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giuliasnow

Not Your Girl

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Childhood friend!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: You opened your eyes

Warning: Angst, fighting, injuries

Word Count: 2209

Inspired by this ask

“God, Y/N. I’m fine.” Rafe pulls your hand from his collar. But you click your tongue at him.

“Come on, I promise you look better with it folded properly.”

Rafe glances at his watch. “We’re running late.”

“Who cares?” You mutter as you straighten the creases of his shirt.

“I do.” He snaps before grabbing hold of your wrist and dragging you out of his room, not letting go until you are standing right next to his car. He opens the door for you and taps his foot as he waits for you to get inside but your steps are too slow with you checking your bag for necessities.

“Tylenol. Mouthwash. First aid kit.” You look up from your bag. “You still have our extra clothes in your trunk, right?”

“Yes.” He spoke impatiently, his bored stare sharpening.

When you finally get inside, he slams the door extra loud, startling you, but you shrug as you fasten your seatbelt.

•18+ Adults Only

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Six | Second Chances | The Way Back

Pairing - Eris Vanserra x reader

Word count - 2.5k

Warnings - None

<- prev || series masterlist ||

Standing across from Eris wasn't accidental this time.

There was no crowded gallery forcing us together beneath soft lights and unfinished words. No grocery store aisle. No reaching for each other through coincidence and pretending it meant less than it did.

This time, it was intentional. Just him and me. A choice. And somehow that felt far more terrifying.

His apartment looked exactly the same. That was the first thing I noticed when I stepped inside.

The same low lighting. The same dark couch pushed beneath the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. The same half-finished book abandoned on the coffee table. The same faint scent of cedarwood and coffee lingering in the air like the apartment itself had memorised him.

Like it had memorised us.

shadowdaddiesclub

The Rescue - pt 2

Part 1

As the days pass, Azriel unravels standing at your bedside. He's got more questions than fate is willing to offer. Something isn't right, and he knows it. Then your eyes finally open, and the answer is worse than the silence ever was.

Five days.

Azriel had started counting somewhere around the second one, not because counting helped, but because it gave the terror something to do besides simply consuming him whole. Five days since Hybern's camp. Five days of your chest rising and falling under his palm, steady enough to torture him with hope, shallow enough to never quite let that hope take root.

You hadn't woken once.

He'd watched you change in ways that terrified him more than blood ever had. The color had gone out of you slowly, day by day, your skin taking on a grayish cast no amount of lamplight could soften. Your lips had cracked despite the water Madja dripped patiently past them every few hours.

Your hands, when he held them, no longer felt like your hands so much as some cooling, borrowed thing. Every night he pressed his mouth to your knuckles just to check. Just to feel that warmth was still there at all.

Madja came twice a day now instead of once, her calm fraying by degrees each visit. She checked your pulse. Your pupils. The healing wounds at your wrists, mending exactly the way a body was supposed to, which somehow made the rest of it worse, not better.

"There's no fever," she said on the fifth morning, mostly to herself, mostly to keep from having to look at him while she said the rest of it. "No infection. Her body is doing everything right." A pause, heavy enough that he felt it land before she said anything else. "I don't have an explanation for why she isn't waking up, Azriel. I've never seen anything like this."

"Then find someone who has." His voice had gone hoarse days ago and hadn't recovered. His hand, wrapped around yours, shook without his permission. "I don't care who. I don't care what it costs. Ask Helion. His library knows more about old workings than anyone else in Prythian."

"I've already sent word to three healers outside Velaris, and I'll have someone reach out to the Day Court about Helion's library, if you think it will help." Madja set down her instruments, and something in the careful way she did it made his stomach drop before she'd said another word. "But I have to be honest with you, Azriel. I don't understand what I'm looking at. Her body is healed. Whole. There's no reason at all, by any measure I know, that she shouldn't be waking up."

"Then why isn't she."

"I don't know." It came out of her plainly, almost helplessly, an admission that clearly cost the healer in her something to make. "I've sat with dying fae. I've sat with fae in comas from blood loss, from head wounds, from grief so heavy it stopped their hearts. This isn't any of those. Whatever is keeping her under, it isn't happening anywhere my hands can reach."

Rhys, who had been standing at the window with his arms crossed through all of it, turned slowly, something sharpening behind his eyes.

"What did she say," he said slowly, each word deliberate, "right before she went under."

Azriel's jaw tightened so hard something in it audibly clicked. He'd replayed it a hundred times already, a thousand, the words worn smooth from repetition inside his own skull, the last true thing you'd said to him before everything after had become silence. "She said she didn't break. That she didn't tell them anything."

"Nothing else?"

"That's all there was time for." Something raw and dangerous moved behind his eyes, shadows gathering thick and restless at his feet without his permission. "Why does that matter."

"If it's not her body," Rhys said slowly, "it's something else. Something laid on her mind." He turned from the window fully now, violet eyes gone sharp, the High Lord surfacing hard over the brother. "Which means this wasn't punishment for talking. It was punishment for staying silent. That takes preparation. Intent. Someone anticipated she might resist, and decided exactly what would happen to her if she did."

The room went cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature.

"What in the void were they trying to get out of her," Rhys said, quieter now, almost to himself, "that silence alone was worth doing this to her."

No one had an answer. The question sat in the room like something with teeth, and Azriel, staring down at your still, graying face, felt something inside him go past fury and into a kind of icy, focused dread he had no name for at all.

"Find out," he said finally, voice flat, final. "I don't care what it takes. I want to know who did this to her, and I want to know exactly what has to be undone to bring her back."

By the seventh day, Azriel had stopped pretending to sleep at all.

He'd stopped eating unless Cassian made him. Hadn't shaved in a week. Someone had gotten a clean shirt onto him at some point, though he couldn't have said when, or how. His hands trembled now, constant, nothing to do with cold. Madja had stopped saying she's stable and started saying nothing at all, which was worse.

Rhys had stopped trying to talk him into sleep hours ago. He'd left sometime after midnight, and the house had gone quiet around the two of you, nothing left but lamplight and the small, endless proof of your breathing.

It was somewhere in the deepest hour of that night, alone, that Azriel felt it.

Your hand, cold in his for seven days, twitched.

He went rigid, every part of him snapping to alertness at once. "Sweetheart?"

He leaned in close, watching your face with a desperation that bordered on violence, and there, behind your closed eyelids, so small he almost convinced himself he'd imagined it, your eyes shifted.

Once.

He would have sworn it on his own life.

"Come on. Come back. I'm right here."

Nothing else came, not for a long while. Your breathing stayed slow, your face stayed slack, and the room held its breath around you both, waiting for a sign that had already, finally, terrifyingly, begun. He didn't leave your side, refusing even now to loosen his grip on your hand, until exhaustion finally won and his head dropped, just once, just for a moment, chin to chest at your bedside.

He didn't feel himself drift. He only felt the jolt of waking to sound, sudden and wrong, your voice tearing through the quiet in a register he had never once heard from you before.

You jolted awake to darkness and the smell of tallow smoke.

Your body knew before your mind did, lungs seizing, heart slamming against your ribs, every instinct screaming the same single word: tent. You were back. Somehow, impossibly, you were back, and any moment now the flap would open and he'd come in to finish what he'd started, and you hadn't broken, you hadn't told them anything, but it hadn't mattered, had it, it had never mattered, they were going to hurt you again regardless.

"Don't hurt me." It tore out of you, thin and cracked, barely a voice at all. "Please. Please, I didn't tell them anything, please don't—"

A shape moved at the edge of your vision. You scrambled back, your spine hitting something solid, a headboard, your mind supplied dimly, though it made no sense, there was no headboard in the tent, and you didn't have room to wonder about it because the shape was still there, close, too close, and every part of you had gone into the kind of animal panic that didn't leave room for thought.

"Hey. Hey, it's me, you're safe—"

"Don't touch me." Your voice cracked wide open, raw with a terror that had nowhere left to go but out. You pressed yourself harder into the headboard, chest heaving, eyes wide and unseeing in the low light. "Don't, please, don't touch me."

The shape went still. Whoever it was, whatever it was, didn't come any closer, and slowly, achingly slowly, your eyes began to adjust, began to make out details that didn't fit the tent at all. Soft sheets. A window. Lamplight instead of torch smoke.

None of it made sense. None of it felt real.

"You won't be hurt." The voice again, low, careful, trembling in a way voices in that tent had never trembled. "I promise you. Nothing is going to happen to you. You're home."

You stared at the shape now resolving into a male, kneeling a careful distance from the bed, hands raised, palms open, dark hair, a face carved from grief and fear in equal measure. Something in you, some small, buried, exhausted part, wanted to trust the sound of that voice. The rest of you was still standing in a tent that smelled like copper and smoke, and it didn't know how to let the wanting win.

And yet. There was a strange familiarity to the shape of his hands, the particular scarring across his knuckles, something your eyes kept returning to even through the panic, as if some part of you that wasn't afraid at all had already decided those hands meant something, long before the rest of you caught up.

"Where," you managed, voice shaking, "where am I?"

"Velaris," he said. "Home."

The word meant nothing. You searched it and searched it and found no shape underneath it at all, no memory to hang it on, just the same suffocating blankness you'd have felt if he'd spoken in a language you'd never learned.

He watched your face change. You saw the exact moment he understood, something in him going gray and hollow all at once, like the floor had opened beneath him too.

"Do you know who I am?" He asked it slowly. Carefully. Like the answer might be the thing that finally broke him after everything else hadn't managed to.

You hesitated. You wanted, more than almost anything, to say something that would fix the look on his face. You searched every corner of yourself for his name, his shape, anything at all, and came up with nothing but a terrible, echoing absence where something should have been.

"No," you whispered.

Something in him didn't just crack. It caved.

"I just," you started, and the sob broke loose before you could stop it, ugly and raw, "I just want to go home. Please. Please, let me go, I just want to stop being here—"

You were sobbing in earnest now, folded in on yourself against the headboard, and the male in front of you didn't move to comfort you, didn't reach for you at all, just knelt there with his hands still raised and something shattering visibly behind his eyes, watching you fall apart and unable to do a single thing to stop it.

It was the sound of it, raw and unrestrained, tearing through walls that had never once muffled the sounds of this house's grief, that brought the door bursting open before either of you had a chance to brace for it.

Two more figures filled the doorway, one enormous and winged, one dark-haired with violet eyes gone razor-sharp the second he took in the scene, your scrambled retreat, the male frozen at your bedside, the raw wreckage of the room.

"Az." The dark-haired one took a single step forward. "What happened?"

"She doesn't remember." Azriel said it like he still didn't believe it himself, like saying it out loud might somehow make it true in a way it hadn't been a moment ago. "She doesn't know who I am. She doesn't know where she is. She looked right at me and she didn't, she didn't know me at all."

Rhys froze in the doorway, something in his composure genuinely cracking for the first time, like whatever he'd braced himself for on the way up the stairs, it hadn't been this. "I didn't think it would go this far." He recovered himself with visible effort, calculation slowly overtaking the shock in his face. "Let me try. If I can get into her mind—"

"No." Azriel was on his feet before Rhys had finished the sentence, putting himself between you and the door with a speed that startled even you, some old instinct in your battered mind recognizing, if nothing else, the shape of someone trying to protect you. "She's terrified, Rhys. She doesn't know you. You are not going into her head right now."

"She's awake for the first time in a week." Rhys's voice sharpened, urgency breaking through the careful diplomacy he usually wore, stepping closer despite the warning written across every line of Azriel's body. "This might be the only window we get. If there's something in there keeping her from remembering, I need to see it while she's conscious enough for me to find the edges of it."

"I don't care if it's the only window in the world!" It tore out of Azriel loud enough that you flinched, shadows exploding off him in every direction, swallowing half the light in the room. "You are not going anywhere near her mind while she's shaking this hard, do you understand me? You are not going to be one more thing that happens to her without her consent, not while I am breathing."

"And if this is permanent, Azriel?" Rhys's own temper finally cracked through, violet eyes flaring bright, voice rising to match. "If I wait and the window closes and we lose whatever chance we had, is that better? Would you rather she stay like this forever than risk one uncomfortable hour?"

"Don't you dare put that on me." Azriel's voice had dropped into something low and lethal, the air around him gone thick and cold, shadows coiling like something with teeth. "I have watched her disappear for seven days. Seven days, Rhys. I have sat in that chair memorizing her heartbeat because I was terrified it would stop while I blinked. I am not letting you walk in there and treat her like a lock to pick just because you're impatient for an answer."

"I am not impatient, I am trying to save her life—"

"Then find another way." Azriel's voice had gone hard and contemptuous, nothing brotherly left in it at all.

"I don't care what title you carry, Rhysand. If you take one more step toward her mind while she's this frightened, I will put you through that wall myself." His wings snapped open behind him, filling the doorway, a solid wall of shadow and membrane between you and the rest of the room. "You wait until she says yes. However long that takes."

Something flickered across Rhys's face, not fear, exactly, but a kind of startled recalibration, as if some part of him hadn't quite believed Azriel would actually turn on him until this exact moment.

He didn't back down. But he didn't push forward either, and for a long, taut second neither of them moved at all.

The room had gone dangerously still, the kind of stillness that came right before something broke.

"I'm trying to help her—"

"Then help her by staying the hell out of her head until she isn't terrified of every shadow in the room!" It came out as close to a roar as Azriel had ever let himself get inside these walls, shadows snapping out across the floor hard enough to douse the nearest lamp.

Cassian, silent until now, stepped fully into the room and put a hand flat against Azriel's chest, not shoving, just steady, an anchor. "Az. Breathe."

Azriel didn't breathe. He turned instead, and the fury in his face dissolved the second his eyes found you again, huddled and shaking and staring at all three of them like they were strangers, because to you, right now, they were.

"I'm sorry," he said, to you this time, voice cracking entirely. "I'm sorry. No one is going to touch you. No one is going to do anything you don't want, not while I'm standing here." He didn't move from between you and the others, shoulders squared like he'd plant himself there for a hundred years if that's what it took. "I don't care what I have to do, or who I have to keep out of this room. You are safe. I swear it to you on my life. Nothing will happen to you ever again."

Something in his voice cracked again on the last of it, fierce and unbearably gentle all at once, like the two things had never once been separate in him where you were concerned.

Rhys held his gaze a long moment, something not quite anger and not quite hurt passing over his face. He didn't argue further. He simply stepped back and turned for the door, his shoulder brushing hard past Azriel's on the way, deliberate, not quite forgiving.

Cassian lingered half a second longer, glancing between the two of them, then followed his brother out. The door clicked shut, and the silence that came after it was not the same silence as before. It had teeth in it now, something unspoken sitting between two males who had never once, in five hundred years, drawn a line like that between them.

Only once the footsteps had faded down the hall did the shadows around Azriel finally begin to settle. Slow. Reluctant. Like a storm choosing, grudgingly, to pass.

His wings folded back against his shoulders. The height and fury that had filled the doorway a moment ago folded down with them, and he lowered himself, slowly, deliberately, back onto his knees at your bedside, the same careful, unthreatening shape he'd held before Rhys and Cassian had ever burst through that door.

It should have frightened you more than it did, watching a male who'd just threatened to put his own brother through a wall settle so easily back into something gentle. Instead, something in you simply filed it away: whatever he was to you, he fought like that for you.

He didn't ask if you were all right. He didn't ask what you remembered, or what you'd overheard, or whether any of it had changed how afraid of him you were. He just knelt there, quiet, careful, giving you back every inch of space he'd taken up a moment ago, as if the only thing left he knew how to offer you was room to breathe and the promise not to take it.

You didn't know him. Not really, not the way the two who'd just left clearly did. But you'd heard them say his name enough times now, Az, Azriel, thrown back and forth between them like something familiar, something worn smooth from years of use, and some part of you had already started holding onto it without permission.

Something in you resisted the space he left anyway. A certainty that had nothing to do with memory at all. Some small, stubborn part of you, utterly unconvinced by your own fear, already wanted him to close that distance again.

---

a/n : 🤭 is all I have to say lmaooo

@pageezy45 @sjejejjej @theyouthfullmoon @maplesdapperthoughts @jaziona92 @lilah-asteria @chillinini @spookypersondinosaur @sunmoonsweets @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @narcissanarcissa @strange-and-unsual4 @ivy-34

krushing

THE THREE SAMURAI ⚔️ Dodgers World Series 25 Celebration

tequilamockingbird535

These three are so important to me

•18+ Adults Only

Watch Anya Live on Cam

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Six | The Slow Return | Fallow

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 2.6k

Warnings - Fear, emotional vulnerability

<- prev || series masterlist || next ->

Months passed a little slowly.

Grief didn't disappear the way stories always said it would. It didn't vanish one morning like mist in the sun. It stayed. It settled into the corners of my life, into quiet moments, into songs that reminded me of nothing and everything at once.

But it changed.

It wasn't as sharp anymore. It didn't feel like I was being torn open every time I thought about it. It was more like a bruise now, still there, still tender, but not bleeding anymore.

I started leaving the house again.

At first only with Azriel. Walks along the Sidra at night when fewer were around. Sitting on the balcony with a book I didn't really read while he worked beside me. Small steps. Quiet steps.

monchouchouu

sextape | beckett sennecke⁴⁵

beckett’s just a twitch streamer, then, he starts to dabble after dark. what he doesn’t know is that someone close to him knows too.

pairing: streamer!beckett x viewer!reader warnings: NSFW, unprotected sex, camera sex, male masturbation, reader is kind of bratty (?), not edited wc: 5.1k title is deftones obvi!

“Beckett, are you going to stream tonight?” He reads off his chat.

“Uhmmm,” his eyes dart over his monitor. He closes out his gaming screen, so all that’s left on the frame is him. “Yeah, think so. It’s been a couple days.”

idkyetxoxo

Four | A Gallery of Ghosts | The Way Back

Pairing - Eris Vanserra x reader

Word count - 2.2k

Warnings - None

<- prev || series masterlist || next ->

The last thing I expected standing in the middle of a softly lit gallery, champagne cooling between my fingers, Feyre's work stretched beautifully across every wall—was to see him.

Eris.

For a moment, I didn't understand what I was looking at.

My mind refused to place him there, refused to let him exist in this space I had quietly claimed as mine, safe, separate, untouched by everything we had stepped away from.

He was here. Across the room. Real. Unavoidable. Looking straight at me with a familiarity that made my chest tighten before I could prepare for it.

The world didn't stop.

People still moved around us, voices folding into one another, soft laughter rising and falling, glasses clinking gently as strangers admired art I could no longer focus on.

But something in me stilled completely.

mrsbarnesblog

˖˚⊹ for free

➤ summary: when your brother can't pay back to Rafe, he offers you as a deposit for the delay ➤ w/c: 2.6k ➤ warnings: angst with a hint of comfort, morally gray Rafe, class division, non-consentual kiss (nothing else happens after you ask him to stop), power imbalance, toxic family environment, substance abuse, crying and panicking ➤a/n: I don't know what this is because I came up with it in the middle of writing another fic. probably the darkest I can go because I truly can't depict Rafe as the bad guy

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shadowdaddiesclub

The Day the Spymaster Broke - END

Part 11 - Masterlist

Azriel x Reader Angst | Sacrifice | War | Slow Burn

Azriel was zoning out of the meeting once again. Even if his mind had gotten better at focusing lately, he still struggled to remain entirely present, his attention slipping through his fingers no matter how hard he tried to hold onto it. His face remained perfectly still, carved into that familiar mask of indifference, but Rhys could tell his brother was not entirely there.

Some troubles had been reported along the borders. What exactly it was, Rhys couldn’t understand. Even with intensified research, every lead seemed to end in nothing. The wards flickered sometimes, briefly and unpredictably, with no visible cause and no pattern to follow.

The High Lord did not like it.

Something stirred in the dark.

And he feared it would come back to bite Velaris again.

“Are you even listening to what I just said?” Rhys’s violet eyes locked onto Azriel’s hazel ones, sharp and unyielding.

Azriel lifted his gaze slowly, meeting it without much interest. “Of course,” he answered, holding his brother’s stare just long enough to make it believable.

“Liar,” Rhys snapped, irritation cutting through his tone.

It had been almost a year since you had walked away.

But to Azriel, it had never felt like time had passed at all.

Today was worse.

Today was Winter Solstice.

Your favorite day of the year.

He could still remember how your face would light up in the morning, how excitement seemed to live in you so naturally it became contagious. He remembered how you would drag him through the streets, ignoring his half-hearted protests, insisting on finding gifts for everyone, your fingers wrapped firmly around his wrist as if you knew he would never truly resist you.

And he never had.

Because it had mattered.

Because you had mattered.

Nothing felt like that anymore.

There was no warmth left.

Only absence.

The meeting ended without ceremony, and Azriel did not bother to say goodbye before slipping out of the room, vanishing into shadow as though he had never been there at all.

A ghost.

That was what he had become.

Even more silent, more distant, more unreachable than before.

Everyone saw it.

No one dared to push.

You were not something Azriel spoke about.

And certainly not something he would ever move on from.

Every day, the same thoughts returned, sharp and unforgiving, dragging him back to that moment, to the exact second he had let you go, to the promise he had made and failed to keep.

Azriel was shattering.

And he could feel it.

It would not take much more.

⸻

The House was alive with preparation.

Feyre had insisted this was what they needed—light, tradition, something to hold onto. Decorations had been placed everywhere, warm tones against dark wood, the scent of pine and spices filling the air while laughter echoed faintly from the kitchen.

What she did not know—

Was that Azriel had no intention of being there.

No.

He would spend his evening the way he had spent every night for months.

At the cave.

Still waiting.

Still hoping, in a way he would never admit out loud, that you would come back.

Cassian watched him from across the room, half-hidden in shadow near the window, and something in his chest tightened at the sight. He had tried everything—words, silence, anger, presence—and none of it had changed anything.

So now, sometimes, he simply went with him.

Sat beside him in the dark.

Said nothing.

Because there were no words left that would make a difference.

And tonight—

He knew better than to expect Azriel to stay.

⸻

The sun had long disappeared by the time Azriel took to the sky, the cold biting wind doing nothing to cut through the heaviness that had settled into him over the past months, because no matter how far or how fast he flew, it never truly left him.

He landed in silence.

And immediately—

Something felt wrong.

Not sharp. Not violent. But wrong in a quieter, deeper way, like the air itself had shifted just enough to unsettle something beneath his skin. The wards were not flickering tonight.

They were humming.

Low. Constant. Alive.

Azriel stilled, his shadows drifting restlessly around him, unsettled in a way he had never quite seen before, not striking, not retreating, but circling as though they were trying to understand something he could not yet grasp.

Everything looked the same.

The cave.

The stone.

The endless dark.

And yet—

It felt different.

Too still.

Too aware.

He moved toward the boulder without thinking, following the same path he had taken night after night, the ground worn familiar beneath his steps, his body falling into that same motion, that same ritual he had repeated for months.

It had never changed anything.

It wouldn’t tonight.

He sat, his gaze lifting toward the sky where the stars burned too brightly, sharp enough to make his chest ache, and for a moment he allowed the silence to settle around him, filling the space where something else should have been.

Where you should have been.

His jaw tightened.

He shouldn’t have come.

Not tonight.

And yet—

He always did.

Because some part of him refused to let go.

Lost in his thoughts, Azriel didn’t notice the shift in the air.

Not loudly.

Not suddenly.

But enough.

He rose instantly, every instinct sharpening, his shadows stirring before his mind caught up, his hand closing around Truth-Teller as his gaze cut through the dark.

Movement.

At the edge of it.

He stilled.

Waited.

Nothing.

Another ripple passed through the wards, stronger this time, closer, echoing through his chest.

And then—

The scent.

Lavender.

Soft.

Familiar.

Impossible to forget.

His heart stumbled hard enough to hurt.

“No,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face. “Not tonight.”

He had imagined this before.

Too many times.

“Azriel?”

His entire body went rigid.

That voice.

Clear.

Close.

Wrong.

Was fate truly that cruel, to give him this tonight, or was he simply hallucinating again?

“Stop,” he said quietly, his voice strained thin. “Whatever you are, stop.”

Silence followed.

Then—

“Az…?”

Closer.

Too close.

His grip tightened around his blade.

“I said stop,” he snapped, turning sharply, shadows lashing outward. “Fucking show yourself, or I will make you, coward.”

“I—It’s me.”

A hollow sound escaped him.

“It’s not,” he said, shaking his head slowly, his voice breaking. “It’s not real.”

He dragged a hand down his face, his breath uneven.

“You don’t get to sound like her,” he added more quietly, something colder slipping into his tone. “You don’t get to wear her voice like that.”

Another step echoed behind him.

He didn’t turn.

Because turning meant hoping.

And hope had already destroyed him once.

“Azriel…”

Closer.

That broke something.

A strangled breath left him as a disbelieving laugh escaped his lips, his head tipping back toward the sky as if he could anchor himself there instead.

“I’m going fucking crazy,” he muttered, the words raw, stripped of control. “That’s it. I am losing my fucking mind.”

Your voice came again.

Soft.

Real.

“Where are you?”

And his knees gave out.

He dropped heavily to the ground, Truth-Teller slipping from his grasp and hitting the stone with a dull sound, his hands coming up to his face as if he could block it all out, as if refusing to see would make it stop, as if denying it might spare him from whatever cruelty this was.

Had he ever been brought this low before?

“This isn’t real,” he breathed, his voice cracking under the weight of it. “This is not real, Cauldron… don’t fucking do this to me.” His breath hitched. “I can’t— I can’t fucking do this again.”

Silence settled.

His shadows stilled.

And he didn’t see the darkness shift.

Didn’t see it part.

“What isn’t real?” you asked softly.

Slowly—

Too slowly—

Azriel lowered his hands from his face.

And froze.

You.

Standing there.

Real.

Unmoving.

Watching him.

His breath left him entirely.

“Y/N…” he whispered.

“Yes,” you said gently. “I’m here.”

He stared at you like looking too long might break the illusion, his gaze searching, dissecting, trying to find the flaw that would prove this wasn’t real.

“You’re not here,” he said, his voice low, controlled, fragile beneath it. “You can’t be.”

“I am here.”

“No,” he repeated, sharper now, pushing himself back to his feet, putting distance between you instead of closing it. “No, you’re not.”

“I watched you leave,” he went on, the words dragged from somewhere deeper than he could contain. “I watched you walk into that thing and disappear—”

His voice cracked.

“You don’t come back from that.”

You stepped closer anyway.

“You’re shaking,” you said softly.

“I’ve been doing that for months.”

You closed the distance.

“If this is a trick,” he said, quieter now, something dangerous threading through his voice, “if some demon is using your face—”

“I’m here,” you cut him off.

No hesitation.

No flicker.

Just truth.

His shadows drifted toward you, slow and cautious, as if they were the only part of him willing to test reality, to decide what he could not bring himself to accept.

Azriel’s gaze snapped to them.

Something shifted.

Something cracked.

Slowly—

He stepped forward.

Closing the distance between you.

His hand lifted.

Hovered inches from your face.

Didn’t touch.

Couldn’t.

Because if you disappeared—

“If you’re not real,” he murmured, his voice barely holding together now, “I will break.”

“I am real.”

And finally—

He chose.

His hand closed the distance.

He touched you.

Warm.

Solid.

There.

Reality didn’t break.

You didn’t disappear.

And everything inside him shattered.

His hand tightened instantly, like he thought you might still slip away.

“You’re here…” he whispered, shock written plainly across his face, raw and unguarded in a way you had never seen before.

And then he pulled you into him.

Hard.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, his face burying into your neck, breathing you in like something he had been starved of for months, his hands moving over you, never settling, never still, as if he needed to confirm it again and again, as if touching you once would never be enough.

You held him just as firmly.

And then—

You felt it.

His shoulders shaking.

Azriel was crying. Tears slid down his cheeks, warm against your skin as they reached your throat, his face pressed into you as if he couldn’t bear to look, as if even now he feared that if he did, you might disappear.

So he stayed there.

And he wept.

“Az…” you murmured, your hand moving into his hair. “What’s going on?”

He didn’t answer.

You tried to pull back.

His hand stopped you instantly.

“Don’t.”

“Azriel,” you insisted more softly, guiding his face up, forcing him to look at you.

His eyes were red.

Unraveled.

And you didn’t understand why.

“I was only gone for a few days,” you said quietly. “Why are you—”

“A few days?” he repeated, something sharp breaking through, his hands coming to your shoulders, gripping you like he needed you to stay exactly where you were. “It’s been almost a year.”

The world tilted, and you would have fallen if he hadn’t been holding you so tightly.

“What?”

“The battle ended months ago, Y/N…” he said, his voice raw. “I came back here every night. I thought if I stopped—it meant you weren’t coming back.”

Your breath caught.

“Where did you go?” he asked, finally.

You softened.

“I crossed the Dark Realm,” you said quietly. “The cave wasn’t just a place… it was a threshold. A gate. And when I stepped through it, something recognized me.”

Azriel stilled.

“It wasn’t empty. It was alive. It exists everywhere at once.”

Your fingers curled slightly.

“And it knew me.”

Silence.

“It was breaking,” you continued. “Collapsing. Reaching. Trying to survive. That’s why it came here—it thought I was in danger.”

His breath faltered.

“And weirdly,” you admitted softly, “it felt like… home.”

That hit.

“But I understood something then,” you continued. “It didn’t need to take me.”

Your hand pressed to his chest.

“It needed me to choose it.”

A breath.

“And I didn’t.”

“I stayed long enough to anchor it. And now it doesn’t have to reach anymore… at least, not for now.”

The darkness shifted at your feet.

Calm.

Obedient.

“And now I can walk between them.”

Azriel stared at you.

“And what does that make you?”

“I don’t belong to it.”

A pause.

“I don’t belong here either.”

Silence.

“I don’t belong to any world.”

Then—

“But I am free.”

His jaw tightened slightly.

You stepped closer.

No distance left.

Your hand rested over his heart.

“And all I could think about over there was you,” you said softly. “I knew I had to stay to repair the damage, but I was counting every second to get back to you. The darkness chose me for what I am… and you did too.”

Your hand lifted to his face.

Gentle.

Certain.

“I was so scared to tell you the truth… but I had time to think. Maybe less than you, it seems,” a faint breath of a smile, “but enough.”

Your thumb brushed his cheek.

“But Azriel…”

Your voice softened.

“I am yours, Az. You were my tether back there. You led me home.”

And so Azriel broke.

His hand came to your face, firm now, certain, pulling you into him—

And crushed his lips to yours in a deep, consuming kiss.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow.

His hand slid into your hair, holding you there, anchoring you to him, while the other pulled you closer, eliminating every inch of space between you, his touch moving restlessly from your back to your waist as if he needed to feel you everywhere at once.

You met him just as fiercely, your hands gripping him, grounding him, holding him like you had no intention of ever letting go.

The kiss deepened, broke only by breath, then found itself again, slower now but no less intense, no less consuming.

“I love you,” he breathed against your lips. “I am yours too. I have always been yours.”

He kissed you again.

And again.

Until breathing forced the smallest space between you.

But even then—

Neither of you stepped back.

Your forehead rested against his.

Your hands still anchored to him.

And then—

You felt it.

The shift.

The sky.

The stars.

Brighter.

Colder.

Familiar.

“Az…” you murmured softly, lifting your head as snow began to fall against your skin.

He didn’t let go.

Not even for a second.

“Yeah?”

“Is it solstice?”

He stilled.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “It is. And you’re here… I will never have a better gift than this.”

His hold tightened.

And he kissed you again.

Slower.

Deeper.

Not out of desperation this time—

But with the quiet, unshakable certainty that nothing would separate you again.

“Are you staying…?” he asked, softer now.

“I am staying,” you answered. “I’ll have to go back sometimes, but—” you gestured lightly to the darkness at your feet, “I have little spies now. They’ll tell me when I’m needed.”

Azriel looked at you, still not entirely believing you were here, real, within reach.

He exhaled slowly.

“Then we have all the time in the world,” he murmured.

And his mouth found yours again.

This time slower.

Deeper.

Certain.

A promise.

That neither of you were letting go.

---

A/n : Thank you to everyone who read this story !!! I hope you enjoyed it. I might write an epilogue for this one ! Plus, I already have an idea for a one shot hihi, stayyy tuned !

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shadowdaddiesclub

The Rescue

Azriel x reader Hurt/comfort - Angst

When you go missing behind Hybern's lines, Azriel doesn't need the word to know what you are to him. The shadowsinger goes full rage mode to bring home what belongs to him.

Azriel hadn't slept in two days.

He wouldn't have called it sleep even if he'd tried. Not with your scent going cold on a jacket he refused to let anyone move from the war table. Not with the shadows themselves seeming restless, curling and snapping at his heels like they, too, couldn't settle.

Somewhere behind Hybern's lines, in a camp his spies had barely confirmed and couldn't yet locate, you were his one unbearable thought, over and over, a wound that wouldn't close because he didn't know how deep it went.

"You need to eat something," Cassian said, for the third time that hour, sliding a plate toward him that Azriel didn't look at.

"I need a location."

"We're getting one," Rhys said, calm in the way that meant he was working very hard to sound calm. "Az. Look at me."

Azriel didn't. He couldn't. If he looked up he thought something in him might come apart in front of both of them, and he didn't have that to give right now, not when every piece of him needed to stay sharp enough to be useful.

"You're no use to her half-mad," Rhys said, quieter now. "You know that better than anyone. Going in blind gets people killed. Gets her killed."

"Don't you think I know that." Azriel's hands curled into fists on the table, knuckles white. "You think I don't feel every second she's out there? It's not just worry, Rhys, it's wrong, something in me is wrong, like a piece of me is missing and I can't—"

He cut himself off, jaw clenched, but it was too late. Rhys and Cassian exchanged a look over his bowed head, quick and wordless, the kind neither of them would have bothered hiding a year ago.

Neither of them said anything else about it. The silence stretched a beat too long, taut with everything unsaid, until Azriel couldn't stand to sit inside it any longer.

"Then find her!" The words tore out of him, sharp enough that Cassian actually flinched, his fist coming down on the table hard enough to crack the wood beneath it. For a moment fury was the only thing holding him upright, black and consuming, aimed at everything and nothing, at Hybern, at the map, at his own uselessness standing here instead of out there.

Then it broke, just as fast as it had risen, and what was left underneath was worse. "I can't. I can't sit here and do nothing while she—" His voice cracked clean through, low and raw, nothing like him at all, and he didn't finish it. He didn't have to. No one in that room could remember Azriel unraveling out loud about anything, and yet here he was, hands braced on the splintered table, shaking too hard to hide it, saying more with his silence than he ever had with his voice.

Cassian's hand landed on his shoulder, heavy and steadying, and said nothing more. There was nothing left to say.

Azriel didn't answer that. Couldn't. He'd never said the word out loud, not once, not even alone in the dark where no one could hear him say it, and it was clawing its way up his throat now regardless of whether he wanted it to.

He barely registered the next hour. Fragments only: Mor's voice near the door, the map dissolving into hurried coordinates, his own shadows dragging themselves back to him at last, reeking of stone and rust and the copper tang of your blood. They whispered a place to him, finally, a name scratched into the corner of Hybern's territory, and it was enough. It had to be enough.

Rhys caught his arm before he could vanish into the dark, and for once there was nothing calm left in his face at all.

"Bring her home, Az." Rhys said it quiet and fierce, every year of their friendship packed into three words.

Azriel didn't answer. He didn't need to. He was already gone.

The camp reeked of tallow smoke and wet stone, Hybern's banners hanging limp somewhere above the earthworks. Azriel came down out of the dark like something the night itself had been dreading, and for one suspended second he simply stood in the doorway of the holding tent and looked at you, and something in his chest didn't break so much as stop.

You were slumped against a post, wrists bound above your head, one eye swollen shut, your shirt torn and dark with more blood than a person should lose and still be breathing. Your skin had gone pale under the bruising, lips cracked, head hanging like it cost too much to hold up.

But your chest still rose. Still fell. He fixed on that, on the rise and fall of it, because it was the only thing keeping him upright himself.

He hadn't even crossed the threshold when he heard boots approaching from the path behind him, unhurried, almost bored. A soldier shouldered past him into the tent without so much as a glance, chain looped over one fist, already reaching for something laid out on the table, a blade, a brand, it didn't matter what. He was already reaching for the next thing he meant to do to you.

Something in Azriel simply gave way.

He didn't remember crossing the tent. He remembered the man's skull under his bare hands, one on either side, and the sheer animal need to make it stop, make it end, wringing every ounce of restraint he'd ever built right out of him.

Shadow poured off him faster and darker than he had ever let it move, lashing around the soldier's throat and wrists and ankles, dragging him down and pinning him there. Then it was just his hands. No blade. No weapon. Nothing between him and the reason you were bleeding but his own strength and his own fury.

It was over in seconds. It felt like it took an hour and no time at all. When he came back to himself the man was dead on the ground, skull broken beneath his palms, blood slicking his fingers and dripping steady onto the dirt, and his hands were shaking again, for an entirely different reason.

You hadn't made a sound the whole time. Not one.

He was in front of you before his pulse had slowed at all, and everything about him changed the instant he reached for you, the same hands that had just broken bone going impossibly gentle, like you were something that might come apart if he moved too fast.

Blood still clung to his knuckles, drying tacky between his fingers, and some distant part of him hated that it was the last thing to touch you before he could get you clean. He cut the bindings with Truth-Teller, angling the blade away from your skin with a precision that had nothing to do with skill and everything to do with fear of hurting you further.

When the ropes fell away he didn't pull you to him. He gathered you instead, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other sliding beneath your knees. He lifted you like you weighed nothing at all. Like you were the most fragile thing he'd ever held in his long, long life.

"I've got you," he murmured, easing you against his chest by degrees, watching your face the entire time for any flinch, any wince, adjusting his hold instantly at the smallest change in your breathing. He smoothed the hair back from your bruised temple with two fingers, barely a touch, reverent in a way no one alive had ever witnessed from him, not Rhys, not Cassian, not even Mor in four centuries of friendship. "Slowly. I'm going slowly. I won't hurt you, I promise, I've got you."

The male who moved through the world like a blade himself was holding you like porcelain, like something sacred, every motion measured down to the smallest fraction he could manage.

The second he had you settled fully against him, safe, held — you broke.

Not loudly. You didn't have the strength left for loud. Just silent tears, spilling fast and endless down a face too bruised to show much else, your whole body shaking with the effort of holding them in even now, even safe, like some part of you still didn't believe it was allowed to stop being strong.

"I'm here," he said, voice wrecked, pressing his mouth to your hair, to your temple, anywhere he could reach that wasn't hurt. "I'm here. I got you. I'm not letting go."

You turned your face into his throat instead of answering, and he felt every silent sob against his skin like a blow.

"I didn't tell them anything, Az," you finally whispered, so faint he had to lean in to catch it. Your fingers found the front of his jacket, closing around the fabric with what little strength you had left. "I didn't break."

He pulled back only far enough to look at you, at the pride flickering somehow through the wreckage of your face, like that was the one thing you needed him to know before anything else, more than the pain, more than the fear still shaking through you.

"Oh, sweetheart." The words came out rough, worn thin, entirely too soft for a male whose hands were still slick with what he'd just done. "I know. I know you didn't. You never would have."

"I wasn't scared," you breathed, though the tremor in your voice said otherwise, said everything.

"My brave girl," he murmured, voice splintering on the words, and pressed his forehead to yours, shadows curling tight and close around you both like they could shield you from the memory of the last hours if they just held on hard enough.

You just held on, fingers still fisted in his jacket, forehead still pressed to his, as he rose in one smooth motion, already scanning the tent flap, already listening for boots that weren't his.

He didn't have long, Hybern's camp would notice the silence soon enough, and he moved fast even as he held you like glass, shadows sweeping ahead of them to smother torchlight, to muffle sound, clearing a path out of the dark before either of you had to think about it.

Twice he froze mid-stride, shadows flattening against the earthworks as a patrol passed close enough to hear breathing, and both times he angled his body between you and the open air without seeming to decide to at all, like it wasn't a choice so much as instinct. By the time the wards of the camp fell away behind them and he finally broke into open sky, his heart was still hammering, though nothing in the world could have made him admit that out loud.

"I'm taking you home, love," Azriel murmured against your hair, voice rough with everything he wasn't letting himself say outright. "Wherever I am, that's where you belong now." The words came out low, unguarded, more than he meant to give away, and neither of you was steady enough yet to call him on it.

Somewhere over the tree line, your grip on his jacket went slack, and he knew, without needing to check, that you were gone under.

The townhouse door didn't open. It exploded inward, torn off one hinge as Azriel didn't so much land as crash through the threshold, wings still half-spread, shadows boiling off him in every direction and swallowing every lamp in the front hall at once. A vase shattered against the wall. Wood splintered underfoot. He was already moving, already shouting, before the door had even finished swinging on its ruined hinge behind him.

"MADJA!" His voice tore through the quiet halls, raw and cracking, nothing like the male who moved through this house on silent feet, who never raised his voice for anything. "MADJA, NOW! I need her now!"

He didn't wait for the echo to die before he was shouting again, a second time when no answer came fast enough, a third when he still didn't hear footsteps, some ragged, unraveling part of him convinced that if he stopped shouting for even a second, it would mean he'd given up.

Rhys and Cassian came down the stairs at a dead run, half-dressed, Cassian's shirt still hanging open, and neither of them slowed at the sight of Azriel with you in his arms, they just moved faster. Cassian was shouting orders before he'd even reached the bottom step, barking for hot water, for linens, for someone to send word to Madja now.

Rhys crossed the hall in three strides, gripping his shoulder hard, steadying him, though nothing about the moment felt steady at all. Mor was already gone, winnowed out to fetch the healer herself.

The rest of the house erupted right behind them. A door slammed open somewhere above, more feet pounding down the stairs two and three at a time. Nuala came flying out of the kitchen with a lit candle still in hand, wax spattering the floor behind her. Somewhere a glass shattered. Someone was shouting for towels, someone else for water, voices overlapping and tripping over each other in the dark, the whole household jolted awake and moving at once.

"Someone get her, NOW," Azriel snarled, to no one, to everyone, shouldering his way into the nearest bedroom without waiting for an answer, still cradling you, limp and unmoving, your head lolling against his chest with none of the strength left to hold itself up, like you might shatter against his own urgency, the whole house in motion around him, doors banging, feet pounding, his family scrambling to keep pace with a fear that had no shape yet, only speed.

He laid you down on the bed like it cost him something, like every inch of distance between his hands and your skin was a small betrayal, and even once your head was settled against the pillows his hands wouldn't stay still, hovering over you, touching your jaw, your throat, your wrist, as if he couldn't decide which part of you needed him most and so tried to hold all of it at once.

"Stay with me," he said, low, urgent, voice fraying at the edges. "Stay with me, sweetheart, come on, look at me, come on—"

You didn't answer. You hadn't answered in longer than he wanted to think about, your face slack and pale against the pillow, your breathing shallow but steady, at least, steady enough that he clung to that single fact like a lifeline, repeating it to himself under his breath, steady, she's steady, she's still breathing, like it might stop being true the moment he stopped saying it.

Madja swept in with Mor close behind her, already rolling her sleeves, already assessing the damage with the practiced eye of someone who'd seen far worse than this and survived worse still. "Azriel. I need room to work."

He didn't move.

"Azriel." Sharper now. "I can't help her with you hovering over every inch of her like a wall."

"I'm not in your way."

"You are exactly in my way." Madja's eyes flicked, not unkindly, to where his hand was still fused to your jaw. "Let me see her ribs. Let me see what they did to her wrists. I promise you, I am not going to hurt her worse than she already is."

His jaw worked. For a moment it looked like he might actually argue with a healer three centuries his senior, might plant himself at your side like a second spine and refuse to be moved by anything short of a direct order.

That order came in the form of two sets of hands.

"Az." Cassian's voice, low, careful, right before he and Rhys took an arm each and hauled him bodily back from the bed. Azriel fought it, snarling, shadows lashing out toward both of them before some last shred of reason clamped down and stopped him from actually hurting either of his brothers.

"Let her work. Let her work, you're going to break her ribs worse holding on like that."

"Get off me," he snarled, teeth bared, shadows spiking off him in every direction, nothing left in his voice but raw animal warning.

"Listen to me." Rhys's grip didn't loosen, arm locked hard across Azriel's chest, voice low and even despite the effort it clearly cost him to hold on. "I know you're not thinking straight right now. I know. But you have to let Madja touch her, Az. You have to let her work. You can hate us for it after."

Azriel strained against them for one more heartbeat, every muscle in him screaming to get back to your side, and then, all at once, the fight went out of him. He sagged between his brothers like something had been cut, chest heaving, eyes never once leaving your face even from three feet away.

When he finally spoke his voice had gone somewhere Rhys and Cassian had never heard it go before, cracked open, stripped of every wall he'd ever built, nothing left to hide behind. "I can't lose her. I didn't have time with her." It came out small, almost childlike, nothing like a warrior who'd just crushed a man's skull with his own hands. "Not enough time. I needed more time."

Something wet caught in his throat, and he pressed the heel of his hand hard against his eyes, furious with himself for it, unable to stop it either.

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a look over his bowed head and eased their grip, though neither of them stepped far.

Madja, wisely, didn't waste the opening. She worked fast, probing your ribs with careful hands, checking your pulse, lifting one eyelid and then the other with a frown that deepened by the second, while Azriel stood frozen between his brothers, hands opening and closing at his sides, aching to be back at your side and not trusting himself yet to go there gently.

"Two ribs broken, maybe a third," Madja murmured, moving to your wrists next, tsking softly at the raw, rope-burned skin beneath the deeper marks scored into it. "That, I can fix. That, time and salve will handle." She straightened, wiping her hands on her apron, her expression giving nothing away yet. "Let her rest. Sleep is the best thing for her right now."

"Why isn't she waking up?"

"She's been through a great deal, Azriel. Give it time." Madja glanced past him to where Rhys, Cassian, and Mor still hovered in the doorway, none of them having moved an inch since they'd first crowded in behind him. "The rest of you, out. She needs quiet." Her eyes flicked to Azriel, still hovering close, and something in her expression softened, understanding written into it in a way she didn't bother explaining to the others. "He stays."

Rhys didn't argue. He gripped Azriel's shoulder once, wordless, and steered Cassian out ahead of him before he could protest. Mor lingered a moment longer in the doorway, something soft and worried in her face, before she too slipped out and pulled the door most of the way shut behind her, leaving it cracked just enough that none of them would be far.

Then it was just the two of you.

Azriel didn't move from that spot at your bedside, not once, not even as the hours bled past and your breathing stayed shallow and even and your eyes stayed closed. He just sat there in the low lamplight, watching you breathe, memorizing the rhythm of it like he was terrified it might stop the second he looked away.

"I'm here, love," he said quietly, to a room that couldn't hear him. "I'm staying. Just, please, come back."

The hours passed like that, in silence, in lamplight, in the small, endless proof of your breathing. Somewhere past midnight Nuala came and went with fresh bandages and a look she didn't voice. Somewhere after that the candle guttered low, and Azriel didn't move to relight it, content to sit in the dark with your hand in his.

Sleep never came for him. He didn't want it to.

Azriel simply watched the night bleed slowly toward morning, waiting for a sign that didn't come.

---

MAIN TAGLIST : @sjejejjej @theyouthfullmoon @maplesdapperthoughts @jaziona92 @lilah-asteria @chillinini @spookypersondinosaur @sunmoonsweets @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @narcissanarcissa

shadowdaddiesclub

MASTERLISTS (ALL SERIES)

AZRIEL x READER SERIES

Bond and Unbound / 28 chapters / Finished

Fifty years of silence. Fifty years locked behind iron and fear. When Azriel — the Shadowsinger of the Night Court — lands on your forgotten shore, the world shifts. You were a secret buried by blood and magic, but he looks at you as if you were something worth saving. In his arms, you remember what it means to breathe. In his shadow, something ancient inside you begins to stir — a darkness that knows his name.

After the Silence / 14 chapters / Finished

After feeling the faint tug of a mating bond between you and Azriel, you panic and leave the Night Court without a word, refusing to risk trapping him in something he might not feel. Decades later you return to Velaris and step into the House of Wind to find the world has moved on without you—and Azriel looks like he has, too.

Carved from the Same Edge / 10 chapters / Finished

When the Night Court’s spymaster meets his match, the shadows themselves start to misbehave. You’re a lethal shadowsinger with feral, wild-hearted shadows and a mouth too sharp for your own good. Azriel’s shadows are calm, obedient… until you arrive in Velaris on a long-term assignment and his control starts to crack. Forced proximity. Relentless banter. A threat outside the borders. And one spymaster who can’t decide if he wants to throttle you or kiss you.

What the Shadows Want / 7 chapters / Finished

When a political mission pulls you into dangerous territory, Azriel finds himself unable to keep the careful distance he’s maintained for years. He watches too closely, lingers too long, tries to protect without ever crossing the line — until the line starts to blur, and you finally lose it.

Truths That Don't Speak / Finished / 20 chapters

Azriel returns from a long mission to find you in the House of Wind—as if you’ve always belonged there. Your power allows you to sense emotions and detect truth, but with Azriel, everything goes quiet. He’s unreadable. It’s unsettling, and strangely refreshing. You’re loud, sassy, and painfully observant; he’s reserved, restrained, and made of shadows. Azriel is absolutely terrified of you—and of how easily you fit into his home. He doesn’t know who you are or why you’re here, and that uncertainty unsettles him. But one thing is clear: you’re a mystery he’s already determined to unravel.Yet beneath the banter and unease, you begin to realize that you share far more than either of you expected.

The Day The Spymaster Broke / Finished

You were never meant to be theirs.But they kept you anyway.Raised by the Night Court. Secretly loved by the Shadowsinger. Bound to a darkness older than Prythian itself. When the gate opens and the world begins to fall, you make the ultimate sacrifice — stepping into oblivion to save Velaris.But the darkness was never meant to destroy the city.It was meant to bring you home.

Unraveling the Shadowsinger / Finished / 18 chapters

Your power was never meant to exist.And yet—it’s the only thing that can silence the Shadowsinger.

When the Shadowsinger... - Collection of moments - ONGOING

A small collections of moments between Azriel and Reader. Some take place before the mating bond, some after. All can be read as a standalone.

The Things We Left Unsaid - Finished

Twenty years ago, you left Velaris with no intention of ever returning. When Rhysand's wedding invitation arrives, you convince yourself you can endure one night beneath familiar stars. One night among old friends. One night in the same room as the male you spent centuries loving and decades trying to forget. You were dead wrong.

AZRIEL X READER ONE SHOTS

What the Shadows Know : Winter Solstice one-shot (angst + comfort, slow burn, emotionally intense)

Word count : 5.8K

She’s always felt him watching from the edges. He’s always left before she could ask him to stay. On Winter Solstice, the shadows stop listening.

Snowlight and Shadow : Winter Solstice one-shot (fluff + comfort)

Word count : 5K

Solstice morning turns flour-dusted and dangerous when Azriel finds you in his shirt—and by nightfall, the River House reminds you what family truly feels like.

Not a Damsel in Distress : Action, protective Az, reckless intimacy Part 1 / Part 2

Reader goes solo on a mission she shouldn’t have. Azriel finds her before she can make it worse. Even with enemies watching, they can’t keep their hands off each other. Fire and shadows turning danger into background noise.

What Settles between Us : soft angst / hurt comfort

Decades into a quiet, loving bond, you and Azriel have settled into something safe—routine, familiar, unquestioned. But when his missions stretch longer and his presence grows thinner, the silence between you starts to ache. Watching others be chosen loudly forces you to confront what’s been missing. Sometimes love doesn’t disappear—it just needs to be seen again.

Blinfolded : banter / mates Part 1 / Part 2

Azriel has been watching you train for weeks, and when he finally steps into the ring, things get a lot more intense.

Uninvited Part 1 / Part 2 / End

Azriel x reader Fluff / banter / slow burn

Azriel has a favorite healer when it comes to treating his injuries. The problem is, sometimes he doesn't know what to say to show up. A fluffy, banter-filled one-shot about bad excuses, and a confession that slips out before either of them means it to

If you have any request, drop it in my ask ! 🌟 MAIN TAGLIST : @sjejejjej @theyouthfullmoon @maplesdapperthoughts @jaziona92 @lilah-asteria @chillinini @spookypersondinosaur @sunmoonsweets @angel-graces-world-of-chaos @narcissanarcissa

idkyetxoxo

Five | What Remains | Fallow

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 2.3k

Warnings - Emotional Distress

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Solstice had always been loud.

Loud with laughter, loud with arguments over stupid games, loud with music and too much wine and Cassian trying to outdrink everyone and failing every single year.

Solstice meant warmth and family and too many presents and Mor decorating everything in sight whether anyone wanted her to or not. Solstice meant happiness. Solstice meant us.

Which was exactly why I didn't want to go.

"I'm not going," I said quietly, not looking up from where I sat at the edge of the bed, twisting the fabric of my sleeve between my fingers.

Behind me, I heard Azriel stop moving. "What do you mean you're not going?" he asked.

idkyetxoxo

Three | Lessons in Restraint | The Way Back

Pairing - Eris Vanserra x reader

Word count - 2.1k

Warnings - None

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My life, over the last week, had settled into something I didn't recognise.

Not chaos. Not even heartbreak in the way people describe it, loud, consuming, impossible to ignore.

It was quieter than that. A constant, dull ache that sat just beneath everything I did. Present in every moment, every breath, every thought that didn't quite finish the way it used to.

The absence of Eris Vanserra didn't feel dramatic. It felt wrong.

Like something essential had been removed from my life without warning, and everything left behind was still trying to function like it hadn't.

And the worst part?

mrsbarnesblog

˖˚⊹ small favors

➤ summary: you decided to test a theory that asking for rafe’s help might push him to finally make a move on you ➤ w/c: 3.5k ➤ warnings: kiiinda obsessive/softie rafe, sexual tension, making out, a bit suggestive at the end

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•18+ Adults Only

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monchouchouu

i loved the beckett fam one u did, can i req a beckett one where he js sees reader being so nice with his family (like little cousins) and he’s like, ‘wow i want u to have my kid’ but not in like a freaky way just fluff 🫰🏻 tysm and i love ur writing #morebeckettappreciation

You were so frantic the morning of. You kept splaying your hands over your dress, trying to get rid of the imaginary wrinkles. You fixed your hair about a dozen times, constantly asking him if you were good enough for his family, and a whole bunch of other worries that he had to soothe out of you. It’s your first time meeting his extended family: aunts, uncles, grandparents, and little cousins two, three times removed. Sometimes he wished he could show you how he sees you, make you put on the rose colored glasses, because it’s really hard to describe the immensity of his feelings. He’s never had anything so precious in his life, and it’s starting to make him think about the future for the first time ever.

monchouchouu

hula girl | beckett sennecke⁴⁵

you’ve tried to ignore him, but you can’t evade the mess of tan gangly limbs forever. he’s good at getting under your skin… among other things.

pairing: surfer!reader x surfer!beckett warnings: nsfw, 18+, oral f!receiving (not super in depth, only one scene!), cursing, use of y/n once, beckett is annoying wc: 7.0k

a/n: kind of enemies to lovers, kind of not. FORGIVE me the ending is rushed + they end up on the ice LOL. i barely edited this! i wanted to make it longer but i hit a rut sorrryyy

title is hula girl by the neighborhood :)

It seemed like every day for the past decade, you heard his name.

Sennecke, Sennecke, Sennecke…

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