bakusbabygirl

[bakusbabygirl]

Nesta: I think I’m bi

Cassian: which one?

Nesta: wtf do you mean?

Cassian: bisexual? Bilingual? Bipolar?

Rhysand: I know

Rhysand: a bitch

[bakusbabygirl]

Love of Choice | Azriel x reader

Summary: The Cauldron doesn’t alway pick wisely when it comes to mates, but even though Azriel isn’t hers, she chooses him.

A/N: Jeez almost made myself cry writing this one (in a good way). I was so close to ending this with heartbreak, but you guys know I’m a sucker for happy endings lol. Please do let me know what you think! I love love love reading your comments ✨🫶

Word count: 5457

Warnings: talk of past abusive relationship and violence, angst (w/ happy ending), all the feels … it’s a bit sappy ngl

-

Fear is a funny thing. It is such a basic emotion to feel, yet somehow—if felt for long enough—it becomes a part of oneself. A detail so deeply engrained into the very essence of the being that you eventually learn to live with it. A constant companion. Sure, you’ll forget about it when things run smoothly, but whenever it comes back to crack the surface, your heart will sink for just a second with a horrific sense of realization.

For Y/N, that sinking feeling always came in the form of a simple question.

“So, since when have you and Azriel been mated, then?”

Feyre’s smile was honest, if a bit cautious. She was still adapting to life at the Night Court, though she looked healthier than she had upon her arrival. The bones no longer protruded from her clavicle, and she warmed to the presence of the inner circle a little more with each passing day.

From the corner of her eye, Y/N could see Cassian snap his attention to the glass in his hand. The laugh that had previously fallen freely from his lips due to a drunken patron at Rita’s had ebbed away quickly. He knew of the tension that flowed into each of Y/N’s muscles at Feyre’s question, though she did her best not to show it.

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Azriel and I aren’t mates,” she said, her tongue heavy as she formed the words she’d had to speak to herself over and over again to accept them as the truth.

Feyre seemed surprised. “Oh? I never would’ve guessed. You two seem so … in sync.” She hesitated, and Y/N could see the question in her eyes. “Do you think the bond just hasn’t snapped yet? I’m sorry if that’s overstepping a line, you don’t have to answer, of course,” she added quickly, a faint touch of red tinting her cheeks.

“Don’t worry, I don’t mind,” Y/N said, her smile gaining in warmth at the newly turned faerie before her. Despite all the things Feyre had had to endure Under the Mountain, she was still so … curious. So new. “My mate died centuries ago. That’s how I know it cannot be Azriel.”

“Gods, I’m so sorry.” Feyre looked truly grief-stricken at the thought. “I can’t imagine how terrible it must have been to lose your mate.”

It was Cassian who snorted into the brief silence that followed Feyre’s words. “Good riddance,” he muttered before downing the rest of his drink.

Y/N tilted her head as she observed the uncomprehending look on Feyre’s face at Cassian’s unsubtle words, and she wondered what Feyre had been told about the mating bond.

“Mates aren’t always chosen wisely, Feyre,” Y/N spoke. “Sometimes the matches are … unfortunate. I don’t know what Tamlin told you about it,” her voice became cautious at the mention of the High Lord of Spring, “but accepting the mating bond is not compulsory. Sometimes the Cauldron—wise as it is—chooses wrong.”

Feyre seemed to cling to every word she spoke, her eyes wide. “What happens if you refuse the bond?”

Y/N forced the air from her lungs in a deep exhale, signalling Rita for a refill of her drink. “Well, it depends. Seeing as the female is usually the one who must accept the bond, she’s also the one who can reject it. There are very, very few instances in which a male refused a mate.”

“And the few we know of have not been pretty,” Cass added, picking apart a napkin with rough fingers. “No matter who rejects it, the other one usually goes mad with grief. Our nature’s fun like that,” he added with a wink and a half-hearted grin.

Feyre blinked a few times before looking at Y/N with a mixture of hesitation and curiosity, though it seemed the latter won the upper hand.

“So, I take it you were the one to reject your bond?”

Y/N grinned at that, though her insides were churning. “Do I not look mad to you?”

Feyre gave a sheepish smile. “Not particularly, no.”

Y/N sighed, and her grin died as fast as it had appeared. “I did reject it. He wasn’t very nice.”

Cass snorted again. “Understatement of the year.” A frown took over his features, making him look every bit as deathly as he was. “The cruel bastard.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“It’s the only way of putting it.”

Feyre’s eyes darted from one to the other, and Y/N could see the question arise within them before she so much as formed the words.

“What did he—”

“I’m gonna go get a refill,” Cassian announced. He stood to head for the bar before Feyre could finish her sentence, and Y/N recognised it for the exit strategy that it was. Contrary to what one might have expected given his title, Cassian had never particularly enjoyed hearing tales of cruelty and suffering. Especially not when it came to the people he loved.

Y/N cleared her throat, and Feyre’s expression grew wary, her voice barely above a whisper when she spoke. “You really don’t have to tell me.”

“No, it’s fine,” Y/n said. “You’re one of us now. You deserve to know who we are.” She hesitated, then sought out Feyre’s gaze. “Rhys told you about what happened to Mor?”

A barely-there flinch ran through Feyre at the mention of Mor’s ordeal. She gave a single nod, and Y/N lifted a shoulder.

“My family doesn’t stem from the Hewn City, but our customs were pretty much the same. They planned to marry me off to the highest bidder, and when he turned out to be my mate as well, they saw an opportunity to squeeze him for the last of his riches. A mate—especially a male one—would do anything, give anything for the bond.” She hesitated. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t smart enough to get myself out of it … not like Mor did. I thought I’d got lucky, given that I’d be married off to my mate.”

Y/N tugged on the cuff of her dress. “I lived with him for a while, but it didn’t take very long to realise my mistake and I thank the Gods every day that I hadn’t yet accepted the bond.”

“Why hadn’t you?” Feyre asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

Y/N shrugged. “Intuition? It was during the war with Hybern, right after we’d freed our human slaves, and I told him I wanted to wait with the ceremony till the war was over. But even during the few good weeks we had, something always felt … off.” She cleared her throat again, her mouth suddenly dry. “Well, like I said, it only took a few weeks to realise my mistake. They don’t value women a lot, you see. The other High Lords, I mean. Never have. Except for breeding purposes, of course.” Bitterness twisted her mouth into a frown. “I’ll spare you the details, but it wasn’t … well, it wasn’t pretty.”

“Wait, you … you were married to a High Lord?”

“Well, not quite.” Y/N tilted her head. She’d assumed Rhys had told her this much at least. “To an heir. Nuvian. The heir of Spring.”

She could see the colour draining from Feyre’s face. “You were married to … to …”

“Tamlin’s eldest brother, yes.”

Feyre swallowed heavily, and Y/N observed her for a moment. She knew of the bond between Feyre and Rhys, of course. It was hard to miss. Or at least it was hard to miss for someone who’d spent her life resenting one bond and longing for another. She’d gotten very sensitive when it came to the detection of mating bonds. Only Feyre didn’t know it yet, of course. 

She briefly wondered whether she should tell her, but soon concluded that it wasn’t her place to interfere.

“And he—” Feyre broke off, shaking her head at the direction her thoughts had taken. “I always got the impression Tamlin was raised to … to respect.”

“Tamlin’s family values wives for their roles as wives. They’re supposed to be silent and pretty to look at and pop out a few heirs while they’re at it.” Y/N hesitated when she recalled that Feyre did once love the High Lord of Spring, and, softening her tone, she added. “I don’t know Tamlin very well. I believe you when you say he’s not like that.”

An emotion flickered across Feyre’s face—one Y/N couldn’t quite place. It was gone faster than it had appeared.

“So, you lived at the Spring Court? And you never accepted the bond?”

Y/N sighed, leaning back in her chair. “No. Never. He didn’t seem to care much at first. I mean, he got most of what he wanted from me even without a bond. Save for the heir of course—I made sure of that.”

“What do you mean?”

Y/N felt her jaw clench for a fleeting moment. “There are tonics even someone without much knowledge of herbs can brew. Over my dead body would I have bound myself to him with yet another chain.”

Feyre hesitated. “And what happened then?”

Y/N felt every muscle, every tense edge of her face soften as a sense of calm washed over her. “Then I met Azriel.”

Feyre was surprised. “Already?”

She nodded. “Rhys and Tamlin were friends back then. I’m sure he told you?” When Feyre nodded, Y/N continued. “Rhys visited the Spring Court a couple times. We didn’t know each other then, but I missed my home, and so I befriended him. He reminded me of the Night Court, and I felt a little better when I talked to him. He brought me little trinkets from Velaris, things you could only get in the Night Court … and then one time, he brought Azriel along. I think it was for spying purposes, but Gods…” Y/N shook her head softly, mesmerised as she allowed herself to sink deep into the memory. “I fell hard, and I fell fast, and I’ve loved him ever since.”

“Was he the reason you left Nuvian?” Feyre asked quietly, and the memory that had just warmed Y/N’s veins turned ice cold.

“One does not simply leave the Heir of the Spring Court,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “Nuvian noticed of course, he was bound to. He detected a scent he didn’t know, said I … tasted different.” She grimaced. “He didn’t know it was Azriel. He suspected Rhys, and so he— … he began to whisper, to scheme and manipulate his father into thinking Rhys would be a threat to his throne.”

Nausea twisted her stomach into a knot, and for the first time since knowing her, she didn’t dare meet Feyre’s eye. She didn’t have to. She knew that Rhys had told her this part.

“By the Mother,” Feyre breathed.

Y/N cleared her throat, desperately attempting to swallow the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. “Tamlin’s father slaughtered Rhys’ family, and it was all because of Nuvian’s jealousy. It was all because of me.”

Cassian chose that moment to reappear, bearing a beer glass he’d already half-emptied only to set it down on the table much harder than necessary.

“Stop talking like that,” he said gruffly, though the gentle hand that appeared on her back counteracted his harsh tone. “It wasn’t your fault. Tam’s old man would’ve come for Rhys even without your involvement.”

She offered a wobbly smile. She knew he truly believed his words—all of them did. Rhys had never once blamed her for what had happened. But she knew the truth, even if neither one of them wanted to see it.

Silence stretched on for a long while, only the soft murmur of a lazy crowd of patrons buzzing in the background of Rita’s pub. She felt a gentle brush of air on her ankle, goosebumps arising on the back of her neck.

It was Feyre who spoke first. “So that’s how it ended? Rhys and his father killed Nuvian along with his family, and you were free to go back to the Night Court?”

“Oh, Rhys didn’t kill the bastard,” Cass said, and Y/N smiled at the shadow curling over her hand.

Feyre looked confused now. “Then who killed him?”

“I did,” a low voice hummed from somewhere behind them—a voice deep as the night and smooth as shadow, and Y/N felt her heart pick up its pace as though on cue.

From the way Feyre’s eyes focused on something behind her, Y/N could tell that Azriel had emerged from his shadows, and sure enough, two broad palms appeared on her shoulders, heavy with comfort and warmth.

“Azriel,” Feyre said, her eyes briefly flickering to Y/N as though to make sure the topic was still okay to talk about, even with Azriel present. “You went with Rhys that night?”

Y/N lay her head back to look up at Azriel and watched as he inclined his head in confirmation.

When he caught her gaze, his eyes softened, and she felt his thumb brush against the side of her neck affectionately.

“Will you give us a moment, my love?” she asked softly, her hand coming up to find one of his, the pads of her fingers brushing over raised scar tissue. She knew he’d come to take her home. “I will be out in a moment.”

“Of course,” he said, and Y/N caught a flicker of concern in the depth of his eyes—one he always got whenever she dwelt on the past. He squeezed her shoulders, offering a polite smile to Feyre, and then vanished into the shadows once again.

Cassian was quick to rise from his chair as well. “I’ll go keep him company,” he proclaimed. “Would be a shame to have him freeze his balls off all by himself.”

Y/N snorted. “And you call yourself Illyrian.”

She hid a grin as Cassian gave her the finger before steering towards the door, half-empty glass in hand.

Y/N exhaled deeply, but she could see from the look in Feyre’s eyes that something was still nagging her. Tilting her head, she asked, “What is it?”

Feyre hesitated. She opened her mouth, then clapped it shut before opening it once again.

“It’s just,” she began. “The mating bond. It’s supposed to be this amazing, beautiful thing, and hearing that it was such agony for you, it’s … well, it’s a reality check I suppose.”

Y/N’s face softened as she sought out Feyre’s hands on the tabletop. “Most times, it is beautiful,” she said. “It’s just dangerous to romanticise it, as it is dangerous to romanticise literally anything else in life. It is important to remember that you have a choice. You can choose to reject it just as well as you can choose to embrace it. And if the latter, I’m sure that— … whoever you end up with shall be worthy of your love.”

Gods, she’d been this close to letting it slip. But luckily, Feyre was still distracted.

“But you and Azriel—” Feyre broke off, collected her thoughts, then opened her mouth again. “I truly don’t mean to pry, but while I was with Tamlin, I kept waiting … I kept thinking the bond would snap any day now. And when it didn’t, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he and I … that we—”

“That you weren’t meant to be,” Y/N finished for her, ignoring that sharp twist in her gut—that fear she’d now been carrying for centuries raising its ugly head. She nodded, searching for the right words before she opened her mouth. “I’m very sure of Azriel’s love for me, and yet every night before I fall asleep, there’s a part of me that fears that the next day will be the day that he finds his true mate. I dread the day his bond snaps in place because I know he’ll want to fight it. He’ll do anything in his might to fight it, and he’ll be torn between his love for me and every instinct telling him to love someone else. I dread it because that’s not what I want for him.”

She swallowed thickly. “I had my mate, and I’m glad he’s dead. Azriel carved him up, and I did not shed a single tear. I rejected the bond, and I chose to spend my life with Azriel instead. I choose him every single day, and even if one day it’ll end, I’ll know that it was real. No Cauldron, no Mother, no Gods. I love him, and he loves me, and we chose each other, bond or not.”

Tears were lining Feyre’s eyes as she stared at her, and Y/N smiled, tilting her head. “You’re still new to this, Feyre,” she spoke softly. “Unfortunately, when you live an immortal life, things are bound to get unfathomably hard at one point or another. But that doesn’t mean you don’t get to have a say in your own future.”

It was just a short while later that Y/N revelled in the starlight as she walked along the Sidra, her arm looped through Azriel’s, her head leaning against his shoulder. She’d always loved the night.

Cassian had taken off with Feyre earlier, flying her back to the House of Wind, but Y/N and Azriel had decided to walk to the home they shared by the river.

“My love,” Azriel spoke softly into the silence, his steps halting as he turned to face her fully.

She smiled as she looked up at him, at the starlight reflecting in his eyes, the dark strands of hair swallowed by the shadows of night. “What is it?”

She felt his palms on her cheeks, his warmth seeping into her skin, and when he kissed her, she felt the tingle right down to her toes.

“I love you,” he breathed when he broke the kiss, his face still close enough for her to feel the puff of his words wash over her skin. “I love you more than words can say. And I choose you, too.”

Her smile turned watery then, though she tried to play it off.

“Eavesdropping now, are we?”

“Marry me.”

Her heart stuttered to a stop at his words, her breathing suddenly laboured. “Azriel—”

“No, wait,” he said, his thumb brushing against her lower lip in a gentle request. “I know we’ve talked about it before, and I know you have this notion of me suddenly finding my mate and then being bound to you when I’d rather be with them. But that’s not going to happen.”

She swallowed thickly, her voice barely above a whisper as she spoke, for fear it could break entirely. “You don’t know that.”

“But I do.” Conviction lay in Azriel’s words, his eyes searching hers. “You said it yourself. We choose each other every day and we have for centuries now. The bond is rare to begin with, but what makes you think you’d be second choice if it ever came to the possibility of mine snapping in place?”

She was thankful for the thumb he smoothed across her cheek, catching a stray tear.

“You don’t know the power of a mating bond, Az. There’s no way you can be sure.”

He considered her for a moment. “Maybe not. But you told Feyre that we get to decide for ourselves. We don’t need to rely on the Cauldron. I get to choose, and I choose you.”

She felt her lip wobble.

“I choose you,” he said again, softer this time. “You’re my mate in every way that counts. Marry me.”

-

The day Azriel’s bond snapped in place was a few months after the second war with Hybern.

Solstice was nearing, and Rhys had invited representatives from every Court to celebrate early. Well, almost every court. He’d skipped Spring and Autumn.

The banquet hall in the House of Wind had been decorated for the occasion, artful ice crystals mixing in with dark fabrics and millions of tiny diamonds forming the illusion of a rich night sky.

It was in the middle of the main course that Azriel felt a sharp tug in his chest, a flinch running through him at the sensation.

To his left, Y/N threw a worried glance at him.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, her hand seeking out his, the diamond on her finger catching the light of the chandelier. Azriel thought of the day they’d stood before their friends, exchanging rings, vows, promises. It all seemed years away now, though it had only been months.

“Yes, I …” Azriel broke off, clearing his throat. “Excuse me for a moment, my love.”

He didn’t bother getting up from the table, but rather vanished into his shadows only to find himself in the comfort of his room seconds later.

Something felt … off.

He’d heard of heart attacks before, had even witnessed a few during the time he’d spent spying in the human realm, but he knew that that couldn’t be what was happening to him. Faeries didn’t get heart attacks. Short from a blade to the gut, there wasn’t much that could kill them.

Poison entered his mind. Poison was possible. Or a cold. Perhaps a bruise from his last training with Cass. Or an old war injury.

Anything. He was racking his brain, desperately searching for an explanation other than the obvious.

A new wave of warmth crashed into him, and Azriel gritted his teeth when a gentle knock on the door had him flinch.

Usually, he sensed anyone approaching within a mile thanks to his shadows.

“Az,” Y/N said as she entered the room, closing the door behind her. Gods, he loved the dress she wore tonight, the delicate earrings he’d gifted her years back. He tried to focus on them with all his might. “Are you sure you’re okay? You looked … spooked when you left.”

“Yes, I’m—” Azriel broke off and flinched when the sharp sensation reappeared, instinctively lifting a hand to his chest.

It seemed that gesture alone was enough for her to realise, and Y/N’s face fell as though drained entirely from energy.

Suddenly, silence lay heavy between them, thick as mud and unbearable in its duration.

“It’s your bond,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, her expression almost numb. “Isn’t it?”

“No,” Azriel said, forcing the sensation back down and ignoring the rising panic threatening to clog up his throat. “No, it’s not.”

“Azriel—”

“No.”

Silence settled once again, and Azriel wanted to throw up at the distance she kept as though she had no right to step closer. As though she wasn’t the one who was supposed to be here right now.

He took the step instead, lifting his palm to her face, but before he could touch her, the sting in his chest intensified and Azriel huffed as he clenched his fist mid-air.

Her eyes softened, but the sorrow they held almost broke him.

“Azriel,” she spoke softly, quietly. “It’s okay.”

He shook his head, not trusting his voice.

“You’re suppressing it,” she said. “Allow it to snap in place.”

“No,” Azriel gritted through his teeth. He didn’t want this, and the fact that she looked like her worst fear had just manifested right before her eyes didn’t make it any easier. She made it seem final. She made it seem like she’d already given up hope.

“The longer you suppress it, the stronger it’ll get.”

“You just made that up.”

She smiled weakly. “Maybe.”

Azriel’s eyes watered. “I don’t want it.”

“That’s okay, baby,” she breathed, finally stepping closer, lifting her own hand to his chest. “Letting it snap in place doesn’t make it final. You can find out who you’re bonded to and decide then.”

“I have decided.”

No part of her seemed convinced at that, but she let it go without comment.

“Let it snap,” she urged instead. “You won’t be able to fight it forever.”

Azriel’s hands shot to her face, his grip a bit firmer than he intended as he held her cheeks in his palms.

“Listen to me,” he ground out, the pressure in his chest intensifying. “Stop talking like that. Stop talking like this is the end. I have decided. I. Choose. You.”

She looked at him for a long while—so long that he thought his chest might burst into flames if she kept it up much longer. Finally, her gaze snapped to the ring on the hand that still lay on his chest, and she nodded.

“I know,” she breathed, fixing her eyes back on him. “I know, Az.”

Azriel exhaled as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and with his hands still on the one he loved, he carefully loosened the restraints he’d kept on the throbbing heat in his chest.

At once, it burst free, and Azriel stumbled a step back, his hands falling from her cheeks as though they’d been burned. Tension ran from the top of his head right down to his toes, and he felt it then—glowing deep within him, golden and hot, pulsing with energy, tethering him to … he didn’t know to whom, but the feeling was breath-taking. It was all-consuming, clouding his mind and numbing his senses as every bit of his focus turned inwards in an attempt to peer to the other side of that line. The side that still lay in darkness.

Her voice was the only thing that penetrated the fog in his head.

“Can you feel her yet?” she asked, her voice cracking at the end, and Azriel knew that he hadn’t controlled the mesmerisation he’d felt just then. He’d let it all show on his face bright as day for her to see.

He hesitated. “No.”

“Tug on it.”

He wanted to fight it, to refuse, but the sudden need to find out was overwhelming. It seemed like he no longer was in control, like his body was working against his mind, and so he did as she said.

It took a few tries. He never would have imagined it to feel like this, but when he finally managed to grasp the invisible thread within him, he gave a tentative tug. When that didn’t work, he gave a harder tug, and from one moment to the next, his heart stuttered to a stop.

Because standing before him, in the room he’d called his home for many years, was the one he loved. And as his eyes tracked the absent-minded look on her face, he noted her hand rubbing at a spot just beneath her left clavicle. She didn’t even seem to realise she was doing it.

He stared at her, and as he stared, he forced himself not to hope, because surely it was impossible. Unheard of. Otherworldly.

Azriel gripped that thread within him, and he tugged, and as he tugged, he flooded it with everything he felt for her, every bit of love he had to offer.

His knees weakened when she flinched, confusion on her face.

“What—”

“Look at me,” he interrupted her, placing his hands on her shoulders this time, his eyes boring into hers. He gave another tug, and he could see it then—see the realisation flicker deep within her eyes, the eyes that now flooded with unshed tears.

“What are you doing, I—”

Suddenly, a sense of calm overcame Azriel, and it seemed time slowed to a grinding stop. He saw her eyes then, the eyes he’d lost himself in right upon their first encounter in the Spring Court. The lips he’d kissed during stolen moments alone, the cheeks he’d held when she’d sobbed over the cruelty of the Cauldron for making Nuvian her mate and not him.

He’d wanted to kill Nuvian then. For everything he’d been doing to her, every bruise on her body and soul, every finger he’d ever dared to lay on her. Azriel had already had a plan, but he’d hesitated. He didn’t know what it would do to her if he killed her mate, and before he’d managed to convince himself to go through with it, Tamlin’s father had already sought his revenge for a supposed threat to his throne.

Afterwards, Azriel had held in his hands not only the shattered bits of his lover but also those of his brother, and he’d revelled in the way his dagger felt cutting through Nuvian’s throat like a knife through butter.

He spoke her name now, the name of a love greater than he’d ever dared to hope for. It felt soft on his tongue, and his wings shuddered with the sensation.

“Y/N. My love. It’s you.”

She stared at him, and when she took a step back, creating distance between them, Azriel’s heart gave a crack.

His fingers wrapped gently around her wrist, and he felt her hand tremble in his grip, her face stricken.

“Feel for it,” he insisted, lifting her hand back to his chest to press her palm over his heart. “Dig it up.”

“Azriel,” her voice was rough as gravel as she spoke, her head shaking frantically. “Don’t. It’s not possible.”

He urged closer, breathing her in, feeling the bond thrum thickly within him, and when he tugged again, she gave a choked sob in response to the sensation he knew now coursed through her as well.

“Let it snap,” he said, using her own words, his voice much calmer than he would have thought it would be in such a situation. He weaved his free hand through her hair, lowering his forehead to hers. “Allow it to snap in place.”

She hesitated, but when she finally allowed the tension to flow from her muscles, it seemed every fibre of Azriel’s being came to life with sizzling heat, and this time, when she sobbed, it was with joy barely contained.

-

- BONUS -

It was a little while later that Azriel stood in Rhys’ study, his fingers running along the bare curve of his mate’s back, revelling in every bump and dent of her spine. He truly loved her dress—her back bare for him to touch, her front glittering like his favourite constellation.

In the hour since the bond had snapped into place, his hands hadn’t left her once.

Rhys stared at them.

“Two mating bonds,” he muttered, his expression equally mesmerised. “I’ve never heard of such a thing before.”

“Do you think it’s because I didn’t accept the first one?” Y/N asked quietly. She was still buzzing with joy, but the overwhelming revelation had left her spent, her cheeks glowing, her tone calm. Her own hands were fiddling with a button on Azriel’s jacket.

Rhys considered her for a moment. “Perhaps,” he said. “Either that or the fact that Nuvian is dead. There could be a time factor to it as well, but—" Rhys halted in his speech, and his eyes snapped to the door behind Y/N’s back. “Feyre, darling. Have you heard the news?”

When Y/N turned, her gaze landed on the High Lady, and a smile curved her lips in response to the excitement shining in her eyes.

“Well of course. Your thoughts were very loud,” Feyre grinned, closing the door softly behind her. “Cassian and Mor are losing their minds.”

Azriel snorted softly, and Y/N felt his hand slip to her hip to give a gentle squeeze.

“I’m so happy for you two,” Feyre said, bouncing ever so slightly on the balls of her feet, her eyes bright. “I’m so glad it worked.”

Y/N and Azriel shared a look before Y/N looked back at Feyre and asked, “What worked?”

“Well, I wished for it.”

A beat of silence.

“Whatever do you mean, my darling?” Rhys asked from where he sat behind his desk.

Feyre tilted her head. “When you and I were mending the Cauldron, of course. I wished for them to be mated. Didn’t you hear?”

Silence settled, the clock by the door ticking loudly, and all Y/N could do was stare at the faerie that—in the few short months she’d been living at the Night Court—had not only become her High Lady but a dear friend.

For the first time since the bond snapped, Azriel’s hand left her skin, and she felt the loss of contact right down to her bones.

She watched carefully as he neared Feyre and smiled when he wrapped strong arms around her delicate shoulders, pulling her firmly to his chest, his head bowing as he pressed his cheek to her hair.

“Thank you,” he breathed, and as Y/N caught Feyre’s gaze over the shoulder of her mate, it felt like her heart was about to burst with happiness.

[bakusbabygirl]

Ok this one actually made me CACKLE out loud and my roommate too

Cassian: the annoying brother

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 2.7k | warnings: brief mentions of alcohol, slight violence

Summary: You and Azriel are mates, but haven't told the rest of your family. Cassian is suspicious of the two of you and does whatever he can to try to rile up a newly mated Azriel or get you to accidentally let it slip.

Author's note: This has been in my drafts for AGES and I'm so glad you guys wanted it. Shout out to @lady-of-tearshed for the line about allergies.

“Azriel, you have to go.”

Your voice is soft as you lightly kick him, pushing him towards the edge of the bed. The house was still, the sky dark beyond your balcony doors. He grunts, wrapping his arms around you tight, his foot catching your bedpost, pushing against it to stay on the bed.

“Five more minutes,” he grumbles, rolling over on top of you, his wings draping across the bed. His breath tickles your ear as he has you pinned beneath him, his arms and legs circling around you. You wiggle your hand up to poke him in the side repeatedly, “you have to get up, babe.”

He huffs in your ear, “I don’t have to do anything.”

You roll your eyes at his antics, his refusal to get out of bed worsening each day. “You agreed to train the Valkyries against magic wielders today.”

“That was the old me, the new me doesn’t care.”

“That was the you from a week ago.”

“I could kick his ass.”

“Not if you stay in this bed, you can’t.”

He moaned once more into your neck as he held tightly to you before pushing off, spinning you two so you were on top of him. He closes his eyes, his head falling back dramatically on the pillow.

“Oh no, looks like there’s something keeping me from getting up. Send Cassian my regards.”

You giggle, trying to push off of him but his grip won’t budge. “As if Cassian won’t come in here the second he can’t find you in your own room.”

“Your door has a lock.”

“I know for a fact he would fly outside and fly in through my balcony doors.”

He sighs, his grip on you loosening. “Fine. Will you at least be there for family dinner tonight?”

You nod your head against him and he rolls you off of himself, slowly climbing out of the bed. He shakes his wings, stretching them out before folding them back behind himself. He leans over the bed, reaching towards you. You shuffle enough across the bed to give him access to your forehead, where he plants a swift kiss.

“It’s too early for sneaking around,” he muses, checking to make sure he didn’t leave anything he might need during training. At least, that was the excuse he gave every morning. All of his training gear was in his room - he just wanted to linger in your presence for a few more minutes.

“You agreed we’d wait a few months because you didn’t want any of your family butting in.”

You sat up on your knees, wrapping the comforter around you as you did so. You leaned up, pushing your lips out and making obnoxious kissing sounds at him until he cooperated once more. He brought his head down to you, kissing you back. He pulled back just a few inches before diving his face onto yours once more, peppering kisses across your cheeks. Despite the rising sun, it felt unbelievably warm to be wrapped up in his arms, giggling about the day ahead.

“And I bet you’re going to throw it in my face that it was my idea, hmm?” He kisses you again, “much like you have done every time I complain about sneaking out of here before anyone wakes up.”

“You know me so well.”

-

Cassian was walking down the hallway past your bedroom, hurriedly on his way towards training when he stopped mid step at the scent that lingered around your door. He sniffed the air, detecting both yours and Azriel’s scents. The scent was so strong it stopped him in his tracks - so distinctive. It wasn’t just individual scents, it was another scent all together. 

He looked utterly ridiculous dressed in his fighting leathers, his hair in a messy bun atop his head, spinning in circles as he sniffed the air. Something was lingering, much stronger than either scent. He paused, looking at your door, listening for any noises. He glanced up and down the hallway, and after finding it empty, he pressed his ear up to the door, listening for your breathing.

You were clearly asleep, the soft slow breathing of slumber coming from you. But Azriel’s scent was quite fresh - no way it was even half an hour old. He took another inhale, this time trying to really focus on that scent he couldn’t place. He found Azriel’s night-chilled mist and cedar scent, your scent of lilacs and fresh rain, but something else-

Gods dammit.

Cassian can’t help the range of emotions that go through him at the realization his brother had been lying to him. Joy and happiness for the two of you, excitement to tell Nesta. Excited to rub it in Rhys’s dumb face that he knew you two were up to something.

And he was absolutely, completely pissed off at Azriel for keeping this from him.

-

Cassian watched the two of you at dinner that night, his eyes assessing every movement between the two of you. Everything seemed normal. The two of you were acting normal - the bastards, both of you. He was starting to doubt himself - the scent was nowhere to be found anymore, the two of you were acting normal, sharing jokes, telling stories about the week, laughing at whatever joke was made.

It all made him sick.

He was clutching his fork a bit too tightly when he had his opening, his moment. Everyone was focused on something Rhysand was saying, so you and Az took a moment, one stolen moment, and Cassian knew he was right. 

He watched out of the corner of his eye as you gingerly caressed the black eye he had given Azriel this morning during training. He couldn't help himself - the anger he felt at not knowing such a big thing in Azriel’s life culminated in him being much more aggressive than usual, leaving Azriel a bit bloodier and more bruised than normal. Azriel had chalked it up to Nesta being gone for a few days, taking Emerie and Gwyn to the Day Court to see the pegasi with a personal tour from Helion himself.

Watching the moment end for the both of you, your hand falling back to your lap was just what Cassian needed to get his mind off of Helion flirting with his mate: a rare opportunity to annoy the ever living shit out of his brother. 

And he was going to enjoy every minute of it.

-

“Good morning,” you chirp, walking into the foyer, smiling at Azriel and Feyre. The three of you and Cassian had plans to go shopping for Nesta, helping Cassian find the perfect gift for their mating anniversary. Nesta’s absence allowed Cassian ample time to shop for her, as well as ample time for you and Azriel to undoubtedly wrap her gift once Cassian comes to you both asking for help.

“Ah, we were just musing if any of Helion’s charms have worked on any of the Valkyries,” Feyre’s grin full of amusement at imagining her sister seeing Helion again. You quip, “I’m certain he very rarely ever hears the word ‘no’ so I’m sure he’s very happy to have Nesta so close by.”

Feyre giggles and is about to reply when Cassian’s boots can be heard stomping into the room. You turn to greet him, a snappy remark on your tongue, when he quickly bounds into the room and scoops you into his arms before turning to Azriel.

“Race ya,” is all Azriel and Feyre hear before he shoots off the balcony with you in his arms. He takes off incredibly quickly. Your hair was whipping around you - you were going to tie it back right before take off, but your inability to do so made it impossible for you to see. Cassian’s haphazard flying was making things worse - the shops in Velaris were a quick straight shot from the House of Wind, but by Cassian’s trajectory, you’d think you were following a winding river.

“Cass!” Your shouts are met with chuckles as he finally lands, a bit harsher than Azriel does, but he keeps you in his arms. Azriel and Feyre land next to you two, Azriel’s shadows crawling all over Cassian to get to you. Cassian kicks at them a little, and you swear you can almost hear a hissing sound in response.

You’re finally able to see, moving the strands of hair out of your face and coaxing some of the shadows out of the way for you to find Azriel glaring at his brother. Cassian takes no notice of his brother’s annoyance, patting your leg before gently setting you down.

You reach out trying to stabilize yourself, a bit woozy from the ridiculous flight. Azriel’s eyes roamed over you as his arm reached out so you could hold on. Feyre looks between the two brothers, unsure of what’s going on. You laugh to diffuse the tension, “that was a fun ride, Cassian.”

He winks, “I’m always a fun ride.”

Feyre laughs, slapping his bicep, but you feel Azriel go rigid beneath your hands. You send some soothing feelings down the bond, double checking that the both of you were still glamoured from anyone scenting it. Azriel breathes deeply, fighting every instinct in him to kill Cassian for putting you in such danger. His anger was on an incredibly tight tether, one he would have let erupt if it weren’t for the various bystanders around you four.

The rest of the afternoon was just as tense as the flight Cassian had taken you on. Well, Feyre and Azriel were tense. Cassian was living it up, acting as if nothing were out of the ordinary. In fact, Cassian seemed to be particularly chipper, and particularly touchy. Cassian strutted around the city with you tucked under his arm, and it was really difficult for you to keep the rage you were feeling through the bond to seep into your own mood.

The four of you meandered through: book stores, where Cassian completely ignored anything Azriel recommended, jewelry stores, where Cassian held up every piece he was considering up to you, saying “you have a similar neck to Nes.” 

Azriel’s rage was palpable, almost like a fifth companion for this outing, but it became overbearing when your group headed into a bakery. Cassian would pick up the bite size cake samples and feed them to you, his fingers too close to your mouth for Azriel’s liking.

“This one’s divine,” Cassian’s voice rang out, but as he pushed the piece towards your mouth, Azriel yanked you away from him, muttering a piss poor excuse about having something important to do before flying off with you.

Dinner that night was just as atrocious as the earlier outing, despite your requests to Azriel to behave. Immediately Cassian sat in Azriel’s usual seat, and after Azriel growled at him to move, Cassian told him, “my butt’s already made a nice imprint on this chair. Do you want to sit in my butt imprint?”

Cassian knew he was being childish, but he couldn’t stop himself from wiggling into the seat further before sighing, “just the way I like it.”

Azriel began to turn before Cassian threw his arm around you, bringing you close, “besides, if I sit next to my favorite girl, maybe she’ll feed me instead.”

His wink after that almost lost him his arm. Azriel clenched his jaw, took some deep breaths like you told him to, and stalked over to Cassian’s usual seat across the table from you. He practically shook with rage the whole night, avoiding any and all conversation around the table in favor of watching Cassian continue to touch you and flirt with you all night.

He avoided Rhys and Feyre’s occasional mental taps to try to speak to him, unable to focus on anything that wasn’t you. He eventually tuned back into the conversation when Mor was discussing an atrocious outfit by one of the courtiers from Summer, stating no one could look good in such a ridiculous outfit.

“What are you talking about, I could pull it off -  I look great in anything!” You laughed, eyes bright in amusement at the ridiculous description of the dress with feathers, tassels, and copious amounts of sequins.

“And nothing,” Cassian retorts, his smirk growing even larger at Azriel’s growl. You cough in a piss poor attempt to cover the noise, but everyone just looks between Azriel and Cassian, the latter staring down the former.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

Your eyes widen at Azriel taking Cassian’s flirting as more than-

Oh.

Oh. 

“What’s wrong, Azzy?”

You start shaking your head no, trying to get Azriel to look at you, but his rage makes his focus narrow in too closely to Cassian to see the warning signs.

“Don’t you have a mate to flirt with?”

You quickly tug the bond, trying to get Azriel to look at you, but it was too late. Cassian smirks, having finally gotten the upper hand on Azriel. Cassian leans in closer to the table, his eyes on Azriel as he asks, “don’t you?”

Azriel pales, surprised at Cassian’s deception. The room is completely quiet as everyone waits for Azriel’s response, but only a second passes before he lunges across the table, throttling Cassian to the floor. Chairs scrape as everyone rushes to pull them apart, save for Amren remaining seated and sipping from her wine glass.

“After I kill you with my bare hands, I will ensure your grave will be covered in flowers so that your allergies will haunt you forever.”

“You bastard!”

The two are rolling around on the rug, throwing punches and insults at each other. Their wings made it impossible to know who was winning. The knocked over a few chairs, but eventually Rhys sees an opening and pulls Cassian off of Azriel. You and Feyre move to Azriel, keeping him from attacking again. Azriel is snarling in your arms, and Cassian keeps baring his teeth back at his brother.

“What is going on?”

You all still at the tone of his voice, a high lord making his dominance known. Cassian looks at Azriel, “tell them, you dumb dick.”

Azriel snarls at him, and you and Feyre quickly hold him back. His chest is heaving as he shrugs off Feyre’s hold on him but places one of his hands over yours.

“We’re-“ he looks at you, and you nod subtly, “mates. We’re mates and we kept it a secret and somehow Cassian found out.”

Azriel glares at Cassian, who glared right back.

“Why was it some secret you were keeping from me?”

“We kept it from everyone, Cass,” your soft voice did little to calm the Illyrians staring each other down.

“I thought I was your friend-“ he pointed at you, “and your brother.” He aggressively poked Azriel in the chest, and your mate deflated just a bit at how clearly hurt Cassian was. Cassian crossed his arms, looking away from you two before Azriel put a hand on his shoulder. “You know we do care about you, right?”

You step toward Cassian, wrapping him into a hug. “Cassie, we just wanted to keep it to ourselves for a bit, can you blame us? You would have gone shouting it from the rooftops as soon as we told you.”

He sighed, “I know. It just... hurt that you guys didn’t want me to know.”

You squeeze Cassian tighter before Azriel comes over, squishing you between the two of them.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Cass. It was nothing personal. Nobody knew.”

A beat passes, the warmth from being surrounded by the two Illyrians making your cheeks hot.

“How about this Cassian - if we ever want any of you guys in our bedroom, we’ll ask you first.”

Azriel growls at your joke, moving to pull away from the hug but Cassian holds on tighter.

“Deal.”

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin

Thanks for reading 💕

[bakusbabygirl]

He Feels Safe With You — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel's sleeping habits begin to worry you, but after a conversation with Cassian, you realize you've misinterpreted the entire situation.

Warnings: Major fluff. Like tooth-rotting sweetness. Sleepy Az.

Author's note: I should be sleeping because I have work tomorrow but instead I've chosen to write this oneshot and I have no regrets.

It was starting to become a problem now. 

You cocked your head to the side, cradling a cup of tea in your hands and watching Azriel as he continued to sleep soundly in your bed. You had the windows cracked open and the early Autumn breeze swirled indoors with the scent of lavender, bergamot, and the strawberry jam you’d slathered over your toast. You checked the time once again on the glossy marble clock face. The arrow-shaped hour hand clicked ever closer to 11am, the minute hand close to overtaking its competitor. 

10:55am and Azriel was still asleep. 

The sheets clustered loose and low around his waist, mimicking the curling of his shadows up and down the ridges of his spine and across the delicate membrane of his wings. His wings hung loose and relaxed, stretching off the edges of your bed and caressing the floor with a lover’s touch. You blushed at the sight. When you and Azriel had first started courting each other three years ago, you’d thought through the mechanics of housing an Illyrian warrior in your bed — should you buy a new bed frame and mattress? Did you even have space for it in your apartment? The answer had been no to both, and yet Azriel loved when your daytime activities ended here instead of at the townhouse. If he cared about having to walk sideways to avoid the bookshelves in the halls or having to crouch to avoid the overhang above the staircase, he didn’t mention it. 

Three hours ago you’d woken up beneath the gentle weight of his wings, untangled yourself from Azriel’s greedy limbs, and crept down the stairs to your kitchen, bleary eyed but well rested. But that was three hours ago! Since then you’d brushed your teeth, washed your face, and eaten breakfast, and still the Shadowsinger hadn’t stirred. You were beginning to question whether he truly was the Spymaster of the Night Court as you sat in your velvet chair and admired your lover. You traced all the subtle movements of his body as he muddled through dreams you could only wonder at — the creasing of his brow, the slack line of his lips as he breathed, the twitching of his fingertips as he reached for some phantom object. 

The clock struck eleven and you sighed, gathering your plates but leaving Azriel’s pile of toast, butter, and honey alone. You also left the teapot and its mismatched cup, blowing magic over its lid in a silent command to keep its contents hot until Azriel awoke. 

“I’ll be down in the shop,” you whispered to his shadows, trusting that they would relay the message when their master finally decided to grace the daytime with his presence. 

One by one, shadows slipped off Azriel’s skin, curling around your ankles and wrists in a silent plea to stay. You shook them off like one might a needy child, promising you’d only be two floors down. 

The artists’ corner in Velaris was an eclectic array of compact townhouses, each outwardly dressed in their unique, dazzling finery. Your townhouse was squished between a painting studio and a luthier’s. The painting studio’s owner seemed intent on changing the color of the wooden sidings every other day and the drawings scribbled over the windows every other week. Today it was periwinkle blue to match the hydrangeas overflowing from the window boxes. 

You nodded in approval as you flipped the apothecary sign over from “Much apologies, please try another time” to “You’ve caught us! We’re open!” The blue would match your tulip yellow sidings and the clean white accents of the luthier’s. Last week it had been red and that had looked gods-awful. 

You busied yourself in the shop, crushing up lavender and herbs and boiling mugwort in fire-stained glassware in between flurries of customers until the medicinal stench in the air grew thick and strong. You were used to it by now. It smelled clean. Like home. 

You were finishing tying up a bundle of teabags when Cassian came in carrying a sturdy wooden box under one arm like it weighed five pounds instead of fifty. You snapped out the wrinkles of a cloth bag, dropping the teabags and five vials of sleep serum for the nightingale-winged nymph in front of you. 

“Four feathers and three strands of hair, as we bargained for,” you said, sliding the bag across the counter. 

The nymph nodded in approval, extending out a wing and shoving her fingers into the pillowy softness. She tested for loose feathers ready to pull.

“You’re a godsend, Y/n, has anyone ever told you that?” She pulled out three feathers, closed her wing, and started testing the feathers on the other side. “Finnigan’s was asking me for ten. Ten! Can you believe that? If I hadn’t found you in time I’d have been reduced to a plucked chicken.” She was much less precious about her mousey brown hair and yanked out three strands at random. “Oops, you get an extra strand today,” she sang, dropping the feathers and hair into the jars you held out. 

“Well it’s a good thing you found me then, Moricka.” 

“Honestly! I understand he’s got a large studio space he’s renting in the thick of the Palace, and even I will admit the ambiance is rather professional—” 

Cassian raised his brow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his scarred lips as he continued to stand motionless in the doorway. It was true your space was more… homey than Finnigan’s, but your expertise shined in intimate spaces. You liked the control and the familiarity that came from running a smaller business and you wouldn’t give it up for the world. 

“But I do think the success is getting to his head. You both studied under Lady Madja so I don’t see why—” 

You nodded absentmindedly. It was always like this with Moricka. The songbird in her made it difficult for her to stop talking, but at least her voice was pleasant. 

She threw her hands up in the air before finally catching wind of another presence in the room. Cassian waved at her with a wink and an orange blush creeped onto her full cheeks. He tended to have that effect on fae with his towering size and the wild beauty of his chiseled jaw and smattering of scars over his cheeks and brow. 

“Oh… oh dear, I didn’t realize you had another customer. Oh my goodness I’ve been talking your ear off all this time and you’ve been too kind to say anything. You’re a godsend, Y/n. A godsend! I don’t know what I would do without you, although I should really be letting you go now.” She grabbed her things and sidestepped the range of Cassian’s wings, trying and failing now to gawk. “I’ll see you soon enough again I’m sure.” 

“I’ll be here.” You sighed in relief when the doorbell rang behind her petite frame, the inoffensive smile you offered all your customers sliding off your face like oil on water. Cassian chuckled, dropping the box onto the countertop with a dull thud. 

“Long day?” 

You pulled out a stepstool and began rummaging around through the box, pulling out jars of squid ink, bark trimmings, buttons, and one particularly nasty jar containing a large eye suspended in yellow goo. “It’s not even three.” 

“Did I stutter?”

You tapped the glass and the eye swiveled around to look at you, pupil enlarging and constricting with a stutter. “Yes, yes very good,” you muttered your praise and Cassian fought hard not to shiver. He had a stomach for a great many things, but some of the specimens you handled tested his resilience.

“Thank you for bringing all of this. You’ve saved me a great deal of trouble.” 

“Perhaps you could do the same for me and tell me where my brother is? I’ve been looking for him all day.” Cassian leaned forward on the counter, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Are you holding him hostage, Y/n? Are you using your feminine powers to bring the poor male to his knees? I must admit, I didn’t imagine you as the kind capable of kidnapping. Or shadow-napping, shall we say?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m hardly holding him hostage.” You gestured down the hallway past the bookshelves and the cases of empty glassware where the light from the staircase glowed like an iron eye. “He’s upstairs sleeping.” 

Cassian furrowed his brows, stepping around and past you. He kept his wings tucked closer to his shoulder blades, careful not to upset the cramped organization you maintained in your shop. 

He smirked. “Still? Are you sure you didn't work your feminine powers last night?” 

You glanced out the store window. A few fae lingered outside the coffee shop across the street clutching takeaway boxes against their chest as they chatted and sipped their drinks. The street was otherwise empty. For now, you wouldn’t have to deal with any customers. 

You looked back at Cassian. “I actually wanted to ask you about that.”

His brows furrowed. “About feminine powers?” He'd meant that as a joke.

“Gods, Cassian let that go.” You wrung your hands. “I wanted to ask if Azriel was alright? Has he seemed… normal to you?”

“I don’t know, has he?” Cassian lowered his voice, sinking into one of the stools by the clear glass medicine cabinet. “From what I can tell he seems well. Happy.” 

Although happy was an understatement. Ever since you’d stumbled into their lives with Madja’s accolades and your wry humor, Azriel had been a goner. You’d pulled emotions from him as deftly as a spinster with a pile of wool, reduced him to a reverential, lovesick mess, and imbued his existence with a color not even Feyre could mix up. Which made it all the more confusing why you looked so nervous.

“You’ve seen more of him than I have, Y/n.” Cassian said. He braced his elbows against his knees, turning serious. The faint bags under his hazel eyes hinted at sleepless nights spent fussing over Neera. It was their fault really, any daughter of Nesta and Cassian was destined to be restless and particular.

“He just… he’s been sleeping more. Falling into bed early, but waking up late. Sometimes we’ll be reading together or just existing side by side and when I turn to face him, he’s dead asleep on the couch.” 

Cassian’s lips twitched, slowly stretching into a smile. You plucked a hemp bag off one of the wall shelves at random, tossing its contents into a mortar and beginning to grind just so you could have something to do with your hands. 

“At first I brushed it off, but it’s gotten to a point where I’ll be talking to him — mindless things, but regardless — and I’ll catch him dozing off. He’s always very apologetic after but I…” The mortar and pestle clattered to a stop. “I worry that he’s growing bored of me. Or that he’s sick in a way I can’t help.” 

“Y/n.” There was a smile in Cassian’s voice, and indeed when you looked at him, his teeth were glistening in the soft afternoon haze. His eyes shined knowingly, as if the answer were obvious.

You paused. “Yes?”

“He feels safe with you.” 

You blinked once. Twice. 

“Pardon?” 

Cassian tipped back in his seat, knocking his head against the cabinet with a rattle of jars and glass as he laughed. “He’s sleeping so much because he feels safe with you. It’s probably why he prefers to spend time here instead of at the townhouse and why he’s still dead asleep while we’re sitting here gossiping about him. Three years ago you couldn’t even whisper his name in a crowded room without him appearing from the shadows as if summoned.” 

You felt heat rise in your cheeks. “Oh... I see.” 

Cassian was grinning. “Y/n, I promise you he’s not bored of you. Azriel sleeping is a good thing. The gods know he could use more rest. I think he might be the worst of us when it comes to taking care of ourselves.” 

Something about Cassian’s words had a crack splintering in your chest. You knew about his past. You knew of the horrors burned into the ruined skin of his hands and the weight his duties deposited on his shoulders.

And here you’d been worried over him sleeping past noon. 

Shadows slipped down the stairs, pooling around your feet in a neat circle and kissing the exposed skin of your ankles. Azriel followed closely behind, still wearing his rumpled hair and pants and a shirt he’d hastily shoved his neck and arms into. He hadn’t even buttoned up the slits below his wings, opting to let the fabric swing free and loose and expose flashes of skin as he walked. 

He jutted his chin out in acknowledgement of Cassian and then folded himself over your back, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and dropping his face into the crook of your neck where he breathed in the scent of lemon and lavender and medicine. 

“You weren’t there when I woke up,” he said, frowning. There was a slur to his words.

“It’s past three, brother.” 

Azriel snapped his head up in surprise, squinting at the window and the afternoon sunlight streaking in. The pale cobblestones shone like they’d been drenched in honey. 

“What?” 

Cassian rolled his eyes, patting Azriel’s back fondly and mussing up your hair before walking towards the door. He flipped the sign from “You’ve caught us! We’re open!” to “Much apologies, please try another time.” 

“Goodnight, you two!" He called from over his back. "Remember we’re meeting at Rhys’s for dinner tonight.” He turned, bracing his arms against the top of the doorway and leaning forward like he meant to share a secret. “8pm sharp. Don’t be too late or we’ll get the wrong idea about what you two are up to.” He winked, then whistled down the street, letting the door close on its own behind him. 

Azriel sighed, going back to nuzzling his face in your neck. He peppered the sensitive skin there with kisses. 

“Will you be coming back upstairs then?” He murmured hopefully. "Now that you're finished with work?"

You bit your lip and decided rather quickly that the world would not end because you closed a few hours early. 

You led him up the stairs, past the kitchen and living room on the second floor, and then up to the third floor — your bedroom. The window was still open, the hustle and bustle of the city and the smell of coffee from across the street wafting in. Steam no longer poured from the lip of the teapot, so you knew Azriel had had something to drink, and where you’d left toast on his plate this morning lay only crumbs. 

Azriel dropped to his knees, untying your laces and helping you out of your boots. Then he straightened and tugged at the belt loops of your trousers, silently asking for permission before unbuttoning them and sliding them off your legs. Your shirt, then his shirt, and then his trousers joined the pile of crumpled clothing on the floor.

He gently pushed you back onto the bed, falling face first after you with a sigh. This was his favorite position to sleep in — you comfortable on your back and him laying with his hips slotted in between your legs and his head resting over your heart. 

You sank your fingers into his velvety, black hair. His hums of satisfaction flowed through your body, lighting every nerve with a comforting buzz. 

“Azriel?” You asked him, before sleep could finally claim him once more. 

“Hmmm?” 

“Do you feel safe with me?” 

He pressed his face further into the soft flesh of your chest, bringing his arms up and around your waist before allowing his wings to do the same. The thin membranes glowed red as hot coals, blocking out the most offensive rays of light from outside. 

“When I am with you, I forget that I was ever that boy whose hands got burned. When I am with you, the hundreds of years I spent feeling alone and worthless in this world melt away into nothing. When I am with you — when I am in this place that smells and feels so strongly of you — I can imagine a future that is good and pure and perfect.” He sighed deeply, seemingly ignorant to the pounding of your heart and the waves of feeling flooding your system. “So yes, my love — my Y/n — I do feel safe with you.”

“I feel safe with you too,” you murmured. “I love you, Azriel.” 

You kissed the crown of his head, earning one last smile and a slurred, “I love you, Y/n,” before his jaw went slack and the room went silent save for the mixing of your breaths and the stirring of shadows.

[bakusbabygirl]

wings universe masterlist

This is a world for Fairy x Azriel. There will be lots of one-shots and drabbles dedicated to them <3 Listed in chronological order.

Berry Stained Lips

Wings

Butterfly Kisses

Finally

[bakusbabygirl]

All My Dreaming

Summary: You came to the Night Court as a fugitive and quickly became a valued member of the Inner Circle. Azriel’s love for you has burned brightly in his chest for nearly two centuries now, but when an unknown force threatens to take you from him, he must fight to keep you at his side.

Pairing: Azriel x Winter Court!Reader

A/N: I don’t use Y/N here just out of personal preference, but the IC do call reader “Little One” because she’s younger than them by like a century or so. Also, slight timeline deviation? I kind of just made the ACOTAR timeline work for me a little bit but the important bits are there mostly. If it’s not totally accurate, please suspend your disbelief and go with it. I also took some serious liberties with Prythian geography and Azriel’s shadows in this. I had to force myself to stop because I could’ve written five more scenes, so let me know if you all want a part two. I got nasty Azriel thots to spare, baby! 

WC: 16.1k  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

TW: 18+, Minors DNI, violence, death, descriptive gore, lots of time jumps, torture, smut, p in v, fingering, porn with plot, mating, slow burn, angst, friends to lovers, declarations of love, loving sexy times, miscommunications abound, Azriel being a big ole softie, Azriel being a big ole bitch to bad men, Azriel really going tf thru it emotionally, and Azriel being mouthy as fuck. Just girly things. 

Part 2

Azriel hadn’t seen you in four days. Nearly a week had passed since you’d left. Rhys mentioned a mission but no additional details, Cassian avoided the topic, knowing how frustrated his brother got when you were gone, and Feyre was decidedly unhelpful the few times he’d brought you up. His shadows searched aimlessly, they’d found nothing as far south as Winter Court, daring not venture into Autumn, and knowing damn well you’d never step foot into Spring. You were slowly driving him mad; the bond in his chest aching at the loss. Even if you hadn’t recognized the golden thread linking the two of you, he felt it. 

Gods, did he feel it. He’d often lay in his bed at night, eyes tracing the intricate foil patterns of the ceiling tiles. When sleep evaded him, as it frequently did, he’d grasp the thread tightly in his minds eye and tug it experimentally, begging you to see, to notice it was him that loved you with a ferocity that rivaled the sun. Try as he might, the responding tug never answered, his call into the void not returning an echo. 

The second it snapped for him, Azriel had resolved himself as unworthy, not of someone like you. You were powerful, breathtakingly beautiful, intimidatingly intelligent, and you regularly brought men to their knees, both in political circles and on the battlefield. Rhys relied on you as much he did Cassian and Az, you were a core member of his court, a valuable asset, and the love of Azriel’s life. Azriel avoided the latter subject entirely, choosing instead to silently stoke the ember in chest with unyielding affection; his own private paramour. 

When you’d joined the Night Court, you’d been on the run from both Winter and Autumn Courts. Your father was a high fae noble in Winter that had attempted to arrange a marriage to the second youngest Vanserra of Autumn. The family’s brutal reputation was legend and you were terrified. You were young then, barely a century old, and upon your introductory visit to the Autumn Court, Beron sought to make an impression by presenting a welcome gift. That gift? The public torture and execution of a servant he’d deemed traitorous. 

His gleaming eyes remained on yours with each cast of the fire whip he’d conjured using his cruel magic. He’d cracked it again and again until blood splattered and the servant was left flayed beyond recognition, flesh searing, and finger tips twitching from the remaining neurons firing in his brain. Only after his death did Beron announce his crimes. He’d stolen a parcel of food from the royal pantry to feed his wife and small child. Your stomach churned at the thought of the now widow and fatherless child waiting at home for the male that would never return. 

It had all been a test to see if you were worthy of the most violent and petulant of the broody sons, and you’d passed, holding Beron’s stare and keeping your back straight as you faced his wrath head on. You’d cried yourself dry in your room that night though, sobs wracking your form until your chest ached, grief for the male that was lost. Fear settled into your heart, terror of the family you were set to marry into. 

You’d ran at first light, leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back. Your Winter white blonde hair streaking across the red and orange forest as you bolted. Beron sent his dogs after you. You still had the scars lining your calves from where they’d gotten too close, brought you down into the dirt, jaws snapping and tearing at the muscly sinew there. But you’d fought. You’d kicked and clawed like a feral child of the woods, screaming with a sense of self preservation you’d never known you possessed. 

Rhysand had found you half dead, starving and a little savage in the mountainous border between the Day and Night Courts. He’d made a bargain with you then; he’d save you, if you worked for him. Word had already spread of the ousted Winter female and spurned Autumn princeling and Rhysand was impressed you’d lasted in the wilds undetected for so long. The small star flecked tattoo of the Velarian night sky that lived on your wrist since was the only evidence of his deal. 

You’d long moved past such a bargain. Rhys had offered to lift it half a dozen times in your first hundred years within his court, but you hadn’t minded. A reminder, you’d insisted, a mark of your loyalty to the family that didn’t lead you the wolves with such glee. 

You’d settled into a routine in Velaris, training with the Illyrian brothers and charming Amren with your intelligence and wit.  But you’d become the closest with Mor, who felt a kinship in your shared traumas. She’d soothed you in those first years, fiercely protecting her friend when Eris Vanserra had shown up in Hewn City as an emissary to inquire on your new position in the Night Court. It was that same night that Azriel realized how fucked he truly was.

Eris smirked at you and your back straightened, face growing cold. He spoke, “My brother was wondering where you’d scampered off to.” A laugh followed, “You couldn’t stomach our court, but found yourself bound to the Court of Nightmares? My my, what a wicked turn of events.” 

Rhysand had spoken then, wearing his High Lord mask well, “Watch yourself, Eris. You know not what our Little One can do.” Eris laughed, the sound laced with the dark spark of a threat. “Little One? Fugitive and Night Court whore, I must tell your father. I’m sure he’ll be proud to hear of his daughter’s fate.” Azriel’s wings pricked, then fluttered, he would’ve killed Eris right then for you. Your hand came to rest on Rhys’ arm as you stepped around the throne to level your accuser with a look that should’ve turned him to stone. 

“I am no male’s whore and I belong to no court except Night. Report what you wish to my father, to your father, your brother. May you all rot.” You’d spat at his feet then, and the room heated twenty degrees, Eris’ barely kept rage simmering under the surface, fire blooming on the fringes of his figure. 

He stepped forward and Cassian, Azriel, and Mor all shifted, prepared to take out the threat. Eris’ eyes tracked their figures, gauging the situation. He knew better. Any attack here would mean war on his court and his father have his hide for that. You stepped forward to meet him, knowing he could make no move without endangering his position. You kept your spine straight and narrowed your gaze at him with such contempt he would’ve been impressed at the show had you been anyone else. 

“I will say this once Eris Vanserra,” you held up one long manicured finger, and Azriel traced the action with thinly veiled obsession. “Leave my court or I will be the one to kill you. I’ll rip your spine from your body and I’ll do it with the same glee in which your father,” you’d spat that word, the hatred you held for Beron burning your throat as the words exited your mouth, “killed that male for feeding his family.” You took a step closer, summoning a dagger in your left hand, and rolling it your palm. “Trust that we have no tolerance for your family or your bullshit in these lands.” 

Eris had good enough sense to step back then, peering around your form to where Rhysand sat, legs spread, slouched in the throne, smirking at your display of dominance. Azriel to his right looked on in pure male satisfaction, you were a powerful little thing and he was rather fond of you in that moment. Eris spoke up, “Should I note that the Night Court threatens other Courts for sport?” Cassian and Azriel rolled their eyes in synchronous fashion, but it was Mor that spoke with the dark edge of a threat, “Only ones that deserve such brutality.” Her father, Kier, stood in the gathered crowd and sneered at the tone of her voice.

You’d done the unthinkable then, winnowing behind Eris, grasping the male by his red hair and dragging the dagger to his neck, digging in enough to cause the male’s heart to speed, a line of scarlet leaking from the press of your blade. You could feel the heat in his skin, the flame licked at your hand as you released him with a shove. 

You brandished your dagger as if it was an extension of your hand, the tip of the silver blade glinting with red from the now healing cut at Eris’ throat. “Come for me again and I’ll kill you.” It was then that Azriel noted the slight tremble in the hand at your right side and he wished on some distant star that he could reach out to you, soothe you, tell you that he was proud and you defended yourself and your court beautifully. 

As if his wish was granted, he felt his chest give way to a canyon of emotion, heart stuttering as the bond fluttered and snapped, thrumming with affection for the female standing at the center of the room. He had selfishly allowed himself to hope it would be you, in the dark of the night when he was alone and his shadows whispered to him of your whereabouts. Since he’d met you, he fostered that small romantic notion of soulmates. His most private desire. 

Eris whirled on you with a roar, grabbing your throat with hands of fire. Azriel felt the breath leave him, and he took two then three steps forward before he could think, hazel eyes alight with a fierceness you’d not yet witnessed. Your eyes found his and you held up your hand to halt his movements, the one that had trembled seconds earlier, now steady as a stone. You’d looked at Eris then, raising your chin defiantly, a slow smile overtaking your face as you once again spit at the Autumn male before winnowing back to your place in front of the dais. Rhysand raised to his feet then, taking steps down to meet you. His hand grazed your arm this time and his mind reached out, “Very good, Little One, very good.” 

“As the lady said, Eris, come to my court in search of her again, and she’ll be the one to kill you.” Rhys circled Eris, tracking like prey. “But not before I sanction it for laying your hands on a member of my house.” Rhysand spoke with such quiet cunning, it was no wonder he excelled as High Lord. Eris snarled then before winnowing out of the Hewn City and Azriel quickly set his shadows to following him, ensuring he was actually gone. 

You returned to Mor’s side and the shameless pride that set on your face the rest of the night made Azriel want to kiss you. Gods, he was fucked.. 

You’d flirted with him constantly in the first century you’d been in Velaris. You had laid it on thick too, dragging a long nail up his arm, your mouth sliding into a smirk after one too many drinks at Rita’s. Azriel had always feigned friendly indifference though, a mask he slipped on that was equal parts protection as it was self soothing. His only crack coming in the form of a slight tremble in his pinky as he tried to gather himself to avoid closing the space between you, touching, grasping, feeling.

He’d worn black leather gloves around you in your first few decades with them. His hands always held the most insecurity for him, the silver scars and warped skin a brutal reminder of his childhood. It was after training one day, as you all packed your small bags and threw towels into bins that you’d asked about it. 

“I don’t mean to pry, and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but why the gloves?” You asked quietly leaning against a wall less than ten feet from him. He’d stiffened and breathed tightly, “it helps with the work.” That had always been his excuse, wearing gloves when killing helped reduce the touch memories associated with the act, and it was partially true. But he wasn’t on a mission right now, and you called him on that, “are you spying right now?” Your lips quirked, “should I tell Rhys?” Your words were mirthful, but your eyes held nothing but empathy for the Shadowsinger, sometimes Azriel wondered if that was your Cauldron blessed gift. 

You’d reached down then, rolling up the left leg of your training leathers. You’d resumed your full height and rotated your calf outward for his eyes to survey the damage there. Ragged silver keloid scars marked the skin from your ankle to the soft back of your knee— a knee he’d admittedly fantasized about many nights in a row now. He’d selfishly thought about trailing kisses up your leg, pausing to nip playfully at the soft skin at your knee as he made his way north, up your thigh. He breathed deeply banishing those thoughts as he took in the site of your marred skin. Judging by the heavily keratinized markings, the injury had no doubt been painful when incurred originally. Azriel’s fingers twitched again, wanting to touch your face, hold you as he kissed away your grief. 

“From Beron’s dogs,” you breathed, rolling you shoulders, as if shaking the memory from your mind. “They wouldn’t heal when I was out there,” you clicked your tongue, “granted I was starving,” you sighed, “but that’s a story for another day.” You looked at him then, and he had to steady himself at the emotions pooling in your eyes. 

He’d already planned on killing Beron if the opportunity presented for what had happened with Mor, but for you, he’d make it hurt. He’d drag it out and make it slow. He’d torture him for days, flaying skin from bone, taking fingers then limbs and when at last he begged for death, Azriel would set the dogs on him and laugh as they tore him apart. He felt a long repressed need for vengeance creep up his spine, and he hated to acknowledge what its presence meant in regards to you.

“It’s okay, you know,” you’d said, head lolling to the side as you watched him, eyes swimming with a gentle affection, “I’ll never judge you for something like that.” Azriel squeezed his eyes shut as he turned his head from you and breathed in tightly. How did always manage to be so fucking disarming and vulnerable? That must’ve been a gift too.

He pinched the middle finger of the right glove and pulled it from his hand, grasping his now exposed fingers into a fist, knuckles cracking. He extended that arm out, palm up as he let you view his deepest insecurity, the thing he hated most in his appearance. 

You’d stepped forward, looking at his palm. Your hands went to reach but you’d paused, looking to his eyes as you silently asked permission to touch. He nodded stiffly, watching you with the same intensity of an animal being hunted, prey ready to bolt at any moment. 

Your fingers touched his hand, and he felt the connection race up his arm and to his chest, settling in his heart. Your eyes studied, and you rotated his hand, fingers gently tracing from his wrist, to knuckle, to fingernail in reverence. You covered his hand with your own, moving your eyes to his hazel ones. “Are they dead?” You’d asked seriously, and he stuttered a shocked laugh. “Yes, Little One, they are,” he answered, a small smile playing at his mouth. The two of you far too similar it seemed. “Good,” you’d said simply before kissing his knuckles and pulling the glove back on for him. The action was quietly intimate, and Azriel should’ve kissed you then. Mother knows he considered it, eyes watching you with rapt attention as his heart sped up and breathing shallowed. 

“If you two are done flirting, lunch is ready,” Cassian announced from the doorway, breaking the spell you were both under. You’d jumped and laughed freely at the large male smirking at the entrance. You grasped Azriel’s hand tightly in affection before releasing it to turn on your heel to exit the room, passing by Cass with an eye roll, thumping him square in the chest.

Cassian looked to his brother as he walked into the room and his face split into a shit eating grin. “Let’s go, loverboy,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Azriel glared, scoffing as he followed behind you, praying to whatever Gods were listening that he’d get you alone again soon. 

In your second century with the Night Court, you’d lessened the blatant flirting and settled into loving, easy friendship. You regularly attended balls and galas in Hewn City, fitting into such pomp with practiced ease, but always with a dagger strapped to your thigh, ready to cut a male down in seconds. Those events were almost routine at this point: Azriel would save you a dance, and you’d move together in a slow ritual that you’d both perfected over the years, he’d bow as the violinist played their final note and resume his place on dais at Rhys’ right. His eyes would follow you the rest of the night, as you spoke in an airy manner to various high fae, glaring at any male whose hands ventured too close to his mate. 

Nights when the Court held parties at the House of Wind were different though. You were far less rigid, finding it easy to exist without scrutiny. Those were the nights Azriel’s eyes rarely left your form as he watched obsessively from the corners of the room. 

“You’re staring,” Rhys chimed from his place next to Azriel, eyes not leaving the crowd as he spoke to the Shadowsinger, mouth smirking. Azriel was staring. You’d worn cobalt blue tonight, a lovely color on your skin. His color on your skin. Mother above, the male possessiveness that crawled up his spine was unreal. Mate, mate, mate, his shadows had sang in his ear. He wanted to pluck the eyes from every male in the room for even glancing in your direction. He wanted so much more than that too. Your breathy sighs as he marked you, your moan as he made you come undone, his name crying from your lips as he ate his come from your cunt after. Azriel had a million and one scenarios running through his head. He yearned to make each one of them come to fruition too.

He hadn’t answered Rhysand, so the High Lord tried again, “you really should tell her, but please,” Rhys closed his eyes with a grimace, “quiet your thoughts first, for Cauldron’s sake.” That got Azriel’s attention, his back straightening and mental shield slamming down. His eyes squeezed shut, almost as if he was in pain. “I cannot burden her with that now,” he said, “not with war at our doorstep.” Indeed, the second war with Hybern creeped ever closer, disappearances of other high fae occurring daily. Whatever they were planning across the sea, it was going to bring Prythian to its knees. 

Rhysand sighed then, feeling older than his 500 years. “Be that as it may, we should hold those we love tighter.” Rhysand looked to Feyre at that moment, his eyes meeting his mate’s, as he sent a strum of warm affection down the bond. She smiled and returned it cheerily. He turned back to Azriel, “if it all ends tomorrow, I know my love and she knows me. That’s all we can ask for in this immortal life.” Azriel looked back to you, and your eyes were already on him, tracing the shadows that wound around his chest. You met his eyes and winked, before turning back to Mor and laughing freely.  

“I thank the Cauldron daily it was you that found her in those mountains, Rhys.” Azriel spoke quietly, admitting a small secret he’d not told anyone. Rhysand softened, and clapped his friend on the shoulder, “As I am, brother.” Azriel nodded, letting the conversation die between himself and the High Lord as he drained the drink in his hand and moved down the steps in your direction. 

You’d been in conversation with Mor when he approached. She was telling you of the seamstress she’d been seeing, and how happy she was. Azriel cleared his throat from behind the two of you and you turned to meet him, taking in his appearance with wide eyes. “Ladies,” he started, bowing to you and Mor, who snorted at the silly formality. “And that note, I’ll be taking my leave. I’ve got a lady to see,” she said with a wink and a flourish of her red dress. You laughed and shook your head before turning back to the Shadowsinger. He’d caught you staring earlier and your heart had nearly jumped into your throat, before Mor mocked you lightly, diffusing the tension. 

“Hi Az,” you greeted softly, before dropping your empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray and thanking them. Azriel watched you closely, noting the revealed skin that shifted with each movement, committing every angle and freckle to memory.

“You want to get out of here?” He dared ask, jerking his head toward the private balcony on the House of Wind. You raised a brow, Azriel? Asking you to leave? Together? You heart was back in your throat and you thanked the Mother that you’d taken your time getting ready that evening. Nodding, you grasped his arm as he offered it to you like a proper courtier. He walked the two of you up a round of stairs and away from the eyes he’d threatened earlier in the night. Voices dulled the more space you put between yourselves and them and you couldn’t help but start to sweat a bit at the thought of being alone with Azriel. 

You’d been friends for nearly two centuries, but you’d always felt a connection with the male. Your heart thrummed with a warm, golden affection when he got close. It made keeping a clear head during training hard. It made sitting next to him at dinner difficult. And when he’d looked at you like you hung the moon as you danced earlier in the night, it made you want to take him to bed and ride him until he moaned your name. You breathed deeply. ‘Focus,’ you chided yourself, ‘he is your friend, for Cauldron’s sake.’

He led you out onto to the balcony and stopped at the railing before looking up at the star flecked sky. “This is my favorite part of the House,” he said eyes scanning the sky before looking back to you as you watched him. A blush crept up his neck, before he cleared his throat again. 

“I’ve always wondered what it was like to be able to fly, you know,” you said quietly, removing your hand from his arm, rolling up onto your toes, leaning against the stone railing, and looking out on Velaris before scanning your eyes up to the three stars that shone brightly overhead. “When I was a child, I met a Peregryn from the Dawn Court and thought she had the most beautiful wings I’d ever seen.” You chanced a glance his way, “I’d not met an Illyrian yet.” You reminded with a smirk, bumping his arm with fondness. Gods, he was in trouble.

“I asked her what it was like and she said it was the purest sense of freedom possible.” You glanced down at your feet, “I spent the next year wishing for wings.”  He mulled on your words. He wanted to say something cheesy as Cassian would, like ‘I’ll be your wings’ but he couldn’t, so you continued on. 

“When I was a little older, I witnessed a blue skinned lesser fae’s wings ripped from his body as punishment and it was the most gruesome thing I’d seen at that point.” You took a shuddering breath, “I cried for him that night. The lost freedom. How maddening it must’ve been.” You looked at him then and he watched you with furrowed brows. “How does it feel for you?” You asked softly, eyes tracing the shine of his wing. ‘Magnificent things,’ you thought. You remembered seeing his wings for the first time and thinking the Peregryn had finally moved to second place in your mind. 

Azriel had to gather himself as he spoke, “It’s… everything.” He said quietly adjusting his body to extend a wing. “My ability to fly came in late,” he said, and your eyes widened, you hadn’t known that. “My childhood was… rough and I didn’t learn to fly until I was nearly grown.” He laughed, scuffing the toe of his boot, wings folding in behind him. “It was a lot of crash landings those first months.” You snorted, mental image of a younger Az, landing in a puddle of mud crossing your mind. 

“I was never a proud Illyrian, not like the others,” he continued, “it was hard for me to reconcile my heritage and our traditions.” He looked to the cityscape then, “but the stronger I got, the more I understood why flight was so crucial to my people.” He looked to you, eyes shining, “it’s the closest we can get to the stars.” 

You leaned over the railing again, staring wistfully at the night sky, the moon reflecting on your skin. “Will you take me someday? Flying, I mean.” Did you not know Azriel would give you the world? Of course he’d take you flying. He’d give you the moon, the stars, walk through fire and back, anything. He nodded, “you say the word, and I’ll fly you the the ocean and back.” The smile that broke across your face crippled him, his knees threatened to give way. 

“Yours are my favorite,” you murmured softly, eyes glancing from his wings to his face. Azriel blushed in full, pink speckling his neck and cheeks as he laughed. “Don’t let Cass hear you say that, he’s got an ego,” he said, a smile remaining at his lips. You liked him like this the most. Loose, smiling, free. You reached up then, cupping his reddened cheek, thumb stroking. “I don’t care,” you said smiling, “it’s the truth.” Azriel swallowed roughly, staring at your eyes swimming with an emotion he knew, but was much too stubborn and scared to name.

Just as your hand went to retreat, he grasped it between his own. “You can touch them,” he offered, knowing damn well the implications, “if you want,” he added. Your eyes widened. Mor had mentioned once that Illyrian’s wings were ‘sensitive,’ was the word she’d used. It was a sign of great intimacy and trust to allow another to touch them. You felt the air shift between you two then, as you nodded.

He extended a wing toward you. This felt so much like the first time he’d shown you his hands all those years ago. Your hand crept forward and gentle fingers met the red gold membrane that stretched between two metacarpals. Your fingers traced the membrane in smooth circles, then traced up to the crest. Azriel felt his breath gutter out of his mouth in a loud, choppy exhale, and he felt himself harden at the sensation of your fingers against the most sensitive portion of his wings. You gasped and jerked away at the sudden noise, before apologizing. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have gotten carried away.” 

Azriel shook his head, “It’s not that, they’re sensitive.” There was that word again, only it made you think of how they’d been shredded before the King of Hybern, and you opened your mouth to apologize again, but he stopped you short. “I haven’t allowed another to touch them freely since my mother.” The admission floored you, your gut giving way with a breath.

You looked to his eyes then, the air between you had shifted again and you knew this was it. This was the moment you’d waited for, he was going to kiss you. Mother, it felt you’d waited a millennia, and he felt just the same. But that kiss never came. Instead, Azriel went stock still, his eyes now on the House behind you. 

“Azriel?” You questioned. “It’s Rhys,” he said tightly, “he’s summoning me.” You understood then. He looked to you desperately, eyes a little wild and apologetic. “I’m sorry, I have to go to him.” You nodded, you both worked for the High Lord, you’d never get in the way of Azriel’s allegiance to his Court. “Of course,” you said quietly, taking a step back and swallowing down your disappointment. 

Azriel took three steps towards the entrance then stopped. “I’ll take you,” he turned around, backing his way to the arched stone, but keeping his eyes on you for a moment longer. “When I get back, I’ll take you flying,” he offered. Another smile etched its way across your face and Azriel took a long moment to memorize it greedily. “It’s a date,” you said confidently. He beamed then, turning on a heel to pick up into a jog, Rhys no doubt shouting to hurry up. 

That date hadn’t happened though. The second war with Hybern broke out days later and you both barely made it out alive. 

When Feyre had come to Velaris after Amarantha’s defeat, you’d accepted her with easy friendship. You saw Rhysand, your longtime friend, overcome with love for his newly found mate, and you couldn’t help but love her as well. You’d shared your story with her and the two of you bonded deeply over her art. She’d offered to teach you to paint, and you began taking lessons in your off time. Rhys had been Cauldron blessed with her and you reminded him daily. 

Later, when Feyre’s sisters joined their little unit, you’d been the first one to break Nesta’s tough exterior. The female saw parts of herself in you and you’d gotten her to crack a smile when you mocked Rhys’ High Lord voice at dinner one night. Elain had been a tougher sell, but you’d tried, along with Azriel, to bring the female out of her shell. The day she joined you in the library to read, you knew progress had been made, even if you two had only sat in silence a few feet apart, a small smile gracing her features. 

You left her book recommendations with small notes and she began to do the same. Your friendship playing out in the margins of the library’s tomes. You won her over with silent conversation. Nesta noticed, of course, and she looked to you with gratitude as she saw her sister’s eyes brightened and skin began to return to its normal, healthy color. The night Azriel mentioned it as you walked down the hall toward the dining room for the family meal, you’d shrugged. “I met her where she needed me to,” you’d said quietly, glancing to your feet. Azriel smiled, a Cauldron blessed gift indeed. 

Dinners at the House of Wind were by far Azriel’s favorite version of you. You’d laugh with abandon, smile splitting your face, showing every tooth as Mor cracked a joke and leaned against you for support, one too many drinks in her system. The first time he’d seen that smile, it blinded him, and he’d gone a little dazed, staring at you in wonderment. Rhys had interrupted his train of thought with an invasive insertion of “How quickly she reduced you to a puddle, brother.” Azriel had scowled at Rhys then, mental shields firming up, but not before he heard the distinct sound of his High Lord laughing at the Spymaster’s defensiveness. 

Indeed Azriel was gone for you. When Cassian finally confronted him last year about the truth of his feelings, Azriel saw no point to avoid it any longer, not after his brothers had also found their mates. “Our souls are one in the same, she’s my mate,” he’d said pensively, as if he was letting his deepest secret breath in the light for the first time in centuries. Maybe he was. He’d made Cassian promise on his life not to tell anyone, and despite being the biggest gossip in the Inner Circle, he kept his promise. He was thrilled for his brother, knowing you were the perfect match.

Little did Azriel know, everyone else was already more than aware of his affections. Amren had figured it out a century prior when Azriel had tended your needs as you’d recovered from an injury sustained during a mission. He’d fretted around you like a mother hen, buying you flowers, sweets, and books while you were bedridden. The female had watched and hummed with a raised eyebrow as Azriel exited your room for the fifth time in one day, wringing his hands with worry despite Madja’s clean bill of health.

Feyre had figured it out the same year she’d returned from the Spring Court, just before the second war with Hybern. She’d seen the way his eyes had followed you in the war room Rhys had created to host strategy meetings. Saw him lean towards you when you spoke, saw his wings flutter when you finally cast your gaze to him, eager for your attention. More than anything, she’d seen his shadows, desperate little things, sneaking across the floor each night, sidling up your ankles and wrists, begging for your affection. You always laughed and nuzzled them as the wound their way to your hair and Azriel went a little soft at the sight. 

When she told Mor, the blonde had laughed, “They’ve been circling each for two hundred years now, eventually one of them will cave.” Mor leveled a sardonic look at Feyre then, “and when they do, we’ll all have to relocate to the River House for a year lest we be subject to the frenzy.”

This mission should’ve been simple. Rhys had asked you to check out reports of rogue soldiers spotted making their way towards the border of the Night Court from the Day coastline. The intel he’d received had mentioned three to four maximum, all of them drunken ex-Hybern loyalists. It should’ve been a matter of locating them, spying for a day or two, then winnowing in to neutralize any threat. Gods, this was far from simple. 

When you’d arrived in the region, the hairs on your neck rose, the air itself feeling off. As you tracked them, you’d noticed intentional attempts to throw you off course. A carelessly trashed map, crudely laid tracks in the opposite direction, Dawn Court wine bottles that had been emptied and tossed about. They knew you were there, and you quickly realized that a trap had been laid. You backed off them then, staying further than you’d have liked, but trying like hell to make them think you’d given up. 

On your fourth night following them, you’d drifted away to an inn two towns over, desperately seeking a place to bathe and rest, even for a few hours. As you bathed, you felt watched in a way that discomfited you to your core, and your dagger stayed within arms reach the rest of the night. Suddenly, the role you’d played for the last two hundred years had left you entirely ill equipped for whatever was happening here. 

You’d left out before dawn, refusing to lose an ounce of daylight, but as you hit the tree line, readying yourself to winnow out, you’d noticed it. Hanging from a tree, a hundred yards away was a piece of clothing, your clothing. Clothing that should’ve been in the pack at your back. Your breath shuttered out of you as you opened your mind to Rhys, asking for back up. You were in over your head and you knew when to admit it. There was no pride in getting yourself killed. 

As you turned to move back to the inn where you could wait out contact from Rhys in a public location, you were met with a pair of shining blue eyes. You stepped back, keeping your grounding, readying for a fight. “You’ve been following us,” the stranger said calmly, beginning to trek in a slow circle around you. You opened your mind to Rhys again, “Help,” you called. Rhys answered this time, “Where are you?!” It was a frantic response, you never asked for help, Rhys knew this. “Just off the coast, beneath the mountain range, Day court border, 400 hundred paces from the inn” you spoke to Rhys in choppy thoughts, trying to establish a location before all hell broke loose. 

“I have,” you finally answered the stranger, whose lips quirked at your voice. He stopped circling and resumed his stance in front of you, blocking passage to the inn. “Why?” He asked and you tried to keep your mind steady as you answered. “You’re trespassers in these lands” you stated simply, shrugging a shoulder up. He grinned then, “had your lot not gotten in the way of our King’s plans, these would be our lands. We were promised them. I was personally promised the Court of Nightmares.”

“Well,” you shrugged feigning indifference, “that’s not how the war played out, so I will have to ask you to leave,” you offered in your most bored political tone. The same tone you’d used with High Fae that ran off at the mouth in Hewn City. The stranger cocked his head the side then, eyes twinkling, “I don’t think I will.” At that moment, one by one, additional soldiers appeared from the forest line. One, then four, then ten, until near twenty stood around you, looking on with hatred. 

Shit. 

“We’d hoped for the Illyrians, but it seems your High Lord sent us a treat instead,” the stranger said with mirth. You steeled your spine, looking down your nose at the stranger, “They’re going to kill you, you know.” He’d laughed at your threat. “I think not,” he said as as arrow was released from your left, finding purchase in your shoulder. You folded over on yourself at the blow, and looked up baring your teeth, before drawing your dagger and rushing the stranger with a feral sound.

Five more arrows hit you before your blade could find its target. One into your hip, two in your back, a fourth piercing your in your upper thigh, until the last burrowed into the back of your knee, bringing you down in front of him — forcing you to bow to the stranger. The arrows were laced with faebane you realized as you’d begun to feel its effects in your blood. Your power waning quickly, thoughts becoming murky. 

You released another shattered thought to Rhys then, “Tell him, please,” you begged raggedly. Rhysand came back with a rushed and tight, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” You shook your head, there wasn’t time. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” He responded but it muddled out, sounding like words shouted through a pool of water, then your brain fell quiet. The line severed. 

The stranger lifted your head, hand wrapped around your throat, as he bent to meet your crouched form. “I’ll be sure to savor this,” he smiled and the hilt of his sword came in fierce contact with your forehead. 

It was the early morning on your fifth day away when Rhys heard you. “Help,” it had come through so clearly that it startled Rhys awake and set his heart to racing. You’d only asked for help once, during the war when you were overrun and near death. You were in danger.

He’d sat up straight in bed, Feyre still sleeping silently at his side, hand resting on her pregnant stomach. “Where are you?!” He’d asked down the line, a little frantic, remembering the state he and Azriel had found you in last time. Gods, you’d been run through on a Hybern soldier’s sword, the damage was astronomical. Azriel had nearly killed everyone within a mile radius at the sight of you.

You recited your location in short bursts and Rhys focused on the bond of your bargain, using it to locate you with more precision. He reached out to Azriel then, “Get Cassian and meet me downstairs. Be ready to fly.” Azriel responded an affirmative and Rhys rushed around his room, grabbing his dagger lined belt, and using his magic to dress in his leathers quickly. He winnowed to the base of the stairs and was glad to find Cassian and Azriel waiting. 

“Tell him, please” you begged into Rhys’ mind then, words growing ragged. Rhys’ eyes slammed shut with a wince and he attempted to reassure you, “Hold on, Little One, we’re coming.” Rhys opened his eyes and looked to Azriel, who was watching him with anticipation. You responded again, words growing murkier, a little warbled. “Tell Azriel I love him if I don’t make it, Rhys, promise me.” Rhysand felt sick. “We will find you and you will tell him yourself,” he spoke but the bond was dead, silent, foreboding. Rhys thought he might vomit. 

He looked to Azriel again, “It’s her. She’s in trouble. We have to go.” Azriel’s face darkened with a thunderous ferocity. Mother help the males who’d harmed you. “Where?” He asked, voice deep with the threat of murderous violence. “The wilds on the border, off the coast of Day. I’ll winnow us as close as possible.” Azriel nodded his acquiesce and lifted a trembling hand to his hair, running scarred fingers through the strands. Cassian spoke then, “we will get her back,” he’d said softly as Rhysand put his hands to the two of them, preparing for the jump. “And we will kill every last one of them,” Cassian added darkly as blue-black shadows encased them and they disappeared. 

You awoke with a start, gasping like you’d been underwater. Your shoulders ached from your position. You pulled on your hands only to realize you were shackled to a tree somewhere deep in the forest, the same forest you’d been on the outskirts of earlier. You looked up to the sky, trying to find the sun to gauge how much time had passed. The sun had long moved past midday and was sinking towards the evening horizon. Your throat tightened. Where was Rhysand? 

“Nice of you to join us,” a voice spoke. It was the stranger again, he emerged from the camp set two hundred paces to your left, hidden by shrubs and underbrush. You got a good look at him this time. He was tall, leanly muscular in a way that reminded you of Lucien Vanserra. His hair was a dishwater blonde and lacked any sheen, falling in choppy dry waves around his shoulders. His face was gaunt, eyes sunken, bruised with a lack of rest, and his cheekbones were sharp, giving his face an angle that made him look harsh and unforgiving. Though he carried himself with confidence, you noticed a slight, barely there limp in his right leg, an old wound perhaps, one that never healed correctly. You noted that for later, if you ever got out of these shackles. 

You leveled a glare at him that you hoped looked more fearsome than you felt. Mother, your bones ached and your wounds throbbed. “I left the arrows in, but broke off the shaft. Didn’t want to have you healing too quickly.” He spoke with nonchalance, while polishing a dagger, your dagger, you realized as your eyes focused. You pulled at the shackles above your head, and the stranger chuckled at your attempt. 

“What do you want?” Your voice croaked, mouth dry from disuse. The stranger laughed, pointing the blade at you, “I want my fucking court and you’re the key to getting it.” You shook your head then, “I am nothing.” The words sounded foreign on your tongue, a lie on some level, you knew this, but you would be damned before you gave up your family. The stranger clicked his tongue at your response, shaking his head. 

“Surely you don’t believe that? The High Lord doesn’t trust easily, you’ve been seen with his entourage. The Shadowsinger’s whore.” He squatted a few feet from you, eyes tracing from your tied hands down to your face, pausing at your breasts, before trekking down your stomach, thighs, and calves. He was sizing up how much fight you had left.

Your brain had short circuited though, the Shadowsinger’s whore. Mother above, you’d never even kissed. How long had this male watched you and your family? How had none of you seen it? A bitter laugh wretched from your lungs, “sorry to disappoint, but the Shadowsinger isn’t mine.” No matter how desperately I’ve wished it so, you added silently. 

The stranger grinned then, “if you are truly nothing, then I’ll make this a little sweeter.” He took steps towards you, raising the dagger to rest at your chin, the blade pressing to the underside painfully. “You’re far too pretty to be nothing.” He ran the blade along the column of your throat, resting it against your sternum, between your breasts. You pushed yourself further into the tree, back protesting as the arrows burrowed deeper with the movement. You didn’t like the new angle this interaction had taken and your fight or flight instincts were screaming. 

You attempted to reach out to Rhysand, but the bond was dead silent. Your breathing hitched at the realization that you were truly alone in this. The stranger chuckled, dragging the blade down your chest, slicing the leathers, letting the fabric fall open and reveal your undergarments to his greedy view. Your legs moved to kick, but you realized quickly they too were tied. The blade came to rest at your bare stomach, and the stranger dug it in below the navel, causing blood to pool there. You winced, but made no sound. 

“Ah, I was hoping you’d be louder than that,” the stranger smirked, “I’ll have to try harder.” He backed up then and pulled a whip from his back pocket, unfurling it with a crack. Your eyes widened and you brain went silent, fear overtaking your senses. “There it is,” his smile gleamed with violent delight, “there’s the reaction I was hoping for.” He reared an arm back before cracking the whip in your direction. The leather made contact with your torso, a stinging slice appearing along your rib cage. You jerked, but bit your tongue.

He cracked it again and again until you were bloody, slices in your leathers, festering wounds along your breasts, ribs, and stomach. You’d counted to 25 lashes before your brain gave out and your vision blurred from the pain. You looked up to the sky wearily. The sun was gone and the stars were slowly appearing. You smiled at them, remembering Azriel’s words from that night all those years ago. 

You hoped he’d forgive you for not telling him. You hoped he’d understand your fear in revealing that secret, that the bond had snapped for you during the war. When that Hybern soldier’s sword pierced your armor, running through your body to the hilt, and he’d let out a fearsome bellow from across the field at the sight. You felt it then, the golden strumming taking the form of a fated thread linking you two. You been near death when he and Rhys had found you and the only thing you could do was smile. Such an ironic thing it was to die in the arms of your mate. 

Your head lolled to the side as exhaustion threatened to overtake you. “Azriel,” your thoughts ventured, calling down the bond he didn’t even know existed, “I love you.” Darkness swam in the corners of your vision but you swore you felt his responding tug. The Mother was kind for granting that hallucinative mercy in your final hours. Your body gave out, slumping against the shackles and darkness overwhelmed you. 

Azriel was furious. No, furious wasn’t the word, he was a walking time bomb. You were gone. His mate was missing and he was going to explode. As he’d arrived with Rhys and Cassian to the location you’d given them, he could smell you. His eyes searched frantically around the scene before him until they zeroed in on an item hanging from a branch a few dozen paces out. Cloth of some sort? He approached and could detect your scent on it, realizing quickly it was your clothing. A ripped cotton blouse. His fists clenched and he vaguely heard Rhysand speaking to his left. “They must’ve captured her here.” Rhys crouched down to the ground, two fingers swiping the dirt there, before bringing them eye level to examine sample. “Blood,” he muttered, rubbing the hand on the leg of his pants, “she was injured.” Azriel’s heart thundered, he was going to fucking explode. 

He set his shadows work, surveying the forest with rapid precision. They’d cover more ground this way, an army of three operating like a whole infantry. By the time the sun rose to midday, Azriel was ready to begin screaming. They trekked further into the forest, following a line of smoke that was miles deep, originating at a camp somewhere far into the wilds. His shadows murmured to him of a small band of males there, of you, shackled to a fucking tree, arrows buried in your back. He’d nearly lost the contents of his stomach at the information and set to a run alongside Rhysand and Cassian. 

As the three approached the encampment, the sun was nearing dusk. Rhysand had commanded the halt and strategize. There were roughly twenty-five men, all armed. They couldn’t enter this blindly and infuriated, they would lose if they weren’t careful. Azriel hated admitting he was right, his instincts screaming otherwise. Mate, mate, mate, his heart pounded. 

They backed off to a thousand paces out, close enough that they could hear if the troop vacated the premises. As Rhysand and Cassian spoke quietly, Azriel felt his heart thrum. The golden thread there had pulled him closer to you and he could tell you were still alive. Though Rhys couldn’t reach out through your bargain, Azriel’s bond was still alight and warm, he stroked it with gentle affection. You might not feel it, but Gods he would try. 

As the trio retraced their steps to the camp, stars were just beginning to light overhead and Azriel grasped his daggers tightly, knuckles cracking around the hilt. He was going to kill them. Kill them all brutally for taking you, for touching what was his. When they were within a stones throw from the camp he heard it, heard you. “Azriel,” you whispered into his mind. He went stock still, spine ramrod straight, fingers trembling as they gripped his knives. The golden bond vibrated in his chest, and he felt you reaching out through murky waters, against all odds. “I love you,” you said with a soft exhaustion before your side went dark. Azriel’s breathing guttered and he felt high on mirthroot, sick from fae wine, and enraged to the point of explosion all at once. His blue siphons flared brightly from the surge of power. He closed his eyes and reached out to you through the bond, tugging on the thread connecting your souls. He was coming. He was going to save you. 

Rhysand looked to him then, curiosity swimming in his eyes as he took in the Shadowsinger’s sudden stop. Azriel opened eyes, irises alight with fire and shadow, voice grinding with dark threat, “Let’s go.” Rhys nodded and Cassian drew his knives. 

They moved with brutal efficiency, killing male after male until none remained alive. Some had begged, others shouted and scattered their belongings as they set into a run. His shadows had caught them, twisting around their ankles and dragging them back to meet their fate, daggers slicing throats from ear to ear until blood poured like a prized hunt being slaughtered, the Illryian’s hands grasping and snapping necks like twigs. It was a practiced routine for the three of them, who’d trained since they were teens. 

As they stepped through the shrubs to find you, Cassian gasped and Azriel felt his lungs threaten to collapse at the sight. You’d been shackled to a tree at the wrists and ankles and whipped within an inch your life. Wounds glistened with blood along your thighs, soft stomach, ribs, breasts. There had to be thirty lashes. A knife wound was visible at your exposed navel. Your head hung forward unconscious and Azriel’s heart pounded. He wanted to vomit and his hands shook. 

“She said you’d come,” a voice said, emerging from behind the tree you were bound to. The male held a dagger to your throat. This new stranger had to be the leader of this band of idiots. Azriel’s eyes followed the tip of the blade up his arm to the male’s eyes and a growl escaped him as he bared his teeth. The male laughed, “to think she said she was nothing and yet I have both the Shadowsinger and the Lord of Bloodshed before me to save her.”

Azriel’s mind latched on to that piece of information, turning it over in his head. You’d told this male you were nothing? Did you not know Azriel would do anything for you? You were everything. You were his love, light of his life, keeper of his soul, his mate. How alone you must’ve felt, how scared. Azriel’s eyes narrowed, he was going kill him. 

Rhysand spoke then, emerging from behind the two Illyrian brothers, “And may I ask why you’ve abducted a member of my court?” He was in High Lord mode, tone bored, fingers picking at his sleeve. The Hybern male’s smile gleamed at the introduction, “just who I was hoping to see!” 

“Hybern, the old fool, made a few promises in his last days as King,” the male spoke, digging the blade down to your chest, where it rested over your heart. Azriel stared at the blade, eyes tracing to the the hilt. That was your blade, the one he’d given you when you first arrived in Velaris, the one you wielded against Eris, the one you kept strapped to your thigh. Your own knife had been used against you.

“One of which was that I would inherit these lands after your lot were annihilated.” Azriel wanted to laugh at the male’s words, was he serious? “A dead king cannot honor empty promises,” he ground out eyes shifting to the male’s blue eyes. “A dead and headless king cannot gift you shit,” Azriel spat. The male smiled then, a feline grin growing on his lips. “Precisely Shadowsinger, a dead king cannot give me my due, but this little thing can help.” You’d made a noise then, something akin to a whimper as you came to. Eyes wincing then fluttering open as your irises found Azriel’s immediately, some preternatural magnetism existing between the two of you. Then you looked to Cassian and Rhysand, and your eyes swam with apology.

“She awakens!” The male sang, looking to you. Azriel jumped at the opportunity to send his shadows out while the male’s attention was elsewhere. They traced over the ground to you, circling the tree and working at your binds. He sent two others towards the distracted male. “Who knew the Night Court was so attached to a whore,” the male laughed, “I want my lands,” he fixed Rhysand with a glare, “you can have your plaything back in exchange for my seat, High Lord” he sneered. 

Rhysand looked from you to the stranger to the shadow now creeping ever closer to the male. “You must be mistaken,” Rhys said then and Azriel’s shadows wrapped around the male’s neck and wrist simultaneously, whispering violence for touching their mate, forcing the dagger from his grasp and air from his lungs. Azriel tightened them until they heard bones crack in the male’s arm and choked sounds exit his throat, face reddening as oxygen was cut off. “I do not make deals with dim witted cunts,” Rhysand said darkness beginning to surround him, High Lord voice encroaching, “I do not entertain terrorists and I do not take kindly to threats on my family.” 

‘Finish him,’ Rhysand said darkly into Azriel’s mind and the Shadowsinger moved with lightening precision, dagger find purchase as the male’s neck was sliced open and his right hand was removed from his body. The male’s body toddled forward with a choked gurgling, before falling to the ground, lifeless, blood pooling.

Azriel’s gaze fell to you and he softened. His shadows finished picking the lock of the shackles that held your arms and they clicked open, allowing your body to fall into his. “Azriel,” you breathed, voice weary with exhaustion, “I didn’t— I—“ you stuttered, pulling a shaking hand to his face. You swallowed, tracing his cheek with trembling fingers, “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” you murmured, your watery eyes searching his face, memorizing the details of his visage.

Azriel picked you up in his arms and unfurled his wings protectively. “I will always come for you,” he said vehemently, eyes watching your face with intensity. You smiled, a weepy trembling smile as you nodded. Rhysand reached the Shadowsinger’s side then and your eyes moved to his violet ones, “Hi Little One, I’m so sorry we’re late.” You let out a single watery laugh before wincing as the sudden expansion of your chest burned the wounds littering your chest and back. 

“The arrows,” you gasped, “at my back,” you twisted in Azriel’s hold, “please get them out.” Rhysand leaned down to inspect the wounds. “Faebane,” he surmised, that’s why his connection to you had been severed. “We need to get her to Madja, now.” Azriel nodded, allowing Rhys and Cassian to move closer so the High Lord could winnow them home. 

Landing back at the House of Wind had been chaotic. Rhysand shouted immediately to get every healer available and the dining room table had been lined with a sheet, turning the warm family room into a medical ward. You were laid facedown on the table and Azriel took to your side, scarred hands touching your face, keeping you awake as Madja worked to remove the six arrows burrowed in your body. 

You’d screamed. The sound would haunt Azriel for centuries. You begged to make it stop and Madja had apologized softly as she worked faster to remove them while minimizing damage. “I’ve got you,” Azriel said softly, “eyes on me, alright?” He rubbed the hollow under your eye with a scarred thumb and you opened your eyes to lock on his. “No gloves,” you said, smiling tightly, before wincing as Madja applied local anesthetic to an arrow wound. Azriel smiled, eyes a little watery. “Not with you,” he whispered shaking his head, “never with you.” You smiled at him and the sight set Azriel’s heart to fluttering.

Later, after the arrows had been removed and wounds bandaged, you’d been given a strong herb tonic for pain that set your head swimming as exhaustion overtook you. Azriel carried you his room, laying you gently onto the mattress and covered you with the duvet. He leaned down then, breathing in your scent as he placed a kiss to your forehead, nuzzling his nose to the Winter white hair there. He would tell you. When you awoke, he would bare his soul to you. 

You woke with a groan. Fucking Gods, your body ached with the effort it took to roll over. “Easy,” a voice came from the corner of the room. Your breath gasped out of you as your eyes raced to the figure there. “Azriel,” you breathed. The male smiled warmly at you and stepped forward to rest at the edge of the mattress. You pushed up in the bed, the wound at your shoulder screaming from the exertion. Once in a sitting position, you rested your back on the headboard as you looked at him. “For taking out a small militia, you seemed to be decently uninjured,” you said smiling tightly, memories of the stranger and his whip haunting your mind. He snorted a small laugh, “Yes well,” he looked down then, thumbs fiddling with each other, chest heating, “I had something worth fighting for.” 

He looked back to you and your cheeks had grown pink, a small pleased smile at your lips. “I heard you, you know,” he said softly, turning enough to rest a hand on your thigh, thumb drawing small, soothing circles there. The heat generated in the touch sent a spark to your belly. Oh, you were fucked. “I heard you in my head, through the bond,” he said eyes watching his thumb as it traced on your bare skin hypnotically. 

“You know then?” You whispered, breath skittering out of you. You were scared to death of the trajectory the conversation was taking, your heart preparing for the best and the worst simultaneously. Azriel’s eyes dragged up your form to your face and a smile broke over his lips, one that caused your heart to ignite. Your Mother had once told you the heart was an organ of fire and you’d laughed, never having cause to believe such a statement. You understood now. 

“I—“ Azriel started, before clearing his throat, turning his body to face you in full, a knee pulled up on the mattress, touching yours. “In the whole time I have known you— two centuries, Little One,” he looked at you pointedly, “you have been my dearest friend, my greatest comfort, my confidant, and the person I admire most in this Gods forsaken world.” He breathed deeply, a whoosh exiting his lips as his hand tightened around your thigh. “The times when you were lost to me have been some of the most painful moments I’ve experienced.” 

Your eyes began to water, and you moved a hand to rest atop his own, thumb circling the scarred skin at his wrist. He took a breath then and the air shifted between you, his mouth opening and closing, as if he was gathering his confidence for what he was about to say next. “I have loved for you so long that I’d given up all hope of reciprocation.” The words shattered through you as all air escaped your lungs, guts swooping down as heat alighted there. “I felt the bond the night Eris came for you,” he continued, eyes watching your entwined hands. Your body went still and a startled laugh exited your mouth. Azriel’s eyes flew to yours questioningly. 

“Sorry,” you chuckled again, “I’m just realizing how fucking stupid we’ve been.” You lolled your to the side, watching him with loving eyes. “I’ve been in love with you for almost two centuries, Azriel,” you smiled, “I thought you wouldn’t want me.” Azriel’s eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing in disbelief, two then three times. You thought for a second to compare him to the guppy fish that swam in schools along the banks of the Sidra but refrained. 

He pushed forward then, hands coming to cup your face, pinky and ring fingers resting in the hollow below your ear, thumbs stroking your cheeks. “How could I not? You’re everything,” he whispered, searching your face, conviction showing in his eyes. You couldn’t stop the smile that overtook your mouth as you spoke, “and you’re my mate.” His eyes moved to your lips, glazing before they moved back to your eyes. “As you are mine,” he spoke confidently. 

Your eyes watched each other for a long second, “I really hope you’ll kiss me this time,” your hand trailed up his arm, fingers teasing. “Mother knows I’ve been dreaming of it for far too long.” He surged forward, lips meeting yours and you thought you might float away. You gasped and his tongue moved in, claiming your mouth, your taste with his own. 

He pulled away minutes later, a little breathless, “Sorry to have kept you waiting, my love,” he spoke, resting his forehead to yours with a smile, watching your dazed expression, pink cheeks, as your lips split into a grin. Your hand moved to the front of his button down, fisting in the material there, giving an experimental tug. “Kiss me like that again and I’ll consider forgiving you.” 

The laugh that came out of him was golden, and you pushed yourself to memorize it. Azriel, Lord of Shadows, Spymaster for the Night Court, Rhysand’s right hand and Illyrian warrior was soft for you. He loved you. He was your mate. You’d be giddy about it for the rest of your life. 

Your healing had been slower than you would’ve liked. The faebane had done serious damage but with Madja’s help, the scarring was minimized. The lashes at your front took two weeks to heal, the arrow wounds took three. Three fucking weeks. Meanwhile all you could think about was your mate. He hadn’t left your side in the interim. Helping you take steps, applying the wound creams that Madja had left in small glass pots, keeping you fed, making you laugh, telling you how much he loved you daily. Mother above, you were going to ruin this male. 

You walked into the kitchen at the end of week three, the only evidence of your wounds now in the slight limp of your right leg and twinge in your left shoulder. The marks at your stomach and chest had diminished into barely there, silver scores. Cassian was sitting at the small table in the corner as you entered. “Hi Cass,” you greeted, “seen my mate around this morning?” It was fun calling him that, a small part of your chest swelling with pride each time. 

Cassian smirked, “He’s been…… out.” Your eyes narrowed, he was being evasive. “Out where?” You asked, grabbing an apple and hopping up on the counter to watch the male. He shrugged, “No idea, Little One.” You smirked, “I know where you sleep Cassian,” you started, “is it really wise to lie to me?” Nesta strode into the kitchen, “What’s he done now?” She asked laughing. “Hey! I’ll have you know I’ve done nothing!” The male exclaimed, “She’s interrogating me on the whereabouts of her maaate.” He dragged out the vowel of the last word mockingly. Nesta took her seat next to Cassian and laughed, “Ah, him.” She looked to you then, “he’ll be around to collect you soon.” 

You looked between the two, suspicion dripping from your features as you took another bite from the apple in your palm. “You two are being weird,” you stated. Nesta shrugged, nudging Cassian who smiled at her. “Just wait,” she said softly, “maybe cook yourself a meal.” Cassian’s mouth quirked with a laugh he restrained. “Right, I’m leaving, cause whatever this is,” you waved a hand at them, “is deeply odd.” You hopped off the counter and strolled to the exit.  You heard them laughing softly once you were out of the room, making you roll your eyes at their antics.

You’d gone to the library after leaving the kitchen and found Elain already there. Her eyes moved to you upon your entrance and she closed her book, middle finger marking her spot. “How are you feeling?” She asked softly, eyes surveying your body for lingering damage. You sighed, falling into the sofa across from her. “I’m better,” you said quietly, “the pain is gone, scars are minimal.” You turned your eyes to her, she looked brighter than the last time you’d seen her. “How are you?” You asked in return. She smiled sweetly. “Better,” she echoed you and you wanted to laugh. “I’ve been exchanging letters with Lucien,” she added and your ears perked up.

“That’s great, Elain,” you rest your chin on a closed fist, watching her. She shifted and sat her book to the side, page forgotten. “I want to tell you something,” she said quietly, fingers twiddling with each other. She looked... nervous? “I’m all ears,” you said softly. 

“I had a vision while you were gone,” she started and took a deep breath. “It was so muddled at first, I couldn’t tell who it was, but then I saw you. Your hair was longer, you stood taller, and your belly was round.” The breath left your body in a powerful exhale. She looked to you again, eyes watching yours, “You were pregnant and happy and in love,” she said quietly, as if the words in themselves were fragile. Your hands trembled and you moved them under your thighs, her eyes didn’t miss the action. 

“I couldn’t understand why the Mother would send me a vision like that, I saw Feyre’s pregnancy, but we’re sisters, you know?” You nodded. “Then I realized I recognized the tattooed arm I’d seen wrap around you, knew it was Azriel.” Your eyes watered, and you hiccuped out a small laugh. “I’ve known for a while you two were fated, but the Mother was telling me for certain. I hope you know how happy we are for you.” She finished and moved to sit next you, small hand touching your knee. 

“When they brought you in that night, I thought the Mother had lied to me, that it was a vision of what could have been, that you wouldn’t make it.” You’d never heard Elain speak at length in this way, and you thought you might stop breathing. “I’ve never been happier to see you than when Azriel brought you in to read days later, my sweet friend.” You surged forward, throwing your arms around the female and she returned the gesture warmly. 

You sat back and looked at her then. “Thank you,” you said, voice small, a little watery. She nodded before turning to resume her original spot at the end of the sofa, picking up her book and opening it to the page she’d left off. 

In the hours that followed, you’d returned to the kitchen, grateful to find Cassian and Nesta had left. You took Nesta’s advice, gathering the ingredients to build a small berry tart. It had just gone in the oven when your mate appeared in the doorway.

“Hello love,” he said casually, leaning against the door jamb. You startled, turning on your heel to find him smiling at you. “Where have you been?” You asked walking towards him and running your hands around his midsection in a hug, head resting against his chest. His arm came around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your hair, breathing in your scent. “That, my dearest one, is a surprise.” 

You looked up chin resting against his chest, watching his face. “It’d better be good, I baked for you,” you said, smiling softly at the Spymaster. His eyes moved to the oven then and back to you, irises darkening, as his pupils blew a little wide. “You… baked?” He asked disbelieving, “didn’t know you knew how to bake,” he followed up playfully. You gasped and shoved him, “for that, you can starve, have fun finding another mate to bake for you.” He laughed heartily and caught your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, eyes swimming with warm affection as he pressed a kiss there. Gods, the action made lust swoop in your stomach, heat spreading. 

“The fool I’d be to turn away such a female,” he said, voice deepening, lips running across your knuckles with each word. “Azriel” you breathed. “Yes?” He offered in return, still smiling, moving your knuckles back and forth against his hot mouth. “Please tell me this surprise involves you bedding me.” A growl creeped out of his throat, the thought of you under him sending lust racing down his spine and to his groin. 

“It might,” he said quietly, lips resuming their exploration, tracking small kisses from your knuckles, to the joint of your thumb, the inside of your wrist where Rhys’ tattoo lingered, up the soft skin of your arm, to your elbow, until he reached the skin of your shoulder. His lips traced over the raised skin there, a small nip above the scar as he traced north to your collarbone. You’d gone to putty in his hands, head rolling to the side to bare your throat. He pressed soft kisses there, pausing at your pulse point to trace the area with his warm tongue, a whimper escaping your mouth. 

“If this is going to become a regular thing, I’ll need you two to relocate to the River House,” a voice came from behind you and you jumped in shock, but your mate, he let out a possessive growl before turning on the intruder. Rhysand laughed airily and folded his arms over his chest. “Easy, brother,” he smiled, causing Azriel to roll his eyes. You blinked a little dazed, and pulled away from the Shadowsinger. “You’re gonna make me burn my fucking tart,” you shoved him with an arm and laughed as you turned to resume your place at the oven. 

Azriel instructed you to dress comfortably and be ready in a hour as he kissed your knuckles one last time and exited the kitchen. Butterflies roamed freely in your stomach at the thought of what he had planned. You’d returned to your quarters after removing the tart from the oven and portioning it into a small travel sized container. You were going to accept the bond, and your nerves were alight with anxious excitement. After you dressed in a lightweight linen dress, you packed a small bag with your remaining creams, and the boxed tart you’d prepared earlier. 

You descended the stairs to find Azriel waiting at the base, his wings standing proudly behind him, shadows skittering around his feet. At the sight of you they raced to meet on the bottom step, running up your legs, around your waist and into your hair. A laugh escaped you as one nuzzled into the space behind your ear. Azriel watched fondly. “They love you,” he said smiling, taking a step to meet you, “ever since the bond snapped, I’ve had the hardest time reining them back from touching you.” 

You reached a hand out to meet his, interlacing your fingers. “They’re cute, but you’re cuter,” you said with gentle affection. A shadow pinched at your waist and Azriel’s cheeks went a little pink as he laughed. 

“Will you tell me what the surprise is?” You asked as he walked you toward the training balcony. “I’m afraid I’m very poorly dressed for training,” you joked. He snorted, “no, we’re not training.” He came to rest at the railing and then turned to you, running a hand up your arm, fingers moving to hold the back of your neck, warm palm heating the skin there, thumb grazing your jawline. “Amongst many things I’ve been terribly late for recently, I realize I owe you a date.” 

Your face went a little puzzled and you looked to his eyes. “A date?” You questioned. He nodded, “I was supposed to take you flying.” Realization dawned on your features and a smile overtook your lips, each tooth shining in the setting sun. “I wanted to kiss you that night too,” you admitted laughing, remembering how desperate you’d been for his touch and attention. He smiled softly, “you have no idea how angry I was with Rhys for calling me away.” Your eyes widened, still in disbelief that this male wanted you return. It seemed both a millennia in the making and still so new and fragile. 

Azriel snuck an arm around your waist and brought you up into the stretch of his firm body. His other hand tracing down your hip, then thigh, to curve under your knees as he picked you up. His wings unfurled and he shot into the air. A shaky laugh startled out of you and you gripped him tighter, your arms winding around his neck. His wings flapped in thunderous bursts, taking you higher, until you could see the entirety of Velaris spread below, the Sidra flowing like a snake through the winding city. Your breath left you in awe. “The Peregryn was right,” you said loud enough for him to hear and he smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The flight was short, but it took you to the rural banks of the Sidra on the outskirts of the city, just before it emptied into the sea. You could see ships sailing into the harbor, moonlight beginning to trickle across the water. This was undeniably special, you thought, no one would see you up here and you felt like this was the edge of the world itself. You turned to Azriel, finding his eyes already watching you. “Thank you,” you said softly, leaning into him, his chin meeting your forehead as you moved your body to rest alongside the length of his. His hand came to rest at the small of your back, pinky stretching to graze the curve of your bottom. Wherever this was going, you were very interested. 

He turned and grasped your hand, pulling you back up the hill and away from the view, towards a field of wildflowers and grasses. There, in the middle, a blanket had been laid out, small candles lit to illuminate the setting. A basket sat in one corner, a bottle of fae wine held within with an assortment of pastries, breads, and cheeses. You realized quickly that your mate, the male you’d loved for damn near two centuries, was courting you. The thought thrilled you. 

He led you to the blanket and motioned for you to sit next him. “I must confess, I never took you for a romantic,” you said looking from the candles, to the basket, and then to him. He was watching you again. He smiled, laughing a bit nervously, “I’m a lot of things,” he said and your eyebrow quirked. “Oh yeah? Like what?” You challenged him and he loved you for it. You made him feel easy to love, you made loving fun and freeing. Azriel had once only thought freedom could be found in fucking and flying, then he’d found you and he knew it was there too. In the smile of your lips, in the thrill of your touch, in the ease of your love. 

“Well,” he started, moving his wings to lean into you, pressing a kiss to your exposed shoulder. The action caused you to shiver. “I’m a spymaster.” You snorted, “no shit.” A laugh rumbled in his chest. “I’m a bit shy as you well know, I’m quite fond of dancing, I’m—” he hummed the last letter, pausing his thoughts and moving his lips up your neck. “I’m in love with you,” he said biting into the flesh at the juncture of your collarbone and throat, cock hardening at the sound that rolled out of your mouth. “I’m going to take you right here, on this blanket, under the stars.” 

You gasped, your hands moved find purchase in the hair at the back of his head, fingers winding through the strands, nails dragging at his scalp. His nose ran the length of your jawline before his lips found yours. He rumbled a small hum the instant his mouth touched your own. At first it was a gentle press, teasing you as he had done today in the kitchen at the House of Wind. The adrenaline racing up your spine made you feel like you might vibrate out of your skin. His hand reached up then, threading broad fingers into your hair as he took the kiss deeper. Tonguing the bottom of your lip until your mouth opened, his tongue stroking your own. Humming with contentment, he tilted your head, deepening the kiss at a new angle that had heat swooping down to your core. 

You brought your left hand to his shoulder, fisting your fingers in the fabric there and pulling him closer. He understood your intention and leaned you back into the blanket, pleasure alighting each nerve as his body pressed into your own. He eased up on your lips and began a slow trek south, pulling the strap of your dress down the curve of your shoulder, leaving a love bite there that had you gasping. He kissed down the bust line of the dress, laving his tongue at the swell of your breast. Your breath was coming in pants and you pressed yourself up on your elbows as he moved further south, fingertips tracing the hem of your dress that had risen to the middle of your thigh. 

He looked back to you and smiled, mischief playing in his eyes as he ran his hands up your thighs, the slow drag pulling the dress with it. “I’ve been thinking about your cunt for centuries,” he said, his lips on your knee, pressing insistently as they moved north. “I’ve been dreaming of making you come on my tongue since I met you.”

Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop as you feel his tongue at the juncture of your hip and thigh. His mouth was insistent at skin there, tonguing the lace of your panties before pulling them down your legs and off entirely. He picked up a foot, placing it to his chest as he traced the long line of your body with hungry eyes. You were panting already, dressed rucked up around your waist, straps fallen down your arms and breasts heaving. His gaze flowed south and landed on your pink cunt, glistening, begging for him. His eyes went back to your face then, and his titled his head to the side, “Will you let me eat your pretty little cunt?” He asked fingertips tracing the scars of your calf with reverence. He brought your foot up, kissing the inside of the ankle, then nosing his way over your scarred calf, suckling at the skin there. “Please,” he added, eyes moving back to yours as his mouth continued his ministrations. 

“Mother above, Azriel,” you breathed and a laughed startled out of you, “you are mouthy.” He chuckled darkly then, nipping at your knee, taking special care to press a gentle kiss at the new scar there. “Is that a no then?” He said softly and your head fell back with a groan, exposing your neck to his view. “As if,” you said, head pulling back up and lolling to the side to rest on your shoulder. “I’ve thought about it too, and if you back out now I will explode.” He laughed again, freely this time, forehead resting on your thigh. 

His eyes find yours again, and he kept them there as he traced his lips north. He nosed the juncture of your cunt and inner thigh, running a tongue along your mound. You gasped and eyes narrowed, watching him with rapt attention. He pressed a kiss to the top of your slit and his hands come up to open you to him, pulling the lips apart and tonguing the collected moisture there. Your head fell back as your elbows gave way, falling flat against the blanket. 

“You taste better than I imagined,” he said before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. The moan that left you had his hips pushing into the ground to find relief as his cock begged for release. His tongue flicked against your clit as he sucked and hummed. He thought this might become his favorite place in all of Prythian. He thought that every bad thing that had happened in his life seemed insignificant now that he was able to worship freely between your thighs. He traced fingers up and paused to wet them on his tongue, before pushing his middle and ring finger in to the second knuckle, pulling them out and scissoring them back in again. His tongue found your sweet little button for a second time that night and he laved at it, listening to your cries as he pushed you to the brink. Azriel’s life had been a nightmare, but between your thighs, mouth on your cunt, walls fluttering around his fingers, he thought he’d been blessed by the Mother herself. 

Your hips rocked up in time with his fingers and you cried as your gut twisted, the coil there tightening. “Az-“ you gasped. “Azriel,” you went a little whiny on the vowels of his name, and your hand reached down to thread your fingers into his hair, nails scratching and tugging the strands. He hummed, the vibration sending shocks up your spine. “Azriel, baby,” you gasped, coming up on an elbow again, rutting your hips into his face as he took you higher. He didn’t let up, suckling at your cunt, fingers finding the spongy spot on the backside of your clit that made the world go blank “Azriel!” you gasped again, hips stuttering out, “Fuck, fuck— oh.” In seconds you were reaching your peak, hips faltering, thighs twitching, toes curling into the hard planes of his back. 

He pulled his mouth off of you, pressing kisses to your pubic bone as he moved north up your stomach. He eyes were alight with desire, the male was pure want and you were his last meal. He pulled his fingers from your cunt and trailed them up to rest at your neck as he slotted his body between your thighs and kissed you. The hedonism of tasting yourself on his mouth made you wetter, cunt pressing into the hard line of his cock, still restricted in his trousers. He moaned at the contact, mouth leaving yours to rest his head against your chin and gather himself. The sound sent a pleasurable shock directly to your core. You grasped the hand at your throat and brought his fingers up and to your mouth, tongue laving at them before taking them to the knuckle, and pulling back slow, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking, keeping your eyes on his. He bared his teeth the sight and ground his hard cock into you, the friction on your clit making your thighs twitch. 

“My sweet little mate,” he cooed. “Love of my life,” he nosed your cheek, his fingers still in your mouth. “All my dreaming has been put to shame it would seem,” he pulled his fingers from your mouth and replaced them with his tongue, his hands flying to his belt. He growled in struggle and you ventured a laugh. His eyes found yours and his jaw ticked, “keep laughing, sweet girl, I’ll fuck your throat next and you won’t come.” Your eyes went a little wide and a feline grin appeared on your face. “Mouthy indeed,” you said with glee as he finally got the buckle undone and pushed the pants down and off. 

His shirt went next and your fingers traced up his exposed arms to his shoulders. “I’ve seen you shirtless a dozen times, and you still take my breath away,” you said softly, a hand resting on his pectoral. He laughed and went a little pink, before he pushed your dress up your body and over your head, leaving you bare. “I’ve always been impressed by your ability to so disarming,” he said, mouth finding the space above your breast as his hands came to cup them, fingers toying with the nipples. “It’s my favorite thing about you, you see me in a way I can’t even see myself,” he followed up. 

Your eyes watered at the admission and your hands found his face, bringing his mouth back to yours as you kissed him again, tongue entwining with his. Your hands grasped his shoulders, as your leg found his hip and you pushed him over, onto his back. Your hands came to rest on his chest as you settled your weight on his lower abdomen. You could feel his manhood standing to attention, insistent at the curve of your ass and you reached around to grasp it, pushing your chest out for his greedy eyes. Taking him in long strokes, you ran your hand up and down, circling your thumb around the head. His eyes screwed shut as his breathing shallowed. 

“Wanna know a secret, baby?” You offered, rocking your hips in time with your strokes. He whined then, the Lord of Shadows keened a little whine for you that had you ready to come right there. “Last time we hosted a gala, that night before Hybern,” you were panting, “all I could think about was taking you to bed.” His eyes opened and hazel was gone blacked out in pure desire. His hands found your hips and his own began to move in time with you. “I thought about riding you,” you said, twisting your hand in a way that had his breath guttering out of him. “I thought you might love me in the way you looked at me.” His eyes softened and he leaned up, hands tracing up your spine as he pressed kisses to your chest. 

“I loved you that night and every night since,” he said before tonguing a nipple and sucking it into his mouth. “That dress you wore, my color, had me hard for a week.” You laughed then removing your hand from his cock and bringing both to his face, so you could kiss him. His hands slipped to your ass then, palming the cheeks as his tongue moved in tandem with yours. When you moved back from him, a string of salvia still connected you two, you reached up to comb fingers through his hair gently.

“I brought you something,” you said quietly, looking to the corner of the quilt where your bag had dropped ages ago. His brow furrowed, confusion showing in his features. “You don’t have to, but I brought some of that tart. If you want,” you offered the statement nervously, as if there was still a chance for rejection. Azriel’s heart went soft and his brain turned to mush.

“You want to accept it?” He questioned, hands sliding up your back and to your waist. You smiled and looked at him incredulously, “Of course I want to accept it, it feels like I’ve waited a millennia for you.” You’d laughed a bit and that feeling of home raced through him again. Gods, he was fucked. 

You leaned off his lap, pulling the strap of your bag to you and unzipped it. There, packaged in a little glass container, lay a small slice of the berry tart you’d fretted over earlier in the day. “Nesta made some stupid comment about ‘cooking’ when I’d asked where you were,” you laughed in hindsight at the female’s leading words. “She knew because Cassian knew, he helped me with the food and candles,” Azriel murmured pushing your hair up and over your shoulder. 

He pulled the container from your grasp then and opened it before picking the pastry up with his fingers, the same fingers that had been inside you minutes ago. Eyes on yours he took the first bite, your heart thrumming as the golden thread of your bond lit up like the sunrise. His eyes never left yours as he consumed the pastry in four bites, swallowing and pulling his fingers into his mouth at the remaining sweetness there. 

The bond between you two was shining, strong and thrumming with love. ‘Hi,’ you tried, your thoughts reaching out to him. He smiled, laughing freely, and his voice came through clearly, ‘Hi, Little One.’ You choked out a laugh, eyes watering as you leaned forward to kiss him, tasting the berries on his tongue. ‘Can I make love to my mate now?’ He questioned down the bond and you laughed again. His hands were already tracing your hips as you leaned forward, hand reaching underneath to guide him into your cunt. Lowering yourself down, you rocked forward once then twice in order to take him to the hilt. 

Mother above, he was big. His cock was thick and filled you wholly, pushing against your cervix making your eyes flutter in pleasure. You thought of the comment Mor had made about wingspan once decades ago and you heard him laugh, “I’m flattered, truly,” he said playfully, reading your thoughts and nipping at your shoulder.

You rose up again and set to riding him slowly, hips moving in long strokes as his hands traced your ass, pulling at the flesh there in time with your movements. You gave a experimental squeeze of your walls, and he keened a loud moan that had you speeding up your flow. “You keep that up, Little One and I won’t last,” he panted at your throat. “That’s rather the point,” you laughed breathlessly, your own hand moving to cup your breast, the other sliding down to circle your clit. His eyes traced the view greedily, moving down to the point where you connected, watching your cunt take him in full, his cock glistening with your shared wetness. He bared his teeth at the sight, a rumble lighting in his chest. 

Just as your walls began to flutter with your impending orgasm, he grasped you and flipped you to your back, pulling your hands from your body and entwining your fingers with his own on each side of your head. He ground his pelvis in deep and your legs hitched higher around his waist. “Azriel, fucking Gods,” you called out at the switch in angle, the tip of his cock grinding into your cervix. He hummed at your throat, teeth marking you there as his hips pulled out and pushed in, grinding each time he bottomed out into you. His wings flared behind him and you thought you’d never seen a more beautiful sight. 

“You take me so well, my love,” he panted, “you were made for me.” You whined then, cunt fluttering around him as he bottomed out deep and held it there, grinding his pubic bone into your clitoris. The pleasure raced up your spine and you thought you’d never be able to leave this place, might have to keep him inside you forever. He growled, reading your thoughts. “You want me to fuck this cunt forever?” He asked aloud leaning up, pulling his hands from yours. 

You whined at the loss, but the sound died as he pulled your legs up his waist to his shoulders, kissing the scarred calf. He drew his cock out, only to slam back in. “Fuck,” you moaned out, voice going up two octaves. “You want me between your thighs for the rest of my days?” He said again, hips moving faster, your hands moving to your tits as they bounced from the impact. His eyes watched the movement and he bared his teeth again, turning his head to bite into the flesh of your calf. 

“Azriel!” You called out again, pleasure zipped up your spine and you felt your stomach tighten. “Az, baby, I’m so close.” He chuckled darkly. “Be a good girl and come on my cock,” he said as his fingers traced down your leg to find your clit, rubbing the bundle in quick, timed circles. “Az- I-,” you barely got the words out before your orgasm overtook you, a long moan exiting your mouth as your cunt tightened around him, he ground into you and worked you through it, before dropping your legs back to his hips and pistoning deeper.

“My sweet mate,” he gasped at the skin of your throat, mouth tracing up to find yours, hands finding purchase on your thighs as he pulled you open, allowing him dive deeper. “My darling love,” he moaned and his tongue moved with yours, your hips pushing up to meet his thrusts, walls fluttering against his velvet length with the remnants of your orgasm. 

You ventured your hand up his shoulder to the base of a wing and traced your fingers up the membrane to the bone. His eyes twisted shut, and he keened a low primal whine that had your cunt ready to come again. At the tightening of your walls, he groaned dark and deep, shadows seeping from him, as he pushed in, grinding against the innermost portion of you. His hips pulled out slightly and then pushed back in as his cock kicked, come spurting against your walls. He panted against your throat as his hands released their hold on your thighs and moved up your body before grasping your throat. He moved up to lean over you and his eyes found your own. He gave an experimental thrust of his hips and your eyes widened. Fucking Cauldron, he was still hard. 

He laughed then, nuzzling at your mouth as he nipped at your bottom lip. “I’m giving you five,” his voice was deeper than you’d ever heard it, “and then I’m eating my come from your cunt and fucking you until the sun comes up.” 

You gasped out a laugh as your arms wrapped around his shoulders. ‘They call it frenzy for a reason,’ you thought, kissing along his cheekbone and to his mouth. Gods, you were fucked. 

[bakusbabygirl]

I HATE

I HATE IT

[bakusbabygirl]

Feyre: What are you writing?

Azriel: The Spring Court wants to know what kind of weapons we are bringing to the meeting of the High Lords. I'm letting them know it's private information.

Feyre, looking over Azriel's shoulder: This just says "fuck around and find out" in calligraphy.

[bakusbabygirl]

FOR YOU : viking!bkg masterlist

— 18+ content, minors dni, if your age isn’t on your blog dni, aged up, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, viking themes are light and inspired, modern language.

— chronological order, everything is under the #viking bkg tag

001 — WAITING FOR YOU 10.5k

your new fiancé is ruthless, rude and stupidly gorgeous. after being forced into an engagement with him to keep peace between your villages, you need to find some way to get along or at least come to an understanding. it happens quicker than you think once you catch him bathing in his private lake.

002 — BEST FOR YOU 4.4k

after a reconciling evening in the lake, you find yourself spending your first night in your fiancé’s bedroom.

003 — DIE FOR YOU 8.2k

your fiancé, chief of the strongest village, doesn’t believe you can protect yourself so when returns from a raid, he makes you prove him wrong.

[bakusbabygirl]

Unspoken Rules

Summary: Everyone knows if you take a cowboy’s hat, you have to ride him, and who is Bakugou to let you break that rule? 

TW: sex, dub-con(reader and Bakugou have been drinking), voyeurism(at the end), car sex MDNI

Thinking about being best friends with Cowboy!Bakugo and Denki betting you $50 you won’t take his hat from him. 

And because you’re a little drunk, and it’s basically free money, and come on, it’s Bakugo, your best friend, you don’t think anything of it. Just bounce on over to the bar where he’s talking to Deku and Kiri and steal it from off his pretty blonde head. 

At first, he’s ready to rip it back from whoever it is that’s taken his hat, red eyes narrowed and a string of harsh words ready to fly from his tongue, until he realizes it’s you. His pretty girl-next-door best friend he’s been fucking in his mind for years, and he grins, shaking his head as you blow him a kiss and a thanks, strutting back to Denki to collect your reward. 

You’re none the wiser to the predicament you’ve gotten yourself into until you’re going home later in the night, in the backseat of Kiri’s truck when Bakugo is leaning over to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck, his hand underneath the skirt of your sundress. 

You’d be lying if you hadn’t thought about him this way, after all, god knows he’s attractive, but you’re still confused, mind hazy from alcohol and the way his thick fingers are hitting that one sensitive spot inside of you, your underwear somewhere on the floor. 

And it’s not until he’s manhandling you onto his lap, mouth slotted over yours as he unbuckles his belt and shoving his jeans and underwear halfway down his thighs, that you think to ask what’s gotten into him. 

And he just grins, flicking the brim of his hat, still sitting on your head and replies “You know the rules.” before he’s pressing his lips along your jaw, one hand guiding his cock through your folds.

You can’t help but gasp out a breathless moan at his size and his words, nails digging into his shoulders as you speak. “But you think that’s a dumb rule,” and the jackass has the audacity to smile at you, hands shoving your sundress up over your pretty hips and around your waist, eyes glued to your face. 

“Yeah, I do.”

He sinks into your cunt as he speaks, drawing a low moan from your throat at the burning stretch as he fills you to the brim, his mouth nipping and licking along your chest before he rolls his hips up into you.

And it takes everything in poor designated-driver Kiri’s power to keep from driving his truck off the road.

[bakusbabygirl]

Wingspan Matters

Summary: based on this request, you, Nesta, and Feyre catch your mates in a pissing contest over their wingspans

Author’s note: silly little crack hehe

Word count: ~1k

You poured yourself another cup of tea as Feyre and Nesta began squabbling over something you really couldn’t bring yourself to care about. You looked out the window, taking in the nice spring weather. A light breeze was flowing through the trees, causing the branches to move in a dance to the wind’s patterns.

You watch as the birds flit by, their song a lament to the end of winter, as if they too were sending their thanks to the Mother for spring to return. It’s the first warm day in months, the first day that your forearms won’t get cold being exposed to the air.

The life around you seems to dance and sing at the joyous return of spring - insects buzz past the windows, their high pitched frequencies a delight to your ears. You don’t let yourself think for too long about how the resurrection of spring will cause Cassian to snore even louder than before.

Perhaps you and Azriel can plan an escape to the Summer Court for a few weeks. Hopefully the distance and the crashing of waves will be enough to block out Cassian’s loud snoring.

You get lost in a daydream of laying on the beach with Azriel, either in the sand or in hammocks, applying a protective balm to his wings. The sun is warm on your skin, the salty spray of the ocean in your hair.

Muffled shouting disturbs both your daydream and whatever quarrel Nesta and Feyre were in the middle of. The three of you open the doors to the balcony, leaning over the railing to find your mates in a circle in a clearing on the property, their tan skin and large, dark wings making them stand out amidst the greenery that surrounds them. 

Azriel was standing to the side, looking incredibly smug with his arms crossed over his chest as he watches his two brothers. Cassian has a piece of ribbon that he was holding up to Rhysand’s back. The two kept bickering, over what you couldn’t discern.

Before any of you could question what the two were discussing, Rhysand took the ribbon from Cassian and pushed him off. Cassian landed on the ground, but immediately sprung back up, his hands coming up and shoving Rhysand off the rock he was perched on.

“Looks like the bats are finally measuring themselves,” Nesta muses, bringing her cup to her lips.

You could hear Rhys’s laugh from the balcony as he sprung up, keeping low to the ground as he charged at Cassian, his shoulder hitting Cassian’s hips. He pushed Cassian into the ground, causing Cassian to push his weight upwards so the two of them begin rolling around on the ground, punches and curses being shared to and fro. 

Feyre chuckles, “it seems Azriel’s already won.”

Nesta peers back to you over her cup, “I don’t think it’s just Azriel that’s won.”

“Don’t draw yourself up too short, Nes. I think Cassian’s in second place.”

Nesta looks back at you, eyes roaming up and down your frame, “I’m more surprised he hasn’t broken you in half yet.”

Feyre laughs as you reply, “you’d be more surprised if you saw some of the things we do.”

You waggle your eyebrows at Nesta as Feyre continues laughing, but Nesta’s not quick enough to hide her smirk without your notice.

“How long do we wait until we have them measure Feyre’s wings?” you ask.

Feyre thinks for a moment, hand on her chin, “maybe when Azriel gets a little too cocky.”

“Or Rhysand gets too pouty,” Nesta adds.

From across the courtyard, you could see Azriel’s amused smirk as his eyes met yours, a light tug on the bond urging you to keep your gaze on him. You smile, pulling back softly. He raises his eyebrows up and down a few times, and you send some amusement down the bond as you roll your eyes at him.

He stretches his wings out at your attention, making them as large as he can. You’re pretty certain you’ve seen birds do similar things in mating rituals, but the unfortunate thing is seems to actually be working on you.

He looks over to his brothers, still rolling around in the dirt, and gently takes off for a short flight up to the balcony the three of you are on. He lands softly in front of you, his wings creating a small wind, his chest glowing in the sunlight as his hands reach for you, pulling you into him by your hips.

You melt into him, arms going around his waist, your head resting over his heart as he supports your weight with the railing behind him. The warmth from his skin is soothing without being overbearingly hot.

“They make me want to gag,” Nesta tells Feyre, and you move your head so you can see the two pairs of eyes looking back to the two of you. Azriel wraps his wings around you, making you nearly impossible to see if it weren’t for your feet. You can hear the smile on Nesta’s face at her words, though.

You weasel an opening between Azriel’s arms so you can make eye contact with Nesta as you tell her, “he makes me gag too,” as you make an obscene gesture with your hand.

Nesta’s face immediately goes into her hands while Feyre chuckles, but her laughs are drowned out by the male in front of you, his laugh rumbling in his chest beneath your ear.

He peers down at you, one eyebrow raised in question. You nod slightly, and the two of you vanish into his shadows, leaving Feyre and Nesta to watch their mates continue to fight in the dirt, forgetting who really won the competition.

[bakusbabygirl]

Rhys: Cassian, please don't let Feyre do anything stupid...

Cassian: Stupid by my standards or yours?

Rhys:

Rhys: Stupid by my mother's standard.

Cassian: Smart. Feyre will live longer.

[bakusbabygirl]

Azriel: *sneaks in through the window* Rhysand, turning in his chair and flicking the light on: You want to tell me where you've been all night? Azriel: I uh...I was with Cassian Cassian, turning in his own chair: Wanna try that again?

[bakusbabygirl]

can’t convince me this isn’t exactly how drunk jake seresin acts

[bakusbabygirl]

[bakusbabygirl]

when i want fluff/angst fics and all i’m getting is smut

the struggle is real

[bakusbabygirl]

Taking anti-depressant pills?? Seeing a therapist??? Journaling???? No need babe, my fav writer just dropped another x reader fic.