Painted Writings🗝

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Fluff✨               Angst🥀                 Hurt/Comfort⛈️                Smut💋

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Series/Multi-Chapter

Leaving For A Mission⛈️ 

✩☽✧Returning From A Mission✨💋

But First, The End💋

✩☽✧The Battle Between⛈️🥀

✩☽✧Battle Between Azriel!Bonus POV✨⛈️

Blush Wars✨

✩☽✧Blush Wars Pt. 2

Missing in Action🥀⛈️

One-Shots:

The Great Frosting Incident✨💋

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/her pronouns used)

Word Count: 10.7k

Summary: Part 2 of Blush Wars! Y/n and Azriel have a rather unorthodox mission in the Day Court…alone.

Warning/Notes: SOOOOOO, I didn’t quite realize how long this was until I finished but I’m also not about to cut anything lmao, so hope you enjoy it. I will say there's mention of torture/pain closer to the end and a flashback dream (It's not very long just a few paragraphs) so if you’re not comfortable with that do avoid! Please let me know what you think!

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The golden rays of the morning sun woke Y/n with a vengeance. Her head pounding from her poor decisions the night before. She groaned, dragging her pillow out from under her head and shoving it over her face to save her poor eyes from the light.

Thankfully, she didn’t have anything major going on today other than taking a much needed day to relax after a tense week. She half debated staying in bed all morning, but decided against it when she found only the company of her own thoughts and the inability to fall back asleep holding her hostage.

She had grown accustomed to the monotony of her life over the past few centuries. Accepted that perhaps a fae’s extended existence offered little beyond fleeting moments of joy—most of them found within her family. Some days she even enjoyed the numbness that overtook her being, the repetitive nature of her life nothing short of relieving.

She was fine with that, she loved working for Rhys, their court, and protecting Velaris. She never minded the slew of missions she was sent on, the meetings she attended, or the training, not if it meant she could help those she cared about. Not if it meant she could give something back to Rhys, he had saved her from his father, from herself, after all.

She huffed, throwing her blankets off rather unceremoniously. The mornings were always the hardest parts of the day for her. When she first wakes she finds it difficult for her mind to ignore the slew of her thoughts. The slow becoming of awareness making it easier to fall victim to the torrent of emotions she usually has hidden deep behind a wall of thorns and chains within her.

“Good morn,” she whispered to the House of Wind, a waking tradition she never failed to miss. The House took good care of its inhabitants, the least she could do was wish it a good morning. She smiled softly when she felt the warmth flood deeper into her room, a slight hum coming from the sentient walls.

She didn’t bother getting dressed in anything more than her usual Night Court attire, her leathers left untouched. She had already missed training this morning, having taken the day off after just getting back from a four day long mission last night.

She had done her best to avoid seeing people when she got in, but had been caught by Mor and Nesta the two heading out to Rita’s and somehow convincing her it would be fun if she joined. To be fair, it had been fun, and she’d found herself enjoying her time spent with the two women as she danced and drank the night away.

As Y/n made her way out of her room and down the long hallways of the House of Wind, fingers trailing the wall as she took in all of the life that had been breathed into it since Feyre joined their family a few years ago. 

With Feyre and Rhys mainly residing in the river house these days, and the House of Wind becoming Nesta and Cassian’s main residence, Y/n had been considering whether or not to purchase her own apartment. She had more than enough money to do so, what with her High Lord and Lady’s more than generous paychecks. But, there had always been a small voice in the back of her head that kept her here. Plus, Nesta and Cassian didn’t mind her staying—never had.

She adored the House of Wind, she had always preferred staying here, the sentience of the House, and its less than easy accessibility had always been something that made her feel…safer than that of the townhouse or river house. And, since her magic didn’t quite work the same as winnowing, but something the others referred to as ripping, the process of creating rifts of magic that left portal-like openings she could peel back like a curtain from one place to another, she’d always been able to magic herself into– or rather right above– the House of Wind even though others could not. A small fact that had always driven Rhys crazy. 

Y/n felt her lips tip up at the thought of her friend, he didn’t mind her being able to magic in and out of the home he knew she preferred. But, Rhys was a High Lord, and he liked knowing that all of his magic, his homes, were warded and protected the way they were designed to be. And Y/n, broke that mold with her most basic of magic. 

The distant hum of her family's voices and laughter from the kitchen filtered through the halls like a chorus of warmth, drawing Y/n out of her thoughts. She debated avoiding the noise entirely, and sneaking off to seclusion of the library, but quickly decided she could suck it up and say hello, especially since Rhys had mentioned needing to speak to her and Azriel today.

It piqued her interest.

Is Azriel already there?

She ground her teeth at the thought, shoved it deep down into her subconscious. The moment she let those thoughts dictate her actions… was the moment he won. And, she couldn’t have that, not when their little game was only just beginning.

The two of them had been dancing along the edges of each other for nearly a month now. Ever since Y/n had all but declared war on him in training the fateful morning. 

She still didn’t know why she had decided to let Azriel into her room that night two months ago. Let him see the broken, shattered part of her that she usually took such care to hide from those around her. She never allowed anyone into her room, into that darkness that festered around the place that was meant to be taken care of, helped by those who loved her. But she felt safer keeping those feelings locked away, they were hers, a place where she didn’t have to hide, or pretend, or be brave for anyone. She saw her room the same way she saw the inside of herself, and every jagged, shattered piece was hers to keep, to maintain, to accept– even love.

She had let him in.

She knew something had changed in Azriel towards her that night, though it had taken her a few weeks to piece it together. Something that drove her a little crazy, it never took her that long to figure things out. But, he was not a normal male, and honestly, it probably would have taken the others months to decipher from him what she had in a few weeks. Then again, the others didn’t watch him like their lives depended on it. 

 It hadn’t been until the night he had all but growled in her ear, “wicked, brilliant creature,” that she had realized what exactly it was that had set her oldest friend off. She shivered just remembering the drop in his voice, the way her entire body had seemed to tighten at his attention. She had wanted to lean into that voice–into him, let him see every part of her.

And that had not been acceptable.

She thrived on control, on power over herself, on knowing that despite loving her family, and being willing to protect them at any and all costs, she was still her own person.

“Ah, there she is,” she could practically hear the smirk in Cassian’s voice as she finally made her way into the large kitchen space. A quick glance around telling her that Rhys, Feyre and Nyx were lounging at the large table, the latter happily cooing in his mother’s lap as she bounced him. Cassian leaned casually against the counter, a mug of steaming liquid halfway to the brutes mouth. “Nice of you to finally join us, this morning.”

Nesta smacked her mate’s arm, dressed in leathers having just finished this morning's training. “Leave her be, she had very a busy night,” the eldest Archeron waggled her brows suggestively. 

“Ah, so you two managed to convince the most disciplined member of my court to participate in your bad decisions, then?” Rhys crooned from his seat.

Mor cackled from her place across the room, the blond already nursing her own hangover remedy. “I’m sure that male she brought home was very pleased with said bad decisions.”

Y/n rolled her eyes as she slid into the seat opposite of Feyre at the table. She may or may not have gone home with a beautiful male simply to get the two females off her back about her sudden lack of…sexual partners the past few months. She hadn’t actually slept with the male, but she’d allowed him to walk her to a random apartment he thought was her home– there was no way she’d allow him to know where she actually lived, let alone near her actual bed. Disgusting. Even the thought of a stranger inhabiting her space made her want to crawl into a bath and scrub her skin raw. 

She wasn’t a prude by any means. She did, however, draw a very clear line with herself when it came to choosing the males, or females, she spent her time with. She never, ever, brought them back to the house, or anywhere near her space. It made her skin crawl to even think about. 

Until him.

That annoying voice that sounds an awful lot like her own spits at her.

The room shifted, dark tendrils of shadows suddenly slipping around the base of the floor, the walls. The temperature dropped around the room, just barely, but for her, her skin felt like it harbored a fire beneath. Warmth seeping through each of her bones as the back of her neck prickled.

Then–

“Since when do busy nights affect your training schedule?” Y/n tensed as she heard his voice, entering the room through the shadows he was always so fond of. She cursed herself inwardly as her eyes flicked to him against her will. 

Gods.

He was beautiful, always had been. Of the three Illyrians in the room Azriel had the most natural perfection, something she hadn’t started noticing until recently, much to her chagrin. His purely male scent of cedar and night-chilled mist her sweetest pleasure and deepest guilt. The way his wings flared, or the way his leathers clung to his chest in a way that no other male could manage. 

She couldn’t help but fall into the memories of the past few weeks, how waking up and finding ways to make the shadowsinger blush had been the highlight of her time. That, at least, had kept her busy enough to ignore the unsettling feelings he had recently started stirring deep beneath her skin.

A few weeks ago had been Starfall, and she’d run into Azriel in his miserable attempts at tying a new cravat around his throat–something he had cursed Mor silently for insisting was the new style. It had taken no time at all to step into his space, the male’s mighty wings flaring slightly as he somehow stood to his full height. She’d huffed, much shorter than him, and dragged him down by the throat to help him tie the damn thing. She hadn’t even meant to, but something about their proximity and her whispering, poor Illyrian baby, while helping him dress had caused the male's naturally tanned skin to warm. Her eyes flicking greedily along his skin as he did his best to grumble a thank you and hide his face.

Point to me.

It had spiralled from there, she couldn’t have stopped it if she wanted to: One day, she had been on a ladder aiming for a book far too high in the library, her patience too thin to wait for one of the priestesses. Her foot had slipped and before her face could meet the floor she’d felt strong, sturdy hands on her waist, her eyes meeting her savior’s. Those hazel pools of intense steel dancing with mirth as he murmured, “Careful, Y/n, I’d prefer you stay in one piece.” Staying only long enough to steady her, study the blush he’d bloomed across her skin, before he disappeared to wherever shadowsingers dwelled, leaving her reeling.

A few days after that she’d taken her chance to gain the upper hand, finding him fixated on some reports. The thick, corded muscles of his arms making her breath hitch the veins straining so deliciously. Hair fell over his forehead, those loose dark strands utterly distracting as he hovered over the desk completely lost in thought. She’d swallowed that heat, hidden it deep, and strutted over silently, being sure he wouldn’t hear her approach until it was too late. Noting how relaxed his shadows were, not alerting their master of her approach. She’d have to thank them later. He had tensed when he finally felt her presence at his side. It had been when she’d leaned over–careful of his wings– her breath whispered against the shell of his ear, “Gods, you’re unfairly pretty when you focus, shadowsinger,” that he’d finally gifted her the sight of his face, red and pinks already swimming along his cheeks and throat as he swallowed hard. She’d done her best to commit the sight of his blush to her memory so she could replay it again and again. But, his eyes had flickered with something so deep, so intense, she had to wink and make her exit before she did something stupid:

Like kiss him.

No. No. No.

She shook her head, ignoring how most of her family now focused their gazes entirely on her, and her lack of response to the shadowsinger. She plastered a smirk on her face, “Since I decided I deserved a day off after my very busy schedule these past few weeks.” Her words landed, Azriel’s jaw tightening as he made his way further into the kitchen. He knew exactly what she’d meant by ‘busy’.

She dutifully ignored the odd look Feyre shot her, questioning in nature, as she asked, “What did you want to talk to us about, Rhys?” A delicious blueberry tart found home in her mouth as she held back a groan at the ooey gooey goodness of flavor that burst in her mouth.

Her eyes unconsciously flicked to Azriel’s, the shadowsingers pupil’s dilating as she shot him a smirk and flicked her tongue out to flick a crumb off her bottom lip.

Her High Lord leaned casually back in his seat, clearly not missing the odd tension that had been building between two of the most infamous members of his court. Y/n flashed her eyes sweetly at Nyx as he babbled in her direction, flailing his spoon like a sword as he giggled.

“You two will be traveling to the Day Court tomorrow for their Solstice of Golden Light gala.” Y/n blinked, taking a sip of the tea the House had magicked in front of her. “Helion’s extended an invitation and it would be impolite to decline.” Y/n narrowed her eyes at her High Lord…there was something dancing beneath the humor in his tone, something like intent. 

“And only Az and I are to go?” She questioned.

“Yes.” Rhys smirked. “Amren is needed to stay and watch over Velaris. Mor has work elsewhere, Cassian’s history with…destroying buildings makes me hesitant to have him visit any court–”

“It was one building. One time.” Cassian grumbled.

Rhys ignored him.

“Feyre and I…also have plans that simply cannot be postponed. So, dear Y/n, that leaves my two most valued spies, surely you’re able to handle a bit of dancing and conversing? I figured you’d appreciate a change in your missions.”

Y/n gave him a bland look, utter delight with himself evident as she flicked her gaze to Azriel, the male already looking incredulously at his High Lord. Azriel and Y/n both knew this…was some sort of test, some game Rhys had concocted. Neither of them were great at the whole socialization part of court politics, they were arguably the worst at it, in fact. And yet, somehow they’d both found themselves sucked into this situation.

“We just thought you both deserved a few days off,” Feyre chipped in, a soft smile grazing their High Lady’s face. “You’ve been working a lot recently, and this seemed like a good way for you two to take a vacation without having to ask.” She didn’t bother adding the fact that everyone in this room knew they wouldn’t ask for time off or a vacation, the two were borderline workaholics. It was one of the reasons Y/n was sure they both were enjoying this little game of theirs so much. That, and the fact that they couldn’t seem to keep their thoughts, or blushes, to themselves these days.

Y/n simply hummed, sitting back and taking another sip of her tea as she digested this change of plans. Her eyes flicked once more to Azriel’s, the male now looking at her, lifting his brows as if to ask, any ideas? A quick shake of her head relaying that she couldn’t possibly fathom why Rhys and Feyre really thought this was a good idea. The last gala Y/n and Azriel had attended together –had been more than disastrous. Azriel had been asked to dance by a lovely, unfortunate female who he’d accidentally stepped on the feet of the whole dance before awkwardly patting her shoulder and fleeing to his shadows…and Y/n? Gods, she’d been so anxious that she’d consumed enough fae wine to take down an Illyrian cavalry. By the end of the night both had hidden in the corners of the massive space until Rhys had given them the okay to leave.

“There’s no other purpose? Nothing else we are being sent for?” Azriel pushed.

Rhys sighed, “The only parameter is for you two to try not to brood in the corners and scare all the eligible men and women off. Perhaps you could even let go, have some fun while you’re there.” When the two glowered, clearly not believing him, Rhys let out a slightly exasperated chuckle, “If it makes you feel better, then keep an eye on each other and ensure that the other isn’t working, that is your mission.”

Y/n heard Cassian mutter amusedly, “Oh to be a fly on the wall,” Azriel sent his brother a glare that promised pain if he didn’t shut his mouth. The commander put his hands up in surrender, a smirk still present on his lips. “I’m just saying that this isn’t exactly your forte, Az. Socializing, for fun.”

Standing up and stretching fully, her shirt riding up along her stomach, Y/n made her way towards the sink, grabbing her still half full mug as she stepped around the table, angling her body closer to where Azriel stood. She isn’t quite sure why she decided right now was an opportunity to push her and Azriel’s little game. But… she found herself completely unable to control herself around him these days. It was rare that they spent any time together and she didn’t look for opportunities to press his buttons, to make him squirm under her gaze.

So she made the questionable decision of saying, “Don’t worry, Cass. I’ll take very good care of him,” her gaze catching and holding Azriel’s as her body shifted wholly in front of his, her toes kissing his boots. She barely held the smile on her lips that begged to break free as he froze, his pupils dilating. From her periphery she saw Cassian halt, too, his cup halfway to his mouth, Nesta’s head tilting slightly as she looked between the two. 

Rhys coughed from behind her, the chair groaning slightly as he leaned forward, his gaze now trained on them. Even Mor had come closer as if assuming she had heard Y/n wrong. She knew their reactions didn’t have much to do with the words themselves, but how she had said them. The sultry use of her voice, the way Azriel’s throat bobbed as he stared at her, as she stared at him.

But, Y/n didn’t care that they were here, not as a color crept across the tips of his ears, his shadows slithering to hide it from her. 

Too late.

Her smile spread against her will, just for him as they held eye contact. She bounced once on the heels of her feet, her hand bringing the mug to her lips as she gave him an innocent look of delight. She flicked her tongue out once, running it along the bottom of her lip as she thrived under his attention. Gods, she loved the way he looked at her.

She didn’t doubt he had mixed feelings about her winning this war, currently. That she had taken so well to making the infamous spymaster of the Night Court blush as if it was second nature, taking every opportunity to see that intoxicating color across his features, his face morph, his eyes burn…

Mother boil her, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to live without it.

Azriel’s eyes never left her face, his lashes fluttering as he tried to comprehend what exactly she’d just invited into their little game. She knew triumph spread across her features, a dare dancing along her eyes that spurred Azriel into action:

One step towards her was all it took for her smile to drop, to recognize she just changed from being the hunter to the hunted. Closing the already miniscule distance between them, Y/n couldn’t hold back the blink of surprise, her brow knitting in confusion. 

He leaned down, his voice soft as he spoke, “It won’t be me who needs watching,” then he took the mug from her hand– slowly, and took a long drink out of it, exactly where her own lips had lived only moments before.

His eyes never once leaving hers as her mouth refused to work, her throat suddenly dry as she watched the action of his throat move around the liquid. 

“Delicious,” he murmured.

Holy fucking Gods.

She didn’t dare look away, not even as she felt her family react in real time: Cassian’s splutter, or Nesta’s widened eyes, Mor’s jaw on the ground in utter shock, Feyre’s small gasp, and Rhys’s magic flare at this new turn of events. 

And fuck, she knew, could feel, the flush that started from the tips of her toes to the top of her head, her face blazing as Azriel finally set the mug down on the counter. 

His gaze devoured the sight. His chest puffing, his wings flicking as a dominant, conquering smirk grazed just the edge of his lips. She could practically hear his words in her head, that’s it, y/n, blush for me, let them see what only I can do to you.

Then the bastard winked. 

Winked.

Words did not exist, not anymore. Her brain simply couldn’t process the sight, the action. He had–he had placed his lips on the same mug she had just sipped from, had practically kissed her. Well, not kissed, but close enough…in front of everyone! And the worst part? She liked it. Her body was on fire, alight with heat she hadn’t even known could exist inside of her.

“Is there…something you two want to share with the rest of us?” Rhysand’s curious tone finally breaks through the charged silence; asking a question Y/n was sure he already knew the answer to.

“No.” They spoke at the same time; hers a whispered ghost of the word, his eyes finally flicking away from her and towards his brother’s over her head, a guttural voice wrapped around the singular word.

“We can talk details later, I have business I need to finish up before we leave tomorrow,” Az murmured, shooting her one last heated look before disappearing into his shadows. She stood, frozen to the spot, looking into the free air of where he just stood.

“Y/n–” Mor began.

She didn’t stick around, oh no, she just grabbed that now empty mug, held it close to her chest and took it to her room.

It ended up on her bookshelf.

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The next afternoon came too quickly for Y/n to even begin recomposing herself after yesterday morning's blush debacle. 

She hadn’t seen Azriel again, the spymaster true to his words on ‘handling’ whatever work he needed to before they were set to depart. She’d ended up biting the bullet and asking Cassian to train with her that afternoon, needing to work up some built up…tension.

Cassian had bugged her the whole session about what exactly had happened that morning, but he didn’t manage to get anything more than a few glares and grunts out of her. The commander had clearly been itching for information, getting no further with Azriel as they came striding into the river house’s foyer together. 

She heard Azriel growl something low and hostile toward his friend before they both promptly slammed their mouths closed upon seeing her already packed and ready. Her eyes narrowing into slits at Azriel’s tense body language, and Cassian’s entirely too casual stance.

Rhys clapped his hands together before settling one back around Feyre’s narrow shoulders, “You both ready?” Y/n wanted to say no, to tell her High Lord, and more importantly, her friend that this was a very bad idea, for so many reasons. But, Y/n had never once been given a mission that she didn’t see through, let alone one as simple as showing up, being cordial, and…enjoying herself.

Her High Lord could see that and more in both hers and Azriel’s expressions as he smirked, clapped his hands on either of their shoulders. She felt the tell-tale wooziness that always accompanied her whenever she had to winnow somewhere. The cool feeling of slipping between the folds of the world, from one place to the next in a matter of moments. 

Winnowing felt so different from her ripping magic–when she magick her rifts from one place to another it was as simple as pulling a door open and walking through, or jumping over a ledge to the other side. But, since they were traveling to another High Lord’s Court, Y/n wasn’t allowed to use her magic to get them there, only Rhysand had permission, so here they were. 

Unfortunately, winnowing–made her physically sick. Every single time. 

Azriel, ever the gentleman, was well aware of her distaste for the magic, and how her body all but rejected it from her very being, and stepped closer to her as she felt her feet hit solid ground. 

That was all the time it took for her to keel over, a violent rush of tension in her stomach as she puked…right onto the street–a place picked specifically by Rhys. Gods forbid shit vomit all over the glorious halls of Helion’s palace. 

Citizens gave the two Night Court visitors a wide berth as she felt Azriel pull her hair out of her face, his hand running along her back in a soothing pattern. Ordinarily, she’d have pushed the shadowsinger away, keen to wallow in her lack of control over her bodily functions on her own…but what difference would it make? He’d already seen so much of her, if he wanted to stay, to help, who was she to deny him.

Once she finished, he slowly guided her to the bench nearby, her hand running along her mouth to wipe any remnants away. He held a container of water up for her, and she didn’t bother hiding the shock in her gaze. Had he brought water for her, knowing she’d be sick and would need it? She bit her lip, doing her best to fight the blush screaming and clawing at her flesh to swarm her. She didn’t know why him showing her any sort of care drove her mad, he had always been this way, hadn’t he?

“You’re thinking too hard, Y/n. Just take the water,” he murmured, placing the rim of the canteen to her lips gently. 

“Ah, if it isn’t my two favorite night dwellers!” A booming voice echoed from just a ways away. 

Azriel finally broke eye contact, his gaze shifting to that of the High Lord of Day. His dark brown skin beautiful as it glistened with the warm beams of sun, his long hair wild as a soft breeze blew by. 

“If we’re your favorite, I’m gonna have to assume your judgement is compromised,” Y/n spoke, standing as she did her best to ignore Azriel’s large frame as it stayed close enough for her to lean on if she needed.

She did not.

That didn’t mean she didn’t want to.

Helion laughed, the boisterous High Lord striding towards them effortlessly as he smiles and nods to a few of the citizens walking his streets. Some carried scrolls and tomes, while others had glittering jewels and silk fabrics that swished in the wind. Each of them smiling and happy as the sun graced them in its descent down the sky. 

Either of his hands clamp down on Azriel and Y/n’s shoulders, guiding them through his beautiful city. “Nonsense, any fae as beautiful as the two of you are considered very special guests of mine.” Azriel shot Y/n a look, one that said, here we go, she couldn’t help but smile, genuine and full. There is something very magnetic about Helion, and though Y/n would never dream of serving another High Lord, if she’d had to pick one, it’d be the High Lord of Day. 

“Thank you, for inviting us,” Azriel managed dryly. Helion had invited Rhys, and Rhys had sent them in his stead, Helion has as little to do with them being here as they had want to be here.

“But of course, shadowsinger, when Rhysand told me of your arrival I simply couldn’t wait to host you,” The brilliant structure that was the Day Court Palace came into view as they continued their path. The architecture and colors alight with soft, brilliant whites and golds. 

“Now, the festivities start in about two hours, I’ll have attendants show you to your room–”

Y/n stopped dead.

“Room? As in one?” She didn’t miss the satisfied glint in the High Lord’s eye as he eyed her from her boots to the serious expression adorning her face.

“Rhysand assured me one would be all you two needed, with so many people here for the celebration we are a little short on accommodations…” She closed her eyes, trying to reign in her panic. Of course. “But I’m sure we can figure something out if–”

“No,” Azriel cut in gently, the twitch of his wings the only indication this was just as much an unwelcome shock for him as it was for her. “One will be fine, we’ll figure it out.” 

Helion’s smile lit up like he’d been offered the keys to Rhysand’s land. Y/n couldn’t hide the glare she shot the shadowsinger who, conveniently, avoided her eyes. “If you don’t wish to share with the shadowsinger, little dove, you could always share my bed chambers,” his voice laced with sensual precision as his hand tightened on her shoulder. 

Helion’s offers of a fun night were far from new, but usually he tried to get Azriel or Cassian to share his chambers, Y/n often making herself as unapproachable as possible. She supposed she’d walked herself right into that one.

“As tempting of an offer as that is, High Lord, I’m not sure our tastes would satisfy each other,” Azriel’s head whipped towards her, her eyes already glittering with mirth as they connected with his. That’s right, she didn’t shut it down immediately, why would she when she got to see the expression of longing, confusion, and jealousy so perfectly wrapped along her shadowsinger’s face. She didn’t miss the small step he made toward her–not toward, between her and Helion, before correcting himself back into place at the High Lord’s other side.

Helion laughs, booming as they finally reach the gates of the palace, “I think you’d be surprised what I’m capable of, little dove.” His teeth barely grazed her ear…and though the High Lord was nothing short of beautiful, powerful–completely capable of satisfying someone in the bedroom…Y/n didn’t feel that tightening in her gut, or the want that flooded every sense of her being when– when someone else shared the same type of space with her.

Her gaze flicked quickly to Azriel, he stood stock still now that they’d entered the palace’s main hall, his jaw clenched, and his knuckles white from how tight he held his fists. His shadows writhed along the walls, not noticeable to anyone but the two of them…they seemed agitated. 

“I’ll let you two get ready. I do hope you enjoy yourselves tonight, there simply is no other that knows how to party like those who hail from the Day Court.”

That, Y/n didn’t doubt, the Day Court was known for it’s indulgences…and afterall, isn’t that why Rhys had sent them here? To have fun? 

What better way to do that, then to play her favorite new game. The smile she sent Azriel had the male swallowing hard, the pure female promise nothing short of dangerous.

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/her pronouns used)

Word Count: 8.2k

Summary: Azriel makes reader blush once. That’s his first mistake. His second? Trying to do it again. What began as a harmless little curiosity quickly spirals into a full-blown war between two of the Night Court’s most controlled, unreadable operatives—each determined to make the other crack. Blushing becomes a scoreboard. Teasing becomes strategy.  And absolutely nothing is off-limits.

Warning/Notes: I don’t think there are any warnings, other than the reader talks about being attacked by a group of men in the beginnings, but let me know if I should add any and I’ll gladly update it! Thank you!

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

Azriel watched as the stars in the night sky danced and glimmered. He rarely found himself sleeping these days, no more than a few hours donated to his poor body a night. So, he sat on one of the balconies of the House of Wind, watching the night sky shift and shimmer as Velaris breathed below.

He had come out here to get some fresh air, choosing to leave his reports behind on his desk. Instead wanting some time to just…breathe, to be. Like most things in his life, however, the calm didn’t last, it never did.

He heard her before he saw her. The telling swish of someone behind him, his only tell from where she landed soundless on her feet. 

He knew that Rhys and Feyre had long been in bed, the two taking a rare moment to themselves. Nyx having nodded off sometime around dinner, the prince of night more than ready for his late night nap. Nesta and Cassian hadn’t lasted much longer, the two still maddeningly insufferable around each other. And, he hadn’t caught more than a simple “I’m heading out,” from Mor before the blond he had once spent so long wanting made her exit for the night. He didn’t even bother wondering where Amren was, knowing his shadows, the ones that always watched her, would tell him if anything was amiss, not that he expected it to be.

Even Elain and Lucien had come and gone…which left only one person.

Her. 

He didn’t need to look behind him to know her eyes had already clocked where he stood overlooking Velaris. Those intelligent, watchful eyes cataloging every breath he took, every surface he touched, every shadow that lingered around him. He held back the tilt of his lips that always came naturally around her.

He expected nothing less.

There wasn’t a single person in his family, other than maybe him, who was as aware of their surroundings, as attuned with the comings and goings of absolutely everything and everyone around them.

She had been on a mission the past week and a half, a simple one, Rhys had told him. Nothing she couldn’t handle by herself. Azriel didn’t doubt it, though, he had known her for close to five centuries now, fought beside her, laughed with her, lived with her. There…had never been a challenge she was faced with that she didn’t thrive at, didn’t conquer with a flippant grin and deadly precision.

“Don’t tell me you were waiting up for little ol’ me, shadowsinger?”

His lips tilted into a small grin against his will as he kept his back to her. He hadn’t. Not…really, sure he had known she was due back late tonight, and…maybe he had decided to use one of the balconies closest to the main hall where he knew she usually magicked into. But, he hadn’t been able to sleep, hadn’t really tried if he was being honest, so it had been more of a convenience than a plan.

“And if I said I was?” He poked, his deep voice rough from disuse the past few hours.

She scoffed, he felt–not heard, he never heard her– move to the place next to him. “You and I both know the whole point of me coming home so late is to avoid the welcome back party,” There was no malice in her voice, just a simple, melodic tone to his ears as she gazed at the stars.

He did know that. There wasn’t a single person in this family that hated group settings more than Y/n, even if it was just her family. She’d put a smile on and allow them all to greet her tomorrow, though.

Finally, he allowed himself to look at her. She was shorter than him, by quite a bit, her head barely reaching his shoulders. Her soft, shiny hair braided intricately atop her head to keep it out of her face. Illyrian leathers clinging to her like a second skin as her small, delicate fingers tapped on the railing to a tune inside her own mind. 

He was about to respond when his shadows snapped to attention.

Pain. Pain. In pain.

Azriel froze. Doing his best to look her over without alerting her. She loathed being fussed over, tended to, she really gave him a run for his money when it came to being taken care of. 

His shadows continued to hiss in his ear, but he didn’t have a good view of her from the side. She hadn’t seemed slower in her movements, so he figured she probably couldn’t have been hurt in the lower region of her body, and she had winnowed in…

“Stop it.” She said, voice low, a warning.

Azriel certainly did not.

“Where are you injured?”

“I’m fine.” She said, already retreating from the balcony and making her way towards the hall that led to her bedroom.

Azriel followed.

“Let me help you, Y/n.” He stayed close behind her, his shadows slithering along the walls and doors as she dutifully ignored him. He couldn’t help but note the plethora of weapons still attached to her– knives, her whip, boomerangs, more knives. He also knew she had even more hidden in places no one sane would ever think to check. Notably, however, her thin double-edged blade was nowhere to be seen, it usually sat splayed across her back.

It wasn’t until they passed a flickering light in the hall that he caught sight of her right shoulder. He couldn’t see an injury, necessarily, but he saw the pool of blood that had amassed on her leathers near her neck and arm. 

He cursed under his breath, impressed with how normal she acted when she clearly had an injury that would cause any normal fae a tremendous amount of pain, and at the very least, discomfort. 

She made it to her door, trying to slip in and close it before he could force his help upon her, but he managed to stick his foot in. 

Ordinarily, he wouldn’t press, he would let her go about her life as she pleased…but something about tonight, he didn’t want to. She was injured, in a spot he doubted she would have an easy time cleaning and more than likely stitching, by herself. 

The look she gave him as she toed his boot with her shoe…suggested she thought otherwise. It would have sent lesser males to their graves prematurely.

“Watch it, shadowsinger. I’m already in a foul mood.” Her eyes blazed, her callous words weren’t unusual. Y/n had never been warm and fuzzy, she didn’t offer smiles freely like Elain, or offer warm, friendly words like Mor. She never asked for anything, never demanded help or understanding. She kept to herself, took care of herself, and Azriel…had always admired that about her, sure he worried, he loved her dearly, trusted her even more…but for some reason, tonight it bothered him.

So, he decided to take his life in his own hands and say, “That foul mood will only get worse once you realize you can’t stitch that wound and will have to go to the healers tomorrow.”

He watched as his words struck home. Watched as her eyes narrowed, those swirling irises mapping out every possible scenario and ultimately deciding he was the lesser of two evils.

He managed to keep his sigh of relief to himself as she opened her door to allow him entrance. He swallowed as his shadows sprung into the room as if it were their personal playground. 

Neat. Her. Yes. Finally. Good.

He had never actually been in Y/n’s room. There had only been a few times he had needed to knock over the past few centuries, and she had either answered through the door, or had only cracked it a miniscule amount to speak to him before joining him outside of it to go about whatever they needed.

It was nothing like he imagined.

Not that he imagined it, that would be crazy, and dangerous…for so many different reasons.

It looked much like all the basic rooms that occupied the House of Wind. A massive bed in the center of the furthest wall, a desk, hearth, a chamber room, closet…but unlike the other rooms, hers also had beautiful, sleek black shelves lining the walls filled with books and bobbles from…all over. 

She had paintings that Feyre had made, jewelry that Amren or Mor had gifted her, the pieces delicately handled and displayed. Flowers from Elain, books that had Nesta written all over them. A few weapons that Cassian or Azriel himself had given her over the years, each displayed with the utmost care, clearly having been polished over the years. Even notes and orders Rhysand had written to her over their long friendship, framed and dustless. Knick knacks from all the Courts, even the human continent. 

The shelves were decorated like a museum to her friendships, her family, her life. It was the only part of the room that had any sort of…personality. The sight, reminding him just…how much she cared, even when she never bothered to show it. 

He inhaled sharply, the intoxicating scent of midnight rain and mist that clung to her invading him.  

“Are you going to gawk all night, or help me?” Her wicked tongue spoke, obvious taunting in her tone that snapped Azriel right out of his surprise.

He didn’t have time to answer as he watched her walk to the bathing chamber and tell him that her healing supplies were in the top right drawer of her desk, and that she would be right out.

He tried not to stare at the shelves as he made his way to the drawer, despite his shadows not having the same ideas. He watched, reveled, in how they slid over her things, cataloging and memorizing where she put what, who had given her which item, where she may have acquired the ones she’d found herself. 

He tried to reel them back in, to mind his own business. Y/n was a very, very, private person. In all honesty, he was shocked she’d allowed him into her bedroom, he didn’t think any of their family had ever actually been in here…not even Nuala or Cerridwen. When he all but demanded she allow him to help, he had half expected her to walk right out of the room and back to the main hall for him to stitch her up.

Once he made it to the drawer she’d indicated, he made it a point to not look too long at what was on her desk, though he could tell it was mostly reports, and not to touch or misplace any of her things.

He didn’t know why she had let him into her space…but he’d be damned if he did anything that revoked that privilege. 

Azriel barely managed to hold back his shock as he opened the drawer. His eyes widening in complete disbelief. He knew she had an aversion to the healers, something she had never deigned to tell any of their family why…but this was on another level.

She had absolutely everything and anything one could ever need in this drawer: Salves, tinctures, elixirs, strips of cloth, needles, gloves, string, she even had a hand written guide that he quickly flicked through…home remedies, what worked best for her, what didn’t, a godsdamned list of every single injury she had ever had and how she took care of it. Her quickly written, but no less beautiful scrawl of cursive, meticulously outlining a life Azriel realized no one else was privy to.

He was so enraptured that he didn’t hear the bathroom door open or her step out and lean against the frame as she watched him. He felt his shadows dance close to her, running along her legs, and some even daring to venture as far up as her arms. 

She cleared her throat, her eyes still on his shadows as she let them dance between her fingers and around her wrist. Azriel turned, fast, holding the journal up with a raised, questioning brow. 

She smirked, shrugging as she walked over to him, letting his shadows drop off of her skin and back to their place along her walls. Black sweats hung low on her hips, her flat, taught stomach exposed just barely. She wore a dark tank top that showed off the nasty gash from the base of her neck to the back of her armpit. 

“I like to keep track in case anything were to happen.” She said simply, taking the journal from his scarred hands as she stepped into his space. She placed it with care back into the drawer as she grabbed gauze, saline, needles and thread, and anything else he may need to help her. 

Azriel was the last person to judge someone's choices, but something deep inside of him wanted, no, needed, to know why she didn’t let anyone help her…why she was letting him do so now. 

But, he kept his thoughts to himself.

Afraid that asking such things, pushing for answers, would only lead him to a door shut in his face.

Perhaps it was as simple as her being exhausted and not wanting to fight him on it. 

“Turn around,” he murmured, not touching her as he guided her into the seat at her desk, her back facing him. He noted the slope of her neck, the smooth, soft looking skin of her back and shoulders. Purely professional…not at all distracting.

He bit back a hiss. The wound stretched at least five or six inches long, deep, and throbbing as small bouts of blood continued to flow out of it. She must have been injured well over an hour ago at this point, and the fact that it wasn’t clotting meant it must have been caused by a weapon either made of ash wood, or enchanted in some way. There didn’t seem to be any green or yellow tint, so poison wasn’t an immediate concern, thank gods.

He set to work, the crackle of the fire behind them a soothing background noise as he cleaned the wound. He couldn’t help but take deeper breaths as he stood directly at her back. He didn’t think they had ever been this close before. He could smell that midnight rain and mist so clearly from this close.

 He did his best to avoid hurting her further, but there was a lot of caked-on blood that needed to be washed before he could get anywhere near the wound with a needle and thread. He noted how her breath hitched, her body tensing further before almost settling into the closeness of him, as he shifted closer, his chest skimming her back as he continued his work.

Her body was tense beneath his touch, she didn’t make a sound, though. Not even as he adjusted her arm to get beneath the wound and start applying the salve that would help with any chafing or itching as it began stitching itself back together. Without a healer’s attention, it would take two or three days to fully heal and for her to get full movement back into the limb, but knowing her, she’d be back to training by the morning, which was in a few hours. 

Minutes passed in comfortable silence as his hands worked meticulously and gently to get her back in one piece. It wasn’t until he finally began sewing the flesh together that he murmured, “What happened?” The mission Rhys had sent her wasn't meant to be anything that required fighting…but as a long standing member of the Night Court’s Inner Circle, y/n, like all of them, had a target painted permanently on her back. It wouldn’t be a jump to assume something or someone had mistakenly thought her to be a lesser threat on her own and took a chance.

He almost felt bad for the poor bastards.

When she didn’t respond right away, he assumed she wouldn’t at all. But, her voice, gravely from pain, spoke at last, “After the…irritating meeting with Spring, I decided to get a drink before coming home. Some dingy tavern in some random border town. Three men saw me and I guess thought I was easy pickings.” Azriel’s jaw tightened as he carefully threaded the needle through her bruised and raised skin. He saw her hands splayed on her desk, white-knuckled, but steady as her teeth ground together. “They tried cornering me outside the tavern. I knocked the first two out without much issue, but the third was spewing some shit long enough for me to miss the fourth one behind me. I moved in time to avoid a knife to the jugular.”

Fury didn’t begin to describe the feelings roaring to life inside of Azriel. But, she hadn’t finished, and he had every intention of listening to her as long as she was offering the information. 

“I knocked the third out... And may or may not have cut the hand off of the fourth.” He couldn’t help the glee that surged through him, though he knew she could have killed the bastard for the indiscretion if she so pleased. 

“Good,” was all he said as he tied the suture and sat back to admire his work.

She scoffed, clear irritation in her tone as she shook her head. “Not good. I made a mistake, I should have just come home, and instead I decided–”

“Don’t do that,” her head snapped over her shoulder, her eyes that contained more emotion than he had ever seen latching on his as he held her gaze, steady. “It’s not your fault, you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. You’re allowed moments to yourself.”

She blinked, huffing, clearly more amused than upset, “That’s ironic coming from you, Az,” He knew she was right, Azriel wasn’t exactly the poster boy for going easy on himself, but regardless, the use of his nickname from between her lips set him at ease. He thought, just maybe… It meant she was already beginning to feel better. 

They didn’t move from their position, he stayed behind her, their eyes locked. He swallowed hard, not daring to break her stare. Sometimes, despite her being only ten years younger than him, he forgot just how similar they were. 

He wanted her to know…that she could be exactly who she was without fear, without worry when she was around him…that even if she didn’t want to be that way with their other family, she could be with him; and he would be nothing short of honored.

So he said the only thing he could think of. The only thing he thought she might hear through all of her perfectly placed shields and protections.

“You never have to carry the weight of the world alone, Y/n.” His fingers brushed her shoulder, just barely, he watched as gooseflesh trailed behind them. “Not while I’m here.”

Their eyes held. 

And that’s when it happened. 

Everything he would ever know changed.

He watched in utter fascination, or adoration, as the most beautiful, mesmerizing shades of pink, peach and red blended together across the bridge of her nose. His eyes tracked the shade as it danced around each of her cheeks, travelled up to the tips of her ears, and down the length of her neck, over her bare shoulders. 

He simply couldn’t help himself as he tracked that color, so alive and bright across her perfect skin. 

He had never seen her blush.

Not once in nearly four centuries.

And even as she looked away, let her hair fall over her face to hide the color, he stared…and stared. Unable to get the image of it out of his mind.

The thought of what he might do just to see it again settled somewhere deep in his chest– quiet. 

Dangerous. 

And not nearly terrifying enough.

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Three weeks had passed since that night in Y/n’s room.

Three long, grueling weeks where Azriel tried absolutely everything to return things to the way they had been. He threw himself into his morning training with Cassian, Nesta and the Valkyries. He went on mission after mission, not caring if they were a day long or five. He spent some nights out at Rita’s with Mor and Cassian, took Elain to the markets of Velaris during the days. Hels, he had even tried painting with Feyre once before deciding it cruel to absolutely everybody involved. 

Days had begun blurring together, the constant rotation of keeping busy, always avoiding, beginning to take its toll on him. His shadows had even started to riot against his orders, seeming to trail her every move just to try and catch a glimpse of that magnificent color, terrified to miss it blooming across her skin while he wasn’t around.

No matter what he did, how he kept his mind from wandering…he couldn’t get the image of her blush out of his mind. Sometimes, he would be lucky enough to go all day without thinking about it, his few miserable hours of sleep mocking him further as they plastered that color all throughout his dreams–which he’d rarely had up until a few weeks ago. It was never the right color. Just an odd variation– right enough to remember, wrong enough to remind him he was forgetting. A thought that sent an unreasonable degree of panic through his entire body.

But, that was nothing compared to when he saw her, had to speak to her. It was bad enough when his eyes betrayed his will, his mind, and found her in any room they occupied together.  They trailed her as she laughed at something Mor said, or grinned wickedly with Amren as the two conspired about things Azriel never wanted to know about. Her training with Cassian, her reports to Rhys, though a nasty feeling always clogged his emotions each time he saw her smile or laugh at something one of his very mated brothers said to her.

Every time his gaze found her, it searched unbidden for that color. For any hint of pink, peach, and red. He tracked the lift of her mouth, the movement of her throat, the tilt of her head without fail. His disappointment a living thing every time he came up short. It warred with the side of him that growled in approval when he saw no one else seemed to be able to pull it out of her.

The worst part of it all. 

She knew. 

Maybe not the details or the why, but Y/n was too brilliant, too tactical not to notice the shift in him, not to figure out that it had to do with that night. Thank the Cauldron she didn't call him out on it, but he saw her watching him, too. Not in the same, desperate way he couldn’t seem to avoid. No, she took in his clipped responses to her, the way he always stayed two steps further back than necessary, the way he never let those conversations turn into something deeper, keeping them professional and taut. She never once forced him, or toed that line, she allowed him to take that space, to come to terms with whatever was bothering him. He knew she was waiting for him to mention it to her, trusting that he would, in time, so they could move past this, together, as they always had.

It killed him. Things had never been this…tense between them. And he had made it that way. After he told her she never had to be alone.

Gods. He was a fucking mess. Plain and simple.

It’s not until late one night, on the cusp of the fourth week that it finally settled into something tangible, something he could grasp.

He just needed to see that blush again.

Once.

If he could see it again– trace it with his eyes, watch it bloom across her skin, then whatever this was would end. It would loosen its chokehold, fade into something manageable. 

And he would be free of it.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

It turned out that stumbling upon one of Y/n’s blushes was nothing short of a gift from the Mother.

Trying to manufacture one? A whole different beast entirely. 

Y/n had trained as a spy and a warrior of the Night Court for centuries. She had fought in the first war right alongside him, Cassian, and Rhysand. Though she had stood beside Rhysand’s father as one of his greatest assets, she had still thrived, overcome. Her face could hold the weight of a thousand deaths behind it and not let a single ounce of emotion through.

So, Azriel needed a plan, to figure out exactly what had triggered that first reaction. He knew she had been vulnerable all those weeks ago, injured and exhausted. She had even gone as far as to blame herself. Though he wanted nothing more than to bear witness to that lovely blush once more, he had no intention of letting her anywhere near that kind of vulnerability again, if he could help it. He wanted her to be comfortable with him in the smaller, more playful moments as she had been that night. If he could find another way to make her blush, one that allowed her to be her, while also rewarding him with the sight…gods.

That would be enough.

Despite his spiralling these past few weeks, it had come in handy if only for one reason: He never once caught a glimpse of that blush, not one other person in their family had even come close to being gifted it. Which meant that it had blossomed from something to do with him. He hadn’t quite figured out what exactly, yet. But, knowing that he could at least draw it out of her gave him hope.

He started small. Miniscule really. When she asked him to pass her bowls of food at the dinner table their fingers would brush more often than they should have, he got nothing other than a murmured apology or a raised brow after it happened a second and third time. When she’d ask him for water at training he’d make sure to stand a little closer than usual, and maybe even a little splash of water would find its way onto her fingers once, maybe twice. He’d always offer her a rag, to dab it dry, to no avail. The latter had earned him nothing short of a suspicious look before she mumbled, “I think I can manage, shadowsinger.” 

In truth, he had known those wouldn’t work, but he’d needed to form a control. To understand where the baseline for her reactions was. And he found it: she didn’t mind when he stood close, when he touched her briefly, or even when he let his shadows briefly dance along her skin. But offering any kind of help or advice got him absolutely nowhere other than maybe a scowl. Praise and compliments on her work earned him nothing but strange tilts of her head and mirth dancing behind her irises. That mind of hers calculating– trying to figure out what one of her oldest friends was up to. 

About a week into his futile attempts he started to get the hang of it. Though he still didn’t earn himself a glimpse of that blush, he did start noticing, small, telling behaviors. Whenever he complimented her, not her work, her shoulders would tense, gooseflesh trailing along her skin as she met his gaze questioning. If he held her gaze longer than usual her head would tilt in an utterly distracting way that always made him forget himself, if just for a moment.

He had even accidentally found himself defending her when a drunkard in Velaris had found themselves loose lipped after one too many. He hadn’t seen that blush then either, but… she had watched him the entire way home, her shoulder knocking against his once, in quiet thanks. Though he didn’t quite know why, of course he would defend her. There was simply no other reality.

The best part about his entire ‘experiment’ was that he didn’t have to fake any of it. He enjoyed chasing her, enjoyed her reactions to everything he tried. He wanted to see her smile, to hear her heart as it began to race just a little. Not a single behavior went unnoticed or unappreciated. And he could tell that she was just as interested in this turn of events, even if it bordered more on curiosity than obsession.

One night, they were in the main living space after a family dinner. All of them draped carelessly around the room, alcohol in hand, stomachs full as laughter filtered through the space. 

Azriel had his attention on only one person, though. Y/n. She wore nothing but a beautiful, long backless gown. Nothing super fancy, but comfortable enough that her posture was inviting to those around her. The soft, supple skin of her bare arms, her back, her throat and chest, on full display for all the world to see. Her thick, beautiful hair pinned up to show off the length of her neck. 

Azriel waited for her to finish whatever conversation with Nesta she’d been having before making his way over to her. She smiled softly when she caught sight of him. They hadn’t spoken about those awkward few weeks, but she seemed more at ease around him now that he wasn’t actively treating her like a bomb about to go off.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Az?” She murmured, taking a sip of her shimmering purple cocktail. Her long lashes batting innocently at him. 

He ignored the way his body reacted to the sight of her, the way his chest tightened, the low pull in his stomach that made her impossible to ignore. She was beautiful, of course, he’d always known that. But, he hadn’t been himself these past few weeks. He was still trying to find his way back, and that apparently included confusing his friend with the very gorgeous fae female she was.

He sighed inwardly. One problem at a time. 

“Can I not simply wish to be in your company?” He flashes her a devilish grin, his sharp canines showing briefly before he leans against the wall next to her. She watches his hair fall over his forehead haphazardly before focusing on his face.

She tilts her head, a wry, amused look flicking into her eyes before she rolls them and takes another sip of her drink. She doesn’t move away from him, in fact she leans in a little closer as she takes in their friends' casual placements around the room.

“You’re up to something, shadowsinger.” She murmured behind her glass, “You’re practically vibrating with intention.”

He doesn’t bother hiding his amusement. He loved how intelligent she was. He had known he wouldn’t be able to keep it from her for long, but at the moment, she hadn’t quite put the piece together, and he planned to use that to his advantage. 

He dared a glance around them, quick, ensuring that his family were otherwise preoccupied. He didn’t mind them knowing about his…extracurriculars. But right now, at this moment? He only cared about her, and their moment together.

One step closer, that was all it took for her to straighten, for her eyes to roam from the tips of his shoes up, up, up, till they met his eyes. Confusion, curiosity, and intrigue warring in the depths of those magnificent eyes. 

He takes a step closer, reveling in the way her body stills as he lets his voice drop an octave, “You haven’t figured it out quite yet, though, have you?”

She huffs at the slight admission, knowing it would be all he gave her. Despite that, she asks, “Couldn’t you just tell me and save us all some time, hm?” They were standing so close now, his body facing hers entirely as she faced the wide expanse of the room. Her shoulder resting against his chest ever so slightly. 

His answering whisper was so low only she could hear, “Where would the fun in that be?” He felt her shiver, her head tilting up so her eyes could meet his. Their faces mere centimeters apart. 

She hums, allowing herself to join in his little game, “Perhaps, but surely you know that once I figure it out, you’ll be at my mercy, yes?” 

A promise.

A daring, delightful promise that had his entire body thrumming with excitement that certainly went against everything he’d been trying to convince himself these past few weeks. 

Taking his chance, he leaned his head the rest of the way down, his teeth barely grazing her ear as he murmured, low velvet against her ear, “I’d expect nothing less from… a brilliant, wicked creature.” 

Her breath hitches at his words, at the sincerity in the compliment as well as the intrigue of his little game. 

His years of control and training fly out the window as he triumphs. A grin so pure, so honest lights his features as he watches her reaction in real time.

Her cheeks heat with that blooming color he’s been torturing himself over. His memory hadn’t done it justice, not as he was gifted with even more of it than he ever could have imagined.. He watches it bloom– fast, unstoppable, as it spills across her porcelain skin.

Azriel isn’t sure he’s ever seen her speechless as she stares at him wide eyed and blushing like mad. She doesn’t hide it like she hid the first one, she has nowhere to turn. 

He savors it.

Commits every second of it  to memory as she forces it back down, schooling her features. Her nostrils flaring at his obvious delight in her loss of composure.

She’s about to say something when Rhysand calls her name. Stealing her attention and her presence, but not without one last glimpse at the shadowsinger as he lingered in his victory.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

In hindsight Azriel should have known something was very wrong.

Maybe later he would go over every detail of it, strip it bare and find exactly how he got to this point. He had caught her eyes once, when he’d first come up to the training area, saw that daring glint deep within Y/n’s eyes, the intent. He had seen it and dismissed it, like an amateur. A voice in the back of his head snapped at him.

He could try to blame it on his late night out with Cassian, Nesta, Mor, Feyre, and Rhysand. They’d stayed out dancing and drinking at Rita’s until an ungodly hour of the morning. Azriel had been high on life the past few days since he’d managed to make a certain high fae blush a mere few nights ago. His abnormally jovial mood nothing short of noticeable to all of his family. They’d taken advantage of that good mood and it led him straight into…some questionable decisions.

Y/n hadn’t been with them last night, despite Mor’s begging, or Feyre’s insistence she’d have fun. It seemed she had the presence of mind to be completely present for whatever maniacal plans she intended to hold him hostage to this morning.

Azriel managed to look more presentable than Cassian, at least, despite his raging headache and unbearably sensitive eyes as the morning sun descended upon the training ring with a vengeance. 

The space was already alive when he stepped onto the worn stone, the Valkyries finishing their drills under Cassian’s watchful, albeit irritable eyes. The morning air was crisp, biting just enough to keep the senses sharp. 

Normally, Azriel thrived here—every movement calculated, every strike precise. Today, though, his shadows curled restlessly at his shoulders, whispering things he didn’t want to hear. 

Careful. Prepare. Its coming.

Y/n stood near the weapon racks, adjusting the wrap around her hands with slow, deliberate movements. Her gaze hadn't so much as flicked to him since he first saw her this morning. Despite the fact that he had watched her spar with Feyre, Nesta, and Rhys already, none of which managed to land a hit on her. Either because of their abysmal decisions from last night, Y/n’s lack of, or a mixture of both. He didn’t know. 

He did his best to ignore the way the leathers clung to her body, her perfectly styled hair, her polished weapons, the way she looked entirely put together, as if she was ready for something.

Azriel’s jaw tightened.

Every instinct inside told him to brace himself, that something was happening right before his eyes, but for some reason, he couldn’t see it. His shadows, if they knew anything, didn’t deem him worthy of the secret.

He knew whatever was coming began the moment she stepped onto the training ring without a word, a blade lazily being twirled in between her fingers. A cocky, breathtaking grin on her face as she finally focused those sharp eyes onto him.

“Az.”

Her voice cut clean through the noise of clashing steel and grunts. “Come spar with me.”

Cassian let out a low whistle from somewhere behind him. “Careful, brother. She looks like she’s hunting today.”

Azriel ignored him.

It wasn’t unusual for Y/n to ask to spar with him. Though, this was most certainly not a request, not quite a command, either. But close enough that he didn’t dare deny her. In all honesty, he didn’t want to. The part of him that had been awoken by this little game of theirs these past few weeks…had put him entirely at her mercy, and he had a feeling she had just figured that out.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t still keep her on her toes. Afterall, it would be no fun if he simply…gave in.

“Cassian’s right there.”

“I didn’t ask Cassian.”

Her gaze held his. That small, knowing smirk never leaving her face. She didn’t seem the slightest bit nervous. In any other circumstance he might be offended. But this was Y/n, she didn’t do nervous. No. She simply watched, waited, existed and normally that was more than enough for her to win. It was infuriating, and it piqued every single interest inside of him.

Azriel exhaled slowly through his nose.

“How can I refuse?” He stepped further into the pit, into his downfall.

Cassian’s grin flashed somewhere in his periphery as he waved the Valkyries back, clearly more than happy to watch this unfold. Azriel shot his brother a warning glare, stepping into position opposite her.

Y/n didn’t reach for a weapon, she slipped the blade into her waist band, out of sight, out of mind.

“First to lose their blades loses,” Cassian called. When it came to Y/n they had learned early on that brute force and normal sparring didn’t teach her how to refine her skills, while they still incorporated them into her training… she had grown fond of a more subtle training approach. Slight of hand. He had three blades hidden on him, so did she. If he could manage to find them, take and discard them, then pin her, before she did the same to him, he won.

Azriel rolled his shoulders once, shadows settling low, ready. 

Y/n. Y/n. Y/n.

They chanted into his ear. He shook his head, hair falling loose as he tried to block the noise out, to focus on his very real opponent. 

Winning this fight…would not be simple.

“Something wrong, shadowsinger?” she asked mildly, head tilting as she tracked him.

He narrowed his eyes, settling into his stance. “You tell me.”

She smiled to herself, as if she were sharing a secret with the air around her.

He barely registered the shift before she was on him, blade flashing toward his side. He deflected on instinct, steel ringing as he twisted, stepping into her space to close the distance.

She slipped away.

He adjusted. Pressed harder. Forced the pace.

She let him for about three steps before she changed it. “Too slow.” The words weren’t loud, they weren’t meant to be. They were for him, and only him.

He managed to recover, he drove forward, aiming to catch her before she could slip away again.

But she was already gone.

Azriel knew her speed was her greatest advantage. She wasn’t the tallest, or the biggest, and she certainly didn’t have the brute force that Cassian had, it used to worry Rhys, Cass, and him when they were younger. How…unaware they’d been. Just because she was small, didn’t mean she wasn’t one the most deadly warriors in any space. 

She was nothing more than a blur of motion that forced him to react instead of anticipate. Azriel shifted, blocking, countering, stepping into her space—

Gone. Again.

A pivot, her feet slipping fast and soundlessly out of reach again and again. The brush of leathers as she passed him instead of meeting him head-on. The few times he managed to get anywhere near her defenses, she was already moving, blocking, kicking, using the advantages he had taught her to keep him at bay, at her mercy.

“I’ve noticed you watching me, you know,” she spun just out of reach, stepping effortlessly to his side and swinging around just fast enough to snatch his first blade out of its sheath at his side. Stepping once, twice, three times out of his reach without so much as losing her breath.

She smiled, wide and unrestrained as she held it up to show him, tossing it uselessly to the outside of the pit. He heard Cassian whoop, the bastard enjoying this far too much for someone still nursing a wicked hangover. If he’d had the time, he would have sent him a vulgar gesture, but that would be all the time she needed to beat him. So, he kept his emotions in check and his eyes on her.

She came at him from the side next, close—too close—before darting just out of reach when he turned. Her movements were light, almost teasing, like she was leading him somewhere instead of fighting him outright.

“You’re not nearly as subtle as you think, Spymaster,” she murmured as she slipped past his guard. Her boot kicked his hand away effortlessly as he aimed for one of the finely crafted blades at her side. She used the moment to propel herself further from him.

His jaw tightened. He wouldn’t let her distract him, couldn’t. She had patterns for the names she used with him. She called him shadowsinger the most, usually when he was pushing a line with her sanity, called him Spymaster when she wanted to prove a point, Az when she was relaxed and comfortable, Azriel when she was…angry or exhausted. He had learned her tells over the years. And the feeling in his belly only heightened at the tone she used when she said that word: Spymaster.

She moved again—closer this time, her hand catching his wrist for half a heartbeat— spinning under it as if they were dancing.

Gods. She was playing with him.

He was aware that everyone else was watching them, that his reputation could very well be on the line. But, he couldn’t bring himself to care, not really. Spending even this brief amount of time with her attention solely on him, made something tighten in his chest.

“At first I thought you were just distracted,” This time when she closed in, he anticipated—caught her movement, stepped into it, hand shooting out—she turned with him. Not away. Her body aligned with his for the briefest moment, their feet in near synchronization. “But then I realized, it wasn’t distraction that had you staring.” 

He didn’t even feel her hand as she dropped low, dodging the hand going for her blade attached to the sheath at her shoulder, before she grabbed his second one that was attached to his ankle. She tossed it behind her without a care in the world.

He bared his teeth.

She smiled, wicked, delighted.

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” She asked. He ignored the question, managing to grab hold of her arm and keep her in place before snatching on her blades as she tried to side step him, his arm coming up to block her access to his third and final blade. He stepped back before she could get her sneaky little hands on it, tossing her first blade to the ground and kicking it out of bounds without taking his eyes off of her.

She didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered by his small victory as she prattled on, her voice like honey dripping down his ears. 

“We’ve known each other for centuries, and yet now…you find yourself unable to look away. How very intriguing,” She was in front of him, then he blinked, and she was gone, her voice at his back as she taunted him. “You like it when I react.”

He closed the distance, forced her back, and for a moment—just a moment—he thought he had her, and then—

He spun, his arm outstretched, ready to connect with her block. Only, she didn’t block, she dropped, and…he miscalculated. He thought she’d go for his knife so he moved his foot, just out of reach of her arm. But instead, she used her leg and locked her foot around his ankle, pulling as she swept his feet out from under him. 

He went down.

Hard.

Air knocked from his lungs as he hit the mat, the force rattling through his spine before he could recover. He felt her grab that knife, something she did on purpose. He was sure. Watched in horror as she tossed it out of the ring, her body hovering over his. She didn’t need brute strength to keep him where she wanted him. The two knives she still had on her found themselves unsheathed in an instant. One placed perfectly against his jugular, keeping him in place as she smiled, triumphant.

The other blade placed directly against his crotch; a power play that he, no doubt, would never live down. He didn’t move. 

She had him.

She fucking had him. He had to hold back the grin threatening to spill over. There was something utterly mesmerizing about her taking him down, something that made him aware of every inch of her body that touched him.

Her long braid hangs down over her shoulder as some of her hair falls slightly from its tie, framing her face as she looked down at him. The barest sheen of sweat beading along her brow, the only indication that this had been somewhat of a struggle for her.

Gods.

She was…he didn’t have a word for it.

She bent down, sure that the words she let slip out of her mouth would stay between the two of them. “I have to know, Az, what is it about my blush that has you at my mercy, huh?” She cooed.

He wasn't  sure what exactly it was that got him. Whether it be because his obsession with her the past few weeks had finally caught up to him, or the fact that she had just beat him in sparring, maybe it was the whole day; she had caught him completely off guard, and something about that lit a fire beneath his bones. Perhaps it was the sweet, cooing tone of her voice that she spoke to him with.

Maybe it was all of it, but he felt heat crawling up his neck before he could stop it, sharp and sudden and completely out of his control. His body betrayed him before he could stop it, a blush rising under her gaze as his mind scrambled to catch up.

Her eyes flicked over his face.

Tracked it.

Just as he had done to her.

And something in her expression shifted—satisfaction, bright and cutting.

She had seen him, just as he had seen her, and turned it back on him.

And gods— he liked it.

“Your instincts are right as always, shadowsinger… what a beautiful color,” she whispered, her eyes not meeting his, they were too busy following the color surely covering his cheeks, his throat, maybe even the tips of his ears.

And instead of shutting it down, instead of pulling away, instead of reclaiming control Azriel smiled.

Something dark and delighted unfurling in his chest.

“Like I said, brilliant…” he murmured, voice rougher than it should have been, “wicked creature.”

Her lips twitched in victory.

Then she was gone like she had never been there at all.

The weight lifted, the blades removed from his throat and crotch.

Still, he didn’t move, didn’t sit up. He didn’t even try. He lay there, staring up at the sky, something bright and electric crackling through his veins.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like this– so alive.

He leaned on his elbows in just enough time to catch her glance over her shoulder. She threw him a wink—sharp, knowing—before she disappeared off the ring. Azriel let out a quiet breath. A laugh that didn’t quite make it past his throat as he let his head hit the dirt again, his breath ragged and shaky.

And he knew, this wasn’t fleeting– it wasn’t casual.

This was war.

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/her pronouns used)

Word Count: 2.6k

Read Part 1 and Part 2 Here!

Summary: Azriel’s perspective when first seeing the reader again!

Warning/Notes: I originally wrote this when writing the first draft of The Battle Between and ultimately decided it wasn’t really necessary for the story to move along, as fun as it was to write. So I thought I’d just post it for fun in case anyone’s interested.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

Azriel

Azriel could not believe his luck.

He couldn't possibly imagine what he'd done for the Mother to bless him with such good fortune. Usually, he didn't bother thanking the fates, or the Cauldron, or anything really. He simply believed that his actions—his dark deeds as Spymaster, the blood on his hands, the secrets he kept—would one day catch up to him.

Until they did, he expected nothing more than a dark and desolate ache where his own desires once lived. He didn't deserve softness. He didn't deserve light.

But that was fine with him. 

He had his family, the Inner Circle, a unit he would scorch the world for. As far as he was concerned, his purpose was to protect them, to keep them safe from the creeping shadows he alone could navigate. Perhaps that was why the Mother hadn't banished him to the deepest parts of Hel: He was useful. He was a weapon, and weapons served a purpose, even if they were eternally broken. This unspoken pact with fate, this grim acceptance of his lot, had been the foundation of his existence for centuries.

Yet, an inexplicable shift had occurred. 

A strange lightness had begun to settle in that void in his chest—a feeling so foreign, so unexpected, that it baffled him. It had started the night he'd brought her home, the first true peace he'd known in five centuries. It lingered now, a faint, sweet echo that subtly eased the constant thrum of his shadows, even as he steadfastly ignored the more insistent pull they exerted towards a specific, apple-blossom scented corner of Velaris. He couldn't name it, dared not try. But whatever this unusual phenomenon was, it felt suspiciously like a reprieve. And it was leading him, broken hand and all, to Madja's clinic.

When he realized his hand wouldn’t mend itself he called on Madja. And the older fae had told him he was a fool and she didn’t have time to deal with his stupid decisions. She had pointed him in the direction of the clinic. In the direction of her.

When he’d walked into that clinic he’d been ready to get this process over with. He had tried to train earlier the day before and found the pain to be excruciating. When he woke up the next morning with it swollen and the pain increased tenfold, he’d caved. He certainly was not privy to losing the limb because of his ego. He deftly avoided the little fact that the near constant pain was the only time his mind hadn’t been stuck on repeat, Y/n the only language he seemed to understand.

He hadn’t even needed to find the clinic, his shadows had practically skipped the whole way there. He never would have guessed why their behavior had shifted so viscerally the last few weeks. That trip to the clinic had been the first time in weeks they seemed to respond to his will at all. 

It boggled him. He couldn’t possibly fathom what had changed. Not once in five hundred years had they disobeyed or simply been unable to shift to where he wanted. They were his sentient beings, his to will, to direct, and to control–yet, they weighed his magic down like stones.

He hadn’t had much time to ponder the why, however, because once he walked into the clinic, something so close to the calm he'd known that night washed over him. His shadows scattered around the room, searching endlessly for something. Their slithering forms encasing his ears as they chanted endlessly:

Here. Here. Here.

This way. Follow, come.

Pretty, pretty, pretty.

Help, she’ll help.

They had swarmed him so uncontrollably, he had been about ten seconds from swatting them when he’d heard her. The soft footsteps that walked confidently, clicking softly on the linoleum flooring.

And then he had turned.

And there she was.

Her dark wisps of hair tucked into a messy ponytail, a pencil tucked behind her ear. Deep midnight blue scrubs hugging every delicious curve of her. He did his best to drag his gaze from her legs, her hips, from her. When he did finally manage to control himself, large, beautiful eyes stared at him, a small ‘o’ on her mouth. Her soft, plush wonderful mouth that he’d had the pleasure, and torment, of tasting once before.

Fuck. 

Then she licked her lips, as if she were devouring him in her mind and loving the taste. It had been sinful, but to hell if he wasn’t ready to get on his knees before her. His pants tightened at the sight, his mind immediately recalling the way he’d had her pinned to his bed a mere few weeks ago, how he had touched, and stroked, and been inside of her.

And then she was in front of him, and she was touching him, and the pain in his hand had immediately subsided when she did. He had let out a breath that had gotten stuck so deep in his throat he hadn’t realized it was there until she touched him.

A calm, comfortable frost had taken over his veins the longer she held his hand. He’d murmured random words, not even caring if they made sense because she was here. In front of him, and for some reason he couldn’t seem to focus on anything but the utter elation that oozed from his shadows, from him.

Her scent weaving into his sense, scattering all of the tension lining his body, something in his soul singing at the proximity. It had taken everything in him not to reach his other hand out and tuck the stray hairs behind her ear, to lean down and place a kiss, a breath of fresh air, on her forehead. To do all the things he had wanted to do the morning after they’d been together.

But, she had disappeared. Hadn’t so much as bothered to say goodbye. She obviously didn’t have any interest in getting to know him better. So against his complete will, he retracted just enough, shifting his feet.

As she asked him some questions, the sound of her soft, velvet voice settled beneath his skin. “Yes, Azriel, it’s broken, shattered would be more precise,” He eyes dipped to her lips as she spoke his name. Hearing it fall from her lips like it belonged there. He had known it was shattered, and could feel the sharp edges of his bone fragments when he tried to put pressure on it, or do anything with it, really. 

Her face did not match her voice, however. In fact, she looked more concerned the longer she held and adjusted his hand. Through it all though, he didn’t feel a lick of pain, he couldn’t see any outward sign of her magic. He could feel it, the small, delicate string that weaved its way through his shattered hand. It wasn’t painful, he wasn’t even sure he’d notice it if he wasn’t aware that she was doing it.

Sweat slicked her brow, her hands so sure, as if she had done this a million times. He remembered mentioning that she was a healer, and that she was celebrating her acceptance into a prestigious internship. 

Who it was for hadn’t come up. He had known she was intelligent just from speaking to her, and being a healer was no easy feat. But to intern under Madja? One of the most revered healers throughout Prythian. The healer who had been in their family circle for centuries, now. 

He didn’t know much about her healing protegees, but he knew they were the remarkable ones, the ones that would be able to help change medicine and how they defined it.

It only made him like her more.

It also led to another revelation. Their meeting was inevitable. The Inner Circle, particularly Elain and Feyre, worked closely with Madja and her interns. He’d have to remember to ask his High Lady or her sister how intense the internship was. Not knowing how the inner workings of her organization to the letter didn’t mean he never interacted with her healers. In fact, he’d come across quite a few in the past several years.

He had no doubt, even if they hadn’t met at Rita’s that night, they would have met some other time. And, well, that gave him just a bit of hope that maybe, he’d have the opportunity of getting to know her better. 

“How long ago did this happen?” She pressed as she walked around gathering all sorts of supplies. He wondered if this was her office, or her treatment room at least. There were all kinds of cute knick knacks littered all over the place. Plants– aloe, chamomile, lavender, even peppermint it looked like– hung and lined her windows. There were even some ironic signs displayed, and something that looked an awful lot like a brain that said, “I lobe you,” he had to hide the small smile on his face. This certainly gave him a lot of information on who she was, at least as a healer.

“A few days.”

“I need you to be more specific than that, shadowsinger. Sit.” She demanded, as he watched her grab a rubber band and – he nearly lurched off the bed before catching himself. Had she just hit that against her skin? Why in the Cauldron would she do that? An uncomfortable prickle formed along the edges of his mind as he imagined the pain it would cause, no matter how brief. He wanted it to stop, couldn’t bring himself to look further into the despair that one sight caused him.

“Two days ago. I–” He choked, trying to reign in his actions, to keep his ass firmly planted in this seat. She was in full healer mode, hardly any flickers of emotion when she looked at him. “I punched the wall,” he said, shame coating his tongue. He had gotten angry, had let his emotions take control of him. It wasn’t like him, and he loathed it. He didn’t want her anywhere near that part of him.

When he explained the circumstance he had merely shrugged, “I wasn’t thinking straight.” Hoping she wouldn’t push, that she’d accept it for the cop-out it was.

She went through her findings, leaving him with fewer questions than he expected. She was clear, articulate, and seemed to know exactly what she was doing. Seeing her in this environment, comparing it to how he had come to know her– it all made sense, it meshed and curled perfectly.

Even his shadows had calmed in her presence, the tendrils keeping their difference, and thankfully giving him some reprieve from the incessant chants about how beautiful she is. The only times they stirred was when she let that damn rubber band fly to her wrist.

She’d let it hit her flesh nearly ten times in the past seven and a half minutes. Each flick bringing him one step closer to declaring war against all rubber bands.

She hadn’t even hesitated when he’d asked if it could be fixed, she had merely handed him a stack of papers and tried to brandish him off onto another healer. To hell with that. He’d just found her, and he was damned if he wasn’t going to do his best to keep her in his life. Even if it was as a friend.

He liked Y/n. 

Plain and simple.

The past few weeks had felt slow and agonizing with the image, the memory of her locked inside of his mind. An endless loop of what-ifs and whys. The only thing he knew for certain is she was here, not a ghost, not gone, but right here in front of him. And she is kind, intelligent and passionate. 

“As long as you don’t use it, try and keep it elevated, and-under no circumstances- should you be training, capiche?” He had unfortunately figured that out the hard way. He had tried to dodge a particularly nasty throw from Cassian, his hands had gone up in a defensive stance, his fist catching the broken remains of his bones. Azriel had gone to his room after that, nursing his poor hand the way he would need to nurse his ego if he had to go to a healer for something so stupid.

Holding back a grin and his annoyance, not at her but the circumstances of having to be out of training, he wondered who used the word, ‘capiche’ anymore. She looked deadly serious, her eyes harder than he’d ever seen as she laid down the law with him. It was incredibly sexy.

All he could think about was how he’d do anything to appease her.

The remains of his smile slipped away, because she snapped that damn– he watched a shadow trail along the red welt growing rapidly. The sentient rascal doing its best to halt her actions without outright yanking the thing off of her.

She had seemed surprised when he asked her to be his healer, as if the notion of him wanting to spend any time with her was crazy.

He didn’t like that at all.

Thankfully for him, it looked like she would be stuck with him for at least a few days, he could work with that.

“You’re really not gonna like my restrictions for you,” He didn’t doubt that, certainly didn’t make him change his mind.

Before he could stop himself, the truth slipped past his lips, “If taking a few weeks off training means getting to see you more, it’ll be worth it.” 

He watched her stumble, while sitting down, biting his cheek to contain the grin that was rapidly becoming a trend around this woman. It was dangerous how much he liked it.

“I’m sorry, what?” She began ruthlessly snapping that band around her wrist, seeming unaware of the small pools of blood starting to well. His teeth clenched, his muscles twitching. 

His non-injured hand shot to her wrist, trying and failing to say anything as he stopped her movement in one gentle motion. His thumb rubbed the inside of her wrist as he murmured,“Please, stop doing that.” a desperate plea in his voice. 

Touching her had definitely been a bad idea. Unconsciously he ran his thumb along the pattern of her veins. Her skin was as soft as he remembered, a stark comparison to his own scarred flesh. He swiftly removed his hand, unable to watch something so pure, be tainted by his marred existence.

She opened her mouth as if she were going to say something, but he watched as she played whatever conversation in her mind and quickly tensed. Her mouth closing and her gaze shifting from his almost bashedly before turning around, avoiding his eyes altogether.

She seemed…nervous.

It was endearing, he couldn’t help the joy in his voice as he asked,“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

She turned around so swiftly, he had the joy of watching her turn cherry red from her collarbones to the top of her head. He couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out, true amusement dancing in his eyes despite the circumstances.

“Azriel! If I’m going to fix your hand you cannot ask me things like that.” She baffled him, and he enjoyed watching her blush too much to never see it again.

“Why not?” She had let him take her out once, maybe he’d be lucky enough to do it again.

“I’m your healer for starters, it's– it’s completely inappropriate.” Trying to put herself together and look unaffected– she did not succeed.

“So I’m not allowed to ask you out while you’re healing me?” 

“Exactly.”

“I guess I’ll just wait until we’re done then.” 

She blinked at him, her head already shaking. He decided it was time to go, the two having planned a time tomorrow for her to get started. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Little Ghost,” The amusement seeped through his voice as a lightness that rarely anyone got to experience from the spymaster, danced along his shoulders, his very being.

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/her pronouns used)

Word Count: 9.9k

Read Part 1 Here!

Summary: Reader now knows that she’s pregnant, with the Spymaster of the Night Court’s baby, after a one night stand. Cue inward groaning. How in the Mother was she supposed to navigate this?

Warning/Notes: Thank you everyone who liked and responded to the first part! I’m excited to write this part, and maybe a part three depending on how this one ends. Angst??? A little, there is gonna be hardships and talk about dangerous pregnancies and fears so just keep that in mind. There is a little self harm in the form of snapping a rubber band–nothing too bad, but just something to keep in mind.

This is my first taglist, hopefully I did it right! Please let me know if there are any problems with it. 

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

Y/n 

Pregnant. 

With a baby.

No matter how hard she tried, that one thought kept elbowing its way through all of her defenses, a relentless battering ram against the flimsy walls of her denial. The rest of the day was a blur, a chaotic symphony of buzzing white noise as she finished her shift at the clinic. She had found herself outside a bakery with her sister and friend as she pushed her cinnamon bun around on the plate, their presence barely registering. Mari chatted about her latest project, her voice a distant hum she couldn't focus on. Lena nudged her knee, a question lingering in her wide, familiar eyes: Are you okay?

No.

Y/n was not okay. In fact, she was so far from okay that she couldn't even bring herself to say the problem out loud. Saying it out loud made it real, and she was so not ready to accept it yet. Not even close.

She hadn't even reached a century in age. She was supposed to have all the time in the world to find someone to share this kind of joy– because isn't that how she should feel? Shouldn't she be happy about this kind of news? Some fae tried for decades, for centuries, and weren't able to fall pregnant. And somehow she has a one night stand with a guy she only just met and it happens to her? What had she done to the Mother to warrant such bad luck?

She stared into her empty apartment. She had no idea where Lesa was tonight, couldn't find it in herself to care. She hadn't even remembered the walk home, missed the worried glance between Lena and Mari as they made their own ways home. 

She wasn't ready to tell her sister or any of her friends, so them not being here was really for the best. Her eyes snagged on the bookshelves, the coffee table, even some of the opened cabinets. The kitchen doubled as a dining area, and the two small bedrooms squished together in the back were no bigger than the one bathroom they had access to. 

I can't raise a baby here.

The thought came out of nowhere, bitch-slapping her with a fresh wave of tears as she slid down her door, her hands grappling her poor strands of hair – she could practically hear them screaming as she pulled and yanked just to feel anything other than this numbness. There was absolutely no way she would sleep tonight, not between finding out the…news, and doing her best to forget the man who had gotten her into this mess.

No.

She reminded herself that this was not his fault, not entirely. It took two to tango, and gods, she had wanted to. Why hadn't she made sure to take a tonic afterwards, though? She had had so much going on it hadn't even crossed her mind, especially not with her abysmal attempts at forgetting that night, and the male, so viscerally. But, she was a healer, and a damn good one, taking a tonic should have been at the forefront of her thoughts. Not to mention the signs of early pregnancy that she had been so spectacular at ignoring: She had been utterly exhausted, chalked that up to the hard labor at the clinic and the late nights. Her nausea, which had been so out of the ordinary, she had convinced herself that it was stress, that she just had a lot on her plate. Cauldron, she had even had a sausage bagel the other morning and something about the smell had completely turned her off, and she had just brushed that off.

The tears that spilled down her cheeks painted her face, the outside mirroring her feelings perfectly. She had made mistakes, and they had led her to this point. She was doing her best to come to terms, honestly. But, all she kept coming back to was how this would change her plans: Would Madja take away her internship? The older fae hadn't alluded to this being a problem, but the internship was supposed to last a year and a half– this baby would disrupt at least a third of that time, if not more. She'd have to find her own place, buy all kinds of baby things– gods, what did babies even need? She had absolutely no idea– and that would surely drain her savings. And that's not even considering what would happen once the baby was here, how would she continue to work twelve hour shifts, or over-nights? 

She shook her head, trying desperately to reign in her growing panic. Stress was bad for a baby, right? She'd have to brush up on her readings, reacquaint herself with the information. She knew at this point, the baby was only the size of a pomegranate seed, so maybe stress wasn't her biggest problem right now.

Trying to remember her mother's soothing voice, she took a deep breath. She used to say that if she ever found herself with too much stress, or too many problems, to look at them one at a time. To start with the most ‘in the now’ concerns.

She could do that. Right now, her most pressing concern was to calm the storm that brewed and swirled chaotically inside of her. She needed to keep herself from falling victim to her panic. 

She made her way to the bathroom, splashing cool water on her face. Taking in her reflection, she wondered how something so monumental could leave her looking so… normal. Her hair remained the same shade, her face still symmetrical with both sides meeting in the center of her heart-shaped chin, and her eyes were the same color, still vibrant– still completely her. 

The quiet enveloped her for a moment, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room her only solace of time passing. But it didn't matter, not really, because she always came back to the same question:

How could this have happened? The question burned as it travelled through her, even as her mind provided the answer it already knew by heart: She had—happily—participated in said event that had caused this entire fiasco.

The memories of that night, of him, still resonated with her. She could still picture him perfectly, his dark curls, his honeyed eyes, and that beautiful, rare smile of his. She could hear his laugh, feel his tongue on her– in her. She could still hear his seductive, deep voice in her ears, the way his body had perfectly slotted with hers. And how he had used his body like it was built to sin. The memories were vivid, potent, and now… tainted. Each one a stark reminder of the impossibility of her current situation.

A soft shiver traced its way up her spine, entirely unrelated to the chill of the evening. It was a familiar sensation now, a subtle, cool brush against her skin, the gentle caress of shadows. She’d dismissed them for weeks, attributing them to lingering residual magic or perhaps her own overactive imagination. But tonight, they felt different—agitated, almost pulsing with an urgency she couldn't quite decipher. 

Exiting the bathroom, her bare feet padding softly against the cool tile, she did her best to remind herself that she couldn't change this, wondering how she got here, what she could have done differently– none of that actually changed the fact that it had happened.

“I'm pregnant.” She said aloud to no one in particular. The sob that followed the words did little to soothe the ache in her chest, in her belly. She found herself cradling her stomach, her hand smoothing over the skin that still looked the same, that hadn't grown yet. 

Even as she groaned, collapsing onto her own bed after the longest day of her life, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, she could feel the shift in her worries. How in the Cauldron was she going to tell him?

She hadn't so much as seen him around Velaris, or any of the Inner Circle for that matter. The last point of contact had been when Cassian dropped her off at her apartment that morning. Since then, she'd been actively avoiding any places she may accidentally stumble upon them:Rita's, but that was really more because she was busy, she tried to go to the markets a little later in the day, and she even avoided the bookshops she knew Cassian's mate was known to linger in. She didn't know why she was going to such great lengths– well, that wasn't true, not entirely. If she happened to stumble across him, she didn't want to risk him not remembering her, or worse,  of her making a fool out of herself when it was just one night. 

Y/n wasn't an idiot, she knew that the shadowsinger didn't date, gods, he had never been seen in public with any female more than once unless she was a member of the Inner Circle. He was mysterious and alluring and very much untouchable. How could she possibly spring this on him? There wasn't a scenario in her mind where this went well, where he didn't tell her to leave him out of it.

She screamed. Into her pillow. Full force.

Little did she know that somewhere in the corners of her room, the smallest, sneakiest tendril dwelled, keeping an eye on her. And, if it's chaotic whirls or uncoordinated spirals said anything, it had heard everything.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

Azriel

The clang of steel echoed through the private training ring deep within the House of Wind, a rhythmic symphony of combat that usually brought Azriel a measure of grim satisfaction. 

Today, it was just noise. 

Cassian, a whirlwind of muscle and easy power, moved with his usual devastating grace, but Azriel was off. He had been off for weeks, and it had started grating on his nerves. He didn't react this way, not to anything, especially not to a female that he had a one-night stand with.

He blocked a sweeping kick that normally would have sent him reeling, but his parry was sluggish, his return strike lacking its usual viper-quick precision. He ducked under a heavy sword swing, his shadows flaring erratically around him, a tell-tale sign of his unsettled mind.

"Lost your edge, brother?" Cassian's voice, usually a booming laugh in the ring, was laced with a knowing smirk as he effortlessly dodged a strike that was too low to the ground. He ducked under a wide swing, his focus miles away, almost taking a glancing blow to the temple.

Azriel parried Cassian's brutal overhead swing, the clash of blades jarring his teeth. He returned with a low thrust, aiming for Cassian's knee, but his movement was a beat too slow, his focus fractured. He saw Cassian's eyes narrow, a flicker of concern mingled with amusement. Another block, then a sidestep that wasn't quite fluid enough. Cassian's elbow caught him squarely in the ribs, a breath-stealing impact that would usually infuriate him into faster, deadlier action. 

But today, it just felt dull, distant.

 Cassian grunted, twisting away from a half-hearted swipe to his legs. Azriel felt a flicker of heat, not from exertion, but from Cassian hitting too close to a nerve. He pushed back, harder, trying to banish the apple-blossom scent and the memory of soft, intoxicating skin from his mind.

His shadows swarmed chaotically, proving no help to him in the ring today. If he was being honest with himself, they hadn't been much help to him the past few weeks. Ever since that night. Almost as if he had lost his complete control over them, as if they now answered to another that he wasn't privy to. 

 "Or just dreaming of... ghosts?” Cassian quipped, a predatory grin on his face as he pressed his advantage. Something knowing glinted in the war General's eyes, an assessment that screamed he knew more than he was letting on. 

Azriel couldn't help the soft, but deadly growl that slipped from between his lips. He rushed Cassian, his sword sweeping wide as he feigned right, but Cassian saw it from a mile away. His footwork was amateur at best, his movements sluggish and sloppy. Cassian merely sidestepped the wild lunge, his own blade a blur. With a sharp twist of his wrist, he expertly hooked Azriel's sword, wrenching it from his grasp with a clang that echoed loudly through the silent training ring. 

Azriel found himself suddenly disarmed, breathless, and glaring at the empty space where his weapon had been. Cassian, breathing only slightly harder than normal, lowered his own sword until its tip rested gently against Azriel's throat. 

"Like I said, brother," he murmured, his grin widening, "definitely off your game."

He withdrew the blade, sheathing it with a decisive click. "You done for the day? Or do I need to kick your ass again?”

Azriel didn't bother with a response. Quietly getting to his feet, he grabbed the sword and placed it in its home amongst the other blades and scabbards. He made his way to the water cooler, ignoring the concerned look etching its way onto his brother's face with expert precision. 

An all-too-familiar ache took over him, his hand finding his chest on instinct. He hadn't been able to shake the emptiness that burrowed deep within him. It had only gotten worse the past few weeks, that sensation becoming a close friend– or enemy– that had stayed past its welcome.

“Seriously, Az, what gives?” Azriel loved his brother, he did, but that didn't mean his insistent poking and prodding didn't drive him up the wall. 

Had he been off his game lately? Yes. That didn't mean he needed constant check-ins, though. This was his problem, and he'd be damned if he didn't figure it out on his own. 

“Not sleeping well, that's all.” Vague, but hopefully enough to satiate Cassian's curiosity. 

That was an understatement, though. Azriel had never really slept well, he bordered the insomniac line, and usually found more comfort in resting, then actually sleeping. He had never known what he was missing out on, his sleep schedule perfect for his spy work, but that night? 

The night spent with her. 

Y/n.

The memories of that morning, weeks ago, flooded him. He had woken up then, the midmorning sun beaming in through the glass doors. For the first time in his five centuries of life, he had felt completely at peace. There were no lingering nightmares, no stress about upcoming missions; he hadn't even woken up to go to training. His shadows had kept to themselves in the corners, quiet and content, not rousing him. He had been shocked when he realized he had slept so late, had been even more shocked when he realized the beautiful fae he had brought home was nowhere to be found. The only signs she had even been there: his naked body and her lingering apple-blossom scent.

Ordinarily, Azriel made sure to go somewhere else, either the female's apartment or maybe even an inn. Never, had he brought a female back to his home, to his room. It made things complicated. Sometimes, it gave the wrong idea, made them think that because he'd brought them home, he'd want to continue the previous night's activities. He didn't like to give them false hope, no, it was much easier this way. 

His bedroom was his sacred place, the space he went to get away from everyone else, where no one could touch him. For some reason, though, he hadn't even thought about bringing her there. It had been instinct, he had wanted to see her splayed out on his bed. It made it easier to convince himself that she had been his, even if it was just for that night.

He hadn't even changed his sheets, hadn't allowed the House to do it, either. Admitting why he felt comfort in that scent, in her, though? Well, he hadn't even attempted to touch that line of thinking; it was too dangerous, too vulnerable. He simply accepted that he couldn't change what brought him comfort; why should he have to explain it?

He'd been expecting to wake up with her in his bed, his arm slung around her– maybe even have a passionate morning rendition of the night before. But, instead he'd woken up to find her gone, her side of the bed cold and deserted. She had begged Cassian to bring her home, gods, she hadn't even wanted to see him. It made him wonder if she had had as good a night as him. She had seemed to enjoy herself, if her three orgasms, that he had on constant repeat in his mind, were any indication.

No, she must have enjoyed herself, right?

Then why did she flee?

He shut that thought down as quickly as it came. He didn't have time to ponder her thoughts or what might have been. It was a one night stand and he needed to accept that. He needed to get her off of his god-damned mind.

“That's never stopped you from handing me my ass before,” Cassian continued, his eyes burning into the back of Azriel's head. He was like a dog with a bone when he wanted to be. 

And, he had taken her home that morning. Azriel would be lying if he said he wasn't a little irritated with his brother over it. He could have woken him, could have told him she wanted to go home, he would have gotten her there safely. And, maybe, he wouldn't be feeling this incomplete mess, he'd have… closure.

Surely that was all he needed.

Crushing the cup in his hand before tossing it into the bin, he shrugged, “Maybe I thought you deserved a win,” before Cassian could respond, Azriel was out of the training ring and walking to his room, ignoring the sound of his name being called. 

He held his breath the whole way there, trying desperately to reign in his jumbled feelings. He was the spymaster for crying out loud. He didn't falter when faced with enemies, or wars, or missions– nothing shook him. He needed to be a solid force for his family, his court to rely on– not some heaving mess of a male.

Azriel's mind was a maelstrom. He shot through the halls of the House of Wind, propelled by an urgency that overshadowed all else. His earlier ache had solidified into a heavy, leaden weight in his chest. He reached his room, barely registering the familiar darkness before his eyes snapped to the balcony doors and  that clawing, nagging voice in the back of his head made itself known once more.

Why couldn't he move past this, past her?

He slammed his fist against the wall beside the balcony, the sound echoing in his room. He heard the crack, felt it deep in his body as his knuckles caved under the laden stone of the wall. The skin splitting easily, the blood pooling as he took in the wrecked bones.

He couldn't find it in himself to care, not when it was the safest, most comfortable feeling he'd had in weeks.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

Y/n

Strong, calloused hands cupped her face. Deep, molten pools of honey staring intensely into her own deep wells. His lean body pressed against hers, shivers running the length of her arms as they chased his shadows.

“Azriel,” she breathed, his teeth catching her bottom lip as she let her hands roam over every glorious inch of him she could reach. His skin was dipped in pure heat, the places her fingers met only enhancing the warmth blossoming in her core.

She couldn't get enough, not as he finally breached that distance, his mouth claiming hers in with an animalistic glint in his eyes. He didn't simply kiss, he savored, he coaxed, and then devoured. His fingers found their way to her scalp, wrapping around the hair there and pulling, just enough to elicit a moan from her, just enough for his tongue to slip in. He ate the noises slipping from between her lips, his tongue quickly won the battle of dominance. 

Her hands found their place on his sides, running along the muscle and finding the curve of his ass as he continued to kiss the daylight out of her. He groaned and shifted against her aching core, right where she wanted him. She could feel his arousal, could do nothing but beg for him to end her misery.

“Please,” she whispered between kisses, “Please, don't stop,” his smile resembled something sinful, something utterly devilish, it only appeared for a moment, just long enough for her to rock her pelvis against his, a hiss coming out.

“Patience, pretty,” he cooed, his tongue finding the pulse point on her neck, sucking and licking before placing a soft, almost reverent kiss to it. 

“We have all the time in the world.”

Y/n woke with a brutal start, the moonlight from her window barely lighting enough space for her to throw herself out of bed and whip the door open. She had mere seconds between slamming into the bathroom, her knees cracking against the tile floor before retching violently into the porcelain bowl.

She’s not sure how long she stayed there, her hair a mess of waves around her, hugging the toilet like it was her best friend, all the while her throat constricted and burned as she continued to vomit, her stomach swirling dangerously.

She heard Lesa's door open, but couldn't pull herself away from the toilet long enough to investigate. Not that she needed to, the small blond poked her head into the bathroom, sleep still lingering on her delicate features.

“You okay?” She yawned. Her feet making soft noises as she padded over, collecting Y/n's hair and holding it back as another tremor made its way through her.

She barely managed a ‘no’ before the sickness took over. Lesa cooed quietly at her, grabbing a rag and wetting it before dabbing Y/n's face, securing her hair with a leather band, and flushing the evidence down the toilet.

Finally, after what felt like hours, her stomach settled. The cold compress the only real relief against her shaking limbs. She leaned against the tub as Lesa handed her a glass of water and some medication. 

“I can't believe you're still this sick,” she shook her head, golden curls getting tucked behind her ear as she took care in watching over her friend. “Are you sure it's just stress? I know it's rare for fae to get sick, but this isn't normal.”

If she had more energy she may have cursed herself for not having the foresight to stay with Lena. Her sister was many things, but a healer was not one of them. She would be worried, but she wouldn't have put it together this quickly. She could already see the wheels spinning in Lesa's intelligent gray eyes as she mentally ticked off all the possibilities.

She had met Lesa at a herbalist retreat years ago. Lesa had made a comment about how she thought the moonbloom flowers she and Y/n had been tasked with researching were in love– and therefore couldn't be seperated. Y/n had thought she was a quack– and to be fair, she is– but she’s her quack. The two quickly found shared interests and common ground when they realized they were both in school to become healers. It hadn't taken long for their bond to solidify, and they'd been thick as thieves ever since. 

She wiped her mouth with the rag, dropping the disgusting thing in the laundry basket as Lesa slowly helped her to her feet. They remained quiet as they made their way to the living room couch, there was no way either of them were getting back to sleep. She could already see dawn cresting the sky as daytime began to take over, the moon finding its home lower in the sky as minutes ticked on.

Lesa brought her a pack of bland crackers and more water, settling next to her as they watched the sunrise. She didn't pressure or ask invasive questions, she just sat there and waited until Y/n was ready. 

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered so quietly she wasn't sure Lesa could hear her. Lesa hummed, as if she already suspected, her hand rubbing soothing lines up and down her back. “And, I'm terrified,” she added, even quieter. 

Lesa smiled at her, pearl, straight teeth on full display as she worked her magic. Lesa had this magnetic pull, she could make anyone feel at ease, it was just her personality. She’s kind and gentle, and a huge gooey romantic. And Y/n couldn't think of anyone else she wanted helping her at this moment.

“That's normal, being terrified– I mean.” She laid her head on Y/n's shoulder, her sweet cinnamon and cardamom scent wafting around them. “It's a massive adjustment to a person's life, even in the beginning before anything really changes.”

She felt the tears forming, and did her best to hold them back as she said, “I don't know if I'm happy about it.” She let out a hysterical laugh that definitely bordered on crazed. “Gods, Les, what does that say about me?” Running her hand down her face, smearing the stubborn tears that had fallen, she met her friend’s kind– completely non-judgmental face.

“It doesn't say anything about you. It just means that you're coming to terms, that you need time to find a balance between what you thought your life would be, and how this could change things.”

This would change things, there was no doubt about that. There were so many aspects of her life that would be different than how she expected them to be. But, despite all that, she found herself leaning into Lesa, her warmth a shield against all those scary, and troubling thoughts.

“What would we do without you?” She said affectionately.

Lesa giggled, “Crash and burn, no doubt. Now, since you're feeling better, I'm going to go get the others so we can have a proper chat about this,” Y/n groaned, already dreading the interrogation she wouldn't be able to escape. 

Despite that, she smiled for the first time since finding out this life-altering news.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

The interrogation with her sister and friends had gone about as well as she could have hoped for:

Lesa had remained a pillar. Staying unbiased and guiding the conversation effectively. And, she threw in a few ‘oohs,’ and ‘ahhs,’ whenever Azriel was mentioned– they all knew he had to be the father, he had been the only person she’d been with in nearly a year–the timing matched perfectly.

Mari had stared at her for about three minutes, her mouth falling open in a perfect 'O' of shock. Then her gaze had shifted from that of surprise to concerned. A faint crease appeared between her brows as if she was trying to fit this unexpected piece into the complex tapestry of Y/n's life. "Is this something you want?” Not once, in their seventy-five years of friendship had either of them ever mentioned children. They were simply young in terms of fae.

Peri– the quietest of them had been a rock amongst her storm. She listened intently, didn't move or speak for a long moment. Then, with a quiet solemnity, she simply reached out, her hand finding Y/n's and squeezing, her gaze steady and filled with an unspoken, deep understanding that bypassed all the chaos. She had put her arm around her and didn’t let her go.

Lena had gone through the full spectrum of emotions. She had started with denial–she had actually laughed. And when Y/n hadn’t yelled “psych” and started laughing too, Lena’s laugh had quickly morphed into hysteria. That had quickly bled into outrage, mainly at Azriel, briefly cursing him through their shared tattoo, or threatening to make good on her scrote to throat comment.

When she finally calmed down, her anxiety had strapped its shields and lifted its blades. She had been the one to voice the question they all had: How are you going to tell him?

She hadn’t been able to answer that, and it only made the pit in her stomach evolve into something aggressive and terrifying. Maybe she could just like… send him a postcard or something? 

She wondered how long she could get away with ignoring this. She probably had another few weeks before she really started showing, not a lot of time, but maybe enough to wrap her head around it.

The real issue was that she didn’t actually know how to get in contact with him. If she did, what would he say? She hadn’t gotten the impression that he was the kind of male to be cruel or outright ignore her, but she really didn’t know him that well. And, this wasn’t like she was asking for a second date, this was a baby.

Cauldron, how did one even begin to introduce that into a conversation. “Hey, shadowsinger, remember that one night weeks ago when you rocked my whole world. Well, surprise! Here’s a forever present in the form of my womb.” 

She couldn’t stop the physical reaction to that stupid thought, her head nearly slamming against the table. She’d give herself a few more weeks to figure it out, maybe then she could finally start to wrap her head around this whole thing.

Hours later, the soft clinking of glass and the gentle murmur of voices filled the air in Madja's busy clinic. The afternoon rush had just ended, and interns bustled between treatment rooms and the apothecary, each absorbed in their end of day tasks.

She hummed a quiet, off-key tune as she carefully arranged newly mixed Sunpetal Bloom salves on a display shelf. She prided herself on the perfect order of her workspace, a small pocket of calm in the sometimes hectic environment. She reached for another perfectly preserved Moonwhisper Leaf, her movements precise and practiced. 

Yet, even as she focused, a strange undercurrent of anticipation prickled at her skin. The energy in the clinic felt... different today. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor, like distant thunder, seemed to vibrate beneath the stone floor. She paused, tilting her head slightly, doing her best to convince herself it was nothing but fatigue–she hadn’t slept much last night between the nightmares and sickness.

She put the last vial away when she heard the distinct chirp of the front bell. She had a few more hours before the end of her shift, so without hesitation she grabbed her clip-board and made her way towards the charming sound. 

She came to an abrupt halt when her eyes collided with the back of a very large, very identifiable male. 

Maybe if she turned back now–

He spun around, his wings swiping through the air, the action causing the loose hair around her face to move chaotically. Hazel eyes collided with her round ones, her mouth slightly agape as she blinked like a moron. In all fairness, he stared at her just as dumbly, as if he couldn’t think of one possible reason why she would be here.

Beautiful. It’s really the only way to describe this male. Or yummy, that also worked. His hair curled slightly behind his ears, his massive wings gleaming a soft pink against the golden rays of the sun. His leathers sinfully tight against his impressive, powerful figure. 

She wet her lips subconsciously, his eyes immediately snapping to the action, his eyes darkening to the purest obsidian. She blushed furiously at being caught practically salivating over him, in front of him. 

Before either of them could come up with something to stammer out that would definitely be stupid or completely inappropriate, her spine stiffened as pain attached itself to her. The edges of her vision shredded with deep purples and twisted reds as her mind finally caught up with her magic –sensing the pain in the room. 

On instinct, her eyes scanned for the cause. Her sensory perception peeled around the edges of her vision as she located the injury in one of his hands, a phantom pain taking over her own as she took a closer step. 

When she's in close proximity and focusing, she sees or feels flickers, distortions, and concentrations of energy where pain or injury resides. It can help her to pinpoint injuries, even unseen ones like internal bruising or hairline fractures, with incredible accuracy. 

It's like a thermal map for discomfort.

Healer mode snapped into place, immediate and absolute. She moved towards him, closing the distance between them, her steps purposeful. When she reached him, she gently took his injured hand in hers, her touch firm, but careful. 

Despite her professionalism, she did her best to avoid his gaze, an easy feat when she needed to assess the extent of his injury anyways.She barely managed to capture the hiss that whizzed by her teeth as she got a better look at the mangled bones. This was not a small injury, from the looks of it, every single bone had shattered leaving nothing but jagged and loose pieces of bone floating about. 

Gods, he could have severed tendons or important ligaments, any healer would have to be very careful when trying to move his bones back into their rightful place. That wouldn’t account for the time it’d actually take to meld them back together, even then, he’d still have to wait for his own healing magic to set them. This process would take hours, and probably several sessions.

"What happened?" Her voice, though low, was sharp with professional demand. “And when?” She readjusted her grip to his wrist, trying to see if the injuries had ricocheted to bones further up his arm.

His feet readjusted, ever so slightly, almost as if unconsciously, before he let out a low, “I think I–broke it.” His fucking voice. She slammed so hard against her instinct to move closer, to smell him. Gods, what was happening to her?

Once again, it took her mind an embarrassingly long moment to out pace her body, but when it did–

Had he said he ‘thinks’ he broke it?

His hand was so far past broken, she wasn’t even sure she’d be able to fix it without the help of more healers. It would have been easier to reattach a severed hand. This was practically a thousand piece puzzle, each piece the exact same color, no distinction whatsoever.

Her head shot up on instinct, catching him already looking down at her, eyes hooded, Adam's apple bobbing. She couldn’t help but notice the stubble he’d grown, his skin kissed by the sun as if he’d spent the morning in an open training ring– her eyes narrowed, he’d better not have been training in this state. 

That thought kicked her right back into gear, “Yes, Azriel, it’s broken, shattered would be more precise,” she murmured as she went back to watching his hand, doing her best to hide the slight tremor in them as she resumed her movements. She held her breath as she took in the scars adorning his skin, the brutal marks that promised the memory of pain. She swallowed hard, it took an awful lot for fae skin, especially with Illyrian healing, to scar like that. 

She missed the way his eyes heated as she spoke his name, the sound rolling off her tongue coated in honey. She began leading him to the back of the clinic, bringing him to one of the sickbeds so they could get started.

“How long ago did this happen?”

“A few days.”

“I need you to be more specific than that, shadowsinger. Sit.” She demanded, placing her clipboard on the desk as she washed her hands, black gloves sliding on seamlessly. She also grabbed a rubber band and wrapped it around her wrist. Snapping it just once.

“Two days ago. I–” he looked sheepish, just a tad bit as her disapproving eyes bore into him. “I thought it would heal itself.”

That, she believed. He watched her intently as she fluttered about in her environment, her ease and determination making it obvious how talented and dedicated she was to her work. She placed salves, needles, rags, and a pair of tweezers on her stainless steel cart. All sorts of medicines and herbs littered along the walls, along with charts and posters, "Our healers run on coffee, good intentions, and the sheer disbelief that you actually tried that." Y/n had found it funny, and it usually worked as a good icebreaker, so bonus.

“What did you do?” She put a pair of magnifiers on, pulling up a seat next to where she had his hand displayed for her. She placed her hand over his, skin to skin contact usually worked best, but Madja had found gloves that could mimic the sensation, still allowing them to be safe and avoid cross-contamination. Cauldron, she loved the new ideas and trinkets that fae all over came up with these days.

As soon as her hand hovered underneath his she could feel the violent hum of her magic as it did its best to navigate the injury. Her eyes watched the thin, silver strand of her magic as it followed the natural path of the injury from start to finish. She could see that his knuckles had made the first impact, the bones flattening against what had probably been a steady, firm surface– more than likely stone or cement. 

Phantom flares of pain bounced along her bones as she did her best to take it away from him. 

He sucked in a sharp breath at the sensation of her magic moving from her body to his, the immediate relief of pain as she sucked the feeling into her magic and through her own body– her magic was truly fascinating, some would even say amazing, but it came at a price. She couldn’t take his pain without transferring it somewhere else. In this case, straight into her own body. But, her body had always been better at handling pain and she naturally healed faster than ordinary fae. Not to mention her pain tolerance was through the roof, whether because of her magic or from taking others' pain so often, she wasn’t sure. 

It was a small price to pay when it came to helping her patients heal faster, and have a more comfortable experience. 

“I punched the wall,” he said, so low she almost missed it. “It’s made of obsidian stone, my hand went straight through,” she stopped, her enlarged eyes meeting his, a small smile pulling at his lips as he took her in. Large goggles adorned her face, eyes the size of saucers and her nose turned up to keep the glasses on as she stared at him.

“You broke through obsidian stone?” She finally pulled away, placing his hand down slowly. Wheeling her chair over to her clipboard as she recorded her findings. Detailing her professional thoughts and her findings, while also adding insights and possible solutions.

“I wasn’t thinking straight.” He said simply. 

She guessed that was the end of that conversation. The how didn’t matter too much, though. She knew the general way he’d broken his hand, and the rest? Well, she had just wanted to know more. She cursed herself inwardly, she should not be asking this man more questions than necessary. 

She hadn’t even had a moment to think about her pregnancy during all of this, though she did quickly make sure that her glamours were intact. Surely now was not a good time to mention it? He seemed… vulnerable. And, she had only known for a few days, she hadn’t expected him to just walk into the clinic she worked at. She thought she had more time.

Shoving the thoughts aside, she stood, her hands crossing as she informed him of her professional opinion. “So there’s good and bad news,” she said, her eyes meeting his, each time seeming to make it harder to look away. “The good news is that it doesn’t seem to have traveled past the bones in your hands, the ones directly surrounding your knuckles were affected the most.” She crossed her legs as she leaned against the desk, doing her best to keep eye contact.

Come on, Y/n. He’s just like any other patient. It doesn’t matter that she knew what it felt like to have those fingers inside of her.

NO. 

Gods, what was wrong with her?

She snapped the rubber band once, twice, three times just to be safe.

She cleared her throat, “the bad news is that you’ve completely wrecked the bones that did break. They aren’t healing because the impact caused them to break into pieces that then, over the course of two days, have moved and mixed in such a way that they can’t mend themselves back together. Imagine a cup of dice being shaken. Your bones are the dice, your hand–the cup.”

He stared at her like she was speaking another language. He scratched the back of his head, his brow furrowing as he asked, “But it can be fixed?”

Without hesitation, “Yes.” She offered him a piece of paper, the one she’d been taking notes on, a small diagram of the bones drawn out to make it easier to understand. It would help any other healers that may need to work on his injury.

“As long as you don’t use it, try and keep it elevated, and-under no circumstances- should you be training.” Her eyes hardened, locking with his as he swallowed, hard. She may not be the most intimidating, but he was hurt–which made him her patient, even if just for a short while– She doesn’t mess around when it comes to her patients' health. So she stared into his eyes, “Capiche?” 

His jaw twitched, somewhere between a grimace and a wicked grin. It was incredibly sexy. She slipped her finger between the band on her wrist and let it fly. Bad Y/n. “For how long?” She did her best to hide the shock from the cool coated sensation that wrapped around her wrist, was that a…shadow?

Pointing at the diagrams she handed him, she continued, “This outlines the treatment method, you are free to consult any other professionals you trust, I know you and your family work with Madja a lot, I’m sure she’d be more than happy to help you out. When you choose a healer, I’m sure they’ll give you a timeline for your restrictions.”

His fingers in his uninjured hand tightened on the piece of paper, the white sheet folding slightly. He didn’t meet her gaze as he asked, “What if I want you to do it?”

She blinked. Surely, he didn’t mean that? Madja was much more successful in more complex injuries like this. She had spent centuries traveling courts and helping the Inner Circle of the Night Court. She had much more experience. Y/n had meant it when she said the injury could be healed, but Madja would be much faster, and he was lucky enough to have her at his beck and call.

She floundered for just a moment, catching the slight flush on his cheeks as he finally looked at her again. “I mean I– I can do it if you’re comfortable with that. But, I’ll warn you, my magic takes a lot more energy from me than hers. We’d have to do it in probably three or four sessions over the course of a week or two.”

“Works for me.” He spoke, his deep voice sending goosebumps down her spine. 

“You’re really not gonna like my restrictions for you,” That wicked grin was back as he stood to his full height. She quickly got to work wrapping his hand and keeping it secure for the night, adding in a touch of her magic to keep it from swelling and causing him pain. 

“If taking a few weeks off training means getting to see you more, it’ll be worth it.” 

She nearly fell off her chair. “I’m sorry, what?” She must have started snapping her rubber band subconsciously because his good hand reached out, stopping her movements. Small red dots bubbling from she’d repeatedly snapped it. 

He flashed his teeth, just barely, “Please, stop doing that.” When she didn’t yank her wrist away he slowly peeled the stupid thing off her wrist and tossed it in the bin.

He stared down at her, his thumb running over the underside of her wrist a few times. Her skin tingled where he touched her. Then he was jerking away his hand as if she burned him.

She rubbed her chest, the tight, heated sensation intensifying at the action.

She should tell him. Now would be the perfect time. Right?

But, she’s technically his doctor now, surely telling him she’s pregnant with his child broke some kind of bylaw. Yes. She would wait, take a few more days. She’d tell him during his last session and it would be fine. 

Spinning on her heel, palms meeting the cool marble surface of the desk, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 

“So what time works for you tomorrow?”

“The sooner the better, I can be here as early as six,” She tried not to balk, six am? She had not been sleeping well, and that sounded awfully early. And she had no doubt that tomorrow morning her would hate her right now for agreeing. That didn’t stop her though.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

She spun her pretty ass right back around, disbelief on her face. She was proud of herself, when he let out a small, rough laugh, she only faltered for a moment.

“Azriel!” She hushed him, making sure her door was completely closed. “If I’m going to fix your hand you cannot ask me things like that.” She whisper-yelled. Doing her best to ignore the chaotic thrum of her pulse, or the breath escaping her hold. 

The stupidly adorable grin was back, “Why not?”

“I’m your healer for starters, it's– it’s completely inappropriate.” She straightened her scrubs, nervously flipping her pony off her shoulder. Plus, it made her nervous, and made her stupid heart do a stupid little flip that definitely resembled something awfully close to hope. 

“So I’m not allowed to ask you out while you’re healing me?” 

“Exactly.” She allowed a small smile to slip from her as he finally seemed to understand. It would be for the best if they stayed professional, she could worry about the personal later. She hoped saying it enough would make it true. But then–

“I guess I’ll just wait until we’re done then.” Her eyes widened, wait–that wasn’t what she meant–

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Little Ghost,” oh gods, now he was calling her that? She so did not want that to stick. All she could do was watch as he effortlessly walked out of the treatment room, her head tilting she allowed herself the glorious vision of his ass. It was glorious. 

She found herself going to snap the rubber band, but was just met with the now healed skin. He had seemed rather… uncomfortable with her snapping it. Odd.

She watched the door long after he left. Her heart taking its sweet time to calm down. 

It was going to be a long couple weeks.

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Out of everything that had happened in the past month, she regretted this the most.

Dawn was just cresting the horizon as she made her way to the clinic the next morning. She had woken up late, dropped her coffee, and stepped in dog poop on the way out of the door and into work. 

She was cranky, exhausted, and really starting to think that this baby was some reincarnated crazy person hell bent on revenge in the form of morning sickness. 

Nevertheless, she persevered because she had told Azriel that they could start his treatment as early as he wanted. And the bastard had chosen an ungodly hour of the morning, and she had been too flustered in his presence to tell him she didn’t function properly before eight a.m. Yet another thing having a baby would ruin. 

She let out a frustrated huff as she tried the keys to the clinic, too many bags filled with supplies. She couldn’t get the key in, and nearly screamed when a calm, butterfly-inducing voice spoke from behind her.

“It seems doors have it out for you, Little Ghost,” She let her head drop against the glass, her breath granted life in the frost-chilled morning. He was early. Why wasn’t she surprised that he showed up early?

“I promise, I’m usually more put together,” she spoke, her voice muffled against the store.

He let out a small chuckle, casually taking the keys from her hand and sliding them into the intricate lock. “Why do I feel like that’s not entirely true,” she groaned as they made their way inside, him holding the door open and lingering outside for just a moment longer before following her lead.

She went about flicking lights on and setting her things down before facing the unforgettable presence that came with Azriel. It was then she noticed he had something in his hand, the other one still secured in the makeshift splint she’d given him yesterday.

Her eyes widened, it looked like coffee.

A godsend.

“I didn’t know how you like your coffee, so I brought tea.”

She couldn’t help the way her chest warmed, he had thought of her when he didn’t need to. When she hadn’t expected him to.

“Thank you,” she spoke softly as she took the cup offered. The warm liquid quickly finding its way down her throat. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He gave her a panty-melting smile. Gods. No one should look as good as him in the morning. His cedar and night scent lingering in the air as they made their way to the room they’d be working in. No one was due at the clinic for another few hours, so she’d be able to focus on piecing his bones back together.

“I wanted to.” 

A simple statement that sent her mind into a very not simple freak-out.

“You are something…else.” She said with nothing but kindness in her tone. She may not know this male well, but what she did know… well, there wasn’t one thing she hadn’t liked, hadn’t wanted to know more about.

He hummed in acknowledgement as he settled into his chair.

It didn’t take long for her to gather her supplies where they needed to be and placed her magnifiers on. Her magic was fully rested and ready to take on the task.

“Is it alright with you if I use my bare hands?” She asked, washing them in the sink. “My magic works better with contact, and the gloves can mimic it, but with an injury so complex– I figure any little boost we can give can’t hurt.”

“Of course,” he cleared his throat, “if you think it will help.” 

She smiles reassuringly, expertly ignoring the way his breathing hitched. “Today we’ll focus on getting your bones back to where they belong. That’ll probably take a few hours, if you need a break for any reason just let me know.” She pulled her chair up, his hand at her mercy. 

Then she began her work.

It was a long and slow process, Azriel hissing slightly every time she had to let the conduit of his pain slip from her grasp. Not something she enjoys, but is necessary to ensure she’s not severing his pain receptors. 

“Not a morning person?” He asked, his voice tight as she maneuvered a particularly jagged piece of bone to its rightful place.

She grimaced, not taking her eyes off his hand, “What gave me away?”

“Well when I mentioned coming in this early yesterday you looked horrified at the idea. And this morning you were cursing the sun when I–”

“I get your point,” she cut him off, embarrassment climbing through her. She had to remind herself that he was the Spymaster of the Night Court. People cowered at the mere mention of him, it was his job to notice the small things. She wasn’t special. And she needed to remember that. 

“I’m used to staying up late either studying or working, the mornings always come too soon. And, that may or may not irritate me sometimes.” She watched as the silver thread made its way seamlessly through the portion of bone she’d set back into place. A relieved sigh coming from him as the pressure released.

She wanted to keep him talking, though, because she was about to move onto another jagged piece that would definitely be uncomfortable. The more distracted he was, the more likely the pain would be background noise.

“Does that mean you’re a morning person?”

He tilted his head, “I’m an every time of day kind of person, I don’t sleep much.”

That caused her to stumble. He didn’t sleep much? He hadn’t even stirred that morning when she'd woken up in his arms. He had had such a relaxed and innocent face, not a crinkle in sight. She had assumed he wouldn’t get much sleep with his job, but she had started doubting when she slipped out so easily.

Before she could shove a foot in her mouth, she said, “That surprises me, you stayed asleep that–.” His head lifted so quickly, deep hazel chasms catching hers and holding her hostage. The movement of his body caused the aluminum tray with all her goodies to shake, her carefully crafted workspace falling victim to her inability to filter her thoughts.

“That morning?” He prodded, her face flushing as she realized she’d just stepped over a very thin line she hadn’t even realized she’d been walking. Forget pregnancy announcements, he seemed ready to delve into her early morning disappearance.

She swallowed, focusing back on his hand, the feeling of his eyes burning into the side of her skull. She never should have agreed to healing his hand. She should have insisted that he work with Madja, or someone else that hadn’t slept with him. She had just wanted to help him, and maybe she hadn’t wanted yesterday to be the last time she saw him before he disappeared forever. She wanted a few more interactions before the inevitable, denial or refusal regarding this baby. Their baby. 

This was such a sticky situation and she had no idea how to navigate it. Confliction had become her most sought after companion. One moment she wanted to shout the truth from the top of her lungs, beg him to stay, to help her; and next she wanted to take this truth and shove it so deep inside of her that she forgets it, or gets to keep the way he’s looking at her, even if just for a little while longer.

“For someone who isn’t a morning person, you certainly couldn’t get away from me fast enough.” She felt his pulse flutter, his body betrayed his empty sounding words. 

She took a deep breath. She supposed he deserved an explanation, and at least she could sort of answer this one. “I didn’t want to get away from you.” Her gaze briefly flicked to his before focusing once more.

“But, I also didn’t think you’d want to wake up with me there.” She managed to move the tricky piece in the right direction, her movements short and quick to avoid more damage. “I’m not an idiot, I’m well aware you don’t do attachment. I guess I didn’t want to be collateral.”

He openly gaped at her, his jaw tightening as he absorbed her words. “You don’t know me very well, Y/n. So I guess I can’t blame you for having that perception of me.” He ground the words out, he almost seemed hurt by her admission, but it had been the truth. The only one she could offer him.

She thought that’d be all he said on the matter as minutes ticked by in tense silence. Her magic still deftly stitching him back together. Then he murmured, his voice low, “It didn’t really matter that you didn’t stay,” her eyes narrowed as they met his, where was he going with this? “You had already made your way in,”

He didn’t speak after that, and she had been too stunned to respond. The revelation was all-consuming as she took the next hour or so to finish his hand. When she finally managed to put the bones back to their rightful places, she helped set bones and splint his hand. She had used the last dregs of her magic to meld them together temporarily. Long enough for her to regain her magic in the next few days, just in time for their next session.

Her mind kept bouncing back to what he had said. Maybe she had been worried for no reason. Perhaps, she had made a big enough indent in his life that he’d decide to stay, to be a part of this baby’s life. 

Maybe– maybe she was being selfish, trying to put the inevitable off, taking the time she needed, while actively denying him his. A painful twist took place in her stomach.

She couldn’t do this to him. He deserved to know. And if the roles were reversed and he kept something like this from her, something so monumental that it would potentially change her life–well, she’d be pretty upset. 

“Azriel,” she began, meticulously cleaning her area up as he flexed his wrist, moving the blood throughout his arm after sitting stiff for so long. “I–I need to tell you something.” When she found herself without anything else to clean or put away, she began wringing her hands, anxiety taking over her being.

She swallowed the sand in her mouth, the heavy feeling of her tongue fighting against her thoughts as they tried to spill out coherently. 

He must have understood the panic in her tone, or her body language, honestly who knew at this point. But, he stood in front of her in an instant, his fingers lifting her chin so their eyes could meet. 

“What’s wrong, Little Ghost?” He whispered, worry laced in his tone.

She felt the tears well in her eyes as the words, finally, slipped past her lips. As they found their mark, “I’m pregnant.”

He just stared at her, he didn’t blink, didn’t move, didn’t even seem to breathe. She held her breath, waiting for the inevitable– for the interrogation, the demand for answers, or even yelling.

He didn’t do any of those things, though. His eyes simply slipped from hers, his hand falling to his side as he took a step back. His good hand ran down his face, and then dragged through his hair roughly. 

Her hand flew to her mouth, trying her best to hide the quiver in her lips. She couldn’t stop the shaking, didn’t dare move as she watched him digest the information in real time. 

Finally, finally, he looked at her, his tortured gaze meeting her tear-filled one. A broken, “I’m sorry,” falling from her lips as her head dropped.

He didn’t approach, didn’t offer a reassuring smile or kind words. He simply croaked, “I can’t do this.” 

And walked out.

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/her pronouns used)

Word Count: 10.5k

Read Part 2 and Part 2.5 here!

Summary: A one-night stand with Prythian’s most notorious spy leads to an avalanche of life changing events. 

Warning/Notes: Hoping to make this a mini-series if people are interested! Some talk of anxiety, smutty/adult content, I think it can be categorized as fluff, but there will definitely be some angst eventually because I can’t help myself. Please let me know what you think and if you’d be interested in more parts! Thank you.

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The glimmering purple liquid burned as it raced down her throat, shot number–who even knew– as her hips swayed back and forth, the upbeat music acting as a guide. 

Heat danced across her flesh, pirouetting on every inch of her skin, as her friends pressed closely around her, dancing the night away. Lena–her twin sister, had been the one responsible for tonight. When she learned that her sister had been accepted to intern under the best healer in Velaris, well, she’d wanted to celebrate by taking Y/n out and–apparently– getting her laid, or very drunk, whichever happened first.

She hadn’t given much of a fight, it was rare that she got to enjoy a night out. Usually, she sequestered herself away in her own corner of the world studying herbal remedies and medicinal practices, or doing research on all sorts of plants and carnivorous insects.

“We need more alcohol,” Mari– one of her good friends, called out, not waiting for a response before dragging Lena behind her as they headed for the bar. Y/n watched as the small, fearless seamstress flipped her hair over her shoulder, exposing a small constellation tattoo, and smiled seductively at the bartender. Laughing slightly, Y/n spun on her heels, grateful that her friends were enjoying the night as much as she was.

Vasilisa, her sweet roommate, quickly filled in the gap the other two had left. Smiling softly at a male before she twirled once, the delicate glimmering mesh of her skirt chasing after her thighs. 

“The High Lord’s here tonight,” she giggled, throwing her arms around Y/n’s neck as she danced with her, but kept eye contact with the male just out of view. Perhaps alcohol was, in-fact, not what they needed more of. “And, he looks delicious.”

“He’s mated, Lesa, probably best to pick some other poor soul.” Despite the oddity of Lesa’s drunkenness, she couldn’t help but warm at her friend’s state. 

A small, devilish grin plastered across the girl’s face as she quickly shifted gears, “What about the shadowsinger? He’s not mated and Cauldron, he is scrumptious.”

At this point, Y/n would definitely have to be the one to stop drinking. With Mari and Lena still chatting up the bartender, more drinks appearing and disappearing before they ever left the counter; Lesa all but grinding against her as she mentally undresses the High Lord and the Spymaster of the Night Court; and Peri’s complete disappearance once a beautiful female had shown interest; it was a safe bet that she’d need to make sure everyone got home safely tonight.  

“I have an even better idea, Y/n,” Lesa squealed, her toes bouncing as she gripped both of her arms, big doe eyes pleading. “You should ask him to dance!” Lesa seemed so happy with herself, but she had to hold back the cringe that fought desperately to claw its way free.

She must not have done a good enough job hiding it, because Lesa pouted, “You don’t think he’s hot?” 

Y/n blanched, “No, of course I think he’s hot. I mean he's very tall, and gorgeous, and I like the way his shadows surround him, and I can only imagine what they can do in–” her cheeks flooded with heat that she couldn’t blame on the atmosphere. Good gods, she needed to reattach her tongue to her brain. Clearing her throat, and ignoring Lesa’s growing smirk, “that’s not the point.”

She laughed awkwardly, hoping to change the subject. She certainly wouldn’t be asking him to dance. The male took her breath away, she’d never be able to speak to him, not without clamming up or dying on the spot– the latter more preferrable. 

It was entirely possible that she was a little obsessed with the male, but in a ‘I’ll adore you from behind the scenes and never, ever do anything about it,” kind of obsession. Totally healthy. Not at all going to bite her in the ass.

She just admired him, and well, all of the Inner Circle. They did so much to keep the Night Court safe and an enjoyable place to live. 

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t dance,” Peri spoke as she finally made her reappearance. She took one of the shots that Lena handed her as she and Mari finally made their back, as well. “Besides, you're out of his league,” the purple haired faerie said, shooting her a wink. 

Of all of her friends, Peri understood the anxiety that lingered beneath Y/n’s bones the best. The circumstances that she and Lena had grown up in– they hadn’t been the best and it followed them even now, nearly one hundred years into their lives.

She smiled back at her friend, spinning Lesa into Mari’s arms, the girl gasping at the sudden movement, Lena catching the two barely before they tumbled. Y/n slung an arm around Peri’s shoulders, the two swaying back and forth as she thanked the Mother for her friends.

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The night lived on, the girls tapering off to dance with all kinds of people, the lights switching from flickering rainbow rays, to disco, to low set golden glows. Y/n let the euphoria from adrenaline and excitement drive her body– she had stopped drinking what had to have been hours ago, but she still felt the light thrum in her limbs that made her feel like a cloud, made her feel untouchable. 

By the time midnight rolled around, her feet had started aching in the best ways, her thighs felt like they were on fire, and she could feel dobs of sweat beading her brow. She had danced with her fair share of men and women, but no matter how many times Lena shot her a ‘go for it’ look or Mari gave her a thumbs up, she never lingered for more than a dance.

With all her friends occupied, she made her way out the back exit, needing some fresh air and a glance at the stars. Stargazing had always been a source of comfort for her, it was her mother’s favorite thing to do– and Velaris is the best place to do it. The beautiful dark sky was mixed with deep blues and unnerving black hues that made the stars shimmer like diamonds.

She sighed, resting her back against the brick wall of an alley, taking comfort from the cool texture against her bare skin. Her eyes stayed glued to the sky, but she jolted when she heard a small can knock over a little deeper into the alley. She stood frozen, too confused, and a little scared, to do anything other than watch.

Her breath escaped her quickly, though. She watched a small black tendril of smoke slither out from behind the bin, moonlight gleaming on the silver can as more shadows revealed themselves around it.

They made their way towards her, some of them wrapping around her ankles and running the length of her arms, gooseflesh following swiftly after them. She giggled softly, cooing at the adorable things.

“What are you doing here?” She whispered, utterly enamored by the way they moved, the cool tenderness that they left in their wake. She’d blame the alcohol for her utter lack of awareness, despite feeling completely sober, she was sure it was the only explanation for how she missed their master entirely. “You’re quite cute.”

“That’s not typically how people describe them,” a deep, rough voice spoke from behind her. 

She wasn’t proud of what happened next, but, in her defense, she panicked and instinct took over. 

She screeched, her heels spinning swiftly as she threw her fist at the intruder behind her, all of her small, but mighty force put behind it.  

In hindsight, should she have been able to make an informative guess on who it was? Absolutely. If she had taken even a moment to look at her surroundings: the creatures she was speaking to, or even the bar that the alley they currently stood in lay attached to– she may have chosen a better way to react.

Still, she tried desperately to hold onto all of her brothers’ teachings, it had been years since she’d properly trained or had taken part in any sort of physical combat, so she was a little rusty. 

Her fist collided with a skin, hard. She hadn’t realized how tall the male before her was, her head barely reaching his shoulders, her fist vibrating where it hit the palm of his hand. 

He hadn’t even flinched. A small smile tilting the side of his mouth. She stood frozen, her wrist now encased by a warm, calloused hand as he twisted his grip, gently.

Their eyes locked, his warm hazel gaze taking complete control of her being. Her mouth popped open a little, her eyes wide as she took in the beautiful specimen before her. The quirk of his lips disappeared almost immediately, but he still wore a soft look on his face, it was obvious he was doing his best to not be intimidating. He dropped her wrist without complaint and took a large step backwards, his hands clasping behind his back as he dragged his wings in behind him, making them look smaller.

He cleared his throat, the look on his face giving nothing away, “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Her first thought? That he could startle her whenever he wanted to because he’s breathtaking. His short curls lay in dark wisps along his forehead, his eyes glazed with a bewitching twinkle, and his clothes clung tightly to his muscles, nothing left to the imagination. She could see the swirls of his tattoos as a few sat slightly in view beneath his sleeves and open collar.

Finally, finally, she found her voice, it cracked, “Wo-ow, you’re beautiful.” His eyes widened and his mouth hung agape for a short moment, shadows dancing along his shoulders as they thrummed with what looked like giddy-delight. 

Cauldron. Boil. Her.

She cursed herself inwardly, why the hell had she said that? She needed to get out of here, fast. 

“I mean– you aren’t– I’m–” words failed to form, and he just stood and watched, mesmerized, as she floundered, as she crashed and pathetically burned. “I’m so sorry, for punching–oh gods– and for the beautiful–” swallow, “–thing… uh– i’m just gonna,” She pointed her thumb to the door she came through.

“I don’t think–” He started, but quickly stopped when she swore, pulling on the door handle that didn’t so much as budge. She pulled harder, over and over again as embarrassment to the nth degree began washing over her.

She groaned, allowing her upper body to fall against the large door, her forehead resting against the cool metal. Why do these things happen to me?

To all his credit, the shadowsinger just stood back and watched as she slowly unraveled, utter amusement dancing in his eyes. He had never seen anyone fumble so entirely when trying to speak to him. It intrigued him. It certainly had him thinking of ways to make that blush bloom across her cheeks again. 

“Are you alright?” He finally asked, cutting off her repetitive mumblings. Her gaze snapped to his, her head still firmly planted against the door. 

“I should have drank more,” she said to herself before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “I’m peachy,” Was how she responded to him, “thanks for not, you know, killing me for punching you.”

He mouthed the word peachy, as if he had never heard it before, his brows crinkling in the most attractive way. Gods, she really needed to quit staring at him.

She started her walk towards the front of the alley, doing her best to sidestep the large male. He merely turned, allowing her to pass him with plenty of room between them, but he did follow her as she made her way to the front.

“I would hardly call that a punch,” he spoke, a teasing lilt to his tone, “Although, you do move fast, so that’s at least something.”

She gawked at him, “You startled me, if I had been ready, I definitely would have hit you.” She proclaimed, her eyes catching on the shadows that had reattached themselves to her. She smiled at them.

She missed the way Azriel stopped breathing, his gaze snatching onto the smile she gave his shadows, the way she looked at them as if they were something amazing, something worth acknowledging.

He regained his composure, doing his best to shove down his growing need to hear her voice, her laugh. And gods, he wanted to see that blush again, too. 

“An opponent isn’t going to give you the time to get ready,” he pointed out, both of them stopping as they reached the edge of the alley, real life a mere step away.

She narrowed her eyes, calculation and mirth swirling around, “Why exactly were you in the alley anyways?”

He shrugged, a casual gesture that made her heart flutter wildly. She watched as his wings shifted with the motion, the moonlight illuminating them in an ethereal glow, she wanted to reach out and touch them.

Nope.

She held her hands tightly to her sides. If she knew anything about Illyrians, it was that their wings were sacred, and people tended to lose limbs when they touched them uninvited. 

“My shadows were curious about something, I merely followed their lead.” He neglected to mention that they’d slithered to the alley with the pull of a hundred Illyrian men–hell bent on getting their master the.

“There wasn’t anything special in the alleyway,” she spoke, confused. Certainly an old garbage can and littered papers wouldn’t have caught the attention of the spymaster's shadows, would it?

His head tilted sideways, taking her in as if she were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. As if he were trying to read if she was being truthful, intentional. Whatever he found seemed to satisfy him, though as he lifted his hand, a shadow weaving its way around him, 

“You’re in the alleyway.”

His voice had a low timbre in it, he spoke quietly but firmly, his eyes never shifting from hers as she swallowed. 

She felt her cheeks heat, the warmth bloom across her chest as he looked at her, not a single fiber of her being going unnoticed by the male. No wonder so many people cowered in his presence.

Shaking her head, “I’m nothing special,” her hand flew to the back of her head, nervously patting her hair down as she awkwardly smiled his way. “Maybe they just needed a change in scenery,” she offered.

He hummed, “May I ask why you were in the alley? You seemed to be having fun on the dance floor.” She balked. He had seen her? Her mind had to be suffering from whiplash because there was no way this was actually happening. 

“I just needed some air, to watch the stars for a bit.” When he hummed again, she realized that he must not be much of a talker, but the silence she found them in wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable, it felt… safe, kind of like a fresh breeze of air on a hot day, or a warm bath after a hard day’s work. And, she supposed it made sense that he would talk much, he was the Spymaster, after all.

“I’m Y/n, by the way,” He repeated her name back, a thick, intoxicating sound as it fell from his lips. His tongue flicked across his top lip as if he were chasing the word. She wanted to chase the movement, her eyes tracking it like a hound. 

“Azriel,” he offered back, though both of them knew it was just a formality. Of course she already knew his name. 

“Would it be alright if I bought you a drink?” Did she hear a nervous pulse in his words? “To make up for startling you and interrupting your star gazing?”

She froze, did he actually just ask her out? Well, not out, but to have a drink with him? These were the kinds of things she needed her friends around for, how in the Mother's name was she supposed to know what to do. 

She thought about Lesa, and what she’d said earlier about asking him to dance. Lesa, despite her alcohol consumption, was usually the most leveled headed of them. It’s what was going to make her a great healer one day. She knew about the kind of men Y/n typically found herself gravitating towards. She knew that it was unlikely she’d ask anyone to dance unless they gave her a reason to. Did she know something about Azriel that she didn’t?

She’d have to remember to bring it up tomorrow, once Lesa had her head on straight again. But, at that moment, she decided that she could do this. She could be spontaneous and have fun. 

“I would love that,”

Besides, it was one drink, what could possibly happen?

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

One drink had turned into two, and two had quickly turned into three the longer the night went on. She and Azriel had danced for what felt like hours. Eventually they’d found their to a table, just the two of them talking and laughing, sharing stories. She did most of the talking, the male drawing words and memories out of her with no problem at all. He always hummed and asked questions at the right times, he listened in a way that made her think he was far too interested in her, but it was…nice. 

She hadn’t even realized how late it had gotten, but as she did a sweep of the room, she realized a lot of the patrons had left for the night. Even Mari and Lesa had waved at her as they left. 

Her gaze locked with her twin’s from across the dance floor, she slowly sipped from a pink drink, Peri sitting at the bar with her as they chatted. Lena raised a brow at Y/n. She didn’t need twin telepathy to know what she was asking, are you coming home with us, or going home with him?

She sent a glare her sister's way, knowing Lena had a preference for which option she chose. Honestly, Y/n knew better, though. Ignoring her sister only spurred her on. Which was why, now, Lena and Peri were making their way to the two of them, a shit eating grin on the former's face.

“Y/n,” She cooed, sitting down on her chair and placing a chaste kiss on her cheek. 

Azriel’s eyes snapped to Lena’s, then quickly to Peri, assessing and putting information together that she’d slowly given him over the past few hours.

“Peri and I are leaving, we have that very important thing to do tomorrow, as you know,” A very ‘subtle’ wink, “We don’t want to leave without you.” She pouted. “It’s so dangerous out there.”

Before Y/n could respond, Azriel cut in smoothly, “I could take you home.” The blush she’d been trying so hard to keep down all night ignited beneath her skin. 

Peri rolled her eyes as Lena clapped, “What a wonderful idea, who better to get her home safely than the Night Court’s Spymaster, himself.” 

She could have sworn Azriel smiled into his drink, clearly catching on to Lena’s antics. She shot an apologetic face towards him. He merely smiled at her, causing her breath to hitch.

“You don’t have to do that, I’m sure you’re busy.” She spoke quietly. Her eyes casting down toward the near-full drink she’d been sipping for the last hour. 

“I’m not. And, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” All three women stared at him, the sheer honesty in his tone casting them in stone. The fact that he wanted to spend more time with her and didn’t care that she and her friends knew. It started chipping away at the obsession, and started morphing into something much scarier.

Lena made a noise mixed between utter fascination and ooey-gooey sweetness. The arm hooked around her shoulders was used to swing her around swiftly, bringing her eye to eye with her twin, the startling gray color of their eyes meeting her own. 

“Make good choices,” She waggled her brows and flicked the zipper of her top down a millimeter more, revealing more cleavage.

“Lena!” She hissed. Hands automatically moving to cover herself. She didn’t zip it back up.

She winked, backing up to a laughing Peri. “good choices” she merely mouthed. 

Y/n looked towards Azriel, afraid of what he’d think of this whole show. Her eyes widened, he had a pink blossoming along his cheeks, a bashful expression briefly taking hold of his face before it turned into something more–deeper. 

As Lena turned towards the exit, her arm grappling Peri’s, she faced Azriel, “If anything happens to her, if she comes back with so much as a scratch,” she spoke cooly, “I’ll gut you from scrote to throat, capiche?”

She tossed a clean napkin at her sister, “I’m fine, go.”  Horrified that she had just threatened the freaking spymaster of the Night Court. One of the most infamous fae warriors in Prythian.

Something like appreciation flashed in his eyes, though. Instead of threatening her back, or using his title against her, he merely reached his hand out–covered in a black leather glove.

“I’ll protect her with my life.” Lena stood straighter, hesitantly reaching for his hand to shake it. Despite the glove, some sort of magic seemed to breathe new life into the world. An ebony vine wrapped its way along Lena’s wrist, bleeding flowers encasing the thin band, a matching one covering his own. 

She stared at their wrists, surprise flickering through her. Weren’t those kinds of promises…permanent? Why in the gods' names would he make a promise like that? He hardly knew her. Then again, she supposed it was sweet and comforting that a member of her home’s Inner Circle cared so much about the safety of their citizens.

Because that’s definitely all this could be about. 

Her sister and friend left quickly after that. And not long after that, Azriel paid the tab– refused to accept any of her money– and had wrapped his jacket around her shoulders. The fabric drifted over her arms, completely engulfing her frame and covering her thighs half-way.

She found herself close to Azriel, clinging to his warmth, as they made their way down the cobblestone street. Moon glimmering against the stone and street signs, casting the area in a deep, evanescent glow. 

Azriel walked at a slow pace, no doubt to keep up with her heeled steps. One of his hands hooked into his pocket, the other one – the one closest to hers– lay still at his side. She had a sneaking suspicion it was in case she decided to hold his hand. Heat blossomed in her stomach at the thought.

Lena had told her to make good choices. She had no doubt that meant to have fun, to allow herself some flexibility. She wasn’t sure of much when it came to this male, but she knew that she liked him and everything she’d learned about him tonight.

She knew she didn’t want the night to end, not yet.

“Will you take a detour with me?” She asked abruptly, effectively ending the calm silence. She could smell the salty air of the Sidra, a cool air rushing its way through the strands of her hair, his shadows stuck to her like sweetgum balls. 

He looked ethereal in the light of the moon, his unmatched beauty enrapturing her wholly. She hadn’t been able to look away from him for more than a moment the whole night.. His canines flashed briefly as he smirked, and then he hooked his pinky in hers, the gloves he had been wearing all night smooth against her skin.

She laughed as he spun her around, her heels clicking against the sidewalk.

“Lead the way,”

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

They walked along the colorful sidewalk, crystal water filling the Sidra, the waves lulling softly in the calm of the night. 

Azriel had started opening up, slowly, telling her about his family, his job– or at least a pg version– and his interests. She clung to his every word, so grateful that he’d been willing to share parts of his private life. Their hands slowly grew closer, fingers finding their way together, his hand squeezing hers when it finally rested in his. 

She smiled softly at him, his eyes catching on her mouth. Thankfully, he couldn’t see the blush that always appeared when she looked at him too long. The whipping wind blasting her cheeks with frigid, frost coated air. 

Looking up at the stars glittering in the sky, “My mother loved the stars,” she spoke softly. She admired a mixture of constellations and a magical aurora– beautiful hues of golden orange, blushing pink, and enchanted, deep purple blending together. 

“She used to say that the stars were proof that the small moments in life are just as magnificent as the big ones.” 

She watched the stars, but he watched her. 

Meeting his hazel eyes, close enough to see the warm, green flecks that dusted his irises, she couldn’t help but move closer. Later, in the comfort of her home, she might say it’s because the wind was brutal, and his body offered her more heat than his jacket ever could. But, right here, right now? She simply wanted to follow that tugging in her chest, a sensation that led her straight to him.

His hand slowly drifted up her, following her outline before it settled against her cheek. He swallowed, “She sounds like a very wise woman,” He finally answered. His thumb lazily rubbed the skin along her jaw, allowing her ample opportunities to stop him if she wished.

She did not wish. In fact, she wanted to feel his skin against hers, and she couldn’t do it by holding his hands.

Instead she raised onto her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her middle, holding her steady against him. “What are you up to?” He murmured, a sweet look on his face as he moved a piece of her hair from her face. “Gods, you’re beautiful,” her body stiffened, he hadn’t meant to speak that aloud, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it, not when she smiled like that.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” He vowed, his eyes glued to her lips, he only waited long enough for her to nod her agreement before his lips descended onto her.

She didn’t have even a moment to freak out, to second-guess, because one second he was leaning into her and the next his lips were on hers and–

 She. Stopped. Breathing. 

His lips were warm and soft, but also firm and perfect. The hand that was attached to the arm not securing her to him found its way to her cheek, cupping her softly. Her hands wound their way into his hair, a sigh escaping her as he kept kissing her, his tongue flicking across her lower lip.

This man didn’t simply kiss, he devoured, he took everything that she offered and more. His tongue danced along her mouth, and when his fingers grappled the ends of her hair, tugging just-so, she gasped, her mouth opening just enough for him to slip in. 

He deepened the kiss.

The small noises she made were consumed by his lips as they bubbled in the back of her throat, her legs somehow winding up around his waist, holding her up so he no longer had to bend so far. And through it all, he kept kissing her. Both his hands holding her back to keep her right where he wanted her. His tongue tangled with hers as his shadows ran along her neck, her exposed back, and her legs. The cool sensations doing unholy things to her senses as they mixed with the pure male heat of him.

Her hands pulled on his silky strands, pressing her chest, somehow, even further into his. Her body angled more above him, as he groaned, a sound she swore she could live off of. His canines flashed, a smirk dancing along his lips before she crashed her mouth back onto his, she wanted to taste every bit of him. His minty breath, the sweat beading his brow, the simple taste of his skin–could be her undoing. 

And oh golly, her skin tingled, her lips dancing with anticipation as he pulled away. His forehead falling against hers, his eyes so dark she wondered if she’d imagined the hazel of them all throughout the night. 

Their breaths came out in soft spurts, the cold night air bringing them to life around them as they stayed close. Her legs still wrapped around him, holding her to him, careful of his wings that seemed to flare whenever he lost some of his undiluted control.

“That was– you are–” He stopped, his lips trailing a path from her neck to her jaw and up her cheek before landing on the corner of her lips. Those glorious teeth scraping along her skin. She wanted him to bite her, to leave marks so she could remember this in the morning.

Maybe tomorrow–or for the rest of her life, let’s be honest– she’d daydream about how she’d turned this man into a puddle of words with just her mouth, gods knew he’d done that to her. But, right now? Right now she wanted nothing more than to feel more of him. To feel all of him.

“Can I take you home?” His voice came out breathy, still pressing sweet kisses along her skin, anywhere he could find. 

“That depends,” she cooed, moving her head back and baring her neck so he had better access. “My home or yours?”

She could feel that smile as it lifted his lips, his soft kisses on her throat making her lose any sense of understanding.

He rephrased, “Come home with me?” 

And how could she possibly say no to that?

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

Azriel’s room was everything she could have pictured it being. Dark, neat, and not a single item that screamed “I’m Azriel, this is my space,” unless she counted the wall of knives and weapons. But she imagined that had more to say about how he was a spymaster, not the man himself.

They’d come in through his balcony, the glass doors pristinely shining as the moonlight cast onto them, giving his room the same aura as its dweller– dark and mysterious, but oh, so sexy. 

His bed lay in the middle, large enough to house someone with wings, and the dark linens neatly placed atop them were calling her name. A crackling fire lit the stone laden fireplace on the far end, books stacked neatly on a desk that was filled with papers and organized writing quills. 

She didn’t have time to dwell further on her surroundings, though. Not as Azriel pressed his front to her back, the evidence of his arousal chanting her name like a prayer. His gloves had come off, his calloused hands tracing the skin on her arm slowly.

“Are you still with me?” He whispered, his teeth grazing the tip of her ear. Shivers ran down her spine as she spun towards him, her hands finding their place on his forearms. 

“Yes,” she whispered, her eyes already on his lips. She had no qualms with what this was. She knew. This was one night. One amazing, probably will ruin sex with anyone else ever again, night. And she was okay with that. Lena had told her to have fun, to make good choices, and she couldn’t imagine what was a better choice than this. Than him.

His lips quirked up, lust pooling in his deep hazel, near black eyes. As he leaned down, his hands found their way to the zipper on her dress as his mouth met her shoulder, a trail of saliva following her bone. 

Her hands trailed up his arms– right over his new tattoo, and then skated down his front, finding the band of his pants, she slipped them under his shirt. A pleased sound coming from his throat as her hands travelled the length of his torso, the beautifully crafted skin hot beneath her needy touch. 

In no time her dress pooled at her feet, leaving her in nothing but a cute deep sapphire lace bralette set– she thanked every god that she had thought to put on a matching set. Her heels were already discarded somewhere she couldn’t bring herself to care about right now. Not as his lips finally made their way back to hers. He tasted her wholly, his large hands touching her everywhere, her back, her arms, her stomach, her ass. She preened at his attention.

“You’re beautiful,” he said again, his lips never leaving hers as her hands finally got tired of their fabric confines. “Fucking gorgeous,” he growled. As he lifted her without absolutely no effort at all, depositing her softly onto his bed as he leaned over her. His dark locks falling over his face, she couldn’t stop her hand from pushing them back, his beautiful face cast in soft golden light from the fireplace. 

He leaned down, his lips brushing hers as his hand found her breast. Her back arched as he plucked her nipple with his fingers through the thin fabric. His other hand massaging her other breast languidly. Then his mouth, his magnificent mouth, fell to the fabric as he sucked her in. She couldn’t stop the noises that came out of her as he continued his ministrations. All she could do was throw her head back, hold his hair in her grip, and hope she didn’t topple off the edge of this world. 

“Azriel,” she breathed, “please,” her eyes blown out with lust as the heat in her belly stirred and writhed with every touch, every look.

He smirked, flashing those canines she had an unhealthy fascination with, “Already begging and I haven’t even touched you the way I’ve been wanting to all night,” His tongue flicked between her breasts as he unhooked the small clasp in front, letting them spill out. 

Any other time she may be embarrassed, or try and cover, but one look at Azriel, and she knew she didn’t need to. He looked at her like he wanted to ravish her, like he could live off of touching her.

“You’re breathtaking, I thought it when I saw you dancing, and the Mother knows I can’t stop thinking it now,” he spoke, such utter candor in his voice–just like when he’d told her there was nowhere else he’d rather be– it made her breath catch. 

She imagined that Azriel was not an easy male to get over. So she’d just need to get under him.

A blush took over her cheeks, but she managed a breathy, “Off,” a plea, really. As she tried to lift his shirt. He chuckled, a sexy, deep sound that went straight to her core. The next moment his shirt was off, and then somehow, his pants. 

She was sure saliva had to be coming out of her mouth because this man. He was a work of art, he definitely bordered on an eight pack, small cuts and scars lined his torso and only made him more attractive. His golden skin looked iridescent in the light, his tattoos swirling all around his arms and chest. Shadows danced along her peripheral vision, not quite touching, but observing as if they wanted to. She wanted them to.

She felt her tongue as it involuntarily flicked her bottom lip, her teeth catching it in the same place. Azriel didn’t miss the motion, his eyes turning a molten color that set every nerve in her body aflame. Her hands were everywhere, running the length of his torso, his sides, she steered clear of his wings, but damn, she’d be dreaming of them for years to come. They splayed out magnificently as he loomed over her, neither of them touching the bed, they cocooned her in a way that made her feel safe, and guarded.

They were both in only their underwear now, “We can stop whenever you want,” he spoke softly, earnestly. His gaze caught hers to emphasize that he meant it, if she wanted to stop–despite being able to feel him against her leg, feel how much he wanted her– he’d back off, bring her home. And well, that gave her the warm and fuzzies, and only cemented how much she wanted this. Wanted him.

Sitting up on her elbows, her hair falling over her shoulders, she hooked one of her legs around his waist, catching him off guard as she repositioned them. Now she sat astride him, her hands landing on his pecs as his hands found her hips. 

She leaned forwards, her breasts flush with his bare chest as she kissed her way down his body. She started near his ear, whispering, “I want to hear more about what you’ve wanted to do to me all night,” she bit down, just slightly, catching his lobe. Then she kissed his jaw, a trail of warm kisses down his neck, his chest, his abs, his navel. Her hand found its way to his boxers, the tight black fabric hiding very little of his very large member. A little part of her wondered how this would work, she was not a virgin by any means, but it had been a good couple of months, and he– gods, he was impressive in all the best ways.

The sound that came out of him was purely male as she continued her movements, his hands tightening enough that she knew they’d leave bruises. Good. She wanted to remember this–in any way she could. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he said it so low she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right, but then he was sitting up, his arms wrapping around her middle to keep her from toppling off of him. 

His lips met hers as he ground into her, their underwear left little to the imagination and she stopped caring about the noises that came out of her. She just let herself go, let him take her fully.

His mouth met her nipple, his teeth plucking softly, but so sweetly. Her back bowed into him, her hands flying to his hair as she held on for dear life. He suckled and nipped and licked her breasts, the heat pooling low in her belly as she continued to grind on him. 

“Oh, gods–Az,” she spluttered, doing her best to hold on to what little scrap of sanity she had left. He didn’t bend, though, no–he flipped her over, her back hitting the plush mattress once more, her ass coming to kiss the edge of the bed as he kneeled on the floor before her.

Her knees fell open on either side of his body, the cool air rushing against her as his shadows locked themselves around her body. One wrapped around waist, and two on her ankles, keeping her in the exact position their master wanted. 

His eyes caught hers, only for a brief moment, he flashed the sexiest grin and then bent down, placing a soft, reverent kiss to her center over her panties. And somehow, despite all that they’d already done, that was the sexiest, most obliterating part of this whole ordeal. 

Her body tried to move, tried to get closer as he chuckled, clearly enjoying her struggles against his helpers as they kept her locked in place. 

“Now, now, pretty,” he cooed, “Be a good girl and keep making all those sweet noises for me,” Oh, she so wanted to be his good girl, she wanted to be his everything right now. 

Slowly, so freaking slowly, he pulled her panties down, baring her fully to him. He didn’t waste any time, and she cried out as his mouth finally closed over her most intimate part. He kissed and licked and suckled her into nothingness. His tongue flattening over her, his lips catching that sensitive nub and sucking, then his tongue was inside of her. He groaned at her taste, his hands splaying across her thighs and holding on. She could feel him grinding himself against the mattress, chasing any sort of friction he could without losing himself entirely.

She was careening towards that edge so swiftly, she truly stood no chance once he started adding fingers. He filled her with one, his tongue never letting up on its pace as he glided his digit in and out of her smoothly. His eyes met hers, and whatever he saw, he must have liked, because then he was adding a second finger, that wicked smile on display as he licked one stripe straight up her center.

Her body tried to buck, to chase the feeling but she couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything except hold onto the mattress for dear life. 

She chanted his name over and over, it seemed to be the only word she could remember. Especially as he added a third finger, and they curled in just the right place, as his tongue swirled around her center, his teeth grazing the flesh. 

She came so hard, her legs were visibly shaking where they lay sprawled apart on the bed. His shadows finally relented as she arched, her hands immediately finding his hair, his shoulders, anything of his she could touch. She thinks he offered one of his hands, the calloused skin squeezing her own soft ones to keep her grounded. 

Then he loomed over her again, his lips shining with her desire as he licked them, then she watched, his eyes never straying from hers, as he sucked each of his digits into his mouth, drinking all of her in. 

She thought she might actually come again just from the sight. Never had a guy gone down on her and seemed to so thoroughly enjoy the process. Gods, this male, he really was going to ruin any other men for her. 

Worth it.

His lips met hers in a harsh dance, his fingers gripping her chin upwards so he could fully devour her. She found herself latching onto the band of his underwear and ripping, she had no time to waste trying to get them off safely. She simply didn’t care, she needed him, like yesterday. 

He chuckled, a sound she was getting awfully familiar with, but didn’t stop her as she just threw the pieces of fabric somewhere in his room. Then her hand found his cock, thick and throbbing as she pumped him once, twice. He groaned, his head falling against hers as she swiped the head, collecting the precum that had already begun leaking.

“Fuck, Y/n,” His lips finding her neck as he latched on, sucking and licking. 

She kept her pace, loving the feel of him in her hand. Then she positioned him at her entrance, their eyes meeting, one final confirmation nod from her and he was moving. 

She tensed for only a moment, the feeling of being so full not something she’s used to. But he went slow, entered her slowly, allowed her to adjust as he went in glorious inch by glorious inch. 

They were both breathing hard, she kept saying his name, he cursed under his breath as he did his best to not rut into her like a teenager chasing his first high. And gods, it was a high because he felt so good inside of her. Nothing could compare to this moment, how she felt.

Then his hips were flushed with hers, his body coming to a complete standstill as he watched her, his fingers pushing her hair out of her face, tracing the outline of her lips, her jaw. 

“You still with me, pretty?” He spoke softly, as if speaking any louder may break whatever bubble they’d built around themselves. 

“Yes, fuck, yes,” she breathed out. Her body doing its best to adjust to the sheer size and girth of him. He kissed her through it, his lips finding space on all of the bare skin he could reach. Even his shadows seemed to caress her softly, cooing and guiding her through the motions. 

“Please, Az, move,” she swirled her hips in emphasis, catching the moan he let out with her mouth as he finally moved. His hips pulled out halfway and then he pushed back in slowly at first, gauging her reaction. When she mewled, her nails scraping his back, he did it again, faster. He kept a steady pace as she felt their liquids combining, oozing out of her in the most delicious way. 

He kept a steady rhythm, their moans meeting in the air and dancing together as they continued to move together in sync. Her legs wrapped around his middle, getting him even deeper, and when she came the second time, it was just a good as the first.

“So beautiful,” he cooed, “So fucking tight, milking my cock so good,” He hit that spot deep inside of her as he cooed her name, his grunts filling her ears in tandem with his thrusts. Her lips found his and he obeyed her request, his tongue meeting hers and tangling, their saliva mixing as one of his hands gripped her waist, the other finding its way to her face. 

When the aftershocks finally started to ebb away, Azriel wasted no time in flipping her over, her knees and hands on the mattress, her ass in the air. She let out a noise of distress when his cock slipped out of her, but it was quickly followed by a moan as he reentered her from behind. 

And holy trinity of all the gods, he was somehow deeper inside of her, she could feel every pleasure inducing inch of him as he lost all of his control. He pounded into her, his hands on her hips as she did her best to meet him thrust for thrust.

She couldn’t believe it, she could already feel that pool of desire growing in her for the third time tonight. Her sounds no more than a slew of moans and expletives as he continued his brutal thrusts. 

“Fuck, you’re doing so good, that’s it–” he praised, his hand pulling her hair away from her neck as his chest became flush with her back. His other hand found that sensitive nub between her thighs, pinching and flicking in the most torturous ways. “You can give me another one, can’t you, pretty?” He asked, his voice a husky sheen in her ear as his thrusts continued to wreak havoc on her. “Just one more, I know you can do it,” she had never been one for dirty talk, but fuck, Azriel could talk about grocery shopping and she’d find it hot as hell.

The praise only brought her closer to that edge, coaxing her on. And when his fingers added just enough pressure to her center, she fell right over that edge for the third time, her orgasm causing her legs to shake so wholly that Azriel had to hold her up as he continued to thrust into her. A cocky, but proud smile lighting his face briefly before pleasure took root and he came inside of her, his cock throbbing and swelling as he spilt rope after rope of his seed into her.

They stayed that way for a long moment, it could have been minutes or hours, Y/n wouldn’t be able to tell even if there were a knife to her throat. His naked, sweat beaded chest pressing against her back as their harsh breathing filled the room’s silence. 

He finally slipped out of her, his hands slowly lowering her onto her stomach, her legs nothing but jelly as he flipped onto his side, careful of his wings. 

Their gazes collided, a sexed-out smile slapping its way to her mouth as she took him in. His own smile found its way onto his face, just a small, intimate one that made her heart do dangerous flips inside her chest.

“That was–” she started, her breathy voice sounded as ruined as she felt.

“Fucking amazing.” He finished, his hand reaching out to push a piece of hair that had fallen over her eyes, behind her ear. Then he kissed her forehead, his arm slinging over her back. 

“Stay.” He murmured, his eyes already closing as sleep began to take him hostage.

Once again, she found herself unable to say no to this man. Her eyelids already heavy with her own sleep, drifted shut. She briefly recognized the feeling of a blanket being dropped over her, maybe his shadows? She didn’t have time to question before sleep finally claimed her.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

Y/n woke to soft beams of sunlight trickling across her face through the balcony doors. The warmth seeped into her skin as her eyes adjusted to the light. 

It took her a moment to remember where she was. An unfamiliar, but comfortable, bed caressed her body. Her body completely naked where she lay against the comforter, a small throw blanket had been placed over her to keep her warm in the night.

And then, there was the weight.

A large, muscled arm thrown over her waist, an even heavier leg pressed between her thighs, their legs tangled. His body was warm and the limbs attached to her only kept her close to the male she found herself facing. His beautiful face somehow less intimidating in sleep, all the smooth lines and fine angles completely at ease. 

Azriel.

The Spymaster of the Night Court.

Her eyes widened as last night's events all came flooding back in troves. Azriel finding her in the alleyway, her sister and friends, Azriel dancing with her, her internship, Azriel and his glorious kissing, his hands, his shadows, and his body. 

Fuck. 

She needed to leave. She wasn’t sure how this was supposed to work, but she was damn sure it’d be awkward if he woke up and she was still here. In his bed. 

She briefly remembered him telling her to stay, but surely he hadn’t meant through the morning. She highly doubted that he was about to invite her to lunch with his family. 

His family.

Oh, gods.

Did they live here? Had they heard them last night? If she hadn’t been so caught up in the shadowsinger, she may have stopped to ask herself about these things, but nope. Instead she fell head over freaking tea kettle and– admittedly– had the best sex of her life. 

She needed to leave, like hours ago.

She ignored the sweet caresses of his shadows as they welcomed her with a morning that, any other time, she’d be thrilled about. But right now she needed to figure out how to get out from under his arm, and his leg, and was that his wing cocooning over them? 

Somehow, an act of the Mother and Cauldron themselves, she managed to disentangle herself from his monkey hold. He really did seem peaceful, and she did her best to remain quiet, not because she didn’t want to speak to him– although that may have definitely been a factor– but because she didn’t want to disturb his sleep, who knew how much he got on a regular basis. In his line of work, she imagined, not much.

Quietly she peeled around the room, grabbing her dress and quickly shimmying it on and grabbing her heels. Fuck putting those bitches back on, last night Y/n was not this morning Y/n, and her feet would thank her for it. 

She slowly slipped out of his room, not sure how she was going to get out of this place. He had flown them last night, brought her in through his balcony. Surely there had to be a front door. The last thing she wanted to be doing was roaming around the Inner Circle’s private dwelling, she imagined that was how one ended up on the wrong side of jail cell. 

She gulped, taking in the hallways around her. There were loads of paintings adorning the brilliant, sophisticated walls. All of the members of the Inner Circle in various positions. There were some of just the General Commander and his mate, Lady Death. There were some of the High Lord and Lady with their adorable son, and even a few of the lesser talked about members. They were beautifully done, and if she wasn’t mistaken, the High Lady had probably painted these herself. 

She had been so caught up in looking at the photos along the hallway, following them unconsciously that she jumped when somebody cleared their throat. 

She flailed, horrendously. Heels thrown in the air, her feet slipping from beneath her as she swiveled around and came face to chest with a very large male. She would have fallen on her ass if he hadn’t grabbed her arm to steady her. Her eyes tracked all the way up his leather-clad chest and to his large membranous wings that somehow seemed slightly different than Azriel’s. Were there scars on his? And, were they smaller? She shook her head, so not important.

“Well, hello there,” he crooned, a crooked grin lighting the General Commander’s features as he used a leather strap to bind his hair in a bun atop his head. 

She cursed herself inwardly, gods, she really needed to work on her observation skills. How had she missed him of all people? He was definitely the largest of the three illyrian men who belonged to the Inner Circle. And, he had always seemed like the most approachable, though that wasn’t saying much. He was still absolutely terrifying.

And here she was, staring at him with her mouth agape like a fish out of water. Perhaps she should take her chances with the balconies after all, maybe a free fall would do her some good right about now.

“Hi,” she squeaked, quickly grabbing her flyaway shoes and holding them to her chest like a lifeline. 

“You must be Az’s…friend,” he said, a knowing smirk on his face. She could feel her blush as it crawled from the tips of her toes to her cheeks. 

She swallowed, trying to take this gift from the Mother. The general had wings, which meant he could probably get her out of here without causing too much trouble, she doubted he’d tell her no. Plus, that meant she really wouldn’t have to face Azriel again, so a bonus, at least, that’s what she told herself. 

“He’s sleeping,” Cassian’s brows rose at that, a look of shock briefly flitting across his face before his easy demeanor was back. 

“That is–interesting. Were you joining us for breakfast?” 

“No–” She calmed herself, reigning in the slight shout she’d let through in all her panic. “I mean– no, I’m not. I just– I’m trying to get home, I’ve got a busy day and I’m not quite sure how–”

“Ah,” he said, that ridiculous smirk still plastered on his smug face. “Too bad, Azriel doesn’t usually have…sleepovers.”

Sleepovers? What were they, twelve? 

She gave her best smile, “Is there any chance you could show me the way out?”

“You’re not going to wait for him to wake up?” He cocked his head, his tone full of confusion, as if this wasn’t something he’d ever had to deal with. 

She shook her head, “He looked peaceful, and I really need to get home, my roommate’s probably worried sick.”

Understanding bloomed on his face, “Well, there are two options then, little ghost,” her brows pinched at the nickname. This male didn’t know her from Adam, and yet, he seemed so incredibly warm and kind. She chastised herself, it didn’t matter, she would probably never speak to him again. “You can either venture down the 10,000 steps to the bottom,” he laughed at the sour look that crossed her face, her poor, poor feet. “Or, I can fly you back home, if you’re comfortable with that.”

“That would be wonderful, as long as it doesn’t put you out,” she said, praying to every god she could remember the name of that he truly didn’t mind. 

His smile was easy. “It’s no trouble, I’ll even tell Azriel you said goodbye.”

“That’s really not necessary,” she blushed as he led her toward an opened foyer, large balconies lining the room. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do,” and she was also sure that Azriel wouldn’t care. They’d had their night of fun, now she needed to get out of here and try and go about her life like normal. Whatever that meant, she really wasn’t sure that’d even be possible. 

He merely smiled at her, something was off about it though, as if he didn’t really believe her.

But, he did as he said and flew her home.

It was time to get back to normal life, she had a lot going for her. And the Spymaster of the Night Court didn’t have anything to do with it.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

Weeks passed in a blur, between her internship starting and her ordinarily chaotic life, she had hardly had time to think about her night with the spymaster. He only ever found her in his dreams, and if she was lucky, her subconscious would grant her some of the memories of that night in dream form. 

She hadn’t so much as seen him in the past six weeks, she tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter, that it was only one night and she should accept that for what it is– and she did. For the most part. But, sometimes, in the wee hours of the morning, when her thoughts were just a little more hostile, she would think about him, and what he’d thought when he woke up that day and she’d been gone. Had he been upset? Or had he been relieved? And why had Cassian seemed so sure that he’d see her again? He had even winked at her when he dropped her off that morning. Weird. 

“Take this twice a day for a week and the rash should clear right up,” She spoke to a short, mousy looking female. The nuclear green liquid sloshing around in the vial as the woman thanked her and scurried away after tossing her a few coins. 

Madja came out of the back room, “Y/n, can you help me in here for a moment?”

Without hesitation, she quickly wiped her hands on her apron and followed Madja to the back. She felt her stomach sink as the older fae led her silently into the main medicine bay. She had asked Madja a few weeks ago about some medicines that could help with stress-induced nausea. It didn’t matter what she brewed, if it was a personal concoction or one out of one of her textbooks, none of them seemed to be helping. She only ever got sick in the evenings, and at this point, she was starting to get worried that something was seriously wrong. So she’d asked Madja, and the older fae had said she’d look into it and make her something that should help. 

Y/n couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what this was about, she had said it wouldn’t take long and that had been only two days ago. But, when y/n found herself in the furthest room in the back of the building, her thoughts quickly emptied out.

A young girl sat on the seat, her arm full of what looked to be glass shards. The other arm, sat gently in medicated water, blood pooling in thin layers as it soaked.

Y/n’s stomach lurched, the girl couldn’t have been older than nine or ten, and the wounds looked awfully painful.

“I need you to apply the salve and wrap this arm while I start working on getting the glass out of the other arm,” Madja spoke, handing a pair of gloves to her as she quickly made her way back over to the young girl. Her mother was pacing back and forth as she watched. Y/n shot her a soothing smile, the best she could manage, the one she’d learned specifically for this reason. It seemed to work, long enough for the mother to sit down, but she kept her eyes trained on them. Y/n couldn’t blame her, she could only imagine what a mother went through when seeing their child in pain.

“Hi,” she spoke softly to the girl, “My names Y/n, you’re gonna feel a cooling sensation when I apply the salve, it shouldn’t hurt, but if it does, just let me know and we’ll adjust,” She smiled, the little girl’s lip wobbled as tears silently streamed down her cheeks. 

As she began applying the medicine softly, her ministrations smooth and practiced, she asked the girl for her name, hoping that talking to her would keep her mind off of Madja, who was currently taking glass shards out of her other arm. 

“Margo,” she spoke, her eyes solely focused on y/n. “I was trying to help momma at her food stall, but I tripped.” She sniffled. 

“Ah,” she hummed, quietly grabbing the wraps, “Do you help out at the food stall, often?” 

“Yes!” Margo lit up, she began babbling on about all the different fruits and veggies her mother grows and how they always wash and prep them for stall day. She asked the young girl about school, her family–her siblings, and anything else she could to keep the young girl’s mind occupied. 

Over the course of the next half hour, Madja and her worked tediously to apply the salves, soak the wounds, and get them wrapped so that they could start healing. With a vial of cream and a lollipop in her hand, Margo danced out of the clinic with her mother, her smile never leaving her face. 

“You did well, keeping her calm.” Madja spoke, her tone even as always as she worked behind the counter. 

“Thanks, I can only imagine what she must have been thinking,”

It was then that Madja handed her a few vials of a pinkish, red liquid. The confusion must have been written all over her face because the older fae prattled on, “That should help with the morning sickness, but I can’t guarantee that it will make it go away entirely.”

Every thought blinked out of Y/n’s head.

Morning sickness?

“It’s not–” Madja stopped when she interrupted, her eyes blinking uncontrollably as she tried to do the math in her head, “It can’t be–” she stuttered.

There was no way, absolutely not. 

She hadn’t been with anyone in months, no one except–

Him. 

“I got your blood work back today,” Madja had taken her blood a few days ago when she had initially brought up the nausea, just in case, she had said. It was standard procedure, something Y/n was very familiar with having worked in all sorts of clinics for the past few decades.

No, no, no.

Pairing: Azriel x reader (She/her pronouns)

Word Count: 2.3

Summary: She wanted to fall—just for a moment, just to feel free. Azriel promised he’d catch her. He always does.

Warning/Notes: Nothing too bad, this is just a short little piece I’ve wanted to make for sometime. Warning for falling from a great height, and maybe suggestive language to jumping off a cliff, but nothing outright. Please let me know if I should add anything, thanks for any feedback!

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

The wind whipped savagely around the mountainside. The rushing waterfall sparkled in the sunlight, the water tumbling over the rocks below wildly. A deep, unforgiving cliff lay just ahead. An abyss of clouds and blue skies covers the truth of the dense forest that lays so far beneath.

Y/n’s hands itched to reach out — from so high up, it felt as though she could capture them, the soft white powder weaving between her fingers like one of Azriel’s shadows. A chill nipped at her cheeks, slicing along her skin like a blade, leaving rouge in its wake.

This edge — it feels like freedom. 

She hadn’t realized the thought had shoved its way to his side of the bond. Not until the shadows stirred. Not until his presence tightened from across the mountaintop, sharp and silent. 

She took a step forward, whispers of freedom dancing along her ears. Promises of release. Of falling fast enough to forget. Of him catching her the way he always had.

But, the bond thrummed, boiling in her veins. His worry, buried deep beneath centuries of control, slowly began leaking from his side to hers.

A shadow curled around her wrist. Not forceful. Not dragging. Just there.

His quiet presence interrupted her thoughts, the looming figure behind capturing her attention immediately. His rough hand gripped her arm gently, replacing his shadows. More of them split apart and traveled the length of his arm to reach her, slipping easily from his hands to her leather-clad arm.

"If you fall," his teeth grazed the point of her ear, tongue flicking along the skin, "I will follow." His chest pressed to her back as he moved his other hand to caress her hip, grip keeping her in place.

Her hands were shaking, but it had little to do with where she stood. In fact, with her boots kissing the snow on this mountaintop, it might be the safest place she'd be all night. Now, she was distracted, his hands touching her softly, reverently. His rough, deep voice a lullaby made just for her. 

“You don’t understand,” she whispered, leaning into him, her eyes closing as the wind did its best to tear them apart.

His fingers trailed down the length of her arms, finding their home in her hands, clasping both of them against her stomach, his chin finding purchase on her shoulder. 

“Explain it to me, little star,” 

She sighed, enjoying the view even more now that his arms wrapped around her. Euphoria flooded through her at the use of her nickname, one he’d called her from the very beginning. 

She ignored where the other’s stood just a few paces away. They had come here for training that ended half an hour ago. Rhysand, Feyre, and Cassian the only three left other than them. They spoke softly, the wind making it nearly impossible to decipher their words. Y/n couldn’t find it in herself to care, though. She wanted to enjoy the peace this place brought her for as long as she could.

“Sometimes I want to fall,” she spoke low so only he could hear, “but only for a moment—just long enough to feel the loss of control, to let go and be carried by the wind. I want to be weightless… and let gravity carry the burden of our enemies and war. Just for a breath. Just long enough to remember why I– we fight.”

He stayed quiet for a long moment, pondering her words carefully, making sure she’s done.

“Then, you should fall.” He finally said, standing to his full height behind her. 

Her eyes flew open as she pivoted around sharply, her heel sliding along the snow seamlessly. Her mind stuttered when she saw him. He always stole the breath from her lungs, held it captive until her body could catch up with her soul.

His dark curls were tousled and crazed from the training, the wind doing little to help. His cheeks were chafed red and she could see cold breaths as they escaped from between his lips, looking like white versions of his little shadows. His golden honeyed eyes were bright and alert as they tracked her movements, a soft gleam in them that belonged to her fully.

He held her close to him, the tips of their boots touching as his nose ran along hers, inhaling her scent as he went.

“I’ll always catch you.” A lethal, pure promise. Pride and determination mixing with his fae heritage. Heat took over both of them as their bond glowed and vibrated between them.

She had been so distracted by her mate that she hadn’t realized the other’s departure, leaving them to their own private moment. Probably for the best, she and Az weren’t exactly known for being prudes, and they held little regard to who witnessed them.

“You trust me?” She asked, placing her toes on his, hooking her arms around his neck, lifting so they were eye to eye. 

His lips quirked at the mischief that now skipped across her face, his shadows chasing the look as if it could lead them to where they belonged.

Instead of answering her, he held her closer, capturing her lips as his hand cupped her cheek delicately. His tongue ran along the seam of her lips, devouring the little noises that escaped her. He kissed her passionately, her fingers finding their way to his hair, gripping the strands at the top and nape. She held him to her like a lifeline, his lips the only thing she could taste, feel. 

Frost and cedar clung to him, tangled with heat, as his teeth caught her bottom lip. She gasped, his tongue taking advantage and tangling with hers, kissing her like he may die if he didn’t. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as his lips trailed from lips to her cheek, her jaw, and down her throat– a trail of saliva left in their wake, the only other evidence of this happening. She hoped his left bruises, that he marked her as his, she wanted everyone to know who she belonged to.

Much too soon, he pulled away, both of them breathing harshly, foreheads brushing as they caught their breaths.

“Take me flying?” She asked softly, her chest pressed deliciously against his, her legs already wrapping around his middle. 

“Of course, little star.” His arm slipped more firmly around her waist, fingers spreading across her hips and back as he pulled her flush to his chest, once more.

“Hold on,” he murmured, breath brushing the shell of her ear.

And then he dropped off the ledge—just like that. Wings slicing through the sky, his shadows trailing like smoke.

Her voice echoed in the open, a mix between a laugh and a scream escaping her, and he felt it against him. He felt it deep in his bones. A small smile flashing along his face.

He flew a little faster.

His dive quickly settled and he began to rise higher and higher. They passed where they had just been standing, going as high as he could take her. His beautiful expanse of wings spread wide into the sky above. Soft pink hews glowing in the soft golden rays. 

The view stole her breath, the magic of flying making her ache for her own wings. She loved being in his arms, traveling the sky and stars with him, but sometimes she wished she could fly alongside him. She wanted to experience flying in the same way he and his brother’s did. She imagined that it tasted like freedom in its own way.

When he finally came to a stop, his wings flapping in the wind as they held them deep within the sky, he gave her a look—one that made her breath catch far more than the thought of open air beneath her feet. The kind of look she couldn’t hold for too long without unraveling, without completely surrendering herself to him.

The world narrowed to the warm strength of his hands on her, his body steady and secure, the hush of shadows curling around them like a shield.

“Az?” she asked, voice small against the wind, her lips pressing to his where her head lay buried near his neck.

“Mhm?”

“Did you mean it when you said you’d catch me?”

Without hesitation, “Always.”

“Drop me, then.” She pleaded…

She watched as his eyes widened comically, his wings faltering just long enough for them to tumble for a moment. His grip tightening around them, steady before she could even make a noise. 

She smiled widely as they righted themselves, meeting his frantic gaze with light. A giggle escaping in place of a scream, his eyes locking onto her face. 

“Did you hit that magnificent head of yours during training?” He asked, his hand tightening around her as if he could glue her to him. She did her best to hide her smile in his neck, but he would have none of it, one of his hands cupping the back of her neck, keeping her eyes in line with his. 

“Come on, Az. You said so yourself, you’d never let me hit the ground.”

He visibly cringed at the image, rage and sorrow briefly fighting for room on his face before his usual stoicism took control. “If you ever fell accidentally. I’m not exactly looking to tempt fate by dropping you on purpose, Y/n.”

“What if you never had to stop holding me?” 

He laughed, then. A quick shake of his curls before his wings fluttered angelically, a map of veins and power shimmering in the glow. Gods, she loved when Az let her touch them, she could get lost in all the ways she brought him to the brink with just soft touches and gentle caresses. She watched, mesmerized as they snapped in.

“You’re not going to let up are you?” He asked, adoration in his tone, he stared at her like she alone lit the night sky in moonlight. 

“I trust you, mate.” She tugged on his nape, lips catching his as a growl came from him. His lips still attached to hers as he pressed into her, letting his wings relax completely. She could have sworn she heard his shadows murmur…

hold on tight

don’t let go

safe, safe, safe

And then the wind chased after her and Azriel as they fell. Her stomach dipped violently at the sudden shift in gravity. The drop stealing her breath and skyrocketing her pulse, adrenaline rushing through her blood. 

Falling.

And, falling.

Free.

The world disappeared.

There was no ground. No sky. Just the wind — roaring past her ears, cold and relentless — her heart beating as if learning how to for the first time. His arms were steady around her, providing a warmth to her chilled bones. Electricity traveled through her body everywhere his skin touched hers.

And gods, it released her.

Her stomach dipped once more, but not in panic — it was like shedding something heavy. Like every worry, every burden she hadn’t realized she carried, had been peeled away and left behind in their dust.

 She was weightless, and the sky was endless, and for the first time ever…

She wasn’t holding on to anything but that warmth.

She was held captive by nothing.

And it was beautiful.

The wind tore his name from her lips in a laugh that felt like lightning. For a moment, they were nothing but heart and air and the thrill of absolute surrender.

And then the treeline came into sight, still far enough away that her fae sight could pick it up as though the trees were pieces to a child’s toy. 

Azriel’s wings flared, catching the wind like sails made of shadow and starlight, slowing their descent with practiced grace. The roar of the sky faded to a hush, the wild rush of air surrendering to silence. The snow-laced forest floor rose gently to meet them — not a crash, not a stumble, but a kiss-soft landing that only someone like Azriel could manage with a full-grown Fae in his arms.

His boots crunched into the frost-covered field, the impact so steady it felt like the mountain itself exhaled in relief.

She didn’t even realize she was shaking until they stopped moving.

Her face was tucked into his neck, breathing him in — frost and cedar and something ancient that always smelled like coming home. His grip eased slightly, arms loosening just enough to let her slide down his body, her feet brushing against the ground with a whisper. But he didn’t let her go. Not really.

One of his hands rose to the small of her back, the other curling protectively at her nape, thumb stroking along the line of her neck like he needed to reassure himself she was still here. Still breathing. Still his.

Their foreheads met as if drawn by that shared thread, breath mingling in the cold air, their chests rising and falling in uneven sync. The wind had quieted, but its ghost still tugged at her limbs, at her bones. Azriel reached up and smoothed a few wild strands of her hair away, his gloved knuckles brushing her temple with the kind of reverence one might reserve for holy things.

He kissed her then — not like before, not heat and hunger — but soft, grounding. A press of lips that said, You're safe. I'm here. I’ve you.

Then another, to her wind-chapped cheek.

Another, to the top of her hand.

And one more to the bend of each finger, like he was thanking every part of her for letting go.

She clutched the front of his leathers, not because she was afraid, but because she didn’t want to float away. She stood steady once more, but the feeling of flying — of falling — hadn’t left her bones yet.

“What am I going to do with you?” he whispered, more to himself than to her, forehead still resting against hers.

Her smile was breathless, her lips brushing his. “Hold on tighter next time.”

Pairing: Azriel x Reader 

Word Count: 8.2

Summary: When Azriel doesn’t return from a mission on time, Y/n does her best to find him. (Sorry I’m no good at summaries)

Warning/Notes: Angst?????????? I don’t really know how to categorize my posts, but there is brutality and dark themes in this one (Death, kidnap etc.). So read at your own discretion, if there’s any warnings I need to add, please let me know. Hope you enjoy!!

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

Time dragged slowly by, a dusting of moonlight peeking through the ornate windows that allowed for a beautiful view of Velaris. Homes and businesses alight with fae of all kinds, night had always been the best time of day to witness the beauty of Velaris. It was a view that, typically, Y/n would be in awe of, sitting in a comfortable lounge while reading her favorite romance novel and sipping a smooth chamomile draught.

A warm, calming way to spend each of her nights. 

Tonight couldn’t be more different. 

The room absorbed the light menacingly, devouring it whole and leaving nothing but cold, miserable darkness. The normally inviting aroma now sat heavy in her stomach, the chill of the room engraving itself into her bones. The last time she had been in here, Azriel had been with her– the first time in weeks she had allowed herself to be near him, to revel in his presence. 

He had been trying to soothe her, finding her in a state of disarray from one of her more tragic reads. Tears streaming down her face, heavy breathing faltering when he reached out and tried to capture her tears with his thumbs, a task far more difficult than he had realized. If she hadn’t been so distraught, she may have noticed his incandescent gaze, and the slight tilt of his lips, as he tried desperately not to let her see his smile, looking on in wonder at a girl so emotionally fraught by fictional characters, that his shadows had woken him in the middle of the night to try and offer her comfort.

Tonight she paced the length of the room, her long silk robe chasing after her feet with each step, the uncoordinated way her body moved causing her to trip quite a few times. Her hands had run through her hair over and over again, eventually she had started pulling it out. The small pile, now clasped desperately in her hands, the only thing providing any sort of warmth to her frost-in-cased body. 

Azriel was late.

He should have been home hours ago. 

A few days ago, Rhys had received reports concerning dozens of Illyrian women and girls going missing in some of the smaller Illyrian camps nestled along the outskirts of the Steppes. Rhys had been especially concerned because Devlon, the War Lord of Windhaven– a larger Illyrian camp– had been the one to report the women as going missing. Ordinarily, the wretched male, who thought women belonged inside completing chores and bearing children, would never show an ounce of concern for the lives of a few women. But when women started disappearing in his camp, the man had finally decided to do some investigating, enlightening Rhys when he realized how big of an issue this had become. 

The women had started disappearing three days prior to their meeting, there had been no information on their vanishings, no screams or witnesses to any acts. The camp would reawaken for their day, only to realize that family members, all women, had disappeared in groups of three sometime during the night. One group each night, nine total from Windhaven.

After the first night, Devlon had ordered even more of his men to stand guard, not that it made much difference–Illyrians were a warrior race, born and bred for fighting and protecting their kind– The added patrols and enforced curfews hadn’t changed anything, no one had seen anything. The women had been present before bed and then… poof, gone, as if they were never there at all. No bodies had been found, nothing to indicate foul-play. 

Digging deeper, Devlon had somehow managed to find six other camps, small ones, that had the same issues going on, but for far longer. As far as the Inner Circle could track, the first disappearance had occurred four months prior, only one woman vanishing at a time. It seemed, the longer time went on without anyone connecting the dots, the more confident the culprits had become, eventually becoming efficient at kidnapping women in troves.

To say that Y/n’s heart felt like it had been carved out and skewered would be an understatement. How could they have not known about this? Sure, the smaller camps weren’t usually heard from all that often, only being visited on the rare occasions that something important had come up and needed to be addressed. Cassian visited all the camps, but there were so many, that sometimes it took months to get back to one’s he’s cleared. Not to mention Azriel’s spies, they did all sorts of things for the Spymaster, and she knew that he kept some in the War Camps to ensure that women were being properly trained. 

But– in the past six months Azriel had been working more, with the threats of the Mortal Queens and Koschei, everyone had been working overtime, she supposed that perhaps, now had been the perfect time for these sick sadists to infiltrate, they were distracted, and had let things slip through the cracks so easily. Too easily, a menacing voice in the back of her head spat.

As Azriel’s second-in-command, a spy trained for two hundred years under his wing, she should have been more present, should have helped Cassian with his trips to the camps, she should have pushed, done something.

Y/n couldn’t stop the bile that rose to her throat, having only a moment to find the nearest potted plant before losing the contents of her stomach into the poor shrub. 

Rhys had sent Cassian and Azriel to the camps immediately, the two leaving not more than thirty minutes after their meeting with Devlon had begun. She hadn’t been enlightened on the exact details of the mission, but she could make an educated guess based off of the years she’d worked with the Inner Circle. No doubt, Cassian and Azriel would split up, both men death-incarnate and capable of hitting more areas quicker, if not slowed down by having to visit one at a time. They would have had to question people, search nearby areas, look for anything that could give them some sort of lead. Devlon would stay and help in Windhaven, and Azriel and Cassian would each take three of the smaller camps, the latter traveling to the camps that had been hit first.

Cassian had come back earlier today, his face grave and sullen, but ultimately with no further information that could help with the women’s whereabouts or who had taken them. He had found out, however, that the camps he visited all had one thing in common: they all conformed to the order of having women train with little to no fuss. They were all camps that had a proactive approach to the change in the law. Devlon may have given Cassian and Rhys issues regarding the women training, but the past month, he had been on top of it, hadn’t been forcing women to complete ungodly amounts of chores before having mere minutes left for training. 

Could this all stem from a group of people who truly despised the idea of women learning how to protect themselves, learning how to fight? Y/n knew they existed, had seen first hand how cruel men could be in the face of a well-trained female, someone who could put their disgusting and misogynistic views on full display for all to see. 

Shaking her head, she tried to remain focused. Amren and Mor were working on the details, Nesta scrying for any information she may be able to find. Y/n had had the unfortunate task of holding down the fort at home, making sure that Nyx and the people of Velaris remained unharmed while everyone else did their best to put an end to this nightmare.

She hated having to stay behind while everyone else, all of her family, put their lives at risk, while those poor women could be injured and in need of help.

Things had really taken a turn for the worst when Cassian had returned, though, without Azriel. The Spymaster apparently never showed at their meeting location, Cassian waiting hours for him to no avail, he’d eventually reached out to Rhys, letting him know Azriel was MIA. The High Lord, worried about both of his brothers, had told Cassian to return home, that they would all reconvene to go over their next steps. 

That’s where they are now. Rhys and Cassian heading the conversation, Feyre trying to soothe a devastated Nyx, the boy still too young to understand what was happening, but his instincts helping him sense the worry of those around him. Elain sat quietly in the corner, tears streaming down her beautiful face, hands clasped so tightly on her skirts the knuckles had turned white. Nesta scryed at the table, butting in every now and then with her thoughts on the conversation. Mor stood leaning over the scrying board, the space under her hands creaking as she tried to get more information from Cassian about his visits, fury a clear mask on the blonds face as she kept shooting looks over to Amren where she sat quietly at the end of the table, taking everything in.

Y/n stopped pacing, standing before the window, doing her best to calm her rushing pulse and her rapidly-growing lack of control.

Each tick of the grandfather clock seemed to be mocking her. Laughing at her each second that her friend remained missing. Somehow she had let Rhys and Feyre convince her that leaving in the middle of the night to try and find him wouldn’t do any good. Something about it being dangerous, she had stopped listening once she realized they wouldn’t allow her to go, trying to leave despite their qualms. It was only when she realized that the House of Wind agreed with them, slamming any doors she tried to go through in her face, that she had calmed herself down enough and just started panicking, instead.

Azriel always came home, he never missed check-ins or drop-offs, out of all of them, he had always been the most vigilant. So where the hell was he? Why hadn’t he contacted anyone? Not even a shadow had made itself known in the hours he’d been gone. In two hundred years, this had never happened. Azriel was her boss, her senior spy, the person she trusted most with her life, a family member she held so close to her heart, she had almost been able to convince herself he meant the same to her as all her other family members did. That somehow he didn’t hold her entire being in his hands without even knowing it. Anything to ensure the solidity of her place within his life. 

He had never not contacted her if something went wrong, so where is he? Her mind screamed, and screamed, and screamed. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, everything swam around her, hitting her in every direction, not a singular thought being able to finish before the next knocked it from its place.

She grabbed at her scalp again, her eyes closing as a blinding pain shot through her chest, her skull, panic clawing up her throat like a beast finally being released after years of captivity, consuming all her senses. 

Someone was screaming. 

She thinks it might be her.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

Y/n had a secret.

One she had been trying to bury in the deepest crevice of her soul for months, to hide from her family, from him.

For years, she trained under Azriel, learning how to fight, how to lurk around corners, how to bleed into the background. He taught her how to gut a man without getting a lick of blood on her, and how to hit a moving target with so much force it knocked grown men clear off their feet.

One didn’t simply train under the terrifying Spymaster of the Night Court and not accomplish dangerous and difficult tasks. She was one of the best, good enough to be considered his second, a place amongst her family she had earned, and is grateful for. 

Of course it helped that she had the ability to read and elicit emotions, an empath of sorts. She could visualize a person’s emotion and pluck it right out of them, she had been able to help people rid themselves of fears and anxieties, had been able to feed into the warming emotions that helped a person heal. On the opposite end, however, the side she honed so thoroughly, she could cut a grown man down with a simple flick of her wrist, sat a far scarier beast. One she rarely allowed to surface out of fear of falling victim to herself.

Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian had found her when she was twenty-two, beaten and left for dead on the edge of an embankment, clinging to life so loosely they hadn’t been sure she was even still alive until their fae hearing heard the faintest pulse. The roaring of the river nearly blinding them to the noise.

Rhysand hadn’t even taken a moment to consider bringing her back with them and helping her heal, allowing her safe sanctuary for however long she needed. He hadn’t expected anything from her. He was the first man to give her something without expecting anything in return.

After months of getting to know the much smaller Inner Circle and trusting Rhys enough to tell him about her abilities, he had offered her a job that she accepted with little to no other information. She could still remember the grin that had lit up her High Lord’s face, laughing about how he hadn’t even had a chance to tell her how much she’d be making. It hadn’t mattered, she’d wanted to prove herself to them, to these wonderful people who had helped her grow, and she would make the same choice over and over again.

So, when she found out about her mating bond with the Spymaster, it had complicated things. She hadn’t been surprised, she had actually thought they might be mates for long before the bond snapped. She had always felt a sense of security with Azriel, something that everyone else in her life had to earn, something that usually took months, if not years. But, with him it had always been as simple as believing him, as feeling like she knew him deep in her soul. Which, she supposed she did. 

But, being Azriel’s mate complicated so many aspects of theirs and their families lives. For one, he’d been pining over Morrigan for centuries, ridiculously obvious for someone who called themselves a spymaster, but she digressed. Then, when he finally seemed to move on from her, Elain had entered the picture. Sweet, innocent Elain who liked speaking to plants and baking.

In all honesty, Y/n had mastered the art of acting like she didn’t care so effectively, that one day, Azriel stopped being her first thought in the morning, and the last one before she fell asleep. She had gained control of a beast that had run rampant for the first few decades of knowing him, something he had helped train her to do without realizing. To her, it had been worth more to keep their friendship and working relationship, than risk losing him all together because of a pitiful crush a young girl had on her mentor.

Everything had changed nine months ago, though. Apparently, she discovered, if you keep a beast chained long enough, it will eventually break free– and bite her right in the ass in the form of a mating bond. 

Gods, the Mother certainly had a sense of humor. 

Azriel had been sparring with Cassian the moment the bond snapped. She had found herself having to remind herself not to think about Azriel in any way other than a friend more frequently, as of late. Doing her best to avoid the male at any given moment. 

So, when she noticed him in the training ring that morning, she tried to spin on her heel, intending to get as far away as possible. The absolute last thing she needed was to witness Azriel in his half-naked glory. Sweat and sunlight gleaming perfectly off of his skin, gaze alight with unfiltered arrogance as he pushed the General Commander closer and closer to the edge of the ring. His fist connected with Cassian’s face so swiftly, he had the male cursing at the crunch his nose made, doing his best to ignore the blood as it slithered down his face. 

Y/n had stopped, only for a moment, but it was long enough for Azriel’s gaze to connect with hers, his eyes widening at the sight of her, the first time in weeks he had been able to get her to meet his gaze. And, unfortunately for the Spymaster and his second, that moment of distraction allowed Cassian to punch Azriel so hard he’d careened backwards, falling on his ass. 

When Cassian’s fist made contact with Azriel’s face, the bond had snapped, her world completely tilting, her hand having to grasp the door’s frame to avoid falling on her ass like her mate. She had lost control of her breathing, fighting the instincts to go to him, to help him, to beat the hell out of Cassian for daring to lay a hand on her mate. 

She could hear a ringing in her ears as the small golden thread had made its way from her heart to his, fighting against her hold on the door, as she did her best to keep her feet firmly planted where they were. She thought she might’ve heard her name being called, not daring to look back and see both men’s eyes on her shaking figure.

She had used her abilities then, and shoved her emotions down, down, down. She had planted them deep within her soul, far enough that she ran the risk of not being able to find them again, but it was a risk she had to take to get herself out of this moment without completely falling apart… or jumping Azriel. Or bashing Cassian’s teeth in.

For nine, agonizing months she kept this secret to herself, didn’t allow herself to think about it, held it far enough away that she had started questioning whether she imagined the entire thing.

Then she’d cross paths with the shadowsinger, something she never seemed to realize he tried so desperately to make happen, and it would all come rushing back. A cycle that kept repeating over and over again.

One that sucked the life from her each time it made a reappearance.

It didn’t matter how far she ran from her problems. They always seemed to catch up.

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Her head lay on something soft, voices surrounding her on all sides as she slowly came to. 

“If nothings wrong with her, why was she screaming like that? Why did she pass out?” A steel voice demanded. Rhysand. 

Gods, why did her head hurt so badly?

“She had a panic attack. It overwhelmed her body so much her mind took control when she couldn’t, it’s a safety mechanism built into all of us.”

“You didn’t hear her, Madja,” That sounded like Cassian, panic clear in his voice. She groaned inwardly, she hadn’t meant to add more stress to her family’s already full plates. She tried to sit up, but her body didn’t seem to be connected to her thoughts. “Her screams were so painful, I’ve never heard anyone scream that way.”

Madja sighed, her hands roving over Y/n’s arms, a warmth encasing the places she passed, making it hard for her to stay awake. 

“Y/n isn’t like the rest of you, her abilities make it harder for her to separate her emotions from those around her. She feels things ten times more than the average fae, she can’t help it–it’s a part of her gifts. She has had episodes like this in the past, but she’s usually better at containing them, keeping them to herself so as to not worry you lot.”

The silence was deafening. Murmuring that she couldn’t make out floated above her, why were they speaking so low? It made it hard to eavesdrop.

Madja told the truth, this happened more than she cared to admit. It was difficult for her to read the emotions from those around her without mixing them around with her own, sometimes feeling like an outsider in her own body. She had gotten better at it with age and practice, but when in high-stress situations like this– her mate missing– she was basically a ticking-time bomb. It also didn’t help that she had been confined in a small space with eight people feeling varying degrees of intense emotions.

If she had been thinking more clearly, not so worried about what was happening, she would have noticed the signs. Her clammy hands, the cold that seemed to bite at her skin, the headache that seemed to thicken with every passing moment… her inability to breathe properly. 

Yes, this had happened so, so many times. It never got easier.

And, she had kept this information from most of her family, not wanting to worry them, or make them feel like she needed to be taken care of. She knew they wouldn’t hold it against her, but that hadn’t changed the fact that she hadn’t wanted to feel dependent on them, or as if she were taking something from them by asking for help.

Azriel had known, though. 

They had traveled together for centuries, completing hundreds of stress-inducing missions together. He always helped her through them, offering soft touches and kind words as he held her through the worst of it.

She felt tears stream down her face.

“Have you found him?” She asked quietly, breaking the silence.

Blinking her eyes open, she tried to sit up, her head spinning at the motion, nausea rising once more. A hand– who she could only assume was Madja– held her firmly down, a chastisement rolling off the older fae’s tongue.

Her family seemed to hold their breath, none quite sure how to respond, how to let her down, she guessed. 

Rhysand is the one who finally spoke, ever the High Lord, “Not yet, we haven’t been able to get a good reading on him, and I can't reach him via his mind, his shields are firmly in place.” He paused, contemplated his next words, “Some of us are about to head out to search–”

Y/n sat up, ignoring the roaring in her skull, the pinpricks dancing along her vision, “I’m going.” 

“Absolutely not,” Mor said, her worry evident in her voice. “You’re hardly in any state to be out there searching for something we don’t even know what is.”

“I don’t care,” she hissed, more venom in the words than she had ever used to speak to a member of her family. “He is out there, and I am not about to sit back and wait for information while my mate could be lying dead somewhere.”

She spoke without thinking, without realizing what she said. Standing up, shoving the dizziness down. “Madja said I’m fine physically, I can get my abilities under control for a few hours, I’m going.”

Her family all stared at her, mouths agape, the House finally seemed to agree with her, as if taking pity on the poor women. It laid leathers out for her to quickly change into.

“You know?” Cassian whispered, as she headed towards an empty room to change in, the three words stopping her in her tracks.

Rhys’s head snapped towards Cassian, disapproval written all over his features.

Oh gods.

She turned to face the male slowly, “What do you mean?” Her words were clipped, terrified of the meaning behind his words. 

Cassian clamped his mouth shut, something burning beneath his gaze as he looked anywhere but at her.

“We can discuss that later, we need to hurry,” Rhys jumped in, shutting down the line of questioning entirely.

She wanted to push him, to make them tell her what they knew. But, he’s right, there were more important things going on. She couldn’t afford to be distracted.

She did not look back as she left, she’d be able to interrogate her family later, once everyone was home and safe.

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Y/n searched deep within her for that thread she had discovered all the months ago. Dug and pulled and ripped pieces of her soul away until she found where it had been buried. 

The golden thread had withered, since the last time she allowed herself to feel it, it’s once strong warmth now dull and frigid as she acknowledged it. 

Please, I know I was selfish and ignored the bond you blessed me with, but– but I need to find him, and I may be the only person who can. Please, let this work.

She gave a silent prayer to the Mother, hoping that her plan would work, it was the only one they had. 

She gave the thread an experimental tug, a small pull that she was sure wouldn’t rip the poor, desolate thing. 

She didn’t feel anything.

Desperation frosted her soul.

Her eyes shut tight in concentration, she felt Feyre take her hand, a silent offer of support. They had decided that Y/n would pull on the bond, see if she could feel where it attached on the other end. Rhysand would occupy a space in her open shields so that the two of them could winnow wherever it led. 

It took a few more tugs, Y/n feeling better about how hard she could pull on the bond. The longer she acknowledged it, the more it seemed to blossom with life, with a warming sensation lighting her chest.

Surely that meant he couldn’t be dead. It would be a cold, useless cord attached to her soul if that were the case. 

She felt Rhysands talons scratch lightly across her mind, as if soothing her thoughts, being in her mind allowing him full access to her worries.

Then she felt it, a feeling that caused her to jolt forwards, her body falling forwards at the sudden intrusion within her chest, Rhysand barely managing to hold her still where they stood, his hand clasping her upper arm, ready to winnow them at a moment’s notice. 

She had felt a tug.

Her gaze snapped to Rhys’s, her confusion evident… Did that mean he knew? That he felt the bond, too? Was that what Cassian had meant, that Azriel already knew of their bond? Did he not want it? Y/n’s thoughts raced around her head so quickly she felt Rhys tense, trying to keep her grounded, focused on the task at hand. 

Try it one more time, Y/n, I should be able to follow his lead. Rhysand spoke in her mind, his voice effectively scattering her spiraling thoughts. 

Caressing that bond once again, she tried sending her fear and worry down it, hoping if he realized how worried they all were, he’d have the courage to respond again.

Then, the world turned to stark darkness, her body held tightly against Rhys’s side as he winnowed them away.

Her feet landed on cold, hard ground. A twig snapping beneath her boots as Rhysand released her, making sure she was steady on her feet.

Taking in her surroundings, blades in hand, head more clear than it had been in days, she allowed her instincts to take over, to guide her. 

The first thing she noticed was the smell. Blood and rot permeated the air, her nose involuntarily scrunching as it tried rejecting the acrid smell. The brutal cold soaked her skin, causing goosebumps to rise beneath her leathers, the warmth of the fur-lining doing little to keep out the bite of the harsh winters in the Illyrian Steppes.

Then her gaze locked on a large field, mounds of dirt and open holes scattered along the plot, and she swore– were those bodies lying next to some? Her hand came to cover her mouth, anger, fear, hatred all seizing within her body.

Where is Azriel?

Rhysand moved before she did, beelining for something she had yet to acknowledge. In the center of the field, the plots of unbound earth seeming to circle it–in an almost ritualistic way– stood an alter, an Illyrian male pinned to it, knifes displayed in his wings, the blades imbedded so deep in the wood that they had no trouble holding up the two hundred pound male. His cries of agony had sputtered off into small, near silent whimpers. 

And stood before him, raging darkness swarming around him chaotically, stood Azriel. Truth-Teller in hand, blood covering every inch of his body. 

Y/n moved without thinking, her mind chanting at her to get to him, to make sure he was okay. Why is he standing? He should be sitting down if he’d sustained major injuries. Why didn’t he seem to care that his safety mattered to his family?

Why hadn’t he told them where he was?

She tried to shut that voice out of her mind, she didn’t want to jump to conclusions, none of them knew what had happened to the Spymaster in the last three days. She could only imagine the horrors he’d witnessed. The way this would haunt him for years to come.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she and Rhys had both crossed the field, meeting Azriel in the middle.

The shadowsinger did not address them, some of his shadows coming to greet her, their usually warm nature towards her all but gone as they tried dragging her closer to their master, eating the distance between the two. 

She knew Rhys had already begun speaking to his brother, trying to figure out what in the Mother’s name was going on here, how this had happened. 

That didn’t stop her from stepping towards her mate, though. Making sure there were no other fae around but the three of them, and the bastard who hung before them. There were bodies scattered around, she closed her eyes briefly as she realized they were women. Illyrian women with their wings ripped off.

Vomit climbed up her throat, grief washing over her. Azriel’s head whipped in her direction, concern lining his features as he took her in, his gaze roving over her as if she had been the one missing in action for hours.

She could smell the blood on him, but thankfully, none of it seemed to belong to him. She took a breath, taking a step closer to her mate. He seemed to watch her like a hawk, as if one wrong move could send either of them fleeing in the opposite direction. Then he turned back to Rhys, a viscous look on his face.

“You brought her here?” He snarled, the first words she had heard him speak in days. Neither she or Rhys missed the accusatory tone laced with his exclamation.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, she does what she wants.” 

“I’m right here,” she hissed, “And I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, you overgrown bats.” Irritated at how they were speaking about her as if she were incapable of defending herself.

They ignored her. Protective instincts seeming to lead Azriel’s words into battle.

“They are kidnapping and sacrificing women, Rhysand, and you brought her here. What if I didn’t have it under control, what if she got hurt, if they got ahold of her?” He demanded, the words flying out of his mouth like acid.

Truth-Teller remained in his scarred hand, slightly worrying over the safety of their High Lord, Y/n reached for him. Her hands met his, slowly peeling his fingers off the hilt one at a time. He tensed, turning to look at their hands. His death-grip on the blade made it nearly impossible, but as she set the weapon free from its confines she slid her fingers into his. Squeezing once, twice, three times, relaxing only slightly from the feel of his skin against hers. She didn’t care that his hands were covered in blood, standing next to him had been the only time today she felt any semblance of safety.

His eyes bore into hers, an anguished expression passing over his features quickly before his usual stoic, uncaring mask slid back into place. He turned back to Rhys, still intent on fighting about her as if she weren’t right here. 

She rolled her eyes, focusing rather on their surroundings, keeping an eye out just in case.

At least he hadn’t let go of her hand.

Maybe he felt just as safe holding hers, as she did holding his.  

She could allow herself to pretend that he was hers in this moment, even if only briefly. His hand tightened around her, pulling her slightly closer to him.

“She’s your second, and not once, in two hundred years has she ever needed to be coddled, why would that change now? Neither you or I would ever let anything happen to her,” The High Lord gave his Spymaster a meaningful look. “I couldn’t very well tell her no when she is the reason we could find you.”

Azriel swallowed, his back rigid, his shadows were surrounding her figure, covering every inch of her skin that they could reach, almost as if to hide her from the nightmare they were living in.

Rhys stepped forward, a pleading look in his eyes, as if begging for his brother to understand. “I was worried about you, brother. She was worried about you. It’s not fair to keep her from things, dangerous as they may be, to ease your peace of mind.”

She recognized some of his words. Reminiscent of something she had once told him when he’d kept the dangerous nature of Illyrian pregnancy in high fae women from Feyre. 

She smiled at her High Lord, appreciation and love for her friend– her family– shining in her eyes.

Azriel’s gaze locked on hers once more, “Stop looking at him like that,” his teeth gritting together, “Please.” He ground the last word out, as if remembering to be respectful in his out of control male instincts.

She sighed, sending an apologetic glance to Rhys before scowling at Azriel. They were definitely going to have to talk about the bond now. She groaned.

Anger remained evident on Azriel’s face throughout the exchange, but–she knew it wasn’t aimed at her or Rhys–well, maybe a little towards their High Lord– She knew that he was angry with the situation with how far out of control this had become. Before he could open his mouth and piss her off further she spoke to him softly, but firmly.

“You’ve been missing for hours, Azriel. We have all been going out of our minds with worry, trying to get in touch with you. We didn’t know if you were alive or injured or safe. If I did that to you–” she couldn’t help the catch in her voice, eyes leaving his, his stare too intense. 

“You would skin me alive, ban me from missions for– for forever, probably.” Head shaking, she had to take a step back, dropping his hand in the process. Maybe the extra space would allow her to gather herself. “I would have never done that to you. Especially knowing we’re–” A tortured sentence that she cut off, too scared to say the words aloud, or to him, at all. “I certainly wouldn’t stop you from entering a situation just because it’s dangerous.”

“You don’t understand–” He shook his head, his eyes pleading.

“Then explain it to me!”

She knew they shouldn’t be doing this here, that it would be far more appropriate to have this conversation in the safety of their home. And without an audience.

But, he had terrified her today, so much so that she had thrown all disregard out of the window, she had a panic attack that she was still feeling the effects of, despite her insistence on coming. She wanted answers, and she’d be damned if she waited until he could practice his responses, or quell the demons swarming from within him that made his filter disappear.

He looked away from her, a tick in his jaw as he searched for his patience, his words.

 Rhys stood back, watching the male hanging from the altar with unwavering hatred. Y/n assumed he was using his Daemati powers to see if there were any survivors as his brows pinched in concentration, sweat lining his face. Trying to give them a bit of privacy.

“I am not upset that you are here because I don’t think you can protect yourself. I am not even upset that you are here, I know you can take down any threat that so much as breathes in your direction.” He took a long, dragging breath, his hands tightening at his sides. She could see how desperately he searched for what to say, the male wasn’t exactly known for explaining himself or his feelings.

“But, my brother who knows what you mean to me,” A sharp look pointed towards said brother, “who is worried about my safety, my life, didn’t stop to consider what would happen to me if anything were to happen to you,” he shook his head disbelievingly, landing softly against yours. 

Understanding flashed across both Y/n and Rhysand’s faces, the latter no longer looking at his brother with irritation, but rather empathy. If anyone knew the struggles of mate bond, it would be him.

“Okay,” she said softly, a silent acceptance of his anger. She clasped his hands with hers, her eyes relaying that they would talk more about this later, when they weren’t surrounded by death.

Azriel bowed his head, a submission that signified his understanding of what she meant. His apology. She could feel his guilt, his sorrow for how the day had turned out. She tried to understand his thought process, tried to understand that he had probably been so caught up in putting an end to this and finding information out, that he hadn’t realized how much time had passed, hadn’t even thought his family may be worried for his safety. 

Her eye twitched, just slightly. He never seemed to realize what his absence did to those who cared about him, always believing he was expendable, that his fate didn’t matter. It made her sick.

Finally offering an explanation, he loosened a breath, hair falling forward. His chin dipped, shame coating his features as he whispered, in a broken voice, “they’re all dead.” A despairing agreement from Rhys, the only response.

Y/n’s eyes shut tightly, her body tensing as what she already feared became a reality. 

“They ripped their wings off in a sacrificial ceremony to the old pagan deities. Sixty-seven Illyrian women and girls, slaughtered because of these sadistic occultists,” he snarled the last words, aiming them towards the male that hung loosely before them, his breaths becoming slower and shallower the more time that passed.

So low that if they hadn’t had fae hearing they never would have been able to decipher his words, he spoke, “Our Gods need to feed just as yours do.” A terrifying, wet sounding laugh bubbling out of his throat.

Horror spilled into her, her fingers flexing against her own blades, willing her to carve this sorry excuse of a male to pieces and feed them to the monster who lived in the pit of the library.

Instead, she settled for eating his fear. She ignored the disapproving sound coming from Azriel as she took a step closer, wrapping her power around the fear the Spymaster had brought forth in this disgusting fae. She stroked and exploited that feeling, heightening it so abruptly that the front of his pants became coated in piss as he trembled. She watched as life began draining from his eyes, the strands of his hair rotting into a blistering white color as she ripped every happy and pleasant emotion from his being. Leaving him with nothing but a cold empty shell of fear, guilt, shame, hatred, and disgust. She wanted this male to die more than she had ever wanted anything, how dare he play God, taking these women from the safety of their homes and then justify their deaths with his religious fanaticism bullshit. She wanted to be the last thing he saw, pride taking over as he realized that he would meet his end at the hands of a woman, not the two males standing at attention behind her. 

He began thrashing, cursing her until he finally ran out of breath. 

“We need to get the others, we have a long day ahead of us.” Rhys said softly, anger behind his violet eyes for what his people had endured right under his thumb. 

They would need to identify the women, and then return their remains to their families, set up proper barriels and commence funerals for each and every one. 

Things would need to change, protocols put in place, and Y/n wanted to be leading those changes, wanted to be the one to ensure the safety of women within the Illyrian race, they had suffered for far too long at the hands of men. And, Y/n would do anything to ensure that something like this never happens again.

Rhys met her gaze, nodding his head in understanding and agreement. They would figure the details out later.

 Dawn crested over the mountain side, the early morning rays of light making the devastation of this place all the more noticeable. It was then she noticed the mass grave set to the south of the field, it wasn’t filled with bodies, though. 

No. 

It was filled with wings.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

Two weeks had passed since that day in the Illyrian Mountains. 

Days and nights blending together in a blur as the Inner Circle worked hard to smoothly put everything back in order. At least, as much as they were able to. Massacres like this weren’t easy to fix, especially when it came to reassuring their people that they were safe and could rely on the court officials who had let them down in so many ways. 

Y/n had been so busy she hadn’t had a chance to see Azriel much the past few weeks, the spymaster busy with his own tasks for rebuilding. He and Cassian had been responsible for tracking down any members that hadn’t been present the night Azriel had found the women–using information he’d fileted out of the Illyrian male he’d kept alive.

He’d explained how he came to be in that clearing to them once he returned home, a dark, haunted look lingering behind his hazel eyes.

It had taken a day and a half for Azriel to find where the women had been taken. Following a lead from one of the young Illyrian women in one of the smaller camps. Her sister had gone missing along with two other women a few weeks prior to the Spymaster’s arrival. They had been playing in the woods when the young girl lost track of her sister, only to find her in a dazed state, a strange symbol drawn on the back of her neck in what looked like blood. Not able to get any information from her, the young women had made their way home. The next morning she had awoken to her mother’s frantic search for her eldest daughter. 

The young girl had drawn the symbol for Azriel, she’d done her best to remember it after the weeks that had passed. His shadows scouring nearby areas for anything that resembled the symbol. They had come across the altar, calling for Azriel in an agitated state.

 He hadn’t realized what he’d stumbled upon before he’d had to take action. He hadn’t had time to reach out to Cassian, making the decision to continue on alone, afraid that any time wasted would lead to more devastation. When he arrived, most of the women had already been killed. But, six or seven still remained, barely breathing from the days of torture they’d endured. Once the men responsible had realized the Spymaster of the Night Court had found them, they began slaughtering the remaining women ruthlessly, trying to stop any of them from getting out alive. 

Az had killed seven of the men, ending their miserable lives too swiftly for his liking, but he had managed to keep one of them alive long enough to question him. Thoroughly. That was when Rhys and Y/n had found him. 

She knew he blamed himself for the women who had died once he arrived, that their screams haunted him in the night. She had been swarmed by nightmares the past few weeks, a mix of his and her own. Unable to escape the hell that her subconscious locked her into each time the moon came out.

She hadn’t gotten much sleep the past fourteen days.

After six days of following leads and tracking the men down, both the Commander and Spymaster were positive that they had captured all of those who remained, now wasting space in the latter’s dungeons beneath the Hewn City where she had no doubt they’d receive far worse treatment than they’d ever been able to deal out.

Going over new laws and ordinances that Rhys, Feyre, Amren, and Y/n had worked religiously on the past few weeks, the war camps finally seemed to be finding their rhythm again, daily life going on as it once had. 

They still had a lot of work to do, but they were making progress, and they had to take what victories they could, no matter how little. 

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

More weeks passed by, some so quickly she hardly noticed the growing chasm in her chest. Others passed slowly, as if her life were passing by her in slow motion, waving as it went. Leaving her behind without so much as a second glance.

Initially, she and Azriel hadn’t seen or spoken to each other because of how busy they’d been. But, work had slowed down marginally, allowing for the Inner Circle to breathe a little more freely, and Azriel still avoided her like she had the Illyrian flu. 

If she passed him in the hallways he quickly dipped into his shadows before she could call out to him, he avoided her regular training times all together, and did his best to go on solo missions, claiming to Rhys he needed to remain focused.

His behavior was really starting to get on her nerves. 

If he didn’t want this bond, then, as much as it would break her heart, she’d rather have him suck it up and just tell her. Dragging out a brutal crushing of souls just seemed cruel and unnecessary.

Stuck in some never ending limbo that she couldn’t seem to find the way out of. She’d tried tugging on the bond, only to be met with a cold, bitter resistance. 

She still had no idea how long he’d known about it for, or how he’d found out, or why instead of telling her, he had told Rhysand and Cassian.

It’s not as if she were mad at him, she had kept the bond a secret, too. But, she had done it out of fear of losing someone who had never once shown romantic interest in her. She had done it out of fear of disrupting her family’s dynamic so wholly, they may never be the same. 

She had always wanted the bond with Azriel. She would take the scraps off his plate if it was all he ever offered to her. There just hadn’t been a world in which she could imagine him ever loving her the way she loved him. 

Now all of her fears were coming true the longer he avoided her. Their friendship might as well be in the can, he hadn’t spoken to her for weeks, and even before then there had only been a few times over the past nine months they’d interacted normally. 

And, well, that had been her fault.

Y/n halted in her path to the library, stopping so swiftly, air kissed her cheeks and hair in a windowless hallway.

Azriel had only been avoiding her for five weeks. Before he had left for the Illyrian Mountains, he had always been around, chasing after her shadow in the light of day, looking for her in the crowds of people, always making it difficult for her to go more than a day without having some sort of contact with him. 

He had wanted to be around her despite what, she now realized, was an infuriatingly annoying dance of avoidance she had subjected him to for months?

Gods, what was wrong with her? Who handles adult situations that way? How could she possibly have felt any justification in her anger towards him. He was only doing what she had done, and it had been for a significantly shorter amount of time. If anything, she deserved this.  

Did he think that she hadn’t told him about the bond because she didn’t want it? Had he known about the bond for months like her, trying to figure out if it had snapped for her yet? Was he avoiding her because he thought it was what she wanted?

No, no, no, no. 

That sounded so much like something Azriel would do that she physically cringed as the thought thundered across her mind. 

She needed to fix this. She had to track down the Spymaster of the Night Court, one of the most elusive fae alive, and keep him from slipping from her grasp.

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/her pronouns used)

Word Count: 5.7k

Summary: Y/n and Azriel’s mating ceremony/wedding is three days aways, but the two can't help themselves and things get out of hand.

Warning/Notes: Mature content- definitely smut read at your own caution, there's some references to anxiety, but not too much. Hope you enjoy, would love any feedback!

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

Y/n thought she’d had a good plan, honestly. 

She thought that she was being a kind, thoughtful mate and future wife.

Her wedding and mating ceremony with Azriel is in exactly three days. They had been planning the events for nearly a year and a half, now. The two most introverted people in the Inner Circle had somehow come up with a celebration that would rival all others. They had wanted their guests to enjoy the night just as much as they would.

Before their family-only temple ceremony at midnight–where they’d present each other with food and swear their vows to a priestess, they would be holding a party for all of Velaris at the House of Wind– Nesta had insisted on them using it as their reception venue, she’d wanted to help with decorating and guest-control. Feyre and–surprisingly– Rhys had helped her design her own gowns and Azriel’s ceremony garb. Amren had even gifted her a beautiful deep sapphire jewelry set, the same colors of Azriel’s siphons. Mor had taken Y/n to all of her favorite lingerie and silk shops to find the perfect little underthings for the frenzy– a day that Y/n would never be able to think about without blushing.

 Mor had made her feel beautiful, telling her about all the different clasps and types of fabrics, how to remove items quickly, where to put the garters. She had given Y/n a long talk about not letting the male rip any of her beautiful clothing, that they’d pick specific ones out for that. She could still feel the lingering blush when the blond had shot her a wink over a barely-clothed mannequin.

She loved that their family had been building the perfect day with them, that they loved the two of them so much they each wanted to help in their own ways. She couldn’t wait to stand before her mate, the love of her life, and all of her family as they vowed to spend their lives together.

Despite the hectic year, the past week has been the most stressful and chaotic part. So much so, that it felt like the world had caved in to just their small corner of the world.

Tonight, however, she had a few hours of free time. Rhys and Cassian had wanted to take Azriel out for drinks and cards… which worked out perfectly, because she only had one thing left to prepare for.

Making a special frosting for the cupcake she planned to feed him–she needed to practice. 

Y/n wasn’t exactly known for her prowess in the kitchen. In-fact, she’d had an incident a few years back where certain parts of the kitchen may have burned just a little bit. Really it was Cassian’s fault–not that the Lord of Bloodshed ever admitted to it– they had been trying to cook some old recipe that he’d found in a book in the library. It had ended very badly. The House of Wind had refused to help with anything the two of them needed for weeks. 

And, Rhys? He had banned his two friends from cooking in the kitchen for a year. 

But, none of that mattered because Azriel loves this frosting. He claims it’s magic and that it tasted like sun-dripped magic and frost-coated night. That it tasted like everything that reminded him of her.

She wanted to make what she presented to him meaningful, not that he wouldn’t love anything she had to offer him– but that wasn’t the point.

Y/n had to make the perfect frosting, for her perfect mate.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

Things were going terribly.

Bowls were littering the counters, half filled and dry first attempts, jeering at her from the sidelines. The kitchen smelt like bad decisions had been charred and disintegrated from deep within, and oh gods, she couldn’t even think about the frosting. 

It was everywhere.

All over the counters, on her clothes, in her hair, she was pretty sure some had gone up her nose at some point, blowing it out when the sugar had sprung to life and made her sneeze when one of Azriel’s shadows had attempted to help savage this disaster.

She had tried so incredibly hard to replicate the frosting recipe. For some reason, she hadn’t thought it would be so difficult, she didn’t even have to use an oven. But, no matter how many times she attempted the foul beast, it either crumbled apart in her hands, or ran so wet that it ruined any cupcakes she had tried to decorate with it.

Panic had begun living rent free in her chest. 

So far, she only had one batch that looked anything close to what she remembered. 

She set it down on the counter, about ready to burst into tears when she felt a tug in her chest. She had been at this for hours, and the only thing she had to show for it was a semi-smooth grayish blue muck pile.

Cauldron–she could scream. 

She turned, running her back along the bottom cabinets as she found her way to the floor. A floor she only just now realized had been covered in all sorts of mess she’d created gods only knew how long ago at this point.

Azriel is enjoying his night out with his brothers, something he doesn’t get to do very often as of late. The last thing Y/n wanted was to mess up his fun night with her ridiculous baking skills. 

She had one job, to make her mate something devine that he’d love. A representation of their bond to show him how much she loved him, and that she wanted to spend her life with him. And, somehow, she couldn’t even accomplish that.

I’m a failure.

Suddenly, as if the thought shattered whatever wall had been holding her impending tears back, her body wracked with sobs, shaking back and forth slowly. 

How had everything happened so quickly? How were they already a few dozen hours away from the most important day of her life? Why couldn’t she make something as simple as frosting?

She felt the bond warm, the small thread singing as the person attached to the other end of it appeared before her. His worried hazel eyes met her round, tear-stained ones, as he gently pulled her hands away from her face. Assessing her state, quickly. Seeing that she wasn’t physically hurt only had her mate relaxing slightly and moving on to other devilish things that could have put her in this state.

“What’s the matter, little dove?” He spoke softly, his large hands cradling her face so softly.

She sniffled, sure she must look absolutely crazy right now.

“You look beautiful,” he spoke earnestly. “And your side of the bond is wide open.”

The statement only made her cry harder. How had she been blessed with such a wonderful male? While he got stuck with a girl who can’t even make a bowl of freaking frosting.

Lifting her with no effort at all, Azriel set her down on the countertop, his body pressing into hers as her legs fell apart, allowing him to stand between them. Apron scrunching around her hips.

“Talk to me, love,” he pleaded, his hands ghosting up the length of her arms. His shadows slithering up her exposed skin, the cool sensation setting a smile on her lips. 

“I think I’m just overwhelmed,” she whispered, wiping desperately at the tears on her cheeks, the wetness mixing with all her miserable attempts. “Today’s the first day I’ve really had a chance to breathe, and I am just now realizing I am terrified.”

Azriel hummed, his way of letting her know he was listening, and that he’d wait however long she needed to get her thoughts out. “I am so excited for the next parts of our lives together,” giving him a small smile and a quick squeeze of his hand, “It’s just so much has been going on the past year, and I’m so ready to get to the next part. To just have you and not have to plan the perfect party or worry about flower arrangements and whether or not we want guests to eat on crystalled dinnerware or marble,” 

Azriel chuckled lightly, placing a kiss against her hair, his hand– the one not clasped in her hands– rubbing smooth circles along her back.

“I’m ready, too.” He admitted. “And, that’s okay, little dove. We’ve had a great year, planning together and building something that we are excited to share with the people we love.” He lifted her chin, catching her beautiful eyes with his dark pools of hazel, “I think it’s normal to feel this way, it just means that we are ready for what comes after. And I–” he swallowed, his forehead falling against hers, “I cannot wait to be able to call you my mate, my wife.”

Letting out a sigh, tears finally cleared, his mate smiled contentedly at him. “How do you always know the right things to say?”

“I speak to you with what’s in my heart–” A coy smile pulled at his lips, “And sometimes what’s in my pants.”

Laughing, she smacked his arm, wrapping her arms around his neck, pure love shining in her gaze as she looked towards her mate.

“You have made quite a mess, haven’t you?” Azriel said lightly, his hand coming to the back of her neck, placing a chaste kiss against her lips. A small pout falls onto them when he pulls away to take a more in depth look around.

“Are you making…”

“Cupcakes and the dreaded frosting,” she sighs. “Or trying to. Elain got me the recipe of that blueberry-lemon frosting–” 

“The one that tastes like a mix of my favorite guilty pleasures and you?” His voice sounded awfully close to giddy.

You give him a small smile, kissing the edge of his jaw softly. “Yes, that’s the one.”

He hummed, elation at the prospect evident as he lifts on the balls of his feet a few times. “And you’re making cupcakes with my favorite frosting, because?” 

“Oh,” a blush creeps up your cheeks, “I wanted to practice for when–” she stops herself, eyes meeting his as understanding dawns. Those golden pools of hazel that she loves so much darken, desire flooding through him in an instant. 

His lips are on hers in the next breath, his hand wrapped around the back of her neck tightening, so slightly. His other hand tangling in the messy bun adorning the top of her head, loosening the string that had been keeping it out of her face, and the frosting.

His wings flare behind him as her legs wrap firmly around his middle, dragging him ever closer, not a breaths space left between the two. He groans, rutting his body against the counter unconsciously, as her scent of crisp fall air and lavender envelopes around him, he can’t help but smile as he scents the blueberry from the frosting covering her, as well. 

Gods, the things he wanted to do to her were endless.

His tongue tangled with hers, fighting for dominance for a brief moment before his hand tightened in her hair, yanking her head back gently, causing her to open her mouth fully, a moan coming out of her. He didn’t mind letting her have control every once in a while, but while she sat between his legs, leaning so wholly against him, trusting him entirely… practicing baking for when– for when they would accept the bond–

Azriel kissed her harder, more desperately. 

Gods above, he was so in love with her. He knew she was nervous about the ceremonies, about being the center of attention. He would do everything in his power to ensure that he alleviated those anxieties as much as possible. He fell more in love with her each day. She had always fit right into his life, his family, so effortlessly. Perfectly.

Her generous soul and wondering spirit called to him in the deepest parts of his heart. She had been made as his equal, his partner, his mate, mate, mate. His shadows chanted, he shoved them down–away. Somedays he had no problem sharing his mate with them, but right now, he wanted it to just be the two of them.

“What–” She said breathless as his lips trailed down her jaw, her throat, leaving open mouth kisses everywhere he could. His scarred hands trailing the length of her arms now, one clasping her hands together, squeezing once, twice. “About Rhys and Cassian?” She sputtered.

Azriel had know idea what she was talking about, but couldn’t help the growl that escaped as two other men’s names came from your delicious lips. It didn’t matter that they were his brothers, it still set him on edge, especially when he had his tongue down her throat. Reading his confusion and possessiveness, she giggled softly as the two of them caught their breath. “Weren’t you supposed to be enjoying a boys night out tonight?”

Oh. Oh.

He fought a blush as it crept up his neck, beelining for his cheeks. “They’re fine, we were just drinking and playing cards– they lost miserably–truly you did them a favor by taking me off their hands.” A kiss placed on each of her cheeks before his forehead fell against hers once more. “You’re beautiful, and I’d much rather be here with you.”

“Besides, I think we should practice a different part of our mating ceremony tonight,” Her eyes glazed over as desire pooled deep within, every inch of her body standing to attention, ready to have this male, her male, ravish her wholly. 

All thoughts emptied out of her head as his tongue danced along hers, hands cupping her breasts through her shirt, plucking at the nipples as they hardened, earning a moan from her that he happily devoured.

Trailing her fingers across his hard erection, palming him fully, mouth salivating at the sheer size of this male, their bond vibrated with ecstasy. Azriel jolted forwards, ricocheting her body backwards, her hand accidentally smashing into the bowl of frosting she had made early– the bluish mixture coating her fingers.

They were far too gone to care, his hands pulling at her clothing, all but tearing her apron off, as he shoved her skirt up to her waist. A growl leaving him as his hand slid along her skin, gooseflesh sprouting in their wake, cursing as he realized she had no panties beneath. A daring smile pressing along her mouth as he kissed her harder, losing his control, swiftly.

She cradled his cheeks with her hands, absentmindedly, her fingers flicking all over his face, painting him with frosting as they found their way into his hair, his mouth trailing down her throat as his fingers found the pool of her arousal, his fingers flicking deftly once, twice against the little nub, her back arching as a moan escaped her.

“Az, we should–we should go to our room,” her voice didn’t sound convincing in the slightest. Especially not when she let out a beautifully delectable noise when he ran his fingers along her folds, slipping one in quickly. Letting out his own groan at the heat of her core on his skin. He could die happy like this, he decided.

“Or,” his teeth grazed the edge of her ear, slowly pressing her down into the table, splaying her in front of him like his own personal feast. “I could taste you right here, take my beautiful little dove on this island and show her how I plan to worship her for the rest of our lives,” Her eyes trailed his every move of his body as he dropped to his knees, her knees closing on instinct around him, her core tightening.

Her body burned, his touch lingered on every inch of her as he trailed delicate kisses along her thigh, to the inside of her knee, and down to her ankle, then straight back up the other side. “So perfect,” he spoke between kisses, “my beautiful mate,” then he pressed a sweet, almost fragile kiss, directly against her. 

She moaned, greedy for his touch, his lips on her most sensitive parts. Her hands needed a place to land, to grip onto so she didn’t fall straight off the edge of the world. She grabbed the table, his hair, even the bowls of frosting still surrounding them as he continued his assault against her clit, his finger being joined by a second one as they repeatedly hit that wonderful spot deep inside of her. 

She settled on holding her breasts, the fabric of her shirt somehow ending up somewhere near her collarbone. She applied any kind of friction she could as her mate ravaged her, his hand flattened against her lower abdomen as his tongue replaced his fingers, dipping in and out of her–moaning right alongside her as he devoured her juices, did his best to capture every little bit, not wanting to miss even a ounce. His fingers found their way to her clit, stroking and massaging her into madness. 

Once his tongue entered the picture, she had been a goner, quickly hurtling toward that ledge, her body alight with unfettered pleasure, something only this man could ever make her feel.

He drank her in as her body finally coiled tightly, a release so intense her back bowed off the table. His tongue lightly flicked at her entrance, trying to coax her through her high, her legs shaking so thoroughly she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to stand again.

Slowly, so slowly, her mate stood, still fully clothed, and gently pulled her up. Her skirt fell back around her waist, offering little to hide what had just occurred as she completely fell against him. He held her up, slowly stroking her arm, allowing her a moment to catch her breath.

Their eyes met, small smiles lit both of their faces. Y/n didn’t give much thought as she brought her fingers to his lips, feeling the soft, swollen skin. She still had frosting on them, and Azriel didn’t hesitate as he sucked a digit into his mouth, licking and suckling the skin, letting it go with a pop. 

He stepped back momentarily as her giggles took control, his tongue reaching out, flicking across his lips, tasting it, some frosting still coating the area. “It’s good.” He amends. She didn’t know if he meant the frosting or her, as he lifted his fingers that had just been deep inside of her and tasted them thoroughly, his eyes never leaving hers.

She could already feel that heat building up inside of her, nowhere near satiated yet. It only took one look at her mate to know that he was nowhere near done with her, either.

Then he’s coming towards her, and she barely has enough time to duck beneath his arms and scurry around the island she’d just been perched on. Already running from the male with mischievous glint in her eyes.

She barely makes it to the doorway when she watches Azriel with wicked intent in his dark, arousal filled gaze. His deft fingers dip into the blue frosting, quickly aiming it towards her retreating form. Y/n squeals and runs for her life as Az chases her through the corridor.

She doesn't even make it all the way down the hallway before he’s on her. A strong arm wraps around her middle, his other hand coming up and smearing frosting across her cheeks, and down her neck as they both laugh.

Then she’s against the wall, Azriel caging her in, frosting covered hands roving all over each other, his lifting her skirt once more, looking like he was ready to just tear the damn thing off her. Squeezing her thighs, traveling up the length of her stomach and breasts, before landing back on either side of her face. He consumed her whole. 

A man starved.

One of her hands is gripping his leathers for dear life, trying to stay tethered to this world as it crashes down around her. Her other hand, well, it has a mind of its own as she lifts it slowly,  eyes meeting his as she asks the silent question. When he nods quickly before going back to servicing his god, her finger runs a short, soft line down the side of his wing.

The noise that comes out of him is somewhere between a plea and a beast's snarl. His cock is straining against his leathers, rock hard against her leg. Another quick sprinkling of  fingers across his wings has him rutting against her lewdly, his teeth sinking into her shoulder at the uncontrollable act. Kissing down the length of his throat, she finally releases the death grip on his leathers and unbuckles his pants.

“Y/n.” It’s a shallow, broken word. She swears she can hear a please come after.

She loved that she could drive him to this state. That he felt safe enough with her to be so free, at her mercy.

“What is it you always ask me?” she taunts lowly. His eyes lock with hers, something awfully close to intrigue, and complete submission simmering behind them. Giving him a wicked smile, as she frees his thick, swollen cock, her hand not able to wrap entirely around him. A needy-whimper falls from his lips, his breathing nothing more than shallow pants, as she strokes the length of his cock, up and down, over and over, squeezing when needed, and rubbing the pad of her thumb leisurely over the tip of him, precum oozing out. He’s smooth in her hand, pulsating at each wicked flick of her wrist. Her body pressed so thoroughly to the wall, if anyone walked in they would only see him.

“Are you going to be good for me?” She finally asks, a voice she doesn't even recognize falling from her lips. “We wouldn’t want anyone hearing you, your noises are mine.” She purred, hand still casually stroking her mate, watching as he slowly lost his mind, watched as his legs started shaking, his eyes screwed shut tightly, lips pressed together, biting his tongue, trying so desperately to not make noise.

“Y/n, I’m–” She had never heard him sound so undone. She wanted to carve it into her memory, trace it with her tongue.

It took no time for him to help lift her, her legs wrapping around his middle. It took even less time for him to sheath himself fully inside of her. The two far past caring that they were in the middle of a hallway in the House of Wind, some of their family occupying rooms all throughout. 

The only thing that mattered to her was the feeling of Azriel, inside of her, filling her so full that she felt complete. 

They were panting, one of his arms wrapped tightly around her middle, simultaneously pressing her hard against the wall and his chest. Her fingers found their way under his silk top, tracing the ridges of his abs, and following the lines of his tattoos that she could draw in her sleep. 

“Az,” she panted, as her mate stood still, filling her completely, but torturing her by staying so utterly still. “Please, move,” she tried to lift herself, to bounce on his cock, but his firm hands.

“Little dove,” he spoke, his words strained, “I just need a moment–”

His lips pressed to her hair, then her cheek, her jaw, then, finally, so, so slowly he pulled out, slowly pushing all the way back in.

The moans that came from them would have sent a priest into the ground. Their breaths danced together, their eyes locking briefly before they’re lips connected and he began moving again.

“Oh, gods,” she mewled as he hit that spot so deep inside of her, his hips flush with hers as one of his hands found the cheek of her ass, hitting once, twice. The soft burn only brought her closer to the high already building inside of her, her arms wrapping around his neck, giving him easier access to her hips as he continued his torturous thrusts.

Noises were spilling out of her like symphonies to his ears, new melodies being born into the world. She couldn’t stop herself from reaching behind him, stroking the tips of her fingers around the curved edge near the top.

Whatever control Azriel had snapped. 

His hands gripped her hips, his body flush against hers, the wall and his hands the only two things keeping her upright. He thrust into her over and over, euphoria shattering her vision as stars burst behind her lids. She could feel him pulsating, their slick centers making a deliciously crude sound as they came together over again. 

When the tips of his fingers met that desperate, aching pearl, stroking and kneading in a way he knew she’d love, she imploded. 

Her orgasm ricocheted through her body in waves. All thoughts emptying from her mind as pleasure consumed her. As her mate continued to ruthlessly pound into her, harsh breaths spilling from between his lips. 

“That’s it, my little dove, milk my cock.” He soothed, his fingers finally relenting their ministrations against her. There was nothing but pure male pride laced in his voice, possessiveness oozing from every orifice. 

Her hips circle his on instinct, ready for another round, it didn’t matter that she’d already come twice, she needed more. Besides, her mate typically didn’t let her go without giving her at least three to his one. He took great care of her, always making sure she was completely satisfied. 

“I want you to cum in my mouth,” she pleads, stopping her tortuous movements. He let out a choppy sob at the sudden loss of feeling.

“Holy fuck, Y/n,” he growled, slipping out of her and guiding his mate down to her knees without a second thought. His hand staying put in her hair, helping to guide her exactly where he wanted her. Sitting back on her heels, looking up at him with big innocent eyes. This beautiful specimen of a man standing over her, stroking his cock like his life depends on it. There was a wild, animalistic look in his eyes, sweat beading across his forehead. He was still covered in icing, Suddenly she was so thankful she took to baking today.

Azriel smacks the head of his cock against her mouth, once, twice, before slowly guiding himself inside her hot, tight mouth. Both moaning into each other, it took everything inside of Azriel not to rut straight to the back of her throat, “fuck, baby, I’m not gonna last long, I don’t think I can hold myself back. Mother above, you're so perfect, perfect for me. Made to suck my cock. Isn’t that right, love?”

 His cock hit the back of her throat, the stretch uncomfortable, but so delicious. “Remember, little dove, if its too much you hit my thigh three times,” She does her best to nod, but only manages to choke herself more as Azriel pulls his cock out to the tip, before slamming back in, her eyes blacking out for just a moment, a gag trapped between their bodies. “Such a good girl,” he praises, hand guiding her head.

“Touch yourself for me, baby,” she could hear the control slipping from his tone, could feel as he quickly hurtled to that edge, she had every intention of joining him there. So, she did as she was told. She slipped her fingers between her legs, feeling their mix of juices as they leaked down her thighs, and began stroking–matching her swirls of her tongue with her fingers.

Starting to speed up his motions, as he pulled his greedy cock in and out, using her mouth like his own personal paradise. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he raspy voice chorused.

His thrusts turned sloppy, his hands tightening in her hair, when his cock hit the back of her throat one last time, a gag unstoppable as he spilled down her throat.

She drank him up, every last drop, she didn’t want to miss any of him. Thick, warm liquid that tasted of salt and the darkness and entirely of him coated her throat. His taste alone had her following quickly after, her third orgasm barrelling through her as she sat on her knees in the middle of the hallway, skirt lifted to her waist, cardigan lost somewhere around her arms.

When he pulled out, breathing heavily, Y/n couldn’t help but place a chaste kiss against the head of his cock, one last peck, just an ‘until next time’. He hissed at the overstimulation, his hands guiding themselves around her elbows before he guided her to her feet. 

“That was–” he shook his head, letting it fall against hers. She smiled as he fixed his leathers, looking around to ensure none of their family had had the misfortune of bearing witness to the two of them. 

She’s about to say something when Azriel tenses. One of his shadows darting around his shoulders. 

Azriel looked her over, straightening her skirt, and closing her cardigan as he did his best to try to wipe the remaining frosting off of her face. That’s when she hears them.

Footsteps, loud, even in fae standards, coming down the perpendicular hallway. Purposeful, those steps were meant to alert the two lovebirds. 

She could already feel the blush taking over her, flooding her cheeks, her chest, her shoulders, her knees, every inch of her being.

“It’s okay, little dove,” Azriel whispered into her hair. 

She was so embarrassed– 

“Don’t be embarrassed.” He soothed. “ That was one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had. We’re mates, we’re bound to lose ourselves in the moments sometimes.” She nods quickly, pride slowly sawing away at her humiliation, “besides, Cassian and Nesta have done way worse things to each other, in far more of our shared living spaces.”

 Burying her face in his chest, his soul finding solace as his arms wrapped around her, his cheek laying against the top of her head.

He came to an abrupt halt, inhaling his mate’s scent– it was different?

What the hell?

Rhys finally rounds the corner, peeking over slightly to ensure he’s not disrupting the two of them in the middle of their…relations. Cassian, on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice or maybe he just didn’t care.

“What the hell is going–” Cassian starts, stopping short as he enters the hallway. “Good gods, what were you two doing in here? It reeks of sex and–”

“Cassian,” Azriel snarls. Stepping more fully between his brothers and his mate. Instincts flaring alive inside of him, calling to him to keep her far out of their sights. His wings rose as they stretched to their full length, keeping her out of his brothers’ line of sight.

She could only imagine how this must have looked to the males. Both of them breathless, him cradling her to his chest, face buried against him, both of them still covered in frosting, there were even some spots on the walls covered in the dark blue sugar. 

“Uh, guys–” Cassian continues, ignoring Azriel, and the very nasty snarls coming from the shadowsinger as his grip on her only tightens. His shadows now back in full as they swarm to cover her skin where she’s bare.

“Stop staring at her,” Y/n’s eyes widened, she had never heard Azriel sound so…feral.

“Az?” She spoke so lowly only he could hear.

Azriel seemed to have stopped breathing, his eyes closed so tightly that the crinkles in his eyes appeared. He nodded his head, probably talking to Rhys via his daemati abilities.

When his eyes finally opened, they were filled with nothing but sorrow, and what looked like… an apology?

“I’m so sorry, Y/n, I wasn’t thinking straight.” It was at that moment that everything clicked into place. 

The frosting.

No, no, no.

Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide as she stood stark still against her mate. He had licked the frosting. That she had made for him.

“But–but we,” she stammered, thoughts running a mile a minute. “It’s not like I offered it to you on a spoon!” She screeched as the past year started crumbling around her. All of the planning, all the hard work and long days, only for them to–

Oh gods.

Cassian cringed, making sure to stay far away, now that he knew why his brother had been pulsating, ready to burst at their appearance. The slight twitch of his wings, the only indication of his possessive rage, that took root deep inside of him.

“Whatever you did,” Rhys spoke carefully, also standing further back, she noticed. “Was enough for the bond to solidify, your scents–”

Azriel snarled so viciously when the High Lord met Y/n’s gaze, his mate quickly looking anywhere else as to avoid agitating him.

Everyone seemed to hold their breaths, waiting to see if Azriel would continue to cradle his new mate against his rough-rising chest or if he’d lunge for one or both of his brothers, as they all walked a very fine, very unpredictable line.

Then, she laughed. And laughed. And laughed. 

Azriel’s eyes tracked her every movement, her head falling back against the wall, her fingers holding tightly to his leathers, keeping him close. His ears rung with pleasure at the sound, his fear of how this would change things dissipating at the sound. Did that mean… she wasn’t angry?

Then she smiled, unwavering and bright, her hands cradling his cheeks as she stared at her mate. “We’re accidentally-officially mated,” Her face aglow with utter joy and excitement.

She’s not sure when Rhys and Cassian finally made their exit, the males slowly backing away, giving each other looks, not having expected this turn of events.

She didn’t care, though.

“We are never going to live this down,” she groaned. Already knowing that their family and friends would tease them about this for years to come. She smiled, the thought not nearly as alarming as she’d thought.

Not when she was in her mate’s arms, not when their scents were merged in the most delicious ways.

“I guess it’s not practice, after all.” She spoke softly, her lips brushing along his, “now, are you gonna stand there and stare at me all day, or are you going to bring me to our bedroom and finish what we started?”

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/her pronouns used)

Word Count: 8.4k (I'm so sorry it's long, I couldn't stop myself)

Summary: Y/n has made it through three days away from her mate, exploring more about each other when they're finally reunited.

Warning/Notes: Aghgh, thank you all for the kind responses to my first fic, this is part 2, hopefully it does the first one justice! This one is definitely more on the mature side, so read with caution. Thanks for any feedback!

Check out part 1

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

Y/n’s back arched, cool, soft lips pressing against either cheek before slowly traveling down her throat. Teeth nipping and biting just so, her body moving of its own accord as the shadowsinger looms over her. His scarred hand flat next to her head, the other softly cradling the space connecting her neck and jaw. 

His deep hazel gaze soaking her in as her hands roam his bare chest, tracing the outline of his tattoos, doing the best to memorize every inch of him. Her limbs seemed to have a mind of their own, following the dips and curves of his muscles with smooth precision.

His wings flared as she accidentally grazed too close to the base of one of them. Her hands moving to the muscles of his back, pulling him more snug against her body. A gasp sounding throughout the room as she felt his hard length press into her through his leathers. She didn’t know if the sound had come from her or him.

She held her breath as the hand that cupped her, so, so softly began its descent. Tender touches along her collarbone, dipping to her breast where her nipples tried desperately to escape from the confines of her bralette. 

She flashed her teeth at her mate as his fingers ghosted ever so slightly over them, teasing her cruelly before skipping over them entirely and traveling along her stomach leaving goosebumps in their wake.  

A small chuckle came from him, “Patience, my love.” He cooed, tone making it evident that he was enjoying making her squirm, making her lose her mind.

Two could play that game. Without missing a beat, she cupped him through his leathers, a hiss escaping the shadowsinger as she leaned up, catching his bottom lip between her teeth, nipping softly. Elation flowing through her as he allowed her to take the reins. Continuing to palm him through his pants, she slowly coaxed his mouth with hers, kissing him leisurely, her tongue caressing along his, not dominating, but chalk-full of undisguised need. 

Her eyes flutter close in ecstasy, as long as she had this, had him, she could die happy, of that she was sure.

His skin was hot, and calloused beneath her fingers, likely from years of fighting, and it dragged along hers in all the right places as they continued to consume each other, quickly running out of breath the longer they refused to separate.

With the air in their lungs becoming increasingly more scarce, Azriel’s lips briefly left hers, trailing small, open-mouthed kisses down the length of her neck, between her breasts, and down to her navel. Each kiss more frantic, as if he was losing control over his actions, a leash pulled taught, ready to snap at any moment. 

He murmured the same word, “Beautiful”, after each pass of his lips over her skin. Her heart grew in size at the sentiment. He didn’t even seem aware that he was speaking, the word sealed between the two of them. She wanted to tell him that he was beautiful, too, that no one compared– but the words wouldn’t come out, her brain seeming to restart at each new kiss along her body.

His wings cocooned them, shielding them from the outside world entirely. Biting her lip, she allowed herself to wonder what it would feel like to touch them, to caress them softly. It never took Azriel more than a few simple touches to leave her a big gooey mess– and she had heard that Illyrian wings were very sensitive. 

Gods, even just the thought of being able to make him feel half as good as he made her feel had her body arching off the bed. 

His pants weren’t even off and he somehow had her more turned-on than she had ever been in her life. She knew if he dipped one of his hands down, touching her where she wanted him so badly to, he would feel exactly what he did to her.

He smiled into the kiss, flashing his canines, her lips brushing against them. It was a wicked kind of smile, one that promised pleasure, and maybe even a tiny bit of pain. This male definitely knew what he did to her. 

Y/n wanted to devour that look, wanted to capture it and keep it in a jar by her bedside. It was hers, hers, hers, chanting in the background of her mind, bouncing around chaotically as if trying to remind her of something.

“Focus on me, pretty,” Az whispered, his thumb quickly brushing along her bottom lip. The nickname set her body ablaze, her toes curling and her lips automatically sucking his thumb in, before quickly releasing the digit with a loud ‘pop’.

His eyes promised pleasure as he kissed her lips once more, tongues tangling together in a brief, but intense meeting.

Then he was moving, his body slowly lowering towards her legs, large hands peeling them apart, allowing for a perfectly Azriel-sized space. 

She held her breath, anticipation clawing at her from deep within.

 Now hovering over her clothed sex, he placed intentional nips and kisses along her inner thighs, his teeth grazing her skin in a way that turned her into a whimpering mess. A moan escaping his lips at her taste. She hoped he’d leave marks, that she would have something, anything, to remind her of this moment.

God. 

This male was a God, and she had somehow been blessed with the fortune of being able to love him, kiss him–

“Y/n.”

The world around her blurred, Azriel’s lips leaving her body entirely. A small noise of frustration slipping from between her lips. She just needed him to keep kissing her, to finally touch her where she needed him.

“Y/n–” 

She shook her head, hands clasping desperately onto his fading figure. She just needed a moment longer, just a quick–

Azriel disappeared completely, the darkness blooming into the blinding light of day. 

Y/n blinked up at her new-found enemy. Scowl seeming permanent as the face of someone she had once called a friend flooded her eyesight.

Nesta Archeron.

How dare she wake her up during one of the best dreams she’d ever had the pleasure of living through?

Revenge would need to be had, but maybe later. Perhaps, if she could convince the oldest Archeron to leave, she may be able to fall back into a fitful sleep filled with loving touches from her mate.

Nesta chuckled as her friend continued scowling at her, knowing exactly what she had done. 

“You’re going to be late for training, pretty,” she cooed, not missing how the girl’s cheeks flamed a color so bright, Nesta wasn’t sure it could be called red. 

Y/n groaned. Hauling a pillow over her face, blocking the sun and her friend from view entirely. Just one more–

“Nope,” Nesta plucked the pillow out of her hands, and tossed it across the room, then she yanked Y/n’s blanket to the bottom of the bed. Goosebumps running along her legs and arms at the sudden loss of warmth. 

Letting out a less than lady-like noise, she bolted upright, hands instinctively covering her chest where Azriel’s shadow usually sleeps. Caressing the small tendril in a ‘good morning’ gesture. It lazily roamed up her neck and to her cheek, staying nestled there, its own version of a good morning.

The little shadow always seemed to know what she needed, the comfort she had sought only able to be alleviated by something so closely related to her mate. She had an ever-present burning sensation in her chest since he had left, the burning only growing hotter the longer he was away. The coolness of the shadow always dimmed the uncomfortable feeling, she had no doubt that was why the little guy had decided that her chest would make the best pillow.

Nesta shook her head, “You are worse than Nyx when it comes to getting out of bed in the morning, I swear,” 

Y/n couldn’t really argue with that, she definitely did give the young heir a run for his money. But, she honestly couldn’t figure out why all of the fae in this household thought the only acceptable time to train was at the ass crack of dawn. Y/n wasn’t even a full person until at least ten in the morning, and three coffees deep.

“Training is no fun without Az,” she pouted.

Her friend gave her a bland look, “Based on the scent you’re giving off, you don’t need any more fun this morning.” Crimson splashed across her cheeks, Az’s shadow doing its best to hide the coloring, but also blinding Y/n in the process.

She heard Nesta mutter something about overprotective bats before holding up a book for her to see, “Here’s that romance book Gwyn and I were telling you about the other day, thought you might want to read it to get some inspiration.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. Y/n knew the term ‘romance’ was putting it lightly, the copper-haired fae and Nesta Archeron were not known for their tame interests in literature.

But, Y/n had very little experience in the romance department, and had wanted some encouragement in the form of males written by women, so she’d asked the two fae about their favorite books, both coming to the conclusion that this was the best book to start with.

Flipping through a few pages, her eyes flashing wide at a few descriptions, what in the cauldron was an illyrian nipple twist? If this was considered tame, she couldn’t wait to upgrade to the books that turned Nesta into a blushing mess. 

“Thank you,” she spoke, Azriel’s shadow trailing along the page she had flipped to. She wondered if his shadow would relay her reading materials to their master, she silently hoped they would. She knew she wanted Azriel, well, everyone pretty much knew that, she wasn’t exactly subtle, but it was one of those topics that she had always felt weird bringing up.

She knew Azriel would be understanding and perfect, he would say all the right things, do everything in his power to make her comfortable, but she wanted to be enough for him without him having to guide her through it. She wanted to be the girl she was in her dreams, daring and alluring. She wanted to be everything that Azriel deserved.

Y/n gasped, the book slipping from her fingertips as she felt a pull deep from within her chest, hand flying to the warming spot, a smile lighting her face. She hadn’t dared to pull on the bond, worried about distracting him while he was on a mission, no matter how safe Rhys had told her it was. But, feeling him tug on it, she realized, in that moment, she never wanted him to stop.

Nope.

She could not go down that road, at least not yet. They knew each other well enough, she supposed. But, accepting a mating bond meant so many different things. It meant allowing another person the key to her very being, a twenty-four/seven whole-center access card to her soul. She had no doubts that she would get there with Azriel, in fact, she was quite sure she would be there soon, but– Azriel had said he’d wait, wait for her to be ready, and she didn’t want to risk messing this up. She wanted to give their relationship the proper time to bloom and flower into the beautiful gift from the Mother that it was.

 So, she tucked the piece of information away into the safest corner of her mind, making sure to harvest and nurture it tenderly, keeping it in the same condition she had found it.

Nesta rolled her eyes as Y/n lost herself to her thoughts, muttering under her breath about the oddity that she was– a girl who was so clearly smitten with her mate it put Feyre and Rhys to shame. 

Snapping her fingers, a common need when addressing her, Nesta reminded her to hurry and get to training, mentioning something about Cassian not going easy on her just because she was distracted.

Despite wanting nothing other than falling back into her glorious dreams and realizations, she padded her way to her armoire, pulling training leathers and a strap of fabric for her hair out. 

She had made it three days without her mate, surely she could make it through two hours of training.

Afterall, Azriel was coming home today, and she needed something to pass the time until she was in his arms once more.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧

Y/n had missed Azriel desperately the past three days. 

Somehow she had convinced herself that it would be okay, that it’d be hard, but ultimately achievable. She had thought that because they hadn’t accepted the bond fully, that maybe his absence wouldn’t affect her as much. 

Oh, boy, had she been so agonizingly wrong.

As soon as he left her that day in the House of Wind, a faux floor had emptied her heart straight into a chasm unaccessible to her. She physically felt like she was missing something, like a part of her had cut itself loose and vanished without a trace.

When she had poked Rhys for more information about mating bonds, he had enlightened her that it wouldn’t make a difference if they had accepted the bond yet or not. Apparently spending more time together, opening up more and accepting each other, had slowly begun stretching and kneading their bond into the shape it was meant to be. According to Rhys, the mating bond was more than just the acceptance, but also the work and love that each person gave to it, their commitment the foundation. She wondered if that was why some bonds didn’t work out, if somehow a fae could ignore the intoxicating pull that always brought her to Azriel, her worry about his happiness and safety two of her closest friends.

She hadn’t had a chance to ask anymore questions, though. Cassian had come barreling in, effectively ending the conversation when he told Rhys he was needed for a ‘little accident’, that definitely wasn’t his fault, but also required ‘immediate assistance’ from the High Lord.

Suppressing a smile, Y/n watched the two males closely. It warmed her heart to see them interact in such a warm way, knowing that they were that way with Azriel, too. She didn’t know much about Azriel’s past, he had told her bits and pieces, but she hadn’t wanted to pry, so she takes what little information he allows her the honor of knowing. 

But, seeing him have Rhys and Cassian as brothers, it made her so happy for him. He deserved every ounce of happiness this world could offer, and she was glad to see he had found a small piece of the world that was just his, she couldn’t help but blush, wondering if she was now a part of that small corner. She certainly hoped so, and would be praying to the Mother tonight to get in her good graces, she’d rather be safe than sorry when it came to her and the shadowsinger’s fate. 

After speaking with Rhys, and dutifully ignoring the lingering smell of smoke and what smelt an awful lot like burnt bread, Y/n found herself in the library, looming over a text about herbal remedies and medicinal means of healing basic infections. She thought keeping her mind busy would help pass the hours before her mate finally arrived home. 

She hadn’t wanted to let the loss take over her life, so she had tried to maintain being a helpful member of the Inner Circle the past few days. Between going to meetings with Rhys and Feyre, the latter insisting on going to an art show in the Rainbow afterwards, staying out late with Mor, reading during the day with Nesta, and doing a few wine tastings with Amren she had hardly had a moment to think about that feeling fighting so desperately to take over her. 

Not to mention the torture sessions that Cassian referred to as ‘training’, that she attended daily. She shivered at the memory, the commander had definitely not gone easy on her as his mate mentioned.

Even at night the Mother had seemed to bless her. Sure, some may think it torturous to have hot dreams about their mate and not be able to act on them, but to her they were as close to reality as they’d come.

She was a glutton, the only way to satiate her?

Hot dreams about Azriel.

Y/n was grateful, truly, not a single member of her family had let her drown, she just wished Azriel hadn’t had to suffer alone. She would make sure she made it up to him, for as long as he’d let her.

It wasn’t until close to evening, Y/n eyes feeling as if they would start bleeding any moment, that she began feeling the ever-present burning sensation in her chest begin to lull, as if the tension was beginning to lessen. That must mean–

He’ll be home soon, Rhys’s voice swam through her mind.

Y/n startled at the intrusion, still not entirely used to the High Lords abilities. He had been helping her with her mental shields the past few days, whenever either of them had a free moment, and she had managed to keep them solid, but her shields against his daemati abilities never really stood a chance.

Nevertheless, butterflies erupted within her belly, her nerves hitting their peak. She quickly closed the book she had been numbingly reading the past few hours, making sure to note the page and paragraph so she could return to it later, before heading to the bookshelf where it lived, returning it just as she had found it. Clotho– or gods forbid, Gwyn– were two people she did not want to be on the wrong side of.

 Taking a deep breath, her hands placed haphazardly on two of the shelves in front of her, she tried to calm her scrambling thoughts. What would she say? Did she hug him? Would she have to let go? Did he want to spend the rest of the night with her, the way she wanted to spend it with him? Did his family have first dibs? Would she have to stand aside and find the patience to allow all of his family to greet him and hug her before she did?

“You are my family.” A cool voice whispered in her ear from behind. “My most important family member, one could argue.” His lips grazing her ear, his voice a melody she hadn’t been able to replicate in her head.

Y/n froze, her eyes closing on instinct. 

She hadn’t even heard him enter, had been so caught up in her worry that she hadn’t felt that last bit of tension completely deflate within her chest, replaced with a glowing warmth and a feeling of such fullness– she could feel the tear that leaks down her cheek. 

She felt whole again. The missing piece clicking into place with no more than a soft, loving tug from his end. 

His hands ghosted up the sides of her arms, the heat radiating off of him all too consuming. Has he always smelt so good? Surely a male who had been traveling for hours straight, after a three day long mission, would smell… not amazing? His night-chilled air and cedar scent enveloped her, but there was something else, something sweet and intoxicating, something that made her want to devour his very being. Something that made her want to be devoured.

His hands still traveled along her body, touching her, just barely, everywhere he could from where he stood behind her, as if to reassure himself that she was here, that she was okay. She couldn’t stop her head from falling back against his chest as his euphoric touch reached the base of her neck and into her hair. Her fingers reached up behind her to trail along his cheek, feeling the slight stubble that had grown.

She watched as the shadow that had kept her company the past few days reunited with all of the other shadows. The little guy slithering from her wrist to Azriel’s, at least a dozen others wrapping around her body with their phantom touches almost as intoxicating as the shadowsinger’s slow menstrations of her body. 

She hummed as he placed a small, affectionate kiss just behind her ear. His arms now caging her in around the bookshelf she shamelessly gripped with one hand. Her breathing uneven as she whispered, “I missed you,” the hand grounding her to this world, moving from his jaw down the length of his arm, only stopping when their fingers touched. Her hand covered his as she laced their fingers together, relishing in the pulse she could feel fluttering along her soft skin.

“I missed you, too,” His words were low, a kiss placed on her shoulder, as he leaned his head against hers.

She’s not sure how long they stay like that, her pressed against the bookshelves, his chest flush with her back, hands laced, and just existing together. It could have been one minute or ten, either way, she didn’t care. This moment was the most relaxed either of them had been in three days.

“Will you– I need to see you,” he begged, his ragged voice a symphony in her ears. How was every part of this man sexy?

Slowly, she turned around their eyes meeting for the first time in three days, and Y/n didn’t quite know what it was about her mate’s eyes, but every anxiety that had shoved itself inside her mind the past seventy-two hours evaporated. Poof, gone with a meeting of eyes, a panty-melting gaze, beautiful golden orbs drinking in the sight of her as if she were a masterpiece he needed to memorize.

Then his eyes flicked down to her lips. A brief movement, one she would have missed had she not been ogling this man like a piece of meat. She found both of her hands cradling his cheeks, now, her thumbs aimlessly brushing along the bones, basking in his attention being fully on her. 

“How did you sleep the past few nights?” He asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes that caused the narrowing of her own.

Her suspicion didn’t stop the heat that was surely clawing its way up her throat and to her cheeks, remembering her nights–

A gasp sounding throughout the room as she felt his hard length press into her through his leathers. 

“Focus on me, pretty,”

Azriel’s nose dragged along her neck, a rumble coming from him as he inhaled her scent, her quickly growing arousal all too noticeable. She gasped as he licked a stripe up her throat, a quick, open-mouth kiss being left in its wake. Her body arched into his, feeling him in a way she’d only ever dreamed of before, and oh boy, they did not do him justice. 

“Y/n?”

“Huh?” She murmured absently, her body delighted by his touches, not missing the way his shadows wrapped themselves throughout her hair, writhing around her legs, arms, and stomach. Their cool essence off-setting the blazing fire building within her.

He chuckled, that breathtaking grin taking over his features, “your sleep, my love?”

“Oh–” Her fingers clutching his leathers, now, holding him flush against her, refusing even a breath of space, “It would have been better if you were next to me, holding me.” 

For Cauldron’s sake, the cord between her mouth and her brain had been severed somewhere in between Azriel’s teeth grazing that sweet spot on her neck, that drove her wild, and where his hands roamed the length of her back.

He seemed to startle at the admission, neither of them expecting such an honest answer.

His smile brightened to a level that put the sun to shame. The area between his brows crinkling slightly, his eyes twinkling like a small boy being given the best gift for Solstice. 

“I see,” he cooed.

“That’s all you have to say?” She gawked, he still had something brewing beneath his gaze, something that promised nothing but trouble.

His eyes softened in a way that was only meant for her, a gift that only she got to witness. The pad of his thumb traced the few freckles that sat along her nose and jaw, “If you would allow it,” he began softly, his eyes tracking the movement of her mouth once more. Her tongue flicking out absently, wetting her bottom lip. “Perhaps we could remedy that tonight.”

“Azriel,” she feigned shock, her hand flying to cover her growing smile, “Are you asking me to sleep with you?” 

It was moments like these that Y/n wished she were an artist like Feyre, watching a warm, pink color tint the Spymaster of the Night Court’s cheeks left her itching to memorize the sight, to put brush to canvas and paint the rare sight. 

He sputtered a few times, not coming up with a coherent response, before she put him out of his misery, “I would love to sleep with you, shadowsinger,” offering him a small smile, followed by a suggestive wink.

Azriel’s eyes pierced into hers, his hazel eyes so dark they appeared black with desire. His mouth only a space away, she tried to connect their lips, but her mate stepped away, keeping his hands on her to insure her steady feet.

A whine came from her lips at the loss of contact, she knew he wanted her as much as she wanted him, so why would he pull away?

Taking a shaky breath, he spoke, “I have to go debrief with Rhys real quick. I wanted to see you first. And, if–” He paused, his hands returning to his sides, running through his hair roughly, “If we start–” He couldn’t even seem to say the words without fear of losing all control. There was only a small– okay, a big– part of her that felt undiluted pride at the way her mate fell to pieces in her presence. “I can feel how much you want this, want me, and believe me– that feeling is mutual, but once we start I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop without you telling me to do so.”

She bristled at the thought, causing him to give her a look as if to say, You see the problem?

She nodded her head in understanding, afraid that if she opened her mouth she would tell him to blow Rhys’s debrief off and fuck her senseless, but that was absolutely not going to work. So, instead she clamped her mouth shut, clasping her hands behind her back and quelching that all-consuming desire deep within.

It was in that moment, free of his electrifying touch, that she realized just how tired her mate looked. He had slight bags under his eyes, his skin pale and slightly gaunt. 

Y/n cursed silently.

He must be exhausted, he had flown to the Mortal Lands and back, completed his mission, she could only imagine what that entailed physically. Not to mention the mental and emotional strain she knew he had to have been going through. She had had such unrelenting support, but her mate had had to go through it all on his own, how could she be selfish in a moment like this?

.She needed her mate, but first, she needed to make sure he was safe and comfortable. She wanted to take care of him the way he always took care of her.

“When you’re finished–could we take a bath?”

His head whipped up so quickly, she worried he may get whip-lash, his hands reaching for her before thinking better and dropping them an inch from her skin.

His eyes were wide, liquid hazel burning into hers. They seemed to ask a question he didn’t want to put into words, together?

Nodding, a small smile forming on her face.

“Of course,” his voice gruff, taking a step back. He shook his head slightly, doing his best to hide his own smile and–was that another blush? Had she made the Spymaster of the Night Court blush twice in one night, no, in five minutes? She was on a roll, taking notes mentally so she could continue to make him blush for years to come.

He took two steps towards her, seeming to hold a leash on himself as he kissed her head, his hands tense as he held them tight to his sides. She didn’t see him raise his eyes to the roof, praying to every God that existed to lend him their strength, for the Mother, Fate, and anyone else listening to give him the patience to sit through an hour of debrief with Rhys, while his kind, smart, beautiful mate waited to take a bath with him. 

Cauldron-save him now.

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Y/n tried to keep herself busy while she waited for her mate.

It only took a few minutes to collect the items she wanted accessible during their bath. Some of her lavender and lemon soap, along with a view of her favorite body washes, she had never actually bathed with another person, so she didn’t know the protocol.

Was she supposed to strip down and wait for him in the bath, or on the bed? Did he want to strip her himself? Would they strip separately while eating eachother alive with their eyes?

She groaned, falling back onto his massive bed, her friendly shadow trying to soothe her anxiety as she cursed her inexperience. She wished she’d spent today reading up on how to take care of her mate instead of about medicinal herbs that cleared fungal infections and skin irritation.

Y/n had managed to secure a few of Nesta’s favorite books to bribe the House of Wind with, the sentient House still a mystery to her. She didn’t need to understand how it worked, though, because the House was more than happy to fill and keep the bath hot, while leaving fluffy white towels and robes for the two.

She was pulling the pins from her hair, allowing it to fall down her back and running her hands through it when she heard the door click-open. The best kind of nerves swarming her belly.

Without waiting a moment longer, she left the bathroom, stopping abruptly when she entered the main bedroom. 

Azriel was already looking at her, his eyes alight with the same emotion he had left her with three days ago. She could place it now, knew what that look meant, but she still needed to hear it from him, have him say those three words to her, before she let them free in her mind, her heart. 

Seeming to understand her thoughts, he closed the distance between them in three long strides. His hands cupping her cheeks as he placed his mouth on hers, kissing her with feral passion. There was nothing sweet or gentle about the kiss, his tongue swept over her top lip once, then twice, his hand grasping her hair, tilting her lips up, a whimper escaping her, as his tongue took the opportunity to dive in. His tongue tangled with hers, the fight for dominance only lasting a few moments before he won. 

He kissed, and kissed, and kissed her. Capturing the sounds coming from her with his lips and breathing them into his soul. 

Once breathing became difficult, Azriel always seemed to know when she needed a moment, he pulled his warm lips from hers, his thumb tracing her bottom lip as his forehead fell against hers. 

“I’ve been thinking about doing that for three days straight.” He admitted, his gaze never wavering from hers. “It was incredibly distracting,”

“Let me make it up to you,” She murmured, clasping his hand and dragging him into the bathroom.

A wicked smirk flirted with his mouth, “Oh, believe me, love, I have some ideas.”

Her cheeks heated as they both stopped before the tub, facing each other, so close their toes kissed. 

Looking into his eyes, they shined with understanding and trust, he looked at her in a way that let her know she was in charge, that he would follow her lead, no matter what. 

Slowly, so achingly slow, she began to unbuckle his leathers, a slight tremble in her hands as she tried to remain calm. 

“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” she breathed, afraid that speaking the words any higher would make them even more terrifying.

“Follow your instincts, pretty, there’s nothing you can do that I won’t love, won’t cherish.” 

Y/n head whipped up, her eyes clashing with his, her fingers still deftly removing his leathers, thankful her mate had taken it upon himself to remove his own weapons. 

“What did you call me?” She asked incredulously, that wildly suspicious look coming back to his face. 

Running his nose along hers, smirk dancing along his face, he spoke with a devilish tone, “Whatever do you mean, pretty?”

“Oh my gods,” He helped her remove the shirt beneath his leathers as she finally freed him from his confines, his pants going next. “You’ve only ever called me that in–” Snapping her mouth closed, she cut off her words, crimson splashing along her cheeks.

“In your what?,” he cooed, “May I?” A nod toward your body. 

Somehow having this conversation made the moment less awkward, and more endearing as he helped remove her shirt, her pants going quickly after as his eyes took on a heavy sheen, trailing slowly over her black lace undergarments, picked out with Mor, specially for him. 

“My dreams,” she panted as Azriel met her eyes once more, a question in his eyes as he eyed her breasts hungrily. Unclasping her bra, she allowed the fabric to fall between them.

He hummed, his eyes drinking in the beautiful sight before him, her peaked nipples calling his name. “Interesting, isn’t it?” his fingers trailing down her arm, clasping their hands together as they both stared at one another in nothing but their underwear. “How vivid those dreams were…” 

Oh. Oh, Gods. 

Did that mean–

“You sent them?” She screeched, a full, uncontrolled laugh escaping from him.

In one clean motion, his shadows helped remove the last of both of their clothing, his muscled arms sweeping her up and sitting them both down in the tub before she had a chance to ogle him. 

“I couldn’t have my precious mate having nightmares while I was away could I?” The sincerity in his voice warmed her heart, he had sent them not only because he was missing her, but because he hadn’t wanted her to suffer while he was away. How had she gotten so lucky with this male?

“I don’t understand, though. I thought your side of the bond was closed, I couldn’t feel you at all.” 

Y/n took the moment to grab some of her shampoo, gesturing for Azriel to turn around, helping guide his head to her chest as he faced the opposite direction. Slowly, carefully she cupped water into her hands, wetting his hair before lathering the soap softly into his scalp. The big-bad illyrian warrior letting out a string of soft noises as she continued her ministrations. 

“It was, most of the time. During the days when I was… indisposed, it made it easier to focus. But, when I settled for the night, I – I wanted to make sure that you were doing okay, so I opened it.” He spoke softly, tracing some kind of symbol absently along her legs as they sat on either side of him.

“The first night, I missed you so much, that at first it was just my imagination, my desires,” she couldn’t see him, but could hear his voice catch ever slightly, “I told myself that I would open the bond just for a moment, just to make sure that you were okay, that you were safe. My instincts haven’t exactly been efficient lately, not when it comes to you.” He muttered the last part more to himself than her. 

She thanked one of his shadows as it pushed the conditioner closer to her, ensuring she wouldn’t have to move to access it. Washing the soap out of his hair, once, and then twice, she coated his ends in the conditioner, placing a kiss atop his head, a silent plea for him to continue.

She could listen to his voice for hours.

“I didn’t quite realize my lack of control when it comes to you until that moment. Once I opened the bond, I couldn’t bring myself to close it until the next morning. And I sat awake for hours, waiting for you to fall asleep, but no matter how long I waited, you never did.”

She remembered that first night, she had thought she felt a shift in the bond but had chalked it up to being so far away from her mate, unsure of the new feelings happening within her chest. She hadn’t been able to sleep, tossing and turning in her bed for hours, she had eventually given up and drifted her way to Az’s room, stealing one of his shirts to sleep in so she could engulf herself in his scent. It was the only thing that helped lull her into sleep.

“I wanted to make sure you were well rested, I knew Cassian was going to drag you out of bed soon, and that you’d hate every minute of it.” His eyes rolling to the top of his head, locking with hers. A sweet, intimate smile shared between the two.

“So you sent your thoughts, your–desires, down the bond to me.” She finished for him, watching the muscles in his back strain as he sat up, his membranous wings flicking bits of water off of them. 

Turning to face her, he grabbed a bottle of soap, and held his hand out, asking permission. Wanting nothing more than to be closer to him, she allowed him to take her arms and pull her closer, rubbing her skin with the lavender scented product. Slow movements that had her reeling, soft breaths leaving her in a flurry. 

“Thank you,” she spoke softly, both of them knowing she meant the dreams more than his careful washing of her, though that was just as perfect. “They were the best parts of my day, getting to touch you, see you, hear your voice,” their eyes holding each other stare magnetically, his long, scarred fingers intricately following along her skin, not leaving a single spot unexplored. “It was the only thing that dulled the ache, that stopped the overpowering uncomfortableness that settled in my bones the moment you left.”

He seemed to let out a sigh of relief, as if only her confirmation could settle the small thought in the back of his head that worried he had pushed too far, given too much of himself when she may not be ready. 

Y/n couldn’t help herself, she wanted to reassure him that she wanted him, indescribably so. Climbing into his lap, the water and suds sloshing over the rim of the tub as she adjusted on top of him, his large hands holding her hips so she could sit comfortably. Her breasts laying against his bare chest, the feeling of every glorious inch of him utterly euphoric.

“Is this your soap?” he asked, amusement evident in his words. 

Y/n felt her cheeks heat. She had hoped he wouldn’t notice, but she supposed that was stupid. He was the Spymaster of the Night Court, noticing the small things is quite literally his job. 

 Did she know that Azriel has his own soap? Of course. Did that make a difference to her? Not even a little. So what if she wanted him to smell like her, surely lavender and lemon-zest smelt good on everybody, it’s not her fault that she felt this all-consuming need to claim him in every way. Not to mention she was sure that simply being around him would take far too long to integrate her smell back onto him, she needed to give it a boost. Hence, the soaps. 

She wouldn’t apologize, merely offering him a shrug, allowing him to see all of her through their bond. 

Arms tightening around her, holding him more solidly against him, he said, “I love you, Y/n.” The air in her lungs caught somewhere in her throat, her head shaking slowly, trying her best to digest the words, to absorb them into her skin, her very being. 

“I don’t expect anything from you, I just thought you should know–”

“I love you, too.” She sighed, a weight removed from her shoulders as the words passed her lips. Her hands cradling his face as a tear slid past, his eyes closing as he loosened a breath. She tried to chase his tears with her thumbs, ultimately deciding to kiss them away, catching as many as she could in the process.

“I never– never thought I would have this, someone to love, to appreciate wholly, a mate that, somehow, against all my faults could love me back.” He whispered, his voice cracking.

Y/n shushed him, holding him to her, afraid that any space between them would pop the bubble they’d built. Her gaze collided with his, “You are perfect to me, Azriel. We still have so much to learn about each other, but gods, everything that I do know, is perfect. Not perfect in a way that makes me want to put you under glass and keep you away from sunlight, but in a way that is so unconditionally you. Your ‘faults’,” she hated the word, even as it passed her lips, “Are what make you who you are, they’re what make you distinct from everyone else, and I am so grateful to be able to call you mine.” 

Azriel swiftly lifted the two of them from the bath, holding her in his arms bridal style as he padded toward the bedroom, both of them naked and covered in suds. 

She wasn’t sure where the towels were, didn’t particularly care as Azriel deposited her onto the bed, standing straight as he drank in her entire body. His wings only made him look bigger as the moonlight cast on him through the window. 

“Az,” she panted, “Please,”

Smirking, he finally moved, his hands gripping either of her knees, “Is this okay?” he asked, arousal from both of them already mixing and coating the room. 

She nodded, words stuck on the tip of her tongue, her body jolting as he slid to his knees, careful not to let his wings touch the floor. Without warning he pulled her forward, pulling her to the edge of the bed, her toes curling as his warm breath met the inside of her thighs.

“I need your words, pretty,” if she hadn’t been so lost in her own arousal, waiting on bated breath for him to finally close the distance between them, she would have realized that they were picking up where they’d left off. He was on his knees before her, finally breaching that last line between them, love showing in both of their gazes, their actions. 

And, there would be no waking up, this was really happening. She felt herself tighten at the thought, Azriel’s gaze narrowing to the singular movement. 

“Fuck,” he barked, leaving a trail of kisses up her thigh, saliva connecting them all as he breathed her in. He sucked and nibbled on her thighs, no doubt leaving them full of hickies. 

She wanted him to mark her, she wanted to see the evidence of him all over her tomorrow morning.

“Please, Az, please touch me.” Her hand moved of its own accord, slowly massaging her breasts, needing any kind of friction as her mate took his time tasting her skin. 

Azriel didn’t need anything else, that tight tether finally seeming to break.

Thank the gods, she thought.

Azriel let out a near animalistic growl when his lips finally came to hover over her sex, his tongue wetting his lips, eyes staring at her as if she could be his last meal and he’d be able to die happy.

“You’re the perfect one, pretty, gonna make you feel so good,” Y/n moaned loudly, not caring that there were other fae living in this house, when his tongue finally met her center. He groaned, his hands gripping her hips and holding her down, keeping her from rutting against his face. 

The languid flicks of his tongue nothing short of torture as he took his time tasting, nipping, and licking at her center. His tongue splayin flat against her throbbing clit, suckling her wetness as she slowly lost her mind.

His ministrations didn’t stop, not as she tried to buck her hips, or when she grabbed onto his hair, trying to find anything to keep her from falling through the veils of the universe.

She lost all sense of herself when he inserted a finger inside her, pumping in once, twice, and then curling right around her core. Moans were falling from her mouth in troves, unable to control any noises coming out of her. 

He added a second figure, the noise of his licks and pumping mixing together in one of the most erotic sounds she had ever had the pleasure of hearing. “You taste devine, my love, might just have to eat you for breakfast every morning.”

His fingers moved in and out of her quickly, his tongue still attacking her small nub as he devoured her whole. She could feel herself lifting, the bed beneath her disappearing from her senses almost entirely, the world zoned into the man feasting on her, a high traveling so quickly to her, she knew she had no choice but to allow it to take over. 

“That’s it, beautiful, let go for me, let me taste all of you.”

Azriel moaned loudly as he tasted her wetness, her body exploding in a burst of pleasure so intense, a small scream left her lips involuntarily. She tried catching her breath as he continued his tortuous motions, coaxing her down from her high slowly, the vertigo slowly dying down as he continued to work her body smoothly.

Slowly, so utterly slowly, he removed his fingers from her, lifting his head to meet her gaze. His pupils blown wide, her slick shining on his lips and jaw, he looked like a God with his hair pulled in every direction from her death-grip. And, when Azriel lifted his fingers to his mouth, sucking all of her juices off, careful not to miss a drip, his eyes never leaving hers, she could feel her arousal spike again.

Her legs were jelly, there was no way she’d be able to move, thankfully, Azriel seemed to understand as he met her on the bed, his body leaning over hers, body covered in a glorious sheen of sweat, his tattoos glistening in all their glory. 

His lips met hers, softly, cupping her cheek. She could taste herself on him, the mix of her arousal and his mouth making her moan. “I love you,” she whispered, as his kisses trailed down her throat, sucking lightly, leaving nips and love bites behind. 

“You are everything to me,” he said back, pouring all of that love through their bond, his lips meeting hers once more. 

She gasped as she felt his length press against her leg, skin on skin making her shiver with anticipation. 

Azriel was well-endowed to say the least. Not a lick of imagination needed as she felt herself ogling him, she reached down, trying to keep her wits about her despite his loving caresses. 

She wanted to make him feel as good as he had just made her, a feeling so intense, she had no doubt the mating bond had enhanced it– the connection, the intimacy. He hissed out a breath as she wrapped her small hand around his length, her hand not even large enough to wrap entirely around his member. That didn’t stop her though, if anything it encouraged her. 

Meeting his gaze, bringing their lips together once more, she gathered some of her own slickness up, mixing it with the precum pouring from his tip, she used it as lubrication and slowly, tortuously began pumping him in her hand.

His breath hitched, his eyes closing tightly, teeth clamping down on his bottom lip. She couldn’t help but use her other hand to trace the tattoos on his chest, matching her strokes and eliciting small, undeniable whimpers from the beautiful specimen of a male. 

“You–” the catch in his low voice, the sexiest sound she’d ever had the pleasure of hearing, “are going to be the death of me.”

She tutted, stroking him harder, faster, “We can’t have that, now can we, pretty,” His eyes shot to hers, a full-body shutter coming over him as he came, his cum covering her hand and stomach in the most beautiful piece of art he’d ever seen.

She continued to coo, to slowly help him come down, as he had her, surprise rolling through her when his cock  remained semi- hard despite just experiencing one of the most euphoric orgasms he had ever had.

It was her turn to flash a wicked smile as he folded into her, his head falling into the crook of her neck, taking just a moment to catch his breath, gather his bearings. “Who would have known all it took to send the shadowsinger spiraling would be to call him pretty,” she mused, utter adoration in her tone, and maybe, just a tad bit, of teasing. 

He groaned, “Rhys and Cassian can never find out.”

She laughed, his fingers shadowing along her arms, as they caught their breath, neither of them willing to part from each other, despite the mess they’d made. 

A few silent minutes passed, before y/n made to move herself, not making it far before her mate caught hold of her arm, dragging her back towards him and tucking her into his arms, her body heating with desire as he nuzzled against her, flicking her hardened nipples. He was already hard as steel, once more.

“Where do you think you’re going, pretty? I believe I still owe you six days, my love.” Wicked delight dancing behind his eyes, a promise that she couldn’t wait to fulfill.

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/her pronouns used)

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: Azriel and his mate before he leaves on a mission and the anxiety that comes with it.

Warning/Notes: There's kind of adult content, not too much. I don't really know what I'm doing. This is my first time ever posting anything that I've written. So sorry if it's bad, just trying to put myself out there. Thank you for any feedback.

Check out part 2!

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Taking a deep breath, Y/n stood patiently behind the rest of the Inner Circle as they began their farewells to the shadowsinger. A ritual of sorts, before the spymaster of the Night Court left on what –she had been told– would be a fairly simple mission to the Mortal Lands.

Despite the supposed simplicity of the mission, the Inner Circle always made sure to say proper goodbyes to each other. Just in case, Rhys had said to her once. 

It made sense, truly, but it didn’t lessen her growing fears for the man, for her mate. Gods, she still wasn’t used to that word, she had only known about the bond for about three weeks, and this was Azriel’s first mission out of the Night Court since then. To say she was a nervous wreck would be the understatement of the century.

Sure, she had known Azriel for close to a year now and he had gone on hundreds of missions in that time, but now it felt different. It felt closer. Like now she wouldn’t be able to separate herself from the situation if things were to go awry, she was entangled in a way that took root deep within her.

Y/n had no idea how she was supposed to act, is she allowed to be worried, to feel a hollow cleaving in her chest that grows tenfold as the minutes tick by? Would he be expecting her to act a certain way, would she disappoint him?

 The two of them hadn’t accepted the bond yet, were still getting to know each other on a more intimate level. They had been friends before she knew about the bond, and not much had changed in the short period of time. She would be lying to herself if she thought his absence, of any kind, in her life wouldn’t send her into a whirlwind of unwanted emotions and grief, though.

Perhaps, that scared her the most. How much she had grown to care for the shadowsinger in a few short months, and how it had only deepened in the past few weeks. 

She could feel herself falling deeper and deeper into him, into their bond, but it didn’t matter how close the ground came to her, she couldn’t stop the inevitable impact. She didn't want to stop it.

They–she– had wanted to take things slow. He had been so kind about it, understanding that this was all still very new to her. When she had asked to move slow, her mate had merely smiled at her and assured her that he was fine with whatever pace she was most comfortable with. Her anxiety nearly extinguished with the sentiment.

Azriel had known about the bond for quite a while longer than she had. He had wanted to wait until she felt that glowing tether on her own, though. So, he had patiently waited and they had become rather close in the first few months of meeting one another. 

He had helped train her in Valkyrie training, had joined her nearly every night in the library, the two of them reading their own novels, or reports, deep into the night. Simply basking in each other’s presence. He always brought her trinkets from other courts he’d visit, or take her down to the bakeries of Velaris to try her favorite sweet treats, claiming he wanted to try them himself, though never actually doing so.

Truly, she shouldn’t have been so caught off guard with the realization of their mate bond, every interaction they had ever had only emphasized what they had been to each other, she had just been too caught up in her past to look towards the present, at what had been right in front of her.

Three weeks ago was when everything had changed. 

Y/n had been awoken in the dead of night, half-asleep and delirious from dreams of dusty texts and haunted libraries, by small, dark tendrils of shadows. Very panicked shadows. They had all but dragged her out of her bed, not even giving her a moment to collect herself, or throw a robe on over her near-non existent nightgown. 

Pulling her out of her door and down the hallway before she could register the cold wooden floor beneath her small feet or the way the hallway had been entirely consumed by writhing darkness.

His shadows had led her to a door, his door, she had recognized almost instantly, pushing and pulling at her to enter. 

Had she had even a moment to think, she would have noticed the door had already been cracked open, and that the unnatural darkness of the hallway seemed to be being fed by that very opening. She would have realized that the shadowsinger never left anything in such disarray, had never so much as forgotten to close a door behind him, let alone leave it unlocked.

But, she hadn’t had a moment, because she could hear something coming from within the room. Something that sounded so foreign to her fae ears she hadn’t even realized what it was before she barged into his room, his shadows leading her straight to– what she assumed– was his bed in the center. 

Suddenly, she thanked the shadows for being with her in that moment, she had never seen anything made of pure obsidian darkness, she never would have been able to navigate his room without their small jabs and urgent pulls.

And the noise she had heard, a noise that cast her bones, her skin, her very being into an icy oblivion, was Azriel. 

A whimper.  

A small, clipped sound that kept repeating, over and over and over–

Y/n needed that sound to stop, it set her entire being on edge, made her want to find and slaughter whatever had caused the noise to come from the Spymaster of the Night Court. One of the most feared fae in all of Prythian.

Climbing onto the bed, her hands splayed in front of her, she searched for him, for his warm and constant presence she had become so accustomed to. 

“Azriel?” She whispered, doing her best to avoid startling him, a feat she wasn’t sure possible if his shadows were any indication. Surely they had tried to help him? To wake him from whatever nightmare seemed to be causing such distress? Why had they come to get you? Surely another member of the Inner Circle, his family who had known him much longer than you, would have been a better option.

Her hand met with cold, scarred skin. His hand.

She didn’t realize in her panic the mistake she made, that she should have tried calling out to him, again.

Within a breath the world tilted on its access, the all-consuming darkness seemed to disappear, leaving her with a dark, but plain, view of the bedroom she had somehow found herself in. 

Cold steel pressed against her jugular, a warm trickle of blood cascading down her throat, a shadow chasing it as if it could make the small injury disappear all on its own. She didn’t dare move, afraid she may accidentally slit her own throat.

Dark, nearly black, eyes stared down at her, one large hand clasping both of hers above her head, teeth no more than a millimeter away from her face. 

Gods.

This. This was the terrifying spymaster of the Night Court. No wonder so many fae, old and young alike, trembled at the mere mention of his name. He had moved within a moment's notice, perfect precision, snarling at whoever dared come into his room while he slept. He must keep knives within reach, cauldron, she had been too rash in her attempts to help him.

Despite her current position, she couldn't help but find the male before her so achingly attractive. Who would have known that having an Illyrian warrior threaten death would be such a turn on? No. Not just any Illyrian warrior, Azriel.

Well, there had to be something so severely wrong with her, because she could feel herself getting wetter as the moment passed slowly, could only imagine the arousal that had permeated from her, the pout of her lips as she waited to see what would happen next, waited to see what he would do to her next.

But, within it all there hadn’t been a lick of fear. Azriel could have slit her throat if he’d wanted to, but instead he stayed pressed against her, pressing her body so thoroughly in the bed that she didn’t know where he began and she ended. His hard, very naked, chest aglow with a slight sweat, his intoxicating aroma infiltrating her senses so completely, she can't help how her eyes roll back. Her fingers twitching absently as they lay pinned above her head, feeling his rapid pulse beating against her skin. Her nipples pebbling against her dark nightgown, hitting his chest at the deep rise and fall of her labored breathing.

Then, as if the fog cleared, recognition flared behind his eyes, his hand dropped hers, the knife being so swiftly discarded she couldn’t help that small noise that escaped, the nick already healing over. 

“Y/n,” a choked, broken sounding rendition of her name falling from his lips as he pulled off of her entirely, leaving her feeling far colder than mere moments before. He didn’t go far, though, sitting back on his knees at the end of the bed.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t–”

Sitting up, her legs not coming anywhere close to the end of his massive bed, she couldn’t help the instinct to feel at her throat. His shadows had wound their way through strands of her hair and around her wrist, almost as if trying to soothe her, but, why not their master?

“It’s alright,” she spoke softly, doing her best to calm the shadows all around her. One danced along her arm, following a tattoo that represented her dedication to the Night Court and its people, a smile blistering on her face as she ran her opposite hand over it.

If she had looked away from the small shadow she would have noticed Azriel staring at her, his breaths still laborious, still being tamed. He had never seen anyone look at his shadows like she did, as if they were pets, a part of a family that would falter without them, not some terrifying representation of all the hardships he had had to endure in his long life. He wished he could commission Feyre to paint the image before him.

Y/n– his mate, sitting on his bed in nothing short of a slip, leaving very little to the imagination– speaking soft, carefree words towards his shadows, towards him. He didn’t think she knew exactly how his shadows worked, but he’d rather keel over than stop her menstrations of calming, coaxing coos.

He was trying desperately to ignore the lingering scent of her arousal in the air, trying to ignore what that could mean, what could have caused it.

“They brought me here,” she finally spoke, her eyes meeting his, at last. “They seemed… worried about you,” quickly she amended, “I was worried about you.”

“I’m sorry,” he said once more, some of his dark curls falling forwards as he cast his gaze down. “Sometimes the nightmares– they leave me unable to control them entirely, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He felt her move, her lavender and frost-chilled scent enveloping him wholly, he didn’t dare look up as she pressed her knees against his. Her small hands coming up to cup his cheeks, soothing one of her thumbs along the bone.

His breathing faltered for the second time that night. She had never touched him so bravely, as if she had every right to.

Azriel wanted to tell her that she did have the right. That she could touch him whenever and he would bask in whatever small amount of affection she’d willing give him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Her voice sounded small, as if she were just as affected by their skin touching. As if, just maybe, she could feel the warmth radiating through the bond he had tried so desperately not to force on her.

Shaking his head, he clasped the hand that still cradled him like he was something precious, something worth holding onto. His eyes finally met hers once more, his tongue darting out across his lips, wetting once, then twice.

Her eyes tracked the movement, memorized it, her own tongue darting out against her will. His eyes snapping to the movement. That’s when she felt it.

He watched her eyes widen, her breath catch suddenly, her grip on his face tightening just a fraction, holding herself to him, afraid that letting go would mean toppling off the edge of this world.

“Az–” she began.

Fingers snapped in front of her, pulling her out of her thoughts. Everyone stared directly at her, how long had she been zoning out? Seven pairs of eyes, each varying in degrees of understanding and out-right laughter, waited for you, having obviously missed whatever had just been said. And then, she looked into his golden pools of hazel, an emotion she wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge staring back at her as she took all of him in. Strapped to the nth degree with all kinds of daggers and weapons, his leathers buckled and placed deliberately on his generous figure, and his blazing siphones glimmering with dark, unforgiving power. He looked lethal.

And delicious.

His eyes darkened as the thought races past her defenses, ramming straight through her side of the bond and into his. 

Oh, cauldron-boil her. 

She still, clearly, had a lot of work to do when it came to keeping her mental shields up.

Now everyone was looking between the two of them, seemingly too afraid to move or say anything in fear that it would cause y/n and Azriel to jump each other’s bones here in front of everybody.

Cheeks heating, she squealed, “I’m sorry, what?”

Cassian, the one responsible for the finger-snapping, looked amused. His chaotic energy seeming to burn alive from within him. It had been no secret that Rhys and Cassian had known about her bond with Azriel, more than delighted that their brother had found someone he cherished. 

Because Azriel did cherish her, in more ways than she could comprehend. Everyday he showed her how much he cared for her, how much he would do to make her happy, to keep her safe.

They had gone on multiple dates since she discovered their bond, but they had yet to do anything other than talk to each other, learn each other. And, she wanted to learn about him, she wanted to know everything.

Her face warmed, a small smile lighting her face at the thought.

A crooked smirk graced the Commander’s features, a smirk that promised teasing and jokes at her expense, one that made it clear he knew exactly what she was thinking about.

Cassian opened his big mouth, likely to poke fun at her.

“We just thought you might want a moment alone with Az before he leaves,” Rhys cut in smoothly, effectively earning a glare from his red-siphoned warrior. Rhys merely gave him a look, one that seemed to say ‘We’ve been in this situation, too’. Effectively shutting whatever maniacal thought had been about to jump off Cassian’s tongue.

“Okay.” She whispered, hands clasping before her nervously. 

Then it was just the two of them. 

Standing a few feet apart, neither quite sure how to handle this situation. She wondered if he felt what she did, if he could feel her worry and her desperation for him not to go. 

It was selfish, she knew that. 

It didn’t stop it from being true.

He closed the space between them in an instant, his toes touching hers, the only part of him touching her.

“Are you–” He seemed to search for the words, “I will be back in three days, I swear to you.” He settled on. 

Y/n smiled at him, doing her best to calm his nerves. She would be here, safe and not putting her life on the line– unless one counted coming up with a plan to tie all of the General’s shoelaces together– he would be in far more danger. She needed to do this for him.

Taking a breath, she laced her fingers with his, somehow managing to step even further into him, into her mate.

She wanted him to know that she would miss him, desperately, that she would be counting down the minutes until he returned to her, that she would worry about his safety and well-being relentlessly. She allowed each feeling and thought to travel to him through that golden string tying him to her.

Rhys had said that they always say goodbyes in case of tragedy, she didn’t want him to leave without knowing how she felt.

Lifting her other arm, she looped it around his neck, dragging the foreheads against one another. A sharp twitch of his wings the only indication that she affected him as much as he affected her.

His eyes bore into hers as she spoke softly, for only him to ever hear, “Please, come back home to me safely.” A plea.

A small, sad sound came from him as he wrapped both of his arms around her middle, their chests flush against each other. “I will, I promise.” His lips gracing her forehead. Gods, she wanted him to kiss her, had been dreaming of what it would feel like to have his soft, cool lips caress her own. Or to have his scarred, beautiful hands run along her skin.

It wasn’t enough, she knew he couldn’t really promise her his safety, though hearing him do so did ease her warring anxiety slightly, but she wanted more. Needed more.

“When you return, will you spend three full days with me, just the two of us?” She pouted, “To make up for leaving me in such a distressed state,” he hummed at the teasing lilt in her tone, an uncontainable smile encompassing his face.

“How about we double it, just to be safe.” Her smiled matched his own.

“Deal.”

Before she could second guess herself, she placed a chaste kiss upon his left cheek, feeling him stiffen in surprise before melting at the sentiment. There must be something in the air, she thought, because she couldn’t help herself from kissing his right cheek, then his forehead, his nose, even his chin. Trying to calm her beating heart, to soothe the bond within her that screamed to never let him go.

As he set her back down to her feet, heart in her stomach, she knew it was time for him to leave. He must have felt the dread, too, because he didn’t step away from her. 

Cauldron, why was this so difficult? She already missed the way his warmth cradled her. How would she possibly be able to get anything done while he was away, he had already taken over her thoughts, and he hadn’t even left yet.

Before she could take that final step back, he grabbed her once more, softly, before bringing her forwards and connecting his mouth with hers.

A gasp escaped her, her hands flying to his leathers, grabbing on for dear life as she melted into him. 

He tasted like pure bliss. His mint breath and cedar scent taking complete control of all her senses.

One of his hands cradled her cheek as he kissed her, his mouth soft, but firm as he coaxed noises out of her she hadn’t even realized she could make. He kissed her like his life depended on it, like he was starving and she was all he could eat, all he could ever need. 

His other hand found its way into her hair, pulling gently to guide her mouth more securely against his own, a groan tumbling out of him. 

She burned, her body, her soul, she wasn’t sure how she ended up with her legs around his waist, or her hands in his dark curly locks, pulling and massaging, but there they were. 

Devouring each other shamelessly in the middle of the House of Wind’s foyer. 

She mewled as his tongue darted between her lips, swiping past her teeth and dominating her fully. She couldn’t get enough, her body seemed to have a mind of it’s own as she began grinding slowly on him, trying to claw her way into his body, his soul, anything to keep him from leaving her in this moment.

“Fuck,” he said breathlessly, “You’re so fucking perfect.” he nipped her bottom lip, a quick flick of his tongue against it one last time as if he couldn’t help it.

A cough came from behind them, jolting Y/n so thoroughly that she would have toppled over if not for Azriel’s iron-clad grip on her hips.

The snarl that left the shadowsinger would have sent any lesser fae running for their lives. But, Rhys, as put-together as always, merely smirked at his Spymaster.

“Sorry to interrupt,” He winked at the girl slowly dying of embarrassment in her mate’s arms, “but it’s time to head out.”

Azriel managed a small, choppy nod before setting Y/n down one last time. A quick kiss to her head, the last goodbye he could offer before he disappeared within his shadows.