned him in an ocean of anguish. 

“You're not ruined,” You reached your fingers to his face, gently, yet carefully, stroked his jaw. “Madja said that with time, maybe-”

“I don't HAVE time to waste on “maybe's”!” Cassian roughly shoved your hand away from his face, his still healing lower lip splitting open as he yelled at you. “What do you expect me to do, stay here, in bed, and be useless?!” He was panting with anger at this point. 

Cassian needed to calm down, or else he'd hurt himself even more. You tried to calm him down. “Cassian-” 

“I am nothing, no one, if I waste time rotting in this bed. I'll be useless, and forgotten in no time.” Cassian spat, his words burning you like venom. “What am I, if not a general, mh?” He didn't even give you a chance to answer before hissing through clenched teeth. “An Illyrian bastard.”

Silence fell upon the room, you gulped down your anger, fighting the urge to yell back at your mate. “That is bullshit,” Your voice was trembling, and your eyes burning from the tears you held back there. “You are so much more than just a general.” Cassian snickered coldly at your answer, and rolled his eyes at you. 

Your eyes darkened, this wasn't your Cassian. You refused to believe that this male, this stupid Illyrian about to give up everything, was your mate. Your fists clenched at your sides. “You are my mate, Cassian.” You take a shaky breath, tears rolling down your cheeks this time as you frantically continue your monologue. “You are my mate, Feyre's best friend, Rhysand and Azriel's brother, Nyx's fantastic uncle, and so much more.”

Cassian stays deadly silent, but the silver lining in his eyes mirrors how your words have affected him. You scooch closer to his side, and you intertwine your fingers with his. “We'll get through this. I promise,” 

“And if I lose my wings?” His voice cracks.

“Then we'll get through this too,” Your hand hovers above his heart, careful not to apply too much pressure on his bruised chest. “Your wings aren't what defines who you are. This does,” A breath caught in your throat as you feel the steady and strong heartbeat of your mate. “And I'm so glad it's still beating.” 

Cassian nods, the movement stiffed by his tensed muscles. “I am too…” 

You stayed by his side all night after that, and while Cassian didn't get much sleep because of the pain, your words kept him from drowning in his sorrows. Like an anchor in the middle of a storm, your words kept him together. 

“We'll get through this. I promise.”

We… 

He wouldn't have to do this alone, to fight alone. Not anymore. 

Taglist: @lilah-asteria @mybestfriendmademe

[readychilledwine]

Azriel Masterlist

Azriel x Lyria Vanserra

After a mission leaves Az sore, Madja and Rhys suggest he sees Lyria, a healer who specializes in massage therapy

Bound By Fate Series Masterlist

When Kaylee Archeron meets Azriel, her world turns upside down. Between balancing her trauma, new powers, a mating bond, and war looming over her new home, Kaylee learns that everything is not as little as it once seemed.

Beauty in Pain - Request - A failed mission leads to our reader losing her wings (Azriel x Illyrian Reader)

Pt 2

Surprises ** - Azriel has wanted to touch his high lady for a long time (Azriel x Tamlin's Sister OC x Rhysand)

Part 2

Devotion - Request - Based on the quote prompt "I can hold the world in my two hands" (Azriel x Reader)

Replacement - Based *loosely* on a Request - After Azriel's son calls his mate, "mommy", reader is out in a situation where all three of them are healing from trauma

Losing Forever - Request - After his mate heads home to care for her sick father and brother, Azriel is faced with the consequences.

Whispers in The Dark ** - Request - Azriel is ever the opportunist when it comes to using a recently discovered fetish against you.

Cat and Mouse

Request - After reports of Illyrian males torturing females and children hit Rhysand's desk, he, Cassian, and Azriel bring you to the camps for the first time in search of answers.

Lollipop ** After being silenced during the High Lord's meeting with her favorite candy. Seraphina finds herself the center of a certain shadowsingers attention

Part 2 **

For Science ** Request - Azriel and Eris finally agree on one thing, your bratty behavior can't continue to go unpunished

Small World Mini Series

20 years away from the Inner Circle was exactly what Azriel needed to heal. It was exactly what he needed to bring him to you, but the world has a funny way of bringing everything full circle.

The Breakfast Club - After missing breakfast unexpectedly, a hidden relationship is revealed to Azriel's family, who can't tell if they're more surprised by you or his cat.

Oath - Y/n was taken in by Feyre as a small child, and now lives with her in the Night Court, but her favorite person is and will always be Azriel

When I'm Gone - You always had the perfect answer, even when you weren't there to give it anymore

Odd One Out - After 500 years of friendship, the last thing you ever expected was the Inner circle to miss one of your symphonies. But you know what they say, time changes people.

Part 1

Part 2

AZRIEL WEEK -2023

Infatuation - requested - After Nyx thinks he's met his mate, Azriel comes along to ruin his plans (Azriel x teacher!Reader)

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

Lose You to Love Me **- You had wanted him for years, loved him for centuries, and waited for him to notice you and see you. But all books have to close, even if we don't like the ending.

Pt 2

[azrielsdove]

Love and Loss: Ch.4

Warnings: Angstttt, Some Violence

Ch.3 Here | Ch.5 Here

***

Feyre was here again. You knew the deal Rhys made, that every month he would go retrieve her. You understood he had to keep it up, had to play by the rules of his own game. He was as loving and kind to you as ever, but there was a growing divide between the two of you.

You were losing your husband.

At first you cried, eaten up by the sadness and pain. Until you had no more tears left. It hadn’t been the same since he came back from Under the Mountain. You had lost him 50 years ago, when you begged him to not go and he went anyway.

You accepted your marriage was coming to an end. Whether Rhys wanted to admit it or not, he could never love you the same again. Not after the trauma of what he went through, and not after realizing he had a mate. A mate that wasn’t you.

The day he brought Feyre to Velaris was the day it all finally ended. You knew Rhys would never look at you the same now that she was here, living in the Night Court. You waited for the pain in your heart as you watched him care for her, but it never came. There wasn’t anything left.

You moved your stuff out of Rhys’ room, asking Azriel to help bring it up to the House of Wind. You had no desire to stay in the townhouse anymore, a place that felt less and less like home everyday. You chose one of the unused bedrooms close to your friend, knowing you would feel less alone if he was nearby.

Rhys hardly noticed you had gone.

You waited for him to come ask for a divorce. You waited for him to say a single word to you. All you got was silence. You kept to yourself most of the time, not having the energy to be around the others. You stayed in your room and read, allowing the made-up stories to swallow the nightmare you lived in now.

It was some days after Rhys brought Feyre to Velaris that he called a family dinner. You dressed as usual, playing the ever-dutiful role of the High Lords wife. You kept your wedding rings on, the tattoo on your arm that matched Rhys’ visible as always. You would play the game until he admitted it was over.

You entered the dining room, not at all surprised to see Feyre in your usual seat next to your husband. You sat next to Azriel, acting as if this was all normal. You noticed the way her curious eyes rested on you, taking in your appearance. “Who are you?” She asked, rather politely.

You gave her a small smile, opening your mouth to respond when Rhys interrupted. “This is one of my dear friends.” Your ears roared at his words as he said your name. Dear friends? 150 years of being his perfect wife and you got reduced to a ‘friend’. Tension flooded the room as your friends took in what be said.

A tension Feyre noticed.

“Oh,” she said, understanding that he was hiding something. “It’s nice to meet you. Are you Azriel’s wife?”

The shadowsinger choked on his drink next to you, a laugh bubbling out of you in shock at her words. Feyre’s cheeks colored as she realized her mistake. “I’m sorry, I noticed the ring and assumed.” She looked down at the table in embarrassment. Rhys shot you and Az a nasty look, angry that you had upset his mate.

“Oh, it is okay!” You consoled, waving away her worry. “No, my husband sits next to you.”

Her eyes widened as she looked at Rhys, who was in turn glaring daggers at you. You gave him a sweet smile, done playing his game. He could either man up and divorce you, or treat you like the wife you were. “But you said she was your friend?” Feyre asked him, confused by the whole situation.

“Our marriage was one of duty, not love.” Rhys told her, the lie falling from his lips so easily. The tattoo that matched his burned against your skin, a signal that the marriage pact was breaking. You snorted, standing from the table.

“If that’s the story you wish to tell, Rhysand.” You shot at him, disgust dripping from your words. “As it stands, i’d say our marriage no longer matters.” You slid the rings you’ve worn for a century and a half off your finger, setting them down on the table. “Welcome to Velaris, Feyre.”

***

The second you were out of sight of the dining room you took off running. You wished more than ever that you could fly, that you could run away from the House and never return. You knew you would have to answer to Rhys, and it wasn’t his anger that scared you. It was yours. You didn’t regret what you said or how you acted. After so long of playing the docile female, you had decided that version of you was dead.

Rhys had killed her.

You stopped running in front of the doors to the library. You may as well reside in a public area, waiting for Rhys to come find you. You grabbed a book and settled on the couch as if nothing was wrong, opening it and beginning to read.

It did not take long before he showed up.

“What, may I ask, is wrong with you?” He demanded from the doorway.

“Me? The question, dear husband, is what is wrong with you?” You asked, not looking up from your book.

“This isn’t like you.” He said, his voice quiet.

“No, it isn’t.” You agreed, still continuing to read as if he wasn’t there.

Rhys walked over, coming to stand in front of you. “Tell me how to fix it. How to fix us.” He begged, pushing your book down gently.

You sighed, looking up at him. “You can’t.”

Anger flooded through the male in front of you, not used to his charms not working. “You are being ridiculous.”

“No, Rhys. I am simply looking at the facts. Our marriage has been over for a long while.” You spoke nonchalantly, as calmly as if this were a conversation about the weather.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re allowing jealousy to cloud your love for me.” You laughed at his words.

“My love for you? What about your love for me? Or was our marriage just an ‘act of duty’?” You quoted his words back at him, standing up from the sofa.

He rolled his eyes, exasperated by you. “I was trying to fix the mess you made!”

“The mess I made? By gods Rhysand, do you even hear yourself? You were the one who chose to introduce me as your ‘friend’!” You shot out, anger rising under your skin.

“She doesn’t need to know everything.” He defended, crossing his arms in front of him.

“Oh my bad, how silly of me. Of course your mate doesn’t need to know about your wife!” Your voice was close to a shout, but you didn’t care.

“Do not raise your voice with me!” He yelled back, stepping closer to intimidate you. “You could have just pretended to be Azriel’s wife!”

You blinked up at him, shock on your face. “There was a time when even the thought of me pretending that would have you fuming.”

“That time is over. I can’t feel jealousy for someone I no longer love.” His words were like a bullet through you, a knife in your heart.

“I see.” You said, moving away from him. “You know Rhys, you could have just asked for a divorce when you returned from Under the Mountain.” Your voice was devoid of emotion as you stared into his eyes. “I would have done anything to make you happy, as always. There was no need to force yourself to pretend you still cared about me.” You watched your words land, regret almost coming onto his face.

Instead, he scoffed at you. “I’ve never cared about you.” His voice was dangerously calm. “I married you because I like to win, my dear.” He came close to you, knuckles dragging across your cheek. “I never loved you. What I loved was dangling you over Azriel’s head.”

Your hand connected with his face before you even realized what you were doing. The smack echoed through the room, too angry to care about the consequences. In seconds Rhys had you kneeling on the floor, his power raiding your mind. He had only ever trained you to keep your shields up enough to deflect initial attacks, but never strong enough to deflect him.

You knew you were screaming, the pain unlike anything you had ever experienced. “Never,” Rhys roared in your mind, “lay your hands upon me again. You ungrateful, dirty bitch.” You were trying everything to push him out as you began to feel your brain turn to mush, unable to withstand the power he was sending through you. Your nails were scratching into the hardwood, blood coming from your fingers as they shattered.

Suddenly he was gone, ripped out of your mind. You crumpled into a ball, shaking as you curled in on yourself. You heard the distant sounds of fighting, someone picking you up. You recognized Cassian’s comforting voice whispering in your ear, trying to bring you back to the present. You opened your eyes, vision blurry while you looked around the room. You saw a great cloud of darkness, Rhysand’s power and Azriel’s shadows. Cassian set you down gently onto the sofa, running into the fight to separate his brothers.

“Enough!” He roared, pushing the two of them apart. The darkness on both sides dwindled, revealing two bloody males. “Rhys, I don’t know what has gotten into you, but if you think you can murder your wife in our home you are mistaken.” Cassian’s voice was hard, strained.

You watched as Rhys shook out his sleeves, pinning his cuffs back up. “She shouldn’t have acted so foolish then.” He said, sounding nothing like the male you all knew. He turned from his brothers, leaving the room. Azriel was by your side in seconds, eyes holding yours.

“Let me help you.” He whispered, pulling you into his arms. You nodded, laying your tired head on his chest. You faintly heard him and Cassian talking as he walked you to his room, some sort of plan being made.

“We can’t let him be around her alone again.” Azriel was saying.

“I agree. I think we should keep an eye on Rhys as well. This is most unlike him. We cant risk him attacking anyone else.” Cassian responded, ever the General.

Azriel hummed in agreement, too angry to say much more. You began to fall in and out of consciousness, the power Rhys had thrown at you too much to handle. The last thing you remember was Azriel yelling for a healer, placing you onto a bed that smelled like him.

***

You were laid out on a stretch of grass near the Sidra, a book in your hands. You hummed to yourself, turning another page. You were hardly taking the words in, mind distracted by your most recent outing with Rhys. The new High Lord was certainly charming, daydreaming about him every second you were apart.

You thought about the way he had kissed you when he dropped you off back home, the way his hands cupped your face. The gentle words he whispered into your lips, praising your beauty and mind. You hadn’t been in love before, but you were certain you were now. You smiled to yourself at the thought.

Footsteps approached you and you turned to find Azriel. “Hello,” you greeted, moving into a sitting position. You patted the spot next to you for him to sit as well.

“Hello,” he said back, sitting next to you. “What are you reading?”

“Oh, some new romance I found at the library. Truthfully, i’m finding it a little hard to focus.” You giggled, not having told your friend what’s been going on. You knew he and Rhys were like brothers, but something felt off about telling him.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He pried, reading your body language.

“Okay,” you began, turning to face him. “But you can’t get mad!” He laughed, shaking his head.

“I’d never get mad at you.”

“Rhys has been courting me, and I think he’s going to make it official soon.” Your words were met with a stunned silence. Your smile faltered, worried your friend was uncomfortable that you were going with his brother.

“Oh.” Was all Azriel said, staring blankly at you.

“Is that okay? I hope I didn’t upset you. He’s just so sweet and handsome and ugh!” You gushed, throwing yourself back down onto the blanket.

Azriel remained stoic next to you, sucking the joy out of your announcement. “That’s great.” He said dully, not sounding like it was great at all. He stood abruptly, beginning to walk away. “I have to go. Urgent meeting just came up.”

He was gone before you could say another word.

***

Ahhhhh I so hope you guys enjoyed this part!!! You got a little snippet of what happened all those years ago at the end, the next part will hold Azriel’s account of what happened between him and Rhys. Please let me know what you think and if you want to be added to the taglist!!!!!

Taglist: @amara-moonlight @tothestarsandwhateverend @onlyangellh @hnyclover @greenapplesaucepi @just-a-social-casualty-1 @heyyitsnat21 @mirandasidefics @bubybubsters s @mybestfriendmademe