Take Me Away

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(Photos courtesy of Pinterest)

Summary: Feyre is introduced to the last member of the Inner Circle and see’s a new side of Azriel that changes everything.

Author’s Note: Based in ACOMAF. No warnings and no further comments apart from to say I am obsessed with this man.

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Dinner at the House of Wind was a quiet, uneasy thing.

Feyre sits at the long mahogany table, her fingers tracing the rim of her goblet, eyes flicking toward the male at the head of the table - Rhysand, the High Lord of the Night Court - but trying so very hard not to look for too long.

Rhysand is distracted tonight. His gaze keeps darting toward the window, toward the city beyond, as though he’s waiting for something - or someone. Even Mor seems to notice, though she hides her curiosity behind a playful smirk and another sip of wine as Cassian continues to boisterously regale a tale of how he managed to knock Azriel on his ass during training once.

Azriel doesn’t say much, as normal. His shadows whisper faintly, coiling around his shoulders like ribbons of smoke. His hazel eyes remain fixed on Rhys - assessing, patient - he seemed to have picked up on Rhys’s restlessness too.

And then Rhys’s head tilts, a small smile tugging at his mouth. Without explanation, he rises, his chair scraping softly against the floor. “Don’t eat without me,” he says lightly, wings rustling as he vanishes into the night with a ripple of darkness.

Feyre blinks. “Where did he-“

“Who knows, but I’m not waiting for him to eat!” Cassian grins as he reaches forward toward a plate of meat.

But before she can ask more, the doors open again at the far side of the room.

Rhys strides in, laughter in his eyes. And beside him - gods, beside him walks a High Fae woman of such dark, yet illuminating beauty the air itself seems to pause as she walks in.

Her hair is a dark, silken brown, falling in waves over a silver-threaded gown that catches the candlelight like spun starlight. There’s an elegant grace to her posture, warmth in her eyes - and something else. Power. The faint shimmer of magic trails behind her, not flame, not light - starlight, soft and shimmering, dancing over her skin and making her almost glow fainting.

Feyre’s chest tightens unexpectedly.

Rhys guides her in with his hand at her back, pride shining in every line of him. He looks…happy. Almost boyish, in a way Feyre has never seen. He looks down at her, leans down to whisper in her ear as they approach the table and smiles so warmly that Feyre has to look away.

Jealously coils low in Feyre’s stomach - hot, sharp and stupid. She sips her drink, trying to keep her emotions at bay and act nonchalant. She had no reason to feel jealous, she was to marry Tamlin, but she couldn’t shake the feeling as it settled in her gut.

Rhys leans forward as they come to a stop at the head of the table, where Feyre then takes note of the empty chair to Rhys’s left, as she sits in the chair direct to his right. He clears his throat, “Feyre, this is (Y/N). Our court emissary. The reason half the other courts don’t currently want me dead.”

Feyre swallows harshly, before opening her mouth to greet her, but the words die as Azriel moves.

The Spymaster, usually silent and unreadable, is suddenly gone from his chair. One heartbeat he was sitting in his seat, the next he’s across the room, shadows scattering like startled birds.

He catches her - you - around the waist, sweeping you off your feet with such fierce, unguarded relief that it steals the air from the room. Your twinkling laugh echoes around the room before it’s smothered by his lips crashing onto yours.

It isn’t gentle. It’s desperate, reverent, weeks of longing pulled into a single breathless moment. His wing flare slightly behind him, and the starlight in your hair twinkles as his shadows swirl around you both in delight, before twining through your hair restlessly yet playfully.

You laugh again as you part, now breathless. “You’re supposed to let me say hello first in front of guests.”

Azriel’s answering smile is small, stunned but beaming - a look Feyre had not seen on him before. “You’re back early.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” you stated.

Behind them, Rhys is smirking like a cat, mischief in his eyes.

“And what a surprise it is!” Mor cheers, as the next moment she too has left her seat in favour of greeting you. Cassian also follows.

Feyre’s pulse stutters at the clear happiness and excitement that sweeps around the room at your arrival. She looks from Rhys’s knowing grin to Azriel’s rare, blazing expression and feels foolish for the twist of jealousy still sitting low in her belly. Even Amren looks somewhat pleased, but remains in her seat swirling the blood red liquid inside around.

Rhys’s gaze finds her then - sharp, amused and impossibly kind. You thought she was mine, his expression says.

Aloud, he adds, “Feyre, this is one of my oldest friends and most trusted allies. And Azriel’s wife if his greeting wasn’t too telling.”

The word lands like a spark in the room. Feyre blinks, her face warming, embarrassment curling through her chest.

Azriel doesn’t seem to notice anyone else. He’s still holding you, not letting you go even as Mor and Cassian wrap you up into warm hugs of greeting. Rhys sits before leaning back in his chair as he watches, looking entirely pleased with himself.

Dinner resumed - eventually.

After the initial shock of Azriel’s unabashed display of affection, the room had shifted into a warm hum of laughter and conversation. The missing piece now back in place. Even Feyre, still reeling slightly, found herself smiling when Cassian teased Azriel about ‘making a scene’.

But Feyre couldn’t help noticing it - how Azriel had changed.

The shadows that always seemed to curl tightly around him now moved lazily, softer, more at ease. His shoulders were no longer tense. His expression - that usual mask of cool observation - had been replaced by something alive, something human.

His hand never strayed far from yours, your hands lightly entwined as you both ate and drank with one hand. When you had to use both hands, his hand retreated under the table instead - to your thigh, Feyre thought - or thrown over the back of your chair. His fingers lightly tracing circles on your shoulder as he listened to you regale the group on your latest trip. And every time you looked at him - every time your bright eyes met his - he smiled.

Feyre had never seen Azriel smile like that.

Down the table, Mor was laughing at something you said, nearly spilling her wine as you grinned back. Feyre could see the affection between you two clearly.

And for the first time, Feyre understood what Rhys meant when he’d said they were a family.

Rhys caught her watching. His mouth curved in that small, knowing way of his, but he said nothing - just poured her another glass of wine before leaning in to whisper something into your ear that made you roll your eyes.

Feyre cleared her throat softly, glancing toward you and Azriel. “If you don’t mind me asking,” she said, voice light and hesitant, “How long have you two been together?”

Azriel’s shadows stirred, as if embarrassed on his behalf as a light pink colouring appeared at the top of his ears. But you only smiled, fingers laced with his on top of the table.

“Almost two centuries now,” you said easily. “Though I’m sure Az would argue it’s longer.”

His lips twitched. “That’s because it is.”

You laugh softly. “He counts from the day we first met. I was still living in the Hewn City, trying to convince anyone who would listen that I was qualified enough to represent the Night Court.”

“Convince me?” Rhys drawled from the head of the table. “You had me wrapped around your finger the moment you dismantled Kier’s entire argument in three sentences on why he needed additional funding for his new ballroom.”

Feyre blinked, startled. You only smiled modestly, shaking your head. “He was being dramatic.”

The table erupted in laughter, the easy kind that came from centuries of shared trust and ridiculous stories. Even Amren’s lips curved faintly.

Feyre watched it all - the teasing, the warmth, the way you leaned into Azriel’s side when he murmured something too low for anyone else to hear. And something in her chest eased.

These people - this court - were nothing like what she’d been told.

There was power here, yes. But more than that, there was belonging and family.

Feyre found herself smiling at you. “You’re the emissary, Rhys said? You handle the other courts?”

You nodded. “Mostly diplomacy, sometimes trade. I try to make sure Rhys doesn’t start a war every time someone insults his wingspan.”

“Once,” Rhys protests mildly.

“Twice,” you corrected, smirking. “You forget that Autumn Court dinner.”

Feyre laughed before she could stop herself. You turned your attention to her fully then - your gaze soft, warm as candlelight. “You’ve had to navigate enough politics yourself whilst staying in the Spring Court, haven't you?”

Feyre blinked, caught off guard by your gentle insight. “I…guess so.”

“Then you’ll fit in here,” you said simply.

Something in the way you said it - quiet, sincere - made Feyre’s throat tighten. There was no flattery in your tone, no hidden motive. Just kindness and truth.

And in that moment, watching you and Azriel share a look that glowed brighter than the stars, Feyre finally saw it - the heart of this place.

It wasn’t power or politics or even Rhysand’s charm that held it together. It was all of you. The bonds between friends, between lovers, between souls who have chosen each other despite everything the world has taken from them.

For the first time, Feyre thought she might choose them, too.

When she glanced at Rhysand again, his eyes were already on her - quiet, watchful, as though he could hear the shift in her heart.

Feyre only nodded once, more to herself than him.

She would help them. Whatever it took. Against Hybern, against the King, against the world itself - she would stand with the Night Court.

(Photos courtesy of Pinterest)

Summary: The High Lord invited you to dinner after you discover your mate is Azriel, the infamous Shadowsinger. Will it be a disaster, or will it lead to a second date?

Authors Note: This can be read as a standalone, but read part one for further context. The response I had to the first part blew me away! I hope the second part lives up to your expectations. Hopefully you'll find some tooth-rotting fluff and first date shenanigans below!

You took a deep breath.

The house looked just like any other on the street.

You would never have guessed that this particular town house was home to the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court.

And apparently, your mate now too.

You hesitated at the front gate, nerves churning in your gut.

This was the last chance you had to flee.

You grimaced, replaying your earlier conversation.

-

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"You are absolutely lying."

"Would I lie about something like this?"

Your friend narrowed her eyes at you, assessing.

You waited patiently for several moments.

You jumped when abruptly she slammed her hands down on the table.

"What the fuck!" She screamed.

"I know!"

"No, no, this is insane," she said, half-laughing now. "This is the most ridiculous, romantic, chaotic thing I've ever heard in my life."

"It's not romantic," you groaned. "It was humiliating. I practically tackled him in public. In front of the High Lord."

Your friend just shrieked with laughter.

"He invited me to dinner...Well technically the High Lord did."

Her eyes lit up instantly. "You're going."

"I don't know if I should," you admitted.

"Let me get this straight," she said. "You accidentally meet your mate-who, by the way, is one of the most powerful and mysterious males in Prythian-and your response is to...avoid him?"

"I'm not avoiding him, I just-"

"Just what?"

"I just don't know what to say to him!" You insisted. "What do you even say to someone when that happens? 'Hi, sorry I fell on you, I guess we're bonded forever now?'"

She snorted. "Honestly? Yes."

You groaned.

She leaned forward again, more serious now.

"Listen," she said. "You don't have to have it all figured out tonight. You don't have to decide anything big. You just have to go."

You hesitated.

"You both deserve to see what this is," she added. "Before you run from it."

Dammit, you knew she was right.

-

"I can't believe I'm doing this," you murmured.

You steeled yourself, pushing open the same gate situated at the end of the path. Someone had shovelled the snow away - thank goodness - meaning you made it to the front door in one piece.

You didn't get the opportunity to knock on the door.

It immediately swung open.

And there he was.

Azriel stood in the doorway like he'd been there the entire time, waiting for you.

For a moment, neither of you say anything.

Because seeing him like this - properly, without snow and chaos and limbs everywhere - was different.

It felt like you were seeing him for the first time again.

His hair was slightly tousled, like he'd run a hand through it one too many times. Shadows curled loosely at his shoulders like quiet sentinels. And his gaze settled on you like it with a gentle fierceness that took your breath away.

"Hi," you said, because apparently that was all your brain could manage.

Brilliant. Truly eloquent.

Something in his expression softened.

"Hi," he replied.

His voice was quieter than you remembered. Or maybe everything had just been louder before.

The bond - gods - the bond flared to life now you were within inches of each other. It felt like a steady thread pulling gently between you, encouraging you to remove all distance between you, propriety be damned.

You shift your weight slightly, suddenly very aware that you were just standing there on the doorstep like an idiot.

Azriel remained standing there, almost in a trance. Like he couldn't believe you'd actually shown up.

His gaze flickered briefly over you - not in a way that felt invasive, but like he was taking you in. Confirming you were real, that this was real.

You huffed a small nervous laugh. "So...are you going to invite me in?"

Azriel's lips twitched slightly, a faint blush creeping up his neck that he tried desperately to keep at bay.

Then he stepped back, opening the door wider.

"Come in," he said.

You smiled nervously at him, trying to keep the butterflies at bay as you stepped past him into the warmth of the house.

The shift was immediate.

Soft light. Quiet voices somewhere deeper inside. The faint scent of something warm and comforting drifting through the air.

You hesitated just inside, unsure what to do with yourself.

Behind you, the door clicked shut.

You turned-

And nearly ran into him.

Again.

He'd followed close.

"Sorry," you said quickly, stepping back.

Another pause.

Gods, this was awkward.

You glanced around, then back at him, searching for something - anything - to say that didn't sound completely ridiculous.

"Nice...door," you offered.

You immediately wanted to disappear.

Azriel blinked.

Then, a quiet unexpected huff of laughter escaped him.

And just like that, something eased.

"Strong start," he said, clearly amused and teasing. "I'll be sure to tell Feyre."

You groaned softly, dragging a hand over your face. "I'm sorry, I swear I can normally form actual sentences."

"I believe you."

A beat.

"You don't have to be nervous," he murmured quietly.

"I'm not nervous," you said automatically.

He just looked at you, an eyebrow quirking slightly in disbelief.

His eyes were piercing and the most beautiful shade of hazel you'd ever seen. You could easily get lost in them. They said so much without saying anything.

You exhaled softly.

"...Okay, maybe a little," you admitted. "But it's you who should be nervous, I'm a catch."

"Well that's why I did try to catch you earlier," he said dryly.

You let out a surprised laugh. "More like you fell on me."

"I still caught you."

You bite your lip to keep your grin at bay. "Debatable."

That earned you another quiet huff of laughter - softer this time, easier and lighter.

You felt the air between you loosening by the minute.

You study him for a moment.

This male you barely knew. This male you were somehow tied to in the most permanent way possible.

"...Are you?" You asked quietly.

He tilted his head. "Am I what?"

"Nervous."

A pause.

Then-

"Yes."

The honesty of it caught you off guard.

Another small, quiet moment passed between you.

Less awkward now.

More real.

"Come on," he said after a moment, stepping slightly yo the side, gesturing deeper into the house. "They're waiting."

You made a face immediately.

His mouth twitched faintly.

You hesitate, then add, "I'll try not to tackle anyone to the ground this time."

"I'd appreciate that," he said.

"No promises."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"Good, you should be afraid of me," you retort.

Now it's Azriel's turn to try and keep his grin at bay.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, and step forward.

As you pass him, his shadows brush lightly against your arm.

Soft. Curious. Like they were greeting you.

You stilled for half a second, glancing down.

"They like you," he said quietly.

You swallowed.

"...I think I like them too."

That earned you the warmest smile yet.

When you walked further into the house, it didn't feel quite so overwhelming, because he was right there beside you.

Your pulse spikes as you feel the faintest touch to your lower back, guiding you gently through the hallway.

The voices grow louder the further into the house you walked.

You swallowed the nervous lump that formed in your throat, allowing Azriel's presence to comfort you as you reached the dining room.

As first dates went go maybe this won't be so bad after all...

Dinner had been a mistake.

You knew the moment you stepped inside the dining room.

Warm light spilled across polished floors, laughter echoing from somewhere deeper within - and standing there, in the doorway, you had the very distinct feeling of having walked straight into something far bigger than yourself.

Conversations paused. Eyes lifted. Attention shifted.

And suddenly, it was all on you.

"Ah," drawled Cassian, appearing like he'd been waiting for this exact moment, eyes gleaming with mischief. "There she is."

You froze.

Azriel remained at your side.

Not touching anymore, but close enough that you could feel him.

"They're not as bad as they seem," he murmurs quietly.

From across the room, Rhysand barked a laugh. "Don't lie to her on her first night, Az."

You swallowed.

"Welcome," a beautiful fae woman who you knew instantly as Feyre Cursebreaker, your High Lady approached with a warm smile.

You instinctively bowed your head, dropping your knee slightly in a sign of respect.

This instantly earned a bark of laugher from Cassian. "She clearly knows who's really in charge of the Night Court already."

Rhys glowers at Cassian before delivering a swift slap up the back of the head.

Great.

This was going so well already.

"Please, none of that," Feyre smiled warmly. "Make yourself at home."

You're introduced to Feyre, Mor, Amren and reacquainted with Cassian and Rhysand. Feyre's sisters, Nesta and Elain, were unable to join, but Feyre assured you they were looking forward to meeting you.

Azriel's family.

They were all incredibly welcoming, but you still had to resist the urge to turn around and walk straight back out from all the attention.

You didn't even make it to the table before it started.

"So," Cassian said, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed like he was settling in for a show, "Do you usually just go around launching yourself at people in the street, or-"

"...Only the handsome ones."

A beat.

Then Mor barked a laugh. "Oh, I like her."

Heat crept up your neck.

"I'll have you know that people consider me the most handsome out of the three of us," Cassian argued.

"Hello, most handsome High Lord in all of Pythian sitting right here," Rhys piped up.

"They only say that so you don't mist them."

"Ignore them," Azriel mumbles under his breath, as he pulls your chair out for you.

You glance at him.

"Thank you," you said softly.

His fingers brush your shoulder - just barely - before he steps back.

You sit, trying very hard to ignore the fact that he took the seat beside you. His body angled towards you as he wordlessly fills your glass up from a decanter.

Dinner is eventually served.

The conversation resumes around you - not directed at you, not entirely - but circling close enough that you were part of it whether you meant to be or not.

You caught pieces.

"...never seen him move that fast-"

"...should've seen their faces-"

Heat crept up your neck again.

You didn't look at Azriel, but you felt the shift.

The faint tension and exasperation in him.

"Careful," someone - Rhys, you thought - added, voice laced with amusement. "She might take you down if you keep talking."

"I'd like to see her try," Cassian teased, shooting you a wink across the table.

A soft ripple of laughter followed, but you immediately felt the clench in your stomach of a swarm of emotions that weren't your own.

Possessiveness. Jealousy. Annoyance.

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to lift your head.

"I don't know," you muse. "You seem like you'd be easy to trip. Bit too much ego, not enough balance."

Cassian's jaw dropped, a hint of a smile despite the jab.

Mor spit out her drink.

Rhys and Feyre burst out laughing.

Azriel sat smugly, looking at you like you'd just handed him the best early Solstice gift.

You could feel an echo of pride travelling down the bond.

"I think you'll fit right in," Amren remarked.

The teasing didn't stop there.

It ebbed and flowed around you - more at Azriel's expense than yours, though you got it by proximity alone.

It should have felt suffocating considering you had just met these people.

It didn't, that was the strange part.

The bond in your chest was a constant low hum beneath everything, offering comfort and a steady presence that you could feel. It was completely foreign to you, but now that it was there you couldn't believe you had ever lived without it.

Still, it was a lot.

Too many voices. Too many eyes.

Too many questions. Too many expectations wrapped up in something that had happened completely out of your control.

You had only met Azriel earlier that day and you had yet to fully process the sudden change in your life.

You tried to keep up, but it was steadily becoming more overwhelming.

You answered when spoken to. Smiled when it felt right. Even managed a few quiet remarks that earned soft laughter.

But it was like treading water, and eventually your arms started to tire.

You set your glass down carefully, finally drained of wine after Mor kept trying to fill it up.

"I think," you said, keeping your voice steady, "I might head off."

The room quieted slightly.

Feyre's expression softened immediately, understanding in her gaze. "Of course."

"No, stay," Cassian said, frowning slightly. "We're just getting started-"

"Cassian," Azriel cuts in, shooting him a glare.

He paused, clearly a silent conversation between the two males before he perked up, "Maybe next time then, eh sweetheart?"

You tried to ignore the low growl that appeared to come from next to you at the term of endearment.

You offered a small, apologetic smile. "I have an early start tomorrow."

That was close enough to the truth.

No one pushed, for which you were grateful.

You stood, soothing your hands down your dress slightly. "Thank you for dinner."

"You're welcome anytime," Feyre said warmly.

"I'll let you know if I need anyone else taken down," Rhys added, shooting you a cheeky grin.

You groaned softly. "I'm never escaping that, am I?"

"Nope," Cassian said immediately.

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself.

"I'll walk you home."

You shouldn't have been surprised when Azriel got to his feet alongside you.

"You don't have to," you said softly.

"I know," he said, shooting you a small smile. "I want to."

The city was quieter at this time of night.

Cool air. Soft lights reflecting off the Sidra. Couples and groups of friends meandering back and forth through the streets enjoying the evening.

You walked a little slower now, your mind more at ease away from the curiosity of Azriel's family.

You didn't want this part to end as Azriel fell into step beside you. He was a head taller than you, his presence a welcoming darkness against the stark white of the surrounding snow.

You had never felt so safe.

Silence settled between you as you walked. Not awkward. Just quiet, but not the kind that needed filling.

"I'm sorry," he said after a moment.

You glanced at him. "For what?"

"Them."

You huffed a small laugh. "They weren't that bad."

"Yes they were."

"Okay, they were a little intense," you admitted.

His mouth twitched faintly.

"They mean well," he said. "They like you."

You blinked. "Already?"

"Yes."

A warmth spreads in your chest at the thought you had made a good enough impression.

"I liked them too," you added.

It was true.

Despite feeling overwhelmed, the warm and familial embrace you'd been welcomed into by each and every one of them made you almost want to cry.

"You're very lucky."

Azriel looked to you as he replied, "I am."

You got the distinct impression he wasn't only talking about his family.

For a moment, neither of you say anything.

"Oh," you blink, coming to a sudden stop. "This is where I was coming to...earlier today."

You blush as you think back to what had transpired only a few hours earlier.

Azriel stops alongside you and looks at the small cafe you had stopped in front of. It was painted a pretty pastel colour, flower baskets hanging from the sign and delicious looking cakes and pastries in the front case.

The wind shifts slightly, brushing your hair back.

Without thinking, Azriel reaches out—

Then pauses, like he’s remembering himself.

You notice.

So you tilt your head just slightly toward him - an invitation.

His hand lifts again, gentler this time. He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, his fingers barely brushing your skin.

It’s such a small touch, but it lingers just a second longer than necessary.

Your breath catches—just a little.

Azriel clears his throat softly and lets his hand fall.

“…Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

You share a bashful smile before continuing on your journey.

You reach your door sooner than either of you would like.

Of course you do.

You turn to face him, leaning lightly against the frame.

“Well,” you say, a little too casually. “I survived my first dinner with the Inner Circle.”

“You did,” he agrees.

“Would you say that earns me a second date?”

There’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes followed by something warmer “Are you asking me?” he says.

“Maybe.”

A pause.

“I’d like that.”

You beam at him and Azriel thinks his heart may have stopped.

"Good, as I think we may be stuck together for eternity now, so you have no choice."

Azriel huffs a laugh, something deeper flickering in his gaze before saying, "...That doesn't sound like a bad thing."

Another pause. This one is heavier.

Neither of you quite sure what the next step is.

You glance at the door, then back at him.

“Thank you,” you say softly. “For tonight.”

“For them?” he asks.

“For all of it.”

His gaze lingers on you.

You both linger, still not quite moving. Still not quite ready to say goodnight.

So you tilt your head, a hint of mischief returning.

“Are you going to stand there all night, Shadowsinger?”

Azriel raises a brow.

“I could.”

“Tempting,” you admit. “But I do supposedly have that early morning.”

He huffs softly. “Of course you do.”

You smile.

And this time, you step forward first, closing the distance between you and—

You press a soft, quick kiss to his cheek.

Warm. Light. Intentional.

Azriel's freezes, his eyes can't help but flutter closed as the scent of you washes over him at your close proximity.

You pull back just enough to see it — the surprise, the way his breath catches ever so slightly.

You smile, pleased with yourself.

“Goodnight, Azriel.”

“…Goodnight,” he manages.

You turn towards your door, opening it, before pausing and glancing back over your shoulder.

A teasing glint returns to your eyes.

"Try not to fall on the way home."

And then you slip inside before he can respond, the door clicking softly shut behind you.

On the other side—

Azriel stands there. Still frozen. Still staring at the door.

His fingers lift slightly, brushing absently against the place on his cheek where you kissed him.

There's a long, quiet pause. Then, under his breath—

(Photos courtesy of Pinterest)

Authors Note: Love this request! I chose to go down a rom-com vibe, as I absolutely adore scenes like this.

The first snowfall in Velaris always made everything feel softer.

Quieter. Gentler.

The upcoming Solstice celebration usually had the residents in festive cheer, especially with the added knowledge that the High Lady's birthday was also at Solstice. Residents decorated outside their houses and storefronts, the smell of cinnamon and cranberry would waft through the markets and the Rainbow was also bustling with festive cheer and spirit.

You would have appreciated it more if you weren't currently running late.

"Gods, I'm going to be so late-" you muttered under your breath, clutching your coat tighter as you hurried down the street, boots crunching over fresh snow.

Your focus was entirely on getting across the Sidra in time, mentally running through excuses that didn't make you sound completely incompetent to your friend you were currently running late to meet.

All because of the one stubborn section of your hair at the back of your head that you could never get the annoying kink out of.

Which is precisely why you didn't see him.

You hurried down the street and turned a corner too quickly, keeping an eye on the ground to avoid any icy patches-

-and slammed straight into a wall of solid muscle.

"Oh-!"

"Shit-!"

Strong hands caught your arms on instinct, steadying you before you could fall. You were staring at a chest of black leather, a blue siphon glowing faintly. For half a second, you thought you'd be fine.

And then-

Ice.

Your foot abruptly slid out from under you.

His did too.

There was a split second of shared, horrified realisation before everything went spectacularly wrong.

You both went down in an undignified tangle - arms, legs, and wings -snow flying everywhere as you hit the ground hard.

A breath left your lungs in a rush as you landed flat on your back with a handsome stranger above you.

One hand planted beside your head. The other gripping your waist to keep from crushing you completely. His wings flared slightly, shielding you from the worst of the fall, even as snow dusted dark leathery membrane and talons.

For a moment, the world just...stopped.

You blinked up at him.

He was-

Beautiful, in a way that caught you completely off guard. Shadows curled faintly at his shoulders, like they had a mind of their own. His hazel eyes were already on yours, sharp and assessing-

And then they changed as your eyes met.

His eyes dilated. His nostrils flared. His jaw tightened.

Something deep, ancient, and unyielding snapped into place.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't soft.

It was a jolt - like something invisible had reached into your chest, zapped you and tied itself to him.

Suddenly you could feel him.

You were aware of nothing else, but him. The world faded around you. The centre of your universe was this stranger above you.

Your breath hitched.

His did too.

The shadows around him surged, then stilled - before slowly, almost reverently, drifting toward you.

Oh.

Oh.

Well, fuck-

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you spoke.

But you felt it - him - as clearly as your own heartbeat.

And judging by the way his entire body had gone rigid, the way his grip on you had tightened ever so slightly-

He felt it too.

"Well," an amused male voice drawled, "this is one way to meet someone."

The moment shattered.

You froze.

Slowly - slowly - you became aware of everything else.

The street. The snow.

And the two males standing a few feet away, both very clearly trying - and failing - not to laugh.

Your stomach dropped clean out of your body.

The High Lord of the Night Court was watching you, violet eyes gleaming with poorly concealed delight.

Beside him, a male you could only assume was the General of his armies had already given up trying to hide his amusement and was openly snickering.

You stopped breathing.

You were on the ground.

If the High Lord and his General were there, then that meant you were-

Under the Shadowsinger.

In front of the High Lord.

Covered in snow.

"Oh my gods," you squeaked.

The male above you seemed to come back to himself at the same time.

Of course the one person in Velaris you could collide with, like an absolute disaster, was the Shadowsinger himself.

He pushed up slightly, clearly intending to give you space - but his hand hesitated at your waist, like something in him resisted letting go.

That bond - still thrumming, insistent - didn't help.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, voice low, steady - warm and controlled.

You tried to contain the shiver down your spine at the sound of his voice.

You shook your head quickly. "No-no, I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going, I just-"

You stopped.

Because he was still looking at you.

Not annoyed. Not even embarrassed.

He looked...amused, and incredibly focused.

Like he'd suddenly found something he hadn't been searching for.

Your heart did something deeply unhelpful.

Behind him, the High Lord made a soft, thoughtful hum. "Interesting."

"Rhys," The Shadowsinger warned quietly, though he still hadn't taken his eyes off you.

That only made things worse.

"Right," you said faintly. "Yes. Brilliant. I'm just going to...get up and stop lying on the ground in front of-"

You attempted to sit up.

He immediately offered his hand as he - seemingly reluctantly - got to his feet.

You took it without thinking.

The moment your fingers wrapped around his, that bond flared - warm and undeniable, like it was settling more firmly into place. Although his hands were clothed in leather gloves, the warmth as his large hand enveloped yours was almost scorching.

You both felt it.

You both knew you both felt it.

He pulled you gently to your feet with ease.

And didn't let go.

The General snorted. "You planning on keeping her, Az?"

You nearly choked.

The Shadowsinger didn't even look at him.

Instead, he said quietly, "I'm Azriel."

You swallowed.

Your name came out almost breathlessly.

His grip on your hand tightened just slightly, like he was committing it to memory.

"Nice to meet you," you managed, even though your brain was still somewhere on the ground where your dignity still lay.

The High Lord - Rhysand - stepped forward then, smile far too knowing for your comfort. "Well, seeing as fate has decided to be particularly efficient today..."

You had a bad feeling about this.

"...you should join us for dinner later."

You blinked. "I-what?"

The General grinned at you, eyes full of mirth. "You're going to be seeing a lot of us now anyway."

Your face went hot.

"Cassian, shut up," Azriel almost hissed.

You glanced at Azriel - half expecting him to shut this down, to say something sensible-

He didn't.

If anything, there was the faintest hint of something softer in his expression. Something almost...hopeful.

And he still hadn't let go of your hand.

"Only if you want to," he said, voice quieter now. For you alone.

The bond pulsed between you.

You were absolutely, completely doomed.

"...Dinner sounds nice," you said.

Rhys's smile widened like he'd just won something.

Cassian looked delighted.

And Azriel-

He finally, reluctantly, loosened his grip on your hand.

But only just.

Az looks asks mor and cass if reader just kissed him (he is completely spiraling doesn't know if he dreamed or not) and to mess with him they're like like what?? Dude no that didn't happen you weirdo, fast forward a few days and reader is venting to mor on how she finally made the first step (as mor encouraged her before) and az didn't acknowledge nor comment on the kiss, infact he's acting the same as before, mor is like oh shit he believed us when we messed with him reader is like WHAT,WHY DID YOU DO THAT, and has to confess all over again

(Photos courtesy of Pinterest)

Authors Note: I'm slightly nervous about this one, I hope you guys enjoy! Slight angst and miscommunication below, but there is a happy ending don't you worry.

Rita's was loud, warm, and just dim enough to make bad decisions feel like excellent ones.

You were currently on your third drink.

Which was already becoming a problem.

"Stop staring," Mor said beside you, not even looking up as she leaned against the bar.

"I'm not staring," you muttered, taking a sip of your drink.

"You are," she says flatly. "It's bordering on tragic at this point."

Your eyes flickered - again - across the room.

And there he was.

Azriel sat with Rhysand and Cassian at their usual booth, his shadows almost invisible in the lowlight where they curled lazily around his shoulders, a half-empty glass in his hand. He was dressed effortlessly immaculate in a dark long sleeved shirt, the top few buttons undone so his tattooed chest was starting to peek through, and dark jeans. His curls were messily styled, a few strands lay on his forehead that you ached to brush away.

He wasn't even doing anything particularly interesting - just listening, occasionally speaking - but somehow that made it worse.

Because you knew him.

Knew the quiet, the restraint, the way he observed everything before speaking. Knew the softness he hid so carefully.

Knew how he looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention in a way that made your chest tighten - like maybe there was a possibility...

You dragged your gaze away when Mor snorted.

"I hate you," you told Mor.

She laughed. "You love him."

You didn't respond. You didn't need to.

You watched as Azriel lifted his glass to his lips, downing the rest of the amber liquid inside, his thumb slowly tracing his bottom lip to catch any excess his mouth didn't swallow.

You bit your lip as your face suddenly heated.

Mor finally turned, studying you properly now, her expression softening slightly. "You know he feels it too, right?"

That got your attention.

Your stomach flipped. "No, he doesn't."

"He does."

"He doesn't," you insisted, a little too quickly. "If he did, something would've happened by now."

Mor hummed, unconvinced. Then - casually, like she was suggesting you try a different wine - "So do something, prove me wrong."

You choked on your drink. "Absolutely not."

"Oh, come on-"

"No," you said, firmly. "Nope. Not happening. I am not risking that. I like...what we have."

Mor arched a brow. "You mean the longing looks and emotional torture?"

"Yes," you snapped. "I mean no-"

She snorted. "Coward."

Your next round finally arrived, bringing an end to the conversation. You grabbed yours like it might anchor you to sanity.

It did not.

Because a few minutes later-

Another drink.

Then another.

And suddenly the warmth in your chest wasn't just nerves anymore.

It was something else. Something bold and reckless.

Mor's suggestion suddenly didn't seem like such a bad idea.

You looked at him again.

Azriel.

He was laughing at something Cassian said.

It had been several months now you had been harbouring feelings for the Shadowsinger and it was becoming harder and harder to keep yourself together in front of him.

You couldn't keep living like this anymore.

A sudden realisation snaps into you.

"Oh gods," you breathed.

Mor glanced at you. "What-"

"Fuck it," you said, more to yourself than her.

You picked up the shot that was waiting for you and tipped your head back as you downed it, slamming it onto the bar as the familiar taste burned the back of your throat.

Her eyes lit up immediately. "Wait, where are you going-"

You were already moving. Across the room. Straight to him.

Every step felt unreal, like you were watching yourself from a distance. You couldn't believe you were doing this - but you didn't stop.

Couldn't.

Azriel noticed you - of course he did.

His attention sharpened instantly, gaze locking onto yours as you approached. He excused himself from the booth, coming to meet you halfway across the dance floor.

"Hey," he said, a small smile forming - soft, just for you. "Everything alri-"

You didn't let him finish.

"Hey, Az," you said, breath a little unsteady. "I've been meaning to do this, for a while now..."

And then-

You grabbed the front of his shirt, hauling him down to your height and raising yourself onto your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his.

This close, you could smell his cologne. His lips were unbelievably soft and tasted of mint, the remnants of whiskey on his breath.

It wasn't graceful.

It was messy, hot - your lips melded against his as you poured everything you could into it. Everything you were too scared to tell him with words.

It only lasted a few seconds.

But it was enough for the world to tilt. For Azriel to go completely, utterly still.

Enough for that spark - that thing between you - to flare into something undeniable.

His lips begin to press back-

And then your brain catches up.

"Oh gods-"

You pulled back.

You stared up at him - wide-eyed, horrified.

He looked just as stunned.

Hazel eyes blown wide. Lips slightly parted. Shadows frozen mid-curl like they'd forgotten how to exist.

He didn't say anything. He didn't move.

You panicked.

"Okay-bye-"

And then you left.

Actually left.

Turned on your heel and disappeared out of Rita's before anyone could stop you.

What had you done?

Azriel continued to stand there in the throngs of dancers as you fled the dance floor.

You had just kissed him.

And walked away before he could do or say anything.

"Hey," Cassian said over the music, suddenly appearing at his side. "Are you okay?"

"...Did she just kiss me?" He asked slowly.

"Who?"

"(Y/N)."

Cassian's grin spread, wide and immediate. "Are you drunk? Not a chance."

Azriel looked between Cassian and the space you just vacated, confusion already creeping in. "She just-"

Cassian clapped a hand on his shoulder and steered him towards the bar. "Okay, lover boy. Time for another drink."

Mor - still at the bar - waved them over.

"What's wrong with him?" Mor asked, taking immediate note of the shell-shocked look on the Shadowsinger's face.

He stared at her. "She just kissed me."

Cassian laughed and boisterously clapped Azriel on the back as he gestured to the barman. "Az here thinks (Y/N) just put the moves on him."

Mor blinked. "Pfft, no way."

"I'm telling you, she did," Azriel protested.

Then - very gently - "No, she didn't. Does that sound like something she would do?"

Silence.

Azriel looked at Cassian.

Cassian shook his head slowly. "Buddy...I think you've had a bit too much to drink."

Azriel's stomach dropped.

"...Right," he said faintly.

Maybe he had imagined it.

Gods.

What was wrong with him?

Was he that helplessly in love with you that he had actually imagined his wildest fantasy coming to life?

According to Cassian and Mor, clearly he had.

Azriel rubbed a hand down his face.

He needed to get a hold of himself.

You woke up the next day feeling sick.

One, from all the alcohol you had consumed.

Secondly, because you had kissed Azriel.

Your mind flashed back to the moment - how soft his lips had been against yours, the taste of him, how hard his chest had felt under your hands.

You couldn't believe you had done that.

You had ruined everything.

And to make matters worse, you had fled before you could explain yourself.

"Cauldron, save me," you practically screamed into your pillow.

There was only so long you could stay holed up, avoiding everything. You had to eventually leave the safety of your room.

Your nerves were strung tight.

The dining room was already full.

Cassian is halfway through a story, hands moving animatedly. Rhysand is laughing into his coffee. Mor is slumped against the table clearly hungover.

And, there he is-

Azriel.

Seated. Calm. Drinking his tea like nothing in the world has changed.

Your stomach flips.

Okay. This is fine.

Maybe he's waiting. Maybe he'll catch your eye. Say something quietly. Subtly. Azriel-style.

You take your seat.

Nothing.

He doesn't even look up.

You wait, eyes nervously flittering to where he sits as you attempt to eat something to settle your stomach.

Cassian finishes his story and glances over you, smirking.

Oh no.

"Morning," he says, far too casually.

"Morning," you reply, equally carefully.

Azriel nods once in your direction.

Just-

A nod.

Like you didn't kiss him last night. Like you didn't run away like an idiot. Like nothing happened at all.

Heat crawls up your neck as his eyes continue to assess you, but he says nothing.

"Where did you go last night?" Mor enquires, her voice muffled from where she still sits slumped on the table.

You almost choke on your juice.

"I, uh...wasn't feeling well," you explain, trying to keep your tone casual.

"Even after all these years, you still can't handle your drink (Y/N)," Cassian teases.

Azriel, meanwhile, reaches for more tea.

Unbothered.

"Azriel had quite a bit to drink last night too, didn't you?" Cassian continues.

Mor snorts.

Your eyes flicker between the pair of them, questioning, before they settle back on Azriel.

You stare at him.

He doesn't even react.

Something in your chest tightens.

Did you imagine it?

No.

No, you didn't.

You felt it. The way he kissed you back-

Your fingers tighten around your fork.

Breakfast continues.

Laughter. Conversation.

You barely hear it.

Every few seconds your gaze drifts back to him.

And every time, there's nothing.

He speaks quietly to Rhys. Responds to Cassian. Listens to Mor.

But to you?

Polite. Neutral. Friendly.

Like always. Just like before.

You try to swallow the lump that continues to grow bigger and bigger in your throat the longer you sit there.

Eventually, one by one, they leave.

Cassian first, with a suspicious grin, dragging Mor with him. She throws a look to Azriel you can't quite decipher. Rhys disappears in a cloud of darkness.

And suddenly, it's just you and Azriel.

Your heart picks up.

Okay. This is it.

Now he'll say something. Now he'll acknowledge it, without the prying eyes of everyone else.

He sets his cup down.

He looks at you.

And says-

"Did you still want to train today?"

You blink.

"...What?"

"Yesterday, you said you wanted me to help you with that new manoeuvre," he explains. "Do you still want to?"

That's it.

You stare at him.

"You don't have anything else to say?"

He frowns slightly, like he's genuinely confused.

"...About?"

Your stomach drops.

About.

About?

You laugh once - short, disbelieving - unable to keep it at bay.

Azriel's brows draw together. "What?"

You push your chair back, standing abruptly.

"It's okay, I think I just need to go back to bed."

"(Y/N), what's wrong-"

"Nothing's wrong," you cut in, a little sharper than you intended. "Clearly I misunderstood something."

You needed to get away. You couldn't even look at him. Embarrassment and hurt threatening to spill over in tears that you couldn't let him see.

Azriel stands with you, confused by your sudden desperation to get away from him.

"Misunderstood what?"

You shake your head, already moving toward the door.

He clearly wanted to pretend it never happened.

You'd made a terrible mistake.

"Don't worry about it."

"(Y/N), please, wait."

You can't help but pause for a half a second, unable to ignore the plea in his voice.

You look back at him. He's stood, partially around the table as if he had made to follow you. His face was neutrally masked, but you could see the flicker of confusion and - anguish? - in his eyes.

"Did I do something?" He asks.

The sincerity in it almost makes it worse.

You swallow.

"...No."

You shoot him a small smile to try and put him at ease. "I drank too much last night, is all."

And then you leave.

Azriel stands there for a long moment after you're gone.

Frowning. Thinking.

His shadows stir uneasily.

Something is wrong.

He just doesn't know what.

He'd spent the remainder of the night before trying to forget what his mind had conjured up.

Your kiss.

Your lips pressed against his, how sweet you tasted, how soft and plump your lips felt.

He decided if it did happen, you would act differently. You would say something to him surely. Look at him differently. Acknowledge it.

He watches you carefully through breakfast, even when you think he isn't looking.

You look completely normal, maybe a little tense.

But not like someone who kissed him. Not like someone who had felt what he'd felt.

Something twists uncomfortably in his chest.

Clearly he had just imagined it then.

His shadows whisper uneasily at his shoulders.

Something is off.

You're too controlled. Too careful. You're not speaking much.

And every time your gaze flickers towards him, it disappears just as quickly. Like you're checking something. Like you're hurt.

That makes his grip tighten slightly on his cup.

Why would you be hurt?

Nothing stands out.

Nothing, except-

No.

If the kiss had been real, you wouldn't be acting like this.

Would you?

Doubt creeps in again.

Cassian glances between you both and smirks into his drink. "Azriel drank quite a bit last night, didn't you?"

Azriel narrows his eyes slightly, but doesn't respond, ignoring the hint towards his supposed drunken imagination.

You look between them, brows furrowed, but thankfully you don't enquire what Cassian meant.

Breakfast continues, but he can't shake the feeling that he's missing something.

His focus is entirely on you as everyone leaves.

You're still seated. Still tense. As if you're waiting for something.

He sets his cup down. And tries to bridge the gap the only way he knows how.

"Do you still want to train today?"

The moment the words leave his mouth, he knows it's wrong.

Your reaction is immediate.

Sharp. Confused. Hurt.

His chest tightens.

"You don't have anything else to say?" You ask.

Azriel frowns.

Because he doesn't know what you want him to say.

"...About?"

The word lands wrong. He sees it happen, sees the shift in your expression. And he doesn't understand why.

You stand abruptly.

Alarm flickers through him.

"It's okay, I think I just need to go back to bed."

It's not okay, that much is obvious.

He gets to his feet, unable to help himself from attempting to follow you.

"(Y/N), what's wrong-"

"Nothing's wrong. Clearly I misunderstood something."

Now he was really confused.

"Misunderstood what?"

But you shake your head and continue to move away.

Panic claws up his throat.

"(Y/N), please, wait," he calls, desperate to keep you in front of him.

You pause.

Hope flickers in his chest.

"Did I do something?" He asks.

Because he needs to know. Because he hates this distance. Because he can't stand that you look devastated right now, despite how much you're trying to hide it.

Your answer is quiet.

"...No."

But it's not true. He knows it isn't. He knows you too well.

But you shoot him a small smile to try and put him at ease anyway. "I drank too much last night, is all."

And then you leave.

Something is wrong. Something important.

A few days has passed since that night in Rita's.

You tell yourself it's nothing. That you can move past this.

People misread things all the time. Moments get bigger in your head than they were in reality. Maybe you'd imagined the way he'd kissed you back. Maybe it had been surprise, instinct.

He was clearly trying to spare your feelings by not bringing it up again.

That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

You'd kissed him because the drunken part of your brain was convinced that it would be the perfect way to finally confess your feelings for him. He would kiss you back, admit that he was in love with you too and you would live happily ever after.

How idiotic could you be.

You've only seen Azriel a handful of times since breakfast the morning after.

You weren't trying to make it obvious that you were avoiding him.

You walk down the hallway, your steps faltering when you see Azriel coming the other way. His shadows curl lazily around his shoulders. He slows when he spots you.

"There you are," he says, like he's been looking.

Your chest tightens.

"Hi."

You don't stop walking, but he falls into step beside you anway.

"I was hoping to speak to you."

Your pulse jumps.

"Busy," you say quickly, gesturing vaguely ahead. "Rhys needed-something."

You don't even give him time to question it.

"Later," you add over your shoulder, already turning a corner.

You don't look back.

You try to ignore his gaze lingering on your back.

It becomes a pattern.

You're always just leaving. Just busy. Just not available right now.

Azriel is trying, you can see that.

The way he lingers in doorways a second longer. The way he adjusts his path to cross yours. The way his shadows find you before he does.

But you just need some time.

You find sanctuary in Mor's room one afternoon, bursting in unannounced, trying to avoid Azriel once again.

"What is with you lately?" She enquires.

"I kissed him," you said, pacing Mor's room like your life depended on it. "I actually kissed him."

"Kissed who?"

"Azriel. I kissed Azriel."

"You what?!" Mor shrieked. "How? When!?"

You stopped. "You know I did."

"When? That night at Rita's?"

"You saw me!"

"No I didn't! It was crowded and you left me so quick I wasn't sure-"

You could scream. This was her idea after all - you'd potentially ruined your friendship with Azriel all because she'd thought it was a good idea.

"Oh no."

You stopped. "What do you mean oh no?"

Mor winces as she responds. "Cassian and I may have convinced Az that...you didn't actually kiss him."

Your eyes narrowed. "Mor."

Silence.

You stared at her.

"...You what?"

Mor grimaced. "He asked, and we said no, and he believed us, and-"

"Why would you do that?!" You shrieked.

"I didn't think you would actually do it!" She protested. "I can't believe you actually kissed him, I'm so proud of you!"

"No, no, no," you shake your head. "He didn't kiss me back."

"Have you not spoken about it since?"

"N!" You gestured wildly. "He's been acting completely normal. Like nothing happened! I thought he just-didn't care-"

"Oh, he cares," Mor said quickly. "You should have seen how disappointed he was when he thought it was just his drunken imagination that he hallucinated the love of his life kissing him."

You froze.

"...The what of his life?"

Mor slapped a hand to her forehead. "Oh come on, it's so obvious!"

Your heart was pounding now for an entirely different reason.

"You're telling me," you said slowly, "that he thinks he imagined it?"

"Yes."

"And that he-"

"Yes."

"Well-how am I-what do I do now?"

Mor rolled her eyes. "Go and kiss him again. Preferably without running away this time."

You stared at her.

Then groaned, dragging your hands over your face.

You can't believe this is happening.

You find Azriel later that day after Mor practically kicked you out of her room.

He was alone in the training ring.

You hesitated at the edge for half a second.

What if Mor was tricking you?

Maybe you should have taken a shot of liquid courage beforehand to steel your nerves.

"Az."

He turned instantly at the sound of your voice.

And gods, there it was again - that softening in his expression when he saw you.

Like you were something...important.

Your resolve nearly crumbled, especially without the alcohol running through your system.

Too late now.

You marched up to him before you could overthink it.

He watched you carefully. "Is everything alright?"

"No," you said.

Then, before your courage could abandon you again-

You grabbed the front of his leathers, hauled him down to your height again, raised yourself up onto your toes.

And kissed him.

Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could feel it.

And for a split second, he froze again.

Like before.

You almost lost your nerve, beginning to pull away.

But then-

His hand comes up to cup your jaw.

Gentle. Certain.

And suddenly, he's kissing you back.

No hesitation.

Like he's been waiting for it.

For you.

With Azriel's supposed reciprocation, you wind your arms around his neck, sinking into the kiss as he winds an arm around your waist and pulls you flush to him. You almost moan when his tongue swipes along your bottom lip.

Ohmygods, this was really happening.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you don't run this time.

You stay.

"That," you said, trying to sound steadier than you felt, "was not a hallucination."

Azriel stared at you.

You didn't think it would be possible, but his eyes widened even more.

Then - very quietly - "I thought I imagined it."

"I know," you said flatly. "Our wonderful friends told me."

A flicker of understanding - and then mild irritation - crossed his face. "I'm going to kill them."

"Get in line."

A pause.

Then-

"You meant it?" He asked.

There it was.

The fear. The vulnerability he hid from everyone else.

Your chest ached.

"Yes," you said softly. "I meant it."

Something in him shifted and settled.

Like a piece of his had finally clicked into place.

His hand slid from your jaw to your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer.

"I was afraid you didn't," he admitted.

You huffed a small laugh. "I was afraid you didn't'."

He shook his head slightly, like he couldn't quite believe that.

Then, quieter-

"I have for a long time."

Your heart melted on the spot.

"Good," you whispered. "Me too."

And you kissed him again, not intending to let him go anytime soon.

pairing: azriel x reader

summary: azriel notices something odd about his shadows // based on this request: az who loves teasing his new mate with his shadows, ie letting them trail over their skin during meetings cue reader using his shadows as a fidget toy

Azriel's shadows are a fluid mass, always in motion. When one splits off from the others it's usually because he's sent them somewhere, off to spy or trip or suffocate some poor unfortunate soul. Now, though, one branches off on its own to wind itself around your ankle, tickling the skin there while Cassian spews battle strategy and points at a map like he's trying to poke a hole right through it to the desk beneath.

"I'm saying if we put troops here," His voice is grating, agitated by Rhysand's calm as the High Lord stares coolly at the map, "We can beat them at their own game- they're trying to come from the left and catch us by surprise, but if we cut that flank off from behind-"

"It's too risky." Rhysand hums, and Azriel watches as the shadow around your ankle makes your shoulders loosen, your attention briefly diverted from the catfight in front of you as you reach down to itch your leg. Azriel's lips threaten to quirk in a grin and he sends another shadow towards you, this one instructed to twine itself between your fingers like a cat's tail.

"You're assuming that they'll come from the left but they're not guaranteed to. I need stronger proof, and I know, Cassian," Rhys holds up a single finger to hush the general, "I know your soldiers overheard that Hybern scum in the tavern in Spring but they could have planted those men there, made them talk that loud to throw you off. I need more evidence before I station a considerable chunk of my army somewhere there's not guaranteed to be a battle."

"So send Az," Cassian nods at the Spymaster, and Azriel watches your spine stiffen again at the thought of your mate being sent into battle. The shadow brushes against the back of your hand, then trails up your arm in a soothing gesture, one that Azriel would engage in himself if he weren't bound by proper court etiquette. You shiver at the shadow's touch, and crane your neck down to watch it flit back down to your hand, weaving back and forth between your fingers.

"They'll know me and my shadows." Azriel grunts, "They'll expect it; here's not a single Hybern soldier who hasn't been warned about us. I'll keep working my informants but if I got caught- even if I were just popping in and out - they'd abandon their plans and we'd lose our intel. This isn't supposed to be a massacre yet, Cassian, I can't risk being seen."

Before Cassian can growl another order and jam his finger against the desk you pipe up, your fingers fluidly fidgeting with the shadows in your hands, fingers waving and dancing with the mass of darkness, "Why don't you send me in?"

Rhys blinks like you've asked him to chop your head off right here, right now. Azriel's heart stutters in his chest, and a large mass of his shadows flock to your side, clearly in their own panic at your proposal.

"You-" Cassian starts, his expression pinched but his eyes kind, "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I'll take some shadows with me," You propose, "I'll keep them hidden away until I'm close enough to their troops, then when it's dark out, or when I'm seated across from them at some dingy dining hall I'll let them slip out. They'll do their thing under cover of darkness or distraction, and no one will know they're even there, let alone that they came with me. Then as soon as they hide themselves again, I'll make my exit. Hybern's troops will be none the wiser, and you'll have your intel without risking Azriel being recognized."

Azriel is already shaking his head, reaching for you with an arm that's covered in writhing shadows, "No, that's- I don't think that's a good idea."

It hurts him to say it because it hurts you to hear it, your mouth turning down at the corners and your shoulders slumping in defeat. But he grabs your hand and clings to it, relishing the feeling of your warm touch and vowing to protect your life over your feelings every time.

"It's a very good idea," Rhysand hums thoughtfully, "But you and Azriel should talk it out before I give my call. It's not my choice, it's yours." He nods at you, "But we'll give you some time to consult with your mate first."

Rhysand rises and takes Cassian with him, both males tucking their wings in to avoid scraping them against the doorframe. The latch clicks shut behind them and you turn towards Azriel whose eyes are a fraction wider than usual, shadows restless as they crash against your skin like waves, trying to drag you into their mass and stop you from leaving.

"It's smart," Azriel hums sympathetically, "But it's risky. You could get hurt, and I can't let that happen. We can send someone else, we'll use your idea but I don't want to use you, and-"

"Az, I want to go." You plead, squeezing his hand and using your other to stroke against a shadow that's clinging to your cheek like a second skin, "I want to be helpful. You risk your life for this court every day."

"I do it to help," He argues, "And you're helping just by strategizing. There's no need for you to-"

"I need to." You counter, gazing pleadingly up at him, "I need to, because I feel like I'm not doing enough. And I desperately want to do more- Azriel, please, please let me do more."

"You could get hurt," Azriel repeats, but you're already talking over him.

"I'll have your shadows with me!" You insist, dragging his scarred hand to your mouth and kissing one of the raised lines against his knuckles, "I won't get caught in the first place, but if something happened and I needed help you know that half of them would rush back to you and the other half would stay and fight. You'd get there in five seconds flat and your shadows would have already formed a shield around me. No one can touch me," You insist, leaning your face against his hand and gazing sweetly at him, "Azriel, please? This is important to me."

One of his shadows is still tucked beneath your fingers, and he watches you fiddle with it while he swallows down the terror trying to crawl up his throat. The thought of sending you into that den of pigs, that hellhole that Hybern's soldiers are going to call home makes him nauseous, but he understands more than most the feeling of owing your life to the night court, and he can't fault you for wanting to prove to yourself that you're worthy of their kindness. He feels it every day of his life, so he sighs shakily, cupping your face in his palms.

"You can go," He murmurs, and your soft smile undoes the sweet pink ribbon that you'd tied around his heart the first time you'd met him, its confines bursting free and pounding in his chest, "But I'll be waiting to shadowwalk you out. The second something goes wrong, I'll be there, cover be damned, I'm not leaving you there alone."

pairing: azriel x reader

summary: azriel notices something odd about his shadows // based on this request: az who loves teasing his new mate with his shadows, ie letting them trail over their skin during meetings cue reader using his shadows as a fidget toy

Azriel's shadows are a fluid mass, always in motion. When one splits off from the others it's usually because he's sent them somewhere, off to spy or trip or suffocate some poor unfortunate soul. Now, though, one branches off on its own to wind itself around your ankle, tickling the skin there while Cassian spews battle strategy and points at a map like he's trying to poke a hole right through it to the desk beneath.

"I'm saying if we put troops here," His voice is grating, agitated by Rhysand's calm as the High Lord stares coolly at the map, "We can beat them at their own game- they're trying to come from the left and catch us by surprise, but if we cut that flank off from behind-"

"It's too risky." Rhysand hums, and Azriel watches as the shadow around your ankle makes your shoulders loosen, your attention briefly diverted from the catfight in front of you as you reach down to itch your leg. Azriel's lips threaten to quirk in a grin and he sends another shadow towards you, this one instructed to twine itself between your fingers like a cat's tail.

"You're assuming that they'll come from the left but they're not guaranteed to. I need stronger proof, and I know, Cassian," Rhys holds up a single finger to hush the general, "I know your soldiers overheard that Hybern scum in the tavern in Spring but they could have planted those men there, made them talk that loud to throw you off. I need more evidence before I station a considerable chunk of my army somewhere there's not guaranteed to be a battle."

"So send Az," Cassian nods at the Spymaster, and Azriel watches your spine stiffen again at the thought of your mate being sent into battle. The shadow brushes against the back of your hand, then trails up your arm in a soothing gesture, one that Azriel would engage in himself if he weren't bound by proper court etiquette. You shiver at the shadow's touch, and crane your neck down to watch it flit back down to your hand, weaving back and forth between your fingers.

"They'll know me and my shadows." Azriel grunts, "They'll expect it; here's not a single Hybern soldier who hasn't been warned about us. I'll keep working my informants but if I got caught- even if I were just popping in and out - they'd abandon their plans and we'd lose our intel. This isn't supposed to be a massacre yet, Cassian, I can't risk being seen."

Before Cassian can growl another order and jam his finger against the desk you pipe up, your fingers fluidly fidgeting with the shadows in your hands, fingers waving and dancing with the mass of darkness, "Why don't you send me in?"

Rhys blinks like you've asked him to chop your head off right here, right now. Azriel's heart stutters in his chest, and a large mass of his shadows flock to your side, clearly in their own panic at your proposal.

"You-" Cassian starts, his expression pinched but his eyes kind, "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I'll take some shadows with me," You propose, "I'll keep them hidden away until I'm close enough to their troops, then when it's dark out, or when I'm seated across from them at some dingy dining hall I'll let them slip out. They'll do their thing under cover of darkness or distraction, and no one will know they're even there, let alone that they came with me. Then as soon as they hide themselves again, I'll make my exit. Hybern's troops will be none the wiser, and you'll have your intel without risking Azriel being recognized."

Azriel is already shaking his head, reaching for you with an arm that's covered in writhing shadows, "No, that's- I don't think that's a good idea."

It hurts him to say it because it hurts you to hear it, your mouth turning down at the corners and your shoulders slumping in defeat. But he grabs your hand and clings to it, relishing the feeling of your warm touch and vowing to protect your life over your feelings every time.

"It's a very good idea," Rhysand hums thoughtfully, "But you and Azriel should talk it out before I give my call. It's not my choice, it's yours." He nods at you, "But we'll give you some time to consult with your mate first."

Rhysand rises and takes Cassian with him, both males tucking their wings in to avoid scraping them against the doorframe. The latch clicks shut behind them and you turn towards Azriel whose eyes are a fraction wider than usual, shadows restless as they crash against your skin like waves, trying to drag you into their mass and stop you from leaving.

"It's smart," Azriel hums sympathetically, "But it's risky. You could get hurt, and I can't let that happen. We can send someone else, we'll use your idea but I don't want to use you, and-"

"Az, I want to go." You plead, squeezing his hand and using your other to stroke against a shadow that's clinging to your cheek like a second skin, "I want to be helpful. You risk your life for this court every day."

"I do it to help," He argues, "And you're helping just by strategizing. There's no need for you to-"

"I need to." You counter, gazing pleadingly up at him, "I need to, because I feel like I'm not doing enough. And I desperately want to do more- Azriel, please, please let me do more."

"You could get hurt," Azriel repeats, but you're already talking over him.

"I'll have your shadows with me!" You insist, dragging his scarred hand to your mouth and kissing one of the raised lines against his knuckles, "I won't get caught in the first place, but if something happened and I needed help you know that half of them would rush back to you and the other half would stay and fight. You'd get there in five seconds flat and your shadows would have already formed a shield around me. No one can touch me," You insist, leaning your face against his hand and gazing sweetly at him, "Azriel, please? This is important to me."

One of his shadows is still tucked beneath your fingers, and he watches you fiddle with it while he swallows down the terror trying to crawl up his throat. The thought of sending you into that den of pigs, that hellhole that Hybern's soldiers are going to call home makes him nauseous, but he understands more than most the feeling of owing your life to the night court, and he can't fault you for wanting to prove to yourself that you're worthy of their kindness. He feels it every day of his life, so he sighs shakily, cupping your face in his palms.

"You can go," He murmurs, and your soft smile undoes the sweet pink ribbon that you'd tied around his heart the first time you'd met him, its confines bursting free and pounding in his chest, "But I'll be waiting to shadowwalk you out. The second something goes wrong, I'll be there, cover be damned, I'm not leaving you there alone."

art from pinterest

no. of fics = 50

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jealous shadows | imagine, fluff | @bookshelftreasures

shadows and sunlight | imagine, flangst (more fluff) | @sweetpeaaquarius

hidden signals⟢pt 2 | two shot, flangst | @pellucid-constellations

can you see right through me? | one shot, flangst | @steveslevis

entaglement | series | @pellucid-constellations

broken softness | one shot, angsty flangst | @thebolterx

tension | imagine, flangst | @thebluemango

clad in honor, built on lies | one shot, flangst | @moonlitstoriess

at last | one shot, flangst | @tunetales

too much | imagine, flangst | deactivated blog

hear the lonely cry out | one shot, flangst | @bubbles-for-all-of-us

with a bow on top | imagine, fluff | @togeppy

tender horizons⟢pt 2 | two shot, flangst | @sharkabb

private life | one shot, fluff | @knoxic

unrequited feelings | imagine, flangst | @ellecdc

in the silence, i found you | one shot, flangst | @sweet-pea-channie (tw)

never yours | series | @ladylokilaufeyson5

i will always find you | one shot, flangst | @ladylokilaufeyson5

arrows and ashes | series | @assassinsblade

forget me not | series | @assassinsblade (tw)

the day the spymaster broke | series | @shadowdaddiesclub

fate and free will | imagine, fluff | @novahthecreative

bound by fear | series | @kymawrites

haunt | imagine, flangst | @azsazz

walk away⟢pt 2 | two shot, angst | @azsazz

the occurrence | imagine, fluff | @pellucid-constellations

"we don't have to do anything tonight" | drabble, fluff | @lyssasdrafts

his walking nightmare | imagine, flangst | @hellsenthero

the spymaster's greatest mission | imagine, fluff | @mahalachives

he feels safe with you | imagine, fluff | @florencemtrash

the shadowsinger & the inkbird | series | @florencemtrash

heart of fire | imagine, flangst | @acourtofwhatthefuck

why are you still here?⟢pt 2 | two shot, flangst (more angst) | @acourtofwhatthefuck

a bite sized romance | imagine, fluff (slight angst) | @daycourtofficial

if it all fell | series | @pellucid-constellations

i have a feeling you got everything… | one shot, flangst (more fluff) | @pellucid-constellations

nobody else | one shot, angst | @lucyrose191

taking a sword | imagine, fluff | @ddejavvu

the pain of falling for you | series | @ruinsofthedawn

soft mornings | imagine, fluff | @chillinini

bribing shadows and small suprises | imagine, fluff | @sweetpeaaquarius

home | imagine, fluff | @thebolterx

anything for you | one shot, fluff, comfort | @kymawrites

when the shadowsinger rests | one shot, fluff | @shadowdaddiesclub

after the silence | series | @shadowdaddiesclub

purpose is glorious | imagine, flangst | @in-my-feels-probably

you almost got yourself killed | imagine, flangst | @tunetales

downfall | imagine, flangst | @kymawrites

Pairing(s): Azriel, Cassian, Rhysand, and Eris x f!Reader (separate)

Contains: fluff / est. relationship

WC: ~2.4k (approx. 500 - 600 each)

Azriel

It was a strong start to summer. Spring was hardly giving way to unrelenting heat, and despite being Prythian's northernmost court, it was futile.

The heat waited for no one. War didn’t care about the weather. Not that there was a war going on, but Azriel insisted on training like there would be any day. Just in case. It was a force of habit—centuries old—to start training at dawn. Sometimes alone, sometimes with his brothers.

By mid-morning, he’d shed the upper half of his training leathers. Cassian had too. Somewhere between the past two sparring rounds ending in a tie, the swords had been traded for bare knuckles. Dust kicked up and muddied their sweaty skin, with dirt under their nails and in crevices. Warrior versus warrior, some of the strongest of their kind—and the Night Court—had ever seen.

The brothers panted, a stubbornness rivaling the blistering heat, as neither of them wanted to surrender to the other. They were a balanced tangle of muscles, limbs, and wings. Cassian’s provoking comments, teeming with grunts, slipped into Azriel’s ear. He’d heard it all to the point of desensitization, and Azriel wouldn’t budge.

All comments but one. Luck sprinted from Azriel’s corner and into Cassian’s, the general grinning with the taste of victory stuck between his teeth.

“Oh, what’s this, brother?” Cassian teased, catching the barest crimson stain behind Azriel’s ear, tucked under a dark, sweaty curl stuck to his skin. too purposeful, too solid to be blood, and too dark to be a blush. As if to provoke Azriel further, Cassian held his brother in a headlock with one arm as the other quickly moved the lock of hair hiding it. It took a second to register the smearing mark from contact, sweat, and grime, but when he did, Cassian’s shock gave way to great amusement.

It was a second, long enough to give Azriel an opening. He threw his weight back, turning the tables and pinning Cassian face down onto the dirt. Yet Cassian was unbothered, as if his discovery were a far better victory than some sparring session.

Azriel’s eyes narrowed on Cassian, his knee digging into his shoulder blades. "What are you laughing about?” Azriel huffed, sweat dripping down his nose lazily. Cassian laughed harder. Azriel was more confused, getting off of his brother to sit beside him.

Azriel was catching his breath. Cassian was trying, but a lull was followed by another bout of laughter. Azriel rolled his eyes, lightly kicking Cassian’s side. “What are you on about?”

“You should clean the back of your ears better,” Cassian teased, relishing his brother's rare confusion as he pushed himself off the dirt with a grunt. Azriel barely raised a brow. Lo and behold, a pair of curious shadows swirled into that spot only to whisper in his ear.

Lipstick stain. Mate's present was left for Master. 

His fingers brushed against your "gift," a flush unrelated to the heat and exertion from training prickling his skin. Cassian's laughter was suddenly distant as he was more focused on the phantom pressure of your lips from the night before. You were giddy, teasing, and delirious with the late hour, and instead of wiping your makeup off like you'd normally do, you decided kissing it off against his skin was much better. You said he was an irresistibly perfect canvas, red smudges gradually fading all over his neck and jaw between giggles. He'd washed them off this morning—or at least he thought he'd gotten them all.

Cassian ruffled Azriel’s hair as he passed by, causing the shadow singer to blink out of his trance. 

Azriel was considering three things. 1) How long could he avoid his family, whom Cassian was going to undoubtedly tell right now? 2) He is definitely getting you back for this somehow. And 3) how soon he could make your mark a tattoo.

Cassian

"Gods, where are those two?" More grumbled, tapping her foot impatiently as she glanced at the clock. For the first time in a long time, whether it was luck, the stars aligning, or divine intervention, she had managed to not only find a free night in everyone's schedules but also convince everyone to go out to Rita's.

At least that was the plan.

"If these two aren't down in the next five minutes, I'm ditching them and getting drunk alone," she added under her breath, glaring down the hallway where Cassian's room was. Rhys chuckled from beside her, swirling his wine with one hand as the other one slipped around Feyre’s waist, drawing her off the arm of the couch and into his lap.

"No, you won't," Rhys mused knowingly. “For one, you'd get bored halfway there, and two, you've been begging us to go out for ages. Besides, mates who have been apart for so many weeks could be more insufferable," he added, tipping the glass towards her before taking a sip.

She rolled her eyes and sipped her wine.

It was in between idle conversation that a door opened down the hall, followed by a jolly whistle.

Mor huffed in mock exasperation, leaning back enough to look over at the couch and down the hall. "It took you long enough. If I—"

Her words died, a mixed buzz of amusement and disbelief taking over. She snorted a laugh into her glass as Cassian stepped into the full light. Rhys, Azriel, and Feyre gave similar reactions.

"What the hell are you wearing?" she snickered, turning to look at him fully. The general wore dark trousers and a dark shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow, showing off his forearms carved from endless hours of training and battle. His hands were in his pockets, and a very proud grin was on his face.

"What? What’s wrong with my outfit?" he replied, as if nothing were unusual. In the center of his chest was a white tie, once spotless silk, now smothered in lipstick stains of varying opacity.

"No," Feyre began, trying and failing to hide her laugh. "It's just...it’s definitely something."

"Thanks, I'm trying something new." Cassian ignored her thinly veiled amusement, his own swallowing his smug pride, especially with his wider grin. "Had some help." 

"Don't listen to whatever he's saying!" You called out from down the hall, your mate senses tingling with his smug mischief. You emerged, sparkly, fixing your earrings and giving a playful glare at your mate. "I told him not to wear it, but it was like talking to a brick wall."

Cassian feigned offense, though it didn't last long, not with the cackle erupting from him. He drew you closer, like it was sacrilegious to be in the same room and not touch you in some way. "But why? You gave me a gift. Should I not be using it?"

"It was a gag gift at best," you deadpanned.

"Still a gift. And what better sign of being taken than this?" he added with a smirk, smoothing the tie with a large hand like it was a priceless trophy.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you decided this wasn’t a battle you were choosing today.

If it weren't for Cassian remaining near you all night, the tie certainly did work as a deterrent.

Rhysand

The rain was steady, on and off all day. Low-lying clouds swallowed the red mountain peaks surrounding Velaris. Mist kissed your skin and collected like morning dew in your hair as you leaned against a windowsill.

You didn't come here to find something or get away from another. It was happenstance that you were walking back from the kitchen and the view drew you in. The House of Wind was quiet save for the bone-deep hum of its magic and the rain.

You were caught up in drifting thoughts and watching rain trickle through the earth to spot Rhys. Maybe he took advantage of your distraction, or maybe you were used to his safety.

He stood at the end of the hall, hands in his pockets, and enamored joy settled comfortably in his chest. He watched you against the rain, framed by the arched window, with your dewy skin and frizzy hair, and for a moment he wondered if it was too soon to marry you all over again.

"You okay?” he asked lightly instead of a second proposal, though he would’ve in a less restrained state.

Your head snapped his way, surprise softening for familiarity. You huffed a laugh, a hand splayed on your chest. "You scared me.”

Rhys chuckled quietly, closing the gap with languid strides until he stood beside you. He gently nudged your shoulder with his, his way of a halfhearted apology. "What happened to 'I know you by your footsteps’?” he teased, his grin widening as you rolled your eyes.

"I was distracted and didn’t hear you coming. Otherwise, I certainly would’ve, Bigfoot," you sassed. Rhys feigned offense so theatrically it must've been Cassian finally rubbing off on him.

"Oh, so that’s how you want to play,” he growled playfully, pulling you close and playfully nipping wherever he could reach—your cheeks, nose, neck, and ear. "Calling me Bigfoot, huh?” he grumbled between nips and occasional kisses. It was ticklish, the surprised gasp cascading into shrieking laughter. You smelled like rain, sandalwood, and love.

He nipped your cheek a second time before withdrawing enough to let you catch your breath and for him to take in the aftermath. Your frizzy hair clinging to your cheeks and forehead, your hands resting over his heartbeat while yours was still steadying. As beautiful as always, he thought.

He leaned closer, violet eyes narrowed yet twinkling. "Do you yield, beloved?” he whispered, drawing you close enough for your nose to brush against his. You let your eyes soften with affection, feigning defeat at the edges. Rhys was too smug and enamored to catch it.

You moved swiftly, pressing your painted lips to his. An innocent kiss, and Rhys believed it. You smiled innocently up at him, suppressing laughter for a whole minute before breaking. You were weak, dropping your head against his chest with shaking shoulders. Rhysand's arm looped tighter, keeping you close. "What's so funny?” he asked through a confused laugh; yours is always contagious to him.

You glanced up at him, laughing harder. You couldn’t speak, and your poor husband was increasingly confused. It was on your third failed attempt when you gave up and pointed to the mirror hanging behind him. You watched his features morph from confusion to realization (and slight horror) before ending in final amusement.

Rhysand met your gaze again, squeezing you gently as your laughter finally began subsiding. "I see," he muttered with a grin. He returned the gesture, giving you a firm kiss before mimicking his earlier antics until your lipstick smudged all over his lips and your face. He vaguely heard your startled noise melting into a laugh, which only fueled the fire.

He withdrew eventually, taking you in for a third time, frazzled, a little dazed, and sharing lipstick stains with him. "There. Now we match.”

Eris

You could handle yourself. Eris knew you were more than capable; you'd been doing this before you met.

It was harder to convince a primal instinct older than time and centuries of history ingrained in Autumn Court soil and memory. His own history.

You were safe—just busy in your studio all day. He missed you, but he knew better than to interrupt you, especially when it was something you loved. So Eris kept himself distracted with the never-ending High Lord duties.

The candles had burned steadily, flames and parchment fluttering with the breeze from the cracked windows. His study smelled like it always did: spice, ink, and mahogany. He'd been in his study since you'd left early afternoon, waiting for your return—or simply any correspondence—despite knowing there was nothing threatening about a bookbinding studio. Nothing you couldn't handle, at least.

He was in the middle of reading a report from Rhysand when a little folded paper materialized on his desk. Unsuspecting except for the subtle fragrance of leather and your perfume hovering around it. The report was quickly neglected for it.

“I can feel you missing me from all the way over here. I'll be home soon.”

Eris’s thumb grazed over your handwriting. Neat, simple, and sweet.

"You say it like it's a crime," he scrawled on the back of your note with an angry, doodled version of himself despite his little smile. It was more for your amusement than his conviction. The note vanished just as it came. Your bemusement came down the bond like tinkling bells. His chest swelled with pride, wishing he could see your smile for himself and hear your laughter.

"Now you're putting words in my mouth." Your reply arrived right under his empty complaint. Additionally, you added a doodle of yourself beside his, two little stick figures holding hands.

He couldn't resist, not when you set it up for him so perfectly. "I could put something else in your mouth if you'd prefer." He scrawled, adding a wink at the end, and sent it on its way. He felt the precise moment you registered his words. Your emotions coming all at once from flustered to incredulity were like a beacon in his chest despite being halfway across town.

He laughed softly when your reply was purely doodles. A side-eye, another vomiting, and lastly, you wide-eyed and blushing. A crippling fondness and delight swallowed him whole, the dopey grin wide and lovesick in the privacy of his study. He imagined you making the same faces as your doodles as a separate note appeared.

"You're gross. I'll be home in an hour. I love you, stinky." Eris huffed a laugh at your strange term of endearment. Warm softness bloomed in his chest as he spotted your special signature, one you began doing early on in your relationship. A scribbled heart with your lipstick stain beside it. Your kiss imprint—he could recognize the mark, the ridges forming a unique print. the only one he’d care to memorize. It was like a secret message just for him, sending him vicarious kisses and your love.

His thumb grazed over the rouge, faintly warm from your kiss moments ago. A flick of his hand and a sleek wooden box spawned on his desk. Unsuspecting and boring but enchanted to hell and back. He set both your notes gently with the rest, a growing collection through the years. The most sacred pieces in any autumn court vault.

The hour could not pass soon enough.

A/N: Here's this brain worm I've been having :p

A/N: Sorry I disappeared, work has been kicking my ass and my psychiatrist thinks my on going mental health struggles may be caused by my untreated ADHD so I've been all over the place. But I saw a tik tok about ways to ragebait men and I got a little boost of inspiration. Hope you all enjoy!

-------------------

Cassian:

He’s been a prick all day; starting at training first thing in the morning, flaring his wings and winking whenever someone is looking at him, peeling off his shirt even though it’s freezing. Then at breakfast with his brothers, when the waitress had openly flirted with him and he’d called her sweetheart, even though he knows that you hate when he calls anyone that but you. Now, at Rita’s, sitting in a booth, toned arms stretched out over the back of the leather seat, not so subtly flexing those rippling muscles and tattoos. You suspect he might actually be able to get off just on riling you all up like this. It has to be on purpose.

And honestly, you shouldn’t let it get to you, you know that he doesn’t really mean any of this shit. He thinks it’s funny when you turn a little green with jealousy; loves it when you make your own not so subtly show of claiming him in front of other people. But today it’s just rubbing you the wrong way. 

So when Azriel, Rhys and Mor all join you in the booth, drinks in hand, you down a shot of liquid courage and turn to face the towering male. 

“Cass, do you ever wish you were taller?” 

Beside you, Mor snorts her drink all over the table. Rhy’s bellowing laugh echoes across the cavernous space. Even Azriel breaks into a grin, though he tries to hide it behind his glass of whisky. 

Cassian is predictable. His eyes darken, just a fraction, the grin on his face slipping nearly into a sneer as he adjusts his sitting position to his full height. 

You take another sip of your drink, trying to not burst into a fit of giggles as he stares you down like your an opponent on the battlefield. 

“No, no sweetheart, the thought had never occurred to me.”

“Hmm,” you say into the rim of your glass. “Why not?”

“Yeah, Cass, why not?” Rhys jeers, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “You are kind of small compared to the rest of us.”

Mor is still laughing, even as she reaches over your shoulder to drunkenly squish his cheeks in her hands. “So cute and tiny. The wittle lord of bloodshed.”

Cassian takes a sip of his drink to collect his thoughts and you bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep it together.

“I don’t think little is a word anyone has ever used to describe me.”

You let your gaze slowly roam down his broad chest, down that trim waist, and over the muscled thighs you love to sit on so much. “Hmm. Maybe you weren’t listening.” You shrug and take a sip of your drink, satisfied with the outcome.

At least, until a waitress comes with another round of drinks, tearing everyone’s attention away long enough for your mate to lean down, warm breath fanning the side of your face, as he whispers, “That’s certainly not what you were saying about me the other night, sweetheart. Maybe you need a reminder when we get home, hm?”

Maybe you played right into his game in the long run, but it was only fair, he started it. 

And now you know exactly how to rile him up in the future. 

------

Rhysand:

He’s been trying to get ready for over an hour, endlessly changing suit jackets and shoes and it’s all starting to blur together. Somehow, you’ve been sitting on the edge of the bed, ready for nearly thirty of those sixty minutes. The wait is starting to get annoying especially when there is nothing wrong with any of the outfits he’s put together. 

Honestly, you’re not really trying to be mean, you’re just bored and the words slip out before you can stop them. “What does your tailor do for a living?”

He stills, wings twitching, as he looks at you over his shoulder in the reflection of the mirror. “What was that?”

You can physically see the blush dusting your cheeks, but the boredom is winning out, and truth be told, you love seeing the polished High Lord get thrown off his game every once in a while. He’s always so quick-witted, always prepared with a comeback. The moments you can catch him by surprise are rare, and you’ve got to take advantage of it. 

“I asked what your tailor does for a living.”

“He’s a tailor,” his wings are still twitching as he straightens his lapels. “Tailoring is a job.”

“You sure?”

He turns to face you, brows raised. “Did you hit your head?”

“I mean, those sleeves aren’t even-” they are “and they don’t pair well with the bracelet,” it’s a watch. A really expensive watch at that.

A muscle in Rhys’s brow bulges, as he reaches out to feel your forehead with the back of his hand. “Do you have a fever? This is a watch.”

“Looks like a bracelet to me.”

“It has numbers! It tells time!” He says, voice a tad shy of shrill.

You bite down a laugh. “It’s shiny. It’s on your wrist. It has a little clasp. It’s a bracelet.”

 “No-!” He bites his tongue as he unclasps the watch and tosses it on the bed with a growl. “You’re being ridiculous and we don’t have time for this.”

“How can you tell what time it is if the clock’s in the kitchen?”

The bond you two share pulses with such an intense wave of frustration that you can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of you. You try to cover it with your hands or a cough, but it only makes it worse. 

The tightness in Rhys’s shoulders drops as you double over, “You’re so easy to mess with.”

“Ha ha,” he retorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “You should do a comedy routine at Rita’s.”

When you finally manage to collect yourself you stand and go over to him. He doesn’t move, frowning like a statue there in the center of your bedroom. You grin as you stretch up on your tiptoes and give him a quick kiss on the lips. “You’re taking this dinner too seriously.”

“Well you could have been more supportive,” he huffs. 

“I was very supportive of the first and second outfits, both were perfect. Just like you.”

He makes a little grumble as you kiss him a second time. 

“No stop pouting and pick something before we really are late.”

He tosses the suit jacket into the growing pile on the bed and slides into the first, midnight black one he’d had on an hour ago. 

“And maybe add the bracelet, it’s cute.”

He smacks your ass in response this time. “You’re so mean to me.”

“You love it.”

A ghost of a grin pulls at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, I do.”

-----

Azriel:

Azriel’s more of a pouter than a reactor; bottling up his irritation, letting his shadows writhe around him when he’s upset or on edge. Most of your attempts to ragebait him have failed horribly. It’s so bad that Nesta has a betting pool on what phrases she thinks will get a verbal response from him.

Obviously, you can’t use them all at once, he’ll be on to your scheming, but you’ll slip them into conversation every once in a while and lay in wait for the day you finally get him. 

Coming up from the Library to bring lemonade to the Valkyries and their training partners on a particularly hot day seems like a good time to give it a shot. The question has been sitting at the top of Nesta’s betting pool, and on a summer day, when all the males have stripped off their shirts, seems as good a time as any. 

You pass over the glass of ice cold lemonade and start casually, “So Azzie, I’ve been thinking.”

He takes a sip, eyes never leaving yours over the sweating rim of the glass, waiting for you to finish. 

“I kind of want to start working out. I’m tired of getting winded going up the Library steps.”

His eyes light up at the thought; he’s been begging for you to join him for at least a session a week with him, like Nesta does with Cassian. You almost feel bad for the words that come out next, with how happy he looks. “Do you know anyone who can recommend a good gym?”

Out of the corner of your eye you see Emery clap her hand over her mouth to hold back a snort. Nesta’s icy eyes are glued to Azriel, waiting, hoping for some sort of reaction. 

At first, the Shadowsinger merely quirks a brow at you, as if you’ve made a joke he doesn’t quite understand. His shadows drift lazily off his tattooed biceps, drifting on the dry breeze to dust affectionately over your cheeks. As much as you love the contact, it’s a bad sign, because it means he’s not worked up over the comment, just taking a second to think. 

“I can think of a certain someone, yes,” he says with a smirk. 

And that’s how you end up running laps with Cassian for an hour, until your legs give out and you lie face down in a patch of grass, begging for relief. 

Cassian chuckles as he leaves you there and Azriel takes his place.

Your mate squats down to be close to you, grinning wolfishly, as he says softly, “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out about Nesta’s little bet, love?”

You haul yourself onto your knees, mud streaked across your forehead. “I’ll get you one of these days, Azriel.”

Fingers gripping the headboard, scarred hands around your neck. His body weight on top of you, cock pulsing through your middle. It almost felt real, imagining him like this.

Your breathing quickens, pointer and middle finger pumping in and out of you and massaging your clit. A soft pant begins to fall from your lips, toes curling into the blankets beneath you.

“Fuck…” you curse, feeling yourself get closer to the edge.

You picture Azriel’s sweaty body from training, him shirtless and sparring with Cassian. How good it would look hovering over you, watching you finger yourself.

He’d probably coo something in your ear, tell you how pretty you looked sprawled out underneath him. Or he’d taunt and tease you, laughing at how desperate you look for him to fuck you. Either way, you’d just be happy his eyes were on you, admiring how you touch yourself for him.

You moved your fingers quicker, the images flashing through your brain at a rapid speed.

Azriel in the library, Azriel on the dinner table, Azriel in the forest. Anywhere and everywhere, you could imagine him fucking you relentlessly, pulling every last drop of orgasm from your body.

You were so close as you thought about it, quiet moans slipping out left and right, body writhing beneath your own touch.

You thought you heard a gentle knock on the door but waved it off to imagination. You were too close to stop now, too immersed in the idea of Azriel’s hands on your body, touching you how you wanted, gripping onto your skin feverishly. You craved the feeling of those scarred hands wrapped around you, lying just like this, you could picture what it would feel like.

Your mouth parted open as you felt it, that sudden wave of electricity rushing through your veins as you were about to come.

“Oh, fuck… Ah!…” You moaned out, fingers moving too fast to think straight.

The soft click of the door went completely unnoticed, and as Azriel peaked his head inside to make sure you were okay, you fell right over the edge, succumbing to the unwanted pleasure.

You panted and whined, despite the complete look of shock on Azriel’s face. You couldn’t stop your fingers from moving now, rubbing against your clit as you came right in front him. The bedsheets beneath you soaked, Azriel’s eyes falling straight to your dripping cunt and locking there.

The look on his face said more than any words ever could. And once you came down from your high, your cheeks flushed a deep, warm shade of red.

─────────── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──────────

(Credits to @chrisssiren for the dividers)

Summary: A healer who heals a scar that will define Xaden Riorson in the future, who will become a healer who would heal his heart.

Content Warnings: Use of Y/N, third person POV

Author's Note: Fun fact, this was actually my first attempt at Strength but I kept this in my drafts for a while. I came across it recently and thought that maybe someone would like it, so here it is! Technically it could be read as a prequel to Strength, but it could also be a stand-alone. Just a fluffy little meet-cute. Happy Reading!

(1k words)

They were never meant to meet.

It was pretty ironic, actually — a rider and a healer. They met in their first years, right after Threshing.

The Healers Quadrant had been sent riders over the past few weeks, with cuts deep enough that they needed suturing.

Y/N was top of her class, being assigned to the hardest wounds to heal.

She’d executed every assignment perfectly, making sure that every suture was tight and precise, dealing with the stubborn riders who refused help with expert patience.

Xaden Riorson was sitting on the far side of the infirmary, pressing a cloth that he was given to the cut on his brow. Thanks a lot, Sgaeyl.

He tracked the movements of a girl holding a tray full of gauze, bandages, needles, antiseptic and thread.

“Hi, I’m Y/N and I’ll be helping you today,” she said warmly, pulling out a clipboard from under her tray before she set it down on the bedside table. The bottles made a soft clink sound as she set it down. “Can I have your name for the records?”

“Xaden Riorson,” he replied, analysing her expression as he answered her question. 

But she didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as react as she scribbled down his name on her clipboard before setting it down.

Her methodical fingers reached for a bottle full of clear liquid and a piece of gauze, pouring a bit onto the cotton.

She turned to face him. “Can I see?” She asked.

He peeled the cloth from his face and she gently took it from his hand and put it on her tray.

Her gaze was clinical and attentive as she studied the wound. Her hands rose but paused before touching his skin, like she was asking for permission.

When he gave no protest, she gently traced the skin beside the cut, pulling it back slightly and whispering “Sorry” even though he didn’t wince.

“It clotted well and it missed your eye, which is good,” she murmured, almost to herself, although he was close enough to hear.

She lifted the gauze. “It’s just water,” she reassured before pressing it slowly on his wound.

It stung a bit, but the water was lukewarm so he could manage it fine.

“You don’t talk a lot, do you?” She commented, not condescending, just observant.

Was it a trait of the healers? To be this observant?

“What do you want me to say?” He asked, his gaze sweeping over her features. Her chin, cheekbones, nose, eyes… mouth.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she replied, pulling the gauze from his wound. “It’s just that most riders would’ve cursed at me by now. Y’know, ‘I can heal myself’ or ‘I can do it myself’. No you can’t, that’s why you’re here.”

She started rambling, placing the now red-stained gauze on the tray and picking up the needle and thread.

“The most painful part is coming, do you want anything for it? Alcohol? Something to bite down on?” She asked after she successfully threaded the needle.

He usually didn’t, he’d just grit his teeth and push through the pain. But Xaden found himself thinking that if he wanted to be comforted by anyone at this war college, he’d want it to be her.

“Tell me something about you,” he said.

Her expression softened at his request, turning thoughtful before she asked, “Can you close your eyes?”

He complied, which surprised even him.

“My grandfather was a healer,” she began and Xaden felt a sharp sting at the top of his cheekbone. “He taught me the basics — teas ideal for flu patients, how to bandage a wound, how to identify broken bones.”

There was an alien tugging sensation in his skin and he inhaled sharply.

“Sorry,” she said automatically, pausing in her movements.

“No, it’s fine,” he said, rubbing his palms on his thighs. “Keep talking.”

A heartbeat passed before her voice filled his ears again. “That’s where I started, but I think I’ve always wanted to help others in a sense.”

Another sting, another tug, the snip of scissors, repeat.

“I’m not exactly strong enough to study in the Infantry or Rider’s Quadrant, so… here I am.” Her voice was soft and consistent, and it made Xaden forget all of his worries for a split second. “I’m proud of the work I’ve done here. I’m actually doing something, y’know? It might be a blip in the grand scheme of things… but it’s not nothing.”

The passion with which she spoke… Xaden could tell that she was telling the truth, something no one really did with him, let alone a stranger.

“No, it’s not nothing,” he murmured.

There was a tug at his brow, she must almost be done.

There was another pause, and then a scoff. “I was gonna ask you why you joined the Rider’s Quadrant. Gods, I’m so stupid… and sorry.”

“I’ve learned to live with it,” he replied, opening his eyes once he heard the final snip of the thread being cut. “And you should stop apologising for things that are out of your control.”

She lowered her hands from his face, putting the needle and thread on the tray before turning back to him.

“You must have learned to live with a lot of stuff,” she murmured.

“I got used to it,” Xaden said. “You just have to learn how to turn a shitty situation into an opportunity."

“Sounds like you’ve done it a lot,” she muttered.

“Sounds like you need to do it more often,” he countered.

She smiled softly, as if considering his words. She reached for another piece of clean cloth and doused it in water before dabbing gently at the sutured cut. “Keep the cut dry for the next day, wash it with warm water and soap after and don’t touch it. Come back if it gets infected or in five days to get the stitches removed.”

Xaden nodded slightly, standing up from the hospital bed. “Thank you, Y/N.”

“It was nothing,” she said, collecting all of her materials before lifting the tray. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

To his surprise, Xaden found himself looking forward to the next time he’d see her, to be under her focus and to hear her soft words.

“Yeah, I’ll see you.”

In this NSFW Choose Your Own Adventure, you were just a normal person -- but what happens when you wake up in the world of ACOTAR!?

Azriel, Cassian, Rhysand, Lucien, Feyre, Tamlin x Fem!Reader NSFW Choose Your Own Adventure, Isekai CW: Self harm/eating disorders

How they are after being away for awhile

Garrick:

He’s a soldier at his core, so when he gets home, it’s right to the debriefing and closing up the trip

But this has a purpose because when he’s done with the task, he’s looking for you

He doesn’t want to hear anything about the trip or any other things than you, he gave the report, so leave him be

And he is obnoxiously picking you up and giving you a kiss

Hes like “I’m going to borrow them for awhile” and just carry you away

Or he is the one to surprise you if his return isn’t made public already

Once he’s got you alone

Lolol

You’re not leaving the room for awhile

Bodhi usually leaves food at your door for you both because he knows you’re not leaving

He missed you, and jokes aside he wants to love you all over

He probably plans it so he has a day off after travels so he can spend it all with you

And yes, he usually brings you back something from his travels

Xaden

The moment he lands he’s yours

Garrick can do the paperwork

Bodhi can talk to the assembly

He is yours, you are home to him and he needs home when he gets back

And he doesn’t wait around for it

No matter where you are, he’s kissing you, holding you, and pushing everyone out of the room so he can have you

Literally he cleared out an assembly room, study, classroom

Bodhi and Garrick have “riorson house bingo” going on right now to mark off how many rooms in the fortress you two do it in other than his room

He’s the leader when he’s with others, but he’s Xaden with you

So expect such soft behavior when he’s with you

Cuddles, baths, meals, all together for the first few days

And if he has to meet the assembly or be away from you, he’s giving long kisses goodbye or keeping in touch with you the whole day

Bodhi

He’s so sweet when he’s home, if you’re waiting for him on the flight field he’s the one to run up to you and hug you

If he’s home and searching for you, when he sees you he gives a smile and a little wave, waiting to see if it’s a good time to come and greet you

Bodhi goes from serving the mission to serving you when he gets home

He wants to know about your days he missed, tell him everything

He’s asking if there’s anything he can do since he is back home

Taking care of you helps him work his way off the trip and back to himself

Even if he’s tired, he will still care for you

And the care extends to your rooms as well, it’s not about him your first night back, it’s all about taking care of you

He’s with you all night but waking up to get you breakfast in the morning

And, he does like to gift you small arrangements of flowers from his trips, mostly from the local area he’s at, longer trips he’ll dry them and press them so you still get something

Garrick once teased Bodhi that he’s wrapped around your finger but one time when his sound shield was left off the first night he came back and Garrick heard you, he quickly dropped his teasing remarks and questioned his own ability to take care of his partner

A master list for all my writings. Mainly for Fourth Wing and our rebellion boys. But I do write for other books so make sure to check my request guidelines to see who I am currently writing for.

Requests | Links

Of Light and Shadow

Xaden Riorson x Gamlyn! Reader

Important Author's note in the end.

Backstory:

Y/n and Ridoc are twins, with him being older by 6 minutes. They grew up in coastal village named Ceaelyn in the Morraine Province of the continent. Due to the fact that their parents were highly absent, Y/n and Ridoc were raised by people in their village. They were the heart and soul of Ceaelyn. Once they got of age, they decided to join the riders quadrant. Their father, initially desagreed (as did most of the village), but seeing as they were so bent on going, helped them train little by little so that they could at least survive those first months.

Basgaith

First Impressions

A Scent of Trouble

Eyes Up, Gamlyn

Focus, Wingleader

Mutual Distractions

The Light Wielder

Gonna do something about it?

Soft Spot

Sweet and Pretty

Not just Vanity

Charmed

Charming her

We Were Rebels

Aretia

Domesticated

You are who I worship

Oh dear twin...

Smitten

Utterly Divine

Well, Who is she? | And who is he?

Girl's night

A Cultured Duchess | The Necklace

The Importance of Light and Hope

Homesick

Ceaelyan First

Duchess of the People

Missions gone Wrong

My one and only

Light of Mine

Bliss

Renovations

Beach Weekend

A Very Loved Wife

And a Very Traumatized Twin

Ridoc's Revenge

The Girl's Reward

Her Birthday

His Birthday

Just Pure Love

Stressful Situations

Incorrect Quotes

Author's Note: Hello! This entire story is ALREADY WRITTEN. I literally wrote it little by little as I was doing my midterms and finals as a way to destress and to survive my Onyx Storm hangover, mainly for me, using my name as an OC. Then as I finished it and I was like damn, this could actually be something people could enjoy. It fluctuates from canon a lot so don't expect it to be precisely like the books. I will be updating little by little. Since it quite literally finished you guys might get various chapters a day.

Taglist: @eepyfaerie @dreamdragonkadia

cherié’s kiss: took a while cz i just got back from the bahamas with my family. enjoy my lovesss ♡

everyone at basgiath has heard xaden riorson almost laugh. a low huff through his nose.

you, however, take it as a personal challenge.

armed with terrible jokes, dramatic reenactments of your professors, and an alarming willingness to embarrass yourself in public, you spend weeks trying to crack the iron composure of the most intimidating rider in navarre. you earn eye rolls. mutters of “ridiculous.” the occasional reluctant smirk.

because beneath the shadows, sharp wit, and permanently stormy expression, you’re certain you could do it.

(Photos courtesy of Pinterest)

Thank you @empyreanevents for the border!

Summary: Our first kisses went a little like this…

Authors Note: Just a fun little take on how I imagine the FW boys would have their first kisses. No major warnings below, but some mentions of injuries. Enjoy!

Xaden

Xaden is distracted when it happens.

His focus is locked on the wyvern in front of him, Sgaeyl banking hard, shadows tearing through the air as he lines up his strike. He doesn’t see the second one until it’s almost too late.

But you do.

You don’t think. You don’t hesitate.

You break formation away from your patrol partner and drive your dragon straight at it.

Your dragon hits true, claws and teeth snarling as it stops the wyvern in its flight path. It shrieks and veers away from you — but not before it lashes out.

A talon catches your arm.

White-hot pain rips through you as your dragon roars, banking away hard. You barely keep your seat, blood slicking down your forearm, but you stay upright as your dragon strikes again.

The ambush ends minutes later.

Five dead wyvern. No casualties.

Xaden doesn’t look at anything except you the moment you land.

“What the hell was that?” He snaps.

You blink. “What was what?”

“You broke formation,” he says, jaw tight. “You took a risk you didn’t need to take, I had it covered.”

You frowned. “I handled it.”

“That wasn’t your call to make.”

“It absolutely was,” you shoot back. “You were a bit preoccupied. I wasn’t going to sit there and watch it kill you.”

His jaw clenches. “You got hurt.”

“It’s fine, it’s just a scratch.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Why are you yelling at me like I’m a first-year?” You shoot back, pulling off your gloves. “You were about to be flanked. I did what I had to do.”

He steps closer to you in two strides, eyes dark. “You shouldn’t have intervened.”

“And let it hit you?”

Xaden almost bristles, his eyes darkening as he eyes the blood steadily dripping down your finger tips from the cut on your arm.

“You don’t get to trade your life for mine,” he says.

You laugh, sharp. “Funny, because I don’t remember agreeing to that rule.”

People move around you. There’s noise everywhere. But somehow it still feels like it’s just the two of you.

He looks…not just angry. Shaken.

“You were too reckless.”

“No I wasn’t,” you say. “I made a calculated choice. One that worked.”

“You don’t get to make those choices about me.”

“Why?” You challenge. “Because you’re Xaden Riorson? Or because you’ve decided you’re the only one who’s allowed to be in danger?”

He doesn’t answer.

That’s what finally gets you.

You laugh, sharp and bitter. “Right. Of course. This again.”

“This isn’t about that.”

“Isn’t it?” You step closer. “Because you’ve been doing this for months, Xaden. Hot and cold. One day you act like you care. The next you can barely look at me. And now suddenly you’re worried again?”

Your voice shakes despite yourself.

“What am I to you? A liability? A distraction?”

His eyes darken. “That’s not—“

“No,” you cut in. “You don’t get to dodge it this time. Because today I chose you. And I’d do it again.”

You swallow. “So if I’m nothing, just say it.”

Silence.

Your chest tightens. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.” You shake your head. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to pretend anymore. I get it. This—“ you gesture between you. “—is nothing. It’s always been nothing.”

“That’s not true,” he says lowly.

“Then prove it,” you snap. “Because I am done chasing someone who only shows up when he’s angry.”

You start walking away.

You make it two steps before a hand clamps down onto your wrist.

He spins you back and kisses you like he’s been losing a battle with himself. One hand at your waist, one at the back of your neck to bring you flush to him.

It’s not gentle.

It’s not hesitant.

It’s months of restraint and fear and anger and want crashing into you all at once.

For a second, you’re too stunned to react.

Then you kiss him back just as fierce.

The world narrows to heat and your lips and tongues melding together and the way his hands are holding you like he’s afraid to let you go. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breathing just as unsteady as yours.

“…Don’t do that again,” he murmurs.

“Do what?” You whisper.

“Don’t ever tell me you mean nothing to me again.”

You swallow.

And you both know — that whatever this is.

There’s no going back now.

Dain

You’re sitting in the courtyard with Bodhi when you realise you’ve stopped listening to him.

Because Dain is across the yard.

He’s talking to another Wingleader, posture perfect, jaw chiseled, flight jacket immaculate, sun catching his hair in a way that feels deeply unfair for someone who’s just come back from the flight field.

You’re not staring.

You’re…admiring.

Repeatedly.

Bodhi follows your line of sight and snorts. “You know, if you keep looking at him like that, he’s going to notice.”

“I am not,” you say immediately.

“Mm-hm,” Bodhi hums, completely unconvinced.

Imogen and Quinn suddenly drop down onto the stone next to you and Bodhi. Quinn’s eyes immediately flicker between you — and immediately — noting the general direction of your stare.

“Oh,” Quinn says slowly. “Oh.”

Imogen’s mouth curves into something sharp and knowing. “So it wasn’t a rumour.”

“What rumour?” You ask.

“That you and Aetos were practically sitting in each other’s laps during breakfast,” Quinn says.

“We were not.”

“They were sharing a plate,” Bodhi adds, unhelpfully.

“See, that’s not sitting in his lap.”

Quinn grins. “So, what’s going on then?”

You hesitate, glancing in his direction again. Then you shrug. “It’s…new. We haven’t—really, talked about it yet. But we like each other…I think. Or at least I like him.”

Imogen’s nose scrunches immediately. “You have terrible taste.”

“Wow. Rude.”

“I’m just saying he’s not my type,” she clarifies. “Too…rule book. I mean has he even kissed you yet?”

“He cares about the rules, what’s wrong with that?” You say.

Her eyes narrow. “You know why. You know his family’s history, what they did to us and our families.”

“I know, but that wasn’t him.”

“And you’re just…okay with that?” Quinn asks, more gently.

“He’s nothing like his father,” you say firmly. “The last few weeks should prove that.”

There’s a beat of awkward silence.

Bodhi leans back on his hands. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s sweet. Like forbidden love or whatever—“

You roll your eyes at the description.

“—And Xaden doesn’t seem to mind. I think he’s happy someone is keeping an eye on him. Violet’s been smiling about it all week since she spotted you two hunched over that tome earlier in the Archives.”

Imogen rolls her eyes now. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“I don’t need you to,” you say. “I need you to trust me.”

They exchange looks.

“Of course we trust you,” Quinn says, before adding carefully. “But he could hurt you. Even if he doesn’t mean to. We’re just worried that’s all.”

You exhale through your nose, then stand. “You’re all exhausting.”

“Where are you going?” Bodhi asks.

“To prove a point.”

You walk straight across the courtyard.

Dain is still mid-conversation when you reach him. You don’t slow down. You don’t hesitate.

You grab him by the front of his flight jacket, haul him down to your height—

—and kiss him.

Hard.

The conversation around you dies instantly.

Dain freezes for half a second before his brain catches up. His eyes widen. His face goes pink. His hands hover like he’s not sure where he’s allowed to put them. Just as he’s about to sink into it—

—you pull back.

He’s staring at you like you just rewrote his entire understanding of reality.

You turn around, lift your hand, and flip your friends a very clear, very deliberate middle finger.

“Concern noted,” you call.

Then you grab Dain’s hand and start dragging him away. The sounds of Bodhi and Quinn’s laughter and Imogen’s gagging echoing behind you. He stumbles after you, completely stunned. “I—You—You just—“

“Yes,” you say cheerfully.

“That was—our first kiss—in public—“

“Also yes.”

His ears are red. His face is red. His entire soul is clearly overheating.

You finally stop in a quieter corridor. He’s still staring at you. You huff at the adorable confused look on his face, wondering if perhaps you’d read things wrong. Maybe he wouldn’t have appreciated such a display of affection—

“You realise,” he says, “that half the quadrant just saw that?”

“Good,” you declaring, before tilting your head. “Problem, Wingleader?”

His ears are still pink. His brain is still clearly rebooting. “You could’ve warned me.”

You grin. “Where’s the fun in that?”

He studies you for a second. “And you’re okay…with everyone seeing? Knowing?”

It’s a loaded question. You sense the secondary meaning to it — are you okay with people knowing about us? About him?

You step closer. “I wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t.”

Something in his shoulders eases. Then, very carefully — like he’s afraid of it doing it wrong — he leans in and kisses you back. Slower this time. Softer. Certain.

When you eventually pull away, he rests his forehead against yours briefly.

“…Next time,” he murmurs. “I’d still prefer advance notice.”

You smile. “No promises.”

Ridoc

It starts inside.

Which is always dangerous, because inside means witnesses.

You’re sitting on one of the benches near the armoury corridor, methodically cleaning your daggers, when Ridoc drops down beside you far too casually.

He watches you for a moment. Then his eyes land on it.

The dagger.

The one you won.

The one he still pretends not to be bitter about.

“Wow,” he says. “You’re still carrying that around?”

You don’t look up. “Funny how winning works.”

“For the hundredth time, I let you win.”

You snort. “Hardly. You tripped over your own feet.”

“Strategic misstep,” he corrects.

You reach for the dagger to sheath it—

—and it’s suddenly not there.

“Hey!”

Ridoc is already on his feet, holding it up just out of reach. “Careful. I’m just taking back what you stole.”

You stand, narrowing your eyes. “Give it back.”

He grins. “And it looks like you’ve stolen my heart too.”

You groan. “That was awful.”

“But you loved it.”

You scrunch your nose. “…Maybe a little.”

He backs away. You step forward.

He backs away more.

“Ridoc,” you warn.

“Catch me.”

And then he’s gone, slipping out the doors and into the corridor.

“What are you, twelve? Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to run with sharp things!” You yell after him.

You chase him through the halls, past startled cadets and very unimpressed instructors, both of you inevitably laughing as Ridoc does a dramatic twirl to avoid colliding with Professor Kaori. He keeps glancing over his shoulder at you, letting you get just close enough to think you might catch up with him before darting away again.

He leads you straight out into the courtyard—

—and straight into the rain.

You skid to a stop as cold water immediately soaks through your clothes.

“Really?” You say. “You planned this?”

“Not the rain,” he says, hair already plastered to his forehead. “But I’m not mad about it.”

He finally slows to avoid skidding over the wet stone.

You see your opportunity and you lunge.

This time, you catch him.

You both go down in a messy, laughing heap, sliding a little on the wet stone before he rolls onto his back and you end up half on top of him, breathless and soaked.

“Lost again Gamlyn,” you say, triumphantly.

He holds the dagger up for a second, then lowers it between you. It’s within reach now, but you’re too focused on the way Ridoc is looking at you to notice.

You’ve never seen him look so intense, especially when looking at you.

For a moment, neither of you moves.

The rain fades into background noise.

His grin softens. His voice does too.

“…You really did take my dagger,” he says quietly. “And I think…yeah. My heart too.”

You roll your eyes, your cheeks impossibly warm. “You’re impossible.”

“True,” he says. “But you did catch me.”

“So what do I win this time?”

With a cheeky smirk, he leans up and abruptly kisses you. It’s gentle. A little unsure, but it’s…perfect.

Your initial surprise quickly melts away as his lips softly move against yours. His hand not clutching the dagger lifts up to rest on your hip, steadying himself, and you, before you melted into a puddle along with the rain.

When he pulls back, he presses the dagger into your hand.

“Fair trade,” he says softly.

You look at him. The rain. The courtyard. You had never had a more effortlessly romantic first kiss.

“Very smooth,” you tease. “Worth it.”

You smile down at him, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his lips again before getting to your feet, holding your hand out to him to help him up.

He beams like he just won something better than a weapon.

Garrick

The training mat is already warm from the afternoon sun streaming in through the windows when you step into it, fingers tightening around your practice blade.

Garrick stands across from you with that infuriating, lazy confidence of his — arms crossed, posture relaxed, dark eyes bright with amusement.

“You sure about this?” He asks. “I was planning on going easy on you today.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s what you said last time. And the time before that.”

“And you’re still standing,” he replies smoothly. “See? Mercy.”

Xaden and a few others linger at the edge of the mat, watching with mild interest. Garrick finally takes his weapon, spinning it once in his hand before settling into position.

“Try not to cry when I knock you on your ass,” he says.

You smirk. “Bold words for someone who will be kissing my ass soon.”

He laughs — actually laughs — and then he lunges.

He comes at you fast, as expected. Strong. Precise. Overwhelming in the only way Garrick has ever been to you. His stature, his charm, his personality, his looks — everything.

You block, pivot, duck, your arms already burning as you trade blow after blow.

He’s better than you. Stronger.

But he’s also too confident, and underestimating the extra sparring practice you’ve being doing just for this moment.

You let him back you to the edge of the mat, let him think he’s herding you. Let him press, let him push until he thinks you’ll have to concede.

Then, at the last second, you twist inside his guard, using your smaller stature to your advantage, hook his wrist, and use his own momentum against him.

He swears as his balance goes — just for a fraction of a second.

It’s enough.

You sweep his legs.

He hits the ground hard, and before he can recover, you’re there — kneeling on his chest, blade at his throat, breathing just as heavily as he is.

The room goes quiet.

Garrick blinks up at you.

Once.

Twice.

Then his mouth curves into something slow and dangerous, and very, very impressed.

“…Well,” he says. “That’s new.”

You grin, still a little breathless. “Yield?”

His hands lift slowly in surrender.

“I yield,” he says, voice low. “Gods help me, I yield.”

You stand and offer him a hand.

He takes it — and uses it to pull you closer than necessary as he gets to his feet.

Too close.

Your chests brush. Your breaths tangle. The air between you feels suddenly…charged. Your hand till cradled in his much larger one.

“You planned that,” he says quietly.

“Maybe,” you admit. You bit your lip before shooting your shot. “I wanted to know what you looked like under me.”

His eyes darken, before dropping to your lips. Then back to your eyes.

“And what did you think?”

“…I liked it,” you murmur after a beat.

For a moment, neither of you moves.

The noise around the training room fades.

His gaze searches your face — like he’s making a decision.

Then he lifts a hand and cups your jaw, thumb warm against you cheek.

“Well thank god, because I enjoyed seeing you above me.”

His lips brush against yours as he says it.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.

You don’t.

He presses in further, connecting your lips in a slow, unhurried kiss. It’s electric. Slow. Certain. And the most intense thing you’d ever felt before.

When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm, his voice quiet.

“…You should beat me more often.”

You laugh softly.

He smiles — and this time, there’s nothing smug about it.

Only something real.

Bodhi

The Archives are almost empty when you give up.

Your eyes blur over the same paragraph for the fifth time, and you let your forehead drop lightly onto the open book with a defeated sigh.

“That bad, huh?” Bodhi murmurs from across the table.

“You assigned me the most boring section of military history in existence,” you say, lifting your head to glare at him. “I’m pretty sure this scribe died whilst writing it due to boredom, and I’ll be next at this rate.”

He smiles — soft, crooked. “I thought you liked reading about kingdoms outside of Navarre?”

“Only when they’re interesting,” you retort.

He slides another book towards you, before moving to take your one. “Try this one. I’ll take the notes from yours. There’s more dramatic flare.”

“Ah. My favourite genre.”

You reach for it at the same time Bodhi reaches for your book.

Your fingers brush.

It’s barely anything — accidental — but you both pause.

Slowly, he lets go first, clearing his throat as he returns to diligently taking notes. You don’t miss the faint pinkish hue to his dark complexion, even in the low light.

And you certainly didn’t miss the small spark that jolted down your arm at the skin-on-skin contact.

You try to go back to reading, but you’re suddenly very aware of him. Of the way his knee keeps bumping yours under the table. Of the way he leans close to point something out. Of how his eyes seem to linger on your lips when you laugh at something he says.

Eventually, the bell chimes the late hour.

You both look up, startled.

“…We should probably go,” you say.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Before we become permanent residents of the Archives.”

You pack up in companionable silence and walk back through the quiet halls together. Basgiath at night feels different — softer, but more dangerous if you drop your guard. Like it’s holding its breath for something to happen.

Bodhi insists on walking you to your room, ever the gentlemen. Even taking your bag to carry for you so not to strain your shoulder after a rough gym session with Imogen earlier in the day.

Outside your dorm room, you stop.

“Well,” you say, reaching for your bag and lifting it onto your shoulder. “Thank you for carrying this, and walking me back.”

“Anytime,” he says. Then, after a beat, “Even though you almost died of boredom?”

You smile. “I could never die of boredom with you.”

Neither of you moves.

The silence stretches — not awkward, just…full. Truthfully, you’ve been waiting for Bodhi to make a move for a few weeks now, but he never did. Maybe you were reading things wrong?

He rubs the back of his neck. “Can I ask you something, kind of stupid?”

“You don’t usually ask first,” you tease gently.

He huffs a quiet laugh, then grows more serious. “I’ve been wanting to do something for a while now.”

Your heart starts to pound.

“Oh?”

He steps a little closer. Not enough to crowd you. Just enough that you can see his intention and the nervousness in his eyes. He delicately lifts a hand and curls a stray hair behind your ear.

Your breath hitches.

“This is where you’re supposed to tell me to shut up if I’m wrong,” he says.

You swallow. “I’m still waiting for you to ask me a question.”

He huffs a laugh. “Can I…kiss you?”

The question is so earnest, so careful it almost breaks you.

“Yes,” you say softly. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He hesitates — just for a second — like he’s making sure he’s not dreaming.

Then he leans in.

The kiss is gentle. Slow. A little uncertain at first, like he’s giving you time to change your mind — but you don’t. You’ve been dreaming about this moment ever since you first laid eyes on him. You tilt into him, and his hands come up to rest lightly on your waist, warm and steady.

It’s not rushed. Or desperate. It’s just feels right.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead lightly on yours.

“…Wow,” he murmurs.

You smile bashfully at him. “Is that a good ‘wow’? Or I just ruined everything ‘wow’?”

“Very good ‘wow’,” he says, smiling at you too.

You didn’t even realise you were still holding your breath, waiting for his answer, until you exhaled. Bodhi chuckles at your obvious relief, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before stepping reluctantly away.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast?”

You nod, watching as he begins to walk away. He glances back — just once — when he thinks you’re already inside, both your faces blushing when you both realise you’ve been caught staring.

You lean back against your door, a stupid smile on you face.

You can’t wait for breakfast tomorrow.

Brennan

The infirmary is too white. Too quiet. Too clean for the way your body still feels like it’s breaking.

You’re sitting on the edge of one of the beds, boots still on, hands clenched in your lap, blood dried on your face, hands and clothing, a split in your lip that stings every time you breathe.

“Nolan will be here in a minute,” you say for the third time. “Brennan, it’s fine.”

He doesn’t even glance towards the end of the infirmary where curtains are drawn around the bed of one of your squadmates.

He looks at you.

And his expression is tight — jaw clenched, eyes burning with something dangerously close to panic.

“You were in RSC,” he say flatly. “You were gone for almost three days. It’s not fine.”

“I’m walking.”

“Barely.”

You open your mouth to argue again and immediately wince.

“That’s it,” he says, already stepping closer. “Don’t move.”

“Brennan—“

His hands are already glowing.

“—you haven’t been cleared to heal people without supervision yet. What if you collapse again?”

You try and slide away from him on the bed, but he isn’t having it.

“Don’t! You’ll push yourself too far again. Just wait for Nolan, please.”

He ignores you completely, warm magic settling over your ribs, your shoulder, the deep bruising you can’t even see. His touch is careful but urgent, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t fix everything right now you’ll disappear again.

You sigh in defeat, allowing him to put his hands on you, mumbling about Sorrengail stubbornness.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he says quietly.

Your heart stutters.

“When you weren’t at dinner that first night, I knew they’d taken you,” he continues, voice low, controlled — but you can hear the strain under it. “I know we all have to go through this, but I didn’t think I would feel this way. No one would tell me anything and—“ He swallows. “I thought…you were gone for so long…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

You soften. “I’m okay.”

His eyes snap up to yours. “You’re bleeding.”

“Barely.”

“Do you have any idea what it’s like,” he says, stepping closer still so your knees touched his stomach, “to be walking around this place pretending everything is normal while the person you—“ He stops himself, breathes. “While you’re in RSC?”

The air between you suddenly feels too tight. Too charged.

“Yes,” you mumble. “Because I felt the same way when you were taken.”

His hands come up to your face, thumbs brushing your jaw, his glow fading as his touch turns less clinical.

His gaze drops to your mouth.

“You’re still hurt,” he murmurs.

“It’s just my lip.”

He hesitates for half a second.

Then leans in.

The kiss is slow. Deep. Not rushed—like he’s been holding back for weeks and finally can’t anymore. His hand cups your cheek, steady, warm and grounding. The world narrows to just this: the quiet, relief, the way his breath shudders when he finally lets himself touch you, your hands resting gently on his shoulders.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“There,” he says softly, a faint smile in his voice. “All healed.”

You blink. “…Did you just use your signet as an excuse to kiss me?”

“Absolutely,” he says without shame.

You laugh, breathless. “You’re unbelievable.”

“So are you,” he says seriously. His thumb gently caresses your lower lip and he looks like he’s contemplating kissing you again. “I won’t let you get hurt anymore, if you’ll have me.”

You nod, almost too quickly, swallowing Brennan’s chuckle as you firmly grab the collar of his shirt and pull his lips back down to yours.