#azriel masterlist

a/n: Y/N has shadows and starlight powers because why not?🤭 This tid-bit of info will make sense as you read.

Masterlist

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The late afternoon sun slanted lazily through the windows of the River House, bathing the living room in golden light. The air hummed with quiet conversation and the soft clinking of glasses, the occasional flutter of faelight drifting near the ceiling like drowsy stars. Velaris stretched peacefully outside the tall windows, but inside, the Inner Circle was gathered in their usual chaotic harmony.

Cassian was draped across one of the oversized couches like a lounging mountain, one foot on the coffee table, sipping from a glass of something amber. Nesta was curled beside him, her legs tucked under her as she read, pretending to ignore him—but everyone could see the slight curve to her lips at whatever nonsense he’d just said.

Rhys was stretched on another couch, Feyre leaning against his side as they shared a blanket, her sketchpad resting on her knees. She was absently doodling swirls of starlight and wings, her free hand curled around Rhysand’s fingers. Mor sat on the floor nearby, polishing her nails with a spell that shimmered gold and green with every flick of her hand. Elain, quiet but present, was perched in a window seat with a tray of tea, and Lucien lounged beside her, one arm slung lazily over the backrest as they chatted in low tones.

Amren reclined in a dark armchair, looking like a cat in the sun, sipping a goblet of something no one dared ask about, eyes half-lidded but sharp as ever.

Azriel sat in an armchair near the fireplace, shadows curling lazily around his shoulders like smoke. He had a book in his lap, unopened, because his attention kept flickering toward the open doorway leading to the kitchen.

That was where Y/N was.

They could hear her moving, her bare feet padding softly across the tile, cabinet doors opening and shutting, and an unmistakably muttered, “Where the fuck are the cheesy things?” drifting into the room.

Azriel’s lips quirked at that—barely—but the others noticed.

Cassian saw it first. And grinned like a predator spotting prey.

“Hey, Az,” Cassian said loudly, his voice a low drawl. “I dare you to call Y/N a good girl when she walks back in.”

The room went still for a beat.

Azriel’s shadows recoiled, like startled birds.

Feyre choked on her tea. Mor burst out laughing. Nesta looked up sharply, her brows lifting. Even Amren cracked one glowing eye open, clearly intrigued.

Elain blinked in quiet horror. Lucien looked like someone had lit a match under his chair.

Azriel didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe for a second.

“That’s low,” he muttered, but his voice betrayed the flicker of interest. Mischief.

Cassian leaned in, devilish. “Come on, brother. She melts when you say it. Like a dying star. She forgets her name. For science.”

“You’re an idiot,” Azriel replied, but he was already shifting, the barest smile tugging at his lips.

Cassian’s eyes glinted with glee. “For the record, I dare you.”

From the kitchen came the crinkling sound of a bag being triumphantly torn open. And a triumphant, “Aha!”

Y/N stepped into the doorway, holding a bag of some cheesy snack triumphantly, her hair catching the sunlight, shadows trailing behind her like a cloak, starlight dancing in her eyes.

And Azriel, cool as ever, looked up at her from his chair and said—soft and low, like a forbidden promise, the kind of voice that could make anyone forget the world—

“Good girl.”

Y/N froze.

The snack bag slipped slightly in her fingers.

The world—no, the entire house—held its breath.

Her pupils dilated. Her chest rose sharply with a breath. Knees buckled just a little. A flush crept up her cheeks, slow and deep. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

Cassian exploded into laughter. “CAUGHT!”

Nesta threw a pillow at him.

Mor squealed. “She’s literally blushing! Az, do it again—do it again!”

Feyre nearly dropped her sketchpad as she laughed. Rhysand looked vaguely scandalized. Amren smirked over the rim of her goblet.

Azriel… was already on his feet, stalking toward Y/N like a shadow come to life, all dark promise and slow steps, his smirk lazy, knowing.

Y/N stood there like someone had unplugged her brain, cheesy snack bag clutched in one limp hand, completely undone by two words.

“Stars,” she muttered, barely audible. “That’s not fair.”

He stopped just in front of her, dipped his head until their mouths almost touched, and whispered once more, like a gift and a curse—

“Good girl.”

The snack bag hit the floor.

Chaos erupted in the living room behind them.

But Y/N only had eyes for Azriel, and he for her.

Cassian, somewhere behind them, crowed: “Best. Dare. Ever.”

Y/N didn’t stand a chance.

Not with that voice in her ear. Not when his hand slid around her waist with the barest pressure, fingers splaying possessively over her hip. Not when his shadows curled around her ankles and calves like warm silk, winding upward in slow, teasing spirals. Her knees gave a telltale wobble, and she might’ve leaned into him more than she meant to.

Azriel tilted his head, studying her with that impossibly focused gaze, the one that said he saw everything—every blush, every flicker of breath, every tremble she couldn’t quite hide.

“You dropped your snack,” he murmured, his lips brushing her cheek, but there was laughter in his tone now. Teasing. Dangerous.

Y/N’s voice was a whisper, scandalized and aroused and helpless all at once. “You’re evil.”

Cassian, from the couch: “Confirmed. Absolute menace. But we love him anyway.”

Rhys groaned into Feyre’s hair. “We need to start setting rules for these gatherings. Like no weaponized mating rituals in the living room.”

Mor was wiping tears from her eyes, still giggling. “Can’t believe how fast her soul left her body. Az, what did you do to her?”

“I said two words,” Azriel said innocently, though his hands hadn’t left Y/N’s waist.

“That you said them,” Feyre pointed out, grinning. “Big difference. If Cassian said it, she’d punch him.”

“True,” Y/N muttered, finding her voice again as she blinked up at her mate, trying to gather her strength. “You’re the only one allowed to say that.”

Azriel’s smirk deepened, pure male satisfaction.

“Say it again and I swear I will melt into the floor,” she whispered, half a warning, half a dare.

He leaned closer, and it was ridiculous—how even his breath on her skin made her insides twist.

But he didn’t say it again. No, instead he brushed a kiss just beneath her ear and murmured something else, something private, only for her—

And whatever he said made her clutch his shirt and mutter something in a language none of them understood. Her accent had thickened, her cheeks were flaming, and her shadows were writhing like they didn’t know what to do with themselves.

Azriel just smiled.

Lucien raised a brow from his seat. “I think we just witnessed the mating equivalent of a death blow.”

Elain looked down into her teacup, face burning.

Cassian was howling with laughter. “She short-circuited! You broke her! Y/N, you good?”

Y/N slowly turned her head over Azriel’s shoulder and leveled Cassian with a look of pure venom—except her lips were twitching upward at the corners.

“I’m going to shove cheesy snacks into your mouth until you shut up.”

“Promising me snacks? That’s not the threat you think it is.”

Azriel sighed, then bent down and retrieved the snack bag from the floor, brushing it off before pressing it into her hands. “Here. For your trouble.”

She squinted at him. “If you say it again in that voice, I will not survive the night.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

“Azriel.”

But she was laughing now, flushed and glowing in that way she always got around him—like starlight blooming just beneath her skin. He pressed a soft kiss to her temple and led her back toward the couch, one hand still at her waist, and she let him.

The others watched them settle onto the floor near the hearth, Y/N leaning into Azriel’s side with the snack bag in her lap, still looking vaguely dazed. Azriel passed her one of the cheesy crisps like she was the queen of Prythian and this was some sacred offering.

Cassian, watching them with exaggerated horror: “We just enabled something truly terrible.”

Nesta: “Good. Now shut up.”

And as laughter filled the room once again, Y/N whispered, only loud enough for Azriel to hear, “I like being your good girl.”

Azriel didn’t say a word.

But his shadows swirled with contentment, and his smile—slow and secret—could’ve set the whole house on fire.

Cassian leaned back against the couch like a smug, overgrown cat, swirling the remains of his drink in his glass. He was watching Y/N and Azriel with that all-too-familiar gleam in his hazel eyes—the one that usually meant trouble was brewing.

Y/N was still nestled beside Azriel near the hearth, curled into his side, her legs tucked beneath her, munching on a cheesy crisp like it was the last edible thing in Prythian. Her cheeks were finally losing some of their deep blush, her breathing mostly even again.

Cassian clearly decided that peace had lasted too long.

With a slow, sly grin, he said to the room—loudly enough that everyone could hear, especially the couple in question—

“Now I’m just curious what her reaction would be if Az said, ‘on your knees.’”

Silence.

Actual, stunned silence.

Rhys choked on air.

Feyre gasped, her eyes wide as dinner plates.

Mor made a noise that was half-squeal, half-scream. “CASSIAN!”

Elain made a soft, scandalized squeak and buried her face in her hands. Lucien immediately reached for his drink, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

Nesta didn’t look up from her book, but her lips twitched as if she were biting back a laugh. “Gods, you’re such a shit-stirrer.”

Azriel didn’t even blink.

Y/N?

Y/N went completely still.

The kind of still that said every system in her body had shut down and restarted in a blaze of chaotic what the fuck.

Her hand froze halfway to her mouth, cheesy crisp inches from her lips. Her pupils dilated so fast it was like someone flipped a switch. She made a small, choked sound and looked at Azriel like he’d somehow already said it.

And Azriel… gods-damned Azriel…

The corner of his mouth lifted. Just slightly. Slowly. Like he was very aware of her reaction—and storing it for later use.

He said nothing.

But his shadows purred.

Y/N slowly turned her head toward Cassian, blinking like someone had just slapped her with a lightning bolt.

“Do you want to die?” she asked sweetly.

Cassian threw his head back and cackled. “Stars, it’s even worse than I thought! You didn’t even say it and she nearly melted into the floor!”

“Cass,” Azriel said, voice low and dangerous—not angry, but possessive, like a quiet warning growl. “Keep talking, and I’ll give her that command right here.”

Y/N made another helpless noise, turning red from her collarbones up.

Mor was dying, absolutely shrieking. “I can’t! I can’t—Az, if you say it I swear I’ll combust!”

Rhys, rubbing his temples like a father who’s lost control of his children: “Someone—anyone—please stop this. Elain looks like she might faint.”

Lucien reached over and gently moved Elain’s teacup away from her lap before something catastrophic could happen.

Meanwhile, Y/N was clutching Azriel’s shirt now, her head buried against his shoulder like she could hide from the conversation—but her body betrayed her. The way her legs shifted, the arch in her back, the way her shadows curled tight around her thighs—

Azriel bent his head close, and whispered something only she could hear. Her gasp was audible.

Cassian, watching the whole thing unfold like a delighted villain, grinned ear to ear. “Yup. That’s going in the record book.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “You have a record book?”

He waggled his brows. “I do now.”

Y/N finally peeked up from Azriel’s shoulder, her voice hoarse but steady. “I hope you know that when I recover from this, I’m kicking your ass.”

Cassian smirked. “Fair. But worth it.”

Azriel ran his hand slowly down her spine, a look of dark promise in his eyes.

And he murmured—not loud enough for anyone else to hear, but enough to make her shiver—

“Later.”

Y/N didn’t make a sound.

She just melted. Again.

And Cassian lost his mind.

“YOU GUYS! YOU’RE GONNA KILL HER! STOP!”

Azriel just smiled. And this time… even Rhys looked a little afraid.

But, of course, he was not done.

Because Azriel never let go of an advantage once he had it—and right now, Y/N was flushed, breathless, barely hanging on to the frayed remains of her composure. Cassian’s comment had been the match, but Azriel? Azriel was the flame.

The Shadowsinger reached lazily into the snack bag still resting in Y/N’s lap, pulled out one of the crisps—one of those curled, golden cheesy ones—and held it between his fingers.

Completely casual. Like he hadn’t just whispered promises into her ear. Like he wasn’t still the reason her entire nervous system was currently short-circuiting.

Then, ever so innocently, he turned to her and murmured—

“Open your mouth for me.”

The room went dead silent.

Again.

Feyre’s jaw dropped.

Mor screamed.

Cassian made a wheezing sound and nearly fell off the couch.

Lucien covered his face with his hands and muttered something like, “Oh, for the love of—”

Even Amren, lounging in a chair like some ancient, unimpressed cat, raised a single dark brow.

Y/N?

Y/N made a sound that could only be described as a high-pitched whimper.

Her spine straightened like she’d just been electrocuted, and her hands flew up as if she didn’t know whether to push him away or drag him closer. Her mouth opened—and then promptly snapped shut again, eyes wide in horror at her own reaction.

Azriel blinked at her, all innocence. “What? It’s a snack.”

Liar.

Y/N was staring at the chip like it was the One Ring and she was about to fall to her doom.

“Y-you…” she tried. “You know what you’re doing.”

Azriel tilted his head. “I’m feeding you.”

Cassian, clutching his stomach, howled. “Oh my gods, she doesn’t know whether to eat it or beg.”

Nesta muttered, “I swear if he keeps this up, she’s going to ascend to another plane.”

Mor flung a pillow at Azriel. “Stop corrupting her!”

“Too late,” Y/N whispered, eyes still locked on her mate.

She was vibrating. Her shadows were wrapped tight around her legs again, her starlight flickering faintly along her fingers like her powers couldn’t figure out how to help her.

Azriel leaned in, his voice velvet and low, and added with that damn smirk—

“Be a good girl and open up.”

Y/N made a strangled sound and obeyed before she could think. Mouth open, eyes dazed, spine arching slightly like every cell in her body had been commanded.

He placed the chip on her tongue with gentle, devastating precision.

She didn’t even taste it.

Cassian died.

Dropped off the couch entirely.

Nesta didn’t bother catching him.

Rhys buried his face in Feyre’s lap and moaned. “Make it stop, please, make it stop—”

Elain looked like she was experiencing a crisis. Lucien had gone utterly still beside her, wide-eyed. Mor was wheezing through her laughter.

Y/N, eyes fluttering closed around the cheesy crisp, finally swallowed, then slumped back against Azriel’s shoulder, absolutely done.

“I hate you,” she mumbled.

Azriel just brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, utterly unrepentant.

“No, you don’t.”

And stars help her—

He was right.

Azriel, the insufferable, beautiful bastard, glanced down at his fingers—now dusted with that unmistakable cheesy orange powder from the crisp he’d just fed her. He inspected them with a faint smirk, clearly considering his next move.

Y/N, still recovering, was half-sprawled against his side, her mind mush, her pride in shambles. Her heart was racing, her skin still flushed. One little command and she’d folded like wet parchment.

So, of course, of course he wasn’t done.

Without a word, he lifted his hand—the one with the cheesy dust—and held two fingers in front of her lips, tilting them slightly in offering.

And then, in that dark, low murmur that somehow sounded like a kiss laced with sin—

“Clean my fingers for me, sweetheart.”

Cassian let out an actual scream. Mor shrieked with laughter and nearly fell off the couch.

Feyre smacked Rhys on the arm to stop his uncontrollable snorting. Elain made a noise that may have been a gasp—or a gasped prayer. Lucien had gone completely still again, one eye twitching.

Nesta was watching now, intrigued. “I want to see if she combusts.”

Y/N stared at Azriel’s fingers like they were the gates to Hel. Her lips parted—reflex—and then she slapped a hand over her own mouth.

“Azriel!” she squeaked behind her fingers, eyes wide with shock, heat flooding her cheeks again. “You can’t just—in front of everyone—”

He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just kept his hand out, that smug little tilt to his mouth.

“I’m just asking for help,” he said, utterly innocent. “You made me touch those chips. Now I’m all messy.”

Cassian, choking on laughter: “This is torture. I didn’t know watching someone descend into horny chaos could be this entertaining.”

Mor couldn’t breathe. “She’s gonna spontaneously ascend. Like full fae goddess mode, just out of sheer flustered thirst.”

Y/N, trembling with internal conflict, very slowly lowered her hand from her mouth. Her eyes were locked on Azriel’s, pupils dilated, lips parted, and her voice came out as a whisper:

“…You’re going to pay for this.”

Azriel’s voice dropped even lower. “Gladly.”

And gods help her—

She leaned forward.

Just the barest brush of her tongue over his fingertips, her eyes fluttering shut like she hated herself for it—and also maybe wanted to crawl into his lap and never leave again.

The moment her tongue touched his skin, his shadows shuddered.

Azriel inhaled through his nose like he’d just been handed every fantasy he’d never dared admit aloud.

Cassian actually collapsed, face-down on the floor, sob-laughing.

Rhys sat up and pointed a warning finger. “No one is allowed to say another word for the rest of the evening.”

Mor was crying. “It’s too late! They’ve corrupted this space forever!”

Y/N leaned back again, cheeks aflame, and buried her face in Azriel’s shoulder with a muffled groan.

“You’re evil,” she muttered.

Azriel wrapped an arm around her and kissed the top of her head, his voice velvet and pure satisfaction.

“You love it.”

Cassian was still on the floor, pounding the hardwood with his fist like this was the greatest entertainment Velaris had ever known. “I take it back—this is better than sparring. Someone bring popcorn. No—cheesy crisps. Give me the cheesy crisps. I want to see what happens if I hold out my fingers.”

Azriel didn’t even look at him. “Try it and lose them.”

Y/N was vibrating in place, her face buried in Azriel’s neck, clearly trying to become one with his shadows to escape the utter humiliation and arousal that had consumed her.

Feyre had thrown a pillow at Rhys. “You’re the High Lord, do something!”

Rhys looked entirely too amused for someone supposedly in control. “This is divine punishment. For all of us.”

Lucien muttered, “I feel like I’m intruding on some very private mating ritual.”

Elain was pink, sipping her tea with trembling hands, her eyes so wide they looked like they’d never close again.

Amren hadn’t moved. “Honestly, I want to see how far this goes. My money’s on Y/N throwing Azriel through the wall before the hour’s done.”

Nesta, still cool and unreadable, just said, “I’ll help patch the wall when it happens.”

Azriel turned to Y/N, still cradling her like she was precious—and absolutely wrecked.

He tilted her chin up just enough to see her eyes, voice low and wicked.

“Still hungry, love?”

Y/N blinked up at him, her voice a whisper. “You are cruel.”

Cassian, from the floor: “He is! Isn’t it amazing? It’s like watching a temple girl be corrupted by the darkest male in existence—”

He paused. “Wait. That’s kinda what’s happening.”

Mor was crying again. “Y/N’s going to explode, and I’m not missing it.”

Y/N—desperate for payback—finally pushed herself upright. Her shadows flickered, starlight trailing her fingertips as she glared at Cassian.

“Oh, you think you’re safe?” she said, voice still breathy but gaining strength. “You want chaos? Fine.”

She pointed a single glowing finger at him. “If you don’t shut your mouth, I will say something to Nesta that will leave you begging.”

Cassian’s smugness vanished instantly.

His head snapped toward Nesta. “She’s bluffing.”

Nesta looked up slowly, like a lioness stirring in the sun. “She’s not.”

Cassian’s eyes went wide. “Y/N. Y/N. We’re friends. Friends.”

Y/N, voice sweet and laced with vengeance: “Then be quiet, General.”

Everyone howled.

Cassian threw a pillow at her. She caught it mid-air, shadows snatching it and gently setting it down beside her.

Azriel was beaming. Actually smiling, proud and delighted.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured in her ear.

Y/N melted. Again. “Gods-dammit—Azriel—!”

“Language,” he whispered, far too amused.

Feyre buried her face in her hands. “We’re never having a normal night again.”

Rhys sighed dramatically. “There’s no such thing as ‘normal’ when your brother’s sex voice ruins the entire living room.”

Azriel looked entirely unbothered. “Not my fault she’s obedient.”

Y/N shrieked.

Lucien spit out his wine.

Cassian groaned. “I will never get that image out of my mind.”

Amren sipped her bloodwine and muttered, “Good. Maybe next time you’ll think before daring the Shadowsinger to speak.”

Y/N launched a pillow at Azriel’s face.

He caught it one-handed, grinning. “You missed.”

Her voice came out in a growl, low and breathy.

“I never miss.”

Everyone froze.

Cassian: “Oh, she’s fighting back now.”

Nesta closed her book. “Let her.”

Azriel leaned in again, a challenge in his eyes, his voice practically dripping shadow and seduction.

“Then prove it, little star.”

And just like that—

That was it.

Y/N snapped.

With a strangled sound—something between a shriek and a gasp of pure exasperated sexual frustration—she launched herself fully into Azriel’s lap.

Azriel barely had time to blink before—

WHUMP.

A pillow hit him square in the face.

Then again.

WHUMP. WHUMP. WHUMP.

“Y/N—” he choked, trying to grab her wrists. “Y/N—”

She straddled him, knees on either side of his thighs, hair wild and falling into her face, eyes blazing, and just kept hitting him with the pillow.

“You. Smug. Bastard. That. Voice. Is. A. Warcrime!”

WHUMP. WHUMP. WHUMP.

Azriel’s shadows scattered in shock, clearly not sure whether to defend him or help Y/N.

Cassian was on his back on the floor, kicking his legs in hysterical laughter. “She snapped, I told you! She SNAPPED!”

Nesta smirked, folding her arms. “I like her more every day.”

Feyre was howling now, clinging to Rhys who looked like he’d aged ten years in the last five minutes. “I don’t even know who I’m rooting for anymore!”

Lucien murmured to Elain, “Should we look away?”

Elain: “I want to…but I can’t.”

Mor had completely lost it, tears running down her cheeks. “This is the best night of my life. I’m going to commission Feyre to paint this.”

Azriel had given up trying to stop her. He just sat there, letting her rain down justice, biting back laughter—though his shadows were trembling, and his smile was only growing wider the more she attacked.

“Mercy,” he said finally, shielding his face with one hand, catching the pillow with the other. “I surrender.”

“You do not!” Y/N shouted, WHACKING him again. “You think you can just ruin my brain in front of everyone and get away with it?!”

“Technically, you climbed into my lap,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

WHACK.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

WHACK.

“You’re not allowed to be hot and smug at the same time!”

Azriel caught the pillow again and suddenly flipped them, faster than anyone could react. Y/N gasped as her back hit the cushions beneath him, the pillow pinned between them, his body covering hers. Shadows coiled around them like a barrier, separating them from the howling laughter around the room.

He leaned close, nose brushing hers.

His voice, damn him, dropped again—

“You like me best like this.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Her fingers fisted in the front of his shirt.

Cassian yelled from the floor, “STOP! I’M TOO YOUNG TO BE EXPOSED TO THIS MUCH TENSION!”

Amren stood and dusted off her pants. “Alright. That’s enough. If they start dry-humping on this couch, I’m burning the place down.”

Azriel looked at her without moving. “We’d at least move to the guest room.”

WHACK. The pillow hit him one more time.

Y/N, face flushed and breathless, just stared up at him and muttered:

“…You’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Azriel’s grin was all teeth and shadows.

“We both know that’s a lie.”

And every single person in that living room just lost it.

Y/N made a noise—a sound that wasn’t even a word, more like the wail of someone at the very edge of sanity and desire. A feral, strangled growl of pure exasperated chaos.

Then—

Her hands flew up.

And she wrapped them around Azriel’s throat.

Not tight—just enough to shake him.

Azriel let it happen.

His head bobbed slightly as she rattled him like a goblet of wine she was about to shatter. “I hate you!” she half-snarled, half-whimpered, glaring into his stupidly beautiful, smug, night-kissed face.

Azriel didn’t fight back. Just sat there on top of her with that infuriating little smirk tugging at his lips, shadows dancing gleefully behind him like they lived for this exact brand of foreplay.

“You are insufferable,” she hissed, still shaking him, face flushed, heart pounding.

Azriel blinked at her, calm as ever, and asked in the softest, silkiest voice:

“Harder?”

Cassian screamed. “I’M GOING TO ASCEND. AZRIEL’S KINKY. I CALLED IT. I KNEW IT.”

Feyre launched a pillow at him. Rhys tackled him with another.

Lucien actually choked on air and wheezed, “Is this what mating bonds are supposed to be like? Is this…normal?!”

Mor fell off the couch this time, full-on cackling.

Elain had gone completely still, blinking very slowly like her brain was buffering.

Nesta looked like she’d just been handed her favorite wine and a front-row seat to the greatest soap opera in Prythian. “I’m learning things I can never unlearn.”

Y/N released his throat with a groan of utter despair and let her arms flop back down against the cushions.

Azriel, absolutely pleased with himself, leaned down again until his nose brushed hers, shadows still coiling like smug little bastards.

“Finished?” he asked, voice all dark silk.

Y/N stared up at him with narrowed eyes and a trembling lip.

“…No,” she said.

Then she pulled him down by the collar and bit his jaw.

Azriel groaned, low and sharp, the kind that made everyone in the room turn to stone.

Cassian’s voice, faint: “I don’t know if I’m scared or impressed or—actually, no, I’m just scared.”

Rhys looked like he wanted to bury himself in the floor. “Mother above. Take me now.”

Amren drained her glass and muttered, “I told you. We should’ve just let her kill him that day.”

Mor was wheezing, pointing at Azriel. “He’s not even pretending to be cool anymore!”

Azriel, who was now half-lost in Y/N’s hair, let out a satisfied sigh against her ear.

“Still sleeping on the couch?” he murmured.

Y/N’s voice came out breathless, dangerous.

“You’re lucky I don’t banish you to the Illyrian mountains.”

Azriel nuzzled her. “You’d miss me by sundown.”

And Y/N—poor, flustered, still-fuming Y/N—just groaned again and muttered:

“Mother help me, I would.”

The entire Inner Circle groaned in unison.

Cassian had dragged a blanket off the couch and was now dramatically wrapping himself in it, rocking back and forth on the floor like a war survivor. “They’re saying the cutest filth to each other. I can’t live like this. I can’t go on. I need therapy. I need a temple. I need to bathe in salt.”

Nesta kicked him lightly. “You’re the one who started this.”

“I didn’t know it would become a religious experience!” he shot back, clutching the blanket tighter. “He whispered ‘harder’ while being choked—I can never look him in the eyes again.”

Feyre had officially surrendered, head in Rhys’s lap as she weakly muttered, “This is our house. Our house. We have a child. A toddler. We had dinner here an hour ago.”

Rhys was staring blankly at the ceiling. “We should burn the furniture.”

Azriel had not moved.

Still straddling Y/N, his chest rising and falling a bit faster now, jaw still tingling from where she’d bitten him. His shadows rolled lazily over her hips, slipping under the hem of her shirt like they knew no shame, brushing her skin like they were claiming her all over again.

Y/N glared up at him, cheeks burning, breath coming fast.

“I will get revenge for this,” she hissed. “This humiliation. This entire performance.”

Azriel only smiled, infuriatingly calm. “Then I look forward to it.”

WHUMP.

She hit him in the chest with the pillow again.

WHUMP.

He caught it and held it there, pinning her hands beneath his, voice low.

“Or you could surrender now. I’ll go easy on you… maybe.”

Her eyes blazed.

“You want surrender?” she whispered.

And then—in front of everyone—she arched up and bit his collarbone.

Azriel made a sound that could only be described as a choked growl, his wings flaring just a bit, shadows suddenly swirling like a storm.

Mor shrieked. “OH MY GODS.”

Cassian threw the blanket over his entire head. “I’M DEAD. BURY ME WITH HONOR.”

Lucien stood up and announced, “I’m going to go walk into the Sidra and never come back.”

Elain, softly: “I didn’t even know Fae could blush that much.”

Amren just stood, hands on her hips, and said, “Someone bring the child. Let him see what he must never become.”

Azriel looked like he was this close to losing every last shred of composure. His fingers curled around Y/N’s hips, grip possessive, eyes glowing faintly gold in the low light.

Y/N’s voice was a purr now, dangerous and smug. “Still think I’m the one surrendering?”

Azriel blinked down at her—and then, in the most unbothered voice possible, purred back:

“I’m letting you win.”

Y/N howled in rage and launched the pillow at his head again.

Mor collapsed in screaming laughter.

Cassian rolled onto his side and yelled into the floor:

“WHEN THEY GET MARRIED WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE.”

Nesta, dry as bone, replied, “Good. Maybe then we’ll have peace.”

And Feyre just reached for the wine bottle with one trembling hand.

“…I need three glasses just to forget tonight even happened.”

Azriel was laughing now—an actual full-on laugh, rare and wicked and infuriatingly attractive, his head tilted back slightly as Y/N shoved at his chest again, huffing like a dragon about to breathe literal star fire.

“You’re not letting me win,” she snapped, trying to sit up—only for him to lean down again and trap her with his body, his smirk infuriatingly close.

“Oh, but I am,” he purred, his voice brushing over her skin like velvet wrapped in shadows. “Letting you think you have the upper hand… while I enjoy the view.”

Y/N’s eyes blazed. “You are unbelievable.”

“And yet…” Azriel hummed, brushing his nose lightly along her jaw, just enough to make her entire soul glitch, “you’re still under me.”

There was a pause.

And then—Y/N’s voice went low and dangerous, her accent cutting through like a blade of silk.

“Fine.”

She grinned slowly.

“Let me show you what I do to people who underestimate me.”

Everyone in the room simultaneously—

“OH MY GODS.”

Cassian, muffled under his blanket: “SHE’S GONNA DOM HIM I KNEW IT—”

Feyre was openly drinking from the wine bottle now. “Rhys, portal me to Hewn City. I’d rather deal with Keir.”

Rhys, wide-eyed, whispered, “They’re worse than us.”

Mor was gone, rolling off the couch, clutching her ribs. “I can’t. I can’t—this is the best mating bond I’ve ever witnessed—how are they not combusting?!”

Nesta gave a sharp nod. “I give them ten minutes before they disappear upstairs.”

“Five,” Amren said flatly. “Three if he says anything else in that voice.”

Lucien had left the room. Vanished. There was no trace of him. Smart man.

Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter around Y/N’s waist, amused and pleased, while she leaned up again and whispered something in his ear—inaudible to the others, but it made his breath hitch, his hands tighten around her hips, his wings flex like he was very suddenly and urgently remembering he had a mate, and that she was his.

Cassian peeked out from under his blanket. “Did she just—did she say something or—did his soul just exit his body?”

Azriel was still for a heartbeat. Two.

Then he stood.

Effortlessly. With Y/N still in his arms.

She let out a very pleased, smug hum, arms twining around his neck, chin perched on his shoulder.

“Don’t wait up,” she said sweetly over his shoulder.

Cassian dramatically fell back onto the rug. “THEY’RE LEAVING. THEY’RE DOING THE THING. ABANDON SHIP.”

Rhys, cradling a glass of wine now, muttered, “I am the High Lord. I should be able to kick people out of my house.”

“Should being the key word,” Feyre muttered, pouring herself another glass and handing one to Nesta.

Amren raised her empty glass. “May the walls stay standing.”

“Unlikely,” Mor replied, still giggling. “But we’ll have fun guessing what breaks first.”

"Not for this mission, you won't." The High Lord immediately dismisses him, not batting an eye at the male who perhaps every other fae in Prythian was terrified of.

"She's not ready, she'll be a distraction." Azriel counters. A foreign part of you panged with disappointment at that. Did he really find you so incompetent?

Rhys argues back immediately, his anger beginning to ramp up to meet Azriel's and you quickly decide you didn't want to be anywhere near when they collided. "You told me yourself just last week she's the best spy you've ever trained."

Your eyebrows lift a fraction at what Rhys had unconsciously confessed, the barest reaction but enough for the shadow singer to pick up on. His hazel eyes flicked to your own gaze, then back to Rhysand's.

They seemed to be having a conversation, one you couldn't hear. You doubted you'd ever get used to that, the way Rhys could slip into someone's mind—even someone as guarded as Azriel. A shiver went down your spine as you thought about the power of the High Lord of Night.

"You have to be out of your mind if you think I'll ever put her in that kind of danger." Azriel seethed to his brother through the mental connection, unable to even fathom the idea of you having a target on your back.

"She may be your mate but she is also your disciple, did you seriously think she'd never go out into the field?" Rhys could sense his anger, feel it ebbing against a shield that was thinning.

"I only taught her spy work so she'd know how to protect herself—never to put her in harm's way," Azriel says, his frustration making his voice sound almost pleading.

"Then you know she can protect herself. You will be beside her every step of the way, what she wants to do is entirely her decision." Rhys remarks.

"And what if the bond snaps? It could jeopardize the mission—much more, her safety." Azriel poses, the scenario would make all hell break loose in all situations.

"Are you implying you can't keep her safe?" Rhys taunts, the words finding their mark in the Spy Masters head.

You watch their expressions closely, attempting to pick up on what they were saying but the only reaction you could spot was the way Azriel's jaw feathered as he pushed off Rhysand's desk and turned to me.

"Do you think you're ready for this?" There was a certain softness in his eyes you only got rare glimpses of, the sight making you swallow hard.

Your throat felt tight, but you straightened your shoulders and lifted your chin. "I am." Your voice didn't waver, though the intensity of his hazel eyes made it a near thing.

Rhys sighed, leaning back in his chair as he surveyed you both with a calculating air. The quiet smile tugging at his lips felt almost dangerous like he already knew the outcome of a game you hadn't even realized you were playing.

"The ball," he began, voice smooth, "is being hosted by High Fae whose loyalty to Prythian is questionable at best. Whispers suggest they're courting alliances with forces hostile to Velaris. If true, this could be the first move toward rebellion."

He slid a detailed sketch across the desk. The male's sharp features and cold, calculating eyes etched into the paper made your stomach tighten. Rhys's voice remained steady as he continued. "Kaieel is the orchestrator. We need names, allies, plans—anything we can use to dismantle his efforts before they gain traction. The masks and secrecy of the event work in our favor. You'll attend, blend in with the crowd, and leave no trace of your presence."

"And our cover?" you asked, though you weren't sure you wanted the answer.

Rhys's lips twitched. "Newlyweds."

The single word hit you like a jolt of lightning. Your heart stumbled, catching somewhere between shock and disbelief. "A couple?" you uttered, trying to keep your voice even.

"A young pair enamored with each other and blissfully distracted. The perfect cover." Rhys's eyes sparkled with mirth, though his tone was all business. "An unattached male draws suspicion. A pair in love does not."

Azriel didn't react outwardly, but his silence spoke volumes. You risked a glance at him, finding his gaze fixed somewhere distant. Was the idea truly so unbearable to him?

"The priority," Rhys continued, "is information. If your cover is compromised, you extract yourselves immediately. But until then, you'll need to act the part—dancing, whispering... perhaps even a kiss or two, if the situation calls for it."

"Rhys," Azriel growled, low and lethal.

Rhys only smirked, clearly enjoying his brother's discomfort. "Relax, Az. You might even have fun. Any questions?"

You shook your head, pulse hammering. The mission was simple in theory, but with Azriel by your side—close enough to feel his warmth, to brush against the bond neither of you had spoken of—it felt like you were stepping into something far more dangerous than a ballroom full of enemies.

"Good," Rhys said, dismissing you both with a wave. "You leave at dusk."

Azriel turned abruptly, the tension in his wings a visible reminder of the storm brewing within him. As he stalked toward the door, you followed, already bracing yourself for the days to come.

Whatever lay ahead, one thing was clear: the mission wouldn't just test your skills as a spy—it would test every fragile boundary you and Azriel had built between the two of you.

—

You smoothed your hands down the fabric of your gown, the soft, luxurious material clinging perfectly to your frame before pooling at your feet. It was a deep shade of midnight grey, almost black, designed to shimmer as if it were the color of the moon itself, glimmering silver in the right lighting. The neckline dipped just enough to be daring without crossing into scandalous, and the fitted bodice accentuated every curve. The gown was a far cry from the shadowy leathers you had grown accustomed to during training.

Your fingers brushed over the mask lying on the vanity before you. It was delicate, intricate silver filigree adorned with tiny crystals that caught the light to match my dress. The sight of it alone made your stomach twist with nerves, though you refused to let the feeling take hold. You were a spy, not some jittery debutante.

Focus.

Your gaze shifted to the mirror as you adjusted the gown again, letting out a slow breath. The transformation was undeniable; the person staring back at you looked like they belonged at this kind of event. For a moment, you barely recognized yourself, and that unfamiliarity was almost reassuring. If you didn't recognize yourself, maybe no one else would either.

The soft knock at the door startled you. You turned, calling out, "Come in."

The door creaked open, and Azriel stepped inside, closing it behind him with deliberate care.

Your breath was stolen from your lungs at the sight of the Shadow Singer.

He wore an all-black suit that looked as though it had been tailored specifically for him—and knowing the resources of the Night Court, it probably had. The sharp lines of the jacket emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, and the subtle sheen of the fabric only added to the air of elegance that clung to him. His wings were glamoured away, leaving no trace of their presence—which was upsetting, but it was his eyes that made up for it—those piercing hazel eyes, framed by long lashes that truly captured your attention. They swept over you in a single, assessing glance, and you swore you caught the faintest flicker of surprise before his features smoothed into their usual calm.

"You look..." His voice trailed off, and for once, he seemed at a loss for words.

"Like I'm about to infiltrate a ball filled with potential traitors to Velaris?" you offered lightly, trying to break the tension that had settled in the room.

"I was going to say beautiful, but that works too," he said simply, his voice low and even. The words sent a strange warmth curling through your chest, though you quickly buried it.

Azriel crossed the room, the measured grace of his movements a reminder of the lethal precision he carried with him always. He stopped just in front of you, holding out his hand. "Your mask."

You hesitated for a fraction of a second before handing it to him. His gloved fingers brushed against yours as he took it, and you were acutely aware of how close he was as he moved behind you.

The brush of his knuckles against your temple sent a shiver down your spine as he adjusted the mask, tying the soft ribbons at the back of your head with deft fingers. His scent—night-chilled mist and cedar—wrapped around you, a quiet distraction that made it hard to focus.

"There," he murmured, adjusting your hair around the ribbon before stepping back just enough for you to turn and face him. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, and you wondered if he could sense the way your pulse quickened.

"You clean up well," you said, tilting your head slightly. "Almost didn't recognize you without all the shadows."

He raised a brow, a hint of amusement flickering across his face. "You'll have to forgive me for not returning the compliment."

Your lips twitched. "And why's that?"

"Because if I did, we'd be here all night," he replied smoothly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a rare, fleeting smile.

You blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected flirtation. Azriel's humor was subtle, almost elusive, but when it surfaced, it always left you reeling.

Before you could find a response, you remembered the last detail. "Oh, wait." You turned back to the vanity, retrieving the small box you'd nearly forgotten. Inside were two rings—simple, elegant bands meant to complete your cover as a married couple.

You slipped one onto your finger, the cool metal fitting perfectly, the sapphire stone placed atop it glimmering in the sunsetting light. You hold out the other to him. "Rhys gave them to me, for authenticity," you said, keeping your tone light despite the awkwardness that had crept into the air.

Azriel's gaze dropped to the ring in your hand, his expression unreadable as he took it. For a moment, you thought he might protest, but instead, he slid it onto his finger with careful precision.

He slipped it onto his finger without breaking eye contact, the deliberate slowness of the action making your heart race. "There," he said, holding his hand up to examine the ring. "How do I look as your doting husband?"

You took a step back, pretending to assess him with a critical eye. "Hmm, you'll pass—just barely. Try smiling a little more. You're supposed to be madly in love with me, remember?"

Azriel leaned in slightly, his hazel eyes glinting with amusement. "If I smile too much, they'll think I've lost my mind."

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. "Fair enough."

He reached out then, his hand brushing yours as he straightened an imaginary crease in the sleeve of your gown. The touch was fleeting but enough to send warmth creeping up your neck. When he pulled back, the air between you was thick with unspoken tension.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice soft but steady.

You nodded, grabbing the silver clutch from the vanity and looping it over your wrist. "As I'll ever be."

Azriel extended his arm, a rare gesture that made your lips twitch in surprise. "Shall we, gorgeous?" he teased, his tone low and smooth.

You slid your hand through the crook of his arm, matching his smirk with one of your own. "Lead the way, handsome." Whatever this mission had in store, it was clear the most dangerous thing you'd face tonight wasn't Kaieel or his allies. It was Azriel—and the way he made you feel.

—

The ballroom glittered like a scene from a dream, opulent and indulgent in every detail. Chandeliers sparkled with a thousand lights overhead, their glow casting a soft radiance across the sea of masked figures swirling on the marble floor. The air buzzed with muted conversations, laughter, and the soft strains of a symphony playing in the background.

Your arm was looped through Azriel's, his warmth bleeding into you even through the layers of your gown and his tailored suit. He guided you into the crowd with an ease that belied his tension, his hazel eyes scanning every face, every shadow, every corner.

"Stay close," he murmured, the words just for you, his breath brushing against your temple. His voice, low and commanding, sent a shiver down your spine, though you quickly disguised it as a nod of agreement.

"Hard to get closer than this," you quipped softly, unable to resist. You felt him stiffen slightly under your hand, his wings—glamoured away but somehow still present in your mind—practically bristling with restrained energy.

He didn't respond, but the faintest curve of his lips betrayed him. If it weren't for the mask obscuring part of his face, you might have caught the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Instead, his focus shifted, scanning the room until it landed on your target.

Kaieel stood near the far edge of the room, his tall frame commanding attention even in this crowd of nobles. His mask, dark and menacing, covered much of his face, but his icy blue eyes gleamed through the filigree, sharp and calculating. A small circle of sycophants surrounded him, laughing too loudly at his every word. He raised a crystal flute to his lips, sipping lazily as though the fate of Prythian wasn't potentially hanging on his next move.

"Eyes on Kaieel," Azriel murmured, tilting his head just enough for his words to reach you. "But keep it subtle. The last thing we want is him noticing our interest too early."

"Subtlety is my specialty," you whispered back, earning a flick of his gaze, though he said nothing. His grip on your hand tightened as he steered you toward the dance floor.

Before you could question him, Azriel pivoted smoothly, releasing your arm only to catch your hand and pull you into a waltz. The sudden movement startled you, your other hand landing instinctively on his shoulder as he spun you into the rhythm of the music.

"A dance?" you asked, arching a brow as you tried to ignore the way his hand settled on your waist, firm but not overbearing.

"Blending in," he replied simply, though the set of his jaw betrayed the faintest hint of awkwardness. "Everyone else is dancing. And from here, we have a better view of Kaieel."

You followed his lead, your feet moving in time with his despite the distraction of his proximity. The bond hummed faintly at the back of your mind, an awareness you fought to suppress as you focused on the task at hand. His scent—cedar and chilled mist—wrapped around you, grounding and maddening all at once.

"So," you ventured, your voice low, "do we just stare at him all night, or do we actually have a plan?"

Azriel's lips twitched, a ghost of a smile. "Patience. Kaieel will make his move eventually. Until then, we observe."

"Observation is all well and good," you said, your tone light despite the weight of the moment, "but what if he decides to slip away before we get what we need?"

"He won't," Azriel replied, his confidence a quiet anchor in the storm of your nerves. "He's too arrogant to think anyone here is a threat to him."

You were about to respond when Kaieel's laugh cut through the music, sharp and derisive. Your gaze flicked toward him in time to see him gesture grandly to his circle, drawing their attention—and yours. The words he spoke were lost in the distance, but the smug tilt of his head and the pointed glance he cast toward a cloaked figure in the corner sent a chill down your spine.

"Did you see that?" you murmured, tilting your head subtly toward Kaieel.

Azriel's grip on your waist tightened imperceptibly. "I saw. He's signaling someone."

Your next step faltered, and Azriel steadied you instantly, his hand at your back pressing you closer. "Careful," he murmured, his voice low enough to send a shiver through you. "If you trip, they'll notice."

"Noted," you said, your cheeks warming despite yourself. You tilted your head again, pretending to focus on him as you spoke. "The cloaked figure in the corner. Could be a contact."

"Could be," Azriel agreed, his hazel eyes flicking toward the figure in question. "But we won't know for sure until we get closer."

"And how do you propose we do that without drawing attention?" you asked, trying to ignore the way his hand seemed to linger on your back, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your gown in a way that felt almost deliberate.

Azriel's lips curved into a smirk, subtle but unmistakable. "Leave that to me."

Before you could question him further, the song ended, and he stepped back, bowing slightly as he offered you his arm again. You accepted it, allowing him to guide you off the dance floor and toward the far side of the room. Kaieel's attention was still focused on his circle, oblivious to your approach.

Azriel leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "We'll circle the room, make small talk, and get close enough to overhear. Follow my lead."

"Always," you replied softly, the word slipping out before you could stop it. Azriel's gaze snapped to yours, something unreadable flickering in his eyes, but he said nothing as he led you deeper into the crowd.

The mission demanded your focus, but with Azriel at your side, his presence steady and unyielding, you couldn't help but wonder if the real danger tonight wasn't the secrets hidden in this ballroom—but the ones you carried in your heart.

You move through the ballroom like smoke, seamlessly blending with the opulent crowd. Strangers smile at you—glittering masks of civility over a sea of intentions. They don't need to know who you are; your presence, the confident tilt of your chin, and the luxury of your attire tell them enough. Wealth recognizes power, even in passing.

When you wave at a woman standing beside Kaieel, she returns the gesture, though her eyes narrow ever so slightly, a flicker of confusion betraying her effort to place you. Still, she beckons you closer with the smooth grace of someone accustomed to command.

"Lady Reven," Azriel murmurs in your ear, his voice as soft and deliberate as the shadows that cling to him. "Ex-wife of Kaieel. The hostess of tonight's spectacle."

"She invited her ex-husband?" you ask under your breath, your smile unwavering despite the furrow of your brows.

"He's funding it," Azriel replies, his golden eyes scanning the room. "This way, he and his associates can conspire without his name attached. If the plot unravels—"

"She takes the fall," you finish, your mind catching up to the threads he's weaving.

"Precisely," he says with a wry twist of his lips. Then, with a pointed glance at Lady Reven, he adds, "And she, my love, is your key to him."

Your heart stumbles at his phrasing. Your key? You open your mouth to protest, but he silences you with a slight tilt of his head. "I won't be far," he assures you, his voice a soft promise. And then, as if sensing your doubt, the cool, silken pressure of shadows winds beneath your dress, curling around your thigh like an unspoken vow. The sensation is enough to make your knees threaten to buckle.

"What do I even say to her?" you whisper, frowning.

Azriel chuckles, low and teasing. "Have you forgotten all your training already?" The confidence in his tone steadies you. "You'll do just fine. I'll fetch us drinks and join you shortly," he adds, leaning down to press a brief, warm kiss to your temple before vanishing into the crowd like mist.

You force a breath into your lungs and set your shoulders, willing confidence into your stride as you cross the ballroom. The shadows move with you, unseen but ever-present, their cool touch synchronizing with the rhythm of your steps.

As you approach a table laden with crystalline champagne flutes and decadent sweets, your ears tune in to the sharp edges of Lady Reven's voice, drifting from where she speaks to a maid.

"And make sure he leaves alone tonight," she hisses. "He's humiliated me enough in public without dragging some—other female into it."

The maid nods, scurrying off, and you let your gaze fall to the intricately carved edge of the table. The urge to fidget nearly overcomes you before Lady Reven's voice pulls you from the habit.

"I wouldn't bother with the chocolates," she says coolly, stepping closer.

You glance at her, feigning an easy smile. "Good to know." You nod. "I've never been one for sweets anyway, Lady Reven."

Her ruby-red lips curl upward in a knowing smirk. "Have we met?" she asks, her sharp eyes studying you with thinly veiled suspicion.

"Only on paper," you reply smoothly. "My husband works for Kaieel."

Recognition softens her features. "Ah, a friend of Kaieel is a friend of mine," she purrs. "Call me Valenia."

"Of course. Valenia," you echo with a nod, subtly testing the name.

"And where is your husband tonight?" she asks, gesturing vaguely to the glittering crowd.

You tilt your head with a small laugh. "Fetching me something stronger than this champagne," you quip, gesturing towards the burbling fountain of sparkling wine in the center. The honesty surprises her into a laugh of her own.

"Well, I'll have to apologize for the watered-down drinks," she says lightly, her tone dripping with feigned humility.

"No need. This is a stunning event," you counter, gesturing to the ballroom.

A flicker of satisfaction crosses her face. "I think we're alike, you and I," she muses, before looping her arm through yours. "Come. I'll introduce you to Kaieel."

Your pulse quickens as she steers you across the room. You catch Azriel's golden gaze from where he's threading through the crowd, his expression unreadable but his presence grounding.

"I really should wait for my husband," you try, a nervous laugh slipping out. "We've been recently married, couldn't keep him away if I tried." You attempt to excuse.

"Then it'll be easy for him to find us, hm?" Valenia dismisses with a wink, tugging you forward until you're standing before Kaieel himself.

Kaieel was sprawled on a chaise lounge, maids bringing him drinks, butlers feeding him by hand like he was some kind of king. Even Rhys wasn't this ostentatious. His turquoise eyes fell on you as Lady Raven guided you towards him, dragging his gaze across every inch of your figure. You did your best to ignore it, giving him a bashful smile.

"What have I done to deserve the company of two such radiant creatures?" Kaieel drawls, his grin wide and smug as he leans back in his seat.

"Kai," Valenia greets, her tone deceptively warm, intimacy still flowing between them. "This is—oh, dear, I fear I never got your name."

Before you can answer, an arm slides around your shoulders, pulling you into the familiar scent of cedar and night mist, the warmth of his hold makes your tense shoulders relax.

"Mrs. Lawmore," Azriel announces smoothly, answering for you as he gives Kaieel a grin, his smile disarming as he shields you beneath his presence.

"Lawmore?" Kaieel's eyes narrow with interest. "Lysan Lawmore, is that you under that mask?"

Azriel bows his head slightly, keeping his eyes down in fear of being caught. "It's been some time, apology for my absence but my beautiful wife here needed to be spoiled after our wedding night." You didn't want to know what happened to the real Lysan, neither did you want to know what Azriel did to him to get this information out of him.

"And how exactly did you win over such a lovely companion?" Kaieel continues, taking your hand with practiced charm, his lips brushing lightly over the sapphire on your ring finger.

You smile, tilting your head bashfully. "I believe I was the one winning him over," you say, cutting in before Azriel can.

Azriel's fingers trail from your shoulder down your arm, taking your hand from Kaieel's grasp and threading his fingers with yours. His touch is possessive but gentle, a silent claim.

"How sweet," Kaieel remarks, raising his glass in mock toast. "Remember when we were like that, darling?"

Valenia's eyes flash, her smirk tightening as she looks away. "They're newlyweds, Kai. Still in the honeymoon phase."

"Newlyweds, you say? Well, then," Kaieel says with a devilish grin. "We must celebrate. Let's toast!" He stood, raising his glass. He didn't have to so much as say a word for the entire ballroom to halt and turn to him.

"So kind of all of you to join us on this fine evening, not only are we celebrating this beautiful gathering the lovely Valenia put together," He pauses for a moment to gesture towards the woman who gave a practiced smile and an elegant wave of her hand. "But we are also celebrating the recently pronounced Mr. And Mrs. Lawmore!" He raises his glass, and even if none of these people so much as knew your name, they cheered anyway. Like puppets on a string, controlled by Kaieel himself.

"Go on," Kaieel presses, leaning forward with a wicked glint in his eye. "Kiss the bride."

The demand sends a shiver down your spine. Even the shadows twining around your legs seem to still, waiting.

Azriel was already staring at you, his eyes searching yours. His lips quirk into a soft, almost shy smile, and the question in his gaze is unmistakable.

You nod, barely perceptibly.

"Come here, love," he murmurs, his voice coaxing, tender.

Your lips met, fitting together with startling, unspoken precision—like the final piece of a puzzle you never realized was incomplete until it clicked into place. The kiss lasted only a heartbeat, but in that fleeting moment, everything shifted. The air between the two of you thickened, buzzing with a quiet intensity, as if the universe itself had paused to watch.

Something deep inside you stirred, a part of yourself you'd long buried or perhaps never even known. It unfurled like a blossom in the first light of dawn, warm and aching, a golden thread spinning itself between you. It twined tighter with every second, binding not just your bodies but something deeper, something elemental.

For that brief, infinite instant, there was no ballroom, no crowd, no mission. Just the two of you—two souls suspended in the gravity of a pull you couldn't name but could feel down to your very bones.

And then, like the breathless silence before a storm, realization hit you with shattering clarity. This wasn't just a kiss. It was him. Azriel.

Your mate.

The kiss ended as gently as it began, your eyes wide and searching but he remained calm and steady, you whisper, "You've known?"

Azriel's gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes, as if he was going to kiss you again, and again, and again until the gods themselves had to rip him from you. But before he can answer, the room erupts into applause, Kaieel's voice booming with praise.

Even as the crowd cheers and music resumes, you hear nothing but the pounding of your heart, feel nothing but the truth that thrums in your blood.

Mate.

And he knew.

You don't have time to process the truth searing through your veins. Mate. The word echoes in your mind like a thunderclap, threatening to drown out everything else. But Azriel's hand tightens around yours, steady and grounding. His golden eyes flicker with something unreadable—a mix of reassurance and warning—and you understand: you can't falter. Not here. Not now.

Kaieel's voice cuts through the applause, smug and commanding. "Come now, don't let the celebration stop the night's festivities. Dance, drink, enjoy yourselves!" His hand sweeps over the crowd, his charisma intoxicating, pulling their attention away from you. For now.

"You're too kind, Kaieel," Azriel says. "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to spend some time with my wife."

Azriel tugs gently on your hand, guiding you away from the center of the ballroom. You follow, trying to shake the weight of the bond snapping into place. But even as he leads you, the golden thread between you hums with a new, undeniable awareness, the shadows brushing against you like a silent promise.

He doesn't speak until you've reached the edge of the room, tucked into the shadowy recess of a grand marble column. His lips are close to your ear, his voice low and smooth. "Are you with me?"

You nod, the words caught in your throat.

"Good," he murmurs. "We need to move fast. Valenia is the key to his plans. Now that you become acquainted we can use her."

You blink, willing yourself to focus. "How?"

"She's vulnerable," Azriel says, his tone edged with calculation. "Kaieel still holds power over her, and it's clear she despises him for it. We can exploit that. Learn who his allies are, how he's funding this rebellion. If we play her right, she'll give us everything."

You glance toward the center of the room, where Valenia stands at Kaieel's side, her posture poised but her eyes cold as she watches him bask in the attention of the crowd. Her mask of indifference is expertly crafted, but you can see the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers tighten around her champagne flute.

"She definitely hates him," you say quietly. "But will she betray him?"

Azriel's shadows curl against your skin, cold and steady. "She already has. Hosting this event on his behalf, exposing him to scrutiny. She's more desperate than she lets on." He tilts his head toward you, his voice softer now. "We just need to give her the final push."

You swallow hard, nodding. "And if she doesn't break?"

Azriel's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Then we'll find another way. We always do."

Before you can reply, a servant approaches with a silver tray bearing two glasses of dark red wine. Azriel accepts both, handing one to you with an easy smile that belies the sharpness of his focus.

"Drink," he murmurs. "And dance with me. They're watching."

"Again?" You ask, your heart stuttering, but you take the glass, letting him guide you back toward the dance floor.

"This is a ball, love." The music swells as he pulls you into his arms, his movements are fluid and natural as though you've danced together a hundred times. "You didn't think I'd be satiated with one dance, did you?"

The bond thrums again, golden and electric, and you can't ignore it any longer. "You knew, Az," you whisper, your voice barely audible over the violins.

Azriel's gaze flicks to yours, soft but unyielding. "Not here," he murmurs.

"But—"

"Later," he insists, his tone leaving no room for argument. His hand tightens slightly on your waist, grounding you. "Focus."

This is why he didn't want you coming, you realize. You force yourself to breathe, to move with him, to match the rhythm of the music. Around you, the crowd swirls, their laughter and chatter a muted backdrop. Kaieel and Valenia are watching from the edge of the room, their expressions unreadable.

"Valenia's looking for an ally," Azriel murmurs as he twirls you gracefully. "She doesn't trust him to win against Rhys. We offer her a way out, and she'll talk."

"How do we approach her without raising suspicion?"

Azriel's lips curve into a faint smirk. "Snead your way into her inner circle. Let her think it was her idea. I'll shadow you, gather what I can from Kaieel's other guests."

"And if something goes wrong?"

His hand slides up to your shoulder, his thumb brushing against your collarbone—a fleeting, deliberate touch. "It won't."

The music slows, and he pulls you closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And even if it did, I'd slaughter everyone in this room to get you out."

You shiver, both from fear and something you didn't have time to familiarize yourself with.

The song ends, and Azriel steps back, his mask of calm once again firmly in place. He presses a light kiss to your hand, his lips brushing your knuckles as his golden eyes lock onto yours.

"I'll be watching," he murmurs. Then he's gone, slipping into the crowd as if he were never there.

You take a steadying breath, turning your gaze toward Valenia. She's speaking with a pair of aristocrats now, her laughter light and airy, but her eyes remain calculating. You approach slowly, your steps measured and deliberate.

"Lady Valenia," you say with a soft smile as you reach her side. "I must thank you again for this incredible event."

She turns to you, her lips curling into a practiced smile. "Ah, Mrs. Lawmore. Enjoying yourself, I hope?"

"Very much," you reply smoothly. "Though I must admit, I'd hoped for a chance to speak with you more privately. Your reputation precedes you."

Her brows lift slightly, intrigue flickering in her eyes. "Does it now? And what exactly have you heard?"

You lean in slightly, lowering your voice just enough to draw her closer. "That you're the true power behind Kaieel's successes. A woman of vision and cunning."

She laughs softly, but there's a sharpness to it. "And what would you want with a woman like that, my dear?"

You smile, your gaze steady. "To learn from you, of course. I imagine there's much you could teach me."

Her eyes narrow slightly, studying you. Then, with a sly smile, she links her arm with yours. "Come, let's talk. Away from prying eyes."

As she leads you toward a quieter corner of the ballroom, you catch a glimpse of Azriel in the crowd. He's watching, his expression unreadable but his presence a constant reassurance.

The game has begun.

———

The ball had stretched into the long hours of the night. Most guests had already taken their leave, yet a few lingered—drunkards, their fingers greedily grasping for what remained of the free wine. You had spent the evening carefully cultivating a list of names, all while trying not to let the thought of your mate—a word that still felt foreign in your mind—distract you.

Valenia, meanwhile, had rattled on endlessly, weaving a tapestry of grand schemes to dismantle Kaieel's empire and seize it for herself. Such a fool. The way she outlined every step was invaluable, her unwitting admissions offering a clear view of both her vulnerabilities and Kaieel's. For someone who fancied herself clever, she didn't understand the dangers of oversharing. Perhaps conspiring alone for so long had driven her to some invisible line of insanity, one she'd now crossed with aplomb.

She was smarter than Kaieel, no doubt, but she wasn't as sharp as she thought herself to be. The rich rarely were. They plotted in circles, their plans frayed with assumptions that gold could patch any hole. A society built on corruption and greed was a society destined to crumble.

A knock on the door shattered the air between you, halting Valenia mid-sentence. Both of you froze as the door creaked open, revealing familiar black hair and molten golden eyes.

"Lysan," you said smoothly, forcing an easy smile.

Valenia hiccuped, swaying slightly as she glanced between you. The liquor had loosened her tongue and dulled her senses—a poor, unsuspecting thing. You'd kept her glass full all night, though yours had remained barely touched.

"You two are lucky," she murmured, her words slurred but still carrying a bite of jealousy.

Azriel tilted his head, stepping closer with his hand outstretched. You met him halfway, your fingers intertwining as if it were second nature.

"So in love," Valenia sighed wistfully. She swirled the deep red liquid in her glass. "Kaieel never looked at me the way he looks at you."

Azriel didn't miss a beat. "I am lucky, aren't I?" His voice was low as he leaned in, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear. The touch sent a tremor down your spine, though you leaned into him all the same, your composure unwavering.

"You two lovebirds get out of here," Valenia hummed, waving you off with a glass in hand. "I'll see you soon, Mrs. Lawmore."

You smiled at the title she so easily handed over, bowing your head alongside Azriel as you both slipped out of the room. Moments later, you left the ballroom entirely, leaving behind the clinking of glasses and murmurs of deceit.

———

Once you winnowed into The Cabin, the air was thick with unresolved tension, a thread drawn too tight and ready to snap. You released Azriel's arm but remained close, your breath steady, your gaze piercing.

He shifted, glancing at you with that careful, measured expression of his, but you saw through it. His wings flared slightly before tucking back, as if the space were already too confined for what lay between you.

"We need to debrief with Rhys—" he began, but the words barely escaped before you cut him off, your voice sharp.

"No." You held up a hand, stepping back. "We're not ignoring this."

Azriel sighed heavily, dragging a hand through his dark hair. He reached up, removing the mask with a deliberate slowness that felt like deflection. "Can I at least get comfortable first?"

"Seriously?" you snapped, your arms crossing over your chest.

But he ignored your tone, unbuttoning his shirt with maddening ease. The fabric slipped from his shoulders, revealing smooth, tan skin and the faint lines of tattoos curling down his forearms. Then came his wings—massive, stretching wide as the glamour faded, their dark beauty filling the room like a storm rolling in.

You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to look away as he folded them neatly behind him.

“Go on," he said, leaning back against the couch, his tattooed arms crossing over his chest, the sight terribly distracting. "I'm listening."

You glared at him, your voice tight. "You knew," you state.

He nodded slightly, but he said nothing, his golden eyes fixed on you with unnerving calm.

"Why didn't you tell me?" you demanded, your voice cracking despite your best efforts. "The bond—it's not something you just don't mention. Did you think I couldn't handle it?"

He exhaled slowly, his gaze steady. "It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it?" you shot back, your frustration spilling over. "You knew this whole time. Azriel, do you have any idea what it feels like to find out this way? To realize you've been keeping something this—this huge from me?"

His jaw tightened, but his expression softened just enough to betray a flicker of vulnerability. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want to force it on you."

You barked out a bitter laugh. "Force it on me? What does that even mean? Did you think I'd reject it?"

Azriel stiffened, his wings flexing behind him as if to shield himself. "It's not that simple."

"Then make it simple," you snapped. "Because right now, it feels like you didn't tell me because you were planning to reject the bond. That you didn't want me—"

His voice cut through yours, low and rough like gravel. "Don't."

The single word silenced you, but only for a moment.

"Then tell me the truth, Azriel," you demanded, your tone breaking under the weight of the words. "Tell me why you didn't say anything. Was it because you didn't want me, or because you thought I didn't want you?"

That hit its mark. His jaw clenched, and he looked away, his wings shifting behind him as though he could fly away from the conversation. But he didn't. Instead, he took a step closer, the heat of his body suffocating.

"Love, please," he said, his voice tight with something raw and unspoken. "Do you know what it's like to see your mate and think, this is it—this is everything I've ever wanted—and to know they don't feel the same? To be terrified that if you tell them, they'll look at you like you're nothing?"

Your breath caught, the weight of his words crashing into you.

"Az."

"I didn't tell you," he continued, his voice quieter now, "because I didn't want to lose you before I even had you. I thought if I told you, it would scare you off. You'd think it was some obligation instead of a choice. And I couldn't risk that. I couldn't risk, us."

You blinked, the truth settling over you like a heavy blanket. He hadn't been withholding it because he didn't want you—he'd been scared. Scared of rejection. Scared of you walking away.

"Do you have any idea how hard it's been?" he asked, his voice breaking slightly. "To see you every day, to stand beside you, and know I couldn't tell you? That I had to act like you were just someone I trained?"

Your heart twisted at the vulnerability in his words, but the anger lingered, sharp and cutting.

"You still should've told me," you said, your voice soft but firm. "You should've given me the choice. You didn't get to decide that for me."

"I know." He looked at you then, and the regret in his eyes made your chest ache. "I know I should've told you. And I'll regret that for the rest of my life. But don't think, not even for a second, that I didn't want you."

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. He took a step closer, his golden eyes searching yours.

"You can hate me for not telling you," he said, his voice low and rough. "You can hate me for being a coward. But don't ever think I didn't want this. Don't think I didn't want you. Please."

You stood there, his words reverberating in your chest, threatening to undo the last thread of your composure. His golden eyes never left yours, the air between you charged with too much to name. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your breathing even as emotions warred within you.

Finally, you broke the silence. "You should've told me," you said softly, the edge in your voice dulling. "Because for all your talk of not forcing it, you didn't even consider that I might have wanted it too."

His eyes widened slightly, and you took a half-step closer, the tension between you pulling tight.

"I've felt, something," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper now. "For a while. I just figured it was a stupid crush, that I was imagining the lingering glances and the all too long touches." You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "But now I know."

His breath hitched, and for the first time, Azriel looked truly shaken. Vulnerable. Like he didn't know what to do with your words.

So you took the choice away and kissed him.

It was tentative at first, your lips brushing his with a softness that belied the storm building inside you. He froze for a heartbeat, and you thought maybe you'd miscalculated—but then his hands were on your waist, pulling you closer.

When you pulled back, your lips tingling, you raised a brow at the stunned expression on his face. "Kiss me like that again and I might just have to accept the bond," you teased, your tone light but laced with meaning.

"Oh, I'll do more than that." He replied with an easy smirk on his face and before you could muster a flustered reply he connected your lips again, harder this time, more desperate. His hands slid up your back, his wings stretching slightly as though the emotions were too much for him to contain. You gasped into him, his shadows curling around your legs as his lips claimed you fully, unapologetically.

The kiss stretched, time losing meaning as you melted into him. His tongue brushed against yours, his grip on you firm yet reverent, as if he couldn't decide whether to pull you closer or keep himself in check.

He kisses you like it's the only thing keeping him tethered to the world like you're the air he needs to breathe. His lips press against yours with fervent urgency, soft yet commanding, leaving no space for hesitation.

The warmth of his mouth sends a shiver racing down your spine, your senses overwhelmed by the feel of him—silken and deliberate, coaxing, drawing you in until everything else fades. His hands tighten at your waist, his fingers digging into your dress that rivaled the intensity of his kiss.

The world tilts, time seems to stall, and all you can feel is him—the taste of him, the way his body leans into yours as though he can't bear to be apart. Every brush of his lips, every slight tilt of his head, feels like an unspoken confession as if through this kiss alone, he's telling you everything he can't put into words.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless. His lips were slightly swollen, his golden eyes darkened with something almost primal.

"What does this mean?" he asked, his voice rough with emotion.

You tilted your head, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. "It means," you said, brushing a finger against his chest, "you're going to sit right there." You push him slightly, and he falls back onto the couch as if you struck him with an unrecoverable blow.

He blinked, clearly thrown off by the abrupt shift in your tone. "What?"

"Sit right there," you repeated, gesturing toward the couch. Then, turning on your heel, you made your way toward the kitchen without a backward glance.

He stared after you, confused as to where you were going during a moment like this.

The sound of pans clinking and spices mingling in the air brought him back to reality, though he still couldn't fully grasp what was happening. He'd faced centuries of war, unflinching in the face of death, yet now he sat there—utterly flustered.

An agonizing twenty minutes later, you returned with a tray, setting it down on the small table in front of him. The aroma was rich and comforting, a simple yet meaningful meal that made his chest tighten.

You placed the tray in front of him, your expression softer now, though the playful glint in your eye hadn't dimmed. "Eat, Azriel," you said, settling beside him. "You've earned it after all these years."

He stared at the plate for a moment, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Then he looked at you, his voice unsteady. "This... this is real, isn't it?"

You smiled, leaning down, pressing a kiss onto the corner of his lips just because you couch. "What do you think?"

Azriel didn't answer, but the faintest smile tugged at his lips as he picked up the fork. You watched as he took the first bite, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

The bond hummed between you, a quiet, unspoken promise. And as Azriel sat there, eating the food you'd prepared with shadows still swirling around your feet, you realized that this—this quiet moment—was the most eventful part of the night.

And for once, Azriel looked at ease. Flustered, yes. But undeniably yours. And soon, the frenzy would set in, and he'd show you exactly how much of him was yours, body and soul, mates.

Continued drabble here!

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"I'm sorry- what did you just say?" You ask, your tone extremely accusatory.

You can't believe what you heard, you can't believe that your boyfriend said that, thinking you would just let it slide.

"What do you mean?" He asks with his usual behaviour, always playing the innocent victim. Gods, you don't really know what you're even doing with this male. Losing your time, probably.

"You know damn well what i mean." He relaxes his back on the chair and sighs loudly, other than that- nothing. He looks umbothered, relaxed, even. This makes you even madder.

This is how he wants to play? Giving you the silence treatment until you give up and apologise? Maybe other days it would have worked, but not today, no. Too many times you ignored the signs and begged for his pardon, even tho he was clearly in the wrong. You just procrastinated this conversation for too long.

"I pretend an explanation. I swear-" His laugh interrupts you. It's not really a laugh, tho. It doesn't hold any fun or warmth in it. He's just playing with you. But you're tired of being a little toy, manipulated by a man you don't even love.

"It's not that difficult, babe." The nickname gets you a bitter taste on your tongue. You scoff, but he goes on undisturbed. "All you need to know is that males have instincts. Needs. Desires." You know where this conversation is going.

Even tho you don't love this man, not anymore, at least, tears still wet your lashes, streaming down your cheeks. You ask yourself what you have done wrong, how something like this could have happened. You've been nothing but a supportive girlfriend, always by his side. Defending him even when your family didn't approve him. It was always you and him against the world.

"You think men will get on their knees for you." This time, it's his turn to scoff. You swallow a painful knot at the base of your throat. You hate yourself for showing your vulnerable side in front of him while he doesn't look bothered at all. You hate him, too. "You like to think you live in those silly fairy tale books you read." A dark laugh echoes in the room. You have to cover your mouth, hiccups threatening to escape your lips.

"Let me get this for you, babe. We are not in a fucking book. This is real life. Men are not princes, you are not a fucking princess." He suddenly gets up. The chair scratches on the floor making a squeaking noise that makes you squeeze your eyes shut. He walks closer to you, mocking eyes look deep into yours.

"I- I don't understand..." Is all you can say, your confusion is genuine. You have been nothing but loyal to him. You have pretended nothing but loyalty. He smirks, stepping closer and closer until he stands in front of you.

You're so close you can feel his accelerated breath on your face. Your lower lip trembles, and you know it's not a good sign. Whatever you said only seem to madden him more.

"Stupid. Dumb little-" He stops, taking a deep breath. He's trying to hold back, you realise. "I have needs and you can't fucking satisfie them, do you understand now?" Except that you don't.

You shake your head. It's the wrong thing to do. It's the straw that breaks the camel's back. With a violent movement that you couldn't foresee, he pushes you until you touch the wall. Your head hits the solid surface with a hard thud, making you moan in pain. The smell of fear deepens in the room.

"You don't give me what I want? I take it somewhere else. You think you're worth the wait? Let me tell you, babe. You are not. You're just as every other Fae with a pussy between their legs. Understood?" You can't hold back a sob. This feels like a fever dream, and for a moment, you don't believe this is really happening. But it is. What you really can't believe is that you have been so blind you haven't seen who he really is.

"Because of... sex?" You whisper. Gods, if you weren't in this position, you would have laughed.

"Yes, because of sex!" He shouts straight into your face, he grips your cheeks with in hand, the hold painful to the point he leaves red marks on your skin. "Females exist only for one fucking thing. And you're not giving it to me."

"Let me go!" You cry out, protesting with your body, trying to escape from his strict hold. "Please... I don't know who you are anymore..."

He laughs cruelly, his eyes darkened, completely different to the ones you're used to. He puts his hands in his pockets, standing in front of you casually. Like he didn't just scream at your face those things. Like you're not sobbing in front of him, the one who is supposed to care for you, to love you. He turns around, walking out of the room as if nothing had happened, but you're too busy holding your face, still shaken by his violence, to notice.

After a few minutes you manage to calm down even the slightest bit, you are not sobbing anymore, even tho there are still tears wetting your marked cheeks. You follow his route. He must have exited the house because he is not in the kitchen, the only room connected by the door you just passed.

It's not empty, tho. A figure sits on the table, sipping coffee in a mug that looks extremely bitter. You recognise him almost instantly, his big wings too familiar to ignore.

"Hey." He must have heard you enter the room. He turns around, his voice soft and his eyes brightened by a smile. When he sees your tears and your red cheeks, it drops immediately. "What has he done."

It's not a question, you realise. He is mad, but not at you.

Never at you.

"Azriel..." It's the only thing you can manage to say, your voice trembling and broken.

It's a matter of istants: his arms are wrapped around your body tightly, supporting your body as you let go into a liberating cry.

You have no idea how long you stay like this, it could have been minutes or hours. He doesn't let you go even for an instant, and you find comfort in his warmth, in his familiar scent that wraps around you like a soft blanket.

"I always knew he was a dick." He declares, his words muffled in your hair.

You shake your head, at least you try, blocked by his chest. "Don't wanna talk about this right now." You explain, your voice still hoarse from the cries.

"It's okay." He whispers. "We don't have to." A smile appears on your face, a deep contrast with the tears that still wet your cheeks.

Only now you dare to detach yourself from the embrace. Your eyes seek his in almost a natural manner. "Az?" You ask.

"Yes?"

You know this is a bad idea, but you don't care at the moment. You feel your cheeks burning, you look at the floor, momentarily incapable of holding eye contact. "I need your help with something."

He poses a gentle hand on your face, forcing you to look at him. His voice is soft when he speaks, a tone that he reserves for you only. "Anything."

"He said that I'm not worth the wait." You start to explain. Azriel doesn't seem to understand the direction this conversation is taking, his eyebrows raised in a silent request to explain yourself further. "Like sex, you know?" You can only imagine how flustered you must look by the chuckle he lets out.

"Sorry, I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you, sunshine. I'm laughing because he is such a dick." His thumb moves on your skin, a caress light as a feather. "So what favour do you need?"

"I..." You swallow loudly. "Can you teach me? Please?"

For a moment, he seems out of breath, surprised beyond words. It doesn't last long, and he quickly recollect himself. You almost fear another laugh, or judgement. Instead, when you look into his eyes, the only thing you find is reassurance.

"Teach you... how to have sex?" He asks, and you can't answer, still embarrassed.  You only nod, not knowing what you want anymore, at this point. But you trust this man in front of you, and if there's something you know for sure, is that he won't let you down on a moment like this. "Y/n... you don't really want this."

"No, that's not true." You complain. Your teeth capture your lower lip, a gesture you tend to do often when you're nervous.

"But it is. You're asking just because of that bastard, you don't really wanna have sex. Especially with me."

"No, it's not, Az." You take a deep breath. "If there's someone that i want to..." You struggle to find the words. "I trust you with all of myself. I want you to do it."

He forces himself to take a breath, considering his options as it gets past his lips, then a little nod makes you smile kindly. He moves a hand, the one that was firstly on your cheek, and he interlocks his fingers with yours. "Okay." He gives in. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." His shadows cover the both of you, until everything around you is black. In some way, it stills effect you, even if you already did it a million of times. When you see light again, it's because of the big window in his room. You stagger, but he is ready to stabilise you. He is used to do it, the gesture comes in a natural way.

A silent tension lingers in the air, your cheeks still burn from the embarrassment. "What do I do?" You ask, unsure. You balance yourself on your feet, your lower lip bleeds from the force of your teeth biting into it. The metallic smell of blood fills the room, mixing with his scent.

He gets even closer, towering over you. Your body surprise you - his presence and his closeness affect you, yes, but in a good way. Like you want him near you, you want him to touch you. With one hand he moves a lock of hair behind your ear. He looks at you in a way that makes you feel like the only woman in Prythian. Makes you feel seen for the first time in your life. 

"You don't need to be nervous, sunshine." He whispers so close to you that his breath warms your face. You hadn't realised he was this close until now. With his thumb, in a gentle way, he frees your lip from the painful grip of your teeth. It's a fingertip touch, really, but it makes your heart race, suddenly too aware of his closeness, all your senses heightened.

"Okay." You whisper back. He continues to caress the skin of your face with his thumb, so softly you can barely feel it. Then, when you thought he was gonna put some distance between the two of you, a kiss. It's nothing you haven't done before, and it's not a difficult kiss, too. It's slow and naive, a little appetiser  before the real meal, but it still leaves you breathless.

Even when you broke away from the kiss, lips swollen and cheeks reddened for the both of you, his eyes never left yours. And you can see every single thought behind those beautiful hazel pupils, you can see how is soft gaze turns into something more raw, carnal. You recognise that look that you often saw in your boyfriend's eyes too, but at the same time, is so different.

Azriel's hold affection, warmth, they make you feel wanted and desired in the best way. His were just... lust. Carnal, yes, but there was nothing more than that.

"Are you-" You chuckle, your nerves finally calming.

"Az, if you ask me one more time that, you won't like what I'll do." Your answer causes a smile to spread all over his face, making him look ethereal. Why the hell have you never noticed the beauty of this male before?

"Lay on the bed, then." You nod, following his orders. He position himself right on top of you, putting his weight on his elbows, avoiding to hurt you. Your noses are almost touching, and this time, you kiss him first. You didn't think twice, with him everything comes natural. It starts innocently as some moments ago, but it quickly turns more heated.

He licks your lower lip, asking a silent question. A permission, perhaps. And you give it to him. His tongue meets yours in a slow, heated dance that taste just right.

"Hello there." He whispers once you break the kiss, short for air. His voice is muffled by the skin of your collarbone, his face hidden in it. "Hi, Azzie."

You can feel his smile on your skin, you're ready to giggle, a sudden happiness taking over you. But Azriel starts to kiss your neck, and the only sound that escapes your lips is a gasp. His kisses are slow and warm, he starts with your neck, then your exposed collarbone, and he goes lower and lower until he meets the fabric of your dress. At this point, you're not sure you are breathing anymore.

He looks at you in another silent question. You nod without hesitation. His hands are gentle as he pull down the little strap, taking is time and his lips never leaving your skin. It's only a matter of minutes and your chest is quickly exposed for his eyes. Your hands try to cover your body, but he doesn't let you.

"No need to cover, sunshine." His eyes wonder on your skin, leaving you on fire. He poses a kiss where your heart belongs. "You're so pretty. My pretty girl." He murmurs against your skin, his breath tickles you, giving you goosebumps . "He never deserved you anyway. Can i touch you, love?”

You nod so quickly that it makes your head spin.

His hands starts to caress you, is thumb grazes your nipple, making you moan. You almost feel ashamed, the sound tastes sinful on your lips, but his smile reassures you.

The more he does, the more you can feel the tension leaving your body, your muscles relaxing and your mind emptying. He focus on your breasts, his lips wrapping around a nipple, flicking around it with his tongue. The feeling is unmatched, you never felt like this before.

With his hand, he plays with your other nipple, feeling the skin under his fingertips in a motion that leaves you addicted, craving for more.

The feeling between your legs intensifies, you can feel yourself growing needier. His lips leave your nipple with a pop, making you groan frustrated. His chuckle caresses your skin, making you shiver.

There's a knot, as quiet as powerful as painful, that starts to tighten at the base of your stomach. Your desire starts to pool deeper inside of you, sliding slowly and deliciously like honey against your skin.

You can feel it in the air how much both of you want, need, this. You can feel it in the change of your scents. He smells muskier, now. More manly, more him.

"Don't worry, you're going to like this a lot more." You're almost confused. Your head spinning with desire makes it hard for you to think coherently, but he doesn't need words for what he's going to do.

His lips lower, tracing a path all over you stomach, until he arrives between your legs. Your breath catches in your throat, your back naturally arching, your hips bucking towards his lips. "Already so needy, aren't you?" He chuckles, and his breath tickles your center, making you moan.

You quickly cover your mouth with your hand, embarrassed with the way you're already so excited, and he didn't do even that much. "Nuh-uh, sunshine."

He looks up at you, your eyes meeting and for a moment you forget everything else. You forget your shitty ex, you forget the feeling of your cheeks burning from both desire and embarrassment.

"No need to." He explains, the tip of his nose brushes your lower stomach in a gentle gesture that makes you smile. "I wanna hear you, pretty girl."

You nod almost immediately. Following his orders feels natural to you, and you certainly won't complain. "Okay." You let out and before you can say anything else, his tongue lick your bundle of nerves and you forget everything again.

The feeling is unlike anything you have ever experienced before, and the moment his eyes meet yours, looking at you from half-closed eyelids with dilated hazel pupils, you know that there will never be anyone else for you.

Only him.

You can't describe what his tongue does between your thighs. He licks, bites, sucks. He touches your soul, makes you wrap your legs around his head every time his teeth graze your clitoris and make you moan louder and louder.

"Fuck." He pulls away from your center for a few moments, but his eyes never leave you. "You taste even better than I ever imagined."

His lips are pink, swollen, and glistening with your juices. When he notices your gaze on them, he runs his tongue over them, collecting the liquid in a gesture that makes you squeeze your gummy walls around nothing.

A frustrated moan escapes your lips, but before the breath can finish passing through them, his tongue returns to stimulate your most intimate area, making you scream.

He forces you to stay still with his hands clenched around your thighs in a grip so firm it's almost painful, digging his nails into your flesh, but the sensation adds to that knot in your stomach and tightens it even more.

You want to scream with pleasure.

Scream at yourself for depriving yourself of this, of him, for so long.

But he slides one hand away from your thigh, depriving you of that delicious pain, and before you can complain again with a drawn-out moan, he slips it between your legs, teasing your entrance, which spasms involuntarily around nothing.

You've never wanted anyone to touch you so much in your entire life. You've never burned so much.

His fingers collect your wetness, playing with you and teasing you while you can do nothing but moan uncontrollably and thrust your hips against his face, silently begging for more. It never seems enough, but how could it be when his tongue is devouring you as if you were his last meal?

"Look at yourself, Y/n." You can't, though. Your eyes roll back, no longer able to hold his gaze as he eats you with slow movements, a sweet torture that you soon know you won't be able to resist. "He would never have made you feel this way."

"Only you." You barely whimper. "It's always been you."

"Fuck, yes." He murmurs.

For the brief moment when his lips let you breathe, he brings his fingers to your clit, teasing it with circular, precise movements until you throw your head back and beg for something you don't even know yourself.

"Please..."

"Please, what, sweet girl?" He laughs. Slowly, and his laughter runs through your limbs like soft velvet, a caress that slips under your skin, between the flesh of your ribs. "Use your words, sunshine. I know you can do it."

Just like that, he dives back into your intimacy, but this time his tongue caresses your entrance, tracing its outline before slipping inside and sucking.

The sounds your wetness and your throat make are pure sin. The smell that fills the room - sex and pleasure - floods your nostrils and makes you arch your back so much that you can overcome the iron grip of his hands and push your hips against his face, pressing yourself against him in the dirtiest way you could ever imagine.

"I- I don't... I don't know."

It's the truth.

Pleasure has always been a foreign concept to you, and receiving so much of it all at once empties your mind, leaving you incapable of rational thought.

And the way his thumb and tongue move doesn't help.

"You want to cum?" he asks.

Your hands, which until now had been clinging to the blankets as if they were your lifeline, slide toward him, slipping between the soft, tousled strands of his hair.

You nod, biting your lip to stifle a small cry as he bites your inner thigh with his teeth. You're sure that tomorrow morning there will be a mark left by his teeth, but for some reason, the thought turns you on even more.

Knowing that you have such a vivid and physical reminder of this moment with you almost throws you into the peak of your orgasm, but it's not enough.

"Use your words," he orders.

You feel your cheeks burning as you clench your fingers around his hair in a silent plea to stop talking and go back to fucking you with his tongue.

"I- I want... it." You whisper, the words mingling with his heavy breathing and your desperate moans.

"What do you want, sweet girl?"

His thumb continues relentlessly, and there you are. You're one step away from falling into that oblivion that you can barely name, but that your body craves so desperately that you can't help but listen to it and follow your instincts.

"I..." His thumb circles, pressing against your little button with more force than expected. "Azzie..."

"Say it," he demands.

"I- I want to cum." You beg. "Please, Azzie. Make me cum."

And he does.

He throws his head between your legs and drinks your juices, his tongue moving rapidly - too fast for the first time your body has ever experienced an orgasm - but your muscles welcome him and you arch your back so much it hurts, but you don't care. There is only him.

"Yes." He sounds breathless. Completely lost in you. "Good girl. My girl is a good fucking girl."

"Azzie..." You moan. And you moan again, and again, and again. His name is the only word that sounds right on your lips right now.

"You'll get me fucking addicted, sweet girl, you know that?" He mutters, more for himself than for you, you think. Then he chuckles. "You won't go back to him, he wouldn't make you feel this way, anyway. You're mine, now, fuck."

"Please..." You can only pray. "Please... Azzie, don't stop. Please."

"Don't worry, sweet girl. I will take care of you."

Only now do you notice that he's moving his hips in time with his movements. Only now do you notice how his cock, constricted by his pants, rubs against the mattress, as desperate as you are for friction, for release from that tension.

That's enough.

The realization that he's pleasuring himself while fucking you with his tongue is enough to make you come.

And you've never felt anything like it. The knot in your stomach breaks.

The orgasm leaves you breathless. It hits you without warning. All it took was one unexpected movement from Azriel, and your walls began to tighten around his tongue and your clitoris began to throb under his thumb.

If you had control of yourself, of your mind, perhaps you would now be embarrassed by the sound of his tongue fucking you, by the screams escaping your throat, by the way your fingers find purchase in his hair.

You can't react, you don't have time. You spread your legs, pull his hair, and lose all awareness of everything. Of time, of the space you're in.

There is only you, your pleasure, the male between your legs who continues to torture you as if he hadn't just made you see stars.

When you snap back to reality, Azriel is still devouring you as if he wants to eat you whole, but he does it slowly, gently. As if it were an apology for the way he catapulted you into the unknown territory of ecstasy.

"Are you okay?" he asks you. His voice is so low, so hoarse, that it sounds like a growl. He leaves a sweet kiss on the inside of your thigh, where just before he had bitten you with such violence that it made your insides clench with excited anticipation.

A few seconds pass in which the only sound you hear is your heavy breathing. When you open your eyes again, the first thing you see is him.

You lift yourself up on your elbows, letting go of his hair and placing your hands on your stomach, which is rising and falling at an unbearable pace.

"I... I never... felt this... way." You manage to get out. But nothing more than that.

"I know." He's sweet. He climbs up your legs and you admire his rosy cheeks, his lips so red they look bitten, glistening with your juices. His eyes still hide that glint of desire, and suddenly the knot in your stomach tightens again, and this time it's even more painful. "Are you okay?"

It's not enough for you. You want more. You want him.

Your boyfriend is now such a distant memory that you call yourself stupid for even thinking of giving yourself to that man without first looking - really looking - at the man in front of you, who seems as destroyed as you are, and hasn't even been touched. He hasn't even taken off his clothes.

"Again."

"Again?"

You nod. You bite your lower lip, looking at the pillow under your head rather than his eyes. Your cheeks burn for whatever made you say such a thing out loud, and the weight of his gaze is impossible to bear, especially when his lips curve into a lazy smile that makes you throb between your legs - again.

"Want more."

"What did I say about using your words?"

You feel your cheeks burn, and you know you're blushing under the eyes—and body—of the male above you, who looks at you full of expectation and with pupils dilated with lust.

"I know, it's just..." You turn your head to the side, avoiding eye contact. "I don't even know what I... want."

"Y/n." He breathes. "Look at me, love."

He moves two fingers to your cheek, forcing you to look at him.

"What you did to me." You begin. "It was... good. Your comment makes Azriel chuckle. "I want it to be good for you too."

Azriel could feel his heart tighten at your words. He could. And he did.

But the feeling is accompanied by his cock throbbing against the fabric of his pants, his mind already wandering to you, to the way you're so small and embarrassed, and your first thought is still to give him pleasure.

He has to restrain himself. He has to physically clench his fingers on your bare hips, squeezing your skin, otherwise he would have maneuvered you like a doll and put you on your knees, your mouth full of his cock.

"Tonight is not about me." He traces a series of imaginary lines on your stomach, making you jump with the tickling mixed with the heat that builds up in your belly. "I want you to feel good, feel like you never did."

"You already did." You complain.

"Then let me do it again."

His shadows act in a matter of moments. His clothes disappear, leaving him naked in front of you.

You don't know where to look. Your eyes run over his skin, and he can feel them on him as if they were burning against him, as if they were trying to brand him in your mind.

You blush so much that your cheeks feel like they're on fire. Your gaze moves from his face to his chest, to his abdominal muscles, and finally to the area between his legs, where his erection is hard and throbbing against his stomach, the tip already slightly moist with precum.

You don't even know what's going to happen now, but your body seems to know better than you do.

"Azzie... It's... b-big." You widen your eyes.

"You don't have to be frightened. He reassures you, seeing the way you seem to pull back slightly. He has to suppress the sense of pride that explodes in his chest at your reaction. "Are you still sure you want this?"

You nod with almost frightening determination.

"Yes, please, Azzie."

He kisses you. His tongue meets yours and begins to explore your mouth, while his hands caress you everywhere. From your hips to your breasts to between your legs.

"Will it hurt?" You whisper on his lips, once the kiss is interrupted by your moan when his fingers brush your clitoris, making you rotate your hips for more.

Azriel doesn't feel like lying to you. He could never lie to a face like yours, looking up at him with wide eyes glistening with desire. "A bit."

"Do you promise you'll be gentle?"

Your concern is almost sweet. "I promise, love. I want it to be as pleasant as possible for you."

"And will you enjoy it?"

Azriel raises his lips at your umpteenth question. "Probably more than I should, pretty girl."

With one last kiss on your lips, he lifts himself up, sliding himself better between your legs and making sure your feet are crossed behind his back. With one hand, he grabs his almost angry-looking erection, perhaps a little arrogant, even, and for the first time slips it between the folds of your legs, without entering you.

The contact makes you both moan, and hearing him whisper your name in a hoarse voice has a decidedly intoxicating effect on you. You feel the wetness increase, spreading over your inner thighs and gathering at your entrance, where the tip of Azriel's cock teases you, never crossing that line you fear so much.

"So good..." you murmur when you feel him against your clit with a thrust of his hips.

Azriel has to fight the urge to roll his eyes back in his head at your moans and the way you chant his name under your breath as if it were a prayer. He also has to restrain himself from cumming like that, without even really fucking you, and painting your stomach and pussy white, marking you with his cum.

Without warning, he pushes his cock inside, stretching your walls so much that it feels like he's tearing you apart. "Are you okay?" He breathes against your lips.

He starts a trail from your face, down your jaw, to your neck, leaving wet, calm kisses to distract you.

"Hurts a bit." You whimper, trying to hide your face in his chest, but failing miserably, especially when he leans down again to take a nipple between his lips and suck, making you moan.

It takes a couple of minutes for the pain to turn into pleasure and the burning sensation to subside. Azriel hasn't moved an inch, but now you're becoming aware of every millimeter of him inside you. You can feel him in your stomach, you can feel every vein, every time it pulses.

You push your hips against his, bringing your bodies so close together that your clitoris touches the light fuzz above his cock, making your head spin for the millionth time. You're too embarrassed to ask him to move, but your movement speaks louder than a thousand words.

He starts to thrust slowly.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath. Every time he pulls out until only the tip remains inside you, then pushes back into your wet, warm walls, a whispered curse escapes his lips, making you clench painfully around him. "Fuck, love. Keep clenching around me like that and—fuck..."

"Azzie..." You can't help but moan as he fucks you as if it were the only way to stay alive. "So good..." You whimper. "So big..."

"Y/n." He whimpers, his teeth gritted so much that it probably hurts. But Azriel's mind can only focus on how tight you are, on how much your walls are trying to milk him for all he's worth. It's embarrassing, really, how quickly he's sure he can cum.

His hands grip you everywhere in a desperate attempt to distract himself, your ankles lacing behind his back, pulling him even closer.

Every time he pulls out of your body, you whimper, saddened by the loss of the fullness his cock offers you, and then he pushes into you again, slamming his hips against your center. It's all too much, but at the same time, it's not enough. Your hands dig into his back, chest, arms. They search for something to hold on to as pleasure mixes with the pain caused by the force of his thrusts, and Azriel can see in your face how drunk you are on his cock.

He knows he should stop, slow down, take a deep breath, and start again more calmly. That this is your first time and you trusted him enough to give it to him, he find it sweet, really. But then you look at him through misty eyes, empty of thought behind your dilated pupils, and your lips part to let out the sound of his name, and then his hands grab your hips, squeezing until you moan, and he supports you as he fucks you with even more vigor.

He knows you're close. You feel it too.

Your walls are throbbing so hard that you're sure they've taken the shape of his cock. Every vein, every curve, is imprinted inside you. You feel the familiar knot in your stomach tighten, the tension increasing so much that it hurts.

"Azzie, I'm..." Your words are slurred, without coherent form. "Please, Azzie..."

You are so full of him that you feel the tip of his cock touching your stomach. You see it. The way your belly bulges when he enters you, the way his eyes don't know whether to look into your eyes, to look at your tits bouncing with the force of his thrusts, to look at your pussy as he fucks you.

"Fuck, love, look at—look at that." He's out of breath from the effort of restraining himself from turning you around and taking you from behind, coloring your back with white spurts. He runs a hand through your hair, pulling it back to angle your view toward your belly. He brings his other hand to your stomach, pressing where his cock bulges.

"Azzie, I'm..." You mumble. "So full."

"I'm gonna cum, Y/n." He warns you. His thrusts become more sudden, less rhythmic. Sloppy, even. His body collapses on top of yours and his pubic bone teases your clit.

You're close too, and he knows it.

"Together," you beg.

You make him smile against your neck as he bites your skin and then kisses it, as if to make amends.

"Sweet, sweet girl," he murmurs, still pressed against your skin. You feel his warm breath breaking against your collarbones. "You wanna cum with me?"

"Mhmm, yes, Azzie." Not only do you sound desperate, but your voice breaks just as you reach orgasm.

Your walls spasm around him as he growls at you, shifting his attention to your tits, taking a nipple between his lips and sucking it, helping you ride the wave of pleasure. Moments later, it's his turn.

He cums with your name on his lips, his voice hoarse and broken just like yours. You're still riding the aftershocks of your orgasm, your pussy still throbbing against him as he makes sure all his cum goes inside you, into your womb.

Silent moments pass. Only your heavy breathing breaks the peaceful silence.

"Are you okay?" Azriel asks you.

You almost feel like laughing. Okay is an understatement. So, instead of telling him how you feel, you let him feel it. You grind your hips against his, his cock still buried deep inside you, and you feel his cum spill out of you and stain your inner thigh, but you couldn't care less. Not while you feel that knot forming again, and the desire to experience the inexplicable sensations Azriel made you feel returns.

"More?" you plea.

Azriel chuckles, the sound hot and deep at the same time, so much that it carves into your flesh. "Oh, love. You have no idea what you have just started."

azriel masterlist - main masterlist

⸻⠀SERIES ⋆

ARE WE STILL FRIENDS?┃COMPLETED┃45K ┃✰ ♡

Worried about how his new relationship seems to be changing him, you talk to Azriel about your concerns. Things take a turn when he refuses to listen.

THE HONEST VERSE / BABY DADDY!AZ┃ON-GOING┃✰ ♡ 18+

When a night of seeking solace with an-equally bitter Azriel results in an unplanned pregnancy, you're forced to figure out how to co-parent with a male you barely know.

AN EDUCATION IN MALICE┃HIATUS┃✰ 18+

With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

ONE SUMMER┃HIATUS┃18+

One beach house, one festival, one summer to fall in love.

A SLEEPING GUIDE FOR INSOMNIACS┃DISCONTINUED

Azriel’s always been good at surviving the sleepless nights. But lately, everything has been slipping. It's getting worse. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for when he starts showing up at your shop in the dead of night—but something about your stillness feels like rest. And gods know he needs it.

BENEATH THE ASHES OF OUR BROKEN OATHS┃DISCONTINUED

After abandoning the refuge of Velaris, you, Mor's twin, returned to the forsaken Hewn City fueled by a vision for a better future. Now, your estranged family seeks your help when rumors of rebellion spread at a time of utmost inconvenience.

 ⸻⠀ONE-SHOTS ⋆

DEATH AND HIS REAPER┃13k┃♡

After suffering a devastating injury in battle, Azriel finds himself on the brink of life and death where he meets you, The Mother's reaper.

BACK TO OUR ROOTS ┃2.3k

With the Acheron sisters out of town, you and your family plan for a quiet night in, just like old times. (weed!)

WHERE I LEFT MY LOVER ┃3.8k

After a brush with death, Azriel makes a difficult decision to protect you.

WHAT WE MAKE OF WHAT WE'RE MADE┃3k┃

When Azriel overhears Feyre's concern about your transition to fae life, he agrees to check on you.

WHEN THE HEART IS STILL LONGING ┃2.9k┃♡

Azriel thought you were the one. Now, he can’t move on.

PRETTY LITTLE SHADOWSINGER┃1.3k

Cassian walks in on you dressing Azriel in one of your dresses.

AN EVENING REUNION┃1.6k┃18+ ✰

Azriel comes home from a mission. You talk to him about your day, but he’s far more interested in you—and your silk nightgown.

MEMORIES ┃2.1k

While packing some boxes, Azriel is overwhelmed by memories of your relationship.

BODY COUNT┃3.3k┃✰♡

Anxious about how your lack of experience compares to Azriel's, you ask him about his body count. He misunderstands the question gravely.

SAFE┃3k┃18+

Azriel's night is troubled by a nightmare. He finds a soothing remedy in the arms of his mate.

WINNER ┃4.6k┃✰ ♡

You and Azriel are both sore losers. But when you cheat in a game of cards, winning takes on a whole new meaning.

ACCIDENTAL ┃1.8k

Azriel accidentally likes an old photo while stalking your profile. A spiral into mortification follows.

IN EVERY UNIVERSE ┃3.9k

Elain catches you asking Azriel if you're destined to be together in every universe.

BREATHE ┃3.6k

Azriel has a panic attack. You help him through it.

SOMEWHERE THERE WAS LOVE ┃3k

Azriel meets you on a Saturday. He loses you on one, too.

WHAT HAPPENS IN ADRIATA┃12.4k ♡

After a weekend trip, you wake up married to Azriel, three people are missing, and you don’t remember a single thing about last night. Somewhere, there’s a priestess who can undo the vows you made — but first, you’ll have to retrace every disastrous step.

you're safe

After enduring weeks of torture in the Illyrian Steppes, you are left staring at the pieces of who you were before. You should be healing, but instead your anxiety and fear sink further in with every day that passes. You tell no one of your struggles, of your sleepless nights and lingering scars, until Azriel finds you alone in the library at an ungodly hour of night, and everything comes pouring out.

was it really a mistake?

Drinks at Cassian's birthday party land you in Azriel's arms, which then lands you in his bed. Your poor heart doesn't know what to think.

pure love

You were in love with Azriel. It was inevitable, really. Who could blame you for falling for the kind and gentle male? OR A series of moments that show your blooming love for Azriel, who was too busy cultivating his own love for you to notice.

thorns and toxins

Azriel knew something was off the moment you walked into the training room. You brushed him off, and ended up sending the poor male into a tailspin after you collapsed while sparring.

you make it better ~ part 2

Life as Nesta Archeron's friend had never been smooth-sailing, but you never would have thought it would land you in the fae lands, in a fae body, surrounded by unfamiliar...everything. You're struggling to adapt to your new life while dealing with the loss of your human one, but there is one fae male that makes it all just a little bit easier.

smothered flames ~ part 2

You were the Vanserras' best kept secret. That is, until you followed Eris to the Night Court, and you ended up finding more than you bargained for.

home

Leaving your family, leaving Azriel, for two whole months following Amarantha's reign of terror was harder than you anticipated. Azriel and you cling to each other upon your return.

lay your hand in mine

You never wanted to be a spy. You never wanted to work for the High Lord of Night. You never wanted to be trained by the male that faeries whispered horror stories about. Then again, those were just stories, and that very male might be your salvation.

thawed hearts

You had been a member of Rhys's court for decades, but no one knew where you really came from, or what your true heritage was. A trip to Illyria brings long-kept secrets to the light, and Azriel is there to help you in the aftermath.

love heals

Your first solo mission goes terribly wrong after you failed to heed Azriel's warnings. That doesn't stop him from saving you, and it certainly doesn't stop him from caring for you in the aftermath. You're convinced you don't deserve him, but that doesn't stop you from wanting him.

blush

You really like making Azriel blush.

lacy revelations

When Azriel visits your home for the first time, he stumbles across something you did not intend for him to find—though he certainly holds no complaints.

only love can hurt like this

You fell in love. That was a mistake.

because I care

Desperate to prove your worth to your overprotective friends, you turn to the one male who never seemed to care whether you soared or plummeted after your first mission goes terribly wrong. As it turns out, he cares very much.

find me in the afterglow

Cassian convinces Azriel to woo a Day Court princess.

downfall

You walked away after Azriel refused to accept your mating bond. When you finally return, you're left spinning after overhearing his cries to his brothers.

in my dreams

Azriel takes matters into his own hands when the leering males of Hewn City put you on edge. You never expected the night would lead to the two of you sharing a bed.

my infamy loves company ~ part 2

A creature like you was destined for solitude. A creature like you was destined to live out your long and wretched life alone. A creature like you could never have a mate.

a loving touch

Azriel had spent his entire life wishing for this—for you.

hold me tonight

As if life as the only human in Velaris was not terrible enough, you also had to endure the consequences of your mortal immune system. Azriel refuses to let you suffer alone.

Series

my heart has wings (complete)

You and Azriel long for the love your family members have found. That longing can easily turn into an isolating loneliness, so what if you rely on each other to numb that sickly feeling? What if your chance at love has been by your side for nearly a century?

bound by fear (complete)

You spent three decades suffering under the cruel thumb of your father. When you finally escaped, finally started to build your own life, the last thing you ever wanted was to find a mate.

it's nice to have a friend ~ part 2

Azriel was always meant to be yours. (childhood friends to lovers)

Blurbs

put this on

Azriel was a shadow in more ways than one.

Not just because of the things that writhed around him, the shadows that obeyed him with unwavering loyalty, curling around his form like a second skin. Not just because he moved through the world like a ghost, silent, unseen, unnoticed unless he wanted to be. But because of what lived within him. The grief that had no name. The quiet ache that never dulled. The love he carried like a blade lodged deep in his ribs, never to be pulled free.

To the rest of the Night Court, he was the cold, calculating Spymaster. The knife in Rhysand’s arsenal. A male carved of smoke and sorrow, honed by centuries of violence and sacrifice. Unflinching. Unshakeable. Deadly.

But with you… gods, with you, he was something else entirely.

You saw him. Not the weapon. Not the warhound.

Him.

You met him nearly two centuries ago, though it felt like another life now, one faded and worn at the edges. Rhysand had brought you in after a skirmish that left more blood than survivors. You were half-dead. Scarred in body and soul. You’d snarled at anyone who dared to come near you. Bitten down your grief until it bled. But you hadn’t flinched from Azriel.

Even when others had turned from him. Even when they recoiled from his shadows, from the quiet emptiness in his voice.

You hadn’t.

Azriel was the one chosen to train you, though he hadn’t said a word about it. He’d just shown up one morning at the sparring ring, wings flaring in the dawn, siphons gleaming like drops of blood across his hands. He didn’t ask you to speak. Didn’t ask you to explain the darkness behind your eyes.

He understood it.

Because it lived in him, too.

So you trained together. Wordless, brutal, unrelenting. Blade to blade, breath to breath. He pushed you until your hands bled and your knees buckled, and when you collapsed, it was his shadows that cradled you, gentle, soft, unlike anything you’d ever known.

Somehow, somewhere in the midst of the silence and steel, Azriel fell in love with you.

It wasn’t sudden. There was no earth-shattering moment where the realization struck like lightning. No grand epiphany. Just a slow unraveling. A steady betrayal of his own heart.

He fell in love with the way you gritted your teeth through the pain. The way your laugh cracked through the silence like dawn splitting the night. The way you looked at him, not with fear or pity, but with quiet understanding, as if you saw the shattered pieces he tried so hard to hide.

He fell in love with how you chose to stay. With how you didn’t shrink away from his scars, on his hands, on his wings, in his soul. You just looked at him, unflinching, and that nearly undid him more than any blade ever could.

But he never told you.

Never said a word. Not even when the urge to do so clawed up his throat and nearly tore him open. Because Azriel had lived long enough to know that anything he dared to love never lasted. It was safer this way. Safer to keep it locked inside. Safer to bleed in silence.

He told himself it was enough, to stand beside you, to spar with you in the mornings, to walk home with you in the evenings and listen to you talk about the stars. He memorized the cadence of your voice, the way your eyes lit when you were angry, the soft sigh you gave when you thought no one was listening.

And when Cassian joked that you were Azriel’s shadow, always at his side, always moving as if tethered by some invisible thread, Azriel had just offered a faint, hollow smile.

When Mor teased that he watched you like you’d hung the stars, he didn’t argue.

When Rhys looked him in the eye and asked if there was something between you, Azriel, who had peeled skin from bones and slit throats without blinking, lied.

He lied because to speak it aloud would give it shape. Give it weight. Make it real.

And if it was real, then it could be lost.

And Azriel had lost too much already.

He carried the ghosts of what he’d never had. A mother’s love. A childhood. Freedom. Peace. He had been forged in fire and silence and shame. And he was terrified, utterly, soul-shatteringly terrified, that if he reached for this one fragile, beautiful thing, the world would take it from him too.

So he stayed quiet.

He let you laugh with Cassian, dance with Mor, smile at strangers. Let himself believe he was content just being near you. Let the years pass like pages turning in a book he would never be brave enough to write.

And all the while, the love he carried for you grew heavier. Not brighter. Not easier. Just heavier. Like a stone sinking in his chest.

Because every day he loved you more, and every day he buried it deeper.

Because you were light, and he was shadow. And no matter how long he stood beside you, no matter how many times he made you laugh or caught your blade mid-swing, he would always be the one left in the dark.

And gods help him, he told himself that was enough.

But deep down, in the quietest, cruelest parts of him, he knew.

He knew this kind of love was a doomed thing.

And one day, it would break him.

-----------

The House of Wind was full that night.

Warm light spilled from the chandeliers above, flickering against ancient stone walls as laughter echoed through the high ceilings. Plates clinked. Wine flowed. The scent of roasted meats and spiced bread lingered in the air. The court was alive tonight, vibrant and loud, pulsing with the easy joy that came with peace hard-won.

Cassian was mid-way through recounting one of his famously inappropriate stories, half the room already red-faced with laughter while Nesta tried, unsuccessfully, not to roll her eyes. Mor had just snorted wine out of her nose. Even Amren cracked a smile.

And yet, Azriel couldn’t hear a word of it.

His gaze was on you.

It always was.

You were seated across the long table, bathed in the soft gold glow of candlelight. Laughing at something Cassian had said, your eyes crinkling in that way that always undid him. Your glass was half-full, your lips tinged ruby from the wine. You looked radiant. Untouchable. Like something carved from starlight, too bright for the dark thing he was.

You stood suddenly.

A hush rippled through the room, but it wasn’t silence, just the lull of curiosity. Azriel straightened slightly, shadows brushing against his skin in quiet warning.

“I have something to share,” you said, your voice soft, but clear.

He saw it then. The shift in your eyes. The way your fingers trembled around the stem of your glass. So faint anyone else would’ve missed it. But not him.

Never him.

His shadows curled tighter around him, restless.

You glanced across the table, smiled. And that was when the breath left Azriel’s lungs.

“I—” you began again, as if searching for the right words. As if any version of them would soften what was about to be said. “I’ve accepted the mating bond.”

Silence.

Pure. Crushing. Deafening silence.

For one heartbeat, the world stopped spinning.

Then.

A roar in his ears.

Blood rushing, shadows shrinking violently away as if scorched. His chest compressed, lungs seizing. There was no breath. No sound. No air.

Just those words.

Just that word.

Mated.

“I know it may come as a surprise,” you went on, your voice gentler now, like you knew. Like you sensed the storm unraveling in the corner of the room, even if you couldn’t see it. “But it felt right. It feels right. Thorne and I… we’re happy.”

Thorne.

Azriel barely heard the rest. The name rang like a death knell inside his skull.

He knew him. Of course he knew him. An Illyrian stationed in the southern camps. A good male. Loyal. Brave. The kind of warrior others respected. The kind of male you could build a life with.

The kind of male Azriel would have liked, if he hadn’t just stolen the only thing Az had ever allowed himself to love.

The table erupted before Azriel could process it, cheers and claps and laughter rising like a tide.

Feyre was the first to leap to her feet, wrapping you in a hug that made your glass slosh. Mor let out a delighted shriek and pounded the table. Even Cassian grinned and reached across to clap Thorne on the back, jostling him like a brother.

And through it all, Azriel sat perfectly still.

Like stone.

Like a monument to grief.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t blink.

The shadows that usually coiled at his shoulders had retreated to the far corners of the room, like they, too, couldn’t bear the weight of what was happening.

And no one noticed.

No one ever did.

Not the way his fingers had curled into fists beneath the table. Not the way his throat bobbed with the effort to swallow down the scream rising in his chest. Not the way his wings flexed ever so slightly, as if bracing for impact. As if he’d just been struck.

Because he had been.

Not by a blade.

But by the final, undeniable proof that the one thing he’d quietly, hopelessly, faithfully loved… was never meant to be his.

You didn’t even glance in his direction.

You didn’t need to.

You didn’t know.

How could you? When he’d hidden it so well. When he’d buried every flicker of feeling beneath years of careful silence and practiced smiles. When he’d bled himself dry to be your shadow, to love you from the edges, just to keep you close.

Because it was safer that way.

Because if he never said it, it could never be taken from him.

And yet here you were, standing in a room full of joy, glowing with love for someone else. Someone real. Someone you chose.

And Azriel was dying in silence, one shattered heartbeat at a time.

He looked at you, and the words he would never say echoed like ghosts in his mind.

It should’ve been me.

-----------

You found him on the balcony hours later.

The celebration still pulsed behind you, laughter, music, the clinking of glasses, but it all felt muffled. Distant. Like a dream slipping through your fingers.

Azriel stood at the edge, a lone sentinel against the velvet sprawl of night. The wind pulled gently at his hair, ruffled the dark edges of his wings. He looked like he belonged to the stars themselves, silent, unreachable, carved from shadow and sorrow.

His shadows, usually restless and whispering, were still.

Utterly still.

“I was hoping you’d come,” you said softly, stepping into the moonlight with him.

He didn’t turn.

Didn’t flinch.

Just stared out at the city like it had done him some great injustice.

“Az,” you tried again, your voice barely a breath, “you’ve been quiet all night.”

A beat of silence stretched between you.

Then, finally, he looked at you.

And gods.

Gods.

The grief in his eyes nearly brought you to your knees.

It wasn’t rage. It wasn’t jealousy.

It was heartbreak. Raw. Unfiltered. Agonizing.

“I’m happy for you,” he rasped, and his voice was ruined.

Hoarse. Hollow. Like he’d been choking on those words for hours, if not centuries.

You stepped closer, careful not to startle him, like you were approaching a wounded animal.

“You don’t seem happy.”

He exhaled sharply, as if he’d been holding his breath this whole time. Like the truth was a blade in his lungs, begging to be pulled free.

“Do you want the truth?” he asked.

You blinked. “Always.”

That was when he moved.

Slowly. Deliberately. He turned to face you, and the moonlight cut across his face, painting him in silver, in sorrow, in something ancient and broken and utterly, utterly alone.

And then he said it.

Voice so quiet it nearly vanished into the wind.

“You were never mine to love, were you?”

The words knocked the breath from your chest.

“What…?” you whispered, already unraveling.

His expression didn’t change, but his voice cracked, like something old and fragile splintering in his throat.

“I’ve spent centuries loving you,” he said. “In silence. In shadow. Thinking if I just buried it deep enough, it wouldn’t destroy me. That if I kept it hidden, I could keep you. That I wouldn’t scare you away. That I could… live with it.”

He laughed. A bitter, broken thing.

“But now…” He shook his head, jaw clenched so tightly it trembled. “Now I’ve lost you anyway.”

You felt the ground drop out from beneath you.

“Azriel… I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t, ”

“How could you?” he murmured, eyes flicking down. “I made sure of it. I’ve spent centuries making sure you would never know.”

Your heart broke at the way he said it.

Like it had been a kindness. Like sparing you had been worth damning himself.

You reached for him, desperate to undo even a fraction of this devastation, but he stepped back.

A full step. Like your touch might finish what this night had already begun.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said quietly. “You’re mated. You’re happy. That’s all that matters.”

“Don’t do this,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Don’t pretend this means nothing. That you mean nothing.”

His eyes met yours again, and this time they blazed, with pain, with fury, with centuries of grief.

“I know what I mean,” he said, so quietly you could barely hear him over the wind. “To you. To everyone. I’m the shadow in the corner. The weapon you summon when the blood starts to spill. I’m the secret. The silence. The one you never really look at unless you need something.”

“Az—”

“Love?” he cut in, sharp as a blade. “That was never meant for someone like me.”

“Don’t say that,” you pleaded, your hands trembling.

“Why not?” he asked, finally breaking, voice raised, raw and wild. “It’s the truth. You chose him. And I’ll never hate you for that. I couldn’t. But don’t, don’t, ask me to stand there and smile while you build a life I’ll never be part of.”

Tears blurred your vision.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know,” he said. And that, somehow, made it worse.

Because he wasn’t angry with you.

He never could be.

He was just heartbroken.

Silence crashed down around you, thick with everything unsaid, everything too late, everything that had lived in the shadows too long to survive the light.

Azriel’s wings shifted, the moonlight catching on every torn, scarred edge. He looked like he might take off at any moment, fly just to get away from this pain.

“Azriel—please—”

He shook his head. Just once.

Then he looked at you for what felt like the last time.

“Be happy, Y/N,” he whispered. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

And then.

He was gone.

Gone like a breath. Like a shadow. Like he’d never been there at all.

Swallowed by the wind and the stars.

-----------

He didn’t come to the wedding.

Didn’t send a letter. Didn’t make an excuse. Just didn’t show.

And somehow, that hurt more than if he’d stormed in and shattered everything.

Velaris went on without him, for weeks.

The Spymaster disappeared into the darkness, answering only when summoned by Rhysand, vanishing before anyone could ask where he’d gone. No one pried. No one asked. Maybe they knew. Maybe they understood what it meant to bleed where no one could see.

When he finally returned, something about him had changed.

He was sharper. Quieter. His movements were more precise, more distant. His shadows clung to him like grief made flesh, as if they were mourning too. As if some essential part of him had died that night on the balcony, and they were the only ones still standing vigil.

He still smiled when you walked into the room.

Still asked how you were.

Still stood when you entered and gave you the respect he always had.

But it was hollow now.

There was a vacancy in his eyes. A silence behind the polite words. Like he’d set something down and would never pick it back up.

Something vital had shattered that night on the balcony.

And no matter how brightly the sun shone, no matter how happy you were supposed to be...

You could still feel the cold of it in your bones.

You could still feel the ghost of him. 

The love that had lived in silence.

And died the moment you smiled at someone else.

-----------

Years had passed.

Not in the loud, roaring way time sometimes moves, but in quiet cracks. In silences that stretched too long. In memories that clung like cobwebs you couldn’t brush away.

Thorne was gone.

The mating bond had faded, not in a sudden snap, but in pieces. Bit by bit, like thread unraveling. Like frost melting from a forgotten windowpane. War had taken him, swift and merciless, and left behind only a grave you visited less and less, not because you stopped mourning him, but because some part of you had always known:

His soul had never held all of yours.

And now, you stood on the same balcony.

The very same balcony where a lifetime ago, you had shattered someone you’d never meant to break.

The wind was colder now.

Sharper.

Your chest felt like a hollowed-out thing, carved by too many goodbyes. Too many regrets.

You didn’t hear him approach.

But you felt him.

The shift in the air. The silent ache that clung to his presence like smoke. The way the night seemed to bend toward him, shadows trailing behind like mourning veils.

Azriel.

He stopped beside you without a word.

For a moment, you both simply stood there, strangers who knew each other too intimately to pretend, and yet too far gone to reach across the divide.

You didn’t look at him.

Didn’t need to.

Your voice was soft when it finally broke the silence, trembling like it had waited years to be asked:

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

The question hung there between you, brittle and broken.

Azriel said nothing for a long, long time.

Just stared out at the city, at the stars, at anything but you.

And then.

Quietly, like it hurt to admit it.

“Because I knew it wouldn’t change anything.”

You flinched.

Not because it was cruel.

But because it was true.

You turned to him then, tears already rising in your throat, hot and aching and old. “But it might’ve,” you whispered. “Azriel, it might’ve.”

His gaze finally met yours.

And what you saw in it…

Gods.

It stole the breath from your lungs.

Years of pain. Of restraint. Of silence so deep it had become part of his bones. You saw it all. Every sleepless night spent alone with his shadows. Every word he hadn’t said because he thought it would hurt you. Every piece of himself he’d carved away to stay out of your light.

“I didn’t want your pity,” he said.

His voice was so raw, it nearly broke you in two.

You stepped closer, barely breathing, and reached out, your fingers brushing lightly against his scarred knuckles, the same ones that had once corrected your grip on a blade. The same ones that had bled for you more times than you’d ever known.

“You never had it,” you murmured.

And that…

That undid him.

He looked at you like you were something fragile, something already half-lost. Like he didn’t dare believe this moment was real.

Like hope was something he’d buried so deep, he’d forgotten where he’d put it.

The wind whispered around you both, cool and clean and full of ghosts.

For the first time in years, Azriel didn’t retreat.

Didn’t close himself off.

Didn’t vanish into the shadows.

He just stood there.

Letting you touch him.

Letting himself feel.

And somewhere deep in his chest, beneath the ruin and the wreckage, something stirred.

A flicker. A spark. A maybe.

He didn’t speak again.

Didn’t need to.

But when his hand, scarred and callused and trembling, turned to curl around yours...

When his fingers laced with yours like they’d been waiting an eternity to do so...

You knew.

He was still in love with you.

He always had been.

And though it would never be the same, though the damage would never fully undo itself...

For the first time in years.

Azriel let himself hope.

Just a little.

Just enough.

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