AI is just my little editing assistant—English isn’t my first language, and this helps me bring my stories to life the way I picture them ( as a last step)
If that’s not for you, that’s perfectly fine.
I write these fics for joy, for comfort, for fun, and because storytelling is my love language.
Every plot, idea, and unhinged emotional spiral here is completely my own/inspired by others requests.
🖤 Completed / Emotional
Muted
She muted the bond to protect him. She broke it to save him. Az x reader
Crimson Comfort
He’s not afraid of blood — not when it’s yours. Sometimes love is washing sheets, warming tea, and whispering breathe into your hair.
Mending
Post-mission, you wake half-stitched in Azriel’s room. His hands shake, his voice doesn’t, and that’s how you know how deep it runs.
Azriel Runs into the One Who Got Away
Years after losing each other, they meet again by the Sidra. He’s still the same — except for the regret in his voice when he says he never stopped.
Twenty Years of Quiet Hope
They’ve been trying for twenty years. When Azriel comes home from a mission, he smells sunlight — and realizes his shadows are crying.
The Shadow’s Fury
In the Hewn City, Azriel finds a broken female whose scent freezes his blood. Rhysand’s horror confirms it — she’s the daughter Amarantha made them forget.
What Shadows Cannot Hide
When you vanish on a mission, Azriel breaks — and when he finds you, there’s no room left in him for mercy.
When the Shadows Claimed
Azriel’s shadows find his mate before he does. The moment he follows them, nothing in Prythian is ever the same again.
The Moment He Came HomeI The Mask He Wore
After Amarantha’s death, Rhysand returns broken. One conversation at a time, his family brings him back.
Let Me In (Azriel x reader)
“If the corridor is loud again… don’t run to the balcony. Run to me.”
comfort through panic attack/anxiety. Comfort turns into something softer, sweeter… the kind of safety that feels a lot like love (but neither of you dare say it yet).
The Thing He Won’t Name
Azriel has been unraveling ever since the night he disappeared after the Hewn City ball—ever since he crossed a line with Eris. When Rhys confronts him in his office, Azriel breaks in a way he never has before.
The Ways They Come Undone
A collection of intimate Prythian snapshots capturing how each male loves, desires, and is quietly undone by the reader. Not smut — but sensual/romantic.
🖤 Humor / Inner Circle Chaos
“The Red Hair Incident”
Cassian finds a very suspicious red hair —and draws the wrong conclusion. Training becomes unbearable for Azriel, dinner becomes a disaster, and the Inner Circle witnesses something none of them were prepared for.
If You’re That Curious, Azriel Can Handcuff You Himself
Cassian hosts “science night.” Chaos, kinks, and one perfect line from Azriel’s mate end it all in laughter.
The Gentleman Problem
Azriel ties your shoes, massages your feet, and Cassian loses his mind accusing him of a fetish. Azriel doesn’t deny it.
In a Room Full of Chairs, I Would Sit in His Lap
Twenty empty chairs. You pick his lap. Cassian regrets ever teasing him.
The Night Rhysand Learned Too Much
Rhys tries to lecture Cassian and Nesta for being loud — and learns far more than he ever wanted about Azriel and his sister.
What Happens in the House of Wind Stays in the House of Wind
Cassian jokes Rhys and Feyre met at an orgy. Then the topic shifts to you and Azriel. No one recovers.
She Threw Her Shoe at You?
Rhys rescues a mortal bride and gets hit with a shoe. Cassian calls it love. Azriel calls it good aim.
Azriel’s Regulation Handcuffs
Cassian asks what Azriel’s cuffs are for. Azriel answers. Everyone regrets it.
Azriel — Sick Boyfriend Edition
One cold from the Bog of Oorid turns the Shadowsinger into a clingy, feverish cuddle bug.
The New Wards Are Finally in Place
Rhys upgrades the House wards to save Azriel from hearing Cassian and Nesta’s “activities.” Dinner devolves instantly.
Things I Never Wanted to Hear
Azriel overhears Cassian and Nesta. Chaos, trauma, and a few too-accurate jokes follow.
Cassian Learns to Knock
You push too hard in training; Azriel takes care of you. Then Cassian walks in.
The Birchin — The Night After Solstice (Azrielx Reader)
Summary: Solstice night may be over, but Azriel isn’t ready to let go of the warmth just yet. A quiet moment in the Birchin becomes a lot less innocent when the Shadowsinger pulls you into his lap — and a lot more chaotic when certain males walk in at the worst possible time. (Smut)
“I want your baby.”(Azriel x Reader)
Fluff, drunk confessions
“The Fever in the Tent ”
You were supposed to be resting after getting fever-sick mid-mission. Instead, you’re tucked into an Illyrian tent with Azriel, Cassian, and Eris—three males, one cot, and absolutely zero personal space.
🖤 Smut / Tension / Enemies-to-Lovers
Curiosity Killed the Spy l Tie Me Again, ShadowsingerI Azriel Loses Control
1) You get caught snooping around the Night Court. It’s supposed to be an interrogation — not an awakening.
2) Tighter ropes, sharper words. The Dawn Court spy keeps pushing; 3) Azriel stops pretending he isn’t tempted.
She taunts him until he finally snaps. He says it’s only release. They both know it’s not.
Spy Games
For his birthday, Cassian hires him a courtesan — except she’s a spy. Azriel already knows. His knife’s at her throat when she finds out.
Unfinished Business (Azriel × Eris )
A year after their one night, Azriel still can’t forget. Eris calls it denial. Azriel calls it unfinished business.
Diplomatic Secrets
A dinner meant for diplomacy ends in something else — restraint giving way to ruin.
“No One Saw… Right?” Short, Flirty, PDA Azriel x Reader
A slow-burn of tension, dominance, and whispered promises that finally snap behind closed doors.
Burning Embrace (Azriel × Eris )
After a long night at the River House, Azriel slips out to the balcony with a mythroot roll and silence for company. He doesn’t expect Eris to join him — or to notice the way the Autumn heir’s mouth finds every place he's been.
Where the bond found us ( Azriel x reader, mini series) ( 2 parts)
When Velaris falls under attack, she fights to the last breath to protect the city she calls home. In the final quiet of the battlefield, she crosses paths with Azriel—the moment their eyes meet, the mating bond snaps into place. Bloody, exhausted, and shaken to the core, neither of them is ready for what the Mother has chosen. They don’t exchange more than names, just a single promise suspended in the smoke between them.
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Love thinking about an AU where the relationship reveal with Yuna and David happens because something overwhelms Shane into a panic attack/breakdown, maybe they're at some NHL show or event, maybe it's just been a really long fucking day, maybe suddenly Shane feels just completely overwhelmed by the lights and the noise and all the fucking people wanting to shake his hand or slap his back or tell him how much they like his fucking play.
Yuna notices something is wrong because of course she does and together with David they herd Shane into some private empty side room hoping it will help him calm down. But it doesn't. He wont stop shaking and his breathing is too fast and he flinches at their voices even tho nobody is speaking loudly. Won't let Yuna come close to hug him or rub his arm.
Maybe Yuna is starting to panic a little herself, her heart aching as she watches Shane wrap his own arms around himself, hates that she cant do anything when her son is so clearly in distress, hates that she can't seem to think of anything that will work-
When suddenly the door bangs open and Ilya Fucking Rozanov??? strides into the room with quick steps, makes a beeline directly for her son, eyes locked on him like he doesnt even register her and David in the room as well and Yuna opens her mouth to cuss him out, tell him to fuck off and not bother Shane right now, she can feel her body moving already to stand in front of Shane protectively when David grabs her arm because-
Because Rozanov is pulling Shane into his arms, one hand on the back of Shane's neck, guiding his head to press into the crook of Rozanov's neck and Shane isn't fighting it, doesn't flinch from his touch. He goes where Rozanov arranges him and let's himself be held and rocked back and forth gently as Rozanov presses his mouth to Shane's ear and starts whispering something so quietly that Yuna can't really make out the words but what she can see is Shane's shaking subsiding, hands fisting tightly into Rozanov's shirt, his breathing going slowly back to normal because - oh. oh - her son is syncing his breaths with Rozanov who, Yuna realises, is taking very exaggerated deep slow breaths of his own so Shane can match them. And then Rozanov turns slightly while still rocking them both back and forth and Yuna sees Shane's face where it's smushed into Rozanov's neck. Sees the look there.
And that's how Yuna realises her son is in love and the man - his years-long rival - he loves must have left in the middle of his award-winning show to come here and pull her son out of a panic attack like there was no place he'd rather be than right here with Yuna's overwhelmed panicked boy in his arms, soothing him until Shane's body relaxes completely into that hold, mumbling that he's fine yet not pulling away and Rozanov makes no move to let go either.
Oh, Yuna thinks again, gripping David's hand tightly. It's not just Shane. My baby is in love. And he's loved back.
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thank you heated rivalry for bringing me back full tilt to 2013-esque fandom behavior. I'm making a playlist, I'm reblogging edits. I'm fucking crazy but I'm free
🫶🏻summary: you had a theory about a certain Illyrian. you’d like to test that theory. little did you know, he’d like too.
authors note: so uhm… i kind of just imagined this and it spiralled into…this. anyways, enjoy ☺️ smutty smut, MDNI!!
You felt brave from the amount of wine consumed humming in your veins, but equally as hot, due to the conversation heading into dangerous territories.
You were currently sitting on the living room floor of the House of Wind with Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn, forming a perfect circle on the rug, your back pressed onto the couch. Before you on the small table, a bunch of snacks you requested from the House as a joke, but rather thankful for the wine collection Rhys kept here. You were down to three bottles of exquisite and very delicious wine from four hundred years ago, already seeing the High Lords glare sending daggers for taking advantage of his welcome.
Certainly, you didn’t care less, as he most definitely has better things to worry about.
But right now, you feel hot. And not from the fire popping behind you to keep the living area warm and toasty.
“It just has to be true,” you hiccuped, brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. “Every guy who comes off as overly quiet, just has to have something big in his pants.”
Emerie and Nesta snorted, but raised their glass at you and drank, Emerie the wine while Nesta some tea, meanwhile Gwyn looked a little mortified, her pale skin burning in pink blush.
“What do you mean by that?” She asks, her blue eyes widening in curiosity.
“I mean that they don’t waste their breath with unnecessary words. They save that energy to devour you to your bones,” you explained, leaning closer to her a little, and she blushed even more, blinking.
“I want my man to whine, whimper, moan and grunt while he absolutely makes love to me,” you bite your lip, your head flooding with unholy things as you imagine a certain someone rearranging your guts.
“I’m not sure that’s love making anymore,” Nesta laughs.
“Yeah, that’s fucking,” Gwyn sips her wine, your eyes widening at her bluntness.
“Gods you filthy girl,” you wink at her, teasing her while she laughs at you.
“Who do you want to test that theory?” Emerie asked as she snacked on some untouched popcorn. Before you could shamelessly admit to them your obvious attraction toward a certain Illyrian warrior with blue siphons, who happens to be overly quiet and you’re hundred percent so fucking sure he’s packing, Nesta gasped.
“Mother above, you truly have to ask that? It’s Azriel, you fool,” she smacked the popcorn out of her hand, earning an annoyed grunt from Emerie.
“Oh my gods!” Gwyn exclaimed, her hand coming up to her mouth in mock disbelief.
“I won’t deny it. Well, I would if I were sober, but right now, it’s just us and the House, who’s a true girls girl, never dropping the thought over to him, am I right?” You asked playfully, looking up at the ceiling and getting your goblet full of wine, and dropping a full chocolate cake over the table. Yeah, the House was in your favour.
“Now that I’m thinking, he’s really that quiet, mysterious, observant guy,” Emerie says, eyeing the cake before you push it closer to her, earning a grateful wink.
“Y/n spends three training sessions with him and comes up with her theory,” Gwyn shook her head, but the playful glint in her eyes said she finds this amusing.
“The first occasion was more than enough to come to the conclusion that he’s packing,” you said without a heartbeat.
“I knew you were dirty minded but damn, you’re worse than Cassian,” Nesta sipped her tea, but a little teasing smirk stretched across her face.
“Well, it was obvious you were eyeing him -“
“- More like shamelessly eye fucking him,” Emerie muttered, cutting in Gwyn’s words. You snorted, changing your position on the floor, because you no longer felt your ass and back.
“I’m not sorry for finding him drop dead gorgeous,” you whined as you stretched out your body, the girls giggling above you.
While the three of them were training for a long amount of time now, they successfully lured you into the training ring two weeks ago. You owned one of the cafés in Velaris, where the three of them quickly became your regulars, knowing their orders by heart, already waiting for them usually around Fridays, when they seemed to have a couple of hours free time to spend besides seeing each other once a week for training and work. They were yappers, you quickly realised, and when once you snorted by accident while Nesta told the girls about her mate, Cassian’s fuck ups, she looked up and asked your opinion about the situation, and you stuck with them ever since.
Now, you were nowhere near on the same level as them. While they trained as Valkyries, you found that throwing daggers was more for your fun. And knife work, and swords. You learned all the footwork, just because Cassian begged you, and some arm and core strength, because as much as you didn’t want to admit, the swords were heavy. And the daggers were aimless, your wrists and biceps quickly giving up.
But once you got stronger, practicing at home your curls and aims with harmless darts you purchased at the market, he let you throw daggers into the wooden target at the ring.
And when the dagger you sent flying darted into the wooden targets head on your first try, the smug smirk on your face was inevitable, as you faced a stunned Cassian and saw Azriel for the first time, leaning his shoulder on the entrance with crossed arms over his chest, his eyes boring into yours.
You never saw a man that beautiful before. His tall frame held a pair of strong wings, one of the widest you’ve ever seen, his biceps bulging from his leather vest, tattoos curling around them, up against his neck. His hazel eyes glinted in the sun, his almost black like hair fell onto his forehead lazily, a single blue siphon glistening in the center of his broad chest, his jaw so powerful, it could cut your finger and you’d bleed out happily.
And when he talked, Mother above, you clenched your thighs together so hard, you gave yourself a sore muscle. That deep, delicious baritone of his voice was like thick honey on your sore throat. Fucking soothing.
But he didn’t talk much. However, his stance held so much power, without words and fight, he got your unresolved attention. Coming up with your theory was easy work.
What you didn’t notice, though, as you continued to eat and drink and laugh with the girls, was the shadow tendrils lurking from behind the living room's entrance. How the soft tendrils drifted back into the dark hallway, and rushed all the way back to Azriel’s room, singing their spying back to their owner.
And Azriel only just smirked.
—-
“I’m having trouble breathing, wait,” you huffed, bracing yourself on your knees as you tried to catch your breath after Cassian ordered you and the girls to sprinting sets. While they didn’t have as much trouble with the speed and breathing, you hated every single second of it.
“Pathetic,” Cassian replied, scoffing.
“I’m going to use you as my target if you don’t shut your mouth,” you threatened, glaring up at him.
“How unfortunate for you today we’re doing hand-on-hand combat,” he announced, earning a heavy grunt.
“Again?”
“You’re shit with your jabs.”
“No more raspberry cheesecake for you,” It was his favourite from your café, so you had every intention in you to deny it from him. Slowly emerging to your full length, you slowed down the erratic heartbeat against your chest, and looked around the ring, already seeing the girls pared up. You turned, furrowing your eyebrows.
“Who am I-“ you started, but another deep voice cut you in.
“- Me,” Azriel walked toward you, his leather vest showing off naked tattooed biceps, your mouth already watering at the sight, but as soon as you registered what he just said, you gaped at him.
“Absolutely not!”
Sparring with him? Over your dead body. Which could be soon.
But the Illyrian just smirked.
“I spy with my little eye someone with an unresolved theory,” he circled you, voice so low, so taunting.
“What?” Your heartbeat picked up again.
“Would you like to see if it’s true?” He leaned closer, whispering in your ear, sending goosebumps along your body.
“What is true?” You asked, turning to face him, seeing his hazel eyes twinkling with mischief.
“I’m quiet. I’m observant. I’m mysterious,” each sentence sent a shiver down your spine, your nipples hardening against your training vest, the material brushing against the sensitive skin, making you hiss at the sensation.
Oh, fucking holy shit.
Your eyes widened in utter shock and mortification, your cheeks burning in complete embarrassment. He fucking heard every single word from the sleepover.
And he fucking giggled at your reaction. He leaned in again, his lips touching your earlobe, his warm breath licking the side of your neck.
“Now, you better start sending jabs or else Cassian’s going to come over and take you away, and I’m not yet ready to give you up.”
You sent a clumsy punch toward his face, to just get rid of his smugness, which he caught with a flick of his wrist.
“You’re so predictable.”
“And you were eavesdropping!”
“You’re just clumsy to notice your surroundings,” he winked, knocking you to your back with his leg over your ankle. As you pushed yourself up, he kicked out your arm, holding it down with his over your head. He was so close once more, and you were sweating and burning from mortification.
“I’m everywhere,” he said, “I bet this you already imagined. What else is in that head of yours?”
“Cauldron, you’re insufferable,” you grunted, and with a well calculated move you freed your hands from him, but your thighs pressed against his still.
“You were fucking lethal with that dagger when I first saw you,” he says, his fingers slowly spreading over your thighs, and flipped you in a heartbeat. His chest pressed against your back like mold, you felt every single perfectly sculpted muscle of him.
“I wish I could send one to your face,” you hissed, your patience wearing off, as your face pressed into the dirty ground.
“Yeah, talk dirty to me,” he groaned as you sent your elbow into his jaw, and pushed yourself up. Once more, both of you standing, you circled each other once more. What the actual fuck is happening right now?, you thought as you wiped the sweat off of your eyebrow, sending a quick glance over the ring, seeing as everyone was still sparring, not one curious pair of eyes in their way.
Azriel once more got behind you, locking your arms, his chest pressing into your back.
“You love coming behind my back,” you whispered, huffing at his mischievous face.
“Come and find out how much,” he replied.
“Gods, Azriel, stop!” You raised your voice, earning some eyes from across the ring, as you escaped from his hold. “Just, stop.”
While you prayed the ground would swallow you whole, Azriel seemed perfectly fine, enjoying your rather filthy interrogation.
“If you want to test that theory of yours,” he flicked your nose lightly, “Just come find me.”
“You wish,” you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest.
“I do,” he winked, and went over to Cassian, declaring a change of pairs.
—-
After the training session, you asked Nesta if you could use one of the spare rooms to shower and change. The House prepared your bath, the tub already filling with hot water as you stepped inside, throwing your clothes on the bedroom floor and submerged in the water.
You kind of flew out of the ring, not wanting to spend another second breathing the same air as Azriel.
You rubbed your eyes at the memory of him at your back, holding you down, so you can’t escape from him. You imagined him deeply buried inside you, his hard and heavy cock sliding in and out your pussy at a rapid pace, his chest pressed against your back, and your face buried in his pillows -
You rinsed quickly, stepped out the water and threw the towel to the bed to search for some clothes you left here once. The House quickly fulfilled your request, stepping into the flowy summer gown, brushed your hair and opened up the door, ready to escape from here, because Azriel’s eyes and voice kept replaying in your head, making you more flushed than before.
But now you noticed the shadows at your feet. You noticed them slowly, but surely licking their way up your ankles, the thin tendrils quickly disappearing under the hem of your dress. You let out a surprised moan, the sensation sending shivers down your spine.
“You react to them so deliciously,” Azriel hugged you from behind, his strong arm coming over your stomach, while the other followed a tendril, his fingertips brushing after it. “Tell me, do you really want to go?”
No.
You should push him away, get far away from him, from this place, to forget this whole day, forget him -
He chuckled.
“For someone who has a lot to say about me, you’re very quiet.”
“Shut up,” you groaned, as his fingers brushed so close to your bare sex.
“Oh, you’d love that, don’t you? I, for one, have a lot to say,” he said, and you heard the soft click of the room closing, and turned you in his arms to face him.
Fuck it, then.
“Then prove my theory true,” you breathed, your brows slightly raised in challenge. Azriel smiled widely, his hand which was on your stomach now brushed against your jaw, angling your head so he could kiss you deeply. He tasted divine, his lips devoured yours, his other hand brushed under your dress, smacking your bare ass, causing you to jump, gasping, which he swallowed with his relentless kisses. He backed you towards the bed until your knees hit the frame. Your fingers brushed against his clothed chest, stomach, until his leather pants, pulling him incredibly closer by his belt hoops.
“Don’t rush me, sweetheart,” he whispered into your mouth, spreading kisses down your jaw and neck, then swallowing your pants in a feverish kiss. Tongues and teeth collided, bottom lips bitten and drawn out, chests rising rapidly.
But you need more, more of him, so when you grabbed his T-shirt angrily on his chest and bit his bottom lip, you finally were pushed onto the bed.
“I’m starting to think my theory remains false,” you spread your legs for him taunting, sighing, playing disappointed.
“You’re just a fucking brat with a big mouth,” he came after you after discarding his shirt and pants, ripping at your dress.
“Where’s your big mouth?” you asked, panting slightly as he pressed featherlight kisses along your collarbone.
“Right on the very woman who raised my dick with just a single throw of a dagger.”
He ripped harder on the material of your dress, finally giving away, revealing your very naked form underneath. Azriel brushed his thumb over your nipples, pressing kisses between your breasts, then sucking the pebbled flesh. You moaned shamelessly, his hands roaming over your waist and hips, spreading your thighs so he could lay between them. You felt his hardened cock rubbing against your bare cunt, your hips raising unconsciously to make more contact with him.
When he finally licked into your aching core, your back arched from the bed, fingers disappearing into his dark locks, pulling harshly as he ate you out like you were his last course of meal.
“You’re dripping for me,” he grunted.
“Fuck yeah,” you moaned loudly, not even trying to stay quiet. He hugged your thighs, fingertips printing onto your sensitive skin, tongue flicking against your clit, and diving into your hole over and over again.
“So fucking sweet,” Azriel groaned, rutting against the mattress to ease his aching need. “You’re gonna come on my tongue like the good girl you are? Or gonna make it difficult by being a brat?”
Words seemed to disappear from your mind, tongue tied as you kept kneading his locks, pressing his nose closer to your clit with each lick.
“Words,” he demanded, chin glistening with your slick.
“Yeah, I’m gonna come on your tongue,” you replied breathlessly, as he dived back and licked away everything you gave to him.
Insane.
You shook as your orgasm hit, thighs pressing harder against the side of his head, Azriel not letting up until you pushed him away, because you were so sensitive.
“On your knees,” he ordered, pressing a kiss between your breasts. You pushed yourself up on shaky hands, slowly catching your breath.
“You’re fucking perfect,” he slapped your ass cheek, the burning sensation spreading rapidly between your thighs, your pussy throbbing with ache.
“You like that?” He asked, and sent another hand down harshly on your other cheek, jumping the slightest, spreading your knees wider for him. He chuckled.
“Dirty little thing.”
“Azriel,” you looked over your shoulder, noticing him kneeling behind you, pumping himself slowly, his wings spreading wide behind him, and his shadows relentless. You were on the verge of begging.
“So impatient,” he taunted, teasing the head of his cock at your entrance. You let out a loud moan, throwing your head back. He chuckled once more. “And so responsive.”
“Don’t fucking talk, and fuck me already!”
“Now, if you’re going to act like a little brat, then I’m going to treat you like a little brat,” he licked a strip along your neck, fingers curling around your throat as he pushed in, then out. You groaned at the loss, huffing impatiently. Azriel’s fingers curled tighter around your throat. “Are you going to be good from now on?”
You nodded.
“Cat got your tongue?”
Motherfucker.
“Yes!” You shouted, glaring at him over your shoulder, to which he just smiled.
“You look so good with my hands wrapped around your throat.”
He stretched you out so fucking good, your eyes rolled back as he started pounding into you. The harsh sound of skin meeting skin and your ragged breaths and moans filled the room, as his hand left your throat, and gathered your unbound hair into a makeshift ponytail, and guided your head to the side, facing the other side of the bed, where a mirror laid against the wall.
“Look at you, taking my cock so well,” Azriel pressed you against his chest, holding you up by hugging your stomach, while his right hand disappeared from your hair and circled your clit.
“Yeah, you like watching yourself, aren’t you? I can feel you squeezing my cock,” he groaned against your ear, biting on your earlobe, while you watched him fucking you from behind.
And holy shit, yes, that sight was mouthwatering. Watching him guide his hip into yours at a vehement pace, his dick deep buried in you, while his other hand rubbed fast circles around your pussy. Your face was blotchy red, sweat and tears becoming one.
“Ah-az,” you whimpered, feeling your orgasm building up. He responded by pulling out, turning you around and letting you fall back on the bed, meanwhile he pulled up one of your legs, while you spread the other and Azriel pushed in once more, continuing his rapid attack on your cunt, curling his fingers around your throat, your eyes rolling back at the sensation and new, deeper angle.
“Yeah, baby, just like that,” he kissed you, licking into your mouth, swallowing all your moans. “Look at me,” he rasped, darkened hazel eyes meeting your glassy ones. His hips met yours like rapid fire, nipples rubbed against his broad chest, the sensitive skin making you shiver. You brought your fingers down to his face, brushing against his jaw and pushing his hair back, kissing him so deeply and moaning so loud, as he brought you over your second orgasm. Your thigh shook in his hand, as he rolled himself under you, careful of his wings, the new angle burying him even deeper inside you.
“Az, I can’t,” you sobbed, tears rolling down your cheeks as you laid on his chest.
“Give me one more,” he elevated your head by your hair, pulling carefully, and kissed you gently, swallowing your hiccups. “You’re doing so good, give me one more,” he muttered while spreading kisses down your jaw and neck. Once you calmed down and caught your breath, you pushed yourself up against his chest, and slowly started to ride him. His huge hands never left your hips, always guiding your every move on his cock. His tattooed chest was slick with sweat, his lips kiss bitten, but he never looked more beautiful.
“C’mon baby, use me,” he mewled, pushing you against his cock, punching your nipple in his thumb and pointer finger. You cried out, shaking.
“Too much,” you pleaded, thigh shaking uncontrollably, arms giving out and Azriel hugged you against him, helping you out. You buried your face in his neck, breathing him in, and turned your head to face the mirror one more time. Azriel followed your lead, now watching together as he fucked you from below, your face tear soaked.
“You look so pretty on me,” he kissed your cheek, drawing out a loud whimper as he sped up his movement.
“Fuck,” he gasps, burying his fingers in your hair, “You gonna come?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, foreheads pressed together.
“Come with me,” he jerked, feeling his cock twitching inside you, and you once more squeezed on it, sending both of you over the edge. You bit down on his collarbone, his fingers squeezing your waist so tight, as you shook, trying to catch your breath from the orgasm.
What just happened?
“Shit,” you shivered, feeling immensely spent, your muscles like jelly.
“Was the theory true, then?” Azriel teased, turning his face towards you, his lips spreading wide at your deadpan expression.
“I just came three times.”
“Answer the question.”
“Cauldron, yes! Yes, you are a quiet, observant, mysterious guy, who appears to be fucking amazing in bed, with an even filthier mouth.”
He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, bringing your mouth to his in a sweet kiss.
“Am I packing?” He cooed, pulling out from you, both of you hissing at the sensation, your thighs quickly covered in the remnants of him and you.
“Azriel!” You smacked his chest, gaping at him, while he had the audacity to laugh out loud at you. Egoistic ass.
He tightened his grip on your waist, not letting you go, teeth nipping at your jaw playfully. “Another round?”
“I just came three times!”
“And I have all day.”
“Can you use your shadows?” You asked after, and when his eyes literally lit up, you knew you were in for a long night.
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She muted the bond to protect him.
She broke it to save him.
Azriel x Reader
angst not super sad hehe / mates / rescue / aftermath
I really enjoyed writing this so much
⸻
You always knew.
Not because it hit you all at once, not because the world cracked open and announced it with certainty. It was quieter. Persistent. Like something steady pressing against the inside of your ribs.
A thread that never snapped.
You felt it when Azriel entered a room and your body reacted before your mind did. When his shadows brushed close and lingered, when his voice grounded you in a way nothing else ever had.
The night you realized what it was, you didn’t cry. You sat on the edge of your bed, hands braced on the mattress, breathing through the ache in your chest until it dulled enough to think.
You didn’t tell him.
Because Azriel deserved choice.
Because you had watched him carry hope like a wound around Elain and Mor. You wanted to be chosen.
Because love, you decided, was not the same thing as claiming.
Your magic had always been… different. Sensitive to currents, to shifts, to the way power moved through others. You could soften it. Blur it. Dampen it until even something vast became manageable.
So you did.
You pressed the mating bond down until it became something survivable.
Azriel felt it only in flashes. A pull he couldn’t name. A sense of calm when you were near. A tug that made no sense and never stayed long enough to examine.
He dismissed it.
You stayed his friend.
You trained beside him. You teased Cassian. You stood at the edge of rooms and learned how to love quietly, painfully, without expectation.
⸻
It happened before sunrise.
Rhys was already awake when the magic stirred. He went still, eyes unfocusing as he listened.
Then he swore.
Cassian was on his feet instantly. “What?”
Rhys looked at him, then at all of you.
“Azriel sent a message, he's stuck somehwre” he said. His voice was tight, controlled. “He says it’s a trap.”
Your heart dropped so hard you felt dizzy.
Rhys continued, already shifting into strategy. “He told us not to come. That he can handle it. That he’ll winnow out once he creates an opening.”
“No waiting,” you said, voice shaking. “No trusting that this will be fine.”
Rhys’s jaw tightened. “We don’t rush blind into traps.”
“You’re already blind,” you snapped. “You’re listening to what he wants you to do, not what’s actually happening.”
Rhys exhaled slowly. “He can winnow. He knows how to escape.”
“If he could, he would have already,” you shot back.
Cassian glanced between you. “Easy—”
“He sent that message because he knows how bad it is,” you said. “Because he’s buying time.”
Rhys’s eyes flashed. “You think I don’t know him?”
“I think you’re pretending this is just another mission,” you said, stepping forward. “And it’s not.”
“It is,” Rhys said sharply. “And treating it otherwise gets people killed.”
You laughed, harsh and broken. “He’s already bleeding.”
The room went still.
“How do you know that?” Mor asked softly.
Your hands were shaking. You couldn’t stop them.
“I can find him.”
Rhys frowned. “We have trackers—”
“No,” you said, voice rising. “I can find him.”
Cassian’s head snapped toward you. “What do you mean?”
You looked at Rhys, really looked at him.
“The bond, I’m his mate.”
The words hung in the air.
Cassian froze. Mor sucked in a breath. Even Amren went still.
Rhys stared at you. “He doesn’t know.”
“No.”
“Why?”
You swallowed. “I don't have time to explain.”
Rhys ran a hand through his hair. “This is still a trap.”
“I know.”
“And you still want to go.”
“Yes.”
“You could die.”
Your voice broke as anger finally took over. “And if I stay here and he dies, what do you think happens to me?”
Rhys’s expression darkened. “The orders for now are—”
“Do not order me to stay,” you shouted, stepping into his space. “Do not use your crown, your power, or your authority on me. Because if you do—if you make me stay and he dies—I will leave this court. I will never forgive you. And you will lose us both.”
The room was silent except for your breathing.
Rhys looked at you like you’d struck him.
Cassian spoke first. “She’s right.”
Rhys’s shoulders sagged slightly. “I’m trying to keep everyone alive.”
“So am I,” you said. “But I feel him. You don’t.”
Others started speaking at once.
“I’ll go.”
“We should all—”
“Send a strike team—”
“No,” you said immediately. “The wards will detect numbers. I can dampen magic, but only enough for one other person.”
Rhys met your eyes. “Then I’ll go.”
You shook your head. “Your magic is too strong. I can’t cover you.”
Cassian stepped forward without hesitation. “I'm not saying here.”
You looked at him. He nodded once.
“Okay,” Rhys said finally, voice tight. “You go. Both of you come back.”
⸻
The wards pressed against your skin like something alive.
You wrapped your magic tight, pulling Cassian’s down with it until even he felt muted. He grimaced but didn’t fight it.
“I hate this,” he muttered.
“So do I,” you said.
The bond pulled. Faint but constant. Like a compass needle buried deep in your chest.
You followed it.
You were shaking by the time you found him.
Azriel was bound, bloodied, breathing shallowly. His head lifted weakly at the sound of footsteps.
You didn’t remember letting go of your control. You barely hear Cassian kill the last guard.
The bond surged back into full force.
Azriel gasped like the air had been knocked out of him.
His eyes locked on yours.
Understanding slammed into him, hard and brutal.
“Oh,” he whispered.
You were crying before you realized it.
Cassian cut him free. You caught Azriel as he sagged, blood soaking your hands, your clothes, your skin. He clutched at you instinctively, fingers digging in like he was afraid you’d vanish.
“I’ve got you,” you whispered, over and over. “I’ve got you.”
The escape was messy. Loud. Terrifying.
You fought. You ran. You screamed his name when he stumbled. You didn’t let go even when your arms burned and your knees threatened to give out.
By the time you winnowed away, you were covered in his blood and shaking so badly you could barely stand.
⸻ After
Majda worked in grim silence.
Azriel stared at the ceiling, eyes unfocused.
You waited outside until he asked for you.
⸻
You stood at the edge of the room, hands clenched.
“I’m sorry,” you said.
“For what?” he asked quietly.
“For carrying it alone,” you said. “For deciding what you could and couldn’t handle. For not trusting you.”
He was silent for a long time.
“I felt it,” he said finally. “Like something was always just out of reach.”
You nodded. “I know.”
“I thought it meant nothing,” he continued. “Or that it was another thing I wasn’t allowed to want.”
Your chest ached.
“So I didn’t let myself believe the pull was real,” it drove me crazy I was angry with myself," he said softly.
You stepped closer. “I felt you, every day.”
Tears slid down his temples into his hair.
“I need time,” he said. “Not to decide if I want you. To understand how to want something without believing it’ll be taken away.”
You nodded. “I’m leaving for a while.”
His eyes snapped to yours. “Leaving?”
“Day Court,” you said. “To learn how to stop hiding parts of myself.”
hey, wanted to start by saying i love your fics!! finally worked up the courage to request 😂
just wanted to ask if you’d be interested in an azriel x f!virgin!reader fic? not in an “omg im so innocent” way, but in an “im nervous and don’t know what to do” way lmfaoo! if possible, was thinking a friends to lovers type scenario, with maybe some forced proximity to lead up (thinking some kind of mission?). maybe some hurt/comfort slight injury stuff thrown in if you’re feeling angsty…
honestly open to anything your creative mind can come up with. just looking for some sweet fluffy smut with az 😆
thank you and no worries if not interested!
Warmed by the Fire
Pairing: Azriel x f!virgin!reader
Summary: The mission seemed simple enough, but with Azreil, nothing is ever straightforward. After years of working side by side, the stolen glances grow longer, the touches linger closer, and the feelings between them become impossible to ignore.
Author’s Note: I needed this, fluffy tension, a mission setting, some lowkey oblivious longing, and a reader who’s just trying her best. As you can probably tell, I had a lot of fun with the plot for this mission. Please feel free to message me; don’t be nervous about sending a request. I genuinely love writing them, and while I’m slowly making my way through my inbox, I do see you! I promise!
I was already at the meeting point, sitting on a fallen tree, eyes scanning the file in my hand. Reports of increasing thefts, villages and camps losing supplies, some more than others. Rhysand asked me to review the findings and investigate the area, hoping my ability to track residual magic might reveal something useful.
The map was spread across my lap, with red dots scattered along the eastern coast. Most items reported stolen were ordinary, including food, clothing, and weapons. Some were more concerning, such as large shipments destined for Illyrian camps, high-grade weaponry, and a cargo ship bound for Velaris that had been cleared out overnight. Jewels, enchanted artifacts, and rare books disappeared without a trace.
I’d been thinking about possible tracking spells for days, but I needed to be near the scene. Feel the magic in the earth, the trees, the air. Reading it off parchment only took me so far.
I was nibbling on the end of my pen when the ground beneath me trembled slightly, a gust of wind rustling the leaves overhead. I looked up just in time to see an Illyrian warrior descend from the sky, wings flaring then folding neatly behind him.
Azriel.
He glanced at me, the file in my hands, and my bag leaning against the tree.
“I could’ve flown you,” he said, shaking his head as he walked over and lifted my bag from the ground with ease.
“I’ve been stuck in that office for what feels like months. I needed the walk,” I replied, jotting down a quick charm idea before closing the file.
Azriel raised a brow. “This walk would’ve taken you hours.”
“Fine, I lied,” I huffed, pulling my hood against the chill. “I winnowed most of the way.”
A ghost of a laugh tugged at his mouth, but he said nothing more. We started walking, me leading him a few steps behind, as the path narrowed into a winding trail shaded by dense forest.
We made our way through a ravine into a valley, with silence settling comfortably between us. Azriel carried my pack without saying a word. He offered his hand when I needed assistance over a fallen tree, touch light and brief, his hands never staying longer than necessary.
We’d worked together before, training, reports, and the occasional shared mission. The thought twisted something in my stomach. Not fear, exactly. Nerves. Anticipation. The kind of fluttering unease that came with the unknown.
As the valley began to open up, I pulled to a stop and turned to scan the land.
“I think here would be a good spot to set up camp,” I said, nodding toward the cluster of trees near a mossy rock outcrop.
The village was just a head, an easy flight if needed, and this area was tucked far enough from the main paths to avoid unwanted attention.
Azriel nodded silently and dropped our packs near the largest tree, an ancient thing, gnarled and towering, its thick roots curling into the moss-covered earth. We were nestled in a hollow surrounded by stones and a soft, leaf-littered floor. The kind of place that could vanish entirely under shadow.
He began setting up camp without being asked. I lingered nearby, fingers tugging idly at the hem of my cloak, trying to ignore how fast my heart was beating.
It was just a mission, just a few nights in the woods with the spymaster of the Night Court.
“I’m going to go and scope the area,” I said, scanning the treeline.
Azriel, crouched near the base of the tree as he unrolled the bedrolls, looked up and gave a simple nod, then returned to setting up the tent.
I slipped into the trees, moving carefully through the undergrowth. My fingers brushed over bark and moss, the occasional stone, trying to pick up even the faintest magical trace. I cast a few low-level detection spells, quiet things meant to stir the air, reveal residue.
This would have been the easiest way to leave the village without being seen. The thieves would have had to pass through these woods, but still, there was nothing. No sparks. No hums. Not even the trees held a memory of the magic that might’ve been here, and the trees remembered everything.
If spellwork had been used, it was subtle, or cloaked by someone who knew how to cover their tracks.
An hour passed before I circled back to camp. The sun hung low now, spilling golden light through the canopy in soft, slanted beams.
Azriel had finished setting up. A small tent stood beneath the tree, with the fire pit already laid out in a neat ring of stones and kindling arranged. He’d unpacked supplies, canteens, utensils, and a cloth-wrapped bundle of dried food.
He glanced up as I stepped into the clearing. “Anything?”
“Not much,” I admitted, brushing a leaf from my shoulder. “If magic was used, it’s faint, or very well hidden.”
He nodded, unsurprised, and returned his attention to the small stack of papers he’d begun to sort.
I stepped into the tent to drop my satchel and froze briefly. My pack was tucked to one side, but the bedrolls were laid out side by side, blankets neatly folded, pillows set just far enough apart to pretend there was space between us.
The tent was small. Very small.
I let out a quiet breath through my nose, just a mission. Grabbing the empty sack bundled with our gear, I stepped back out.
“I’m going to gather some firewood and some water. There’s a stream nearby.”
“I’ll come with—”
“No, it’s okay,” I cut in, a little too quickly. I waved a hand. “You’ve done enough setting up. I’ll be fine.”
Azriel gave me a long look, unreadable, as always. Without a word, he held out a small black dagger.
The blade was the length of my hand, wickedly sharp. I could feel the enchantment humming through the hilt. This blade would cut through muscle and bone like silk.
I rolled my eyes, a small smile tugging at my mouth as I tucked it into my belt.
I turned and disappeared into the trees, moving slower this time, letting the forest breathe around me. I bundled fallen branches, dried twigs, and thicker logs under one arm. On my way back, I stopped by the stream and filled the canteens with icy water, the cold biting into my skin.
By the time I returned, the forest had dipped into twilight. The clearing glowed gold and blue, fading fast into shadows.
Azriel was seated against a tree now, sorting through maps and files, his shadows curling softly around him like a second skin, always watching, always listening.
I dropped the firewood beside the pit and began stacking it into a tidy pyramid.
“The essentials,” I said lightly, lifting the canteens like trophies.
His mouth twitched. Barely.
God help me, that was enough to make my chest flutter.
“I’ll start the fire,” he said, rising to his full height. He gathered the wood I’d collected, his movements precise and silent, and began placing it into the fire pit.
I sat in the spot he’d vacated and began sorting through the food packed: bread, dried meat, cheese, a few apples, and some dried fruit. I cut and tore pieces of bread, laying them out neatly on a cloth as Azriel finished building the fire.
With a wave of my hand, the fire lit, flames crawling up the wood, warming the circle of our camp. Another flick of my wrist and a ward shimmered over the camp, cloaking us from view. Azriel followed without a word, shadows pooling outward like fog, cloaking the flames from any distant onlooker. Outside, it would look like nothing more than another pocket of darkness.
I hummed softly to myself as he filled a small pot with water, setting it on a flat stone to warm by the fire. We worked in an easy rhythm, no instructions needed, just the quiet understanding of two people who didn’t need many words.
The sun sank fully behind the trees, and the firelight became our only source of warmth. I began to shiver despite the flames licking at the air. Without saying anything, Azriel pulled a blanket from the tent and draped it gently over my shoulders. He sat beside me on the log, close but not too close.
“Thank you,” I said softly, fingers gripping the worn fabric.
“You’re too cold,” he said, tone unreadable, eyes trained on the fire.
“I’ll warm up,” I murmured, nodding toward the food I’d laid out.
We ate in comfortable silence, the sounds of the fire and distant night creatures wrapping around us. It was simple: bread, dried meat, and fruit, but somehow satisfying.
Afterwards, I curled closer to the fire, choosing one of the smooth stones around it as a makeshift seat. I unrolled a piece of parchment and set it across my knees, flipping through the notes I’d brought.
My fingers moved absently as I scribbled a variation of a detection charm, eyes flicking between the fire and the trees. I tried to feel something, anything, but the forest was still muted. It didn’t hum, with magic. It was like whatever had passed through had scraped all the magic clean.
“Do you feel anything?” Azriel asked, voice low.
I shook my head.
“Not yet, but something feels wrong. I don’t like how quiet it is.” I looked around. “It’s like... the forest has forgotten.”
That earned me a glance. He tilted his head, a flicker of curiosity passing over his face. “The forest forgot?”
I met his eyes. “Trees usually remember. Spellwork. Blood. Grief. It lingers, but here, it’s just blank.”
Azriel leaned back against the tree behind him, arms crossed. “Someone erased it.”
“Or used something that doesn’t leave a trace,” I murmured. “But even that should cause a ripple.”
We sat in silence, the fire casting golden light across his face. His shadows didn’t rise, didn’t seem alarmed, but I knew he was thinking it over, cataloguing possibilities.
“You always talk like that?” he asked suddenly, a thread of quiet amusement in his voice.
“Like what?”
“Like the trees are old friends.”
“They kind of are,” I said with a shrug. “They talk more than most people.”
He huffed a soft laugh, barely audible, but it made my stomach twist in the best kind of way.
The quiet settled again.
I felt his gaze, lingering for a second too long, and when I finally looked up from my notes, his eyes didn’t move away fast enough.
Eventually, I pushed myself to my feet and slipped into the tent. The temperature was dropping quickly, and my cloak and blanket weren’t doing much to stop the chill anymore.
I changed into warmer layers, soft leggings and a wool-knit jumper. Cozy. Plain. I tugged thick socks over my feet and wrapped my cloak around my shoulders again before curling up on the edge of my bedroll. Notes settled in my lap, and I tried to warm my fingers enough to finish scribbling down the last of my thoughts before sleep took over.
A moment later, the tent flap rustled.
Azriel ducked inside, careful not to let the cold air follow him. In his hands, he carried a small cup, steam rising in gentle curls.
“I thought you might be colder than you let on,” he said simply, holding it out.
I blinked up at him, then at the cup. I reached for it, the mug was warm in my palms, filled with lightly spiced tea.
“Thank you,” I murmured, softer than I intended. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” he said.
I sipped, the heat blooming in my chest. I wasn’t sure if it was the tea or the way he was watching me, unguarded, but suddenly, the tent felt much smaller.
I turned toward the tent wall, giving him privacy as I heard the soft clink of leather buckles, followed by the rustle of tight fabric peeling off skin. My cheeks warmed.
God.
The zip of his pants made me bite my lip. I shut my eyes hard and tried not to imagine the sharp planes of his torso, the way his tattoos might catch the light, or how far down they trailed—
“You can turn around now.”
His voice cut through the silence, shattering the image my traitorous brain had conjured. I inhaled and slowly shifted, placing my notes beneath the lantern hanging from the tent pole.
Azriel was now dressed in loose sleep pants, his chest bare. His Illyrian tattoos shimmered faintly in the low light, inked over golden-tan skin. My eyes skimmed across them before flicking, too late, up to his face.
He was watching me, amused.
“You don’t mind?” he asked, raising a brow.
I shook my head quickly. “No. As long as you’re not cold.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m used to mountain weather. This feels like home.”
“I’m sure,” I said, forcing a polite smile and turning back to my writing. I didn’t look at him again, not with him stretched out across from me, bare-chested and terrifyingly relaxed.
He slid beneath his blankets, the furs muffling his movements. Quiet as always, he pulled out a small, worn book. I didn’t catch the title. I was too aware of how close he was. His wings half-spilled onto my bedroll. His knees nearly brushed mine, despite my legs being crossed.
Occasionally, I felt his gaze flick toward me, subtle, so subtle I convinced myself I was imagining it.
I focused on my notes, letting the silence settle thick between us. It wasn’t uncomfortable; it never was with Azriel. His silence was grounding, his breath even and slow. His shadows hovered, soft and calm, resting at the edges of the tent like smoke.
I sipped the tea slowly, until the cup was empty, and my eyes kept drifting shut as I reread the same line over and over again.
My parchment was gently lifted from my lap.
I blinked up to find Azriel kneeling beside me, his fingers brushing mine as he took the empty cup from my hand.
“You need to sleep,” he murmured, voice low and quiet in the tent’s stillness. With one hand, he fluffed my pillow; with the other, he tugged back the blankets.
I was too tired to argue. I nodded and slipped beneath the covers, turning onto my side, facing away from him. The tent was small, barely wide enough to fit both our bedrolls. Not touching required intentional, careful space.
His wings brushed my back as he lay down behind me, a ghosting touch I knew hadn’t been intentional; he always kept them tucked in tight. Every breath he took seemed to echo through the narrow space between us. I closed my eyes and focused on the faint, distant crackle of the fire outside the warded tent.
The warmth of the tea, the travel, the weight of magic that still clung to the woods like morning mist, everything dragged me under.
Sleep took me fast.
Morning crept in slowly, the kind of soft grey light that barely filtered through the canvas walls. I stirred when something shifted beneath my cheek, something warm and solid. Definitely not a pillow.
A chest.
A slow, steady heartbeat thudded beneath my ear.
I blinked, my face resting on bare, warm, tattooed skin.
Azriel’s arm was wrapped securely around me, his hand resting at my waist. Not possessive. Not inappropriate. Protective. Natural.
His wings were folded around both of us like a shield, the leathery warmth cocooning us from the morning chill.
I shifted slightly, trying to pull away, but the movement only made his arm tighten, his wings curling in again on instinct.
I let out a soft breath. Reluctantly, I rested my head back against his chest. It was easier than pretending I didn’t want to stay.
A low groan rumbled through him, then he shifted slightly, his grip loosening just enough to let me breathe.
“Morning,” he mumbled, voice rough, sleep-heavy.
His wings slowly uncurled, letting the cold brush my skin again.
“Sorry,” he added after a beat. His eyes cracked open, meeting mine. “You were shivering in your sleep.”
“Oh,” I said, my throat suddenly dry. “Thanks.”
We were quiet for a long moment, a heartbeat too long.
Too long to pretend nothing had happened.
Eventually, I sat up, the blankets slipping from my shoulders. I didn’t look at him as I smoothed my leggings and reached for the edge of my satchel. My hands moved with quiet purpose, a way to break the moment without having to name it.
“I should head to the village,” I said, voice low but steady. “See if I can find any lingering traces of magic. A trail.”
Azriel was fully awake now, propped up on one elbow, eyes sharpening from sleep-soft to warrior-clear. “Do you want backup?”
“I’ll be more likely to catch subtle traces if I’m alone,” I said, tugging out fresh clothes: fitted trousers, a navy tunic, thick socks, and a wool-lined cloak.
He stood without a word, grabbing a black tunic from his own bag. “I’ll get the fire going. So you can dress in peace.”
He pulled the tunic over his head and shoved his feet into his boots. His shadows stirred, stretching outward like tendrils tasting the morning air.
I changed quickly, then stepped out of the tent to lace up my boots. I could feel him watching me. Those hazel eyes scanned over me, never leaving. He was already crouched by the fire, coaxing a flame from the kindling.
Laid out neatly beside him on a small cloth was a piece of bread, still warm from the flame, with a thin slice of cheese melted on top. A steaming cup of tea sat beside it. He was already eating, his eyes flicking from me to the food, a silent invitation.
I blinked at it, then at him. “You really didn’t have to.”
His only response was a small shrug and a muttered, “Didn’t want you passing out on the trail.”
The tea was warm and citrusy, creating a calming effect. The bread melted on my tongue, and as I ate, it seemed to warm something in my chest.
“I won’t go far,” I said again, tugging on my gloves. “Just enough to get a sense of the village’s edges. Maybe whatever passed through left a thread it couldn’t quite bury.”
Azriel nodded once, slowly. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze never left mine. “You’ll let me know if something feels off.”
I met his gaze, steady. “I will.”
He didn’t reply, just watched as I buckled the dagger to my belt once more, tucking it beneath my heavy woollen cloak. His shadows circled his boots in slow, curling ribbons, restless, a silent guard detail of smoke and silk.
I turned and left the camp. The walk down the valley wasn’t as long as it had seemed from above. The village came into view just beyond the trees, a scattering of stone and timber cottages, smoke curling from their chimneys into the pale morning air. It was quiet.
I moved cautiously, my cloak brushing damp earth and frost-covered grass as I went through the outer fence, giving quiet nods to the few early risers working. Most looked at me, curious but polite. Guarded. I was unknown, harmless, maybe. A traveller. A woman on her own. Not worth stopping for.
The baker was the first to speak.
“You’re not from around here,” he said, squinting at me as he pulled a tray of flatbread from the oven.
“No,” I replied with a light smile. “Just passing through. I heard about the missing supplies in a nearby village. They mentioned this place too.”
His face darkened slightly. The warmth drained from his expression. “Us and the rest of the villages, I imagine.”
I nodded, agreeing.
He frowned. “I’m sure you’ve felt it,” he murmured, quieter this time. “It’s not just things disappearing anymore. It’s the air. It feels off. Wrong.”
I asked how long it had been. He answered with weary eyes, and I listened. Thanked him, then moved on.
One by one, I spoke to the blacksmith, the stable hand, and two elderly women knitting outside under woollen blankets. Their fingers trembled in the cold, but their voices remained steady. The stories repeated like a broken record: missing items, misplaced tools, lights flickering without a breeze, whispers no one could explain.
Still, I couldn’t feel anything in the breeze. No spark, no hum.
I wandered to the far edge of the village. A small gate stood ajar, leading into the forest, denser and wilder here. Beyond the trees, the cliffs loomed, jagged against the pale blue sky. The moment I stepped past the gate, I felt it.
Magic. Faint. Fleeing.
I paused.
The forest ahead was darker than it should’ve been. Sunlight tried to filter through the canopy but was swallowed by thick branches and shadow. I glanced back at the village behind me, then further up the ridge, toward where Azriel still waited at our camp.
The trace was faint, and by the time I returned with him, it would be gone.
I hesitated, then stepped into the forest.
The undergrowth was thick and uneven. The path we had taken yesterday was gentle by comparison; this one was tangled, slick with moss and frost. Stones shifted beneath my boots. A vine caught my ankle, nearly sending me tumbling. I caught myself against the bark of a tree, breath puffing in the cold air.
Far below, I could hear water, not a stream, but the roar of a river crashing into stone. The sound added to the eerie silence pressing in around me.
I whispered tracking charms as I moved, my fingers trailing bark and brush. Most faded into nothing, but one, rare and old, clung to the air like silver smoke. It unfurled before me, illuminating a trail of handprints, bent branches, and disturbed earth, unmistakable.
They had come this way. Two or three.
I should’ve gone back to Azreil. Instead, I followed the trail, deeper and lower into the valley.
It was as if time had bent beneath the trees. The light dimmed. The air thickened.
Eventually, the trail came to an end, vanishing into silence.
I stood there, heart thudding, listening to the strange stillness. Then I heard voices. Distant. Muffled. I crept forward and found them: three men pacing a makeshift camp, with tents, crates, and burnt coals.
A smuggler’s nest.
I couldn’t make out their faces, cloaked in shadow, but I could feel the magic clinging to the camp. Dull. Compressed. As though something was snuffing it out.
I tried to winnow back to camp and failed.
My magic didn’t just falter. It was gone.
I turned back, climbing, struggling through thick undergrowth. I whispered spell after spell, but the forest swallowed them all. I had stayed too long and gone too far.
I was completely lost.
The climb back was brutal. Vines tore at my hands. Mud sucked at my boots. At one point, I slipped and had to claw my way up on hands and knees, heart pounding, lungs burning.
Snap.
The vine I gripped broke, and I tumbled hard into a bed of jagged stone. My breath vanished. Pain radiated through my ribs, legs, and palms. I groaned and rolled onto my back, staring up through the tangled branches above.
The sun was dipping low; it was already late afternoon.
I had been gone far, far too long.
Crawling up the embankment, I pushed in the direction I hoped led to the village, or at least to our camp. Another hour passed, maybe more. My limbs ached. My body throbbed. I was soaked in sweat and grime, stumbling alone through a too-quiet forest.
God, this was stupid.
Eventually, I saw it, a patch of golden light spilling through the trees. I dragged myself toward it, breaking through the edge of the forest and into the clearing.
Wings.
A dark shadow cut through the sun. I looked up.
Azriel landed hard. His boots slammed into the earth. His wings flared wide, his shadows whipping around him like a silent, fraying storm. His jaw clenched, eyes wild with fury, no, not just fury.
Fear.
“Where were you? What on earth were you thinking?”
His voice cracked across the glade. I blinked up at him, covered head to toe in mud and blood, pointing vaguely toward the ditch I’d just climbed.
“I found something—”
“I’ve been flying this goddamned ridge for hours,” he snapped, stepping forward, eyes dragging across every inch of me like he was searching for broken bones. “I thought—”
He cut himself off, breath ragged. His chest heaved like he’d run the length of the mountains.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he didn’t wait.
“You’re filthy. You’re bleeding.”
“It’s just bruises,” I muttered. “I slipped. I’m—”
“You disappeared,” he growled, his voice low and frayed.
“I had to follow the trail. I found a camp, Azriel. There’s something down there suppressing magic. I couldn’t winnow out. I could barely breathe in it.”
“I don’t care about the camp,” he said, his voice raw. “I care if you’re alive.”
Something sharp cracked in his expression, and before I could answer, he grabbed my wrist. “Come on.”
He began to pull me toward him, wings lifting to take flight.
“No, Az,” I said, pulling back. “It’s easier to track if we walk.”
I looked up at the sun. “It’s southeast.”
“We aren’t going to the camp,” he said flatly.
“Where are we—?”
“To the river,” he said. “You’re covered in mud, and you need to clean those cuts. I can’t—” He stopped, voice catching. “I can’t look at you like this.”
I started to argue, but the moment I opened my mouth, he pulled me against his chest. His warmth wrapped around me, shadows curling instinctively to hold me as he launched into the air.
We landed minutes later beside the river, not far from camp. I recognised it, the same river I’d gathered water from yesterday. Roaring, clear, ice-cold. He led me to a pool nestled between two boulders.
“I know you can warm it.”
“But Az—”
“Don’t argue with me,” he said, more sternly than I’d ever heard. “Bathe. I’ll bring fresh clothes and something for those wounds.”
I stared at him, at the storm still burning behind his eyes, and nodded.
“Okay.”
He gave a clipped nod, then vanished with a rush of wings.
I exhaled. Stripped off my cloak, now stiff with dried mud and torn along the hem.
It was my favourite.
Piece by piece, I peeled off the rest, boots, tunic, trousers, hissing as cold air met bloodied, bruised skin. A sharp sting pulsed from my ribs. Another cut throbbed along my thigh.
I whispered a warming charm and gestured over the pool between the boulders. The water’s surface shimmered, and steam curled into the cold air.
I stepped in slowly.
Pain prickled up my legs, tiny fires flaring across every scrape, but the warmth helped. I sank into the water, my arms floated beside me, and my head tipped back onto a smooth stone lip as I sighed, the breath shuddering from me.
God, I was tired.
Grime and blood loosened from my skin, the water swirling pink around me as I reached to scrub lightly at the worst of it. I flinched when my fingers brushed the jagged edge of the cut near my ribs.
I let my eyes fall shut.
I should have taken Azriel up on those training sessions.
Climbing that ridge, tumbling down it, and now sitting here bruised and bleeding, it was humiliating.
I let my eyes close again, the warmth of the water easing the worst of the ache as memory slipped in, soft as breath.
All our missions. Late nights elbow-deep in paperwork, heated debates over war strategies. The last assignment had been two days straight in the war room, maps and reports strewn everywhere, ink staining both our fingers.
We’d started on opposite sides of the table. We’d ended with me perched on its edge, Azriel between my knees, one hand beside my hip, the other gesturing over parchment I wasn’t even pretending to read anymore. I’d watched his mouth when he leaned in close. I hadn’t pulled away.
He hadn’t noticed, or maybe he had and just hadn’t acted. Maybe he didn’t mean it that way. Maybe I misunderstood.
The stones beside the pool shifted.
My eyes snapped open just as Azriel landed, shadows curling in behind him. A satchel hung from one hand. His expression was unreadable, but his jaw was tight, brows still drawn.
He crouched by the edge, laying out two bundles of clean clothes and an array of balms, wraps, and salves.
“You’re not exactly subtle,” he said at last, tone dry. “I could hear you cursing the water from the ridge.”
I groaned and sank lower into the pool. “You could’ve waited another minute.”
“You could’ve screamed less.”
“I didn’t scream.”
“You did when you hit the river.”
“Well, the air is cold.”
He exhaled a breath that could have been a laugh. Some of the tension in his shoulders eased, just a little. He studied me again, not just looking, assessing. His gaze flicked over every bruise, every scrape.
“You can bathe too. If you want.” I tried to keep my voice light and casual, but it came out softer than I meant it to. “I don’t mind.”
His brows arched. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. “Only if you want.”
A pause.
Without a word, he stood and began to unbuckle his leathers. I turned slightly, keeping my eyes on the steam rising from the water. When he entered the pool, everything was silent, just the gentle ripple of water and a faint breath as he lowered himself in, feeling the heat on his old bruises.
“You’re hurt,” I murmured.
“So are you.”
I glanced at him, careful not to linger, but god, he was beautiful like this. His wings tucked close to his back, his muscles taut beneath wet skin, dark hair curling slightly from the river mist. He scrubbed a hand over his face and neck, then leaned back against a boulder across from mine.
We sat in silence for a while, only the sound of the river falling over rocks.
His voice broke the quiet. “You scared me.”
“I got carried away,” I said, voice low. “Once I felt the magic, I just followed it, but I promise it was worth the risk. There’s something in that forest—”
“I don’t care what you found,” he cut in sharply. Water lapped gently between us, but his tone cut straight through it. “You could have been taken, or worse, and I wouldn’t have known.”
“I didn’t think—”
“You should’ve come back; we could’ve gone together, but you didn’t, and seeing you like this—” He stopped, exhaling sharply. “If you’d been more than hurt…”
He ran a hand through his wet hair, and the fury in his face had softened into something more vulnerable, fear and concern.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” I said, shifting forward slightly.
He didn’t answer right away.
“I was more than scared,” he said eventually, his voice low.
I swallowed.
The heat in the water suddenly had nothing on the heat crawling up my spine. Those hazel eyes, darker in the fading light, studied my face with an intensity that made my chest tighten.
He inched closer, not much, but enough for me to notice.
His gaze swept over my cheek, to my mouth, then back to my eyes.
“Tell me what you found,” he murmured, voice rough.
“I think the thieves are using an artifact. One that suppresses magic.” I didn’t realise I’d moved closer, or maybe he had. We were close, now far too close to be professional.
My voice went quiet. “The forest felt like it was suffocating.”
He nodded, eyes flicking to my lips again. “And you didn’t think to come get me.”
“I didn’t want to lose the trail, and…” I hesitated. “I didn’t want to be wrong.”
His lips curved faintly. “Did you think I’d be mad?”
“No,” I breathed. “I just don’t like being wrong.”
That smile, small and devastating.
He reached forward slowly, and his hand brushed the water’s surface before settling gently on my waist beneath it. The contact was light, barely there, but I sucked in a breath, and then I hissed.
Pain shot up my side.
I stumbled back instinctively, covering my bare chest as I glanced down. Blood was trailing in the water, blooming softly from a deeper wound near my ribs.
“Shit,” Azriel said, instantly alert.
He turned, striding to the edge of the pool in one fluid motion. A towel was wrapped around his waist as he reached for the supplies. Without turning, he tossed me another towel, giving me privacy as I climbed out. The fabric clung to my skin, soaked red where the wound still bled.
“Sit,” Azriel said, already kneeling.
I obeyed, wrapping the towel tightly around me and sitting on a flat rock. The sun had dipped below the trees, leaving only the hush of river and wind around us. I held the top of the towel to my chest, clutching it as he gently pulled the edge away from my side to expose the wound.
“This will sting,” he said, dipping a cloth into a salve. His hands were steady as he cleaned the watery blood from my skin. His fingers brushed lightly along my ribs, heat blooming beneath his touch.
I watched him work, eyes tracing the hard lines of his jaw, the faint furrow of concentration in his brow.
“You’ve done this before,” I murmured.
He nodded. “Too many times.”
When the wound was clean, he began wrapping gauze around my ribs. His knuckles brushed the underside of my breast as he reached behind me to tie it off, hands lingering just a breath too long.
“You’ll bruise,” he said softly.
Neither of us moved, we were both wrapped only in towels, our skin still damp and glowing from the heat of the pool. That earlier moment, whatever it had been, hung between us tight.
He pulled away first, reaching for the clean shirt in the bundle. He held it out without a word, and I dressed slowly. So did he. We turned our backs to each other, the soft sounds of fabric, the stream, and the wind the only sound.
Azriel flew us back in silence, his wings tense beneath the twilight sky. They twitched when we landed, like they were still ready to carry him off again if something went wrong.
By the time we returned to camp, the sun had vanished behind the ridge.
The fire crackled as we entered the clearing. A jug of water rested on a flat stone. I lowered myself onto a log, flinching slightly as pain lanced through my sore ribs. The fresh shirt hung loose, but the bandage beneath pulled tight with every breath.
Azriel crouched by the fire, feeding it another stick of wood. The flames lit his face in shifting gold and shadow.
“I’ll need to look over your wounds again tonight,” he said, not looking up. “Especially your back. It’s bruised worse than I thought.”
“I fell down an embankment,” I whispered, cheeks heating.
“You fell down an embankment?” Azriel’s voice laced with dry amusement.
“The vine snapped,” I muttered defensively.
He huffed a laugh and rose, beginning to brew tea. When it was ready, he handed me a mug and sat beside me. Not quite touching, but close. His warmth radiated through the narrow space between us like a second fire.
I tried to focus on the flames rather than the memory of his hands on my skin.
I took a sip of the tea, letting it soothe my throat. Silence stretched between us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy.
“Did you really fly over the whole ridge looking for me?” I asked.
He gave a quiet, humourless laugh. “Yes. Three times.”
I blinked.
“I couldn’t find your scent. The forest’s magic was too thick. I thought maybe...” He trailed off, eyes fixed on the flames. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me,” I said softly.
His jaw flexed, something unreadable tightening in his expression. He turned to me, slow and deliberate. “Don’t scare me like that again.”
It wasn’t a command; it was something raw and personal.
“I won’t,” I whispered.
His hand rested on the log between us, close to mine. Our fingers brushed. My heart stuttered.
I pulled back, uncertain, and murmured, “I’ll make something to eat.”
Before I could rise, his hand reached gently to rest on my knee.
“I stopped in the village,” he said. “Didn’t get much out of them; they thought I was hunting you down. So I bought supplies and paid far more than I needed to.”
He pulled out a small parcel. Pastries. Dried meats. Goat cheese. Fruit.
His hand left my knee as he laid the food out between us. We ate in silence. Knees brushing, gazes lingering. A slow-building tension wrapped around us like the smoke from the fire.
When we’d finished, and exhaustion crept in, we retreated to the tent. My pain had worsened as the night wore on, and soon enough, Azriel had me lying down, fretting over me like I was made of glass.
He refused to let me read the notes I’d brought, much less write anything.
“You’re supposed to be resting,” he said. “Not thinking.”
Of course, that sparked an argument, which led to me dictating, and him writing furiously with one of my pens.
“This is ridiculous,” I grumbled, trying to sit up. “Let me—”
I flinched, biting back a groan. He raised an eyebrow in smug satisfaction.
“See? Told you.”
I huffed in pain.
He knelt beside me. “Can I check them?”
I hesitated, then nodded.
I lifted my shirt just enough to reveal the bandages. The bruising had deepened, a bloom of violet and blue beneath pale skin. His hands hovered for a second, then touched.
He pressed along my ribs, firm but careful. A soft groan escaped me, and he stilled.
“Azriel,” I hissed through gritted teeth.
His hands gentled. I heard it then, his breath hitching.
“Roll over,” he said, voice lower. Rougher. “Let me see your back.”
I winced but obeyed, turning slowly. Azriel lifted my shirt higher and began working the balm into my spine. His touch was tender, but the pain struck like lightning. I cried out once, curling forward as tears pricked the corners of my eyes.
“Breathe,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”
He moved slowly, carefully, his hands trailing over the curve of my back as he finished. Gentle. Steady. Present.
“It’s over,” he murmured. “Tomorrow, I’ll follow your trail into the forest. See what I can find.”
I shifted, propping myself up on one elbow. “We should go early. If we’re lucky, they might still be there.”
“You’re not coming,” he said, voice leaving no room for argument.
My brows furrowed. “What? Why?”
“You’re injured.”
“I’ll be better by morning.”
“I’ll go first. If it’s clear, I’ll come back for you.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but then, with the faintest flick of his wings, the candle blew out. Darkness wrapped around us, thick and quiet.
“Mature, Az,” I muttered.
I was still shivering when I slipped beneath the blankets. The silence between us now heavier than the cold. He didn’t touch me, didn’t speak, but I felt him there. Present. Watching.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer.
Minutes passed. I turned onto my side and found him already facing me. His face was shadowed, unreadable, but his voice, when it came, was low and rough.
“Don’t do that again.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Disappear. Run off like that. You scared me.”
I opened my mouth, but he cut me off.
“I don’t care about the camp. I care if you’re alive.”
My breath caught. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I know.” He exhaled hard, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I know you didn’t, but if something had happened to you out there—”
He didn’t finish the sentence; he didn’t have to.
I shifted closer, barely an inch between us now. “I’m sorry.”
Azriel didn’t speak. Instead, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered, just for a moment, and then dropped to the blankets between us.
“Sleep,” he murmured.
I didn’t, not for a long time, not with his scent surrounding me, not with the weight of his words curling around my heart.
I woke alone.
The tent was quiet, the fire outside faintly crackling in the early morning light. My body ached, stiff from injury and sleep, and the space beside me was cold.
Azriel was gone.
On his pillow, laid neatly where his head had rested, was a folded piece of parchment.
I reached for it, unfolding it slowly.
Food’s by the fire.
Didn’t want to wake you.
Going to scope out the camp from yesterday.
I’ll be back soon.
—Az.
A faint smile tugged at my lips, even as worry tightened in my chest.
Azriel returned just after the sun had cleared the treetops. I sat on the log by the fire, wrapped in a blanket, picking at the food he’d left, trying not to think too hard.
He landed without a sound, shadows curling quietly back into him.
“They’re gone,” he said, brushing dirt from his leathers. “The camp’s cold. Tracks heading southeast.”
I stood, slower than I would’ve liked. “Can we still follow?”
Azriel’s eyes flicked over me, lingering on the stiffness in my movements, the pain I couldn’t quite mask.
“You’ll be able to track the magic. The artifact left a trace in the air and slightly tainted the ground. I marked the path. We’ll follow it.”
He turned and began packing the camp in swift, practised motions. I moved to help. This time, he didn’t stop me, but his eyes kept drifting toward me, assessing and noticing every wince. Every falter. Always watching.
By midmorning, we were on the move.
The trail wove down the mountain, steep and slick in places. My ribs protested with every stumble, but I kept going. Azriel didn’t speak about it, just walked beside me in silence. He caught me when I slipped. Lifted me when I couldn’t manage the steeper drops. Even flew us over the rougher terrain when the trees thinned enough to allow it.
Eventually, we reached the abandoned camp. He was right, the earth glowed faintly, residual magic seeping into it like smoke into fabric.
I whispered charms under my breath, trying to identify the thread of power that clung to the place. Whatever had been here, it was suppressing the forest’s natural magic, stifling its breath. The spell felt half-familiar. Like something I’d read once, long ago. Not enough to place, but enough to make my blood hum with quiet anticipation.
We kept moving, further down the mountain.
Hours passed before the trees gave way to a valley and the village came into view.
Larger than the last. Busy even at dusk. Smoke curled from chimneys. Lanterns glowed in crooked windows. The scent of meat and hearthfire thickened the air. It felt almost peaceful. Almost.
Azriel had flown ahead earlier, and he confirmed what we’d suspected: the thieves had set up camp just outside the village limits. Close enough to slip in and out unnoticed.
We checked into a small roadside inn on the edge of town.
The woman behind the desk barely looked at me. Her gaze never strayed from Azriel, like he was something golden and worth worshipping.
She wasn’t the only one.
In five minutes, three different fae women and one man propositioned him with offers that made my stomach twist. Some offered drinks. Some offered themselves. All of it free. One even reached out and traced a nail down his leathers like she had a right to touch him.
He turned them all down with quiet disinterest. His shadows curled just a little tighter, but I saw how they looked at him, like he was something rare. Something to be devoured.
By the time we reached our room, a small, narrow space with a single bed and not much else, I was ready to snap. I dropped my pack and sank onto the mattress, trying not to glare at the door even though the desperate admirers had long since gone.
Azriel set down his pack. He glanced at me once, then hesitated.
“I’m going to scout the camp,” he said finally, his voice level.
I didn’t look up. I just sighed and shifted. “Okay.”
He paused.
I could feel the concern tightening around him. “Are you okay?”
I forced a smile and nodded. “Fine. Just sore from the trip.”
“I’ll recheck your wounds when I come back,” he said gently. “Apply more balm if you need it.”
Something about the thought of his hands on me again twisted in my chest.
“It’s fine,” I murmured. “I’ll bathe. I’ll check them myself. It’s just stiffness.”
His brows knit. “You don’t have to do that alone.”
“I can handle it.”
“I’ll get food while I’m out, then. Something hot.”
“You don’t need to,” I said, too quickly. “There’s a pub on the corner. I’ll grab something.”
“You’re not going to that pub by yourself.”
“Az—”
“No.” His tone sharpened, firm. “You’re not going anywhere. Not like this. Not when I can’t protect you.”
“I’m not helpless,” I snapped softly.
“I know that,” he replied. “But you’re injured, and I can’t lose you because of something stupid. Please.”
That stopped me.
Azriel never asked. Never begged.
I looked up then. His eyes were steady on mine. Soft. A little tired, but unwavering.
“Fine,” I whispered.
He lingered for a second longer, tension hanging between us, quiet and unresolved. Then he turned, and the door clicked shut behind him.
Silence returned.
I sat there for a long moment, heat prickling behind my eyes, not from pain, but from shame. That entire exchange had been ridiculous. I’d acted like some jealous fool, bristling over attention given to a man who wasn’t mine. Who had never been mine.
Azriel hadn’t flirted with them. He hadn’t even smiled. Still, bitterness coiled in my stomach.
Because he could have them, any of them, and me?
I was sore, stiff, and inexperienced. I wasn’t the kind of woman who knew how to touch a man like him. Not the type of woman who could satisfy him, make him stay.
Not the kind he deserved.
I ran my fingers through my hair, sighing quietly. Unclipped my cloak and forced myself into the bathroom. It was small, but warm, and for once, I didn’t have to use magic to keep myself from freezing.
I peeled away the bandages, cleaned the wounds, and let the hot water work its way into my aching bones. Then, dressed in the softest clothing I had, I crawled into bed.
I tried not to think about the way he’d looked when he said please.
Tried not to wonder if someone else had tempted him before he came back. Tried not to care, but I did, and that was the worst part of all.
Azriel returned just after midnight.
The door opened with the softest creak, followed by the near-silent hush of his boots brushing the floorboards. I didn’t turn, just shifted slightly, the candle on the bedside table flickering low, bathing the room in quiet amber light.
I’d been flicking through reports, or pretending to. Mostly, I’d been watching how the moonlight spilled in long strips across the floorboards, more comforted by its glow than by the words I wasn’t taking in.
“I’m sorry, I’m so late,” Azriel said softly. “I brought pastries. We’ll get something hot tomorrow.”
I kept my eyes on the page. “You don’t need to apologise. I’m not your keeper.”
It sounded fair. Dismissive, even, but the sharpness beneath my words gave me away, the same bitterness I hadn’t been able to shake since early evening.
The air shifted as he stepped inside. Wings folding close. The quiet thud of his weapons and boots hitting the floor. I heard the zip of his pack, the crinkle of paper, the unmistakable scent of sugar and cinnamon.
“I’ll bathe while you eat,” he said, already heading for the bathroom. “Then I’ll redress your wounds.”
I hummed in agreement. He hesitated for a breath, then closed the door behind him with a quiet click. A moment later, steam began curling out beneath the crack.
I reached for the pastry, biting into it: warm cinnamon and honey-coated bread. I’d thought about going out for food earlier, then changed my mind. Azriel would’ve hated that, and he was right. On my own, still healing, I wouldn’t have stood a chance if something had happened.
When I’d finished, I laid out the healing supplies and braced myself for the pain.
By the time the bathroom door opened, steam trailing behind him, I was sitting on the bed, report still in hand but long since abandoned.
My eyes flicked up, too fast to stop myself.
Shirtless. Pants low enough to make my breath catch. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and as he ran a hand through it, humming some quiet, unfamiliar tune, I looked away. Quickly.
“Lie down,” he said gently, stepping toward me.
I obeyed without a word, folding the papers and setting them aside. I shifted onto my back, lifting my shirt slowly to expose the bruises across my ribs.
He knelt beside the bed, uncapping the balm with practised ease. His fingers were cool, steady, his first touch stealing the breath right out of my lungs. I sucked in a sharp inhale, my body curling slightly on instinct.
He caught the motion, the wince I tried to hide.
“You’re doing better,” he murmured, voice low. “Barely any yelling this time.”
“Progress,” I muttered through gritted teeth.
He didn’t laugh. I just kept working the balm deeper into my side, my thumbs pressing in slow, practised circles. The muscles in his forearms flexed with each pass.
“Turn over,” he said, and his hands slid gently to my hips, guiding me. Firm, but careful, like he’d done this before. As I shifted onto my stomach, his palms lingered a moment too long.
Then came the balm again, slower now. More deliberate.
His thumbs found a knot low in my spine, and I groaned into the pillow before I could stop myself. The pain was sharp, but good, a necessary ache. One I’d been carrying too long.
“Sensitive,” he said softly, and I could feel the heat of his gaze even as I kept my face buried.
I didn’t answer. Just breathed through the burn, every nerve alight beneath his touch. It hurt, but it felt like my body had been waiting for this kind of hurt.
“You’re tense,” he said, voice lower now. Rougher. That edge was new. Different.
He pressed again, just above my tailbone, and pain flashed up my spine. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I curled forward with a sharp inhale.
“God, Azriel,” I breathed. It came out softer than I meant. A little desperate.
His hands froze, just for a beat. Then resumed, slower now, moving higher, tracing just beneath my shoulder blades.
“You really do need to start training with me,” he said after a moment, rubbing balm into a deep bruise.
“You just want to take me down,” I mumbled, voice muffled as I bit back another groan.
He huffed a quiet laugh, fingers pressing gently over tense muscle. “No, but that would be a bonus,” he whispered. A breath left me as his hands stilled, then he tugged my shirt down.
I shifted, easing back onto the pillows with a wince. He sat beside me on the edge of the bed. I looked at him. Unfairly handsome, skin golden in the flickering firelight, dark hair still damp. He looked at me like he was on the edge of something, like he couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“You really don’t see it, do you?” he asked.
“See what?”
“How badly I want you.”
The words knocked the breath from my lungs.
He looked away.
“After our last assignment, when we were stuck in that war room for days, I thought I’d made it obvious. I offered private training. Brought you coffee. Showed up to your office every damn day for two weeks.”
“I thought…” My voice faltered. “I thought you were just being kind. I figured maybe you felt sorry for me or—”
“Why would I ever feel sorry for you?”
His voice was soft but fierce. His brow furrowed, his eyes locked on mine.
“I wasn’t sure if you were... uninterested, or already seeing someone. Rhys told me you were single, married to your work, but I didn’t want to assume,” Azreil said.
“You asked Rhys about me?”
His cheeks flushed. “I… did.”
“You want me?”
“I do.” The words came out rough. Honest, like he’d been holding them in for far too long.
Something inside me cracked open. Jealousy flared, raw and sudden. I thought of all the women who might’ve touched him, who knew what to do. I thought of how easy it must be for them.
I had never touched a man, never been wanted like this and never had someone like him.
“I’m not the one for you,” I whispered.
His expression shifted, hurt flickering across his face like a spark. “Did I misread this?”
“No!” I said quickly, stumbling over the word. “No. I want you. God, I do. You make my heart race, Az. But I…”
My hands trembled in my lap. I forced the words out.
“I’m not experienced,” I said at last, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never—never been with anyone.”
For a moment, he didn’t react, then realisation dawned.
“You’ve never…?” he asked gently.
I shook my head, shame crawling up my neck.
“You’ve never had—?”
“Please,” I whispered, heat flooding my cheeks, “you don’t need to say it again.”
“No,” he said quickly. “I’m not judging. I swear. I just… you’re so beautiful. I thought you’d have a line of men.”
“I never found the one,” I said quietly. “And Rhys was right. I got good at being alone. At pretending it didn’t matter.”
Azriel let out a long, uneven breath. His gaze met mine, soft but flickering with something close to desire.
“Can I finally kiss you now?” he asked, voice hushed. “Or are you still waiting for your ‘one’?”
My breath hitched, and I paused.
“I want you to be the one.”
His eyes closed for a beat, like the words broke something open inside him.
“I’ll be your one,” he murmured. “Your only one.”
His hand reached for my cheek, thumb brushing along my jaw, and then, his mouth was on mine.
A soft moan slipped from me as our lips met. It was gentle, careful, as if he were learning the shape of me. His hand braced beside my thigh, the other cradling the back of my head, holding me like something precious.
When we finally pulled apart, his breath was uneven.
“Are you okay?” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from my face.
I nodded, eyes fluttering shut.
He kissed the corner of my mouth, then the hollow of my throat. My body arched instinctively toward him.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, lips grazing my skin, “and I will.”
“I don’t want you to stop.”
He kissed me again, deeper, slower. His body lowered gently over mine, every part of him warm and steady. Skin to skin, we tangled together, his weight comforting rather than overwhelming.
When he slipped my shirt off, I shivered, not from the cold, but from the way his eyes devoured me like he’d been waiting a long time. Like I was something sacred.
“I’ll go slow,” he promised, lips brushing over the centre of my chest, then lower. “If you change your mind—”
“I’ll tell you,” I whispered. “I trust you.”
Something shifted in his gaze at that; his expression softened with unspoken emotion. His mouth found mine again, deeper this time, as he eased me back into the mattress. His hands moved over my skin, mapping scars and bruises, cataloguing the places to avoid, and the ones that made me gasp.
His hands settled at my hips, and my legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. I could feel him, solid and hard, pressed against me, his restraint obvious, his every touch reverent.
He waited at the waistband of my pants, silently asking. I lifted my hips in answer. His breath hitched.
He exhaled my name like a prayer. “God, you’re more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen.”
“Wounds and all?” I whispered, my fingers trailing down his ribs, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“Wounds and all,” he echoed, voice husky.
He kissed down my chest, finding my nipple with his mouth. The sensation curled through me like liquid heat. When his tongue swirled over the sensitive bud, a soft moan left my lips. Then his teeth grazed, gentle but purposeful, and my back arched.
His fingers trailed lower, settling between my thighs. I parted them for him instinctively, and the sound of my own wetness meeting his fingers made embarrassment bloom inside me.
I tensed.
His eyes opened, still half-lidded with lust, and found mine. His mouth didn’t stop its worshipful attention on my breast.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, voice small, heat curling in my belly.
“Why are you sorry?” he murmured against my skin, his thumb brushing over my clit, and I gasped, the sound helpless.
“Because I’m so—”
“Wet,” he finished for me, and I could feel his grin against my chest. “Yes, you are.”
I huffed, half-embarrassed. “I—”
“Don’t ever apologise for that,” he said, almost sternly. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
His mouth trailed lower, kissing down my stomach, slower and slower. I arched involuntarily, my fingers sliding into his hair, desperate for something to anchor me.
“Oh, God,” I gasped as his mouth replaced his fingers.
He moaned against me, the vibration rippling through every nerve in my body.
His fingers began to slide inside me, slow, careful, coaxing me open. I saw stars. His tongue and fingers moved together in a rhythm that defied reason, pulling sounds from me I’d never made before, my moans echoing off the walls, the air charged with something feral and raw.
“Azriel,” I moaned, hips rising off the bed. His free hand gripped them, holding me steady as his tongue worked in slow, sinful patterns. He moaned again, as if drunk on the taste of me.
His fingers curled, there, and I arched again, thighs trembling around his head.
He found that spot again, and again. My whole body locked tight.
“Azriel,” I panted, the pressure building fast, too fast. “I—I can’t—”
I did.
I shattered, falling over something I didn’t know I’d been climbing. The moan that tore from my throat was almost too much for my ears, raw, high, utterly helpless.
Azriel didn’t stop. He kissed me through the aftershocks, slow and reverent, his mouth brushing along my inner thighs as I trembled.
He finally pulled back. I blinked down at him in a daze, watching as he brought his glistening fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, eyes never leaving mine. His lips, chin, and jaw gleamed in the candlelight.
“You taste like heaven,” he murmured, crawling back up to settle between my legs.
At some point, his pants had come off, and I hadn’t even noticed. I was only aware of the ache between my thighs and the way his bare body pressed against mine.
My eyes trailed down instinctively. His hand was wrapped around his cock, pumping once, twice. I gasped softly.
He was… huge. Thick and hard, the head flushed and glistening with precum, nestled in dark hair. Beautiful and intimidating.
“Are you sure you want this?” he asked, voice low but sincere.
I nodded, breathless. “I do.”
His hand moved to my thigh, gently parting me. He positioned himself carefully, the tip of him nudging at my entrance.
“I’ll take care of you,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss me. “I’ll go slow.”
“I trust you,” I said again, voice trembling but steady.
He pressed into me, inch by inch. My breath caught, hands clutching his shoulders as I felt my body stretch around him.
His jaw clenched.
“Fuck—you’re so tight,” he groaned, holding still once he was fully inside, like it took everything in him not to lose control.
I winced, body adjusting. He didn’t move, his thumb brushing soothingly along my side.
“Are you okay?” he whispered again.
I nodded, voice barely audible. “I am.”
Relief flooded his face. He kissed my temple, then slowly, carefully, began to move.
Each thrust was measured, deep and steady. The pain eased into pleasure, and soon I was moaning again, helpless against the rhythm he built between us.
“Oh…” I whimpered, overwhelmed. Every inch of me was alight.
Azriel moaned shamelessly, as if he wanted me to hear how good it felt, like the sounds I made were undoing him.
God… I wanted to keep undoing him.
Azriel’s thrusts deepened, still careful, still measured, but more insistent now, each one dragging a helpless moan from me. The pain had long since melted into something hotter, headier. My body had adjusted to the stretch of him, and now it was only pleasure, sharp, sweet, and building fast.
His hand gripped my thigh, angling my hips just slightly, and then he hit something inside me that made me cry out, my back arching off the bed.
“There,” he groaned, like the sound of me undid him.
“Azriel,” I panted, nails digging into his back. “There, again, please—”
He obeyed. Over and over, that spot, perfectly. I was unravelling, hips rising to meet his, every part of me clenching around him.
“Fuck—god, you feel so good,” he gasped, breath shuddering. “You’re perfect, so perfect—”
The pressure inside me coiled tighter, unbearable in the most exquisite way. I couldn’t breathe. Could barely think.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, kissing my throat. “Let go for me. Come with me.”
His hand slipped between us, fingers finding my clit in perfect rhythm, rubbing tight, slick circles as he thrust deep once more, and I broke.
My orgasm crashed through me like a tidal wave, my entire body arching beneath him. My cry was loud, unrestrained, his name on my lips like a prayer.
Azriel groaned, low and raw, and then he was following me over the edge. His body tensed, shuddered, his hips pressed deep as he spilled inside me, moaning into the crook of my neck. I felt it, the warmth of him, the pulse of release, the way he clung to me like he might come apart.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. Our bodies tangled, breath coming in gasps, sweat-slicked skin pressed together like we were trying to become one.
Azriel shifted, gently pulling out. I winced, and he immediately stilled, eyes searching mine.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, voice hoarse with worry.
“No,” I breathed, hand brushing his cheek. “You didn’t.”
Still, he moved quickly, disappearing into the bathroom. I heard the water run, and when he returned, he carried a warm, damp cloth. He cleaned me gently, whispering soft apologies every time I flinched. His brows were drawn, mouth tight with concern.
“I should’ve stopped sooner,” he murmured, as he dabbed at the inside of my thighs. “I pushed too far.”
“You didn’t,” I said quietly, reaching for him. “Azriel, look at me.”
He did. His eyes were glassy, the weight of everything behind them.
“You were perfect,” I said. “You were everything I needed.”
He let out a slow breath, his shoulders easing just a little. Then he tossed the cloth aside, pulled the blankets up, and gathered me into his arms like I was something fragile.
I curled into his chest, our legs tangled, his warmth enveloping me like a second skin.
His thumb stroked lazily along my spine, up and down, again and again.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked softly.
I nodded against him. “I am. I promise.”
He kissed the top of my head. “I was afraid,” he admitted. “Afraid I’d ruin it for you. That I’d mess it up.”
“You didn’t. You couldn’t.”
A beat of silence.
He whispered, “I’ve never wanted anything this badly before.”
I looked up at him, brushing my fingers through his damp hair. “What? Me?”
He nodded, a little sheepish. “You. Us. This. All of it.”
My heart thudded. “I’ve never had anyone take care of me like that.”
He kissed my forehead. “You deserve to be taken care of. Every time. Every way.”
We lay there in the quiet, heartbeats slowly settling. His shadows danced lazily across the ceiling, like they too had been soothed by the closeness.
“I didn’t think it would feel like that,” I whispered, eyes fluttering shut.
“Like what?”
“Like more. Not just physical, emotional, like it meant something.”
He pulled me tighter to him. “It meant everything.”
We fell into silence, a comfortable quiet. His breathing slowed, deepened. Mine matched it, our bodies pressed together beneath the blankets. My fingers traced idle patterns across his chest, feeling his heartbeat.
Sleep tugged at me, and just like that, we fell asleep curled into each other’s arms.
That morning, we woke in a silence so soft it felt sacred.
The light was just beginning to slip through the curtains, golden and pale, casting a warm glow over the room. Azriel’s arm was still draped around my waist, his breath steady against the back of my neck. I could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat, slow and sure, pressed into my spine.
My body ached in new places, pleasantly sore. The balm he’d applied the night before had done its work; the worst of the bruises and cuts were fading into nothing more than memory, but that deep, unfamiliar thrum from our night together lingered, intimate, impossible to ignore.
I shifted slightly, and Azriel stirred behind me, groaning softly.
“You okay?” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.
I turned in his arms, meeting his drowsy gaze. “More than okay.”
He smiled, small, private, and leaned forward to press a kiss to my temple. “Good.”
We didn’t speak after that; there was no need. We dressed in the quiet, exchanging soft looks and slower movements, as though neither of us wanted to break the fragile spell of our time together. When we finally stepped outside, the world beyond our room felt stiller, suspended.
Mist clung low to the cobblestone streets of the village, swirling around our feet as we walked. The scent of dew and woodsmoke filled the crisp air, and the first hints of dawn light filtered through the tall pines bordering the edge of town.
Azriel’s hand brushed against mine as we made our way toward the thieves’ camp that he had spotted and monitored the night before. We reached the edge of the ridge overlooking the camp, and Azriel stopped without a word.
Below us, the scene was already unravelling. A small group of men moved quickly between crates and bundles, packing up stolen goods with no urgency, as if no one was watching. I could see gleaming weapons, bolts of cloth, sacks of food, rare books and scrolls, all of it looted from the township that night. It was far more than any of the reports had indicated.
Azriel scanned the area, jaw tight, eyes sharp.
He looked at me. He pointed silently to a twisted tree just beyond the ridge. I nodded and stepped behind it, taking cover beneath its crooked limbs. His shadows slithered around me, cool and watchful, like sentinels.
I waited, listening.
A few heartbeats later, the quiet broke. Grunts, the clash of steel, the thud of bodies hitting the earth. Low swearing. Someone cried out, a brief, pained sound, then nothing. Silence returned as swiftly as it had been shattered.
When I peered back around the tree, Azriel stood alone in the centre of the now-empty camp.
The men were gone, but blood trailed across the stone and dirt, dragged in lines leading away into the trees.
He’d taken them, quite and efficiently, without a single scream.
I didn’t ask where they’d gone. I didn’t need to.
Azriel caught my eye and lifted a hand, beckoning me forward with a single motion.
I stepped into the clearing, my boots crunching over gravel and blood-dried leaves. The air was thick with metallic tang, but his shadows curled softly now, lazily winding around his shoulders like they were settling after a job well done.
“The site’s clear for you to analyse,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I contacted Rhys last night after I found their camp. I’ll send word that he can bring the reinforcements to collect the prisoners.”
I nodded, already turning toward the mess of crates stacked near the centre of the camp, but before I could take a full step, Azriel moved closer.
His hand came up, fingers rough with calluses but impossibly gentle as they brushed my cheek. He leaned down and, without hesitation, pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.
“Stay safe, okay?” he murmured.
Before I could reply, he tilted my chin and kissed me, brief and warm.
“I will,” I whispered.
His eyes lingered on me, concern flickering through them. Then he stepped back, shadows rising around him like a second skin, and vanished into the tree line.
I stood there for a breath longer than I meant to, watching the place he’d disappeared, the warmth of his lips still ghosting over mine. I turned back to the clearing, pushing away the strange ache blooming in my chest.
Something was wrong.
Even with the camp emptied, the trees felt too still. The forest air was thick, almost dense. My own wards were faint, barely registering against the magical resistance that clung to the area like fog. Whatever had been here, it had not wanted to be found.
I whispered detection spells beneath my breath as I moved slowly between the remnants, crates, splintered weapons, scraps of parchment and torn maps. I brushed my fingers over them, searching. Nothing.
Until I felt it.
A thrum, not in the air, but in my chest. Like a second heartbeat, low and steady and pulling.
Drawn by instinct, I moved to the far end of the clearing, where a battered canvas tarp fluttered weakly over a makeshift table, and there it was.
A box.
Small. Black. Ornate. Onyx carved with intricate gold filigree. Its jewelled clasps glinted like eyes in the shadows, watching.
It was beautiful, and wrong.
I didn’t think. I reached out. The moment my fingers grazed the lid, a pulse shot through me. Not painful, cold and knowing.
This wasn’t just magic.
It recognised me.
The box tugged, not physically, but in the space between breath and thought. It wanted me, as if it had been waiting.
Another pulse. Sharper. Hungrier.
My mind reeled back six months to a report Rhysand had handed me, almost dismissively. A list of flagged artifacts from a failed transport manifest. I hadn’t cared at the time, barely skimmed it.
This box was in there. High-risk. Highly unstable. Magical containment takes priority.
My fingers hovered over the lid.
Just a bit more, and I’d lift it, just to see, just to know—
“Stop.”
The voice was velvet over steel.
My hand froze.
I turned, heart leaping into my throat.
Rhysand stood a few feet behind me, silent. His violet eyes were locked on the box, as shadows coiled tightly around his boots, magic shimmered at his fingertips, controlled, but ready.
He wasn’t smiling.
“Don’t touch it,” he said again, his voice a quiet command that cut through the silence like a drawn blade.
I froze. My fingers hovered mere inches above the lid, trembling slightly. The box still pulsed, as if sensing my hesitation, as if pleading.
I slowly pulled my hand back. A tingling remained in my skin, like static, or something deeper, something alive, still curled beneath my fingertips.
“You know what it is,” I said, my breath catching in my throat.
Rhysand’s eyes finally left the box and met mine. “I do.”
He stepped forward, but not too close, stopping a few feet from it as though the thing radiated heat or poison.
“It was onboard one of the cargo ships that sank six months ago,” he said, his voice tight. “We thought it was lost to the sea.”
I stared at the box again. The ornate gold filigree seemed to shimmer, catching the faint light like a smirk in shadow.
“What is it?” I asked, my voice quieter now, my spine prickling.
Rhysand’s jaw flexed. He exhaled slowly through his nose. “Inside is a suppression crystal, an ancient one. Looks harmless enough, just a polished black stone. It’s a containment artifact. We use stones like it in the prison to nullify magic.”
A chill crept down my back. My eyes flicked to the box again. The lid sat still and silent, but I could feel it pressing against the edges of my awareness, as if it were listening.
“I felt it call to me,” I admitted, barely above a whisper. “Like it recognised me.”
Rhysand’s expression darkened, the corner of his mouth tightening.
“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t open it,” he said, his voice quieter now. “It doesn’t call to you. It feeds off you. It latches onto whatever power it finds and twists it into submission. Devours it. Then buries itself in your mind until you think it belongs to you.”
The silence after his words felt heavy.
The box said nothing, but it knew.
By the time we returned to Velaris, my entire body ached. Between cataloguing stolen goods, reactivating containment wards, and sending magical documentation to tracking teams, I was running on fumes.
Azriel had taken the lead on interrogating the captives, trying to uncover how they’d gotten their hands on the artifact. Whether they’d truly pulled it from the sea, or robbed the ship before sinking it, no one knew, but it would be days before we had the full picture.
I collapsed into my office chair late that night, surrounded by stacks of parchment, half-read manifests, and exhausted magical seals. The smell of old paper and ink made my eyes sting, and the last thing on my mind, though it tugged at the edges, was the memory of Azriel’s hands on my skin.
I hadn’t seen him since the morning at the camp, and I’d told myself not to expect anything more. That it was just one night.
Which is why I froze when the office door creaked open.
Azriel stepped in, a takeout bag balanced in his gloved hands. The scent hit me before anything else, rich spices and warm bread from my favourite Sidra restaurant.
“Az,” I breathed, stunned.
He said nothing at first, just strode forward and began clearing space on my cluttered desk, setting down the bag with careful precision. Steam curled from the containers as he unpacked them, and my stomach growled on cue.
“I promised you hot food,” he said, glancing up, shadows curling lazily around his shoulders. “And I doubted you’d make time to eat with the mountain of paperwork you always bury yourself in.”
He moved around the desk, reaching for me. One arm wrapped around my hips, pulling me close. His other hand gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear before leaning down to kiss my forehead, then my lips, slow, reassuring, and familiar.
“You really didn’t have to,” I mumbled as he helped lower me back into my chair. He took the seat across from me without a word.
“I couldn’t let my girl work all night on an empty stomach,” he said simply, opening the first container.
My heart stuttered.
“Your girl?” I asked, voice barely audible over the rustle of parchment and paper.
Azriel looked up, brow raised. “What?”
“You said... your girl.”
He blinked once, then the barest smile touched his lips.
“I thought that was clear after last night.”
A slow grin crept onto my face. My pulse quickened.
“Well,” I teased softly, “I guess I am your girl.”
Azriel shook his head with a low chuckle and passed me a warm container.
“You were always my girl,” he said, voice like velvet, eyes like midnight.
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every time i start to feel cringe for being too deep in the hyperfixation i remember the intense depression i have waded through and have to remind myself that enjoyment is fleeting (so grab it with both hands), and life is for loving (so hold that love close), and if anyone thinks i’m cringe they must not be having a very good time (and i hope they can find a good time soon).
